Grim Company 02 - Sword Of The North (16 page)

‘I’m not a child,’ said Brick.

Nazala ignored that. ‘I have had dinner prepared within. Join me and we shall discuss how we might be to able help one another.’ The necromancer turned, black robes trailing behind him, and strolled back inside the keep.

Kayne hesitated. He was hungry and tired and if the wizard spoke true the bandits giving chase wouldn’t be bothering them again in a hurry. But trusting a necromancer seemed akin to putting your chin on an executioner’s block and expecting him to give you a nice head massage. He was still deliberating when Jerek barged past him.

‘You coming?’ the Wolf rasped. ‘Reckon I might be able to salvage these boots if we can find a fire.’

‘Your boots will be the death of me,’ Kayne muttered. But he nodded at Brick, and together they entered the necromancer’s tower.

‘Dead.’

Sir Meredith stifled a sigh. Bagha had a penchant for stating the obvious that never ceased to irritate him. Almost as much as that ridiculous bear-skull headdress he wore. It was as if the stupid brute was trying to mock him, parading his buffoonery like one of the clowns from the travelling circuses that passed through the kingdom of Tarbonne in early autumn.

‘Kingswood is just ahead,’ he said impatiently.

He stepped over the corpse, disturbing a buzzard that had been enjoying a leisurely dinner. By the look of it the wolf had only been dead a short while. With all the recent fighting around Heartstone, carrion birds had grown as ubiquitous as the bad food and toothless women his compatriots seemed to relish in equal measure.

‘Looks like it was demonkin what did for it,’ Ryder said, pointing to the deep gouges in the wolf’s hindquarters. Ryder was the oldest of the three men, tall and rake-thin and with a long face that reminded Meredith of the coyotes that haunted the Badlands. To further add to the effect, he was also missing the top half of his right ear.

‘
That
did for it,’ Meredith replied, unable to stop himself. ‘Not
what
did for it.’

‘What’s your point?

‘Correct grammar, Ryder. We’re Kingsmen, not cock-waving savages. We should treat our words with the same care we place in our martial prowess.’

‘I ain’t got no martial prowess,’ Bagha rumbled. ‘That’s what my wife used to tell me. Before I chopped her head off.’

Meredith shot the enormous warrior a hateful glare. ‘If I didn’t know better I might suspect you were mocking me.’

‘Huh?’

Sir Meredith spread his gauntleted hands. ‘I don’t ask that you recite Balcaz or comport yourself with the dignity of the great warrior-bards of the Garden City. That would clearly be a bridge too far. But,
damn it
, you could at least not confuse simple words. And the occasional bath wouldn’t go amiss either! Standards in this accursed backwater are even worse than I had feared.’

Ryder snorted up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it out. He smiled nastily, revealing sharp yellow teeth. ‘What’re you even doing here, iron man? You went south over twenty years past. Why come back?’

Meredith grimaced and stared off into the distance. That was a subject he had been pondering a great deal of late. ‘I fail to see how it’s any of your business. But if you must know, I was the victim of a tragic misunderstanding. There are men that want to kill me. Powerful men.’

‘So you fled back north?’ Ryder gave a barking laugh that grated on Meredith’s nerves like a spear point shoved down his earhole. ‘The Sword Lord himself, turning tail and scarpering home like a scolded dog.’

Sir Meredith felt the blood rush to his face. ‘It was a tactical withdrawal, you bloody cretin!’ he roared. It took all his considerable strength of character not to draw his sabre and challenge the man to a duel right there and then. Ryder might be a dead eye with a bow, but Sir Meredith had learned the art of swordsmanship at the hands of the Old Masters in Carhein. He was no simple barbarian like his countrymen.

He was a
knight
.

Ryder yawned and scratched his neck. If he had taken offence at Meredith’s insult, it didn’t show on his stubbly face. ‘Getting late in the day. Let’s finish our business here.’

They resumed their journey, following the road east from Heartstone and heading deeper into the King’s Reaching. Just behind them Lake Dragur gleamed in the afternoon sun. The road would continue for hundreds of miles, through the Lake Reaching and then the East Reaching until finally it terminated at Watcher’s Keep. At this very moment Orgrim Foehammer and his entourage would be making the journey in the opposite direction. The chieftain of the East Reaching had been summoned along with his counterparts from the other undeclared Reachings. The one exception was the Green Reaching, whose stated neutrality Krazka had yet to address. The forthcoming meeting between the four chieftains could well decide the fate of the High Fangs.

