Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (43 page)

 
          
"You
can buy more there," he said, "if Sathoman doesn't stop you along the
way. The town's some three or four days' ride from here if you make a good
pace."

 
          
"Are
there other holdings?" Bracht asked.

 
          
Octofan
shook his head.

 
          
"Not
close to the road. There was a caravanserai, but Sathoman burned it down and
Anomius cursed it and it was never built again. Folk avoid it."

 
          
Calandryll
nodded, studying his face, but saw no hint of treachery in the deep-set eyes.
He thanked the farmer and they carried the sacks out to the waiting animals.
Octofan lifted the bar and swung the gate open. "Burash ward you,"
were his parting words as they quit his yard, following the track down to the
road.

 
          
The
sky was a soft blue, empty of cloud save to the northwest, where piling billows
marked the line of the mountains, the sun a golden coin still low to the east.
The irritation of the gaheen was replaced with a gentle breeze, pleasantly
cooling, that rustled the grass verging the road, and magic seemed a thing of
the night, driven off by the dawning of a bright new day. Birds sang from the
trees dotting the rolling landscape, and high above them more flew, spiraling
and swooping against the blue. There seemed no danger in that gentle
countryside, though the land rolled and ridged in a manner that could hide riders
between the folds, their presence unmarked until they chose to appear.
Calandryll saw that Bracht rode with a hand close to the falchion's hilt, his
eyes scanning the way ahead, turning in his saddle from time to time to study
the road behind.

 
          
They
saw only Denphat and Jedomus, who waved from a low hillside where they herded
cattle back toward the farm, soon lost among the ridging. All morning, until
they halted to rest the horses and eat, they saw no other sign of human life,
only the scattered cattle and watchful hares, the birds above. Nor any other
until late in the afternoon.

 
          
The
sun westered toward its setting, shadows long across the land and the air
still, silent but for the buzz of insects. Birds still hung above them and
ahead they saw a descending spiral, falling from the azure to a place hidden
behind a ridge. The road ran up the eastern face, through a small stand of
timber where black birds perched, lost after that: Bracht reined in.

 
          
“Carrion
eaters." He pointed toward the black column, eyes narrowed in suspicion
and distaste. "We'd best ride cautious. And not straight on."

 
          
He
turned his mount off the road, cutting through the high grass parallel to the
ridge. Calandryll followed, glancing warily at his chest, where the red stone
hung. It remained dull: no hint of fire warned of wizardry, and he decided that
if peril lay ahead it was danger of man's making, not occult origin. He set a
hand to his sword's hilt, easing the blade in the scabbard, ready to draw. He
saw Bracht halt and brought his own mount alongside. The Kem gestured him down,
passing him the reins of both animals.

 
          
"Wait
here," Bracht's voice was low, a murmur lost in the rustling of the
breeze, "whilst I climb the ridge."

 
          
He
frowned a protest, but the freesword's hand gestured him to silence.

 
          
"I
am paid to guard you. Perhaps Sathoman waits on the other side; perhaps there
is nothing more than a dead cow—but those birds come down to feed on something,
and I'll take a look. Wait for my signal. And if it's to run, get on that horse
and ride back to Octofan's holding! Do you understand?"

 
          
Calandryll
nodded and watched as the Kem began to climb the gentle slope. He dropped on
his belly as he approached the crest, worming nis way upward until he was able
to peer over, to see whatever lay beyond. After a while he rose, beckoning
Calandryll forward. Calandryll mounted and urged his horse up the slope,
leading Bracht's. The Kern walked down to meet him, taking the reins. Both
animals began to fret, sawing at their bridles with flattened ears and rolling
eyes, snorting nervously.

           
"Dismount," Bracht ordered
curtly.

 
          
Calandryll
obeyed.

 
          
"What
is it?"

 
          
Bracht
simply led the way to the crest and inclined his head to the hollow beyond.

 
          
"The
blood's fresh enough they can smell it. Hold firm lest the beast run."

 
          
Calandryll
felt his horse begin to plunge as the Kem spoke, fighting it to a standstill
even as he stared, not sure the trembling he felt came from the animal or
himself.

 
          
Ravens
and crows came down out of the sky to stmt the trampled grass about the road
where it dipped between the ridges. The air was loud with their croaking, the
grass shadowed by their wings. They moved among the corpses of some twenty men
and as many horses, perching on arrow-feathered chests, bloodied armor, tearing
and tugging, too intent on their feasting to attend the watchers on the ridge.
Swords jutted like grave markers from the ground, and lances with scarlet
pennants a brighter red than the gore that decorated the animals and the dead
soldiers. Calandryll saw that they wore the scarlet puggarees of Actor's men,
the same conical helms and leathery breastplates as Philomen's guards.

 
          
"What
happened here?" he asked softly, grimacing as the breeze shifted a
fraction, carrying the charnel reek to his nostrils.

 
          
"I
think perhaps Cenophus came looking for taxes; or Sathoman," Bracht
answered. "I think he found Sathoman."

 
          
He
walked a little way long the ridge top, toward the trees, pointing.

