The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood

by A. J. Smith

  ‘I’ve heard of him,’ muttered Kale. ‘Duke of Haran, used to be a general or something.’

  ‘I neither know nor care,’ responded Rham Jas. ‘But I trust Nanon when he says that the Red Prince is important. If I kill Shilpa, it will free up Xander Tiris.’

  Glenwood snorted to show his annoyance. Rham Jas had grown used to the miserable man of Leith and had even found himself liking his companion, but he would still have felt more comfortable with Bromvy or Al-Hasim for company.

  ‘Do you only think about killing?’ asked the criminal. ‘Hasn’t there been enough of that? That Nanon bloke is probably being eaten by a monster at this very moment.’

  Rham Jas didn’t respond. He kept his eyes turned up to the darkening sky and tried to tune out the criminal’s voice. He didn’t doubt that Nanon was in danger, but he was difficult to kill. The old grey-skin had been fighting for longer than any man and he was still alive.

  As for the Black cleric, the Kirin hoped that Utha had found some kind of peace. Rham Jas didn’t know the name of the Purple cleric who had been Utha’s friend, and he didn’t really care. All clerics of nobility were deserving of death on some level, but Utha had never been the Kirin’s enemy and he was slightly annoyed that the albino old-blood should hate him so.

  The blue tinge on the horizon was just disappearing and Rham Jas began to think about finding a place to camp. He was tired, both mentally and physically, but didn’t feel like sleeping. His mind was still racing and he felt a few more hours of riding would probably be a good idea.

  The Dokkalfar war-bow across his back was heavier than the longbows he was used to, but it was comforting to have a ranged weapon again. His katana had not been sharpened for several weeks. He knew that his wife would soon come back from the dead and chastize him for not looking after her gift.

  ‘Are you ignoring me?’ asked Glenwood, with irritation in his voice. ‘I’m not just your fucking servant... not any more.’

  ‘What are you now, Kale?’ countered Rham Jas, wishing to be left alone with his thoughts.

  ‘Well, apparently, I’m helping you save Tor Funweir.’

  Glenwood had said very little since they had reached the Fell, though the forger was a clever man and had clearly been listening to everything the Dokkalfar had said.

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about Tor Fun-fucking-weir,’ snapped Rham Jas. ‘I’m not doing this for the Ro, or the Karesians, or the Ranen...’

  ‘So, your daughter then?’ replied Glenwood, and the Kirin pulled back on his reins to face his companion.

  ‘Mention my daughter again, Kale, and I’ll hurt you.’ Rham Jas felt irrational anger at the comment and was a moment away from punching him.

  ‘Is it Keisha?’ Glenwood retorted quickly.

  The Kirin didn’t pause before he stood high in the horse’s stirrups and launched himself at him. He collided heavily with the startled forger and rammed his fist into his face. Both men tumbled to the ground and Rham Jas had the wind knocked out of him, unable to get a good hold on his companion.

  ‘Fuck you, Rham Jas,’ barked Glenwood, through a bloodied mouth.

  The forger rolled over and kicked the assassin squarely in the chest, sending him backwards across the grass. Then he jumped on top of Rham Jas and tried to return the punch. He was clumsy and uncoordinated compared with the Kirin and his arm was easily deflected. The assassin then grabbed him by the throat and turned him over roughly, pinning him to the ground until all Glenwood could do was grab at the restraining arm in an attempt to free himself.

  Rham Jas’s anger disippated quickly. He realized it wasn’t his companion he was angry with. He’d probably not admit it, but the Kirin was angry with himself – for getting Zeldantor killed, for getting Keisha sold into slavery, for leaving Bromvy in Ro Canarn, for just about everything he had ever done. He had given little to the world beyond death and sarcasm, and for once in his life he felt worthless.

  He released Glenwood and stood up. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Kale,’ he said quietly, ‘but please don’t talk about Keisha.’

  The forger clutched at his neck and rubbed the red marks left by the assassin. He didn’t stand up but shuffled backwards, apparently in fear of his deceptively strong companion.

  ‘I don’t hate you any more, Rham Jas,’ said Glenwood, taking the assassin by surprise. ‘You dragged me out of Tiris, you forced me to help you kill a bunch of enchantresses, you made me a wanted criminal... but you did it for Keisha and I can understand that.’