Another hour passed before the trio came within sight of Kingswood, a small village on the side of a hill with a shallow brook gurgling just below. Shranree had provided Krazka with the names of every known sorceress in the King’s Reaching. Those who had not yet travelled to the capital and presented themselves to Shranree, such as the two that were reported to dwell in this small settlement, were to be escorted back to Heartstone forthwith. Either they agreed to join the King’s circle or they would be feeding the worms before the day was out.

The Kingsmen halted just before the village. Sir Meredith was grateful for the respite; he was sweating heavily beneath his armour, which these days felt a little too tight around the stomach. Standing around guarding the King wasn’t doing much for his waistline, which was why he had volunteered for this undertaking in the first place.

‘Want me to scout the area?’ Ryder asked. He had good eyes, the Lakeman. All the more galling when one considered he was at least ten years Meredith’s senior and carried not an ounce of fat on his lean frame.

‘No,’ replied Meredith. ‘If they try to escape, or offer any resistance, we’ll put the village to the torch.’

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He had witnessed enough smouldering flesh when he and Wulgreth had burned the corpses of the Black Reaching sorceresses on the hill outside Heartstone. The disappointment on Wulgreth’s face as he had watched the corpses burn might have been a curious thing to many, but Sir Meredith had known the truth of it. He had always been able to read a man. It had been obvious in the Northman’s ravenous, bloodshot eyes; he had been imagining all the pleasure he could have had with the bodies of those freshly killed women.

‘Degenerate bastard,’ he swore bitterly. The foulness of the human spirit never ceased to repulse him.

‘Who’re you talking to?’ Bagha rumbled.

‘No one,’ Sir Meredith snapped. ‘Men of intellect often have cause to curse when contemplating the iniquities of the world.’

Bagha turned to Ryder. ‘You got any idea what he’s talking about?’

The rangy old Lakeman shook his head. ‘Not a clue.’

‘Pah!’ Sir Meredith drew his sabre. It slid from the scabbard with a satisfying hiss. ‘If the pair of you are done revelling in your ignorance, it is time we took care of the King’s business.’

They climbed the hill and made their way past the short wooden fence that surrounded the village. Kingswood was little different to the other small settlements that dotted the King’s Reaching. The buildings were constructed from timber cut from the adjacent woodland, and they lined a dirt path running from one end of the village to the other. An ancient well stood in the centre, the stone overgrown with weeds and beginning to crumble. A boy and a girl played nearby, chasing a chicken that had escaped from its coop, while a dog sunned itself on a rock. It eyed the three men warily as they approached the children. Sir Meredith had always hated dogs: the damned animals seemed to dislike him on sight.

The children stopped chasing the chicken and stared up wide-eyed as Meredith clanked towards them. Bagha loomed on his left, while Ryder slunk along to his right.

‘Is that a bear skull?’ the girl asked, after a moment of silence. She pointed a grubby finger at the monstrous helmet Bagha wore.

‘Yeah. I killed it. A big brown bear up in the Pinewood.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Bagha.’

‘You’re funny! What about these old men? Are they your friends? They look mean.’

Sir Meredith bristled with righteous indignation. Old man? He was barely forty! ‘Mind your tongue, girl,’ he barked. ‘You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. We’re looking for two women. Leyanne and Minerva. You will tell us where they can be found.’

The children looked at each other. ‘We don’t know,’ said the boy.

He could tell by the child’s eyes that he was lying. Back when he had fought under the Rag King’s banner, Sir Meredith had won a small fortune at card games in the taverns and gambling halls on the roads between the Shattered Realms. He could call a bluff twenty feet away.

‘Lies!’ he said sternly. ‘Don’t treat me like a fool.’

A door opened and a well-muscled man stormed out. He wore a woodcutter’s axe at his belt. ‘What’s going on? Who are you?’

Ryder drew his long hunting knife and made a show of picking his teeth with the tip. While Meredith appreciated Ryder’s intent to intimidate the fellow, he couldn’t resist a grimace at the sight. The Lakeman’s dental hygiene was frankly deplorable.

