Revenant Winds (The Tainted Cabal Book 1)

by Mitchell Hogan

  “More rope there, Alvar,” Stray Dog called. “We don’t want the Dead-eyes pulling it down, do we?”

  “No, sir!” enthused Alvar, a young man wearing a woven straw hat. He wrapped more of the hemp rope around the support, showing no sign his arm had been broken recently.

  “That’ll do,” Stray Dog said, and Alvar leaped down from the barricade and sauntered over. Niklaus could see his face and neck were sunburned, and he had the corded muscles of someone who spent a great deal of time doing manual labor.

  “When do I get to use a sword?” he asked.

  “Never,” Stray Dog replied. “Tomorrow you’ll drill with club and spear. That’s all we have time for.”

  “Alvar!” yelled an older man who’d helped pull on the rope. “Come over here.”

  “My father, Tokash,” said Alvar, and shrugged. “He doesn’t want me talking to any of you. After we kill the Dead-eyes, will you teach me how to swing a sword?”

  “How about axes?” said Stray Dog.

  Alvar looked disappointed. “I already know how to swing an axe.”

  Niklaus laughed. “Not like Stray Dog you don’t.”

  A shadow loomed between them, and Alvar twisted around as Tokash’s hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backward. The man scowled at both Alvar and Stray Dog, then cuffed Alvar upside the head.

  “You heard me! Get over here and keep working, or else the Dead-eyes will kill everyone because of you. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “No, Father, but I—”

  “Enough! You’re a disobedient boy.” Tokash smacked Alvar in the head again.

  Alvar cringed and stepped away, eyes tearing up, the side of his face a bright red from the smacks. The man raised his arm again, but Stray Dog clamped a massive hand around his forearm.

  “I think he’s learned his lesson,” Stray Dog said, “don’t you?”

  “Keep out of this,” Tokash snarled, “or I’ll—argh!”

  His face contorted in pain, and his knees bent as Stray Dog twisted his arm.

  “You won’t do anything,” Stray Dog said. “And if I see, or hear, you’ve hit Alvar again, you’ll answer to me.”

  He released his grip, and Tokash staggered away, one hand massaging his arm and elbow.

  “Alvar, go with your father and help the others out,” Stray Dog added. “We don’t have a lot of time. Get back to work. I want to see another two barricades up before sunset.”

  Alvar gave Stray Dog a mock salute before scampering off in the direction of a heaped pile of saplings. Tokash glared at Stray Dog, then scurried back to the settlers, who’d stopped working to watch the exchange.

  “You seem to have everything in hand,” Niklaus said dryly.

  How the settlers treated each other and this type of manual work didn’t interest him. He’d seen enough battlefields to be intimately acquainted with defensive works and the carnage they could cause if planned well.

  Stray Dog shrugged. “It’s easy enough. Once we told them what we wanted, they got stuck into it without complaint. They’re good people. Hardworking. Not afraid of sweat and a few blisters.”

  “Don’t get too friendly. They might be dead soon.”

  Dog glanced in the direction Alvar had taken. “Not if I can avoid it. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  Niklaus glanced toward another group of settlers, who were being led through a series of drills by Razmus. They were using poles with sharpened points, not all of them straight, and stabbing what looked to be a scarecrow.

  “Yes,” Niklaus said. “Thank you for organizing the barricades. Sometimes I’m not good with people.”

  “That’s because you’re an asshole.”

  “You see what I’ve seen, and it leaves a mark.” Deep in the wilderness, the Dead-eyes were the prey. And there were some areas the Dead-eyes feared more than any and refused to tread.

  Niklaus left Stray Dog and Razmus to the settlers.

  ~ ~ ~

  After an early dinner of bland, dried foodstuffs and watered-down beer, Niklaus got up to leave the meeting hall. By then the sun had gone down, and he avoided talking to the others as they came in to eat. He tried not to catch the eye of the settlers he passed—an old woman carrying firewood, and a young boy with a chicken dangling from one hand.

