Curse: The Dark God Book 2 (27 page)

“Yes,” Argoth said. “The weapon for fighting this is called retreat.”

29

The Practical Thing

ARGOTH, SHIM, AND THEIR ARMY of dreadmen rode toward the village that served Rogum’s Defense. Out to sea a storm was brewing, dark clouds heaving toward the coast. Inland, the low sun shone slantwise upon the walls and roofs of the houses and across the fields, illuminating all with orange and yellow. A lone rider sat upon his mount at the crest of a low hill a few hundred yards off the road.

Argoth recognized the rider, even without seeing the tasseled fringe of his clothing, and pulled out of the moving column of Shim’s men to face the man.

All the way back from Fishing Argoth had thought about the Bone Face Kragow and the wraiths. All the way back he’d seen clearly that the chances of Shim’s army succeeding grew less and less.

The lord of Nilliam turned his horse and disappeared down the other side of the hill. Argoth loped his horse up to the crest of the hill. Below him, the lord of Nilliam waited at the wood’s edge. When Argoth spotted him, he turned into the woods and disappeared in the trees.

Argoth knew there could be men waiting there in ambush. But if this lord had wanted to abduct him, he could have done it the first time. So Argoth urged his horse forward. He rode down the hill and entered the wood where the lord had.

He found the lord, with his tassels, tidy hair, and easy smile, sitting atop his horse a discrete distance from the wood’s edge. “My friend,” the lord said. “I came to see if you’d considered our offer. Your time is growing short.”

“You’re not merely a lord of Nilliam, are you?” asked Argoth.

“I am a lord, a messenger, a ditch digger—I am whatever I’m needed to be.”

“Was the skir that spirited you away yours or another’s?”

“The Divines of Nilliam sometimes share resources.”

Argoth considered the man. “Show me your honors.”

The man smiled and raised the sleeve of his left arm. His honors were elaborate and ran all the way to the elbow. What clearly stood out were the loops and whorls marking him as one of those consecrated as Divine.

The Divine of Nilliam pulled his sleeve back down and said, “You can see I am not making idle promises.”

“What is your name?”

“When the Mother raised me, she named me Loyal.”

Loyal of Nilliam. Argoth had heard that name, although he did not know much about the man.

“So what is your decision?” Loyal of Nilliam asked.

“How can I trust you when everything the Devourers speak is lies?”

“I am not lying when I tell you that you will be destroyed. You’ve done well to raise your terrors of dreadmen. But as impressive as your little army is, it will be no match for the combined might of the Western Glorydoms.”

Argoth noticed he did not include the Bone Faces. “Combined might? Who, Nilliam and Mokad?”

“And Cath and Urz and Toth and Mungo.”

“So this is what you came to do? Try to frighten me into compliance?”

“I came to demonstrate our good will,” said Loyal. “I came because I’m a father, and I would want to help my own son were I in your situation.” He withdrew a leather pouch and tossed it to Argoth.

Argoth caught the pouch.

“Open it,” Loyal said.

Argoth loosened the draw string and pulled out a pendant the size of his thumb. It was black and silver and shaped in the form of bird that looked to be a nightingale. Argoth turned it over in his hand. It was alive, a weave.

“Let your son wear it on a string around his neck.”

“What is its purpose?”

“It will slow your son’s deterioration. The longer you wait, the harder it is to join soul to soul. Wait too long, and it will be impossible.”

Argoth slipped the weave back into its pouch and tossed it back at Loyal. “Do you take me for a fool?” Argoth had no idea what this weave did, but he was sure it wasn’t something to protect his son.

“Whatever you are, you are not a fool,” said Loyal. “We would not choose a fool to elevate to our ranks. The weave is a gift. You’re running out of time to save your son. It will help.”

“You do not offer salvation,” said Argoth.

“You still do not understand,” Loyal said and shook his head. “When Mokad finishes, there will be nothing left. But it doesn’t have to be. Not all masters are the same. Our master is fair. Only a portion of our people are harvested. Many of us go into the world of souls not only unmolested, but with escort. You can be one of those.”

“I have a better proposal,” said Argoth. “Why don’t you join us? Why don’t you throw off your shackles? Become a free man.”

“Now who is taking whom for the fool? Men have never been free.”

