Red Season Rising (Red Season Series Book 1)

by D. M. Murray

  Bergnon swallowed hard and leant his head back against the wall. “May as well have done, but no, it wasn’t my sword.”

  “Bastard. You killed him all the same.”

  Bergnon nodded, blinking free two tears that streaked down his dirty and bloodied face.

  “And what of your ear? Was that him?”

  “Aye. I was trying to comfort him and he bit me.”

  “Comfort him!” Thaskil barked an ironic laugh. “How very compassionate of you. Where’s his body?”

  “He’s gone,” Bergnon sighed. “It was taken off beyond the Field of Storms.”

  “Well, you’ll be lucky if I even grant you that courtesy by the time I’m done with you.” Thaskil grabbed a handful of Bergnon’s shirt and hauled him forward, almost tripping him as his ankle chains restricted his movement. “Time for you lads to start spilling words.”

  The guardsmen grabbed the other prisoner and followed Thaskil as he led Bergnon towards the cell that held the big militiaman. As they entered the cell, the prisoner within smiled a bloody smile.

  “Hello, Major. Eck. Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Brostoff,” Eck muttered, “not worked out too well for us, what?”

  “Guess not, but I reckon it may work out a bit worse for our sorry major friend.” Brostoff leered at Bergnon before looking at Thaskil. “Well then, what’ll you give us to talk, eh?”

  Bergnon glared at Brostoff.

  “What do you want?” Thaskil asked, feeling the power shift to him. Looking nervous, Major.

  “Turn me and Eck here free.” Brostoff slithered a fat tongue over his rotten teeth. “We’ll be off and away before you know it. No harm, no foul. Save for you taking my hand, that is.”

  Thaskil made a show of considering it for a moment. Set you lose? Why unleash a rabid dog only for him to turn around and bite the hand that unbound him? “Done. Speak and you’ll go free this night. I may even have a surgeon look at your wound and make it right. But then you’ll leave the Free Provinces and never come back. Never. Do you hear me?”

  “Aye, I hear you, laddie.” Brostoff grinned while casting a glance at Bergnon.

  “Shut your mouth!” Bergnon shouted. “Don’t listen. He’ll only tell you lies!”

  Thaskil slammed a knee into Bergnon’s guts, sending him gagging to the straw-lined floor of the cell.

  “No, it is you, Major, that must shut your mouth. Brostoff, that’s your name?”

  The big man nodded.

  “Carry on, please.”

  “Your man there, the major, you see, he has a Missus Major. A nice little piece of arse from across the Yellow Sea in Canna.”

  Thaskil looked at Bergnon, who kneeled on the floor with his forehead leant on the ground, breathing hard. The look of a broken man. No more than you deserve.

  “You see,” Brostoff continued, “Missus Major is no less than the Daughter of the People.”

  Thaskil’s eyes widened and the guardsmen nearby gasped. All eyes turned to Bergnon, who peered up from the cell floor.

  Brostoff continued, “Word is they married each other in secret. Didn’t want anyone to know, but old Grunnxe has his spies and tattletales. Someone squealed and the old man had his way in. You threaten any man in such a way his prick’s concerned and you have what some call leverage. Seems the major sold out his people to keep his little slice of arse safe and well. He gave us everything: your commanders, officers, where they slept, what they ate for supper, and how often they shit. He gave us Apula and even killed himself some of his own men in the wake of his rotten betrayal.” Brostoff hawked up a gob of spit and spat it down at Bergnon’s head. “The traitor gave the old man everything. Grunnxe is coming. He’s coming tonight and, when he takes Apula, he’s coming for Carte. He wants the whole of the Cullanain and the major here has given it to him, steaming right and rich on a golden platter.”

  Thaskil’s face betrayed no emotion as Brostoff reeled off Bergnon’s crimes. “Fetch me a dozen carrier pigeons. Carte must know what’s coming.”

  “At once, sir.” One of the guardsmen saluted and ran off.

  Brostoff flapped his meaty tongue over his blackened teeth, leering a foul smile at Thaskil. “Well, young sir, we kept our end of the bargain. Gonna set us free now, eh?”

  Thaskil turned his back and walked out of the cell.