  Crickets chirped in the long grasses by the river, seeking mates. In the mud and reeds, frogs croaked, doing the same. Niklaus sat atop a boulder close to a rickety bridge crossing the river. The ground underneath his boots was sandy and covered with patchy thin grass. Willows grew around him, tall and black in the night, leaves rustling in the wind. Far above, stars twinkled, and the occasional bat flew past. Both moons were low tonight and mostly obscured by the walls of the valley, leaving Cherish in darkness.

  Almost full-dark, Niklaus thought. Soon the Dead-eyes will come. I wonder who will survive the onslaught. If some of their party or the settlers met a gruesome end, it wouldn’t bother him any. Their self-righteous chatter and good intentions wore thin after a while.

  Spotting a millipede hunting for food, he dragged the tip of his cane along the sandy soil, creating a thin, shallow trench. The millipede crossed the line and immediately began convulsing. Niklaus watched it writhe until it died. The worm of Ak-Settur’s venom was potent, and even just a trace was deadly.

  Niklaus looked back at the settlement. Smoke poured from chimneys, and light from windows. He caught the sound of laughter on the wind, a voice raised in anger, and, faintly, a gentle song. He was finally alone, away from the forced intimacy of strangers. He breathed deeply, savoring the chill air sweeping down from the frozen north.

  He should visit Margebian, the Witch of Winter, again, up in those frigid mountains. It had been some time since he’d seen her, and he knew she got lonely. When had he visited her last? He couldn’t recall, but remembered her delight when he’d brought her some tea, though even that memory was hazy. She’d probably finished it by now. Sometimes he wondered why she hid herself away from the world, and other times he knew all too well why.

  Leaning his head back, he rested it on the cold, hard pommel of the goddess’s sword. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could feel her presence in the steel. He turned his head from side to side slowly, rubbing his scalp on the pommel. His thoughts turned to the mask hidden with his gear: one piece of the Armor of Divinity. Along with his journals it was too valuable to leave behind in Caronath. If he could unearth more pieces and Eckart’s research bore fruit, then he could be with Sylva.

  To his right, footsteps approached along the beaten path. He sighed. Sometimes he almost envied Margebian her solitude.

  Priska, he decided, from the cadence of the steps and the stumbling hesitation when she was close enough to see his outline.

  “Ah … Niklaus?” she called tentatively.

  As if she didn’t know.

  “Yes, my dear. You shouldn’t be wandering in the dark on your own. Aren’t you worried there might be Dead-eyes about?”

  “I’m with you now. Besides, Sokhelle has taught me a few things. She’s extremely accomplished. My other teachers were … not like her.”

  Priska came closer, and Niklaus saw she’d brushed her hair so it hung artfully, framing her striking face. Her shirt was unbuttoned so low it would be unseemly in polite company. So that’s how it is. Overconfidence in her newfound sorcerous abilities had the young woman reveling in her power and eager to take risks.

  Though the girl’s skin was pale instead of dusky, the rest of her appearance was so close to his goddess’s, it was uncanny. Surely it was a coincidence? Or was he losing his mind, finally, after all these centuries? The holes of accumulated memory loss had reached a tipping point, and soon he’d be nothing more than a puppet of the goddess, a shell devoid of meaningful memories.

  The thought of being alone with Priska filled him with both dread and anticipation. His hands trembled. Suppressing a curse, he cast her from his mind. Whatever she was, she was no goddess. No one c
ould match the perfection of the Lady.

  “Does your father know you’re out here?” he said roughly.

  Priska shook her head, then brushed hair from her eyes. “He’s busy talking with Stray Dog. That man scares me. Aldric is boring, Bryn just wants to bed me, and Valeria is so nice to me I think she is either hiding or wants something. Sokhelle suggested I go over what I’ve learned, so I snuck outside.” She shivered melodramatically and wrapped her arms around herself. “Is there room on that rock for me? It’s cold tonight.”

  Despite his reservations, Niklaus couldn’t deny he was drawn to Priska. He shifted to his left. “There is indeed. The wind is from the north, and it’s brought the ice of the glaciers with it. It’s as cold as Margebian’s heart.”

  When Priska sat next to him, her hips and arm brushed against his, and he felt her warmth through their clothes. His pulse quickened, but his reluctance remained. He had patchy memories of real relationships he’d had; all of them ended badly when his lover grew old and he remained the same. Only the goddess was unchanging.