“In the beginning men submitted to none but the Creators. Then entered envying and strife and covetous desires. And that is how men fell.”

“Come,” said Loyal, “let us be men of truth. It’s a good story. A noble dream. But that’s all it is. That’s all it will ever be.”

“The Devourers are not invincible.”

“Zu,” Loyal said. “You face an army of three thousand dreadmen. You face multiple Divines, including a number of Skir Masters.”

“We’ll take our chances.”

“I appreciate the fact that you must be strong in the face of your enemy. But there are no chances to be taken, except the one I’m giving you.”

“No, that’s not true. The Bone Faces have made us an offer.”

Loyal of Nilliam cocked his head in surprise. “The Bone Faces? You truly think those backward savages can stand against the Western Glorydoms?”

Argoth shrugged.

“The Bone Faces are gnats, nothing more. They will be crushed and you along with them.”

He was either bluffing or knew something about the mists that Argoth didn’t. Or maybe he didn’t know about the mists at all. One thing was clear: the Bone Faces were not allied with Mokad, and that was good news. Argoth decided to play this hand a bit farther. “They offer us defense,” he lied.

“And you think they won’t sacrifice you up to their gods? Right now you are outside the protection of a Sublime. You are alone. But if you become the property of a Sublime, then all sorts of agreements come into play. And because you are no longer a common threat but a responsibility of Nilliam instead, Mokad’s coalition will dissolve.”

“Responsibility? I find that an odd word. What you mean is we will become the property, the meat of the Devourer that holds your Glory’s chain. I don’t see any difference between you and the Bone Faces.”

“You have not heard me. The Sublimes are not all the same. Our master is not void of all feeling for her subjects. She is beautiful, strong, and kind.”

“Do you hear your own words?” asked Argoth. “You feed your people to these creatures. You do not preserve life. You destroy it.”

“I am serving those I love. I am serving my wife and children. I am preserving my seed. That’s where a man’s duty lies. That’s where your duty lies. You have a son. You have daughters. Your job is to preserve them. And not just here, in the world of flesh, but also in the world of souls. Once you’ve done that, you extend your protection to as many others as you can. You don’t begin by betraying your own seed. And if that doesn’t move you, then think on this: I will help more souls find that glorious brightness, my friend, than any man in any Hismayan Grove ever has or ever will.”

They’d been smart to send this Loyal. He was persuasive, even though Argoth knew he lied.

“I’m giving you a chance to make a difference in this world,” said Loyal. “I’m giving you an opportunity to seize real power. Save your daughters. Save your wife, your son. Save as many as you can. And do not delude yourself—if your son dies now, his soul torn, he will only become prey to the hungers that roam that other world.”

Loyal’s offer was tempting. Argoth had to face that fact. Furthermore, it seemed the more Argoth learned, the more he saw he didn’t know. A small doubt crept into his mind. How did he know the Devourers were not the intended masters of the earth? Argoth had never seen an ancestor, never talked to one who had returned from the brightness. No Creator had spoken to him. So how did he know that humans received any salvation? He’d read scrolls and codices written by men, been taught stories handed down from other men. But who was to say the things he’d learned were only part-truths or maybe outright falsehoods? What if it was Loyal of Nilliam, and not Argoth, who was the one that possessed the fuller measure of the truth?

Loyal watched him, not with the look of a predator, but a caring friend. Oh, but he was good.

Argoth said, “I need more assurance than your promises.”

Loyal nodded. “Of course, you do. So let me give you this. Mokad will be landing her many ships tomorrow at Blue Towers. The Mokaddian Kains that supply the Fire for the weaves of this army will arrive together.”

“Where’s the Skir Master?”

“We don’t know, but we can give you the Kains.”

Knowing the location of the Skir Master would be better. But you took the opportunities you were given, not the ones you wished for. Besides, if they could take out Mokad’s Kains, it would be a tremendous blow. It was true many Divines knew the lore of drawing and storing Fire, but the Kains knew secrets the others did not. A handful could keep an army’s weaves black with Fire. Furthermore, it was they who conducted the Fire sacrifices. Without the Kains, those caught in raids wouldn’t be sacrificed. The weaves for 3,000 dreadmen required prodigious amounts of fire. Remove the Kains and the weaves would soon run dry.

Loyal said, “They come in the death ship with the red eye upon its sails.”