‘The sorceresses,’ Ryder said. ‘Where are they?’

The woodcutter frowned. ‘They live just over there, in the big cabin. Don’t go causing no trouble, you hear? Leyanne and Minerva are two of the sweetest women a village could wish for. Besides – you don’t wanna make a sorceress angry.’

Sir Meredith sneered at that. His sabre had tasted the blood of no fewer than four sorceresses atop the hill twelve days past. He grunted at Bagha and Ryder and the three of them barged past the woodcutter, who disappeared back inside his hut, ushering the children before him.

The cabin in question was bigger than Kingswood’s other buildings – closer in size to the houses one might find in the poorer districts of Carhein. Meredith gave the door a shove and found it locked. He rapped on it with his iron gauntlets, leaving small dents in the wood.

Bagha unharnessed his huge war mace, four feet of solid steel. ‘I’ll break the fucker down,’ he growled.

Sir Meredith raised his eyes towards the heavens. Fortunately, the door creaked open before the brute beside him could indulge his latest bestial impulse. A full-figured woman in a green gown stared back at him. Behind her, another woman was sitting at a table in front of what looked suspiciously like a book. She got to her feet immediately.

‘Which one of you is Leyanne?’ Meredith demanded.

‘I am,’ said the larger woman in the green gown.

‘In that case, I must assume you are Minerva.’ Meredith stared at the willowy woman standing by the table. She was dark-haired and fine-boned. Quite unusual in a Highlander woman. He cleared his throat. ‘The two of you will accompany us back to Heartstone. There can be no more hiding. The King expects every sorceress to do her duty and defend the capital from our enemies.’

‘We want no part in this conflict,’ Leyanne said.

‘You don’t have a choice in the matter. The King’s instructions were clear. Join his circle or face execution for treason.’

‘You can’t threaten us!’

Ryder suddenly grabbed hold of Leyanne’s hair and pulled her face close to his, so close she must have had a faceful of his rancid breath. He gave her a wicked grin. ‘That weren’t no threat. Do what you’re told or I’ll have you squealing like a pig.’

In response, the sorceress raised her hands and frantically whispered words of arcane power. Meredith felt the abyssium ring on his finger begin to pulse and grow warm as it absorbed whatever hostile magic was being directed at the three Kingsmen.

A moment later Leyanne’s hands dropped to her sides, eyes widening in shock as she realized her magic had failed her. ‘How—’

Bagha clubbed her over the head with his mace. The woman dropped like a stone.

‘Anne!
’ Minerva screamed. She began to move to the fallen woman, but Meredith blocked her path and guided her firmly back to the chair. ‘Don’t,’ he said, as her lips began forming words of power. ‘Your magic is useless against us.’

She didn’t obey him at first. In a fit of pique he backhanded her across the face, bloodying her lips. He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. He immediately regretted striking her. She was a pretty one, and hitting a woman was conduct unbecoming a true knight such as he.

Sir Meredith pointed behind him at Bagha and Ryder. ‘Listen to me,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Those two men are dangerous. The big one haunted the roads of the Lake Reaching for years, robbing and murdering. I’m led to understand he would dismember the bodies of his victims, sometimes wearing their heads for weeks at a time. The grey-haired fellow is the lone survivor of a notorious gang that burned villages and killed children in their sleep. Our new king values skill at arms more than he does moral fortitude, and so he pardoned them both in return for their service. But make no mistake. If you refuse us, they will kill you.’

Minerva’s breath quickened and her face went pale with fear. Sir Meredith placed a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m not like them,’ he said. ‘I take no pleasure in killing.’ He pointed at the book on the table. ‘I see you like to read.’

The sorceress gave a distracted nod. Her gaze seemed fixed on the prone form of Leyanne.

‘Then you are a rarity here. What are you reading at the moment?’

‘A book my mother left me. Just some stories about knights. Why… why isn’t she moving?’

At the mention of knights, Meredith’s heart surged in his chest. ‘Milady!’ he exclaimed in delight. ‘I
am
a knight! A knight of Tarbonne! I was forced to return to this land due to dire circumstance, with little recourse but to take up the kind of employment that best fits my skills. But not my character, I assure you.’