Scarred Man (16 page)

‘Protection from what?'

Mixcoatl lowered his eyelids and stared at Maida thoughtfully. ‘How much do you know about what is going on in the world right now?'

‘More than you do,' she retorted.

‘Huitzilin told me you claim to have been present when the Revenant first appeared in Vogel. I have been wondering what you meant by that.'

Something in his tone made Maida suddenly wary. She realised she should not underestimate this fat man's intelligence. She remembered Huitzilin talking about ‘seeing' and wondered again at his meaning.

‘I saw it,' she said.

‘Saw it?'

Maida just smiled. Let him guess at what she meant. ‘You heard me.'

Mixcoatl grunted. ‘Describe it to me.'

‘No.'

‘No?' Mixcoatl repeated.

‘You heard me.'

‘You are either more than the very clever little slag you seem, or you are playing a dangerous game, Maida.' He pushed himself back from his desk a little. ‘Time will tell.

‘Take her back,' he ordered Patecoatl. ‘The other one will be here soon.'

There were a lot of unattended horses in Leserlang, along with a great deal of personal property that had been left scattered on the roads as people had fled in terror at the arrival of the Revenant. Slave and Keshik helped themselves to whatever caught their eyes as they left the silent city. A few shouted curses followed them out, but no one left the safety of their homes to pursue the thieves.

Slave divested himself of the rancid yok and the other layers, replacing them with cleaner clothes. They felt peculiar on his filthy skin, so he promised himself a wash as soon as possible. Keshik also picked up new clothing, as well as various bits and pieces he would need for the journey he was planning.

They left the city without a backwards look and urged their mounts to a gallop. Keshik considered heading south-west to make for Mollnde and a ship, but decided against it, and instead went more east, tracking the coastline. He did not much care for sea travel, and the horse beneath him felt strong. Beside
him, Slave rode somewhat awkwardly, but kept up well enough.

Now that he was finally on his way, his thoughts turned once more to Maida. Slave's normal silence left Keshik to his thoughts as they rode through the day. It meant the day passed quickly, leaving him in a dark mood at its end. They made camp at an entirely arbitrary place on the open, flat plain and slept beneath a simple shelter constructed from the goods stolen from Leserlang. Game was scarce, but Keshik's traps caught enough to keep them going for a couple of days, so after skinning and cooking their catch, they set off, munching on the tough meat.

The days slowly blurred into a long unbroken series, each one unremarkable, none bringing any encounters with fellow travellers. After a few days, Keshik started to wonder at this. These plains were notoriously sparsely populated, but to see no one for so many days? That was unusual. He kept his concerns to himself; Slave seemed not to notice anything, so why bother him with it?

Almost imperceptibly, the weather changed. The wind became less prevalent, the sun rose steadily higher in the sky and the temperature gradually rose. They both removed outer layers as they rode south until, late one afternoon, the scent of a city twitched at their nostrils. Slave started sniffing the air first.

‘What is that?' he asked. The sky was clear and the wind light, coming from the south.

‘What's what?'

‘That smell. It's been there for a while, and isn't changing.'

Keshik sniffed. At first he smelt nothing, but soon he became aware of a faint tang on the air.

‘A town,' he decided.

‘It doesn't smell like Leserlang, or Venste.'

‘No. Venste is a slaving city and Leserlang is —' he paused, ‘Leserlang. There's nowhere else like it. And nothing else smells quite the same.'

‘Do all cities have their own smell?'

Keshik thought about it. It was not something he had ever given much thought to, but now that he did, he had to agree.

‘Yes, probably. They would.'

‘Do you recognise this one?'

Keshik snorted in derision. ‘From the stink? I don't think so.'

Slave shrugged and urged his horse on to a trot. Keshik followed, wondering if Slave's question had been serious.
Did he expect someone to be able to identify a town from its smell? Could he?
Keshik had to admit that from what he'd seen of Slave so far, the man probably could. He touched his heels into the ribs of his horse and wondered again about the strange fear he had felt when he had realised Slave was better than he was. He gave a short harsh bark of laughter.

‘It has been too long, Swordmaster, since you have faced a worthy adversary,' he muttered to himself.

‘You don't know how lucky you are,' Slave answered.

‘You heard that?'

Slave grunted in assent.

‘And you could really smell that town?'

