A Clash of Shadows (20 page)

Wake up!
she thought.
Wake up you stupid bitch! You can relax in a few hours!

Night was starting to fall when she saw a familiar cove to the north east. There Geir and his men had lived.

“We are getting close,” Serdra said.

They had no choice but to stop to water the horses in a stream. There was still a significant distance to Twigs, the beasts were tired and wouldn’t carry them all the way without a bit of mercy.

Katja herself dropped down on all fours and drank ravenously. She took off her helmet, dipped her head in and rejoiced in how the cold went through her like a blow. She needed it.

She stood up and reached languidly for the sky and tried to stretch every muscle in her body. The feeling was good but the strength the stretching let into her limbs dribbled out in a few moments and she somewhat deflated on her feet.

“Katja.”

Katja looked at her mentor. Serdra slapped her.

The slap was soft and as soon as the burning hit Katja realized it had been almost lazy. Still she hadn’t managed to dodge.

“Wake up,” her mentor said and looked at her without anger.

Katja nodded. She was too slow, it was true.

They unsheathed their knives and practised a little against one another while the horses caught their breath. They circled a few times and took turns thrusting. Katja was startled when Serdra’s stabs suddenly got quicker and more powerful, but the woman had enough control to only lightly poke her mail.

It worked and Katja was rather fresher once they mounted again and hurried north.

The final portion
, Katja thought.

At first the journey through the forest was just as uneventful as the one along the coast, but the tension within Katja grew and she had ever less difficulty in keeping her focus.

They were riding towards a Death Lord. The thought had hung on her for almost a day and a night but now it would soon probably cease being a fear and become a reality.

Katja was afraid of dying. Afraid of failing. Afraid of making a misstep or not being alert enough or making some other tiny mistake in a moment that would have far-reaching consequences. She had always felt a thirst for adventure and travelling, but she had never dreamt of such a responsibility.

She touched the neck band Linda had given her. She wanted to see her friend again. Next she put her hand down the shirt collar and touched the necklace she had made herself back home in Baldur’s Coast.

Watch over me, Dove.

And then it began.

Katja figured they were halfway there when she began to sense something. The feeling snuck up on her until it became obvious and undeniable, like a slight itch in the nose leading to a sneeze.

Something was taking place. Something dark and terrible went about the air and gave her goosebumps. And it lay ahead.

“Was he sleeping under the village?!” Katja said in astonishment.

“Probably not,” Serdra shouted over the din of hooves. “I am not sure what this is. But... but this does not match the description I was given.”

Katja focused and thought more on the sensation.

This was bad. She felt it in her blood, in the foul taste on her tongue and in the unpleasant sensation she had come to associate with the Brotherhood and their sorcery. Except this was more powerful than most other things she had experienced. Something terrible was happening.

What are you doing?
she thought with a mixture of anger and fear.
What did you come up with now, you wretches?

The feeling strengthened as they rode further south and drew near the village. And suddenly it was over. The after-effects of the spell remained but it was little more than an echo. Whatever had been going on was done with and they could not prevent it.

Katja clenched her teeth together.

Serdra said nothing. They still had some distance to go and it passed without anything distracting Katja from the knot in her stomach.

Finally they were close to the village periphery and Katja was rather pleased with having figured it out before Serdra stopped. Perhaps her alertness was recovering.

“Let us not go the direct route,” the woman said and led the wheezing, sweaty horse into the thicket on their right. “If enemies are ahead they will hear the hooves.”

They led the horses just out of sight, tied them quickly and then hurried off through the forest. The horses were a secondary concern.
Everything
was a secondary concern except for the coming conflict.

They half snuck and half broke through the foliage. Katja knew they could be much more stealthier than this, but there was a hurry.

The land began to rise as they approached the hills and Katja knew they had to be only a stone’s throw from the village.

But there was nothing to be heard.

What did they do?
she thought.

The last golden light of the sun coloured the clouds in the sky, but yet all was quiet. No one was tending to final chores before bed. There were no conversations, no crying of a child unwilling to sleep, no troublesome dogs.

Say something
, Katja thought quickly and suddenly felt terribly powerless. This silent request of hers was more prayer than anything else. A prayer for something she could by no means make happen herself.

Say something. Make a sound.

“Look,” Serdra whispered.

Katja looked where she pointed and glimpsed a human body. She touched her sword but felt no danger as they crept closer. This one was far too still to be a threat.

The man wore poor farming clothes, as the villagers did. He lay face down and the golden clouds gave enough light to see that he was dead. Also, he stank of shit and vomit.

They looked about. The bushes showed signs of a man having ran through them, from the village. Otherwise there was nothing to see.

