Grim Company 02 - Sword Of The North (47 page)

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth working soundlessly. ‘I…’ she trailed off, overcome with revulsion.

‘State your name!’ he demanded again. ‘If I have to call for the guards, why, you can consider yourself fortunate if you’re still able to feed yourself come the morrow. No memory repressants for you, I’m afraid. No, I’ll go straight in through the skull.’ He gave the scissors a snip.

‘Cyreena,’ Sasha blurted out. She wasn’t sure why. The lie was on her lips before her brain had even caught up with what was happening.

‘Ah-ha. So you’re the Mistress’s new favourite. I wasn’t expecting you for a few more weeks yet. The clandestine work we do does not agree with everyone’s palate, at least at first. In my experience acceptance, even enthusiasm are only a matter of time. My name is Fergus. You might consider me a pioneer of sorts. A man of science. My work enables Thelassa to safeguard its autonomy in this cold and merciless world.’

‘Your work?’

‘The Unlife Chamber is quite something, is it not? Who would have imagined the blood of a dead god could have so many
uses
. At our current production rates the Mistress should possess in excess of one hundred Unborn before the year is out.’

‘The Unlife Chamber… That… that tank? You’re creating more of the White— the Mistress’s handmaidens?’ The realization of what was happening in this tower appalled her. How many other places like this were there? What kind of monster was the Magelord of Thelassa?

‘Naturally our output is restricted by population considerations. The Seeding is an effective means of maintaining a sustainable level of female candidates for the change. Ply a man or a woman with the correct substances, provide them with an excuse to discard the social constructs that moderate our impulses and separate humans from the lesser beasts – why, the results are remarkably easy to predict. It is simply a case of stimulating the brain to achieve the desired outcome. Thelassa is more efficient than any city its size in the entire course of human history. The Mistress could never abide the ugly dictatorship practised by the Tyrant of Dorminia and his ilk. Her methods are so much
cleaner
.’

‘I should go,’ Sasha said. She forced herself to keep her tone neutral, though a part of her wanted to bend over and vomit. Another part wanted to throttle this Fergus with her bare hands.

‘As I said, it does get easier. The next time you are here I will demonstrate the procedure for removing a babe from the womb and preparing it for submersion in the blood of the Reaver. Some wastage is inevitable, but I’m happy to say the ratio of successful Unborn to Abandoned is ever improving.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Sasha said numbly. As she walked past Fergus she caught a glimpse of a woman tied to a table through the door he must have just come through. There was a pool of blood forming between her open legs. Sasha looked away, somehow resisting the urge to snatch Fergus’s scissors from his hands and drive the sharp end straight through his windpipe.

‘Remember,’ he called after her. ‘Drink only the water provided by the Consult. While the drugs we pump into the city cisterns are not dangerous, it is better for members of the Consult to serve the Mistress with a clear head.’

As Sasha exited the tower and let the rain wash away the tears that now rolled freely down her cheeks, a clear head was the very last thing on her mind.

‘Pa, what’s the matter? Pa!’

He heard Magnar’s voice, but what he saw were the faces. So many faces, some of them not much older than the one staring back at him just then.

He’d given the order. There hadn’t been any choice in the matter, not when it came right down to it. Once a man gave his word, he stuck to it or it wasn’t his word any longer. The Shaman’s instructions had been clear. Seven years of blood needed answering with blood.

And so he’d given the order, and men hardly older than his son had died beneath the eager swords of Krazka and his men. The nightmares kept him awake at night, and now they were following him into his waking hours. He ran a rough hand down his face. It came away slick with sweat. ‘We’re done for the morning,’ Kayne rasped. ‘Go help your mother.’

‘You promised to teach me!’ Magnar pouted. He was barely ten winters of age and already he was tall enough for his head to reach his father’s chest.

‘I said we’re done for the morning.’

Magnar threw his wooden sword to the grass and turned his back on his father.

‘Pick that up.’

‘Why? You were never around! Now you’re back and you don’t even care. All you and Ma ever do is argue.’

‘I told you to pick it up,’ Kayne said, his voice dangerously soft.

‘I heard Mother say you’re not the same since the war,’ Magnar hissed. It was a boy’s instinct, that ability to hurt a parent precisely where they were most vulnerable.

