by Jon Kiln
Nisero licked his lips and felt the chapping wind on them after doing so. “Was it called that before your battle?”
“Not sure, lieutenant.”
“It does not strike you that they are gathered in the same location again?”
“Rats return to their nests, Nisero.”
They left the slope of the trail. The path they followed had a thick tangle of grass in the middle of two tracks of dead ground. Nisero walked along one while Berengar walked beside him in the other.
“I can hardly imagine an army navigating that ledge we followed before battling the ice.”
“There used to be a grand, spiraling corkscrew bridge that descended to the bank of the river on the king’s side,” Berengar said. “The bandits destroyed that in retribution for the Way of Blood.”
“Looks like they finished the bridge across the border river now, too.”
“Seems so.”
“What did you learn of this ridge that we might use?”
“It is a tough position to assault, which is why they use it,” Berengar said. “What concerns me most is what they might have learned.”
“So some of them survived to fight again today then?”
Berengar cleared his throat and waited a few beats before responding. “Not many.”
“Any in particular?”
“What are you getting at?”
Nisero started to lick his lips, but felt the sting from the split skin and stopped himself. “It seems we are being led out by the nose, like beasts to the slaughter shed. I can’t help but to consider that this gathering, on the spot of the last bloody conflict, is related to the razing of your village, the murders, and the abduction.”
“Perhaps.” The captain turned his face away from the lieutenant’s view. “I believe I recall that costume from the battle at the Way of Blood.”
Nisero tripped trying to look at the captain. He focused his attention back on his steps as he spoke. “Which costume is that?”
“The bear skin cloak and head, with the ram’s horn’s attached.”
Nisero thought of Holst’s description, and the crude tapestry above the hearth of the cottage. “Do you believe it was Solag you faced then, or Zulag, his father?”
“I wouldn’t begin to know.” Berengar shook his head. “But it was many years ago at any rate. Before you were in the Elite Guard, but not by long.”
Nisero licked his lips despite the pain. “Do you suppose this was the moment of Zulag’s death? Was this when Solag took the place of his father?”
“Again, I couldn’t begin to know, but I hope for my daughter’s sake that is not the case.”
Nisero thought he knew why, but he asked anyway. “Why do you hope not?”
“If that is why he took her, then…” Berengar stopped speaking and stopped walking.
“What is it, sir?”
Berengar dropped the bundle and drew his sword. He turned and faced back the way they had come. Nisero placed his hand on the hilt of his own sword and scanned the dark land around them.
He finally looked in the direction the captain faced after seeing nothing approaching from other directions. A shape followed in Berengar’s rut of the trail. As the shape closed the distance, it did not grow larger.
The girl wrapped in her fur blanket walked up on them with bare feet.
Berengar spoke in a low growl without lowering his sword. “What are you doing here?”
“My father lied.”
Berengar looked around them and back at the girl. “When? About what?”
“He has gone to warn them you are coming.”
“The bandits?” Nisero hissed.
She nodded. “Solag and his monsters.”
“Why?” Berengar lowered the point of his sword.
“The people were told to do it, he said after you left.” She pulled her blanket tighter around her and Nisero did the same. “He told my mother that he cut the rope and weapons so they would break when used. The men wait for you at the Way.”
“Why did you come to tell us this?” the captain asked.
“I want you to not kill my brothers even though my father lied.”
“If your father lied,” Berengar said, “then your brothers are part of the monsters waiting for us.”
“I want my truth to save them. Kill the others now that you know, but save them.”
“Go home, girl.” Berengar sheathed his sword and lifted the bundle.
“Not until you take the promise from my father’s lies and give it to my truth.”
The captain looked at Nisero and back at the girl. “You have my promise and their lives for your truth. Go home and never speak of this again. Your father will not understand your choice, but I do.”
She turned away and walked down the trail. Nisero watched until she vanished into shadow. “What do you want to do with this, sir?”
“My daughter may still be among them, but we’ll need to approach another way.”
“Are you sure?”
He stepped off the trail and Nisero followed. “I’m less sure every moment, but I must free her from them.”
They moved slowly through the darkness in the taller grass. The captain dropped to his knees and Nisero did the same. He pointed back in the direction they had come. Nisero rose up enough to peer above the grass. He saw movement in a blind of rocks overlooking the trail.
Berengar crawled along the curve of the land away from the blind, and Nisero shadowed him. Had the child not warned them, Nisero wondered if they would have spotted the apparent trap in time.
The captain paused after some distance and opened the bundle. He took out the rope and unlooped it as Nisero watched the plain and hills around them. Berengar found a gap in the spiral of the rope’s braid and parted it with his thumbs. Nisero turned his attention to the captain’s inspection. Berengar pulled the rope until his hands shook. Nisero thought it would hold, but then it snapped in two.
The captain whispered. “That would have been quite a fall, if we were trusting our weight to that.”
Nisero nodded. “They could have just scooped us up from the bottom at their leisure.”
