Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (25 page)

Sitain dumped the sack of potatoes at the top of the caravan steps and puffed out her cheeks. Strangely, it was good to be doing some proper work for a change. Life on a farm had been hard despite their prosperity. Certainly the hauling and digging involved had never been enjoyable for her – not in the way her brother had seemed to relish it. And yet this loading of supplies was a reminder of something real and her body was glad of the exertion.

She looked around at the mercenaries in the yard. Half of them were still barely able to stand, most were in no great shape to be doing anything useful, so it was Sitain and a handful of others doing the work. She’d never before realised how sedentary the life of a mercenary was, how the inaction piled on day after day when soldiers would be drilling or set to work. Her head pounded and her muscles trembled after the previous night’s drinking, but she refused to submit to it.

‘Tired, girly?’ asked Foren, the quartermaster. He was a small man with lines around his eyes and hair going mostly to grey, but he hefted each sack with ease and loaded the shelves as quickly as his four helpers could bring goods.

‘Not even close. Most of your mercenaries wouldn’t last a day on our farm.’

Foren chuckled and nodded. ‘Most’d only stay long enough to finish the booze. First few weeks of a campaign is hard on ’em. Anatin gets Payl to sweat the fat out and that hurts, let me tell you. Second rule of the mercenary life, don’t be the slowest troops in the army.’

‘Second?’

‘Aye, first is to make sure you get paid.’

Another woman arrived with a second sack, one of the younger mercenaries called Ashis who’d only been with the company a few months. Just a year or two older than Sitain, the woman wore a permanent scowl and seemed to live within a bubble of resentment that Sitain had already decided to avoid.

She went to fetch more from a pile of goods stacked by the inn door. Her portly protector, Lynx, was not one of those helping, and she watched him carefully pack a shoulder bag of food. The care and attention he put into arranging the various pouches reminded her of the meal they’d shared and she almost laughed at the man’s obsession with food.

Guess you got to have something to care about
, she reflected, a pang of sadness welling up through the nagging hangover.
No home, no family, he takes his pleasure in food. What about me?

She blinked back the tears and grabbed the heaviest box she could reach, jerking it up hard as though to punish herself.
I’ve got nothing too, nothing but this cursed magic the Charnelers seem to want. How to take pleasure in that without risking them catching me again?

Lynx had taken her aside once she’d stopped puking, earlier that morning. In that infuriatingly helpful, fake-fatherly way of his the man had told her what he’d seen as he staggered to bed. Sitain’s hands tightened as she hauled the box over to Foren and she didn’t even notice the man hesitate at the black look on her face. She was lost in that conversation; in her sudden, intense urge to hit Lynx right in the face her mother would have feared so much.

She hadn’t. For all that she’d wanted to curse him, to spit in his face and call him a liar, a drunk, she hadn’t. Her dreams had been of magic and a nagging sense of guilt had flowered at his words. She wanted to disbelieve him, but she didn’t, and that meant she’d done something so incredibly stupid and dangerous it took her breath away.

Abandoning the load, she headed inside, pushing past a mercenary without caring who it was and seeking out the darkest corner she could find. Her heart was pounding, beating a tattoo of grief and fear that filled her ears and threatened to crack her chest open. She buried her face in her shaking hands as the images of her parents and siblings forced themselves into her mind – smiles and sounds that seemed to cut so deep her stomach was a hollow, raw wound.

The day they’d come to take her away had been like any other. The patter of rain had accompanied their breakfast, just another unremarkable morning. Sitain had barely started her chores when a knock came on the door. It had startled her mother and father both. No one knocked in the village; it had to be a stranger. Their neighbours would have called out before they reached the house or simply walked straight in.

Sitain had stared dumbfounded at the woman’s face behind the door when her father had opened it. They’d all just watched, frozen with fear, as that hard-faced soldier had pushed her way in and stepped aside for her commander. Commander Ntois, he’d introduced himself as – all stiff formality and noble arrogance, but not rude or threatening. That had surprised her as much as anything. He had almost verged on apologetic, though Sitain had been so terrified he’d needed to make no threats.

