Oracle (Book 5) (4 page)

Joseph took off his hat. He felt overwhelmingly tired. The simple cot looked enticingly good. “I only saw a dozen or so. No sign of the main force.”

Dutraad scratched his face. “We know there’s two or three infantry regiments that way, plus at least one cavalry.” He looked over at Joseph. “Any company or regiment markings?”

The image of the Kalinglander bleeding in the road came unbidden to Joseph’s mind. He gave a tired shake of his head. “Looked like irregulars.”

“Hmm. Could be troopers, then, or maybe just a free company.” He sighed, then caught sight of Joseph’s vacant expression. “I apologize. Have a seat. There’s coffee on the table. Mutton, too, though it’s cold by now. You’re welcome to it.”

Joseph pulled out the chair at the table and sat down heavily. He grabbed a mug and poured himself some of the cold coffee. “How’s it going?”

Dutraad came over and sat down at the table as well. “Short answer? Not good.”

Joseph shoved a biscuit in his mouth. Only slightly stale. “Any news from Varnost?” he said with a full mouth.

Dutraad leaned his arms on the table. “None. The Baderans have it locked up tight. They’re getting bolder now that the weather’s getting warmer.”

Joseph brushed some crumbs from his beard. “They won’t get past the wall.”

“That hasn’t stopped them from bombarding it day and night.” Dutraad picked up a biscuit and took a small bite himself. “And they’re razing the surrounding countryside.”

Joseph swallowed the dry biscuit. An invading army could do a lot of damage just by destroying the surrounding fields and farmlands. Come next winter, Varnost might well starve, even if the siege was lifted by then.

“I would march up there right now,” Dutraad said with a snarl, “but the good Lord Renovare has commanded me to protect the southern approaches at all costs.” The Baron tossed his biscuit back on the table. “The old fool barely knows how to keep his rump in a saddle, much less conduct a war.”

Joseph took a sip of the coffee. Cold or not, it was still a refreshing change from the grimy water he had been drinking for the last few days.

“What about the Kalinglanders?” Joseph asked with mild curiosity. His attention was more on the food and drink then the strategic situation.

Dutraad sighed. “They’re still razing the western part of the country, that’s for sure. I think they’re more content to loot and plunder than join up with the Baderans.”

Joseph swallowed another bite of biscuit, downed with a generous gulp of coffee. “Sounds like the Kalinglanders and the Baderans are not the greatest of allies.”

Dutraad shrugged. “They’re united by their hatred of Valmingaard. Whether they work together or not doesn’t really change things for us. We have to fend off an attack on two of our borders.” He snorted angrily. “This Despair is just an excuse for them.”

Joseph didn’t answer. After what had happened in Vorten, he had to admit that he couldn’t really fault Kalingland and Badera for blaming Valmingaard for the new outpouring of cultic uprisings and rebellions that were still raging across all Rothland. If Joseph had not seen what had happened in Vorten with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.

The return of the old gods, the Seteru, the incarnation of the goddess Indigoru…and now Vorten was a smoldering ruin. It would take years to return it to anything resembling its original splendor.

“I’ll send out a company to scout the Crossing in force at first light,” Dutraad commented. “If the Kalinglanders want to come across, we’ll meet them.”

Joseph didn’t doubt it. In the three months that he had been serving as a scout to Dutraad’s army, he had witnessed the Baron engage and defeat three small detachments of enemy regiments, two Baderan and one Kalinglander raiding force.

It was ironic, really. When Joseph had first met the Baron he had thought the man was behind the planned Despair himself. Now he was coming to realize just how cunning a leader Dutraad really was, not to mention an able strategist.

“Any word?” Joseph said quietly. “On the Despair?”

Dutraad looked down at the table for a long moment. “Nothing as bad as Vorten,” he said at last. “We get occasional reports, though. There’s still trouble in the south of Merewith. The Emperor can’t get enough support from the nobles to take out the cultists once and for all. Frankly, I think it’s good for
us
. The last thing we need is the Merewithians united and invading Valmingaard from the south.”

Joseph finished his biscuit. “What about Arbela?”

