Reaper's Gale

  ‘He left recently then? What was the reason? And how far is the coast from here?’

  ‘Ma’am, would be unner a bell, fast-goin’ as he was.’

  ‘And the reason?’

  Another mysterious exchange of glances, then, ‘Ma’am, coast be well black an’ whispery of late. Got fishers vanishin’ an’ demon eyes flashin’ from the deeps. Got islands be well ice an’ all, pale an’ deathly as the innards of a murderer’s skull.’

  ‘The Master at Arms rode off after superstitious rumours?’

  ‘Ma’am, I be well ‘ave a cousin on the shore—’

  ‘The ditsy one, aye,’ interjected the other hag.

  ‘Be well ditsy but that don’t matter in this, in this being the voices of the sea, which she heard an’ heard more’n once too. Voices, ma’am, like the ghosts of the drowned as she says, havin’ heard them an’ heard them more’n once too.’

  Two of her sergeants were now behind the Atri-Preda, listening. Twilight loosened the strap on her helm. ‘This Master stays sober?’ she asked.

  ‘One a them hast, be well an’ all.’

  ‘It be him,’ the other agreed. ‘An’ that a curse what make us worse at bad times of the night like now—’

  ‘Shush you! This ma’am be a soljer outrankin’ Dresh himself !’

  ‘You don’t know that, Pully! Why—’

  ‘But I do! Whose nephew dug latrines for the Grass Jackets, be well he did! It’s ranks an’ neck torcs an’ the cut of the cape an’ all—’

  Yan Tovis turned to one of her sergeants. ‘Are there fresh horses in the stables?’

  A nod. ‘Four, Atri-Preda.’

  The first old woman pushed at the other at that and said, ‘Tolya! Be well I did!’

  Yan Tovis tilted her head back in an effort to loosen the muscles of her neck. She closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed. ‘Saddle them up, Sergeant. Pick me three of the least exhausted riders. I am off to find our missing Master at Arms.’

  ‘Sir.’ The man saluted and departed.

  Turning back to the old women, the Atri-Preda asked, ‘Where is the nearest detachment of Tiste Edur?’

  A half-dozen heartbeats of non-verbal communication between the two hags, then the first one nodded and said, ‘Rennis, ma’am. An’ they be well not once visited neither.’

  ‘Be glad they haven’t,’ Twilight said. ‘They would have separated Boaral’s head from his shoulders.’

  The second woman snorted. ‘Not so’s he’d notice—’

  ‘Shush!’ scolded the first one. Then, to Twilight, ‘Ma’am, Dresh Boaral, he lost mostly alla his kin when the Edur come down. Lost his wife, too, in Noose Bog, what, now be well three years—’

  The other hag spat onto the floor they had just cleaned. ‘Lost? Be well strangled and dumped, Pully, by his master himself! So now he drowns on his own drinkin’! But oh she was fire wasn’t she – no time for mewlin’ husbands only he likes his mewlin’ and be well likes it enough to murder his own wife!’

  Twilight said to the sergeant who had remained, ‘We will stay for a few days. I want the Dresh here under house arrest. Send a rider to Rennis to request adjudication by the Tiste Edur. The investigation will involve some sorcery, specifically speaking with the dead.’

  The sergeant saluted and left.

  ‘Best be well not speak wi’ the mistress, ma’am.’

  Twilight frowned at the woman. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Liable she is t’start talkin’ and ne’er stop. Master drunk an’ she’s fire, all fire – she’s a might claw his eyes out, be well an’ that.’

  ‘Are you two witches?’

  More silent communication between the two hags, then the first one edged one knobby, hairy foot forward and carefully wiped at the gobbet of spit on the pavestones. The toes, Twilight saw, were taloned.

  ‘You are Shake? Shoulderwomen of the Old Ways?’

  Wrinkled brows rose, then the one named Pully curtsied again. ‘Local born you be well as we’d known, aye. It’s there, ma’am, you’re a child of the shore an’ ain’t you gone far, but not so far as to f ‘get. Mistress ne’er liked us much.’

  ‘So who strangled her and dumped her corpse in Noose Bog, Pully?’

  The other seemed to choke, then she said, ‘Dresh give ‘is orders plain as web on a trail, didn’t he, Pully? Give ‘is orders an’ wi’ us we be well here since the Keep’s first black stone was laid. Loyal, aye. Boaral blood was Letherii blood, the first t’these lands, the first masters a’all. Dresh the First give us ‘is blood in full knowing, t’blacken the Black Stone.’

