The Winds of Strife (The War of the Veil Book 1)

by John Donlan

  Shuvani's smile slipped slightly. The change in her sister had been sudden and swift. Perhaps she knew more than she was admitting to. Shuvani already regretted talking about her plans. It had been a moment of self-gratification, revealing such information. A foolish slip that she would not repeat. It would do Muvesh no good, though. The empress must already suspect what Shuvani had planned, but without proof, there was nothing she could do. And Muvesh running to tell what she had learned would also do no good without evidence to back it up.

  Even so, Shuvani knew she had to be careful. She had used outside agents to enact many of her deeds, and that meant that there was at least a chance of discovery. Slim, but possible nonetheless.

  Shuvani waved her hand. “Let us put this distressing turn of events behind us, sister,” she said. “Perhaps a visit to Vanesca would ease your spirits? We could visit the house of the tainted fruit. Do you remember when we were little more than girls, Muvesh? How we would steal into the city and watch the exotic dancers there, revelling in the taboo nature of our acts, risking a whipping for those small pleasures? It would be pleasant to relive such memories and remember how things were far simpler when we were younger.”

  “I would like that,” Muvesh said. Her anger seemed to have dissipated as quickly as it had arrived, and she was calm and in control once more. Shuvani found it disquieting.

  “Then go and prepare and I will have the palanquin made ready. And smile, sister. Everything will be well. You will see.”

  * * *

  Vanesca was busier than usual, and the streets seemed filled to bursting. Shuvani, seated in her palanquin opposite her sister, frowned and peeled the curtain back to peer out into the street. She realised her error in coming here almost instantly.

  “It is festival,” she said, unable to avoid the hint of frustration that crept into her voice.

  “Festival?” Muvesh leaned forward and glanced through the window.

  Outside, the streets were jammed with throngs of revellers, almost all of whom were dressed in bright clothing. Others, finding themselves caught up in the moment went bare chested – men and women both - and danced in the streets; anywhere there was space for it, of course. Further along, Shuvani could see the parade approaching. A long line of people dressed in white-trimmed robes and wearing masks of gold and bronze that were painted in dazzling colours. The harsh tones of a dulcimer and the even more thudding beat of drums began to reach Shuvani's ears. She curled her lips in distaste.

  “I had thought this ancient tradition long dead,” Muvesh commented. She was smiling, her eyes lit up in excitement as she watched the line of the devoted grow closer. “But I am happy to see that not everything has changed since I left.”

  “Sisters of the scorpion,” Shuvani said dryly. “Worship of the Poisoned Mother is dead, or close to it. But tradition is harder to kill. Few people want to risk the possible ire of the Gods in denying the festival; and why even bother? To most, this is simply an opportunity to revel and to drink and to feast, and to rut in the alleys and brothels like animals after the sun goes down.”

  Muvesh laughed. “Why so glum, sister? They have the right idea. Come with me. Let us join them. I remember when I was nothing but a child and the first festival, when we danced in the streets with the rest of the city. You wanted to relive our youth, so let us be about it!”

  Shuvani would have declined, but Muvesh caught her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and pulled her out of the palanquin.

  Almost instantly, they were caught up in the throng of revellers that her soldiers had been unable to keep away, and whipped away from the palanquin by laughing men and women. Gyrating dancers pressed close to Shuvani, bare skin rubbing against her and wide-eyed, grinning faces leering with near demonic glee. She saw Muvesh laugh and whirl out of sight, lost in the sea of bodies. Shuvani pushed an almost naked woman away and tried to claw through the crowds towards her sister, but it was like trying to swim against the tide. She was pulled and yanked and drifted further away, until she no longer knew where she was.

  Shuvani found it hard to breathe with the sea of bodies crushing her between them, and when she could, her nostrils were filled with the stench of sweat. She began to panic, pushing against the swell of humanity in an effort to break free. Laughter greeted her efforts, and hands groped at her, forcing her this way and that, ignoring her increasingly desperate attempts to get away. Shuvani pushed harder, thrusting savagely with her arms.