  “Hey, you said you would—”

  Thaskil ignored the protests and called back as he walked off, “Guards, kill those two.” He disappeared off around the corner. No one keeps their word in this world. What good is mine to a pair of murderers?

  “Wait,” Brostoff and Eck cried. “You promis—”

  *

  The ragged being that had once been Sarbien’s son, Anthony, danced and twirled an insane jig as the holy men and woman around the altar chanted their sonorous prayer. The runes glowed brighter as their prayer went on.

  “How long will we watch this? The others left hours ago and all they are doing is praying,” one of the remaining Tuannan asked Sarbien.

  He turned from the spectacle, his eyes rimmed red. “The moment is not right,” Sarbien said, his voice thick with emotion as he thought of his son. “Would you have us run down and fight their magic with nothing? We have no energy, remember. Dajda sleeps.”

  “We have some bows and three soldiers. I can shoot. You can shoot. We can do something. You said as you sent Lughna away that we must stop them. Have you changed your mind?”

  “Child, there are too many.”

  “What about the one leading them? The monster down there, we can kill him—”

  Sarbien swivelled and grabbed the Tuannan’s habit. His angry whisper sent spit onto the other man’s face, “No one kills him, do you hear me? He’s not to be touched by anyone. Anyone except me.” Sarbien relaxed his grip, the anger melting away from his face. “I’m sorry, lad. It’s just that, well, look at the creature’s eyes below.”

  The Tuannan peered over the rocks and waited until the creature stopped twirling and dancing before getting a good look.

  “You see his eyes?” Sarbien asked.

  The Tuannan nodded and turned back to Sarbien. “I think I understand.”

  “Aye, I’d say you do. There are few others I know of with eyes that colour, save my own seed. He went missing the night that Capriath was killed down by the urns. I dare say my son was his uncle’s killer.”

  “He is your son no longer.”

  The chanting ceased and the cavern was plunged into an eerie silence. Even the shallow breathing of those remaining near the roof risked betraying their presence. Sarbien and the Tuannan, along with three other soldiers, peered over the edge of the rocks and saw the altar’s runes glow white with heat.

  The creature that was once Brother Anthony stood atop of the altar and muttered silent words before tossing his head back and roaring in the guttural tongue of the Ravenmayne. Without warning, the runes blasted a beam of light in one direction.

  Sarbien’s head sank down and he whispered from his chest, “I fear that energy is directed to Carte.”

  “But that would mean—”

  “Yes,” Sarbien said, “death will haunt the streets of Carte. I’ll go down. Perhaps there is still a shred of my son left within him. If I fall, shoot him, and as many of the others as you can. The fewer that chant, the harder it will be to sustain the urns from this distance. If we can stop the power of the urns, perhaps what horror unfolds in Carte can be halted. Get ready.”

  Sarbien stood, his joints stiff from so long in the cold, damp cave. He wound his way down to the floor, being careful to obscure himself behind rocks as he went.

  He stopped behind the final edge of rock, breathing deep, his heart racing. Footsteps of soldiers following sounded from behind. He turned and offered them a weak smile, anything to give them strength. It pained Sarbien, yet it gave him heart to see such duty despite fear etched across their faces.

  “If I fall, take as many as you can.”

  The three so
ldiers nodded, chests rising up and down from nervous breaths, eyes wide.

  “In Dajda’s name.” Sarbien said, and walked out into the open.

  The creature that had once been Brother Anthony, Sarbien’s own flesh and blood, turned from atop the glowing altar. His bright, ice-blue eyes stared straight at the approaching man.

  “My son, come back to me!” Sarbien implored as Anthony grinned. “It is I, your father. Come back into my embrace, child.”

  The creature tilted its head sideways like an inquisitive beast.

  “Come away from the darkness, my son, my Anthony. Come away from the darkness and back to almighty Dajda’s love.” Sarbien kept moving towards the altar, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of his son covered in blackened boils. Sarbien was almost overwhelmed by the stench of rot as skin blistered and fell from Anthony’s oozing body.

  The creature righted its head and bore his teeth. “Dajda has no love for me!” shouted the creature, leaping down from the altar. “I am a child of the Master God. Balzath is his name and in his name I hold more power than Dajda could ever grant.”

  “Then forget Dajda. I am your father, Anthony. Come back into my embrace.” Sarbien stood with his arms open.

