Revenant Winds (The Tainted Cabal Book 1)

by Mitchell Hogan

  He found himself transported back to when he was ten, and his father had been injured by a Dead-eye while looking for a lost goat. He’d suffered a gashed arm, almost to the bone. Aldric had been drawn to it, heedless of the blood, and the god’s power had coursed through him. Muscle and skin had knitted in front of his eyes before a heavy weariness overcame him, and he’d fallen unconscious. But not before he’d seen the look of wonder and pride on his parents’ faces. He was one of the chosen.

  When he’d recovered, his mother and father had taken him to the closest church of Menselas, or the Five as they knew it. The priests had taken him in, and he didn’t see his family again for three years.

  Aldric opened his eyes and looked down at the young girl lying on the cot. The red pustules that had erupted on her arm—the result of a brush with a poisonous caterpillar—were already fading. Weariness came over Aldric, and he sat back in his chair, dropping the girl’s hand.

  “Thank you, thank you,” whispered the girl’s mother between sobs.

  Aldric smiled at her. “Thank Menselas, or one of his five holy aspects.”

  The girl wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t been healed, though her arm would have atrophied and become mostly useless. And there were other priests that bore the god’s mark and could have healed her if he hadn’t been there. But … he’d needed to do it. Healing was the thing that kept him sane. Aldric was one of only a few sorcerers among the Church’s priests, and the only one gifted with his holy power. Menselas had a purpose for him, he was sure. He just hadn’t revealed it yet.

  Aldric tugged the blanket up to the girl’s chin, rubbed his eyes, and stood. “She should wake in a few hours. Make sure she drinks some bowls of broth. The priests will provide it.”

  The girl’s mother wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “May the Five bless you, good priest.” She fumbled with her belt pouch and took out a gold royal. “Here, we don’t have—”

  Aldric held up his hands and backed away. “I don’t need payment,” he said, a little too harshly. Then, softer, “If you feel the need to donate, see one of the other priests.”

  He left without another word. He’d already spent too long here ministering to the injured and sick who came seeking help, and he was tired. His meeting with Neb and the mercenary was soon, and he needed a quick rest and some nourishment.

  A short time later, he was wolfing down a bowl of thick beef stew along with dark bread in the church’s kitchen. He widened his eyes periodically, trying to wake himself up. A cold front had swept down from the north overnight, chilling the air to almost freezing, and the hot food was welcome, especially as his reception in the kitchen was as cold as the wind. Despite the five-pointed star embroidered on his shirt that identified him as a priest of the Five, none of the other priests sat near him. As it had been everywhere else he had worked, so it was here. Perhaps he would gain acceptance once he settled down and focused on healing, though every year that goal seemed farther and farther away.

  ~ ~ ~

  Neb was standing at the top of the steps when Aldric arrived, the Church of Menselas stretching into the sky behind him. And so were Archbishop Hannus and a man with shoulder-length black hair—presumably the mercenary. The stranger was tall with wide shoulders and carried himself with an easy grace. His arms were long and corded with muscle, and his skin was dusky, which put him as probably of Inkan-Andil descent. If so, he was a long way from his home on the far western shores. He wore leather armor, but it was of exceptional quality—supple and worked with flat metal rings inscribed with flowing script. A sword was strapped to his back, and in one hand he held a thick metal cane etched with swirling lines. A shorter-bladed sword swung from his hip.

  As Aldric approached, the mercenary’s green eyes bored into his, confirming his Inkan-Andil blood. Under their penetrating gaze, Aldric had the feeling he was being assessed. The man had an unyielding manner, as if nothing mattered beyond what he desired.

  “Ah, Aldric,” Hannus said, “this is the man who’ll be joining you. Niklaus, this is Magister Aldric Kermoran.”

  Niklaus’s grip was limp, as if he couldn’t be bothered expending the energy to shake hands. “A warrior-priest?” he said. “Excellent! The settlers might need your skills, if what they’ve said is true.”

  “It is!” cut in Neb. “Else I wouldn’t be here. We trailed some of the Dead-eyes back to their camp, a few days from our settlement. It looked like a few tribes gathered together. And we guessed it’d only be a matter of time afore they came in numbers. We can’t face them alone. We aren’t fighters.”

