Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1) (15 page)

She shuddered and realised that the continuous breeze was making her cold. She should find herself some sort of clothing, although it would always get ruined whenever she travelled through the ground. Clothing might also help to protect her skin should the ball of sun-metal ever return.

After an hour or so, the wagons pulled off the track they were following and moved into an open area among some of the wood pillars. The heavy men with weapons got down and began to issue orders to the dozen or so people they’d been escorting, most of whom seemed young, little more than children really. There were both boys and girls among the youngsters, and several of them sobbed quietly. Freda felt sorry for them, knowing that they must have been taken from their parents and would probably never see them again – it was like when Norfred had been taken from her.

Two of the youngsters were set to gathering dead wood from beneath the pillars, and Freda realised that the pillars naturally shed parts of themselves, so perhaps the miners weren’t so bad after all with their tool handles. The dead wood was then piled atop a small flame that had been created by one of the heavy men. A number of the youngsters immediately clustered around the fire, and Freda could see them shivering with the cold even from this distance.

Two other youngsters were told to bring food from the wagon, as well as sacking for beds. Then the dozen youngsters were left to settle down as a group while the heavy men moved some distance away to start their own fire. Once one of the heavy men had tethered the strong and uncomplaining creatures to a wooden pillar and fed them with grain poured from a bag, he joined the other five men and entered the murmured conversation.

Moving as stealthily as she could, hunkering down like a boulder whenever anyone looked her way, Freda came in among the wagons and took some of the sacking to serve as clothing for herself. Then she moved back among the wooden pillars and around the clearing until she was close enough to the heavy men to hear what they said.

One of them with a pipe clenched between his teeth was saying, ‘Big as Saint Goza hisself, I heard it were.’

‘And with skin as hard as rock too, so hard it turned back Altor’s sun-metal spear,’ said a thin-faced man with a large hairy mole on one cheek.

Were they talking about her? Freda wondered.

‘Ain’t heard of nothing that can stop sun-metal,’ said the eldest of the men, who was cutting himself pieces of something to chew on every now and then.

The youngest, whose face was free of stubble, nodded. ‘Apparently, it was sun-metal that did for the old pagan gods.’

There was a moment’s awkward silence, and Freda feared they had sensed her presence.

‘You ought to know better than to talk of the pagans, boy,’ the pipe said by way of reprimand. ‘It only attracts their attention, you know. You may not have seen any in your time round here, but they used to be thicker on the ground than the trees. I dare say there’s more than a few of them still lurking in the caves and other dark places of the north.’

‘Aye,’ agreed the one who’d fed the strong and uncomplaining creatures. ‘And don’t forget this region was sacred to them pagans ’cause of their rock god. They say you could go walking and just pick up sun-metal, diamonds, any type of precious rock you wanted straight from the ground. Where there were lots of ’em, the stupid savages would set up a shrine to the rock god instead of mining anything of value. No wonder the pagans were no match for the Empire, eh?’

The youngest’s jaw dropped. ‘Serious?’

‘The point being, boy,’ the pipe sighed, ‘that this place was always important to the pagans and one of their gods, so the less said about them the better, see? We don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention while we’re out here with just ourselves and some green kids.’

‘Truth be told, mind, a bit of action wouldn’t go amiss,’ the eldest observed. ‘I may have a sword, but I haven’t had to use it in years. See, a lot of the shine has gone from it, even though it is sun-metal. Needs coating in pagan blood to bring it alive again. All we are, lads, is a bunch of nursemaids for wagonloads of kids who can’t even make toilet on their own.’

‘Big Harold can’t make toilet on his own either.’ The mole-faced man sniggered, making most of them smile.

Big Harold, who up until now had been too busy drinking something foul and reeking to say anything, lowered his bottle and burped fragrantly. ‘’Strue! Sometimes this awesome body of mine gets the better of even me. Still, at least no one would say I was too ugly to be a nursemaid, eh, warty?’

Mole-face’s smile dropped. ‘It is
not
a wart!’

