The Bloodstained God (Book 2) (25 page)

“All roads remain open until the war in ended, Cain,” Narak said. “You have done me great service, and I would see you happy for it.” He reached into a pocket and pulled something out. He offered it to Cain. “Take this,” he said.

Cain took it. It was a ring with a wolf’s head sigil; Narak’s symbol.

“Give it to her as a wedding gift,” he said. “But there is yet one more thing.”

“Deus?” What now, he wondered?

“Sheyani asked that if things went between us as they have, if you should remain true, and she was certain that you would, she asked if I would marry you both when the war is won, in the temple of the wolf at Bas Erinor. I agreed. I hope that this finds favour with you.”

“It would be a great honour, Deus,” Cain replied. He meant it. He could not recall another wedding at which a god had officiated, and it would be a mark of favour unmatched.

“Then I shall look forward to that happy occasion.” Narak pushed himself away from the tree and turned to walk back to the training grounds. It seemed that their business was concluded. “Tell me about your plans again,” the Wolf said. “And I will tell you mine.”

It was supposed to be an early night, a chance to sleep before the long journey that beckone
d on the morrow. Not that Tilian had expected to sleep. He was torn between memories and expectations, the wall he had helped to defend and this new wall that they were to build in the White Road Pass. It was all timing. They needed to get there first by at least a week, enough time anyway to throw this new fashion of wall together and set themselves behind it. The memories of one were revived by the prospect of the other, and he felt an odd mix of excitement and dread.

As it happened he got no sleep at all.

He was on the point of retiring. Like many officers he had taken a room in the Seventh Friend, so crowded now that he had been sharing with a lieutenant from the first regiment, now gone to war. He had the room to himself for this one night, and he was enjoying a glass of the General’s excellent ale, sitting with three of his men at a table near the bar, when the hubbub of the tavern died down quite suddenly. He looked round to see what had caused the quiet.

It was the Wolf, and he was with the colonel, and they were walking towards him.

Tilian pushed himself to his feet and saluted.

“Deus, my lord.” He was aware of his men scrambling to their feet behind him, their relaxed bonhomie all dissipated in a moment.

“Sit down, Tilian,” lord Skal said. “You men, too. Sit down.” He turned and looked around. “Can we get a couple more chairs here?”

Almost at once chairs were pushed towards them, other men giving up their seats so that the Wolf and the colonel might sit where they wished. Tilian heard Narak sigh, but he sat all the same.

“It seems that I shall have to do without you again, Lieutenant,” Lord Skal said. “Wolf Narak has a task for you.”

“For me?” The words were out before he could prevent them.

“Yes. For you and your squad.” He turned to Narak.

“There are thirteen of you?” the wolf asked.

“Yes, Deus, but we are to expand the squad.”

“Well, you will have to pick your men in the morning. I want fifty of you on the road before the day is out.”

Tilian looked at the Wolf. He had no idea what was going on, what he was expected to do or say, what men he was expected to pick?

“May I ask what our duties will be, Deus?”

Narak grinned, a sudden, fierce, almost frightening grimace that on another would be alarming, a flash of lightning illuminating the storm within. On Narak it was positively terrifying. “You will destroy the Seth Yarra army,” he said.

Tilian looked at Lord Skal, and the lord seemed equally nonplussed by Narak’s words. “Fifty of us, Deus?”

The Wolf seemed to relent. “Don’t fret, lieutenant Henn. It is not a great task, but it does require steady men. You will go into the great forest, you will be accompanied by wolves, and you will be split up. I need men who can be alone, men who will not be afraid. Country born is best, but anyone with a level head and courage should manage the task. You may have to avoid Seth Yarra, so a modicum of stealth may also be required.”

“We can do that, Deus,” Tilian replied. Stealth was easy, but he was a little more concerned about the men being alone. They were better as a unit, he thought, stronger and able to accomplish more. But to be fair he did not know them that well and would have liked to have seen them blooded together before investing them in such a task. It was only in a fight that you could see if a man had the makings of a good soldier.

