Grim Company 02 - Sword Of The North (14 page)

‘Let’s move,’ Orgrim grunted. He set off into the mist, Kayne and Taran falling in just behind him. This close to the river the ground was soft underfoot and their boots sank deep with every step. At one point the mud almost swallowed Kayne’s left foot and he nearly tweaked his knee – the same knee the Shaman had fixed outside the Great Lodge all those years ago. Red Ear had paid the blood price for that. Kayne swore then that he would pass the Initiation, for his dead friend as well as for Orgrim.

But most of all, he would pass it for Dannard.

The ground slowly rose as they made their way deeper into the Borderland, sticking close to the river. Here and there a few patches of snow remained from the long winter just gone, but the Icemelt had thawed and the sun quickly burned away the mist that still clung to the hills. Eventually they crested a low rise and Orgrim raised a hand, calling a silent halt. ‘There,’ he whispered gruffly, pointing down.

Kayne’s eyes narrowed. Scattered across the bottom of the depression were the butchered remains of a herd of mountain goats. The grass was slick with their blood, still steaming in the chill morning air.

‘They haven’t touched the meat,’ Orgrim growled. ‘Demons don’t eat.’

Standing in the middle of the carnage were the demonkin: a half-dozen hairless creatures the size of large children. Gore dribbled from razor-sharp claws at the end of long arms containing one too many joints. The faces of the demonkin were blunt and shapeless masses, featureless save for two empty pits for eyes and an oversized mouth bristling with teeth.

Despite their savage appearance, the most disturbing thing about the demons was how still they were. They were motionless, as unmoving as a stone. Apart from killing, demons had no purpose. No reason to exist at all.

‘Demonkin are blind,’ Orgrim whispered. ‘We’ll sneak up on them.’

Kayne and Taran nodded. The Code forbade attacking another man from behind, but ambushing demons was fair game. Borun would be waiting for them further down the river, on the edge of the Borderland. His spirit eagle had already scouted out the area and confirmed that no other demons lurked nearby.

‘I’ll take the second on the left,’ Kayne said. Orgrim nodded and raised his mighty hammer.

‘Taran, you take the far left. I’ll handle the others.’ Orgrim crouched low and set off down the hill, using the cover provided by the occasional tree to close on his targets.

Taran clutched his spear tighter and Kayne thought he saw the man’s hands tremble. He gave the Greenman a nod, and then he sprinted off after Orgrim.

The demonkin were facing away from the Highlanders. As Kayne got closer to his target, he felt the terror begin to worm its way into his heart. Demon fear was a base response to the unnatural, an intense feeling of dread that could paralyse the bravest man or turn him into a gibbering wreck.

Kayne himself had experienced that crippling fear once before.

The demon had caught up with them outside town. Kayne’s father had given his life to buy him and Dannard time to escape. For a moment they thought they might make it out of Riverdale alive, but then that awful shriek had frozen Dannard to the spot. Kayne’s own response had been to keep running. To keep on running and not look back, even as Dannard managed to scream his name, begging him to help.

His younger brother had worshipped him, and Kayne had left him to die.

He closed on the demonkin, cleared the remaining distance in a mighty leap and cleaved the fiend’s head in half. Foul ichor sprayed over his face but he paid it no mind. He dashed straight past the toppling body, blurring gaze narrowing on the two demonkin fifty yards ahead. Without warning their heads twisted a full half-circle to regard him. The eyeless scrutiny lasted but a moment and then the demonkin burst into life, pivoting around and lurching towards him with startling speed.

Kayne didn’t hesitate. He smashed one fiend in the face with his shield, knocked it back a few feet. He thrust his sword through the leathery flesh of the other, driving it deep into the demonkin’s chest. It flailed at him with taloned hands but he got his shield up just in time, heard wood split as the claws shredded it like parchment. He tossed the ruined shield aside, severed one probing arm with a mighty slash and then beheaded the fiend with the reverse stroke.

He got his longsword back up just as the last of the demons pounced at him. The blade became tangled in its arms and they went into a clinch, Kayne desperately jerking his head from side to side to avoid those snapping jaws.

There was a flicker of movement behind the demon and then its skull exploded in a shower of gore. Kayne thrust the body aside to see Orgrim standing there, pulverized demon brain flecking the steel head of his mighty hammer.

‘The hell you doing, Kayne?’ the big Easterman bellowed at him. ‘That bastard almost had you. That weren’t part of the plan.’