Serdra knelt and turned the man around.

He had died of plague. His nose and mouth were bloody and some of it had dripped down on his chest. He had coughed it up. Dark abscesses had also broken out on the throat and the eyes were bloodshot.

“I have heard of such a thing,” Serdra said quietly. “A curse the Brotherhood has employed on occasion. It kills on a large scale in the guise of a plague.”

A large scale.

Katja rolled the words around in her mind and watched the branches that blocked their view of the village.

“This man has died around the time we felt the energy earlier,” the woman continued in her normal, calm tone. Katja occasionally hated it. “The Brotherhood men did not go along the path. So either they are still in the area or forcing their way through the forest.”

The mentor drew her sword and Katja suddenly realized she herself already had.

She was closer to the branches hiding the village and when Serdra moved towards them she hurried to slip between them.

Twigs was dead. Katja knew as much upon looking over the little village in the twilight and seeing the first bodies. The deathly silence could mean nothing else. There was no weeping or coughing or signs of the dead being tended. Even the animals were silent.

Serdra followed her pupil and scanned their surroundings with the sword at the ready. Katja saw that she was checking for danger and scolded herself for not having started with that.

They walked past a small pig sty which marked the outermost part of the village. The pigs lay dead within it and to the left a young woman lay on top of a small boy. Neither of them moved and they stank of shit, vomit and blood.

Ahead an old man lay up against one of the larger houses, as if he were resting. Next to him lay a younger man face down in a puddle. He bore signs of having rolled around in the mud.

They kept on walking and peeked into cabins and houses. A few corpses lay on the floors like discarded ragdolls but most of the village folk was outdoors.

It was as if they had all been tending to something when the curse struck. Or perhaps they had all felt its effects and staggered out of their homes in search of aid. Staggered around among neighbours, friends and kinfolk who were all in the exact same situation could offer no help.

Katja felt something grow cold within her. She did everything she was supposed to do; she walked along the houses in step with her mentor, she took care to tread lightly, she noted places where enemies could be hiding and was ready to swing the sword. But it was as if another person performed these acts. Katja didn’t feel them.

Perhaps she had fallen asleep on the way, or on board the ship. It was a comfortable thought.

They were everywhere. The poor, hospitable folk with whom she had danced, drank and sung. Old and young alike they lay in awkward positions like debris.

Katja turned in a circle; both to look for danger and because she could not stop examining the scene.

There lay the dark-haired boy who had been so impressed with her sword. And only a bit further south, up against a small overturned cart lay the pregnant girl Katja had briefly danced with.

The air was full of shit and bile and vomit and the wind stayed silent and didn’t bother blowing it away. It was as if the world had stopped. They continued searching the village for dangers and everywhere were tormented faces she had seen a few days earlier in great joy.

Say something.

Katja became convinced the Brotherhood men had gone and stopped. She didn’t have the energy to continue anyway. Serdra seemed to reach the same conclusion and they turned and looked at the dead village.

Say something.

17. 

“This must be avenged,” Katja said automatically. She was confused. She was nauseous. She knew what had priority in this situation but the outrage burned within her and had a voice of its own.

She wanted to scream, or charge into the forest with the sword above her head but couldn’t. Helplessness and anger fought within her and the conflict numbed her.

“This is not the Brotherhood’s first atrocity,” Serdra said. “Or the last one. Now focus. And watch over me for a bit.”

The woman closed her eyes and sank down to her knees. Katja understood and stood on guard by her mentor. Serdra needed to employ her sensitivity to its utmost and for that she needed to divorce from the other five senses.

Katja watched the forest and analysed every single sound coming from the thicket and the grass and the branches. Meanwhile Serdra took deep, slow breaths and her body went slack and sagged down until she was almost bent over. Under other circumstances Katja would probably have seen this as part of her studies. But not now. 

Hurry
, Katja thought and had to restrain herself so as to not say it out loud. She mustn’t interfere.
Hurry!

She heard from the woman’s breathing that she was returning to the solid world. Serdra then stood up a few moments later and turned north-east.

“There,” she said in a slightly distant voice and headed off. “There is something here. Something unclean and cold stirring from a deep slumber.”

Katja felt nothing. She shook on the inside and certainly felt evil in the world, but believed it stemmed from nerves. The massacre would not pass from her memory soon.

They entered the forest. Katja considered looking back but refrained until the darkness and foliage hid what they had left behind.

Why?
she thought.
What did these people do wrong? Were they really worth nothing just for being in the way?

“Look.”

Katja looked where Serdra was pointing and saw the outline of a body in the grass. They approached it warily but quickly saw that this man posed no danger.

