The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (22 page)

All around them lay festering people. Many were dead; others groaned in pain, with sores covering their skin and flies massing around their bodies. Rotting meat and vegetables were piled up in the street and the sewer trenches were stagnant and overflowing. A few commoners tried to stand, but most just looked at the returning army through dying eyes, filled with despair.

The Seven Sisters had much to answer for. Shilpa the Shadow of Lies had all but destroyed the common folk of Ro Haran. As they rode slowly through the fetid streets, no one spoke. Xander practically vibrated with anger, Gwen felt a tear of anguish fall from her eyes and Daganay wept openly.

‘Too many to heal,’ the cleric said through his tears. ‘We need a White cleric.’

‘We don’t have one,’ replied Xander.

Dag spluttered and wiped his eyes. ‘Then many will die, my lord.’

They continued their grim ride through the streets and towards the High Towers of Haran. Buildings were in bad repair, streets hadn’t been cleaned and no watchmen patrolled the city. Within sight of Ranolph’s Hold was a barricade, solidly constructed from upturned carts and barrels.

Xander ordered a halt. ‘Brennan, get word outside and tell them to minister to the sick and start clearing the streets.’

The captain hesitated, his eyes wide, seemingly overwhelmed at what had happened to his home. ‘Aye, general. At once.’ He wheeled his horse round and hastened back to the main gate.

Xander addressed the rest of his men in a voice full of conviction. ‘Strength, brothers. We must continue on. Get this barricade out of the way.’

A handful of soldiers rode past their general, dismounting as they reached the upturned carts.

‘You okay?’ Gwen asked, moving close to her husband.

He smiled, though his eyes were red with emotion. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘But I need to be.’

‘General!’ shouted a voice from behind.

They turned to see Sergeant Ashwyn, the blacksmith, riding fast towards them.

‘Report,’ replied Xander.

‘Looks like some of the Karesians have fled, my lord. Three ships are hugging the coast, heading south. They’re moving slowly, trying to stay hidden.’

The Red Prince turned back to the barricade. ‘Get this shit out of the road, there’ll be men left in the city... they need to die.’

He kicked his horse and rode forward at speed. Gwen and the others followed and those on the ground hastily tipped over two of the carts to create an opening.

‘Ash, take men and secure the harbour. The rest of you, with me.’

The sergeant broke off with twenty men, while the remainder rode for Ranolph’s Hold.

The streets here were cleaner, with no pestilence or bodies. It seemed that Shilpa was kinder to men and women of station, perhaps because she needed them to join her growing flock.

Gwen rode close to Daganay. ‘Keep an eye on him, he’s getting very, very angry.’

‘Good,’ replied the tearful Blue cleric.

‘When he’s angry, he tends to be stupid,’ she countered. ‘Just keep an eye on him.’

‘Always, my lady,’ he conceded, trying his best to smile. ‘I just hope someone keeps an eye on me... to stop me being stupid.’

‘That’s my job, Dag,’ she replied, returning his smile.

The company rode in tight formation behind the general, clattering along the cobbles towards Ranolph’s Hold, the highest tower of Haran. A few nervous faces regarded them from windows, peering from behind floral curtains and over steel fences and well-tended lawns. These were the noble folk of Ro Haran, the courtiers and landowners who constantly sought Gwen’s favour and her husband’s notice. She had little time for them but after several years she had realized that they were an important element in the duchy. Now they all looked afraid, as their duke, his face a mask of rage, rode through the streets of his city. At least they weren’t all dead. Some had been sensible enough not to join the new order.

They took a sharp right turn and entered the lower courtyard of Ranolph’s Hold. The area, formerly a marketplace, was now empty, and the wide doors of the catacombs were flung open. If the Kirin could be believed, the grain silo beneath the Hold was where they’d find the dead enchantress... and a creature of some kind, perhaps related to the darkwood trees that the Dokkalfar feared. Gwen could see lights coming from within.

