Red Season Rising (Red Season Series Book 1)

by D. M. Murray

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied, taking the reins from Thaskil.

  “You,” Thaskil shouted at a young private who was passing with messages.

  The young man stopped and pointed to his chest.

  “Yes, you!” Thaskil snapped. “Get over here.”

  The private hurried over to Thaskil and saluted.

  “Never mind with that,” Thaskil barked. “Tell me, where is Major Bergnon?”

  The young private looked side to side, open-mouthed. “I think he was last seen riding into Apula a few hours ago.”

  Apula, why the hell is he in Apula? “You think, or you know?” Thaskil asked, stepping nearer the private.

  The private flinched a little. “I know, sir,” he stammered. “One of the farriers said he saw him just after lunch.”

  “Good,” Thaskil grunted, his eyes following Arrlun’s mare with the blood-streaked side as it was led towards the corral. “I want you to communicate a message to the rest of the officers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thaskil grabbed a fistful of the private’s chainmail shirt, pulling his face right into his own. “Make sure this is verbal only and, on your life, make sure no one but the officers learns of this. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to have to kill you,” Thaskil said, his voice barely a whisper. “I want you to tell the remaining officers that Major Bergnon is to be arrested on sight.”

  The young private swallowed hard as his eyes widened.

  “Now listen carefully to what I am about to tell you. Tell the rest of the officers the charges against Major Bergnon are treason and murder.”

  *

  Bergnon’s breath blew hard as he crashed into the armoury wall. Dried plaster streamed in a dusty drift over his face and hair as he slumped to the floor.

  Brostoff walked the few steps between them and crouched down to face-level. “I take it by now you and I are getting clear on who’s given the orders around here, eh?” Brostoff growled.

  Eck and his companions watched like hungry dogs as Brostoff hawked a lump of phlegm from his throat and spat into Bergnon’s face.

  Bergnon’s fury grew within. It took all his will not to reach for his sword. The time I kill you will come soon, you fucking prick. The image of Natalya flashed constantly in his mind. She was the reason he was here. The reason he tolerated such humiliation. She was the reason he betrayed his own country. And the reason he murdered his friend. Kill me. You’d be showing me mercy. Please.

  “Aye,” Bergnon mumbled as he wiped the stinking spit off his face with the back of his hand. “You’re the boss.”

  “Aye, I am the fucking boss. Now don’t you go and forget it, eh?” Brostoff sprung up from his hunkers, extended his huge hand to Bergnon, and hauled him to his feet. “Now, tomorrow, once the signals are sent back and forth, then we blow this damn wall apart, aye?”

  Eck and his men grunted their approval.

  “Brostoff,” Bergnon chanced reminding his newly appointed senior, “who’s going to foul the well?”

  The big man’s eyebrow furrowed and, for a moment, it looked as though he would strike again. “Eck, you get on the fouling of the well. Do it tonight and take the traitor with you.”

  Bergnon’s mouth gaped. “But I can’t be seen to—”

  Brostoff put one hand on his sword and slid it an inch from the scabbard.

  Bergnon imagined Natalya’s face and was silenced.

  “You’ll fucking well do as I tell you, hear?’ Brostoff snarled, his scabbing muzzle drawn up to reveal stained teeth.

  “The well, boss,” Bergnon conceded. “Got it.”

  “Aye, just make sure you do or I’ll be fouling the well with your stinking leaky bucket of a carcass.”

  Sweet mercy, I wish you would.

  “Sun will be setting soon,” Brostoff added, looking up to where the guardsmen’s bodies were hidden. “You’d best be getting a move on. Take one of them guards up there and give him a swim.”

  *

  Thaskil’s horse galloped up the escarpment and stopped at the main gate of Apula beside the guardsmen standing to attention.

  “Have you seen Major Bergnon?” Thaskil asked.

  “I’ve only started my watch, sir,” the guardsman said. “But the corporal up above the portcullis has been on since midday. He may know.”