  The creature swayed where he stood and muttered silent words, as though in secret dialogue with someone or something. “Yes,” the creature grunted and stepped into Sarbien’s embrace.

  “My son,” Sarbien said, holding back his desire to vomit. “Come back to me now.”

  “Yes, Master, it will be done,” the creature muttered as he squeezed Sarbien hard, raising him off his feet, crushing the life from him.

  Arrow’s screamed free from bows. Fighting men roared as the creature that was once Anthony squeezed harder.

  Sarbien felt blinding pain as his body shattered.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Broden had been on edge the whole night and next morning since learning of Bergnon’s treachery. The thought of Bergnon betraying his own people, causing the deaths of so many, and plotting the murder of friends cut the big man deep. The sight of the Daughter of the People falling into the blackness compounded his mood.

  The atmosphere below deck, where he sat alone with Kalfinar, was dark and heavy. Few words had been spoken since the fervent discussion of the night before, such was the shock and weight of the betrayal. If their fears were correct, Apula would be handed to Grunnxe and with it, the east of the Free Provinces.

  “I don’t know about you,” Broden said quietly, breaking the tense silence, “but I keep hearing you read those words of that account from the Teporan Mane fella. Seems a lot of this is making sense to me now.” He looked up at Kalfinar, who was rubbing at his wounded shoulder.

  Kalfinar’s forehead was beaded with sweat and his eyes had dark circles under them. He sat staring into nothingness, a glazed look across his face.

  “Kal?” Broden asked, reaching out and shaking him by the shoulder to stir him from his thoughts. Come on man, snap out of it.

  “What?” Kalfinar jolted, his eyes snapping back into focus.

  “Kal, you look awful. You need to get some rest.”

  “Nonsense, we’ll be in Carte soon. There’s no time for rest.”

  Broden looked at Kalfinar’s hands and noted his fingers were pale and cold. Tremors ran from the tips of his fingers and up his arms.

  I’ve seen you like this before, cousin. I remember the look of you as you started the slide. I’ll not let you go back, not this time. There’ll be no docks for you. Broden stood up, grabbed Kalfinar by the front of his long-coat, and hauled him to his feet. He was shocked by Kalfinar’s lack of resistance as he stood, although he avoided Broden’s gaze.

  “What has got into you, man?” Broden shouted.

  Kalfinar said nothing.

  “Listen to me, we need you to get your head right! We need you to stop dwelling on what happened back in Canna. Forget the fucking jalsinum. It didn’t matter in the end and it had nothing to do with Chentuck, Rondo, or the Daughter of the People. Damn you, Kal! Neither of us could have stopped any of this happening. You’d better stop thinking about the smoke, stop thinking you’re to blame, and stop pissing well wallowing in self fucking pity!”

  Kalfinar looked up at him. “I’m ashamed to admit—”

  Broden slapped Kalfinar backhanded across the face, causing him to stumble backwards and plop onto the seat with a thump. Kalfinar’s eyes watered and he looked up with a shocked expression.

  “Sorry, Kal,” Broden mumbled. “Felt the message had to sink in.”

  Kalfinar rubbed the reddening side of his face and smiled as a short chuckle resonated from his throat. “Sometimes I forget how big your bloody hands are.”

  “Aye,” he replied. “They’re good for knocking sense into people.”

  “I was going to say I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t thinking about Chentuck or the Daughter of the People. I was thinking of Evelyne.”

  “Oh?”

  “We kissed.”

  “You did what?” The big man clapped his hands together and laughed. “Best bloody news I’ve heard in weeks.”

  A coy smile ran across Kalfinar’s lips.

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to realise what was staring in your face.”

  “You knew.”

  Broden nodded.

  “It didn’t feel wrong.” Kalfinar’s smile waned, replaced with the beginnings of that forlorn look Broden was so familiar with.

  “Don’t go there, Kal, or I’ll give you another.” He raised the back of his broad hand in mock threat.

  “You got it,” Kalfinar said, rising from his chair and sidestepping the big man.

  “It’s a good thing, Kal. Nurture it. Don’t push it away. Especially not in times like these.”

  Kalfinar nodded and made for the door of the cabin. “Come on, let’s see how close we are to Carte.”