  And then, suddenly, she was free. She burst from the revellers into an open space on the steps outside a large building next to the street. She gasped, almost doubled over, her hands shaking violently. She gulped down several deep lungfuls of air then straightened slowly. Weak! She told herself. You are weak, Shuvani. Did you think you would die here? Crushed beneath the boots of these insects? Stand straight, tall, proud! You are a Jagir, and the next empress of Tho'reen!

  The angry thoughts did the trick and she lifted her head high, imperious, in control of herself once again.

  A hand grabbed her shoulder spun her around.

  Shuvani was sufficiently recovered from her panic of a moment ago that she did not scream, but it still seemed to her as though her heart had lunged into her throat and taken up brief, painful residence there. She hissed out a gasp of fright and stumbled backwards before her gaze fell on the man that had touched her. He was one of the pious, a masked reveller from the parade. The golden mask seemed somehow sinister up close. It was painted red around the mouth, and the lips seemed to drip blood. It was etched and sculpted to look like it was made from the chitin of a scorpion. Two small holes allowed a pair of slit eyes to peer out at her.

  “It is you!” the man said. His voice was low and sibilant, but filled with more than a hint of exuberant awe. To Shuvani's racing mind, that voice seemed almost inhuman. “The chosen!”

  “How dare you touch me!” Shuvani said, gathering herself once more. “I am the Jagir! I will have you flogged for this!”

  The man was silent for a moment, before issuing a hissing laugh. “Yes, but you are also she who will pave the way. The one who will open the door. You serve knowingly, yet unknowing of your true purpose.”

  Shuvani did not know what he was talking about, but his words still gripped her heart and made her whole body shiver. “What madness do you babble? I serve nobody but myself.”

  “Ah, but that is not true. You serve the divine, do you not? Has it not been foretold that you will rise to the ivory throne and sit upon that sculpted seat? Do you not obey the will of the Goddess?”

  Shuvani swallowed. How could he know that? How could he know the future that had been promised her in the temple of the Poisoned Mother? Had the hag of a priestess told him? Had she spoken when she should have remained silent?

  “Your words are dangerous,” Shuvani said, her voice low and threatening. “You should learn the virtues of keeping your counsel close to your chest.”

  “Every choice we make is dangerous, and yours more than any other. Everything you do weakens the veil, stretches it like old cloth. Soon it will tear and the great divine will break through. Heed my words, Jagir Shuvani Maraat, and heed them well. Your actions will soon make the world tremble, but when the dust clears, she will walk amongst men once more, and her hunger shall consume them all!”

  “She? You speak of the Poisoned Mother?”

  The man laughed and the sound of his voice made Shuvani's anger rise swiftly to the surface. She grabbed his robes in both hands and leaned close, her lips curled up into a sneer. “You dare to mock me...”

  The man vanished; his body fragmented, dissolved, and became smoke on the wind. She watched in shock and awe as a wisp of blackness drifted lazily upwards only to vanish almost instantly, leaving her clutching empty robes. So suddenly had he disappeared that she was left to wonder if it had really happened and if perhaps her panic had left her momentarily in the grip of madness.

  But the robes she was clutching were real, and she could still hear
the sound of his laughter ringing in her ears.

  “Sister! There you are! I worried that I had lost you amongst this stinking rabble.”

  Muvesh appeared from the crowd, flanked on both sides by two of Shuvani's own guards. Her face was flushed with merriment and her cheeks glowed.

  Shuvani looked at her, then at the robes. She dropped them with a shudder.

  Muvesh peered at the bundle of cloth for a moment curiously, then chuckled. “What is this? Have you already given in to the pleasures of the day? Where is the poor soul who had the dubious joy of your company?”