Kayne lowered his sword, panting hard. The anger was still there, simmering. He tasted demon blood in his mouth and spat it out in disgust. Before he could reply, Taran’s terrified cry snatched his attention. The young Warden was on his knees, a demonkin bearing down on him, his spear hanging out of its back.

Kayne found himself running before he could think. He reached the demon just as Taran’s shield was torn from his hands. He grasped the haft of the spear and drove it deeper into the fiend, giving it a vicious twist.

‘Scream,’ he whispered in cold fury.

The demon made no sound. He forced the spear right through the fiend until the sharp metal head burst through its chest in a splatter of black gore. It twitched and went limp, but Kayne wasn’t done. He hurled the body to the ground.

‘Scream, you bastard!’ he hissed. ‘Scream like Dannard screamed.’ He stabbed the corpse in the head and chest, filling it with holes, heedless of the blood spraying over his legs. He slammed the point of the spear through the fiend’s lolling mouth, pushed it up through its brain, and then levered it with vicious force, trying to tear the head right off.

‘It’s dead, Kayne.’

He looked up. Orgrim and Taran were watching him in astonishment. ‘Dead,’ he said numbly. He blinked away tears. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying.

Borun suddenly appeared over the rise, his spirit eagle soaring far above him. The rangy young spirit-scout took in the carnage with wide eyes.

‘What’re you doing here?’ Orgrim barked. ‘You’re inside the Borderland. This ain’t no place for a boy.’

‘I thought you were in trouble,’ Borun protested.

‘You’re supposed to keep well away from the fighting. You’re a spirit-scout, not a Warden. You’re not even a man yet.’

‘I’m almost fourteen.’

Despite everything, Kayne couldn’t help but smile. He liked Borun. The boy reminded him of Dannard.

Orgrim shook his head ruefully. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get back. The citadel awaits its newest Warden. Though I’ll leave out the part where he ignored my orders and sprinted off like a madman.’

Kayne hesitated. He’d lost it completely, he knew. Could have got them all killed. ‘I let you down. I don’t reckon I’m fit to be a Warden.’

‘No man can be certain how he’ll react when he’s nose to nose with a demon,’ Orgrim replied levelly. ‘We used to send boys out into the Borderland. Kids no older than Borun. They all cracked. It takes a man who knows his mind to stand before a fiend and not shit his pants. You killed three demons and saved Taran’s life.’

Taran stared at the corpses of the demonkin. They were already beginning to dissolve into puddles of black ooze. ‘I owe you, brother.’

Kayne shrugged. ‘You’d have done the same for me.’

They climbed back up the hill and headed west, back towards Watcher’s Keep, the great stronghold that guarded the East Reaching against the worst of what the Devil’s Spine spat out. On the way they stopped by the side of the Icemelt. Kayne was washing demon blood from his face when Borun crouched down beside him. The spirit-scout gazed wistfully across the river. ‘I’ll be a Warden one day. Just like you.’

‘Then you’d best prepare for years of shit food and a bed as hard as an anvil.’ Kayne grinned suddenly, remembering how he would tease Dannard when their mam was alive. ‘Better put some muscle on those scrawny arms too.’

‘I’m stronger than I look!’

‘Ha! I reckon there’s more meat on that girl you like.’

Borun threw himself on Kayne, who was unbalanced from leaning over the river. The two of them tumbled in with an almighty splash. It was so cold they could hardly breathe, especially with them both laughing so hard. They wrestled and dunked each other under the water, just as he and Dannard had done when they were children. It didn’t dull the anger that burned inside him, the terrible rage that could ignite at a moment’s notice. But, for that afternoon at least, he could forget about everything and enjoy a friendship he thought would last forever.

‘Brick’s doing my head in.’

Kayne looked up as the Wolf stalked over. Even Jerek’s disgruntled scowl was a welcome distraction from the bitter memories that had been tossing around his skull for the last few hours. ‘What now?’

Jerek spat and gestured towards the rough shrubbery where Brick had gone to take a piss. ‘Boy keeps going on about his uncle like the man’s some kind of hero. Got a mind to tell him this Glaston’s a yellow-bellied shit and be done with it.’

Kayne raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘You mean you haven’t done that already?’

Jerek kicked at a patch of dirt and frowned. ‘Boy idolizes his uncle. Ain’t that bad for a bandit’s get, got a decent head on his shoulders.’