Slave grunted again. ‘So could you, you just don't pay attention.'

Keshik scowled, but did not answer. He recognised the truth in the man's words. His teachers had often told him the same thing, even so long ago when he was a youth. It was one of the reasons he had become such a strong swordsman: he had little subtlety to rely on. Tristan — another for whose death Slave bore responsibility — was a lesser swordsman than Keshik, but a subtle, crafty man who won as often through guile as through simple skill. His skill in avoiding an even fight was remarkable. It came as no surprise that he would have met his end at the blades of such a fighter as Slave.

‘Where did you get your training?' Keshik finally asked.

Slave shot him a hard look, one that held a meaning that was beyond him to grasp. There was anger, and violence, and something deeper in that look. Slave held his gaze for a long time before finally looking away.

‘My master,' he said, barely above a whisper.

‘Why did he train you?'

Slave did not look back at Keshik. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘But I suspect it was to do what you finally did.'

‘What?'

‘I was raised to hunt and kill in the dark; underground. I was raised by my master to complete, I suspect, one task, and one task alone. I escaped before completing that task, although I did something else unexpected before finally leaving him.'

‘You released the Warrior Revenant,' Keshik realised.

‘And you released its mortal enemy.'

‘Why didn't they just destroy each other during all that time underground?'

‘I don't think they could. I am guessing, but I think that would have been a part of their imprisonment.'

‘And we let them out.'

‘We did.'

‘But we didn't know what we were doing,' Keshik protested — his words sounded weak and childish even to his own ears.

‘But we both made choices that took us there,' Slave muttered.

Keshik remembered his insane anger, his desperate need to do something — anything — to bring Maida back.
Such foolishness
, he realised bitterly.
People die, it is the natural order of things. We were warriors for hire, what else did we expect?
Even as he made the deal with Sondelle, Keshik had known, somewhere beneath his anger, that it was deeply wrong to do what he did. And yet he had done it. The moaning voices of the Readers, their minds destroyed, their lives left empty and hopeless, came back to him again. He had a brief moment of clarity in which he knew that those sounds would haunt him for a very long time.

‘What do we do now?' he asked as he ran his hand along the smooth, cool, magical blade the old sorcerer had given him.

Slave tore his gaze away from the horizon to once more stare at Keshik. ‘We hunt them down and kill them,' he said simply.

‘Can they be killed?'

Slave gave a harsh bark that might have been an ironic laugh. ‘They are both eliminating enemies. If they could not be killed, they would not be doing that. It gives us time, and a clue.'

‘Will it be enough?'

‘It has to be.'

Slave urged his horse forward and rode towards the village at a gallop. Keshik let him get ahead before following.

Hunt them down?
The memory of the huge black presence that had hung over him still made Keshik shudder, at times awakening him from sleep in a cold sweat.

Kill that? Could it be possible?

It would be a good fight, no matter the outcome. Truly a worthy opponent.

This time, Keshik welcomed the thrill of fear that ran through him. The familiar sense of impending death, the dryness in his mouth, the need to constantly squeeze his fists on the reins to keep them strong, the hollowness in his stomach, they all came back like old friends. It had been too long since he had enjoyed their company. It was good to be a warrior alive. He urged his horse into a gallop, driving hard to catch Slave. Together, they swept across the barren plain, wind in their faces, towards the village that squatted, toad-like, on the hard earth.

 

It was small and foul-smelling, ringed by a low wall of sharpened stakes. A few underfed men in old uniforms stood guard at a gap, watching as the two
men rode towards them. Keshik stood in his stirrups and let go of the reins to pull his two swords out of the scabbards strapped across his back.

‘Why kill them?' Slave shouted across at him. ‘All it will do is put the whole village against us.'

Keshik was stung by the rebuke and dropped back into his saddle, his hands falling from the hilts of the swords. Slave's voice had taken him back to when he was a young novice of blades, and he had obeyed instinctively. He scowled at Slave, who seemed not to notice as he reined back his horse to a walk. Keshik followed suit and they approached the feeble barrier slowly.

The two guards raised rusty pikes in a weak sign of defiance.

‘Hold, visitors!' one of them called. ‘What is your business in Kendesdorfe?'

‘Food and shelter,' Slave said.

‘Do you have coin?'

Slave looked at Keshik, who shook his head.

‘No.'