  ‘The first Dresh here found you and forced your blessing?’

  A cackle from the second woman. ‘What he be well think were blessing!’

  Twilight looked away, then stepped to one side and leaned a shoulder against the grimy wall. She was too tired for this. Boaral line cursed by Shake witches – who remained, alive and watchful, through generation after generation. She closed her eyes. ‘Pully, how many wives have you two murdered?’

  ‘None wi’out Dresh’s command, ma’am.’

  ‘But your curse drives them mad, every one of them.

  Don’t make me ask the question again.’

  ‘Ma’am, be well twenty and one. Once their bearin’ days are done. Mostly.’

  ‘And you have been working hard at keeping the Tiste Edur away.’

  ‘No business a theirs, ma’am.’

  Nor mine. Yet . . . not entirely true, is it? ‘End the curse, Pully. You’ve done enough.’

  ‘Boaral killed more Shake than any other Dresh, ma’am. You know that.’

  ‘End it,’ Twilight said, opening her eyes and facing the two women, ‘or your heads will be in sacks and buried deep in Noose Bog before this night is out.’

  Pully and her companion grinned at each other.

  ‘I am of the shore,’ Yan Tovis said in a hard voice. ‘My Shake name is Twilight.’

  The hags suddenly backed away, then sank down onto their knees, heads bowed.

  ‘End the curse,’ Twilight said again. ‘Will you defy a princess of the Last Blood?’

  ‘Princess no longer,’ Pully said to the floor.

  Yan Tovis felt the blood drain from her face – if not for the wall she leaned against she would have staggered.

  ‘Your mother died be well a year past,’ Pully said in a soft, sad voice.

  The other witch added, ‘Crossin’ from the Isle, the boat overturning. They say it was some demon o’ the deep, pushed too close by dark magic out at sea – the same magic, my Queen, as could be well squirted Master at Arms west as they say. A demon, up unner the boat, an’ all drowned. Whisperin’ from the waters, my Queen, dark and well nigh black.’

  Yan Tovis drew a deep breath. To be Shake was to know grief. Her mother was dead, now a face emptied of life. Well, she had not seen the woman in over a decade, had she? So, why this pain? Because there is something else. ‘What is the name of the Master at Arms, Pully?’

  ‘Yedan Derryg, Highness. The Watch.’

  The half-brother I have never met. The one who ran – from his blood, from everything. Ran nearly as far as I did. And yet, was that old tale even true? The Watch was here, after all, a mere bell’s ride from the shore. She understood now why he had ridden out on this night. Something else, and this is it.

  Yan Tovis drew her cloak about herself, began pulling on her gauntlets. ‘Feed well my soldiers. I will return with Derryg by dawn.’ As she turned to the door she paused. ‘The madness afflicting the Dresh, Pully.’

  Behind her the witch replied, ‘Be well too late for him, Highness. But we will scour the Black Stone this night. Before the Edur arrive.’

  Oh, yes, I sent for them, didn’t I? ‘I imagine,’ she said, her gaze fixed on the door, ‘the summary execution of Dresh Boaral will be something of a mercy for the poor man.’

  ‘You mean to do it before the Edur come here as they say, Highness?’

  ‘Yes, Pully. He will die, I suppose,
trying to flee arrest.’ After a moment, she asked, ‘Pully, how many shoulderwomen are left?’

  ‘More than two hundred, Highness.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘My Queen,’ ventured the other, ‘word will be sent out, cob to web as they say, before the sun’s rise. You have been chosen a betrothed.’

  ‘I have, have I? Who?’

  ‘Shake Brullyg, of the Isle.’

  ‘And does my betrothed remain on Second Maiden Fort?’

  ‘We think so, Highness,’ Pully replied.

  At that she turned round. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘The web’s been snapped, Highness. Almost a month now. Ice an’ dark and whisperings, we cannot reach across the waves. The shore is blind to the sea, Highness.’

  The shore is blind to the sea. ‘Has such a thing ever occurred before?’

  Both witches shook their heads.

  Twilight swung about and hastened outside. Her riders awaited her, already mounted, silent with fatigue. She strode to the horse bearing her saddle – a chestnut gelding, the fittest of the lot, she could see in the torchlight – and pulled herself onto its broad back.