  Aldric thought the settler looked less haggard than the day before. A good night’s rest and a hearty meal had done him some good. He saw Niklaus smirk at Neb’s words, and decided he didn’t like him.

  “I can heal,” he said, “if it’s required. But I can also wield a blade fairly well.”

  He mentally chastised himself for exaggerating. The mercenary had already gotten under his skin.

  Niklaus glanced at Aldric’s khopesh. “Can you now? I guess we’ll find out.”

  Aldric’s dislike intensified, but he decided it wasn’t worth making his feelings known. After all, they’d be in each other’s company for weeks.

  “You’re a long way from home,” he said instead.

  Niklaus frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Your skin. You have Inkan-Andil blood.”

  Niklaus gave him a blank look, and Aldric had a strange feeling the mercenary was confused.

  “From the western shores,” he added. “Over a thousand miles from here. Isn’t that where your family is from?”

  “I don’t remember,” Niklaus said. “It’s not important.”

  “Well,” said Hannus, “now the introductions are out of the way, Aldric can help himself to the Church’s equipment and—”

  “And we’ll kill some Dead-eyes,” finished Niklaus. “So these good people can live in peace.”

  Aldric wondered why Hannus thought he needed the dubious assistance of a mercenary he didn’t know. Or why this had to be a joint mission between two faiths. Come to think of it, by allowing Hannus to get under his skin yesterday, he’d neglected to ask which other faith they were cooperating with.

  “What god do you serve?” he asked Niklaus.

  “He’s in the service of the Lady Sylva Kalisia,” answered Hannus. “If people see the servants of different gods working together, they’ll understand how much we value peace and harmony. There’s been too much trouble lately between worshipers.”

  Sylva Kalisia … one of the degenerate goddesses.

  “Trouble?” Aldric prompted, not voicing a dozen other questions, and complaints, that sprang to mind.

  “Fights,” Niklaus said. “Beatings and murders. This close to the wild, people get on edge, and tensions boil over. Usually over stupid things. Idiots.”

  Hannus bridled at Niklaus’s words. “Defending one’s faith isn’t stupid.”

  “It can be.”

  “We’d better get going,” Aldric said, attempting to head off an argument. And he did want to get started. There was a lot to do. “Archbishop Hannus, when can we meet the warriors you’ve put together?”

  Hannus was still glaring at Niklaus, who held his gaze, then stifled a yawn. The archbishop’s mouth twisted in distaste as he looked away.

  “They’re close by,” he told Aldric. “In a building owned by the Church on Locust Street. The door is marked with Menselas’s holy symbol. The place is distinctive enough. In fact, it used to be a haggle yard in years gone by.”

  Most of the haggle yards—trading places for horses and livestock—had been relocated when the city’s population grew and residents began complaining about the stench of the beasts.

  “I’d have preferred to put my own team together,” Niklaus said. “I don’t like strangers watching my back.”

  The mercenary’s words echoed Aldric’s thoughts, and he couldn’t help but nod, which drew a disapproving g
lare from Hannus.

  “We went through an intermediary,” the archbishop said. “Someone both our Churches trust. They vetted the warriors, and we’re satisfied they’ll get the job done. They’ve already been paid to wait for you as well as for the mission.”

  Niklaus sniffed. “So long as they’re proficient at killing Dead-eyes. I’m not babysitting anyone.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be sufficient,” Aldric said. He felt the need to be gone from Caronath, not to mention Hannus’s influence and barely concealed condemnation. Despite that, he added, “It’s getting too late to leave today, plus we have to organize gear and mounts. That will take the rest of today and tomorrow. Perhaps we should join the men for the night. It will help if we know each other a little better before we set off.”

  Niklaus nodded and turned to Neb. “Come, farmer, we’ll find a room for you too. And with any luck, we’ll be on the trail as soon as we can.”

  “Have to get my stuff,” Neb said.

  “As do I,” Aldric said. “I’m staying at the Cask and Squirrel.”