Berengar extracted a dagger from the bundle a pressed its point to the ground. He applied his boot to the flat of the blade and it broke into three pieces easier than the rope.
The captain pulled out a block of dried meat and held it up in front of Nisero. “What do you think, lieutenant?”
“They did not poison us in their home.” Nisero cleared his throat. “As far as we know.”
“The girl fed us from the family’s stew pot. But perhaps they wanted us to fall at the feet of the bandits and not on the road from poisoning.”
Nisero looked down at the meat and up at Berengar. “Do you trust the provisions provided by the same man that prepared the rope and weapons?”
Berengar dropped the meat on the ground with a thunk. “No, I do not. May the gods protect the beasts and rodents of this forsaken land should they come upon it.”
The captain continued on, leaving the supplies scattered on the ground. Nisero followed.
Even in the darkness, the ridge line was visible in the distance after they cleared the roll of the hills. It rose above the other rocks like a terrible beast arching its back. Nisero thought again of the tales of dragons from the stories of childhood. This rocky beast might well offer a terrible bite, he mused. He saw fires wink along the monster’s back as they approached the ridge from the middle.
Berengar lowered his head as he weaved between the rocks. He carefully stepped over breaks in the hard ground hidden in the darkness. Nisero watched every step to avoid a fall. They crossed the loose earth between a lower stone wall and the nearly sheer face of the ridge.
Nisero gazed skyward and then back at the captain. “What is the plan, sir?”
“Don’t fall.”
“Is this the wisest move?”
“They are expecting us.” Berengar pointed in both directions. “They will have men
at both trail heads waiting to pounce, just as they had them along the road on the approach. No one with any mind at all would climb this face in the dark, to step into the midst of an army.”
“I think that might be a fair assessment.”
Berengar's features were hidden in night-darkness, and the shadow of the ridge called the Way of Blood. “So, that is exactly what we shall do.”
“I figured as much.” Nisero looked up. “Any advice beyond not falling?”
“Yes, don’t drop your sword either. We’ll need it.”
Berengar did not wait for a response as he began to climb. The rock face was pitted with deep cuts and shallow ledges. It was not a ladder or stairway by any means, but the captain was able to lead a path upward. Nisero wasn’t sure he could keep the order to not fall without climbing gear or a light source, but was determined to do his best.
The lieutenant made the mistake of looking down once. The drop looked almost inverted from the distance, and Nisero heaved for air as he looked back up to the next ledge.
Berengar hissed. “Breathe quieter, lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Berengar finally vanished over a ledge. Nisero caught the edge and hauled himself up, expecting another perilous hold, but he saw a deeper bowl in the rock, and the captain stood looking over the top edge of the bowl on flat ground.
Nisero took one deep breath as quietly as he could muster and stood beside the captain. They looked on canvas tents and other shelters built from scrap wood. Men gathered and laughed around fires on the far side of the camp, away from the edge. Horses were tied to stakes driven into the gritty soil atop the ridge, nearer the gatherings.
Nisero opened his mouth to ask their next move. But he stopped when he spotted something he thought was important. The lieutenant pointed at the pole outside the flap of one of the tents. It was near the edge and alone, several paces down from them and beyond another leafy shelter.
Berengar stared and whispered barely above a breath. “What do you see?”
Nisero extended his arm and pointed further. “Tied near the top on the tent facing us.”
Berengar squinted and then nodded. Nisero took this as a sign that he saw the skin tied to the pole. The angle of the fires brought out the red dye painted over the material.
They crawled up onto the flat of the cliff and walked past the shelter between them and the tent. Nisero gripped the hilt of his sword, but nothing stirred inside. He heard faint snoring.
As they reached the flap, Berengar pointed to the ground outside the tent and then pointed two fingers at his eyes. Nisero nodded his understanding. He knelt down beside the tent so that the material hid him from the distant fires.
Berengar slipped inside. Nisero heard the sword draw and a shuffling of bodies. The tent shook and then stilled. Nisero waited.
Berengar whispered harshly. “Do not call out or I will break my promise and cut your voice out of your throat.”
The occupant of the tent babbled quietly in broken syllables. Nisero shook his head and watched the fires for anyone approaching.
Berengar spoke again. “I know you speak my language. Your sister told me you learned it. Tell me the truth or I will remove your head before you finish your lies. Do you understand?”
Nisero heard the voice inside respond with resignation. “Yes.”
Chapter 8
: A Fallen Kingdom
Captain Berengar brought his knee up onto the boy’s chest. He was young, but old enough to join a bandit army and old enough to die for it. He moved the sword from the point under the chin and rested the edge of the blade against the boy’s throat, the hilt guard close to the bandit’s ear.
The boy stopped his foreign babble.
“You know who I am?” Berengar demanded.
The boy started to nod, but stopped as his skin met the sharp metal. “Yes.”
“Then, who am I?”
The boy swallowed, moving the blade with the motion of his throat. “You are the slayer of Zulag and the one who is meant to suffer.”