Only when one of his men had escorted her to fetch a bag of clothes had the spell been broken. They had all wept then, parents and children alike. Her mother had grabbed her arm and tried to pull her close, but the female Charneler had caught her wrist. The outpouring of emotion had seemed to irritate Ntois. His tone had grown colder and more reserved, as though such a display was not fitting around strangers, but he had remained polite and coldly certain. Sitain would be going with them, for her own protection.

She would be kept safe from the wilder elements who might try to exploit her ability, Ntois had proclaimed – trained in the arts and instructed in the ways of Insar, god of stillness and the dark night. She would be a valued ward of the Knights-Charnel, guided along the godly path of using magic only in the name of the gods and kept safe from the corrupting effects of unfettered magery.

They had tried to fight, but the Knights had been so quick and efficient – as though they knew already when her father was going to reach for his daughter, when her brother was about to reach for a kitchen knife. Only one mage-gun had been drawn and Sitain’s own numbing shock had made her stand docilely as her hands were bound.

In her quiet corner of the inn, Sitain found herself biting down on a knuckle so hard she tasted coppery blood. That brought her back to her senses and then she realised she wasn’t alone. The fear vanished from her mind, ousted by anger once more – anger at herself for being so foolish the previous night, anger at being so obedient that last day at home.

‘You okay?’

‘Just leave me alone,’ she muttered, fighting a sudden urge to laugh in Lynx’s face.

‘Sure?’

‘Yes, I’m bloody sure. You can’t fix this, you can’t undo it. You can’t do shit to help, so just leave me alone!’

Lynx didn’t reply then. His rounded face took on a vexed look, but then his expression hardened. He shook his head and turned away. Sitain opened her mouth to call out and apologise, but the words died unspoken and a moment later the door banged shut behind him. She watched the door a while longer, feeling foolish and angry and embarrassed all at the same time.

Did the man really not know he was intruding? Gods in shards, I’ve lost everything – my whole life – and the bastard’s always there watching over me. Like I owe him something. Like he’s just waiting to step in and be my father. I can’t ever go home. My family are as good as dead to me – or I’m dead to them. Doesn’t he understand how much that hurts?

She lowered her face and felt the tears splash on her palms.

Cold eye of Insar, he’s all I’ve got. Maybe he knows that much.

Sitain’s black mood continued as the mercenary company slowly came to its senses and sobriety hit them all. A thick stew was the final spark that woke them up and once they’d eaten, final preparations were made to move out. The last of the baggage was packed and the entire company shambled out into the inn’s courtyard with weapons and packs at their feet for the muster.

There was only one man missing, which seemed to cheer Anatin up – not least because it was the rat-faced Deern, who’d be missed by no one except his long-time companion Reft. Even the pale giant didn’t seem surprised by Deern’s absence, Sitain heard several mercenaries laugh about the scrapes Deern had got himself into. The discussion swiftly devolved into taking bets on whether he was alive or what charge Deern was being held on. Before money could change hands, however, Reft clipped a man round the head hard enough to knock him down and the talk ended.

Sitain paused at Anatin’s caravan. She was to travel out of sight until they were clear of the city, just in case there were agents watching the gates, but a pang of conscience made her hesitate. She looked back at Lynx, sat alone at a table with his gun in a long leather sheath across his lap. He was watching the company at large, but it didn’t take him long to notice her gaze and match it.

Ah hells.

She walked over, feeling her resolve drain with every step so once she’d reached him, Sitain just stood there dumbly. Lynx cocked his head but said nothing, which made her feel even more foolish and tongue-tied. She gritted her teeth and took a slow breath.

‘Look, I’m sorry, okay?’

Lynx snorted. ‘Damn, woman, you’re worse at this than me.’

‘I …’ She sagged a little. ‘Sorry, yes. You’re right. That was …’

‘A decent start,’ Lynx said, his face softening. ‘Most folk can’t swallow their pride enough for that, so you’re not doing too bad.’

Sitain managed a hesitant smile. ‘You’ve done a lot for me, I’m grateful – I really am. I just – when I realise that, I end up remembering what I’m grateful for.’