  Rham Jas looked at the ground and felt like more of an arsehole than usual. After a moment of self-pity, he offered his hand to his companion and hefted him back to his feet.

  ‘I’ll help you, Rham Jas,’ said Glenwood, ‘but not just because you’re unkillable and a dark-blood or whatever... but because I think you might actually need the help.’ He smiled. ‘If you ask me to help, I’ll help.’

  ‘If I ask you?’ said Rham Jas, taken aback at the forger’s words.

  ‘Admit you need the help... admit that you can’t do this alone.’ Glenwood was still smiling, but the assassin knew he was deadly serious.

  ‘You want me to...’ stuttered out Rham Jas.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ replied the man of Leith, with a nod. ‘You’re stronger than me, you’re faster than me.’ The smile disappeared and Glenwood narrowed his eyes. ‘And yes, you’re much tougher than me.’ He stepped closer and Rham Jas realized that the forger was no longer afraid of him. ‘But you’re not cleverer than me,’ he concluded.

  Rham Jas thought about punching his companion again. He thought of a variety of clever things to say. He even considered ignoring him, but he confined himself to saying, ‘Fuck you, Kale.’

  * * *

  Saara the Mistress of Pain stood at the top of the lighthouse of Weir, looking out to sea. The dead wind claw lying in a pool of his own blood at her feet had done little to alleviate the pain in her head, and she was beginning to think she would have to consume the life force of many more men before the week was done. She had killed lovers, servants, guards and wind claws – each lending her their essence to strengthen the faithful of Shub-Nillurath.

  Saara was becoming impatient. Instead of waiting in the duke’s residence for additional forces to arrive from Karesia, she had been standing at the top of the lighthouse for several hours. Her fingers were drumming on her leg and her feet shifted anxiously.

  ‘Where are you, sister?’ she said to the wind, addressing Sasha the Illusionist. Saara’s sister was accompanying a few hundred thousand additional hounds, with the captive daughter of Rham Jas Rami.

  A snarl escaped her lips as she thought of the dark-blood’s escape from Ro Leith. She knew Isabel had not been to blame and that the Kirin assassin had had help. By all accounts, a risen man and Dalian Thief Taker had broken him out in a brash assault on the dungeon. The uncomfortable conclusion was that Saara’s enemies were not as helpless as she had hoped.

  Dalian was still alive and had somehow made it to the lands of Ro. The forest-dwellers were acting with an urgency that was deeply out of character. The only consolation was that her scheme for conquering the Freelands of Ranen was progressing smoothly.

  ‘I will not fail you, master,’ she said to the Forest Giant of pleasure and blood, who she would serve with her last breath and with every ounce of her being.

  We hope you enjoyed this book.

  Click one of the links below for more information:

  Bestiary

  Character Listing

  Acknowledgements

  A. J. Smith

  About this Series

  An invitation from the publisher

  BESTIARY

  COMPANION WRITINGS ON BEASTS BOTH FABULOUS & FEARSOME

  THE TROLLS OF FJORLAN, THE ICE MEN OF ROWANOCO

  History does not record a time when the Ice Men did not prowl the wastes of Fjorlan. A constant hazard to common folk and warrior alike, the trolls are relentless eating machines; never replete, they c
onsume rocks, trees, flesh and bone. A saying amongst the Order of the Hammer suggests that the only things they don’t eat are snow and ice, and that this is out of reverence for their father, the Ice Giant himself.

  Stories from my youth speak of great ballistae, mounted on carts, used to fire thick wooden arrows in defence of settlements. The trolls were confused by bells attached to the arrows and would often wander off rather than attack. Worryingly, there are few records of men killing the Ice Men, and those that do exist speak of wily battle-brothers stampeding them off high cliffs.

  In quiet moments, with only a man of the Hammer for company, I wonder if the Ice Men have more of a claim on this land than us.