It seemed that someone had made hurried attempts at hiding the body under a bush. He could hardly have fallen into this position without damaging the branches.

They seized one leg each and dragged the man out into what little light remained. It was a man in his thirties and he had been slain with an edged weapon. Given the wounds on his arms he had managed to defend himself to at least some degree before being repeatedly stabbed in the belly and then finished off with a throat-slitting. Serdra had taught Katja this. He had a short, broad scabbard in his belt but the weapon was nowhere to be seen.

“Be quick,” Serdra said and pointed at him. “Do not spare yourself.”

Katja knew what that meant and braced herself. She knelt much as her mentor had done and opened herself to the past. This event was recent, the killing still hung in the air and remembering it was barely any effort. But there was also no time to shut out what came with such a violent death and the feelings struck her in the chest.

She clenched her teeth and fought to maintain concentration and remember that the thrusts weren’t really entering her but the fatigue made it more difficult than usual.

He had come from the east, with the slow, careful steps of a man who doesn’t want to be spotted. But his demeanour hinted at general caution rather than fear and the short sword stayed in the scabbard. He was on guard against possible threats, not certain ones. They did turn out to be certain though, when he ran into another man exhibiting similar behaviour.

They noticed one another a moment apart. Both reacted the same way, but one was slightly quicker than the other. After the first two thrusts the quicker one received aid from some arriving ally and they slew their enemy together.

“He came from the east,” Katja said gasping. Her belly and throat hurt terribly and knowing that the pain was mental made no difference. She pointed and Serdra headed that way rather than help her up.

Katja rose with a groan and followed. She wobbled for a few steps before getting full control of her legs and distracted herself by briefly describing what she had seen.

“What do you think is going on?”

“He was probably a sentry meant to be looking out for the safety of the operation,” Serdra said. “Which is then presumably going on in the direction he came from.”

“Then we head there,” Katja said and took the first steps. She had to vent her rage at someone.

“Yes,” Serdra said and followed. “And now keep quiet.”

Katja remembered how eerily silent the night was. Again she began to feel every branch they had to push out of the way and every twig they didn’t spot in the darkness. They were surrounded by hiding places and Katja felt as stealthy as a horse.

I am strong,
she said to herself to combat the inner unease.
I am a warrior. I am a Redcloak and this is my role.

“More,” Serdra suddenly whispered and pointed at a tree the woman had supported herself against. The bark was marked by a recent blow. Katja looked about and noticed signs of a recent fight. Branches were broken and the earth had been disturbed.

A sharp whistle cut through the darkened forest. It came from the south, out of a flute of some kind and stopped in the same instant as a cry of pain could be heard.

Katja didn’t bother making some stupidly obvious comment.

More conflict between our enemies. The Night Hand, the Brotherhood and us. Three ancient foes in the same area in the same evening. That can’t be common.

Serdra looked at her. Katja felt she understood the look, as well as the tension that overtook the woman’s mien.

We are coming.

The thought occurred that it would be good to let their enemies batter one another and then attack the survivors. But that would probably be too risky. The Night Hand might get away with their prize.

She heard rustling almost in the same instant as a hand grabbed her right elbow. The reflexes Serdra had beaten into her went off and she turned on her enemy elbow-first. A knife touched the vambrace without inflicting a wound and she hit him in the torso, drove him up against a young tree and so broke the hold. She swung the sword overhead with both hands but the blade hit branches and stopped before reaching his head.

Katja heard a sharp whistle ahead and then gurgling. Her foe attacked again and tried to get past the sword with a long knife. She retreated, smacked the sword down on the arm with enough force to inflict a minor wound that interrupted the attack and allowed for a killing blow.

She then turned and saw Serdra rip a knife from the throat of a man who had fallen into the bush he had sprung out of. She had thrown the weapon and now finished him off with three quick stabs.

They managed to surprise us!

She looked at her arm.

He must not have seen the armour in the dark. Otherwise he would have attacked something softer.

“Hurry,” Serdra said.

They sped on.

Katja began to feel something ahead. Something evil and alien. This wasn’t the toxic corruption that stemmed from demons or the Brotherhood’s sorcery. This was cold, an abyss, a terrible power that lay in hiding just beyond death.

A slumbering Death Lord.

Katja felt her resolve weaken for a few moments, as they began to hear noises up ahead. She and her mentor were stepping into the history of the world, a gigantic shadow of the past and the future would be shaped by how they handled this. How was one to take in such a thing?

I am a Redcloak.

She wanted to live. She wanted to see the world and fulfil her destiny and make her mark upon the world as a Redcloak. She wanted get to know people and places.