  Niklaus raised an eyebrow. “Not at the church?”

  Aldric glanced at Hannus, then shook his head. “I’ve become accustomed to fending for myself.”

  “I’ll join you there,” said Niklaus. “I know where it is. It’s best if both our Churches’ representatives greet these mercenaries at the same time. Neb, meet us at the inn as soon as you can.”

  As Neb descended the steps to the square below, Hannus took Aldric’s elbow and drew him aside.

  “About your relic,” Hannus began, but left the question hanging.

  Aldric had no intention of handing his relic over to the archbishop. “I’ll consider your request,” he said. “There’s no time now in any case.”

  “When you return, then.”

  Aldric made his way down the steps to the square, with Niklaus trailing him. All the way, his back itched between his shoulder blades.

  ~ ~ ~

  Locust Street turned out to be a main thoroughfare close to a seething market square. The three men slowed their pace as they weaved through the throng; it didn’t help that they were leading horses. A few people stared at Aldric because of his dark gray skin, but quickly looked away and returned to their business. Caronath was used to oddities.

  “There,” Niklaus said. The mercenary smelled of spirits, and his eyes were red. He looked like he’d been up all night drinking.

  Close by, a squad of Caronath’s city guard stood at an intersection, surveilling the crowd. Their surcoats were emblazoned with the city’s emblem of a black swan on a green background, and underneath they wore armor of metal scales over leather.

  Aldric looked away from a stall selling strange fruits he’d never seen before, and followed Niklaus’s gesture to a dilapidated building to their left. The five-pointed star of Menselas stood out like a sore thumb with its gold lines and symbols, as shiny as if it had been painted yesterday.

  On one side of the building was an open space separated from the street by railings. The original haggle yard, Aldric presumed. From the look of things, the disused yard had become a place for those looking for work. There was a board built from scrap timber with numerous papers tacked to it, no doubt notices of employment opportunities. The yard’s corrals were covered with canvas awnings that offered protection from the sun and rain. The men and women waiting there looked unskilled and mostly destitute, presumably willing to take any work that would pay enough to stave off hunger for a day. Aldric hoped the warriors who’d be accompanying them hadn’t been chosen from the sorry lot hanging around the yard.

  The haggard men and women stared at Aldric, Niklaus and Neb as they approached, until their attention was drawn away to a group of traders who were putting together a caravan and looking for muscle. “Nagaraf,” one of the traders shouted. It was a city a few weeks to the west of Caronath, along a road that was troublesome and dangerous. A merchant caravan would likely make a good return, though, if they made it through without too many assaults from Dead-eyes and the like.

  A few big men, scared and wary-eyed, pushed to the front of the crowd gathering around the traders. Words were exchanged, and several of them shouldered packs and stood in a group to the side. The chosen ones. They’d be kept busy and fed for a few weeks. The traders turned away from those still clamoring to be picked, ignoring their pleas and imploring hands.

  Aldric leaned against the wooden fence rail and scanned the groups of men and women who hadn’t bothered to approach the traders, knowing they wouldn’t be chosen. Some talked softly among themselves, but most remained silent. He figured they knew each other from their time waiting here, and their conversation was sparse, as anything they had to say had likely been said many times before.

  Neb nudged him in the side. “Maybe we should get some extra men? Can’t be too careful, can you? Though these lot look—”

  “Useless?” cut in Niklaus. He sniffed and tapped his metal cane against the rail.

  Aldric saw the swirling lines were a depiction of vines with thorns and intricate flowers blooming from the occasional bud. From his healer training, he recognized the plant as a kronnir vine, rare and valuable. The stamens from its flowers were used as an aphrodisiac and a stimulant, although it was highly addictive.

  “Thieves, thugs and cutthroats, that’s all we’ll find here,” continued Niklaus. “The honest ones will be looking elsewhere. And I doubt any of them has much skill with weapons. Bunch of pants-pissers. Maybe they’ll manage to do in a few Dead-eyes, but we need more than that from what Neb said.”

  Aldric grunted. Much as he disliked the idea, he had to admit Niklaus had a point. “Let’s see what we have to work with first.”