‘Dismount!’ ordered Xander, jumping to his feet and drawing Peacekeeper. ‘You!’ He pointed to a nearby unit. ‘To the left, check the building.’

He directed two more units to other areas of the Hold and then gestured for the rest to follow him into the catacombs. ‘Eyes open, lads. The Kirin was afraid of something down there.’

Gwen drew both her leaf-blades and ran to join her husband. Daganay, his face still wet with tears, also joined the general and twenty men strode into the torch-lit grain silo while the rest of the Hawks secured Ro Haran.

‘If there is anyone in here,’ bellowed Xander, ‘show yourselves now!’

They walked over a central carpet, between thick pillars and torch placements. After a moment the daylight glow from the entrance was behind them and they walked in an ominous glow. On either side Gwen could see women, mostly Karesians, naked, with ugly scratch marks on their bodies. Some had killed themselves within the last few hours, though several were lying on the carpet and had died from katana wounds.

Before them the torches stopped and the last globe of light illuminated a chaotic pile of naked, twisted bodies. Their death blows had been swift, but each body was cut and marked with fresh bites and scratches. Gwen recognized most of them as noble folk of Haran, mangled together in an orgy of flesh and blood.

‘So this is a chapel,’ grunted Daganay. ‘What kind of god demands this?’

‘A dead god,’ replied Xander. ‘Keep moving.’

An attractive Karesian woman came into view. She lay face down, with her eyes staring off a raised platform. She had a tattoo of a flowering rose on her cheek. This was evidently the enchantress, and Gwen allowed herself a smile because the Kirin had not been making an idle boast.

A cracking noise sounded from before them and Xander ordered them to halt. In the shadows, away from the main carpet, she could see a large shape, slowly swaying in the darkness.

‘What the fuck is that?’ whispered Daganay, raising his mace.

‘A Dark Young,’ replied Gwen, a catch of fear in her voice. ‘A darkwood tree.’

Xander turned to her. They had listened to the Kirin and believed that he feared the thing of which he spoke. But it was impossible to imagine that such a thing actually existed. The priest and the altar, Rham Jas had said, a beast, terrifying to look upon. The Dokkalfar had said less. Our doom was all that they would mutter.

Several men retrieved torches from sconces and stepped forward, carrying globes of light into the darkness. The others followed. A moment later, illuminated before them was a grotesque mockery of a tree, a huge, black maw surrounded with greenish needles and propelled forward on thick tentacles.

Howls of alarm came from the twenty Hawks, and even Xander took an involuntary step back. Gwen held her breath, frozen immobile by fear of the thing, and Daganay prayed loudly.

The tree darted forward, its tentacles reaching a man of Ro and stuffing him into its waiting maw. The Hawk appeared to dissolve and disappear into the noxious mouth, leaving nothing but a short sword that clattered to the stone floor.

Men fled, howling as they ran. Several more fell to the floor, dropping their blades and staring at the tree. Gwen was in the latter group and was rooted to the floor in the path of the beast. She hadn’t dropped her leaf-blades, but she was helpless to strike or to flee as the maw reached for her.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her firmly out of the way behind a pillar. Xander held her tightly with one hand, keeping Peacekeeper at the ready with the other.

The beast consumed another man. It slobbered over its meal, dropping bile on to the floor and making a shrill, repetitive noise. Its tentacles writhed in the air, striking men and wrapping around pillars.

‘Cover!’ roared the general, a crack of fear in his deep voice.

Daganay, still praying, was not frozen, but he could do nothing but shove men out of the way and try not to look at the thing. He held his mace ready but he was not about to attack. The remaining men followed Xander’s orders and, assisted by the Blue cleric, they dragged themselves out of the way and behind pillars. One man was swept up by a tentacle and torn in half.

Seven warriors remained, all taking cover out of reach of the beast’s tentacles. Xander had pulled Gwen to the floor and they crouched behind a stone pillar, clutching their blades tightly. They locked eyes and the general nodded to the right, indicating they should move round the pillar as the tree advanced, staying out of its field of view. She couldn’t respond with anything more than a feeble nod, but moved with him when two huge tentacles reached round their pillar.