Kayne raised a hand to his mouth, half faking a yawn to hide his surprise. The list of folk Jerek liked or at least actively tolerated could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare. ‘He ain’t that bad’ was about as ringing an endorsement as any man ever got from the Wolf.

Grunt ambled over and grunted. Kayne nodded in response and mumbled a perfunctory ‘all right’, not knowing what else to say. Grunt had been travelling alongside them for days now, but it was hard to make conversation with a mute and they had settled into a routine of a polite greeting followed by a long, uncomfortable silence. Jerek in particular was comically awkward around the big greenskin. He and Grunt reminded Kayne of two big mountain bears that had sized each other up and quietly decided to keep their distance.

As Grunt approached, the Wolf sniffed pointedly and strode off to survey the narrow rise they were camped on one more time. Kayne had to admit that Grunt didn’t exactly smell fresh, but then he doubted any of them did just then.

‘How’s your sack?’ he asked, not knowing what else to say. Grunt looked momentarily aghast before understanding dawned in his amber eyes. He nodded as if to say
everything’s in order, thanks for asking
.

The sack in question was tied to Jerek’s mount. Grunt had made that concession on the second day, when it was either that or be left behind. The sack must have weighed at least a hundred pounds, yet the mute had somehow kept pace with the horses’ slow trot for a good score of miles before flagging. In the end Brick had convinced Grunt that they weren’t going to ride off and leave him behind. Kayne was still curious about the sack’s contents, but he had given his word that no one would mess with it and that was that.

They’d had no more trouble with hill-men or bandits or anything else except for an angry badger whose sett Grunt had accidentally disturbed. Despite his savage appearance it was clear the warrior was not at home in the wilderness. Brick had put an arrow through the animal from fifty yards and Jerek had skinned the beast and roasted it over a fire. Truth be told it had tasted like shit, but game was scarce and a man had to make do. They’d half expected Grunt to tear into the meat raw, maybe slobber everywhere for good measure, but the mute’s snout had practically curled in distaste as he chewed.

‘We’re almost out of the Badlands,’ Kayne said. ‘Mal-Torrad next. The underground cities ain’t nothing but ruins now. There’s things living there that are best avoided, but they don’t bother you so long as you stick to the road.’

Grunt’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth and moaned, clearly distraught at something he’d just heard. Kayne glanced over to the bushes where Brick was taking his sweet time. ‘Not sure I understand you,’ he began sheepishly. He was fumbling for something else to say when Jerek’s sudden reappearance spared him further embarrassment.

‘Two-score riders,’ the Wolf snarled. ‘Coming from the south and east. An hour away, could be less.’

Kayne hurried over to the shrubs and yelled for Brick. There was no response, so he shouted again.

Brick finally emerged from the bushes, looking flustered as he tugged on his trousers. ‘What?’ he said reproachfully. ‘I can’t go when you keep yelling.’

‘Got us a host of bandits heading towards us,’ Kayne said. ‘Think your uncle betrayed us to Asander and sent word that we’re here?’

Brick shook his head. ‘He’d never do that. My uncle hates Asander. They must have found our tracks and followed us north.’

Grunt was watching them with a bewildered expression. Kayne looked from the big mute to the sack tied to Jerek’s stallion and gave the green-skinned warrior an apologetic shrug. ‘We’ve only got two horses. I figure now might be a good time to part ways, friend.’

Grunt lifted his monstrous club thoughtfully. Kayne readied himself in case the mute decided to make a play for one of the mounts, but the big stranger just nodded and ambled over to Jerek’s horse to begin untying his sack.

‘Wait.’

They turned to Brick. He looked mighty nervous all of a sudden. ‘I know somewhere we can hide,’ he said slowly, as if unsure whether what he was suggesting might in fact be worse than a band of murderous horsemen riding towards them. ‘There’s an old tower in the swampland near the coast. It’s only a few miles west of here. Bandits won’t venture near it.’

‘I’m guessing there’s a “but” coming here,’ said Kayne.

‘They say a wizard lives there. A necromancer.’

‘Ah.’

Jerek snorted. Kayne swatted at a fly that had pitched on his face. All things considered, Brick’s revelation wasn’t the worst he’d been expecting. ‘A necromancer, you say? Ran into a few of those back in the day. The Shaman never had any truck with those that mess with the dead. What d’you reckon, Wolf?’