The Promised Lie

by Christopher Nuttall

  Some of his clients will try to defect, he told himself, firmly. But we have to prove we can win first.

  “They’re preparing to challenge us, Your Highness,” Gars told him. “We can crush their armies quickly, then dig in for the winter.”

  “Yes,” Reginald said. His finger traced out a line on the map. “We will continue the advance, pushing forward as hard as possible. Ideally, we will force them to face us before they have a chance to retreat.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Gars said.

  Jones frowned. “The longer our supply lines become, Your Highness, the harder it will be to keep the army fed. We can’t live off the land.”

  Particularly as the enemy will be doing everything in their power to remove or destroy anything we might use, Reginald thought. The longer we delay, the more time they’ll have to strip the country bare.

  “We cannot afford to show weakness,” Reginald said. He smiled, despite himself. Lord Havant and Earl Goldenrod would doubtless have made the same calculation. A display of weakness – or irresolution – would be enough to have their clients looking for ways to make contact with their enemies. “We’ll keep moving north until we encounter the enemy.”

  “The snows might come early too,” Jones said. His expression darkened. “Your Highness ... what if the Red Monks made the storms come early?”

  Reginald shrugged. He’d studied a little magic when he’d been a child – the Court Wizard had taught him the basics, concentrating more on what magic could do rather than teaching him how to use magic – and he’d never heard of spells powerful enough to shape the weather itself. It was hard to believe that the Red Monks could change the weather ... although he did have to admit that their powers didn’t seem to follow the usual rules. And if rumours about their abilities started to spread, it wouldn’t be long before the army was convinced that the Red Monks could destroy them all with a wave of their hands.

  It’s the unknown that bothers us, he thought, sourly. We know what regular magic can do.

  “If they’re that powerful,” he said, “why don’t they already rule the world?”

  He looked up as Lord William walked over. “Your Highness,” he said. “Is it true that our supply lines have been cut?”

  “We lost one convoy,” Reginald said. The messenger clearly hadn’t kept his wretched mouth shut. Reginald hoped that meant Lord William had bullied the messenger into talking. He’d hate to execute the man for talking out of turn without a great deal of pressure. “We will continue the offensive.”

  “It would be unwise, Your Highness,” Lord William said. He glanced from side to side, as if he expected the entire enemy army to be charging towards them. “We are already in unknown lands ...”

  Reginald felt a hot flash of anger. He had no problems with his boon companions disagreeing with him, at least as long as they did it in private, but Lord William was nothing more than his father’s lapdog. It would be easy, so easy, to draw his sword and cut the man down where he stood. Reginald’s father would not be pleased, of course, but he’d understand. No one, not even his father’s watchdog, could be allowed to get away with contradicting the Crown Prince in public.

  “There is no need to panic just yet,” he said, instead. “An experienced soldier would know that such things happen.”

  Lord William flushed. His military experience was practically non-existent. Reginald didn’t know if Lord William genuinely had been ill when King Romulus was fighting to keep his crown, or if he’d merely been hiding in his tent, but Reginald had no qualms about turning the rumours into weapons. Lord William just got on his nerves.

  “We will continue with the offensive,” he said, again. He considered, briefly, sending Lord William back to Allenstown. But the advantages of getting rid of the asshole were outweighed by the disadvantages of letting him out of Reginald’s sight. “And when we find the enemy, we will destroy them.”

  He turned to Gars. “Ready the army,” he added. “We break camp in one hour.”

  Gars tapped his chest in salute. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  ***

  The forest felt ... creepy.

  Isabella fought to resist the urge to look in all directions at once as the small force picked its way down the muddy road. It wasn’t really a road at all, she thought, more of a muddy track designed to make life difficult for tax collectors, recruiting sergeants and other plagues on the land. The trees were so close to the road that it was all too easy to imagine a team of bandits lying in wait, hiding within the shadows as they awaited their chance to strike. There was nothing under the trees, as far as she could tell, but the sense of being watched was almost overpowering. She wasn’t the only one to find the forest unnerving.

  She reached out with her senses again, but sensed nothing. There was no magic in the air, nothing like the tainted hotspots she’d visited during her training or the Blight in the Golden City. There was no movement at all, not even birds or small animals. And yet, the sense of being watched by unseen eyes was impossible to dismiss. She couldn’t help wondering if they were walking into a trap.

  “I told you everything had changed,” Kingsley said. The former spy sounded as though he was on the verge of panic. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  Isabella glanced at Lord Robin, who shrugged. It had been difficult to convince Prince Reginald to allow them to travel through the forest, even though there was a solid reason to take a detour as the army headed north. Who knew what might be lurking in the endless forest? A skilled team of soldiers – or even someone born in the forest – would be able to hide for years, before emerging to strike at their foes. The forest was wild land, utterly untamed. There were no reliable maps of the interior at all.

  “We’ll be fine,” she said, as reassuringly as she could. She turned her head towards Kingsley. “There’s nothing to fear.”

  “Shows how much you know,” Kingsley said. “I should never have let you bring me out here.”