  From ‘Memories from a Hall’ by Alguin Teardrop Larsson,

  first thain of Fredericksand

  THE GORLAN SPIDERS

  Of the beasts that crawl, swim and fly, none are as varied and unpredictable as the great spiders of Nar Gorlan. The northern men of Tor Funweir speak of hunting spiders, the size of large dogs, which carry virulent poisons and view men as just another kind of prey. Even the icy wastes of Fjorlan have trapdoor Gorlan, called ice spiders, which assail travellers and drain the body fluids from them.

  However, none of these northerners know of the true eight-legged terror that exists in the world. These are great spiders, known in Karesia as Gorlan Mothers, which can – and indeed do – speak. Not actually evil, they nonetheless possess a keen intelligence and a loathing for all things with two legs.

  Beyond the Gloom Gates is a land of web and poison, a land of fang and silence and a land where man should not venture.

  From ‘Far Karesia: A Land of Terror’ by Marazon Vekerian,

  lesser vizier of Rikara

  ITHQAS AND AQAS, THE BLIND AND MINDLESS KRAKENS OF THE FJORLAN SEA

  It troubles me to write of the Kraken straits, for we have not had an attack for some years now and to do so would be like tempting fate. But I am the lore-master of Kalall’s Deep and it must fall to me.

  There are remnants of the Giant age abroad in our world and, to the eyes of this old man, they should be left alone. Not only for the sake of safety, but to remind us all that old stories are more terrifying when drawn into reality.

  But I digress. The Giants of the ocean were formless, if legend is to be believed, and travelled with the endless and chaotic waters wherever tide and wind took them.

  As a cough in Deep Time, they rose up against the Ice Giants and were vanquished. The greatest of the number – near-gods themselves – had the honour of being felled by the great ice hammer of the Earth Shaker and were sent down to gnaw on rocks and fish at the bottom of the endless seas. The Blind Idiot Gods they were called when men still thought to name such things. But as ages passed and men forgot, they simply became the Krakens, very real and more than enough when seen to drive the bravest man to his knees in terror.

  From ‘The Chronicles of the Seas’, vol. IV, by Father Wessel

  Ice Fang, lore-master of Kalall’s Deep

  THE DARK YOUNG

  And it shall be as a priest when awake and it shall be as an altar when torpid, and it shall consume and terrify, and it shall follow none save its father, the Black God of the Forest with a Thousand Young. The priest and the altar. The priest and the altar.

  From ‘Ar Kral Desh Jek’ (author unknown)

  THE DOKKALFAR

  The forest-dwellers of the lands of men are many things. To the Ro, arrogant in their superiority, they are risen men – painted as undead monsters and hunted by crusaders of the Black church. To the Ranen, fascinated by youthful tales of monsters, they are otherworldly and terrifying, a remnant of the Giant age. To the Karesians, proud and inflexible, they are an enemy to be vanquished – warriors with stealth and blade.

  But to the Kirin, to those of us who live alongside them, they are beautiful and ancient, deserving of respect and loyalty.

  The song of the Dokkalfar travels a great distance in the wild forests of Oslan and more than one Kirin youth has spent hours sitting against a tree merely listening to the mournful songs of their neighbours.

  They were here before us and will remain long after we have destroyed ourselves.

  From ‘Sights and Sounds of Oslan’ by Vham Dusani, Kirin scholar

  THE GREAT RACE OF ANCIENT JEKKA

  To the east, beyond the plains of Leith, is the ruined land. Men have come to call it the Wastes of Jekka or the Cannibal Lands, for those tribes that dwell there are fond of human flesh.

  However, those of us who study such things have discovered disturbing knowledge that paints these beings as more than simple beasts.

  In the chronicles of Deep Time – in whatever form they yet exist – this cleric has discovered several references to the Great Race, references that do not speak of cannibalism but of chaos and empires to rival man, built on the bones of vanquished enemies and maintained through sacrifice and bizarre sexual rituals. They were proud, arrogant and utterly amoral, believing completely in their most immediate whims and nothing more.

  Whatever the Great Race of Jekka might once have been, they are now a shadow and a myth, bearing no resemblance to the fanged hunters infrequently encountered by man.

  From ‘A Treatise on the Unknown’ by Yacob of Leith,

  Blue cleric of the One God

  THE JEKKAN SERVITORS

  The war did not last long. The Great Race of Jekka had no desire for the forests. At length we fought them back to their mountains and threw down their altars.