“That is what your lord, Solag, calls me?’
“Yes.”
“And this place was to be a trap?”
“My father told you where to find them in exchange for my life.”
“He gave me a broken rope and weak weapons. He came and gave word that we were coming to your bandit camp.”
“No.”
Berengar showed his teeth. “What did I tell you about lying?”
“I don’t want to die. Please.”
“If I had not discovered the trap, I’d have been attacked on the road instead of standing over you on your pallet with your life in my hands. Do you understand?”
“Yes, it was a trap. Solag is the lord of this land and all its people. Do not blame my father for doing what he must.”
Berengar took a deep breath. He glanced at the sliver of light through the tent flap. He still heard the distant talk and laughter. The captain focused back on the boy’s sweaty face above his sword. “Was I to be killed here?”
“No. Taken.”
“Taken where?”
“Everyone with you was to be killed. You were to be beaten, but left alive with at least one eye intact. Then, carried to Solag.”
“Solag is not here?”
“No, he is in the Blue Mountains.”
“Where?”
“I do not know. I’ve never been farther than the Way of Blood to the west, or the border villages to the east, in all my life. Only a few men are allowed to follow Solag beyond here.”
Berengar's mouth set into a hard line. “The order was actually to leave me with one eye?”
“Yes.”
Berengar leaned down close to the boy’s face. “Who would know where Solag waits? Who here in the camp would know?”
“The overlords. They wear the horns on their helmets like Lord Solag.”
“Is my daughter in this camp?”
“No. That is the truth. She is with Solag in the Blue Mountains. He intends to present her before you.”
Berengar licked his teeth and said, “Then what?”
“Then … he will harm her.” The boy added quickly, “I’m only here because my family will be killed if I do not serve Solag. I do not wish harm on your daughter.”
“Has she been hurt?”
“No, not yet. He waits for you.”
Berengar closed his eyes and put more weight on his knee until the boy grunted, but did not fight. He opened his eyes. “Did you take my daughter or kill members of my family when you were in Patron’s Hill?”
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I was in another part of the village, I swear …”
Berengar looked away to the side of the tent, but the boy kept talking.
“… My brothers and I were told to stand guard outside the village. We didn’t know about the plan to kill your wife and son, or to abduct your daughter until it already happened …”
Berengar breathed harshly. “Stop talking.”
The boy switched to babbling softly in his own foreign tongue.
Nisero whispered from outside. “Someone is approaching, Captain.”
Berengar slid his free hand over the boy’s mouth, smothering the string of words. The boy screamed into Berengar’s palm. Berengar contemplated slicing the boy's throat, but considered the risk his sister took in sending them warning. Also, if not for her, they would have likely froze in the cold. Berengar hoped he would not regret it, but he tapped sharply with the hilt of his sword at the boy's temple, knocking him unconscious.
“He comes this way,” Nisero said. “It is one of the brothers with the red skin tied to his arm. We must away.”
Berengar felt the fight drain out of the bandit under him as he went limp. “Get in here, lieutenant.”
Nisero slipped through the flap and drew his sword. The lieutenant glanced briefly down at the body, but then turned his attention back to the flap.
The
voice of the brother was deeper as he barked out a phrase in the foreign language of the kingless land. Both warriors waited with their swords up. Berengar cut his eyes to Nisero’s side of the tent and saw two more pallets. All three brothers shared this tent.
The voice came again and the figure stepped close enough to the tent flap to reach out and sweep it open if he so chose. Berengar saw the brother was bigger and broader as the captain crouched on top of the smaller brother’s limp body. The sweaty smell of the tent drifted up around the captain as he stared and waited.
The brother spoke in a long string of broken words that sounded unnervingly like the father. The bigger man leaned down and swept open the tent in both directions. His words cut off and his eyes went wide. He opened his mouth and sucked in breath.
Nisero and Berengar both grabbed his collar with one hand each. They leaned back and pulled him inside. He fell on his face in the sandy mud. The tent flaps fell closed behind him. The bandit yelped in a voice much higher than when he spoke outside.
Nisero drove his boot into the back of the bandit's throat to quiet him. The bandit spluttered with a mouthful of sand. Nisero lifted him up from behind, locked his right elbow across the bandit's throat, and slowly squeezed from the side until the bandit blacked out. The big man spasmed, but then quickly stilled. Berengar found some rope and quickly tied them both up, gagging them in the process.
More voices filled the air outside.
Nisero moved his eye to the narrow opening of the tent. Berengar made sure the knots and gags were tight, but not suffocating. The captain said, “What do you see?”
“Many are going to their tents. Not all,” replied Nisero.
“Any wearing horns on their helmets?” Berengar asked.
“I don’t see any that look like Solag, sir.”
“Not Solag,” Berengar said. “Any with horns.”
Nisero tilted his head from side to side. “One. Maybe. He went into the larger canopy beyond the point where we climbed up. It could be a command post.”