  ‘Atri-Preda?’

  ‘To the coast,’ she said, gathering the reins. ‘At the canter.’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  The Hound Master’s face was ravaged with distress, tears streaming down his wind-burned cheeks and glistening like sweat in his beard. ‘They’ve been poisoned, Atri-Preda! Poisoned meat, left on the ground – I’m going to lose them all!’

  Bivatt cursed under her breath, then said, ‘Then we shall have to do without.’

  ‘But the Edur mages—’

  ‘If our own cannot treat them, Bellict, then neither can the warlocks – the Edur tribes do not breed dogs for war, do they? I am sorry. Leave me now.’

  Just one more unpleasant surprise to greet this dawn. Her army had marched through the last two bells of night to reach the valley – she wanted to be the first to array her troops for the battle to come, to force Redmask to react rather than initiate. Given the location of the Awl encampment, she had not felt rushed in conducting that march, anticipating it would be midday at the earliest before the savages appeared on the east side of Bast Fulmar, thus negating any advantage of a bright morning sun at their backs.

  But that enemy encampment had been a deceit.

  Less than a half-league from the valley, scouts had returned to the column to report enemy in strength at Bast Fulmar.

  How had her mages not found them? They had no answer, barring a disquieting fear in their eyes. Even Brohl Handar’s Den-Ratha K’risnan and his four warlocks had been at a loss to explain the success of Redmask’s deception. The news had left the sour taste of self-recrimination in Bivatt – relying upon mages had been a mistake, laziness leaning heavy on past successes. Outriding scouts would have discovered the ruse days ago, had she bothered to send them beyond line of sight. Keeping them close ensured no raids or ambushes, both gambits for which the Awl were renowned. She had been following doctrine, to the letter.

  Damn this Redmask. Clearly he knows that doctrine as well as I do. And used it against us.

  Now, the battle awaiting them was imminent, and the bright dawn sun would indeed blaze into the eyes of her soldiers even as the first blood was spilled.

  Rising in her stirrups, she squinted once more at the valley’s far side. Mounted Awl in swirling motion, in seeming chaos, riding back and forth, lifting clouds of dust that burned gold in the morning light. Horse-archers for the most part. Tending to mass in front of one of the broader slopes to the south, on her right. A second gentle incline was situated slightly to her left, and there, shifting restlessly, were five distinct wedges of Awl warriors on foot, lining what passed for a ridge – and she could see their long spears waving like reeds on a shore. Spears, not those flimsy swords sold them by the Factor’s agents. She judged around a thousand warriors per wedge formation – too disciplined even now, before the fighting began. They should be drunk. Pounding on shields. Their shamans should be rushing about in front, down all the way to the riverbed. Showing us their backsides as they defecate. Screaming curses, dancing to summon dread spirits and all the rest. Instead, this . . .

  Well, how likely is it those wedges will survive contact with my soldiers? They are not trained to this kind of war – nor did Redmask have the time to manage anything but this thin shell of organization. I have over sixteen thousand with me. Eighteen if I include the Tiste Edur. This one army of mine outnumbers the entire Awl population of warriors – and while it looks indeed as if Redmask has gathered them all, still they are not enough.

  But he wasn’t making it easy to gauge numbers. The tumultuous back and forth of the horse-archers, the clouds of dust, the truncated line of sight beyond the valley’s ridge – he was keeping her blind.

  Brohl Handar reined in at her side, speaking loudly to be heard over the movement of her troops and the officers bellowing orders. ‘Atri-Preda, you seem to intend to hold most of your medium infantry in reserve.’ He gestured behind them to punctuate his words. Then, when it was clear she would not respond, he waved ahead. ‘This valley’s flanks, while not steeply inclined, are ribboned with drainage channels—’

  ‘Narrow,’ she cut in. ‘Not deep.’

  ‘True, but they serve to separate the field of battle into segments nonetheless.’

  She glanced across at him. ‘We have three such channels on our side, and all of them on my right. They have four, one to my right, two before me and one to my left – and in that direction, north, the valley narrows.’ She pointed. ‘See the bluff on our side there, where the Dresh ballistae are being emplaced? It cannot be assaulted from the valley floor. That shall be our rock in the stream. And before the day is through, not simply a rock, but an anvil.’