If this information was correct, Loyal was giving them an opportunity to hobble Mokad’s army. Argoth looked at his opponent, his gentle smile and honest face. A man who looked like he had nothing to hide. “Why would you give us this information?”

“How many times must I say it? Our Sublime is not like the others.”

“More likely you simply see a way to gain the upper hand over Mokad without spilling your own blood.”

Loyal held out the pouch with the nightingale weave in it. “Test us,” he said. “Test
me
.”

Argoth looked at the pouch. That weave might be anything, but, then again, wouldn’t they want to deliver something that would actually work and build his trust? Besides, he could examine its operation well beforehand. He wasn’t going to join them, so what harm could there be in accepting a gift?

He reached up and closed his fist around the pouch. It would do no harm to lead Loyal and his Glory on. In fact, it might do great good. “I will indeed test this,” he said.

Loyal of Nilliam nodded. “You’re doing the right thing.” He said this without revealing any sort of deception or gloating, just honest sympathy. “It is a hard decision you have to make. I know. It was offered to me once as well. But do not delay. You do not have the time. Raise a red pennant on your north tower when you are ready to talk. I will be waiting for you on the same hill you found me today.”

Argoth put the pouch into his pocket. “Who else in Shim’s army have you made this offer to?”

“I told you: we are careful about who we raise to our ranks. This offer has been made to none other.”

That was a lie. It had to be. Moreover, why would Nilliam be the only one playing this game? Could Urz, for instance, be making their own offers? Maybe they were behind the traitor in Shim’s midst. What about Mungo and Cath? Both of them were neck-deep in their own games; why wouldn’t they be trying to steal the New Lands from Mokad just as Nilliam was? Surely someone had made a similar offer to Shim or Eresh.

“Who is the traitor in our midst?” Argoth asked.

“Mokad does not share such secrets with us.”

Argoth told himself Loyal of Nilliam was wrong about the nature of Divines. He told himself he’d just given Shim’s army an advantage, perhaps an opportunity, by discovering the Bone Faces were not part of Mokad’s coalition. Furthermore, Argoth might be able to play this Loyal for even more information or feed him lies.

But underneath all that he wondered: there was so much he didn’t know. Over his many years, he had learned, as painful as it might be, it never did any good to fight against the truth. Was it possible the teachings of Hismayas were dreams? Was Loyal of Nilliam actually bringing light?

Loyal smiled.

Argoth did not return the gesture. He simply turned his horse around and rode it out of the woods. Above him the storm clouds darkened the sky.

* * *

A thunderstorm broke upon the troops as they rode into Rogum’s Defense. Argoth settled his horse in the stables, then walked across the bailey to Shim’s quarters. He climbed the stairs, his clothes dripping rain, and reported everything that had occurred with Loyal to Shim. Everything except the last bit about the red pennant.

“We have to act on this knowledge,” Shim said.

“It could be a trap.”

“It could be their undoing. Their dreadmen don’t know any lore. They rely on the Kains to fill their weaves. What happens when their weaves begin to run dry while ours wean themselves off weaves and begin to learn how to wield Fire on their own? Every day our forces will grow stronger while theirs diminish. We need to plan.”

“We need to send word to the families of the men that have fallen. We need to send word about the mists to all our outposts.”

Shim nodded. “It’s going to be a long, rough evening.”

Argoth sent riders with messages, then helped Shim oversee the preparation of the dead bodies in the great hall. As they worked, the rain lashed the fortress walls and the cobbles of the inner bailey. Lightning cracked and boomed. At one point Serah, his wife, and the girls entered the hall to silently view each of the bodies. They somberly added coins and gifts to the small piles forming next to each of the men. On their way out, Grace ran over to Argoth and put a small straw girl she’d made in his pocket. She was always giving him things to remember her by.

When the bodies had all been prepared, Shim said to Argoth, “Get something to eat. Then meet me in my quarters.”

Argoth wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should eat. So he got a bowl of cold swamp from the cooks and took it to his quarters.

Grace and his other daughters sat around their mother stitching various bits of clothing. They’d shuttered the window against the storm and worked by candlelight. Nettle sat to one side on the floor with a piece of chalk and a slate, painstakingly drawing something Argoth could not recognize. A few moments later a tremor began to shake Nettle’s head and arm.