  Thaskil thanked the guard and swung down from his horse, handing the guard the reins whilst he bounded upstairs in search of the corporal. He reached the top of the stairs and moved within the walls and past the wooden wheel of the portcullis towards the office of the chief of watch. He opened the door and found the corporal smoking a pipe with his feet up, peering out of the arrow slit. The corporal stumbled and half-fell, smouldering tabac spilling out onto the floor as he saluted Thaskil.

  “Have you seen Major Bergnon this afternoon?” Thaskil asked.

  The corporal looked confused, perhaps surprised not to be reprimanded by the young officer.

  “Must I repeat myself, Corporal?”

  “No, sir. I saw the major not long after lunch. He didn’t say where he was headed. I just assumed he was off to see you with that new batch of militiamen you brought in the other night.”

  Thaskil’s mind snapped to the militiamen. Bergnon had acted strange, sending a portion of the militiamen off to make deliveries. Thaskil hadn’t noticed at the time, but some of the men had never returned.

  Thaskil turned on his heel and began to leave the small room, before he turned back. “Corporal.” His tone was ice cold. “If I catch you half-witted when you’re on watch one more time, I’ll have you flogged and then put on the front line to face whatever may come. Do I make myself clear?”

  The corporal gulped and nodded. “Clear, sir. It won’t happen again, honest. Sorry, sir.”

  “Aye, I know it won’t.” Thaskil stormed off and collected his horse. There was only one place he was heading to next.

  *

  Bergnon heaved the bagged-up corpse of the guardsman over his shoulder as Eck stood by the door picking dried dirt from under a chipped fingernail.

  “Aye, just stand there,” Bergnon said snidely as he steadied himself with the weight of the body. “I don’t need any help.”

  “Fuck you,” Eck spat on the floor and ate whatever dirt he retrieved from his rank finger.

  “A real charm, you are.”

  Eck just leered toothlessly.

  “Could you at least get the bloody door?”

  Eck peeled himself from the wall and opened the door, dragging his heels as he trudged outside toward the horses.

  Bergnon heaved the body outside, his eyes scanning the street and windows to make sure no one was watching. He could not afford to be recognised, not now with things so close. In a few short steps, he closed the distance between the guardhouse and the horses, and shoved the bagged body across the saddle.

  “Right,” Bergnon said as he watched Brostoff shut the door behind them, “let’s get this done fast and quiet.”

  “Fuck you.”

  *

  The sun had set as Thaskil made his way through the streets of his hometown, his thoughts dominated with Arrlun and what end he had met. Could Bergnon have really murdered Arrlun? Doubt and fear made his mind lurch, his guts spasm, and his stomach roil. Damn it, he felt like he was going to shit himself.

  What if I’ve got it wrong? It’s Bergnon, for Dajda’s sake. Doubt, fear, hurt, anger. No, it all ties together too tight.

  Grief mingled with anger. Aching, crushing sorrow blended with hate and blinding revulsion. He picture Bergnon’s face yesterday in the rain. The blood from a wound probably inflicted by Arrlun as he fought for his life. Traitor’s blood staining the collar of a murderer. His resolve stiffened and he jabbed his heels into his horse’s flanks. The shod hooves of the horse clattered through the streets. The guardhouse was not far. His guts churned.

  *

  “It’s slipping off,�
�� Bergnon hissed as he led the horse through the streets towards the central well of Apula. “Make sure he’s bound tight. We don’t want to cause a bloody scene here.”

  Eck grumbled as he moved to fix the lashings holding the corpse in place.

  The night was clear and the moon cast a steely-blue light over everything. Not the best conditions for going unnoticed, but it was better to be at it now, Bergnon mused. Their movements would be blurred amongst the other traders making their way home at the end of the day. Despite this, the light from the windows of the townsfolk illuminated enough to make Bergnon uncomfortable. He drew his hood tighter over his face, drawing a scoff of derision from Eck behind him, his broad, greasy face boldly on display.

  “Afraid yer friends will see you with the likes of me, eh, Major-man?”