  Shuvani snarled and kicked at the robes. “I have had no pleasure; nothing but the stench of the masses in my nostrils and the endless drone of their babble in my ears. I have changed my mind. We are leaving.”

  “As you wish, sister,” Muvesh said, smiling sweetly. “As you wish.”

  Twenty-Two

  Darius could both see and smell the black smoke long before he came in sight of the burned farmhouse. It curled up into the air, thick and dark; a sinuous snake that licked at the air. As he heeled his horse forward he watched it darken the sky with its filth.

  They crested a ridge and then came to a stop, staring down on the farm from the saddles of the horses. Torelle shifted nervously in her seat, but Needra simply stared wordlessly. Darius had no idea what the girl might be thinking, but he had a sense that she was terrified. And why would she be anything else? She knew as well as he did that this was no coincidence. The farm had been burned by people who were looking for her. She was witness to the slaughter and someone was desperate to silence her. He was only glad that he had found her first.

  Without a word, Darius heeled the horse forward and descended the slope at a trot. The half a dozen guards that had come with him followed after, silent and watchful, and after a moment, Torelle and Needra joined him.

  The bodies of the farmer’s wife and son lay exactly where they had died. The son – the one who had discovered Needra in the barn – was burnt to a crisp in the bedroom. His body was curled up on the blackened floor as if he had been too scared to move. His mother – the wife of the farmer – was in the main room. Like her son, her body was little more than a black shell. Darius was sickened and repulsed by the sight, and he felt his anger towards those who had done this growing stronger by the second.

  The building had been gutted and the thatch roof had ignited and burned quickly, exposing the interior to the elements. The stone walls had managed to withstand the fire, but they, like everything else, were black. Soot covered the floor, and a stretch of ground beyond the farmhouse. Of the farmer himself, there was no sign.

  Darius tied his horse to the fence that surrounded one of the fields and turned to the guard that had told him of the discovery.

  “You searched the grounds and the fields, yes? Did you find any sign of the farmer? Is it possible he yet lives? If he was not inside when the place burned, then he might have...”

  “We found him, my lord,” the guardsman said, then licked his lips nervously. He cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the field. But... he was not burned… he… perhaps it is best if you see it for yourself.”

  Darius frowned, beckoned to Torelle and Needra to remain where they were, then followed the guard into the field. The ground was still wet from the rain of the night before and mud squelched under his boots. Up ahead, he could see a small lump in the grass. Flies hovered above it, attracted by the smell that Darius noted long before drawing close enough to see any details. He knew what it was: the body of the farmer. But there was something odd about it, about the way it was lying.

  As he drew close and saw what had been done to the remains, he gagged and turned away. The quick look had been enough to make his breakfast churn in his stomach.

  “By Naedorn, what manner of man would do a thing like this?”

  The body had been dismembered. Each limb had been hacked free of the stump and then piled on top of the torso, like a small pyramid. The head had been last, and had been placed atop the arms, face turned up and twisted into a grimace of horror. Blood and gore littered the ground all around the grisly remains, turning the wet mud a dark shade of crimson. The brief glimpse had been enough to show him the glistening, ropey entrails that had been lain out in a crude circle around the heaped body parts.

  “I do not know, my lord,” the guard said. He was not looking at the body. He had seen it already, when it had first been discovered, and it was obvious to Darius that the man was not eager for another look.

  Darius forced himself to look again, however. The arms, legs and head had not just been hacked away, they had been removed with great force, and what appeared to be obvious glee. He could see evidence that the perpetrator had cut at the flesh longer than was needed, and had started with the arms and legs. In all likelihood, the farmer had still been alive when his head was finally removed. The beast that had done this had enjoyed his work immensely.

  Darius looked away in disgust and studied the ground for prints. He smiled grimly when he saw several distinct sets of boot prints leading away towards the swamp. He was suddenly glad that it had rained the night before.

  “Bring the rest of the men,” Darius said. “We are going to hunt down those responsible, and perhaps get some answers at last.”