Dutraad stood up from the chair. “Kelmar is still in cultist hands. Couldn’t tell you what god they’re following. Last I heard there was an Arbelan army surrounding the city. Llewyllan has staved off an invasion from the Dagger Hills. Apparently they’ve launched a counter-attack.”

Joseph saw the Dagger Hills in his mind once again. It seemed like so long ago that he had been there, fighting alongside Kendril to restore the monarchy.

“Haven’t heard how things are in Rella,” Dutraad continued. “Intelligence reports that Santaren is still a mess in the docks district, but no evil news from Wodlin.”

“Then what are the Kalinglanders so worked up about?” Joseph said with a sigh. “Not that they need much of a justification for a war, I suppose.”

Just the promise of plenty of plunder,” Dutraad said drily. He crossed over to the desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Think it’s about time for you to get paid, isn’t it?”

Joseph smirked. “Wasn’t really expecting remuneration until the war was over. The men have been complaining about back wages for a few weeks now.”

Dutraad nodded. “That’s true enough. You’re in luck, though. We got a convoy up from the southeast yesterday. Enough gold for the first month’s wages.”

Joseph pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Well, that just leaves a couple of months’ pay in arrears.”

Dutraad smirked. “Don’t hold your breath.” He held out a piece of signed paper. “Anyway, see the purser before you go. Something’s better than nothing, right?”

Joseph brushed the remaining biscuit crumbs off his damp greatcoat. “You sending me out again?”

“Not to the front.” Dutraad sat down in the chair by the desk and picked up a packet of letters. “I have a bundle of dispatches that need to go south to Vorten.”

Joseph felt a pang at the mention of the city. “I can work better here,” he said quickly. “I’ve learned the terrain pretty well, and—”

Dutraad chuckled. “I’m not arguing that. Blazes, you're worth all the money the King
hasn’t
paid you and then some. But you’ve earned a break. Take some time in Vorten, see Maklavir and that girl of yours, what was her name?”

Joseph took the bundle of letters. He felt suddenly cold. “Kara.”

“Kara,” Dutraad repeated. He looked up at the scout and lowered his voice. “How’s she doing?”

Joseph tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Not good,” he said at last.

Dutraad nodded somberly. “See her all the same. Take a few days in Vorten, whatever you need. I’ll manage the war just fine without you, I promise.”

Joseph took a deep breath, then tucked the letters under his arm. “Yes, sir.” He turned for the tent flap.

“Joseph,” Dutraad asked suddenly, “I’ve been meaning to ask. Whatever happened to that friend of yours, the Ghostwalker?”

Joseph stopped and slowly turned. “I couldn’t tell you, sir.”

He exited out of the tent into the chilly night air.

Outside, the rain had started up once again.

Chapter 3

The first thing that hit Kendril was the pain.

The second was the stench. Overpowering, like rotting meat and putrid bile mixed with garbage.

He coughed, then opened his eyes.

It was dark. The hard floor underneath him was swaying slightly.

The ship. He was still on it, then. Or another ship.

Kendril tried to move. His arms were pinned tightly behind him with rope.

Surprise, surprise.

He licked his cracked lips. The side of his face ached with pain. His good side, too. Between the scars and the inevitable bruise he would undoubtedly be a looker when this was done.

And a
whip
, for Eru’s sake. Who used a whip anymore?

Something moved in front of him.

There was a low hiss, deep and primordial.

Kendril froze. There was something there, in a massive iron cage just a few yards in front of him. Something
big
.

A person? No.

Some kind of
creature
….

Great. This day was just getting better and better.

There was a whimpering moan just to Kendril’s left.

“We’re going to die,” Marley whispered through the darkness. “Oh, Eru, we’re going to
die
…”

Kendril closed his eyes, pulling at his ropes. “Shut up,” he hissed.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” A voice sounded suddenly to Kendril’s right. A figure stepped out of the shadows. It was the same robed man who had been topside during Kendril’s fight on the ship. He gestured towards the stinking darkness just in front of Kendril. “She is the incarnation of Reianu, the winged serpent. We went through much trouble to obtain her, to bring her here to Rothland from her native jungles far to the south. But now that she is here she will wreck vengeance and destruction on the cities of Rothland. From this ship we will sow terror and fire across the coastlands of Rothland, and make them know the wrath of the goddess they have so long denied and—”

“Right, I get it,” Kendril interrupted. “You’re crazy and you got some big flying snake in your ship. Now where’s Bronwyn?”