  “Ah,” Broden grumbled. “You know I’m not going up there.” He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled with a little embarrassment. “You know me and ships.”

  *

  “We’ve dropped anchor.” Kalfinar said as he entered the cabin below deck. He heard footsteps charging down the stairs.

  “You have to see this,” a crewman shouted.

  “What is it?” Kalfinar asked.

  “Warships in the bay,” the Cannan man replied. “Looks like they’re expecting visitors.”

  “Aye, unfriendly ones, I’ll wager,” grumbled Broden as he stood and stretched his arms wide, popping his shoulders.

  “Shit!” Kalfinar held his hands to his head as he swore. “The ship, it’s not of alliance design and we’ve no flag to fly. Could be trouble.”

  “Nights be damned!” Broden exclaimed. “We better hope the harbourmaster can get to us in time.”

  “Gentlemen,” the crewman interrupted, “excuse me, but the ship, it is the Father of the People’s. There will be flags of the royal seal we can fly. They ought to be in the captain’s cabin.”

  “Can you see if there is one and hoist it?” Kalfinar asked.

  The crewman nodded and left the cabin.

  “We’d better take a look,” Kalfinar said as he started out of the cabin.

  “S’ppose I better get it over with,” Broden muttered. He followed Kalfinar up the stairs to the deck. The sun hung low and hazy in the sky, casting a cold yellow light. Their breath plumed in the chill air.

  “That’s the Terna fleet as well,” Kalfinar said as he leant onto the rail. “Abbonan must be here.”

  Three dozen ships sat in the bay, a floating army barring the way into Carte. A small sailboat cut free of the armada and made its way towards them, where they sat bobbing on the tide.

  “I have it!” the crewman shouted from across the deck. “I have the seal.”

  “Quick, get it hoisted,” Kalfinar called back as Evelyne approached from the aftercastle.

  “Trouble?” she asked.

  “
I doubt it’s too bad,” Kalfinar replied.

  Broden turned and greeted Evelyne with a broad smile.

  “Cut it out,” Kalfinar hissed at him.

  Evelyne eyed Broden with suspicion as she stepped up towards the rail. “The Terna fleet is here.”

  “Aye.” Kalfinar felt soft skin on his fingers. He looked down to see Evelyne’s touch. Kalfinar looked up at her subtle smile.

  The crewman rushed over. “Seal’s up. That should get their attention.”

  “Thank you.” He looked at Evelyne. “We need to get word to the High Command and get you searching for the third Horn. Do you sense it is near?”

  “It is in the city, yes.”

  “Good.” Kalfinar turned and walked off towards the starboard of the ship where the small sailing vessel had pulled up. He cleared the way of Cannan sailors and leaned over the rail, seeing a harbourmaster surrounded by city guard. “Ahoy,” Kalfinar called, causing the harbourmaster to startle and look up.

  “Ahoy there,” the master called back. “I’ll be with you in a moment. First of all, name and purpose?”

  “Certainly. I’m Captain Kalfinar of the Free Provinces High Command. We are bringing urgent word to my father, Governor Harruld, Chief in Command. My reports are of utmost importance to the defence of the Free Provinces and must not be delayed further. Shall I continue?”

  The city guard aboard the small ship whispered and stared up at Kalfinar, who was easily recognised by them. Some of the men smiled and nodded towards him, whilst a few others wore scowls and whispered amongst each other.

  The harbourmaster had one foot and his hands on the rope ladder and stopped. Recognition was etched across his face and he looked somewhat embarrassed. “Well, actually, I suppose that will just about do it, Captain. But forgive me, I need to inspect the ship. Standard protocol in times like this.”

  “I understand.”

  “We won’t be long. Once were done, just follow us into the port.”

  “My thanks. I’m indebted to you.”

  *

  They descended from the gangplank. It seemed chaotic by the docks, more so than usual. Kalfinar’s eyes scanned the surrounding masses of people, charging back and forth. City guardsmen were everywhere. He spied the streets and alleys of the docks beyond the throngs, and felt the familiar twist in his guts and tightening of his chest. His fingers began to tremble and sweat formed on his brow, in spite of the chill air. Smoke and blood, whores and mud. Here you are, laddie. Back to the docks. Back where you always find yourself.