‘I know. Your life got turned upside down and your family got cut away in a way that don’t feel quite real yet.’ Now it was Lynx’s turn to pause. ‘Let’s just say I’ve seen something like that myself. Last thing I wanted was anyone’s help, but I got it all the same.’

‘Did you do as well as me?’

Lynx looked away. ‘Let’s just say it was a bad time for me. You’re doing okay.’

‘Well then,’ Sitain said awkwardly. ‘Sorry. Did I say that bit?’

‘You did.’

‘I’ll just walk away now maybe.’

‘See you on the other side, Sitain.’

She nodded and fled back to the caravan, still feeling foolish but her heart was a little lighter. Lynx hadn’t been telling her what to do, not really. For all it wasn’t his business, only a fool kept slapping away helping hands. There was a yawning pit of loss in her stomach, one that made her want to curl up and howl, but for all that she didn’t want anyone interfering, part of her knew facing that pit alone would be worse.

‘
Ah, come in. Sit. Are you hungry?
’

Lynx didn’t respond, though he couldn’t take his eyes off the food and his stomach growled long and loud. A handful of apples sat in a bowl alongside half a loaf of bread and a hunk of creamy white cheese. He felt a tremble in his bones as he imagined the sweet sticky juice of an apple on his tongue, the rich salty tang of the cheese. He had no need to imagine the fresh-baked bread. Its aroma had already fogged his mind.

‘
You’re looking better
,’ the old man said, the scars on his cheeks twisted by a smile. ‘
Less like the ghost I first met.
’

This was the third time he had been called to Governor Lorfen’s office and each time he had been so frightened he could barely think. Just two weeks had passed since the brutal regime had ended, and the prisoners had still to adjust. They were quiet and wary, glad of the increased rations and reduced work hours, but still they struggled to accept it. Most had never fought in the army, but they had all grown up with the recruiters and the criers loudly proclaiming the superiority of So Han. To then discover it was untrue, that their conquest had failed and the Shonrin’s regime had imploded, was a remaking of the world around them.

It had to be a lie that the Shonrin had not even given battle at the end and fled to a mountain fastness, but the defeat was undeniable. How else could two dozen soldiers and this old man be so assured inside So Han territory?

Lynx hovered by the table, unsure what to do with himself while the governor rounded his desk and sat at the table where the food was. The man had green eyes, pale and cold. Lynx had never seen such a thing before and he found he distrusted them – it was all too foreign and strange to accept.

‘
Come, sit with me.
’

Lynx obeyed, hands folded in his lap, shoulders hunched. Lorfen nudged the bread closer to him, but Lynx wouldn’t move. There was a knife on the board with it and Lynx had seen that trick before. One man had been beaten half to death by the guards for something similar, touching a knife left deliberately out. He’d died a few days later Lynx had heard, through starvation or another prisoner’s actions he didn’t know. Either was possible. An injury meant weakness in the eyes of the rest, and that was as dangerous as not being able to work.

With a sigh Lorfen cut two thick slabs of bread and put the knife to one side.

‘
I’m not here to trick you
,’ he said in a gentle voice. ‘
I just want to talk.
’

Lynx lowered his eyes and hesitantly reached out a hand for a piece of bread. Expecting a blow at any time, none came and he snatched it back with a flood of relief. The soldiers under Lorfen’s command were less than gentle with the prisoners, for all that it was a vast improvement on their lot before. They remained soldiers who remembered what it was like to fight against So Han’s armies.

‘
Will you tell me of the duel you fought?
’

Lynx froze. The duel was of another time. Another man had fought it, not him. A man with a family and a home, a man with a name. The prisoner had none of those things. His family was just a dream he had woken from. His home was a place full of people who had done this to him, faces and voices filled with cruelty. His name was Lynx now. He had seen one on a work detail to cut wood, far in the distance – living lone and free. Grey fur spotted with brown, outlined just for a moment against the sky before it moved on. The image haunted him still, had buried itself deep in his heart and become the small spark of hope that remained there.

‘
Called him a coward
,’ Lynx said in a voice made hoarse by lack of use. ‘
What he did to those people was wrong
.
He liked it, though, the killing and the rest. Laughed as he watched it. Ordered us to rape and cripple the women, cut the hands and feet off the men and boys.
’