  But their pets had to be defeated. As the masters fled, their servitors covered their retreat. They were terrible, amorphous things of no fixed form, shaping their flesh as their masters ordered.

  Fire did not burn them, arrows did not pierce them, blades did not cut them. Only the touch of cold caused them to flee. The mightiest Tyr wielded swords of deep ice and the wisest Vithar conjured snow and freezing winds.

  The servitors were defeated, though it cost many lives. In the long ages that followed, whispers remained of the terrifying beasts, that they skulked in Jekkan ruins or guarded long-forgotten lore, but they were never again seen by Dokkalfar.

  From ‘The Edda’ Author Unknown but Attributed to the

  Sky Riders of the Drow Deeps

  CHARACTER LISTING

  THE PEOPLE OF RO

  The house of Canarn – descended from Lord Bullvy of Canarn

  Hector of Canarn – duke of Ro Canarn – deceased

  Bromvy (Brom) Black Guard of Canarn – disgraced lord of Ro Canarn, soldier of the Long War, son of Duke Hector

  Bronwyn of Canarn – daughter of Duke Hector, twin sister to Bromvy

  Haake of Canarn – Duke Hector’s household guard

  The house of Tiris – descended from High King Dashell Tiris

  Sebastian Tiris – scion of the house of Tiris and king of Tor Funweir

  Lady Alexandra – wife of King Sebastian

  Alexander Tiris – the Red Prince, duke of Ro Haran, the king’s brother

  Archibald Tiris – regent of Ro Tiris, cousin to King Sebastian

  Bartholomew Tiris – the king’s father – deceased

  Christophe Tiris – son to King Sebastian, prince of Tor Funweir – deceased

  Clerics of the One God

  Mobius of the Falls of Arnon – cardinal of the Purple

  Brother Rashbone of Chase – Purple cleric, adjutant to Cardinal Mobius

  Severen of Voy – cardinal of the Purple

  Brother Jakan of Tiris – Purple cleric of the sword, protector to King Sebastian Tiris

  Brother Cleon Montague – Purple cleric, bodyguard to King Sebastian Tiris

  Brother Torian of Arnon – Purple cleric of the quest – deceased

  Animustus of Voy – Gold cleric

  Brother Lanry – Brown cleric, confessor to Duke Hector

  Brother Elihas of Du Ban – Black cleric, working with the Seven Sisters

  Brother Utha the Ghost – Black cleric and last old-blood of the Shadow G
iants

  Brother Roderick of the Falls of Arnon – Black cleric

  Brother Hobson of Voy – White cleric

  Knights and nobles

  Mortimer Rillion – knight commander of the Red army – deceased

  Nathan of Du Ban – knight captain of the Red, adjutant to Knight Commander Rillion – deceased

  Wesson of Haran – knight marshal of Cozz

  Rashabald of Haran – executioner and knight of the Red – deceased

  William of Verellian – former knight captain of the Red

  Fallon of Leith – knight captain of the Red and the army’s finest swordsman

  Taufel of Arnon – knight captain of the Red, adjutant to Knight Commander Tristram

  Theron of Haran – knight lieutenant of the Red, adjutant to Knight Lieutenant Fallon

  Tristram of Hunter’s Cross – knight commander of the Red

  Ohms of the Bridge – knight sergeant of the Red

  Vladimir Corkoson – the Lord of Mud, commander of the Darkwald yeomanry

  Dimitri Savostin – major of the Darkwald yeomanry

  Hallam Pevain – mercenary knight

  Castus of Weir – bound man and gaoler – deceased

  Leon Great Claw – a knight, first master to Randall of Darkwald – deceased

  Lyam of Weir – duke of Ro Weir

  Common folk

  Auker of Canarn – guardsman of Ro Canarn

  Bracha – old knight sergeant

  Broot of Weir – a mercenary of Hallam Pevain

  Callis – sergeant in the Red army

  Clement of Chase – watch sergeant of Ro Tiris

  Elyot of the Tor – watchman of Ro Tiris

  Fulton of Canarn – tavern keeper

  Kale Glenwood (formerly Glen Ward) – forger, resident in Ro Tiris, companion to Rham Jas Rami