by D. M. Murray
“This’ll be trouble,” Broden muttered under his breath as they approached the man. The two captains continued their steady pace and bypassed the clerk. Broden smiled to himself and glanced to Kalfinar, but his face showed no such pleasure.
The aide cleared his throat and spluttered from behind them, “Ah, excuse me, Captains. Commander Lucius has ordered you both present yourselves in his study at once, sirs.” His hands were clutched together nervously below his chin.
Turning around at the same time, they looked the clerk in the eyes. Kalfinar’s glare was even less friendly than his companion’s. Closing the distance, they stopped before the aide. Broden rested a hand on the aide’s shoulder, drawing a wince.
“Would you suggest we comply with the commander’s wishes?” Kalfinar’s words were barely more than a whisper as he stepped in close. The breath of his words in the chill air wrapped around the man’s neck like a pair of spectral hands.
The aide turned, and emitting a whimper like a kicked hound, went speeding back in the direction he came from.
Broden threw back his head, and laughed. “You, Kal, are a very bad man.”
Kalfinar’s stern look cracked under a slight smile. “I suppose we’d better pay the commander a visit before that poor man gets a beating into the bargain.”
Broden followed behind, chuckling to himself. “A very bad man indeed.”
*
Olmat knelt on the floor surrounded by dozens of scrolls and loose leafs of papers. He was alone in his chambers, save for the two corpses lying on his examining table. He glanced over his shoulder.
Dead or no, can't say I like having you two back there. He chased away his unease and turned back to the large chest. His hands searched busily. He opened one scroll, then another. More and more bindings were undone and still he could not find the one he sought.
“Curse this memory of mine.” He snapped off his words with frustration and slammed the chest closed. He groaned as he stood. It had been the best part of an hour and his knees had stiffened from the cold and fixed position. Too old for kneeling on cold stone floors. Should’ve known better, silly fool.
Too complacent, too damn complacent. Where in Dajda’s name could I have put it? His eyes surveyed his chambers. After coming to Hardalen with Kalfinar and Broden over two years previously, his room had gradually grown more cluttered. Disorder reigned around him. The shelves that lined almost every wall sagged under the weight of books and journals, elements and chems. There were assorted herbs and dry mosses in pots, and an array of brightly coloured powders leapt from the dull greys of the walls.
A prayer ran through his head. He had to find those documents before Kalfinar left. His heart hammered in his chest as the words of the prayer fell silently from his lips. The prayer stopped. His eyes flashed open and he shuffled through the chambers. His old knees and hips popped and creaked as he moved. He entered his bedroom and dropped to his knees, regretting his rashness as the stone floor met his joints painfully. Spurred on by memory, he opened the chest by his bed with a ragged groan. He dug between the scrolls and jars, feeling for the bottom. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder once more at the bodies, heart still pounding with fear.
Don’t be foolish.
He pulled up the false bottom and permitted himself a small smile. “There you are.” He lifted up a small tube bound in blood-red leather, cracked and peeling with age. He forced himself to his feet and sat on his bed. The cord binding the roll proved difficult to undo. With ageing fingers, he struggled to loosen the knot. “Curse it!”
Growing more frustrated by his efforts, he lost his patience and held the cord above the candle by his bed. The roll snapped open as the cord burned through, sending a small plume of dust into his face. He coughed and wiped his nose, then sneezed. He held the candle to the scroll. The parchment was stained with time, but Olmat’s rheumy eyes were able to infer the meaning within. “An eight-pointed star, wreathed in fire.”
He let the parchment fall from his hands and then walked through to his examining room. Olmat approached the two bodies on his table, stopping by the side of the nearest. He turned it onto its front with some effort. His hands trembled as he cautiously reached to the back of the body’s head. He pulled aside the oiled and plaited white hair on the back of its neck and searched, his eyes squinting to focus. He moved the candle closer to the neck, and there it was.