‘Catch it from kissing a frog, did you?’ Big Harold asked blithely. ‘Couldn’t find a woman or boy to oblige you, eh?’

‘Easy!’ the pipe warned.

‘Enough, Slim!’ the eldest barked as mole-face’s hand twitched towards his weapon. ‘Draw that and you will have
me
to answer to. I won’t just have you up on a charge of insubordination either; I’ll rearrange your face so that not even a frog would take pity on you. Honestly, I feel like I spend more of my time nursemaiding you five than I do the kids! Enough, I say. I half wish the pagans would descend on us so you could get this out of your systems. You’d also learn a thing or two about the world and life at last.’

There were a few long moments of tense silence and then Slim overtly moved his hand away from the hilt of his sword. Shoulders dropped around the fire as the soldiers relaxed once more.

‘Tell us more about these precious rocks you could just pick up off the ground, Horse,’ the eldest ordered to re-establish normal conversation.

The heavy man who’d fed the strong and uncomplaining creatures nodded. ‘Everywhere it was, they say. Couldn’t walk but for tripping over it. Saviours and Saint Goza took most of it, of course, as spoils of war, which is only right and proper. But I did hear one thing’, his voice dropped so that they all leaned in, ‘about some temple to the rock god being lost and buried somewhere round here. It is guarded by great and monstrous statues, each made of a different fabulous stone. When the rock god was angered, his magic would bring these statues to life and they’d go out to wreak vengeance and destruction across the land.’

This time the silence was absolute, with only the occasional pop and crackle of wood from the fire.

‘And do you think this monster from the mine is one of these statues?’ Big Harold whispered.

The youngest gasped in fear.

‘Who knows?’ Horse nodded significantly. ‘But perhaps the monster’s listening even now as we speak.’

The youngest yelped and looked wildly around the clearing, his eyes sweeping over Freda but not seeing her.

The pipe chuckled. ‘Come now, don’t frighten the boy. Easy, lad. It’s just a bedtime story told by mothers to their children.’

‘Still, it’ll keep him awake tonight, which might not be a bad thing,’ the eldest observed. ‘With this thing on the loose, it’s best that we set a guard tonight. You’re up first, lad.’

The youngest nodded, licking his lips nervously as the men rose and began to make beds for themselves.

‘Don’t worry.’ Slim grinned. ‘As a mine guard, you’re lucky enough to have a weapon of sun-metal, lad. With that you can take on the rock god himself, eh? Otherwise, just scream, although you’d better make it loud if you want us to hear you over Big Harold’s snoring.’

‘I do not snore,’ Big Harold said evenly. ‘I sometimes breathe heavily though, because I’m having nightmares about you trying to kiss me, Slim. I have this terrible fear I’ll wake up covered in warts.’

‘Enough!’ the eldest said sternly. ‘Slim, you sleep over there, and Big Harold, you sleep way over there. Move! I won’t tell the two of you again.’ The eldest then approached the youngest and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘As Slim says, don’t hesitate to wake us at the first real sign of anything untoward. Do not go starting at every shadow or night owl though, for some of these will not thank you for waking them unnecessarily, and they’ll tease you about it for years to come. Remember, the rock god is long since gone, broken by the Saviours. Remember that they watch over us, lad. The holy Saint Goza knows all that goes on and will send help long before trouble can ever find us. Remain strong in your faith, lad, and all will be well. The worst that will happen is one of the kids will wet their sacking during the night. Be kind and find them fresh sacking, for it has happened to all of us in our time, eh?’

The youngest nodded and smiled, and then turned his back to the fire so that it would not ruin his night vision.

Freda moved deeper among the wooden pillars and settled down with her sacking. She thought she would stay awake for a long time, but all too soon she was asleep and dreaming: of being cast into a bottomless pit, of a rock god pinned deep beneath the earth by a long shaft of sun-metal and of a giant ball of sun-metal burning her until her skin had turned to powder and there was nothing left of her but dust.