Kayne wrestled with the sudden rage that swelled within him. Ever since Red Valley it had lurked there, waiting for any excuse to burst free. Watching countless friends die and ordering five thousand put to the sword had broken the ice that slaked his fire. These days he found himself getting incensed at the smallest things.

He took deep, measured breaths and tried to compose himself. The spring sun was pleasantly warm after the hard winter, and the gentle birdsong helped soothe his fury. ‘When did she say that?’ he asked, as calmly as he could manage.

‘She was speaking to Aunt Natalya. Aunt Natalya said some bad things about you and Mother was crying.’ Magnar’s anger faded, forgotten as quickly as it had come. ‘Sometimes I don’t like Aunt Natalya.’

Kayne’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the practice weapon he clutched until he felt the wood crack. ‘You and me both, son.’

Mhaira’s cousin Natalya and her husband had built their house nearby, on the land granted Kayne by the King. Keeping his wife’s family close had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way of making sure she wasn’t lonely while he was away in the West Reaching, especially after her sister Lellana had died so unexpectedly. He knew that Natalya bore him a grudge and he couldn’t rightly blame her for that. But poisoning his own wife against him: that was low.

‘I’m going inside,’ he said abruptly. ‘Put your sword back with the others. You can throw this one away. It ain’t no good now.’ He approached Magnar and handed him the split hilt of the practice weapon. Then he hesitated for a second before placing a weathered hand on his son’s head. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around more,’ he said. ‘I love you and your ma more than anything. There wasn’t a day that passed when I didn’t think of you. You know that, aye?’

Magnar nodded. ‘I know, Pa.’

Kayne smiled and patted Magnar on the shoulder. ‘We’ll practise again tomorrow.’

He crossed the field to the house, pausing a moment to inspect the wreath hanging on the door. He recalled the day of their joining. Borun walking Mhaira down the aisle and her beauty near taking his breath away.

Kayne pushed open the door and padded silently inside, thinking to surprise Mhaira, to sneak up and throw his arms around her like he had when they were younger. He spotted the hole he’d punched in the wall and winced. He’d seen and done some terrible things in the war, but that was no excuse. He needed to master his temper. Before he did something that couldn’t be fixed with a hammer.

There was no one inside the house, so he continued on through the hall and out to the garden at the rear. The flowers were in full bloom this time of year, expertly tended by Mhaira’s loving hands. He wished he had half her skill at running a household or growing a garden or even raising their son.

He slowed when he saw Natalya and her husband Gared. Kayne had never much liked Gared. The man had wedded Mhaira’s cousin just as soon as he learned she was coming into some land, or so it had seemed to him. Now he was nodding along while his wife spoke, the two with their backs to Kayne. Mhaira was opposite them, sitting on the bench under the old apple tree in the corner of the garden.

‘Hope I ain’t interrupting anything,’ Kayne said politely. Gared jumped and Natalya whirled around, a guilty look on her face.

‘Brodar,’ Gared stammered. ‘Well met! We thought you were out practising with young Magnar. Teaching him to be a famed warrior like his father, eh?’

Kayne stared at Mhaira. She looked like she might’ve been crying again.

‘We were just leaving,’ Natalya said curtly. She gave Mhaira a long, meaningful look that for some reason filled Kayne with dread. ‘I’ll speak to you soon, cousin.’

‘Good to see you,’ Gared babbled. ‘We should catch up some time.’

Kayne watched them go and turned to his wife. ‘What was that about?’

Mhaira rose slowly. ‘I need to prepare dinner.’

‘Mhaira… I ain’t a stranger. I’m still the man you married.’

She stared at his face, as if searching for something. ‘Natalya brought Gared to speak with me.’

Kayne froze. ‘What about?’

The sorrow in Mhaira’s eyes might have broken his heart if her next words hadn’t filled it with rage. ‘You’ve changed. You… you
scare
me. Some of the things Gared told me, about Red Valley—’

‘What a-fucking-bout it?’ Kayne roared, all the pent-up anger pouring out of him like a river bursting through a shattered dam. ‘It was a war! The Bloodfist and his army weren’t for giving an inch! Men like that, you need to send them a message.’ He realized he was shouting and lowered his voice. ‘There were thirty of us, Mhaira. Thirty. All that was left of the army that marched on Reaver’s Gate. A couple minutes more and I wouldn’t be standing here at all. If Mehmon’s reinforcements hadn’t arrived…’

‘You ordered all those men killed,’ Mhaira said accusingly. ‘Even those that surrendered.’