“Good. Well, pick your men and assemble them tomorrow afternoon on the north end of the training ground. I will give you your orders then.”

Narak did not stay long after that. He bought drinks, made a point of speaking to each of the men, asking their names and some small detail of their life. The men seemed nervous but happy to speak when spoken to. Not one of them had seen Narak before, and even Tilian had only seen him that once on the wall when he had brought a Telan army to relieve the defenders. Tilian could appreciate the skill of it. Each man would march tomorrow knowing that Wolf Narak knew his name, that he had spoken with a god, the invincible, death dealing Wolf. It would be a piece of steel that would stiffen their backs for whatever they must face.

When he left he shook Tilian’s hand, bid them sleep well, and walked out, nodding to men in the tavern who greeted him, the crowd parting around him, eyes turning to the men he had spoken with. Lord Skal stayed a little longer.

“No sooner do I have you back than you are stolen away again,” he said to Tilian. “I shall have to find another to see to my needs.”

It was a jest, and Tilian knew that it was, but in his mind’s eye he saw Sara.

“Perhaps it would be best if you do, my lord,” he said. “In case I do not return.”

Lord Skal laughed. “The position is yours for life, Lieutenant,” he said, slapping Tilian on the shoulder. “I am certain that you will return. I insist on it. I would be lost without you.”

Eventually the lord left them, but their evening was shattered and could not be put back together again. It was time to sleep – past time, but Tilian had work to do, and so he sent his men to get what rest they could and retired to his room where he began to assemble lists of soldiers. He knew a lot of men in the regiment, veterans of the wall, and he had seen them fight. He could easily name fifty good men, but he needed thirty-seven, enough to make up the number, and so he named them, one by one, wrote them down, and slowly began to cross off the names, add new ones, knowing who would work well with whom, picking men of a more independent cast.

The winter sun was already washing the horizon with light when he finally put his pen down and rubbed his eyes. He had his list.

There was no road that led from Bas Erinor to the White Road Pass. Cain could have taken
his army across the border into Berash and then turned north within sight of Tor Silas to reach the great plain, but he chose the other route, keeping within Avilian’s borders for as long as he could, then trekking across the rolling plains to the pass. That was the plan. The Berashi route would have given him the chance to check the progress of their allies, and perhaps march north with them, but there was a greater possibility of delay, and it really did not matter if one of them arrived a week before the other, as long as one of them got there early. He and the Berashis should both have enough men and material to begin work and stay busy for a week without the other.

There was also the issue of taking an Avilian army into Berash, and while they were now allies, he was sensitive to the recent past. Many in Berash would be uncomfortable with Avilian troops on their roads. Memories of war tended to be long.

As they travelled Cain reflected that Avilian had a lot of people, millions, but they tended towards the coast. The great cities of Bas Erinor and Golt were magnets, drawing people south, so that more than half the population lived within a sniff of the sea. The rest were spread thinly, through small towns, villages, estates, steadily thinner and thinner, until the kingdom ended at the traditional border with the great plain: the Gods’ Walk.

He had never been this far north before, or at least not in Avilian. There was a tendency for bandits to stray north of the walk, but for them the risk of the Benetheon was less than the certainty of a hanging, and there was at least some stay on the forces of justice that might pursue them.

On this journey Cain did not worry about bandits. He had three thousand armed men, and bandits would strive to avoid such a force, so he rode with a degree of relaxed confidence through the small towns that clung to the road. He noticed, too, that the nature of their welcome changed as they moved north. In southern towns people came out to wish them well. There was even some cheering, a few flowers were thrown. Perhaps it was because the seventh friend was a southern regiment. These people might well know someone, a son or nephew, who marched with Cain or Skal. It would make them naturally sympathetic. Volunteer regiments were always a bit like that. There were a lot of young men in Bas Erinor who had come to the city from its hinterland to make their way in life, and they would have come from towns and villages like these.

