Grim Company 02 - Sword Of The North (41 page)

‘A mortal to enact my will. A weapon to slay those that threaten the balance. You, Brodar Kayne, will be my
champion
.’

‘Your champion?’ Kayne echoed, dumbstruck. ‘But… I got a family back at Eastmeet. I was gonna be a shepherd…’

The Shaman’s piercing gaze seemed to see into the depths of his soul. ‘A sword is not meant to steer sheep. A sword has but one purpose. To kill.’

‘A home has been prepared for your family near Beregund,’ King Jagar stated. ‘You need never worry about providing for them again.’

Have I got a choice?
Kayne wanted to ask – but he knew that he did not. And, if he was being honest, herding sheep wasn’t the kind of future he’d dreamed about. No one remembered the names of shepherds. He thought again of the famous Highlanders and their arms hanging from the walls of the Great Lodge. Their legacies assured, destined to endure when all else had turned to dust and been forgotten.

Despite everything, he felt a flicker of excitement. ‘I... I’m honoured. I’ll do my best to serve.’

The King nodded and rose from his throne. ‘I’ll have a messenger dispatched to your wife.’

‘A messenger?’ Kayne repeated. Did that mean what he thought it meant? He suddenly felt an intense need to be with Mhaira and his son.

‘Yes. It is important you begin preparations immediately. We march for the West Reaching without delay. Now, Galma has someone he would like you to meet.’

The chieftain of the Lake Reaching stroked his outlandish beard. ‘One of my lieutenants. He’s young and a bit rough around the edges, but fuck me if he isn’t some kind of tactical genius all the same. His name’s Krazka. We put our heads together and the Bloodfist won’t know what hit him.’

‘I’m all ears,’ Kayne said dully. In truth he wasn’t paying a great deal of attention to Galma Forkbeard. He was imagining the look on Mhaira’s face when she received the message. Would she be excited for him? Proud? Or would she be disappointed? The one thing he’d sworn he would never do was disappoint her. Not after all she’d sacrificed for him.

As if he could read Kayne’s thoughts, the Shaman growled and fixed him with an expression that froze his blood. ‘You answer only to me now, Brodar Kayne. You are my tool. My weapon. You are the
Sword of the North
.’

‘I think it’s healing.’

Jerek spat and slapped Brick’s hand away. ‘Ain’t much left to heal after you butchered my leg. Should’ve just let the greenskin bite it off, likely would’ve made a cleaner job of it.’

Brick shrugged and turned away, and Kayne thought he saw the ghost of a smile on the boy’s face. It was good to see the lad’s spirits returning. He’d said little in the weeks that had passed since their ‘escape’ from the Bandit King’s camp. With Grunt still sore over the loss of his mysterious egg and Jerek half-delirious from his leg wound, the three of them had made for grim company on the long ride north and west up through the Purple Hills.

‘Reckon you can walk, Wolf?’ Kayne asked. Jerek scowled down at his leg, which was wrapped in a thick padding. They’d removed the arrowhead and cauterized the wound and it looked like it was on the way to mending. The Wolf took a step and grimaced.

‘Yeah.’

Kayne stared doubtfully at the rocky wilderness that rose slowly ahead of them. The naked hills were dark and jagged and entirely unwelcoming. The old trade route was just about visible despite centuries of neglect, cutting through the broken landscape to run the length of Mal-Torrad for a couple of hundred miles before the terrain rose even higher and the outskirts of the Greenwild appeared, marking the southern border of the vast country he called home. It was a hard and dangerous slog to get to that point.

‘We could cobble together a litter, carry you some of the way. You know how dicey it gets further on.’

‘You deaf as well as blind, Kayne? I said I can walk! Next thing I know you’ll be hiding in the bushes waiting to wipe my arse for me.’

‘Suit yourself, Wolf.’

They untied the packs from their mounts and then with heavy hearts they shooed the animals away, sending them galloping back south to the Purple Hills. It was a shame to part with the horses, but they would only slow them down once the going got tough and besides, there was little for the animals to graze on in the ruins.

Kayne’s pack was filled to bursting with provisions; the Seer had provided them with food to last for weeks. Somehow she’d even arranged to have their weapons returned to them. The memory of the southern woman still made his skin crawl. He’d known some villains in his time, but the depth of Shara’s evil had shocked him to the bone.