  Torelle and Needra were both waiting near to the still smouldering farmhouse, huddled together like pale-faced conspirators. Darius knew that the grim expression on his face would not help their state of mind. He was only glad that they had not gone with him to see the remains of the farmer.

  “Was it bad?” Torelle asked quietly. “As bad as the swamp?”

  “Worse,” Darius told her. “I have never seen such wanton butchery before. But there is hope. Tracks, leading away from the field and towards the swamp. Whoever did this could not have gotten far. We will find them and we will cut them down, and then we will know who is responsible at last.”

  Needra suddenly grabbed his cloak and tightened her fingers around it in a fist. She shook her head vehemently.

  “I have to go,” Darius told her softly. He saw the look of fear in her eyes, but it was not directed at herself, it was for him alone. “My father is relying on me. And until these people have been dealt with, nobody is safe, least of all you.”

  “She is right to be afraid for you, Darius,” Torelle said, coming to Needra's aid. “These people killed an entire Tho'reen delegation, guards and all, and not one of them died, so far as we know. Do you think you and six men will be able to finish this?”

  “We have to try. Believe me, I would rather be anywhere else, but... I am responsible while father is away. I would not be doing my duty if I ran and hid in Marsh End like a coward.”

  “I am not suggesting you run and hide,” Torelle said. “Bring more men! An army! Whatever it takes to ensure you are safe! Do not rush headlong into the swamp. It is foolish!”

  “There is no time,” Darius said softly. He peeled Needra's hand carefully from his cloak. “The tracks will have faded by the time I return and the people who did this will have escaped. I have to take the opportunity now.” He paused and ran his hand through his thick hair. A large part of him knew that Torelle and Needra were right. He could not hope to deal with this threat with just a handful of men, but he could see few other options. Letting the beasts escape now would risk fresh atrocities taking place in the future.

  “Go back to the castle. Bring more men. Tell them where we are and what we are doing.”

  “I want to go with you...” Torelle began, but Darius shook his head sternly.

  “Not this time. You would only be putting yourself in danger, and I would be far too concerned with your safety to do what is necessary. I need you to bring help. Take Needra and go.”

  Torelle hesitated and for a moment, Darius was sure that she was going to argue some more, but at last she nodded and hoisted herself up onto the back of the horse. A few seconds later, Needra did the same.

  Darius stood and watched
as they rode back in the direction of Marsh End and the castle. It was a relief to know that they were going to be out of harm's way, but it did not help his own fear about what he was about to face. Those who had committed the atrocity here and in the swamp knew their business, and their business was death.

  He nodded to his men who had gathered near to the edge of the field. “Come. Let us get this done.”

  * * *

  The skies had been clear and bright when the day began, but as Darius led his small force of men into the swamps, swords drawn, clouds began to gather overhead. By the time they had plunged into the stinking morass, rain was falling in a strong, steady drizzle. In the distance, thunder rumbled, a fitting accompaniment to the grim task at hand. The weather seemed to have changed to meet Darius’ temperament.

  The flies were in full attendance in the marsh. After the rain and the bright morning, the conditions were ideal, and Darius was soon swarmed by the biting pests. As droplets of rain plastered his hair to his head, the insects fed.

  The tracks were not difficult to follow, even amongst the pools of water. The butchers seemed unconcerned that they would be followed and found. Darius wondered at that; the attackers had been so concerned about discovery that they had slaughtered the farmer and his family and burned the farm, and yet here they had left a clear and present trail, as though being found was the last thing on their minds.

  Somewhere in the distance lightning cracked and another peal of thunder rumbled across the darkening skies. One of the guards cursed loudly as his foot sank up to the knees in a pool of brackish black water. He flushed in embarrassment and pulled his leg free before ploughing onwards. Darius glanced at him briefly. All of his men looked worried and nervous, which was normal under such circumstances. He just hoped it would not hinder them in doing what would need to be done.