  Isabella winced, feeling a pang of guilt. She’d both bribed and threatened Kingsley to get him to accompany them, making all sorts of promises she knew she’d have a hard time keeping. There had been no choice. She needed to know what was going on, even if it meant walking straight into danger. And yet, now, she found herself wondering if it wouldn’t be wiser to turn around and rejoin the army. The sense that she was walking into something she couldn’t handle was too strong for her peace of mind.

  She glanced back at the others, grimly. They all looked spooked, even Big Richard. He was holding his axe in one hand, his eyes flicking from side to side as he watched for potential threats. Isabella had a nasty feeling that he was about to lash out with his axe, even though there were no enemies in sight. None of the others were any better. They were all jumpy, all ready to fight. She found her hand dropping to her sword, time and time again. The unseen eyes felt close ...

  “Aha,” Lord Robin said.

  The muddy road widened suddenly, leading down to a village. It was larger than Isabella had expected, from Kingsley’s description: twenty or so hovels, a handful of larger buildings, a pigpen and a couple of barns. Chickens and pigs wandered freely, watched by children in rags; their mothers, washing clothes or planting seeds in small gardens, eyed the mercenaries warily and waved their daughters inside. A couple of young girls shot almost challenging glances at the mercenaries before they slipped into their hovels. Isabella felt her eyes narrow in suspicion. That was odd.

  Unless they want to leave, she thought. As much as she’d disliked the Golden City, she had to admit that it had offered far more opportunity than a muddy village in the middle of nowhere. They might hope for one of us to take them away.

  A man came forward, wearing slightly better rags. The headman, Isabella assumed, although there was little to separate him from the other villagers. He looked old enough to be her grandfather, even though she knew that could be deceiving. Life in a village was hard, very hard. The women washing clothes looked older than her, but it was quite pos
sible they were younger. She studied the villagers while Lord Robin spoke to the headsman, informing him that the country was under new management and demanding a place for the mercenaries to sleep. She’d seen villagers who were nervous and villagers who were resentful, but these villagers were scared. And she didn’t think they were scared of the mercenaries.

  The headman bowed low, then led the way to one of the larger buildings. A handful of villagers scurried out as they approached, carrying a handful of possessions. Isabella felt a twinge of guilt at turning the family out of their home for the night, mingled with the grim awareness that there was nowhere else to stay. An iron horseshoe hung over the door, puzzling her. It would have been cheap, in the Golden City, but here ... the villagers couldn’t afford to waste iron.

  “You’ll have to ask Mother Lembu,” the headman said, when she asked. He pointed a finger towards a small hovel at the edge of the village. “She insisted that we mark our doors with horseshoes.”

  “You go see her,” Lord Robin said, as they stepped into the house. “We’ll get set up here.”

  Isabella nodded, concealing her disgust as she looked around the hovel. The floor was muddy and the air thick with flies. She wondered, unpleasantly, if the villagers kept their animals in the house at night. There were certainly animal marks on the walls. She told herself, firmly, that she’d slept in worse places, and hurried to the door. Normally, she would have suggested sleeping in the open air, but she had a sense that being outside after dark would be very dangerous.

  Mother Lembu’s hovel was little different from the other buildings, apart from a tiny herbal garden outside. It looked like a hedge witch’s hut, save for the complete lack of magic ... or, at least, magic that Isabella could sense. She tapped on the door and waited for the invitation to enter, then pushed the door open. Inside, the building was surprisingly light. Someone had cut skylights in the thatched roof, allowing light to beam down into the chamber. It was an odd design, she thought. What advantages were gained by letting the light in would be negated by the rain also coming in ...

  Maybe the rain doesn’t come in, she thought.

  “Ah, young woman,” Mother Lembu said. “Welcome.”

  Isabella’s eyes narrowed. Mother Lembu was sitting by the fire, her body wrapped in a grey blanket that had been patched and patched again until there was nothing left of the original garment. She was tall and thin, grey hair covering a sharp face and sharper eyes ... Isabella still couldn’t sense any magic on the ancient woman, but she found it easy to see why she’d been left alone in her hut. Hedge witch or herbalist, Mother Lembu was clearly formidable.

  And she pegged you as a woman straight away, Isabella thought. Judging by the way the village girls had eyed her – and shied away – Mother Lembu was the only villager to see through Isabella’s male guise. What is she?

  “Greetings,” she said. “I ...”

  “Have come for answers,” Mother Lembu said. There was a power in her voice, a power that could not be denied. “I can’t give them to you, not yet.”

  Isabella frowned. “Not yet?”

  “Tonight, you will follow the girls out of the village,” Mother Lembu said. Her voice was certain, very certain. “And you will have your answers.”

  “Oh,” Isabella said. She found herself unsure how to proceed. Her training demanded that she force answers out of the old woman; her instincts told her that trying would be very dangerous. “Are you sure?”

  Mother Lembu smiled. “If you don’t go, you won’t have your answers,” she said. “Of course you’re going to go.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Big Richard couldn’t sleep.

  The building – the hovel – wasn’t the worst place he’d slept, but it was easily the most unfriendly. It was hard to believe that it was the best accommodation in the village, even though he suspected it was true. The villagers had nothing, beyond a handful of tools and animals they couldn’t afford to replace. The slop they’d fed the mercenaries before nightfall – before everyone had hurried back to their homes – had been thoroughly unpleasant. It would have been better to force them to slaughter a hog or a chicken for their guests.