Further north the welcome cooled. Cain understood that, too. Soldiers were never popular in small towns and villages, especially when there were a lot of them. The people were glad to see the back of them because they were capable of so little local good and so much local evil. He watched the sullen faces. One or two of the younger men and boys looked interested, their eyes feasting greedily on the weapons, the glittering armour, the bright colours. There were always one or two who thought soldiering might be an exciting life, felt the call of sword and bow, horse and lance. There might even be one here or there who would take to the life and do well, but mostly it was fancy.

Still further down the road he saw fear in people’s eyes. That did surprise him. These were soldiers of Avilian riding through loyal lands. It worried Cain, seeing that look, seeing men duck behind houses, women chasing their children inside and bolting doors shut behind them. One or two men remained on the street and watched them ride by with resentment in their eyes. It stank of abuse; the abuse of power.

They rode and walked on, the wagons and the men moving at a steady two miles every hour. The roads were good and the men fit enough. They made twenty miles each day, sometimes more. Cain worried about the snow melting. He worried about Seth Yarra. He worried about the Berashis getting to the pass before him.

He rode at the head, always at the head of the column. It allowed him to see the country free of dust and men. Sheyani generally rode beside him on her mount that was too large for her, and Major Gorios stayed with him, too. Junior officers rode up and down the column, making sure that it kept together, telling him if anything untoward happened.

They had lost a wagon on the third day, and he’d left fifty men to guard it while the load was shifted to an empty wagon, one of the few he’d brought along. They had abandoned the broken one. It would have taken a day to fix, a new wheel would have to be brought from a nearby town, and the axle might have been too damaged anyway. The new wagon and the fifty men rejoined them the same night.

On the whole it was going well.

They were still two days from the Gods’ Walk when it happened. Cain was riding beside Sheyani, and she was playing on her pipes as she so often did when conversation flagged. Her playing lifted Cain’s spirits, even if he was wearing his copper talisman. Just the music itself was very fine for marching men to hear, and somehow the sound carried back through the column, dodging past the tramping feet and hooves, around the rattle and rumble of wagons, over the voices of the men, so that all were touched by it, and were lifted up.

Cain was convinced that they made more miles on the days she played.

“Colonel.”

Cain heard the note of warning in Major Gorios’ voice, and looked up. There were horsemen up ahead. He counted. Twelve of them. No threat to the column, and they looked Avilian. The twelve were seated comfortably, waiting for the column to draw level. They were soldiers, armed and armoured, but not aggressive. He did not stop the column, but rode by, and noted that the men spurred their horses to keep pace, and two of them eased in close to where Cain rode.

“Colonel Arbak?”

“I am,” Cain said. “And you?”

“Captain Verlatten, sir. I bring fresh orders.” He was a young man, immaculately turned out, particularly considering that he had been on the road. He had an open face, and sat well on his horse.

“Orders? I have my orders from the Duke of Bas Erinor and Wolf Narak. Whose orders do you bring?”

“The Wolf’s, my lord,” the young captain said.

“Wolf Narak has given you new orders for me?”

The captain flushed slightly. “Not in person, my lord,” he said. “They come through my lord of Carillon, whose lands these are. It was known that you would be passing this way, and so rather than seek you on the road the orders were given to Carillon.”

Cain studied the young man. It seemed odd that Narak should use a man like Carillon, but there was no doubting the Wolf’s unpredictable nature. He could well have taken advantage of the geography to pass orders. Also the captain seemed a guileless young man.

“What orders do you bring, Captain?”

“The column is to continue as planned, but you yourself are required to ride to the town of Bergan Rise. The Wolf will meet you there and make his purpose plain. It is not more than a day.”

Major Gorios raised an eyebrow. Sheyani frowned. Cain pulled a map from his saddle bag and opened it on the pommel of his horse as they rode. He traced the road with his finger to the point where they were, and sure enough there was a town, Bergan Rise, marked no more than fifteen miles to the east. He would have to double back or go cross country to reach it.

“That is all?” Cain asked.

“That is all, my lord.”

“And will you escort me, Captain?”

“No, my lord. My orders are to return to my regiment as soon as the order is accepted.”