The grey skin was tattooed, the flesh marked with an eight-pointed star, wreathed in fire. Olmat moved to his desk, and began scratching text onto parchment. He finished and sealed it with wax, then placed it into an oiled leather tube. Olmat offered a prayer before placing the tube into a drawer in his desk. The old physician opened another drawer and looked inside. Reaching within, he looked at the two bodies and drew out a knife.
*
“You can’t be serious?” Kalfinar seethed. “We’re to carry these dispatches to Terna and Carte on our own? Without even a platoon?”
Lucius had returned just over an hour before, after having seen the dead assassins. The gaunt commander’s face appeared drained of all courage by what he had seen stretched out wretched and cold on the examining table. Kalfinar stared past the man, his anger quivering under his skin. Coward, I should rip your fucking throat out here where you stand.
“Captains,” the commander’s voice shook. He did not look the two men in the eyes. “I believe the safety of this garrison is crucial to the continued well-being of the Free Provinces. We house a full battalion of Pathfinders, and one twelfth of our officer cadets. What’s more, in Hardalen, we control an area of critical strategic importance. As such, this garrison cannot fall to our enemies, whoever they may be. We must remain fully equipped and manned, so as to protect the mountain passes.”
Kalfinar felt his scorn simmering. Strategic importance. We are in the least strategically valued garrison in the whole of the Free Provinces. Your fear fills the air with a stench.
Lucius glanced up at the two captains and briefly held their gaze. “Anyway, you'll move quicker without a body of men. Officers of your experience ought to know that already.”
“Kalfinar has only the use of one arm, Commander. He’ll struggle to ride at any decent pace,” Broden snapped. “Even if he had the use of both arms, we’d still have to move cautiously. The storm is upon the passes.”
“I've made my decision, Captain. I am the commander of this garrison, and, as such, it is my duty, and mine alone, to ensure the continued wellbeing of both this garrison and its men.”
Kalfinar’s lip twitched. Watching your own arse, Commander. You’d better get used to it, because I’m about to shove your head up it.
Lucius continued, voice quivering. “I believe men of your reputation,” he paused long enough to smirk at Kalfinar, “are more than capable of completing this mission unscathed. Captain Kalfinar will have to overcome and adapt, like the good soldier he is. Or at least the good soldier he was.”
Prick. What would you prefer, Lucius, my fist in your nose, or my knee in your stones?
“Here, take these.” The commander handed Broden two scrolls bound in leather envelopes. “Make sure these are delivered directly to the chief marshals. They're not for any other eyes. I’m sure you’ll understand.” The commander was trying hard to appear calm, but his hands trembled as he handed the scrolls across.
Broden tried again to reason with the commander. “Sir, I must insist that you give us some men. It would be folly to send us out there alone.”
“You insist?” Lucius’s eyes bulged as he hid his fear behind rage. He stood toe-to-toe with Broden and stared red-faced up at the bigger man. His fear finding voice in fury as he screamed in Broden’s face, “You insist upon me? Who do you think you are? You forget your station, Captain. Dare not question my judgement again. I'll make you walk to Terna in your bare feet, if it pleases me. Or if you prefer, I could throw you in the fucking brig for insubordination and let your pipe-smoking husk of a cousin walk to Terna on his own!”
Kalfinar stared at the commander, and felt his anger grow cold within him. Someday your antics will see your precious little throat slit. Perhaps that’s too good. Maybe a bag and then the harbour would be better. I could toss you in the waters down by the dock and then go fill my lungs with the pipe after the bubbles stop. Smoke and blood, whores and mud.
The commander had ceased huffing and the colour had drained away from his face. He fussed with the collar of his jacket and moved back behind his desk. “Captain, I will not put this garrison at risk. You are up to the task, so I suggest you get on with it. You are dismissed.” With that, he raised his hand and shooed them off as though they were bothersome flies. They saluted and turned to leave the study when Lucius called out, “Captain Broden, when you get to Carte, please do ensure you keep Captain Kalfinar on a short leash. We wouldn’t want him visiting those whore houses and the jalsinum warrens down by the docks again, would we? They say once a man takes a taste for the smoke he never stops craving it.” Lucius looked across to Kalfinar. “Tell me, Captain, do you still hunger after it?”