Xander stood up and grabbed a flaming torch. ‘Stay here,’ he grunted to Gwen.

With willpower showing on his face, the Red Prince of Haran attacked the beast from behind. He swung the torch first, wedging it between the bark-like plates on the creature’s trunk and eliciting a deafening cry of anguish from the tree. Then he swung Peacekeeper. Roaring with exertion, Xander hacked at a tentacle and cut a chunk of blackened flesh from the thing. It couldn’t turn round quickly and it seemed less frightening when its maw could not be seen.

‘To arms!’ ordered Xander. ‘Torches, blades... burn it, cut it, bring it down.’

Daganay responded with a desperate battle cry and circled round the beast, swinging his mace in controlled circles. Others grabbed torches and flung them at the thing, causing it to howl in pain as the fire caught on its back.

Gwen’s knuckles had turned white as she gripped her leaf-blades, but she held her breath and forced her legs to move, emerging next to her husband and between the undulating tentacles.

Joined by Daganay, the three of them struck repeatedly at the creature’s rear, severing tentacles and causing the thing to lose its power of locomotion. It wailed, pulsated and reached into the air, but the fire had spread quickly and with missing limbs it had no chance of escape.

‘Back... stand clear,’ shouted Xander, as the tree turned into a massive ball of fire.

Gwen stumbled back on to the carpet and stood with the others as the fire rose high, engulfing the thing and causing them to back further off. Everyone who remained was wild-eyed and panting, but they looked more clear-headed now as they watched the beast burn to death.

‘I think I’ll trust Rham Jas in future,’ muttered Xander to his wife.

‘I didn’t know,’ she replied. ‘The Dokkalfar fear them... but they never said exactly why.’

Daganay stepped forward and forced himself to look at the tree as it burned lower and lower, turning to ash and sickly green slime. ‘If this is part of the Sisters’ new religion, Tor Funweir is truly in danger,’ said the cleric, his face a mask of fear.

‘Let’s leave,’ said Gwen. ‘I feel the need of daylight.’

‘Agreed,’ offered Xander.

* * *

They didn’t talk about the darkwood tree. Two hours later, Gwen and Xander were standing on a balcony halfway up Ranolph’s Hold, looking out over the city. The surviving Hawks from the catacombs had been released to get some rest, though each of them, Gwen included, would feel darker and more solemn after their encounter with the thing in the chapel. Daganay had returned to his church, muttering something about the need to pray, and Xander had busied himself ordering men around and assisting the pestilence-stricken population of his city.

No Karesians remained and the escaping ships were too far south to be caught. The razing of Ro Haran had been a vile, slow and clinical operation. Thousands would be dead by the time the toll was truly known. Gwen had no words to describe how she felt.

‘I love you,’ said Xander suddenly.

She frowned. ‘Good... but why tell me now?’

‘Because I don’t know anything else at this moment... and knowing that I love you makes me feel better.’

She held his hand and rested her head on his armoured shoulder. They could see into the city, both the noble quarter and the old town where Hawks were clearing the streets and assisting the plague-ridden to the Blue church. Dag would be able to help some of them, but many would die before the week ended.

‘Tell me what to do, Gwen... I don’t know,’ he said, with a tear rolling down his cheek.

‘Look at me,’ she snapped, causing him to turn and face her. ‘You are duke of Haran, general of the Hawks... and my husband.’ She touched his cheek tenderly. ‘We sail to Canarn to get allies. We take back Ro Tiris, and then we take back Tor Funweir.’

CHAPTER 8

RANDALL OF DARKWALD IN THE CITY OF KESSIA

E
VEN WHILE HE
was still at sea Randall had decided that Karesia was the hottest place in the world. He was also reconciled to the fact that he was travelling south and it would only get hotter. The wind was abrasive and the rain, when it came, was sudden and like lancing shards of water. Combined with the dust that constantly hugged the surface of the sea, the last few days had been decidedly unpleasant.