Cain nodded to himself. That made sense. He would take a small escort of his own. Two or three men would do, and he would be in no danger. These were settled parts. He would move quickly, see whatever it was that Narak wanted, and then rejoin his regiment as soon as he could. He did not want to abandon them at all, but he could not ignore Narak.

“Very well, Captain. You may consider your message delivered.”

The captain saluted and peeled away from the column, his men following, moving ahead of them at a canter, lost to view almost at once.

“You are going to go?” Sheyani asked.

“I must. When the Wolf calls…”

“I will come with you, Sheshay,” she said. Cain shook his head.

“You’ll do more good with the column,” he said. “Play for them. Keep an eye on things for me. I trust your eye to see what I need to know.”

She agreed with a reluctant nod. “I will do as you ask, Sheshay.”

There was no point in delaying. Every second took them further away from the town, stretched the journey. He wheeled out of the column and rode back until he found Bargil. His man was looking after the supply wagons, riding up and down the column with the ease of an old cavalry soldier, which, of course, he was.

“Tane, I’ve got an errand to run. You’ll come with me, and pick two other men. We ride to Bergan Rise.” Bargil behaved like a good soldier. He didn’t question the order, and in a few seconds he had picked the escort, handed his duties over to his second and was beside Cain.

“Trouble, Colonel?” he asked.

“Narak,” Cain replied.

Bargil nodded. The one word was explanation enough. They rode south, moving slowly past the column, and Cain got his first chance since Bas Erinor to inspect them on the march. The officers saluted as they went by, a lot of the men did the same. He saw smiles on their faces as they passed. It took a while, but quite soon they were on their own, riding through the settling dust on a road that was suddenly quiet and empty. It felt quite odd.

“Well, let’s get this done,” Cain said. He picked up the pace, riding down the middle of the road. He would stick to the road rather than go cross country. There was less chance of getting lost, and they could move at a steady canter until the horses tired. They drummed along the highway, nobody speaking, all intent of the journey. It was a few miles back to the turn, and they got there in good time. There was a milestone at the turn. It said eleven miles to Bergan Rise. Actually it said
B Rise 11m
, but the shorthand was plain enough. There was a distance to Bas Erinor on the north side, as well as one to the last town they had passed. Was that really fifteen miles back?

By now it was noon, and Cain was hungry. As keen as he was to be done with this side trip he knew that whatever Narak had planned it would not involve eating.

“We’ll break for midday,” he said.

Bargil’s men dismounted. One of them took Cain’s horse and hobbled it with the others, the other unpacked rations while Tane Bargil himself stood at the junction and looked down he road to Bergan Rise with a frown on his face. The road was narrower than the one they were on, and within a few hundred yards it plunged into a forest. From here it looked like a cave, so dense were the bare branches above it.

“Problems, Tane?” Cain asked.

“Not a road I would have chosen, Colonel.”

“We’re seventy miles from the Gods’ Walk,” Cain reassured him. “There’ll be no bandits this far south.”

“We should have brought more men,” the big man said. He limped over to where the food had been laid out and lowered himself to the grass, taking out his sword and laying it beside him within easy reach. It was a Dragon Guard thing, Cain supposed. Tane had been a sergeant in the elite Berashi cavalry until the injury that had damaged his leg, and this was one of their habits – sword always to hand, ready for the enemy, even if there was none. He noted that Bargil’s men did the same, though they were Avilian born and bred.

They ate quickly. They were far enough north now for snow to be everywhere the sun was not. Every shaded spot was white, and in the long grass it lay in ribbons and patches where the sun could not touch. The tunnel of the Bergan Rise road was white floored with the snow that had come down through the naked trees.

Cain allowed the winter sun to warm him. He sat still with his back to the light, feeling the heat slowly work its way through his jacket and into his body. He chewed at the dried meat and fruit. He drank water that was shockingly cold from a leather flask.

All too soon they were finished, and almost as soon as he was stood up and had stretched his limbs Bargil’s man was presenting him his horse and the others were mounting. They were all good men, he thought. Tane Bargil had trained them well.