Every day, and every night. And every moment between the seconds within each.
The commander sniggered as he sank into his tall-backed leather chair.
Broden bundled Kalfinar out of the room and closed the door. “Don’t let the shit get to you, Kal.” As they walked away from the commander’s study Broden scratched at his beard and asked, “So what are we going to do about this?”
Kalfinar’s voice was quiet and steady, his throat thickened with anger. “I intend to do the same thing I always do when it comes to Lucius. I’m going to ignore him.” Or kill him, slowly, methodically.
*
“We need some good men, Subath.” Kalfinar had gone straight to the veteran sergeant after leaving the commander’s study. He had dispatched Broden to the quartermaster to fetch supplies for their journey.
“Major, you look a bit better now. You don’t look so much like a corpse.”
“It’s Capt—” Kalfinar shook his head in exasperation. “Never mind. Good men. They’ll have to be ready for hardship, Subath.”
“I’m guessing our beloved commander has issued you an order contrary to your request.”
Kalfinar said nothing, and held Subath’s eyes.
“I’m also guessing you’re disregarding this order, correct?” Subath asked. A thin smirk crept on his face.
“You’re a shrewd man, Sergeant. Perhaps too shrewd.” Kalfinar returned the slightest of grins.
“Ach, come on, lad. I may have a face like an arsehole, but my head isn’t full of shit. Anyway, whilst I would doubtless agree with your razor-sharp assessment of Lucius’ character, he appears to have been goading you. He’s issued me an order to provide you with four troops.”
“That fucking prick. I should go up to that tower of his and beat him around the head until he goes limp,” Kalfinar seethed.
“Can’t say I haven’t had half a hard’un thinking of that myself in the past.” Subath grinned and rubbed a calloused hand over his scarred head. “Now, as I don’t want you getting all overwhelmed by his generosity, I should tell you he personally selected two of the less effective officer cadets for the trip. Clearing out some deadwood. As for the other two, he left it at my discretion. Anyone in mind?”
“There is one I can think of. That boy, Thaskil. The one that finished off the assassin in Broden’s room. He shows promise. You think he’s been toughened up enough for this kind of journey?”
Subath’s face adopted a proud look. “Captain, that boy is one of the brightest and best young soldiers I've trained in near twenty years. Since you and Broden, as it happens.”
“Good. Let’s go fetch them. We don’t have much time.”
*
Kalfinar observed the four troops as they readied their horses for the expedition. All of the soldiers selected had recently completed their training, although they had each yet to see their nineteenth year.
Subath stood in front of the four young soldiers and barked commands, “Make sure that coat is on tight. A cold horse is a dead horse, and a dead horse means you’re dead. Tie them tight, men, or by Dajda I’ll tie you tight around the neck.” The winters in the Hardalen Mountains were so extreme that both men and horses were provided with oiled buck leather lined thickly with rich fleece, stained a dark green, in keeping with the rest of the military garb. “These coats will save your lives, men, and those of your beasts. Don’t forget it.”
Kalfinar strode up and stood beside Subath. He inclined his head towards the sergeant and whispered, “The two selected by Lucius?”
“The big one with the even bigger ears? He’s Rallik. The one with the blonde hair, who has his boots on the wrong feet, is Petran.”
“Surely not?” Kalfinar squinted towards the cadet.
“No, they’re on the right feet,” Subath exhaled and shook his head. “But I do wonder sometimes.”
“Purchased his place in the academy?” Kalfinar asked.
“Aye, likely. Need to put an end to that.”
“I’m sure you would have done by now, if you’d accepted the governor’s commission one of those times.”
“Piss on it. Who’d tell all you tit-hungry officers what to do then?”
Kalfinar afforded himself a slight smile and then patted Subath’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m off to see Olmat. One hour, Subath. Have them ready.”
*
“Olmat, are you there?” Kalfinar asked as he and Broden entered the examining room. There was no answer. He called again, “Olmat!”