Slowly they made their way up the broken road. Every thousand yards or so it was punctuated by standing stones carved with runes in the language of the underfolk. The markers were signposts, detailing the hidden paths that ran beneath the hills and connected the ruins of the great underground cities far below the earth. Once upon a time Mal-Torrad had been the greatest kingdom in the north, but it was said to be home only to dark things now. The companions avoided the caves gaping in the hillside, steering well clear of the tunnels that led down to the ruins. As far as Kayne was concerned, whatever lurked among the bones of that shattered kingdom was best left undisturbed.

‘You never told me what you and the Seer talked about back at the lake,’ Brick said.

‘You sure you want to know?’ Kayne asked.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘A lot of stuff that ain’t worth repeating. And some kind of prophecy about three kings.’ He frowned, remembering the woman’s words. The Bandit King was no mystery, and he reckoned he had a fair idea who the Butcher might be. He was damned sure he would never kneel before that piece of shit, not if his life depended on it.

Which left only the Broken King. The King he would send to his death. A shiver ran down his spine. It couldn’t be him.

It couldn’t be.

‘You really think she could read the future?’ Brick said, interrupting those dark thoughts.

Kayne glanced back at Jerek. The Wolf was limping heavily, sweat pouring from his bald brow despite the bitter chill in the air. ‘I’m not sure anyone can say with certainty what the future holds. I figure if Shara had that kind of power she’d be ruling the world, not slumming it with an army of bandits.’

Brick bobbed his head in agreement. His red hair reached down to his shoulders now, and there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. The boy was growing up fast. ‘You don’t mind that I’m travelling with you?’ he asked cautiously. ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’

Kayne gave the youngster a companionable pat on the shoulder. ‘You’re a free man, Brick. You can go where you please. I’m glad of the company.’

‘Shit.’ Behind them Jerek stumbled. Kayne was about to go and help his friend but Grunt got there before him, hauling the Wolf to his feet and putting a muscular green arm on his shoulder to steady him. The mute had kicked up a hell of a fuss when he’d found out he needed to leave his egg back at the camp, and for a moment Kayne had been worried the big green warrior would refuse to leave without it, placing them all in grave danger. Fortunately he’d calmed down eventually and fled along with the rest of them. He’d more or less returned to his old self since that morning, though he seemed a tad more glum these days.

‘I thought Jerek and Grunt didn’t get along,’ Brick observed as they neared the next standing stone. This one had a circle carved below the harsh runes of the underfolk language. Though Kayne couldn’t understand the words, he’d learned what the circle meant during his last trek through Mal-Torrad. The tunnel in the nearby hill led to some kind of auditorium – a vast open circle that must have served as a public meeting area.

‘Takes the Wolf a while to warm to new faces,’ Kayne answered. ‘But when he decides you’re all right, you’re all right.’

‘Does he have a wife? Any children?’

‘Not as far as I can tell. He don’t talk about himself much. Don’t think he ever married. If he’s got a son he don’t mention him.’

‘You don’t talk about your son much, either.’

Kayne was silent a moment. ‘Magnar and me, we had our differences. I thought… I thought he did something I couldn’t forgive. But it turns out I might’ve been wrong.’

‘About the thing he did? Or about forgiving him?’

‘Both.’

Brick’s green eyes were so earnest Kayne couldn’t help but feel touched. ‘He’s your son. You should patch things up with him while you still can.’

Kayne rubbed at his bristled chin and stared into the distance. ‘Aye, you’re right. It’s about time I— Hang on, who the hell’s
that
?’

There was someone watching them from a ridge a little further ahead. Whoever it was, they were garbed head to toe in black and didn’t look much like any bandit Kayne had ever seen. The mysterious figure’s arm seemed to twitch, and then something skipped across the stone just in front of Kayne before coming to a halt near his boots. He reached down to pick it up. It was a dart, the point sharp enough to pierce steel.

‘Get down!’ he roared to the others, but his mysterious attacker had already disappeared over the ridge.

Brick had an arrow nocked and ready and was scanning the hills around them. ‘I think that was just a warning,’ he said quietly. ‘Whoever they are, they just mean to scare us.’

Jerek and Grunt joined them. The Wolf scowled at the dart and then spat in disgust. ‘Coward’s weapon, that. The tip’s poisoned.’