  “Do you think she’s real?” asked Priska.

  For a moment he thought she meant the Lady, but she couldn’t read his mind.

  “The Witch of Winter?” he said.

  She nodded. “I think she’s a myth. Made up to frighten children into obedience.”

  Niklaus shrugged, making sure to brush his shoulder against hers. “Perhaps. There are many wonders in this world. And horrors too. Only last year, a band of adventurers set out from Caronath to confirm Margebian’s presence among the glaciers. A month later a few survivors straggled back, frostbitten and haggard, wasted from starvation. They said they’d seen her, Margebian—a hoary woman with sky-blue eyes and wings of silvered snow.”

  Niklaus suppressed a laugh. Hoary. Margebian wouldn’t like to hear herself described so.

  Priska snorted. “Fools. They should have taken a sorcerer with them.”

  “They did. He was the first to be slaughtered. You see, she’s part demon, or so they say, and employs their peculiar brand of sorcery. She knows the secrets of both dawn-tide and dusk-tide sorcery too, after centuries of research and experimentation.”

  “With all that power, why does she hide away?”

  “Perhaps she’s sick of people. It happens.”

  Priska tilted her head and gave Niklaus a saucy smirk. “I think you’re teasing me. Trying to scare me like a child. But I’m not a child, and I don’t scare easily. The Gray Hand Covenant taught me things. Terrible secrets. I know sorcery Sokhelle doesn’t. If she did know …”

  Niklaus fixed Priska with a penetrating stare, but she was looking away, pretending to be interested in the running water. He knew she was alluding to summoning creatures from the abyss. Priska would be greatly surprised by his knowledge of such things—but nothing cemented a bond like a secret shared.

  “Tell me more,” he said. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

  Uttering a gentle laugh, Priska leaned forward, her long raven hair swaying. The movement caused her shirt to open slightly, revealing more skin and the curve of a breast.

  “Well, not all knowledge has been lost,” she began.

  “Priska!” yelled Razmus. “What are you doing out here? And with him!”

  She leaped to her feet and looked around guiltily.

  Niklaus watched as her father strode angrily toward them. I could do without this tonight, he thought. But these two have been on the precipice of an argument for days. Best they get it over with.

  “She’s her own woman,” he told Razmus. “She’s not your little girl any more.”

  Even in the darkness, Niklaus fancied he saw Razmus’s face go red. The man spluttered and stood there trembling, hands clenched into fists.

  “I don’t need your protection,” Priska said. “Father, please, just go back inside.”

  Her eyes flicked to Niklaus in embarrassment, then away again. He saw how her chest rose and fell as she drew deep breaths.

  “Priska, heed my counsel,” Razmus said. “Come back with me. It’s cold out here. You can work on your sorcery inside, where it’s warm.”

  Priska’s eyes flashed with anger. “I won’t hide any longer! Finally, after all these years, I don’t have to. Sokhelle will teach me, and I’ll leave my broken, stunted past behind.”

  Razmus cursed. “You’re still young, still learning. I understand you feel you’ve been cooped up for too long. But you need to be cautious. And this man—he isn’t right for you.”

  “I’ll decide who’s right for me!” shouted Priska. “I’ve spent years trailing after you. A burden. Agreeing with everything you say. Ashamed of what I’d become. Of my failures.”

  “We were together,” Razmus said. “Side by side.” His expression was poised between fury and sadness. “I want the best for you.”

  “And now I have it. You don’t need to look after me any more. You can live your own life.”

  “You are my life.”

  That seemed to give Priska pause. “No,” she said eventually. “You’re weak. And you needn’t be. I realize it now: I’ve held you back. Well, you can stop worrying.”

  Niklaus cleared his throat and stood. “Perhaps I should leave. This is a family matter.”

  “Yes, it is,” snarled Razmus.

  “No,” said Priska. She grabbed Niklaus’s hand. “We were just talking. Is there something wrong with that, Father?”