  ‘Provided you can hold the debouch beneath it,’ the Tiste Edur observed.

  ‘I pray to the Errant that the Awl seek to flee down that defile. It may not look deadly but I assure you, push a few thousand panicking barbarians into that chokepoint and as many will die underfoot as we ourselves slaughter.’

  ‘So you intend to sweep down and in with your right flank, pushing the enemy on the valley floor north to that narrowing. Cannot Redmask see the same?’

  ‘He chose this site, Overseer.’

  ‘Suggesting he sees what you see – that this place invites a half-encirclement to funnel his warriors north – to their deaths. You said, did you not, that this Redmask is no fool. How then will he counter what you seek?’

  She faced the valley once again. ‘Overseer, I am afraid I do not have time for this—’

  ‘Would not a slow placing of your forces be to our advantage, given the sun’s position?’

  ‘I believe he is ready, even now,’ she replied, biting back her irritation. ‘He could advance at any time – and we are not ready.’

  ‘Then why not withdraw?’

  ‘Because the plain behind us is level for leagues – he will have more mounted warriors than I, lighter-armoured than my Bluerose lancers, and on rested horses – they can harry us at will, Overseer. Worse, we have lost our wardogs, while from the sounds of that barking, Redmask has hundreds if not thousands of his drays and herders. Your suggestion invites chaos, a messy succession of skirmishes, attacks, feints, raids—’

  ‘Very well,’ Brohl Handar interrupted. ‘Atri-Preda, my K’risnan tells me this valley is dead.’

  ‘What does he mean, dead?’

  ‘Bereft of the energies one uses to create magic. It has been . . . murdered.’

  ‘This is why none of the mages sensed the Awl army?’

  Brohl Handar nodded.

  Murdered? By Redmask? Never mind. ‘Did you ask your K’risnan about the impending battle? Will he be able to use sorcery?’

  ‘No. Nor can your mages. As he said, there will be no magic here. In this valley. That is why I again advise we withdraw. Even on the plain, exposed as you say we are, at l
east we will have sorcery.’

  Bivatt was silent, considering. She had already known her mages would be ineffective in the valley below, although they could not explain why it was so. That the Edur warlocks had found the reason confirmed that spirit magic was involved. After a long moment, she swore and shook her head. ‘We still outnumber them, with better-disciplined, better-armoured troops. Iron to iron, we will crush the Awl today. An end to this war, Overseer. Did you not counsel a quick, succinct campaign?’

  ‘I did. But I am uneasy, Atri-Preda—’

  ‘A battle awaits – we are all uneasy.’

  ‘Not in that way.’

  Bivatt grimaced. ‘Retain your warriors, Overseer, midway between our baggage camp and my reserve units – those medium infantry, by the way, are arrayed into discrete platoons of five hundred at the minimum, and each one protects one of my mages. They are not in the valley.’

  ‘Thus, if you are forced to retreat—’

  ‘We will be positioned to blunt the pursuit with sorcery, yes.’

  ‘Is this your plan? A feigned retreat, Atri-Preda?’

  ‘One of them, but I do not believe it will be necessary.’

  Brohl Handar studied her for a long moment, then he gathered his reins and swung his horse round. ‘I will reposition my warriors, then.’

  As he rode away, signal horns were sounding from various locations along the western side of the valley as units announced they were in place and at the ready. Bivatt rose once more on her stirrups and scanned her lines.

  This section of the valley certainly invited a horned advance – the west edge curved, marking what had once been a broad bend in the course of the long-dead river. The enemy’s side was more undulating, bulging in the centre. The widest approach for the Awl was to her right. To counter that she had set three legions of the Crimson Rampant Brigade in shield-wall formation at the top of the slope, fifteen hundred medium infantry, flanked on the nearer inside by five hundred heavies of the Harridict Brigade. To the furthest right and already edging down into the valley were a thousand skirmishing light infantry of the Crimson Rampant. Inside of the heavies another fifteen hundred skirmishers, these of the Artisan Battalion, were likewise slowly, raggedly, working their way down. The foot soldiers on this side screened three wings of Bluerose cavalry: fifteen hundred lancers who would, when she gave the signal, sweep down between the south skirmishers and the Crimson Rampant shield-wall to begin the hard push of the enemy northward along the floor of the valley, even as that shield-wall advanced towards the riverbed.