  The man’s crackling laughter caused Bergnon’s skin to prickle, but he ignored the taunt. Not far to go. Mind on the job. Bergnon thought again of his love, for whom all of this descent into a wretched nature was for. Mind on the job.

  “Hey, Major-man,” Eck called out, his ragged voice causing a couple traders to look up as they passed. “Hey, Major-man,” Eck persisted, “that slut girlfriend of yers didn’t ignore me half as much as you.” He sniggered a filthy laugh as he got Bergnon’s attention. “The bitch was quite fond of me after—”

  Bergnon turned and smashed his fist hard into Eck’s face, crumpling him to the cobbles of the street. “Dajda damn me!” Bergnon hissed a curse as his actions caused the passers-by to stop. Gasps of shock caused him to wince. He pulled his hood tighter about his face. So much for mind on the job. Stupid move.

  Eck groaned on the ground. “What you do that for?” He spat blood and felt about in his ruin of a mouth, pulling out a loose tooth, one of his last. “Was only playing with you.”

  Bergnon grimaced as more people gathered. He grabbed Eck by the front of his coat and hauled him to his feet, pulling his bleeding face in close. “If you ever speak of her again, I swear I will stick you full of holes and put you in the fucking well.”

  “Aye, yer brave now, I’ll grant you that, but just mind how you go with Brostoff. He’s not half as forgiving as I am.” Eck wiped a long smear of dark blood from his nose and mouth with the back of his hand. “Now get yer fucking hands off me.” He shoved himself away from Bergnon and looked at the gawkers. “Damnit,” Eck muttered, warping his face into a sneering smile. “Just a little disagreement with my brother here.”

  Bergnon gathered up the reins and led the horse on. The central well wasn’t far now.

  “Come on,” he grumbled back to Eck. “We need to get a move on.” As Eck made up the distance between them, Bergnon turned and whispered over his shoulder, “We’ll need to do another loop. I don’t want anyone following us. Especially not if they go and speak to the city guard. Keep your trap shut from now on.”

  “Fuck you.”

  *

  Thaskil stood in the shadows of an alleyway across from the armoury. He could see the distortion of light as people moved about within. The horses and cart tied up outside were the same as those the militiamen Bergnon had appointed to make the delivery used. There would be too many of them in there for him to tackle alone in a straight fight, but a concern had grown within him as he sat in the darkness and deliberated his next move.

  What if none of the officers believe me? What if they are involved too? Suddenly a great deal of fear welled up from within. Have we been betrayed? Am I about to die?

  He waited, afraid, alone, and thought of Arrlun. His anger grew again, flooding over him and washing away his fear. He gripped his sword hilt and drew the weapon from its scabbard. Steel always promises revenge. Keep the fear at bay and give me strength. He dashed across the street and crouched against the cool stone wall beneath the building’s window. He craned his neck to glimpse into the armoury. Six men sat around the table, playing cards and laughing. Thaskil recognised some of the militiamen. The others wore uniforms of the city guard. Men have died for those uniforms.

  He crouched under the window and tried to listen to their conversation, but their voices were muffled and he could not accurately make out their words. Frustrated, he crept alongside the wall towards door and made his way up the wooden steps, being careful not to alert the killers inside with creaking floorboards. He leant his ear against the door and waited. Sooner or later, someone must give away Bergnon. His guts twisted and gurgled, a noise like thunder in the dark. He swallowed a panicked breath, frozen with fear that someone may have heard. He edged off the steps and slipped into a dark spot underneath them. Like a snake hiding in the dirt.

  *

  “Not now, someone’s coming,” Bergnon hissed as Eck started to unfasten the rope holding the corpse on the horse. Bergnon looked up to see a drunk stumbling through the central square of Apula and waited, his pulse thundering until finally the drunk had passed out of sight. “Now, quickly.”

  Eck undid the fastening, hauled the body off the horse, and slumped it onto the wall of the well.

  Bergnon drew a knife and slashed open the hessian bag. The corpse stared back at him with dried, dead eyes. Bergnon paused, holding the corpse’s gaze.