  He frowned as he watched the sorceress slip towards the door and out into the night. The woman had discussed the matter with Lord Robin, but Richard was sure she’d been lying about something. Why hadn’t she forced the old woman – the wise woman, everyone called her – to talk? It wasn’t as if it would be hard. Richard had plenty of experience in finding ways to make people spill their guts, either through torturing them directly or forcing them to watch while their friends and family were made to suffer. He would have been glad to offer his services if Lord Robin had asked. Instead ...

  Something was wrong, he thought. The sorceress had betrayed them. Or something. Richard hadn’t missed how friendly she was with the prince, particularly now the army had completed the first part of the war. Isabella was looking to jump ship, he was sure. He had no doubt she’d use her body to snare the prince, then ... then make herself queen. And then she’d kill her former comrades, just to be sure her past never came to light. He had to know what she was doing. The power that rested within the Summer Isle was dangerous. It could not be allowed to fall into her hands.

  It was hard to move quietly in the suffocating atmosphere, but he had plenty of experience in sneaking around too. Besides, if anyone asked, he was going to the privy. But no one moved as he stealthily opened the door and went out into the night. The moon shone brightly, casting an eerie light over the village. It looked like something from a dream – or a nightmare. No one moved, not even the farm animals. They’d been taken inside for the night. The iron horseshoes on the doors seemed to gleam under the light. He shivered when he saw them and looked away.

  He spotted the sorceress at the edge of the village, walking down a dark path into the forest. She had her back to him, but he was careful to clutch one of his protective amulets to his chest and remain in the shadows as he walked after her. The enchanter who’d sold them to him had warned him not to take their protections for granted, particularly against someone more dangerous than the average hedge witch. Isabella was a sorceress – and therefore untrustworthy on principle – but Richard knew she was a capable magician. The last hedge witch he’d killed had been so surprised that her attempt to turn him into a slug had failed that he’d cut her down before she could muster another spell. Isabella was faster ... and a capable swordswoman too.

  Nothing seemed to move in the gloom as he slipped forward, flitting from tree to tree. He would have lost her altogether, he suspected, if she hadn’t been taking as much care to remain hidden as himself. She was using trees for cover, rather than relying on her magic ... it was a smart move, he grudgingly admitted. If her magic was unreliable, it was better to rely on the tried and true methods of remaining hidden. And yet ... the air was so quiet and still that he rather suspected a single sound would be enough to draw attention.

  She’s following someone too, he reminded himself. The wise woman hadn’t been particularly clear, apparently. And any sound she makes might draw their attention to me too.

  He paused as he caught sight of a light, up ahead. It looked like a bonfire, burning brightly in the middle of a clearing. Shapes were clearly visible, people moving around the bonfire in a complicated dance. Others – including the person Isabella was following – were appearing out of the shadows and walking into the light. He could hear whispering – no, chanting – echoing through the air as he started to slip closer. The wind brushed against him, sending cold shivers down his spine. Something felt ... off.

  Isabella stopped, dead ahead of him, and knelt down in the undergrowth. It was hard, even knowing precisely where she was, to spot her in the darkness. The bonfire light made the shadows darker, somehow. And yet ... there was something wrong about the fire. It was a little too bright to be real.

  He inched to one side, getting closer to the clearing without exposing himself too much to Isabella.
If she thought to look ... she’d be watching for others heading to the bonfire, even if she didn’t realise she’d been followed. Richard knelt down himself, then leaned forward. It was easier to pick out details, now. A dozen women were dancing around the bonfire, chanting words in a strange language. Others were pouring drinks into mugs and handing them round. And a couple were walking around the edge of the clearing, waving wooden sticks in the air. Wooden sticks ... or wands?

  Richard tensed, clutching his amulets, as the women walked around the clearing. Nothing happened, nothing at all. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d had a very lucky escape. There was magic in the clearing, dangerous magic. The old hatred welled up within him, reminding him – once again – of how his parents had died. And how Isabella had left his brother to die.

  The women rejoined their sisters once they’d completed their circuit, then started to remove their clothes. Richard stared, hypnotised. There were young women and old women, all as naked as the day they were born. It wasn’t something he’d seen before, not outside an expensive brothel. A well brought up young woman simply did not remove her clothes, certainly not outside the marital bed. And yet, the women were naked ...

  His heart started to pound as he watched them resume their dance, ducking and waving around the bonfire. It wasn’t like any dance he’d ever seen before, a strange combination of free movements that somehow managed to look like part of a pattern. There was something erotic about their movements, yet the power thrumming on the air scared him almost as much as it excited him. The more he stared, the more his feelings became jumbled. The women were calling to him, but they were also warning him to run.

  He tried to look away, but his head refused to move. His entire body was transfixed. He couldn’t help staring, he couldn’t help ... he couldn’t help slowly standing and walking towards the circle. His body moved of its own accord. He knew, deep inside, that something was terribly wrong, but he just couldn’t stop himself.