The robed man hesitated for a moment, taken aback.

Just behind him Abid moved up, his beefy hand on the hilt of his scimitar.

The robed cultist composed himself and raised a hand. “Easy, Abid. This Ghostwalker will be taught to curb his tongue soon enough.” He looked down at Kendril with a thin smile. “You were a fool to come to the ship alone. Now how many of your friends are here in New Marlin?”

Kendril cocked his head, thinking for a moment. “Hmm. A thousand. Maybe more like twelve hundred? It’s easy to lose count.”

The robed man shook his head. “You really are quite stupid, aren’t you? I could have Abid cut your tongue out for your insolence, but I have a much,
much
better fate in store for you. One I think you will find most…unappealing. You will—”

“Wait!” said Kendril suddenly. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re going to feed me and Marley to your big scary creature there? Did I get it? Please say yes.”

Marley moaned.

Abid whipped out his scimitar.

The robed man clenched his hands. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Any idea
who
I represent?”

“You’re
nobody
,” Kendril said. “A small, pathetic man worshipping a false goddess who in all probability doesn’t even know you’re alive or care.”

Abid stepped forward with a growl.

“Now I think you should know who
I
am,” Kendril continued. He turned his head so that his scars were just visible in the faint light that filtered in through the porthole. “I’m Kendril, Demonbane of Vorten. Now where is Bronwyn? Is she onboard?”

The robed man took a second, as if composing himself. He forced out a laugh. “The
woman
? You came here for her? Then you can die disappointed. The witch left the ship this morning.”

“Where did she go?” Kendril snarled.

“Yes, you would like to know, wouldn’t you?” The cultist sneered. “Well, you can die in ignorance, knowing that your last efforts in life were ultimately futile.” He stepped over to Kendril and leaned over the Ghostwalker. “As the avatar of Reianu tears you to pieces, you can—”

“Great Eru in Pelos,” Kendril cursed, “do you ever just
shut up
?”

The robed man stepped back. “We’ll see what you say after we leave you alone in the hold with Reianu’s Blessing for a few minutes after Abid opens her cage. Your screams and cries for help will be delicious music to my ears.” He gave a high-pitched giggle. “I almost feel sorry for you, left here as food for the beast, with your arms tied and—”

“Oh,” said Kendril casually, “my arms aren’t tied. I cut through the ropes about sixty seconds ago.”

The robed man stopped and stared at Kendril.

Kendril leapt up and slammed his fist into the stunned man’s face.

He flew back and slammed hard against the bars of the iron cage.

There was a shrieking roar that cut through the ears of everyone in the hold.

Marley screamed.

Kendril spun around and shook off the last of the ropes.

Abid came right for him, scimitar lifted high.

Kendril hurled the remains of the ropes at the huge man.

Abid ducked, then lashed down with his massive scimitar.

Kendril hit the deck and rolled. He slammed up against one of the walls, bruising his shoulder.

The scimitar cut deeply into the floorboards where Kendril had been.

Abid cursed loudly in a foreign tongue, then wrenched his scimitar free.

The beast, whatever it was, moved in the cage and shrieked again. Its high-pitched wail caused everyone to freeze for a moment.

Everyone except for Kendril.

He needed a weapon, and fast. The small knife that he had used cut his bonds was one he kept hidden just inside his sleeve. It was barely larger than his finger, and hardly a decent combat weapon.

He backed against a barrel in the darkness and put out his hand in a desperate attempt to find something,
anything
he could use to defend himself.

The robed man turned towards the cage and fiddled with the lock.

Marley screamed. “Great Eru, don’t let it
out
—”

Abid rushed forward.

Kendril dashed to one side and pushed over a barrel.

Abid tumbled over the crashing barrel and fell to the ground.

Kendril turned for the open stairwell and dashed up the steps.

The cold night air hit him in the face as he ran out onto the open deck. It was still night, but the ship was moving. Kendril glanced quickly around.