She wanted to heed the Call. But it was also the Call which drove her towards this terrible danger. The thing she lived for would one day be her doom. The paradox hadn’t occurred to her until now.

Before them lay an old oak. Serdra pointed to the right and went to the left herself. They went to either side of the tree and used it as cover to peek down into a large hollow.

At a glance Katja saw eleven men. They were working around a big hole with bricked sides and judging by the pile of dirt and the metal cover next to it they had just finished digging.

Three of them were tending a narrow four-wheel wagon. The only lighting came from three covered lamps, but Katja still saw the outline of something on top of it. A sarcophagus, slightly broader and longer than a man. It seemed to be made of bronze and covered in reliefs of some kind.

The appearance was irrelevant. Katja felt the disturbance coming off of it. The hungry, awful abyss that cooled her whole being. The entity within knew of her.

A swarthy, long-faced man with very short hair and a broken nose looked up towards them. Katja’s reflexes threw her back into the cover of the foliage but she knew it was no good. Stealth was finally over with. This battle had begun.

“Enemies!” the man shouted. He had barely spoken when Serdra sped down into the hollow. Katja charged on herself and couldn’t resist screaming out into the night.

“Defend the master!” the man added and then brandished his sword with finesse that reminded Katja of Serdra.

Four men lined up by the wagon. The other seven took up position against them with the broken-nosed leader up front.

The training sprang to Katja’s mind and she quickly thought of how the two of them would work together to break back their defences and deny them a chance to use their numbers.

“Now!” someone on Katja’s right shouted and the Night Hand directly in front of her suddenly fell to the ground screaming and trashing with pain. Katja looked away from her enemies’ swords a moment and looked to the southern bank of the hollow. She saw more human silhouettes come out of the forest arms in hand and sensed sorcery in the air. The Brotherhood was here.

An axe was thrown down into the group by the hole but the Night Hand leader swatted it aside with his sword. The men at the top now spotted the Redcloaks and they themselves hesitated.

Katja took a breath while all examined the situation. Enemies from ancient times looked at one another and hesitated.

Katja breathed out and someone at the top issued a war cry.

--------------------

Vajan clasped Arvar’s shoulder and pulled him back a bit. The clash of arms in the hollow called at him, but it was always best to use the smartest means available.

“That’s her!” he said quickly. “Use our trump!”

He saw his leader’s eyes dart to the battle beginning in the forest. Sorcery and politics were Arvar’s specialities but Vajan knew he himself had more experience with pure combat.

“Hurry!” he said and Arvar recovered his wits. He took the knife Vajan had given him from his belt. The knife Vajan had wielded on Baldur’s Coast a year ago, and which still had the Redcloak girl’s blood in the blade.

Arvar sat down behind a broad tree and began the spell. Vajan ran towards the noise.

--------------------

The situation was a recipe for total chaos, but a certain order formed in the melee. The big hole the Night Hand had uncovered in the ground was a death trap; no one was foolish enough to try to go into it and then climb up right by foes. Most of the Brotherhood men went east around the hole to attack the Night Hand, who quickly lined up in defence of the cart.

Serdra and Katja stood opposite the broken-nosed leader and two others north of the hole. The leader was a master swordsman and had already parried three of Serdra’s blows. His men supported their leader and made it difficult to strike at him. Katja had taken a light hit to the shoulder when she had assumed Serdra would be able to drive the man back, but the mail saved her.

The rest of the Brotherhood still stood in the slope and Katja felt their sorcery corrode the air.

Where is Vajan?
she thought a moment and tried to be on guard against all her enemies at once. She attacked in the same instant as Serdra and hit the man opposite her. He received some wound but remained on his feet and was almost as focused and fearless as his leader, who fended off another attack with the support of his underling.

The men in the larger fight grunted and yelled. She heard clanging and the stamping of feet and groans of pain. The man who had been the first to fall still lay on the ground and babbled deliriously.

Katja heard a whistle an instant before an arrow hit the ground by her feet. She started and her opponent retreated himself. She looked up into the slope and saw a Brotherhood man with a bow and a quiver.

The short-haired man seized the opportunity and sent a powerful thrust her way. Serdra stopped the attack with her own sword and the man on the left seized THAT opportunity. Serdra defended with her armoured arm and let the blow glance off.

Katja stepped closer and slashed at the leader. He recovered from the miss in an instant but still took a deep cut to the face.

He neither screamed nor changed his expression.

Is that the Acolyte?

Serdra shot up by the slope and tried to get at the cart. The men followed and stopped her with two blows she had to parry.