  Bloody hells. Niklaus racked his brain for a way to escape the drama. As he did, he noticed movement in the long grass. An animal? And something else … no, someone else, hiding …

  Razmus stamped closer, face and mouth twisted with anger. He pointed a trembling finger at Niklaus. “Keep your hands off her. She’s too good for the likes of you.”

  Too ordinary and predictable actually. But a pleasurable substitute for a short time.

  Niklaus disengaged himself from Priska’s grip and spread his hands. “I was out here alone. I didn’t seek her out.”

  “You’re tempting her, you whoreson! If I find out you’ve touched her, I’ll—”

  “What?” Niklaus said, a coldness to his words. “You’ll what?”

  Razmus kept silent, glaring.

  “Pants-pisser,” Niklaus said.

  “Father! You have to stop!”

  The shadow in the grass surged toward them, followed by two more. They resolved into thin, pale shapes. Priska screamed, stumbling as Niklaus shoved her aside. A blur of white flashed through the space she’d recently occupied.

  Niklaus drew his short sword and slashed at the creature’s torso. An inhuman wail sounded as his blade bit into flesh. He left it to die, then leaped at the oncoming Dead-eyes, considered using his cane on them for fun, then discarded the idea—the others would know they’d been poisoned, and the card up his sleeve would be revealed.

  Slavering, fanged mouths came for him, and his steel moved in glittering arcs. He slashed down through the collarbone of one, pivoted, then cleaved the third through its neck. To make sure they were dead, he speared their scrawny bodies, blade piercing their hearts. One mewled and attempted to drag itself away. Niklaus stabbed it through the back.

  He looked around, searching for signs of more Dead-eyes. There were none. Only three of them, then—a scouting party. Probably saw them sitting by the bridge and thought they were easy pickings. The Dead-eyes were always overruled by their brutal appetites.

  He glanced at Razmus, who had managed to fumble his dagger from its sheath only after Niklaus had dispatched the creatures.

  Priska lay on the ground, staring in horror at the stick-limbed Dead-eyes like she’d never seen one before. Their pale skin shone, even in the darkness of the night.

  “Keep your eyes open!” he told Razmus.

  The ex-soldier nodded and scanned the night.

  Niklaus wiped his blade with grass, then sheathed it. He offered a hand to Priska, who took it gratefully. She rose to her feet and brushed dirt from her clothes.
<
br />   “What happened to your sorcery?” he said mockingly. “I thought Sokhelle had taught you things.”

  “I …” she stammered. “They surprised me.”

  “Foolish girl,” snapped Razmus. “You’re trying to run before you can walk.”

  Niklaus had to agree. If she was halfway competent, she would have known the Dead-eyes were out there and blasted them to ashes. Well, maybe not blasted them. Only a very few sorcerers were that accomplished.

  “Never mind,” he said, flashing Priska a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll do better next time. There’ll be plenty of Dead-eyes for everyone soon.” He released her hand. “Excitement’s over. You two go back to the settlement. Boring Aldric will want to know what’s happened. I’ll stay here and scout around.”

  Looking aggrieved and casting wary glances at Niklaus, Razmus complied, beckoning to his daughter. Priska seemed so shocked by the attack, she submitted to her father’s request to go with him to warn the settlers and their group.

  Niklaus watched them go until their backs were swallowed by the darkness. “You can come out now,” he said.

  A cracked laugh issued from behind a tree twenty yards away. Valeria appeared and walked slowly through the patchy grass, seeming almost to glide. Though her expression was calm and unconcerned, her eyes flashed daggers at Niklaus.

  “That slit isn’t worth your time,” she said.

  “Jealous?” Niklaus replied, hoping to rile her. He’d initially marked her as Matriarch Adeline’s, sent to keep an eye on him, but she seemed to have her own agenda. As long as it didn’t interfere with his, she could do what she wanted.

  “Hardly. I can offer so much more. But I’m worried she and her father will be a problem. They’re so … provincial. She has some talent for sorcery, but she’ll need a lot of discipline if she’s to serve the goddess.”

  Valeria lifted both hands and pulled back the hood of her cloak. The silver chains securing her braids glinted, and her dark painted nails looked like claws.

  “I can handle them,” Niklaus said.

  “You’d better,” Valeria said flatly.