No response.
They walked towards the bedchamber, passing the covered bodies on the table. As they turned the corner into the darkened chamber, the light from the lone candle touched enough of the small room for them to see him. Olmat sat cross-legged on the floor, his face buried in the palms of his hands. He appeared to be in a trance-like state.
Approaching, Kalfinar reached out and touched his shoulder. “Olmat.”
The physician broke from his concentration with a jolt. “Kalfinar! By Dajda, you scared me.”
“I’m sorry. You didn’t answer.” Kalfinar noted the mess surrounding his friend. Scrolls and jars, papers and bags were scattered everywhere. What’ve you been looking for?
“Help a decrepit old soul to his feet now.” He raised his arms to the captains like an infant. Grabbing his wrists, Broden pulled him to his feet as though he were of no weight at all.
“What were you doing?” Kalfinar asked him as he stood before him.
“I was praying. Something you would benefit from doing once in a while. When did you last speak to Dajda?” The old physician’s tone was irritable and he shuffled to the examining room.
Kalfinar had seen Olmat at prayer countless times as the physician watched over him in the first days in the Hardalen Mountains. Though Kalfinar’s memory of the time was hazy, and perhaps mixed reality with fantasy, he did not recall seeing Olmat ever praying in such a manner. They followed his shuffling form into his examining room. Olmat busied himself placing rolled-leather envelopes into an oilcloth bag.
Broden nudged Kalfinar with his elbow and indicated to the examining table beside them. As he glanced across, Kalfinar noticed a fresh bloodstain on the linen at the head of the table and a small, bloodied knife. Beside it sat a small jar, the contents of which he strained to see. He drew his attention off the table and turned towards Olmat. The physician was staring at him flatly.
“I’ll get to that in a moment,” Olmat said, nodding at the table. “Kalfinar, take this.” He handed him a velvet medicine pouch. “It’s called falidweed. Take it every morning. Boil it in water, then drink. It will relieve the hurt and keep the black-flesh away. You should have enough for a week, at least, providing you go easy on it.”
Kalfinar looked inside the pouch. It was full with what looked like dried red seaweed. Olmat grabbed Kalfinar’s good shoulder.
“Listen to me. Make sure yo
u take it every day. No exceptions, no excuses.” He looked across at Broden, who was staring at the examining table again. “Broden, pay attention, you lump. He must boil a handful in water and drink it.” Olmat took the pouch off Kalfinar and waggled it before Broden. “Here, this stuff, once a day. Understand?”
“I’ll keep him right, Olmat.” Broden winked at his cousin.
“I can look after myself.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can, but a little help from those who care cannot hurt.”
“I’m sorry.” Kalfinar knew he owed them both so much. Although, some days he wished they had let him go. Let him carry on down that path. “I am blinded by pride.” He grinned to the old man. “Any other instructions for us?” Kalfinar was eager to hear Olmat’s plans. He inclined his head towards the strange bodies on the table.
“I was getting to that,” Olmat said. He looked at them seriously. “When you get to Terna, you must see a physician by the name of Capriath. He has an office in the medical department of the University in Terna. Go to him and take with you this letter.” He handed Kalfinar a green leather envelope, rolled and bound by a wax seal. “Give him this. My notes on your wound. He will give you some medicine which I cannot. Without it, you may lose the use of your arm.”
“I may lose the use of my arm,” Kalfinar repeated, taken aback. “You never mentioned that before.”
“Lad, I said you may lose the use of your arm, not you will lose the use of it. If you keep taking the falidweed as I’ve instructed, you will be fine. Capriath is an excellent physician. I've known him a very long time. I can assure you he will help greatly. He will give you the name of another good man to see in Carte. I must stress that you visit him, also.” Olmat’s face was serious. “Do you have dispatches for the High Command in Terna and Carte?”
Broden answered, “Yes, Lucius was able enough to give us dispatches. Though I’m guessing they are more a plea for the whole military High Command to come and save him.”