  Neb’s eyes were still on the yard. “Some of these men look handy. Wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them though.”

  “Trying to find decent fighters in a haggle yard is like trying to find a weevil in your porridge,” Niklaus said, and chuckled at his own wit.

  Neb ignored him and stepped up onto the lowest fence rail, stretching his neck and gawking at the men and women.

  Niklaus poked him in the side with the tip of his cane. “You look like you haven’t been here before, old man. Why not? Surely places like this were your first stop to find men to help defend your village, or whatever it is?”

  Neb stepped down and scratched an armpit. “We’re poor settlers. We barely have enough to get by. Even sending me here was a stretch.” He met Aldric’s eyes briefly and nodded, a thanks for the coins Aldric had given him.

  “How are you paying our Churches, then?” asked Niklaus.

  “They agreed to help for free. They care for everyone, even those not of the same faith.”

  “For free, eh? That’d be a first.”

  Aldric didn’t care for Niklaus’s tone. “Maybe for your Church, but not for mine. I’ve often helped people because they needed it, not because I’d be paid.”

  The mercenary chuckled. “Good people do good things, that’s a fact. But the Churches and the merchants and the nobles are all as bad as each other.”

  Aldric didn’t want to get into a debate with Niklaus, at least not when they had other more pressing concerns. He guessed there would be ample opportunity for discussion on the way to Neb’s settlement and while they were there. With the next full-dark more than a week away, the Dead-eyes shouldn’t be back in numbers before then, which meant there would be plenty of time to sound each other out. What a waste of my abilities, he thought. Maybe Hierophant Karianne wanted him out of the way. If so, he couldn’t blame her.

  Neb looked between Aldric and Niklaus. “Where are the swords? The archbishop said we’d get weapons. We don’t have much at the settlement.”

  “Probably not your only problem,” Niklaus said dryly. “But you won’t be getting any swords. Short spears, maybe clubs and daggers.”

  Aldric nodded. They had no idea how much time they’d have to train the settlers, so simple was best.

&nb
sp; “How about we take some extra men, like him?” Neb pointed to a huge man who’d just arrived in the yard. Like everyone else, his clothes were dusty and dirty and frayed, but he was well muscled and stood a head taller than most of the others. “He’ll kill plenty of Dead-eyes, for sure.”

  “No, he won’t,” Niklaus said. “He’ll steal what he can and maybe kill some of you if he’s caught in the act. Look at his yellowed eyes, the trembling in his hands, the sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s an addict, probably to cravv, the bad kind.”

  Cravv was a mixture of several pain-relieving herbs combined with the hallucinogenic sap of a cactus. Aldric knew of at least eleven different types, all as bad as each other as far as he was concerned. He reached for his god’s power, and the big man transformed before him. A sickly red aura surrounded him, and his veins pulsed brown, as if filled with river sludge.

  Aldric’s attention was caught by a shadow that flickered around Niklaus. He turned to see what it was, but it vanished. Strange.

  “He’s right,” Aldric told Neb as his vision returned to normal. “The man’s an addict. Best we see what our Churches have put together first.”

  Neb cursed, and Niklaus smirked, as if amused by the settler’s consternation. Aldric could feel a headache coming on and wished Archbishop Hannus had found a different mission for him.

  “Why didn’t the Church of the Five send some of their own soldiers?” Niklaus asked.

  “We don’t have a standing army,” Aldric replied. “A few guards, that’s all. We don’t need more than that. Everyone knows we’re here to help people, to heal them, and there’s rarely any trouble. Archbishop Hannus told me that soldiers were sent initially, but they couldn’t find any Dead-eyes and so returned. Which is why the settlers had to approach our Churches for help.”

  Niklaus spread his hands. “But one of Menselas’s five aspects is the Warrior. And your curved blade’s not for show, apparently, so I guess that’s where you come in.”

  Aldric replied through clenched teeth. “Yes. Sometimes.”

  He wondered why Hannus had paired him with this man from the Church of Sylva Kalisia rather than one of the more mainstream Churches. There was something disturbing about the people who followed this goddess, and this mercenary definitely rubbed his skin the wrong way.