  “Come on, we don’t have time for this! And the fucker stinks,” Eck snapped. He unsheathed his knife and punched it into the guts of the dead man, releasing foul gas as he tore across the belly. He shoved the body into the well and looked down for several long seconds, before the deep echo of a tinny splash rose up.

  Polluted with your treachery. Bergnon shook away his torment. “It’s done.” He was about to move off when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. He turned, his mouth very dry and his breath shallow.

  “If you make as much as one more move, with Dajda as my witness, I’ll have you stuck full of arrows and there’ll be three bodies in that well.”

  *

  Thaskil hunkered himself deep in the shadows underneath the wooden staircase of the guardhouse. He was safe from the eyes of what few folk were passing by, yet still within earshot of the conversation within. It had been almost an hour and the militiamen had not mentioned Bergnon once.

  Come on, you fuckers. Just say his name. Dajda! He struggled to make space and stretched out his leg, denying the cramp in his hip any glory. He stretched out the other leg and tried to get the blood flowing. The sound of footsteps moving towards the door made him freeze.

  “What in the damned darkness is taking them so long?” a gruff voice said just before the door creaked open.

  Light sliced through the darkness in a sharp line over his eyes. Don’t look down, you bastard. Thaskil’s sword inched halfway out of the scabbard. There was no more room. Would serve me right to be stuck like a hog in a pen, fool.

  The faceless voice above stepped onto the steps, blocking the light from the guardhouse and casting Thaskil into darkness. “That bloody major and his scheming. He’ll get us all killed,” the voice grumbled, half under his breath.

  Thaskil’s heart sank. It’s true. Damn you, Bergnon. Damn you forever into the hells.

  “Get in here and close that door, idiot,” a commanding voice called out from within.

  “Ach, I’ve gotta go for a piss anyhow,” the gruff voice from the stairs replied. “Back in a moment.”

  “Well at least close the fucking door. It’s freezing out there,” the voice from inside called.

  The door closed, leaving Thaskil in darkness.

  The militiaman stepped into the street holding a small oil lamp, and moved around to the side of the armoury. The man placed his lamp on a stack of wood before unbuttoning his trousers.

  Thaskil crept out from under the stairs and began to circle the militiaman, keeping to the shadows. Let’s find out the truth, all of it.

  He edged closer as the man started to relieve himself, piss noisily splashing against the junction between the building’s plaster and city wall. Going to spill the beans, scum.

  Thaskil closed the distance. His sword caught the moonlight with a
little wink before catching the man’s neck. The man stumbled with a gurgle, knocking over his oil lamp, spreading oil and flame.

  Damn it. In the heat of the moment, the desire to ask questions lost out to brutal revenge. Thaskil’s heart thundered. He now had to see this out. Had to finish it. Five to one, great odds, fool! He tried to stamp out the flames, but it was no use. Don’t have long.

  He looked around in the dark for something, anything, to help, and grabbed the militiaman’s knife. There was a length of muddy rope coiled alongside some barrels and loose planks. Thaskil grabbed it and stepped towards the stairs leading to the armoury door. He tied off both ends in front of the door, a couple of inches above the planks and moved around the side of the building near the barrels and stacked planks, barely casting a glance at the dead man whose blood stained the gable wall like some nightmarish art.

  Thaskil crept back towards the stairs and crouched down beside them, careful to stay in the shadows, but avoiding having to hide in the cramped space underneath. He steeled himself, thought once more of Arrlun and the betrayal of Bergnon, and let fly a scream. He heard the chairs within grind backwards on the wooden floor.

  Footsteps charged to the door. The first man out struck the rope and went flying clear off the steps, landing in a heap in the road. The second man stepped over the rope and looked down at it, not seeing Thaskil rise and slash his sword across his ankle tendons. The man fell to the ground, half in the building and blocking the exit of the third man.

  As Thaskil ran around towards the steps, he stabbed the man in the road.

  The third man leapt over his screaming comrade and onto the street, engaging Thaskil. “Get your arses out here!” the man roared to the two men remaining in the armoury.