‘Keep riding, then, visitors,' the guard informed them. ‘We don't need beggars here.'

‘We are not beggars, we can work to earn our food and shelter,' Keshik said.

‘Doing what?'

‘Whatever you want.'

‘Can you use those?' The guard pointed at Keshik's swords.

‘I can.'

‘For a few days walking a post, we can offer food and shelter.'

‘Walking a post? Against what?' Keshik looked around at the vast, open plain stretching unbroken to the horizon in every direction. The wind swept across the barren land, bringing stinging ice and ancient loneliness.

‘Things are strange, visitor,' the guard said. ‘Times change and there's something stirring out there.'

‘Something?'

‘Sssa, something,' the guard hissed in confirmation.

‘What?' Slave asked.

‘Stand watch for a couple of days and you will find out.'

‘For food and shelter?' Keshik asked.

‘Sssa.'

‘Good.'

Keshik pushed on past the gate and into the village beyond. A guard left his post to walk with him. Slave followed. They passed a sad-looking market where a few silent women picked over the paltry offerings of the scowling merchants. The rough palisade around the village had little effect on the wind, meaning everyone was wrapped against the cold.

The guard led Slave and Keshik to a long low building across the market square and pushed open the door while they dismounted and secured their horses. Warm light spilled out together with the low murmur of conversation.

‘Go in. There's food and,' he sniffed ostentatiously, ‘water for bathing.'

Inside was a long room with benches and chairs scattered around a warming fire. Several men sat,
playing cards, drinking, or just talking. Most of them stopped what they were doing to stare at Slave and Keshik as they entered before resuming their conversations. One pushed back his chair and stood.

‘What do you want?' he demanded.

‘Volunteers, Misabeq Jarde,' the guard said.

‘You mean lost travellers with neither money nor skills who want to serve C'sobra.'

The guard nodded. ‘They offered, Misabeq.'

‘What choice did you give them?'

‘They could have continued riding.'

‘Out there?' The man made an expansive gesture to encompass the wilderness of cold and wind outside.

‘Sssa, Misabeq. It is where they came from.'

‘Ice and wind.' He stepped forward to examine the two visitors. His gaze was hard and uncompromising, a look Keshik recognised. This Misabeq was an experienced officer, one who would brook no weakness, one who would command with authority and purpose. Keshik straightened under the scrutiny.

The Misabeq noted the stiffening in Keshik's posture. ‘You served in an army before?' he asked.

Keshik nodded. ‘Several, Misabeq.'

‘Mercenary?'

‘Tulugma.'

‘Swordmaster?'

‘Keshik of the Tulugma, Misabeq.'

A low gasp flickered across the room and every conversation stopped. The Misabeq scowled. ‘I imagine you could walk a post if you had to,
Keshik of the Tulugma. Your reputation precedes you.' He fixed his stare on Slave. ‘You, however — what is your name?'

‘I am called Slave.'

The Misabeq allowed himself a raising of the eyebrows. ‘Unusual name,' he said.

‘I have no name. It is just what people call me.'

The Misabeq snorted. ‘I do not like the look of you, Slave.'

Slave looked away as if the Misabeq's opinion of him was of no interest.

‘Are you willing to place yourself under my command while you stay in Kendesdorfe?'

Slave turned abruptly and walked away. When he laid his hand on the handle of the door, the Misabeq called out: ‘Wait, Slave.'

Slave's hand paused; he did not open the door, but he did not turn around, either.

‘Keshik of the Tulugma, do you vouch for this man?'

Keshik stared at Slave, knowing what he should say, but unwilling to say it, ashamed of his unwillingness. He swallowed hard and looked the Misabeq in the eye.

‘He is the fastest, most lethal man in a fight I have ever seen, Misabeq.'

‘It is a long time since you were home, Swordmaster.'

‘Even there, I never saw anyone more dangerous, Misabeq.'

‘Is he better than you, then, Swordmaster?'

Keshik glared at Slave, but still the wretched man would not turn to face him. For that moment,
Keshik's hatred flared. Once again, he knew what he had to say, but Slave would not even do him the courtesy to look at him when he said it.
When I say this, we are even. I no longer owe you a debt of honour.

‘Yes, he is better than I am,' Keshik said.

Slave wrenched open the door and left the room. In the brief moment before he slammed the door behind him, the brutal cold surged in, bringing the ice and wind.