Kayne placed the dart carefully back on the ground. ‘Someone doesn’t want us going any further. What d’you reckon, Wolf?’

‘I reckon they can go fuck themselves,’ Jerek growled.

‘That’s what I thought. We’d best stick close together. Brick, keep a lookout. If you spot movement, fire first and ask questions later.’

The youngster nodded and spat just like Jerek had. It seemed the boy was picking up some bad habits.

When they reached the next standing stone they stopped for a break. Despite a few obligatory grumbles Jerek immediately sat down and stretched out his leg while Kayne and Grunt examined the monument.

Kayne traced a finger down the seven-pointed star carved onto the rock. ‘I wonder what happened to the underfolk?’ he mused. ‘Seems mighty odd for an entire people to just up and vanish.’

Grunt shook his head and ran a thick finger across his throat.

‘They didn’t vanish,’ Brick translated as he checked the horizon again. ‘They’re all dead.’

‘Aye, I figured that much. What made ’em all dead, is what I’m wondering.’

Grunt shrugged and then wandered off to take a piss. Kayne moved to inspect Jerek’s wound, but behind him Brick suddenly hissed and he turned to see the black-garbed figure watching them from a rise less than thirty yards distant – well within bowshot range. Brick lined up his arrow, but with incredible agility the shadowy watcher turned and cartwheeled away to disappear behind a boulder, leaving them staring open-mouthed at thin air.

‘Did… did you
see
that?’ Brick asked in astonishment. ‘Who is he?’

‘I’m guessing we’ll find out soon enough,’ Kayne replied grimly.

As it turned out it was another hour before they encountered their stealthy observer again, and it didn’t happen in the manner Kayne might’ve been expecting. The sounds of fighting reached Grunt’s oversized ears and he brought a meaty fist down onto his palm to indicate trouble. Then he raised a finger to his lips and beckoned them to follow him. He clambered up a narrow path and led Kayne and Brick around an outcrop of jagged stone beyond which a fierce battle raged. Jerek limped along, unable to keep up.

The black-clad stranger who had been stalking them earlier was surrounded by a half-dozen men, bandits by the looks of it, bristling with swords and clubs and vicious daggers. The stranger at the centre of the melee appeared to be unarmed – but that didn’t seem to hinder him, judging by the man already crumpled on the ground and another cradling a broken arm.

As the companions looked on, the stranger caught a sword thrust between his palms and wrenched the weapon away from his assailant, then punched out with an open palm, hitting him in the throat and dropping him in a heap. The stranger spun as another bandit stabbed, caught his wrist and used the man’s own momentum to hurl him over his shoulder. One bandit managed to creep up behind and get in a good swing. His cudgel slammed into the side of his target, sending the mysterious black-clad figure staggering back. The stranger looked up then and noticed Kayne and the others, and though he wore a veil over much of his face Kayne could see that the person behind the veil was… unmistakably female.

‘I could use a hand,’ she called out in a voice that was strangely accented and slightly desperate.

Grunt growled softly and drew his swords. Brick looked at Kayne questioningly.

The old warrior sighed. This was none of their business: that was the truth of the matter. But he’d always had a weakness for women and children.

‘I’m getting soft,’ he muttered, giving Brick the nod and reaching up to draw his greatsword. The youngster’s arrow took a bandit in the back as Grunt charged down the slope. Soon the mute’s twin longswords were cutting down bandits from all angles, a display of swordsmanship Kayne would never have guessed the big greenskin capable of when first they’d met. The two remaining bandits quickly realized the tables had turned and made a break for it, fleeing for the hills before Kayne’s creaking knees could carry him to the melee and leaving him looking like a bit of an idiot as his charge came to a staggering halt. He turned to the enigmatic woman in black.

‘You hurt?’ he asked evenly.

‘Just some bruising,’ she answered in her strange accent. Her dark eyes watched them warily. Though she relaxed her stance a little she still looked as if she could spring into action at a moment’s notice. ‘I must apologise for the incident with the dart. I thought you were with them. They were looking for someone.’

‘Aye,’ Kayne replied. ‘Reckon I have a fair idea who.’ He’d taken a good look at their faces during the fighting and thought he remembered one of the men from Fivebellies’ gang. The Bandit King must have sent his cousin to search for them, just as Shara had warned.