 
          
"See?
There, where those two lie?" He indicated two soldiers fallen close to the
road, close to arrow-studded horses. "They were the scouts. Ambushed from
the cover of the trees. Thirty, forty men hid to either side of the road. As
the soldiers approached the hollow, they attacked."

 
          
Calandryll
followed his pointing hand, seeing trampled grass, dung busy with flies beyond
the bodies. Bracht brought his hands together.

 
          
"They
struck from both sides at once. With archers in the timber. Those," he
indicated three men fallen halfway up the slope, five others some distance off
along the hollow to the north, "tried to escape. The rest had no
chance."

 
          
"They
were slaughtered," whispered Calandryll.

 
          
"Their
officer was careless," said Bracht. "He led them into ambush."

 
          
Calandryll
tore his gaze from the carnage to the Kem's face. It was cold, unmoved by the
massacre. He shuddered: Bracht had likely seen such sights before; he had not
and he was abruptly aware of the sickly sweet odor of recent death, the sound
the beaks made as they ripped at flesh. He spat and swallowed, fighting the
bile that rose in his throat.

 
          
"This
happened no more than yesterday," Bracht said.

 
          
"How
can you know?"

 
          
He
hoped his voice came out steadier than it sounded, willing himself to look, not
to turn and vomit.

 
          
"They're
still fresh. There's meat still on them."

 
          
Calandryll
groaned.

 
          
"What
do we do?"

 
          
"Likely
it was Sathoman attacked them. We've not met him on the road, so he's either
between us and Kesham-vaj or out there." Bracht indicated the rolling
landscape, the hollows shadowed now as the sun fell lower in the sky. "We
seek to avoid him. Wait here."

 
          
Before
Calandryll had opportunity to protest the Kem was in the saddle, moving at a
trot along the ridge. He paused among the trees, his presence bringing a choms
of alarm from the bloated crows, walking slow across the dirt of the road, then
on. Calandryll clutched his nervous mount, nervous himself now, anticipating a
return of the ambushers, wishing Bracht would return. He watched as the
black-clad man went down the ridge and up the farther side, his worry growing
as Bracht disappeared from sight, his relief expressing itself in a long sigh
as the Kem showed again, on the road, where it topped the ridge.

 
          
He
halted on the crest and waved Calandryll over.

 
          
Calandryll
mounted and brought his animal at an angle down the slope, unwilling to ride in
among the bodies. Crows and ravens screamed protest as he passed by them, some
taking flight, most too bloated to fly. He reached the road and joined Bracht
on the crest.

 
          
"They're
ahead of us." The Kem pointed to the southwest. "They grouped along
the hollow and took the road toward Kesham-vaj."

 
          
"Dera!"
Calandryll gasped. "They lie between us and the town?"

 
          
"Perhaps,"
Bracht shrugged. "Perhaps they turned off. Octofan said Fayne Keep lies to
the north."

 
          
"Please
Dera—please Burash!—they've done that," Calandryll hoped.

 
          
"I'll
know if they have," Bracht said. "Or if they haven't. Meanwhile, we'd
best move on."

 
          
Calandryll
was more than happy to accept the suggestion: he wanted to be a long way from
the bloody hollow when they made camp.

 
          
The
horses seemed of like mind, for they rose eagerly to a canter, calming only
when the scene of slaughter was well to the rear. By then the sun was close to
its setting, the sky darkening in the east, lit by the globe of a full moon.
The dark spiral that marked the hollow was lost against the encroaching night
and Calandryll felt a littler easier until Bracht slowed his mount to a walk,
staring up.

 
          
"I
think," he said slowly, "that we are observed."

 
          
Calandryll
craned his head back, seeing only the open sky and the solitary shape of a bird
hanging there: he shook his head, frowning.

 
          
"Since
we left the holding we've seen birds overhead," Bracht said. "All
day. Now all are gone save that one."

 
          
"So?"
asked Calandryll.

 
          
"So
night approaches and birds roost," Bracht replied. "But not that
one."

 
          
Calandryll
looked up. The bird still hung there, wings spread to catch the updraft. He
brought the red stone from under his shirt and said, "It does not glow. It
shows no sign of magic."

 
          
"Even
so," Bracht looked around, "tonight we keep a watch."

 
          
They
found a place where a timbered ridge curved sharply, the angled flanks
providing cover on two sides, hiding them from the road. Bracht set Calandryll
to gathering wood while he scouted the environs, returning to announce the
absence of obvious danger, crouching to shape a small fire, not large enough
that its glow might be seen above the banks. Shadow filled the declivity and
above, the sky grew dark. Calandryll peered upward, but if the bird Bracht had
seen was there, it was lost against the burgeoning night.

 
          
"They're
still ahead of us," Bracht said, "Around forty men, holding to the
road as if Kesham-vaj is their destination."

 
          
"How
far ahead?" Calandryll asked as the Kem struck tinder to the twigs,
coaxing a little flame into life.

 
          
"A
day." Bracht shrugged, "Perhaps two—they set an easy pace."