‘If I hadn’t, the war might’ve dragged on another seven years.’ He spoke quietly, not wanting to hear the words even as he uttered them. They might be true, but that didn’t matter. Not now. ‘They were my orders. The Shaman’s orders. I’m the Sword of the North now, Mhaira. I ain’t a Warden no more.’

‘Natalya and Gared asked if Magnar could move in with them,’ Mhaira whispered. ‘They don’t think it’s safe for him to be around you.’

‘They… they
what
?’ Kayne struggled to speak. He was shaking with fury now, like a great volcano about to explode. ‘After all I’ve done for them. For
you
.’

‘You left me here alone,’ she said.

He raised a hand, and before he knew it, before he could stop himself, he slapped her.

An instant later he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. Mhaira didn’t move, didn’t react at all. She only stared at him uncomprehending. And that was about the most heartbreaking reaction he could imagine.

‘Mhaira,’ he said, distraught, overwhelmed with disgust for himself. ‘I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry.’

She walked slowly past him. Crossed the garden and didn’t look back, not until she was standing right beside the door leading back into the house. Then she turned to him, and her face as white as a ghost. ‘I told them no,’ she said quietly.

Kayne stared at his stinging palm in horror. There was a rustle of movement, and he looked up.

To see Magnar watching him from the wall near the door. His son’s grey eyes were filled with something that made the Sword of the North, the most feared warrior in the High Fangs, want to scream in anguish.

It was hatred.

‘All right, lad?’

Brick glanced up and nodded. The boy was restringing his bow by the light of the campfire, his tongue poking out in concentration. Kayne considered clapping him on the shoulder, then thought better of it and wandered over to sit by Jerek. His knees creaked as he lowered himself to the hard, stony ground. The Wolf gave him a nod and shot a dark glare at the lone female face beside the fire.

Jana Shah Shan had been travelling alongside them for days now. In all that time, Kayne couldn’t recall Jerek uttering a single word to her. Even Grunt had made more of an effort to communicate, a sorry state of affairs considering he didn’t even have a tongue.

Jana didn’t seem to be enjoying the biting cold that had descended on them as they travelled north through the ruins. The Jade Islander wore a stoic expression, pretending to be unperturbed by the sudden drop in temperature – but the way she kept inching nearer the fire, rubbing her hands together when she thought no one was watching, told a different story.

‘Want to borrow my cloak?’ Kayne asked. ‘It’s a bit dirty but it’ll keep you warm.’

Jana stuck out her chin. ‘With my training I need no protection from the elements. Discomfort is but a state of mind.’

Jerek muttered something under his breath. ‘I’m going for a piss,’ he announced, climbing to his feet. At least his wounded leg was looking a good deal better now. If there’d ever been a harder man in the High Fangs, Brodar Kayne had yet to meet him.

Jana crossed her arms and watched the Wolf’s departure with a frown. ‘Your friend doesn’t seem to like me,’ she observed.

‘He don’t like many folk.’

‘Is it because I am a woman? Or because I am from the east?’

Kayne shrugged. ‘If I had to guess, probably both.’

‘You seem like a man of principle. I’m curious why you would keep the company of such a close-minded sort.’

‘Jerek hates everyone,’ Brick piped up unexpectedly. He examined his bow and nodded in satisfaction. ‘He’s an angry bastard. But he’s all right when you get to know him.’

Grunt murmured in agreement. Jana seemed to be expecting one of them to add something more. When they didn’t, she shook her head in exasperation. ‘The men from this part of the world are most peculiar. I’ll be glad to return to my betrothed once my mission is complete.’

‘What’s he like, this young man?’

Jana rested her chin on her palm and stared into the fire. ‘He’s not so young. But he’s a good man, and honest.’

‘Ain’t too many of them around nowadays. Not in this part of the world and I’m guessing not in the Confederation, neither.’