The sound of groaning and weight shifting against the door brought Jillan wide awake. For a second, he didn’t know where he was and he frowned as he made out a ceiling and walls in the thin light that crept in around a pair of heavy shutters. Then he knew and he was up on his feet, scrambling for his pack as he heard the sound of an iron key scraping in the lock. There was no time to string his bow, so he pulled two metal-tipped arrows from his quiver and held one in each fist. He stood braced and ready.

‘I’m coming for you, boy!’ grunted the fat innkeeper from behind the door. ‘You’ve had a meal and a room for the night, and now payment is due. You have no coin so I will have my payment in flesh. As long as you don’t resist, there’ll be no real discomfort. Are you ready for me, boy?’

Jillan tightened his grip on his arrows and anger began to stir within him. How dare this man imprison him and then try to extort favours from him! Jillan was no innocent or fool; he knew what the man wanted.

‘I will work in the stables to settle the bill, or cut wood for you, but I will be no bed-slave,’ he said in a voice as deep as he could with warning. ‘Try and force anything more from me and you will regret it, I promise you that!’

As the door swung open, the rage in Jillan rose and looked for release. The innkeeper entered the room, his trousers bulging conspicuously. He eyed Jillan lasciviously and fingered his palms. There was a flush of excitement and anticipation in his cheeks, and his moustache fluttered as his hot breath rose through it.

‘Well now, Irkarl, if that’s your name,’ Valor said slyly. ‘You’re a long way from home, eh? Run away, haven’t you? There are people looking for you, aren’t there, like those horsemen perhaps? Come over here now, and no one need ever know you were here, eh?’

He knows
, whispered the taint inside Jillan.
You will have to silence him. Use the magic. It’s the only way. You can feel it like a pressure in your hands. Just let it go!

‘Put down those arrows and take off that silly armour, boy. With its patterns, you look quite girlish.’ The innkeeper tittered and took a small step towards him, his meaty hands rising and beginning to reach out.

‘Don’t!’ Jillan growled, no longer recognising his own voice.
No, come closer
, the taint laughed.

Jillan saw red and power danced and crackled between his fingers. He could see the life energy moving sluggishly through Valor with each beat of the innkeeper’s overburdened heart. He drew that energy away from the man and Valor suddenly staggered and clutched at his chest.

‘No!’ the innkeeper wheezed, his small eyes closing in pain.

Then Jillan channelled all the power back at Valor and burst the man’s heart. The innkeeper’s mouth opened but no sound came out. He fell, smacked his head on the floor and stopped moving. The smell of his releasing bowels left no doubt that he was dead.

The taint laughed and cried in merriment. ‘Stop it!’ Jillan pleaded, feeling both nauseous and faint. The room felt and looked like it was on a slant. He bent to lift his pack and collapsed on the floor next to the innkeeper’s stinking body. The stench was all that kept him conscious as, with a shaking hand, Jillan grabbed his water bottle and managed to slosh some into his mouth and across his face. Gasping, he swallowed and then took another mouthful. After some minutes his vision began to clear, but he was still weak. From one of the pack’s outside pockets, he fumbled a piece of hard cheese out of the waxed paper in which it was wrapped and began to chew methodically.

Aren’t you forgetting something?
the taint whispered.

‘What?’

The girl
.

‘She hasn’t done anything wrong. Leave her alone!’

Don’t be foolish. She probably knows as well. Either way, she’ll raise the alarm
.

‘You will not hurt her!’

The taint harrumphed and said sulkily,
I suppose if she were dead, the inn would be empty and the next people passing through would know something had happened anyway. It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together about this and Karl, would it? Besides, don’t they say the Saint always knows?

Jillan drew a sharp breath. The Saint! He would be coming. Jillan knew he had to get moving, for there was no knowing what the Saint had learned in Godsend. The region’s ruler could already be racing back this way.

He chewed more assiduously, until all the cheese was gone. Without looking at the dead innkeeper, he then got his feet under him and dragged his pack out of the room and down the corridor to the stairs. He peered down the stairs at the common room below: all seemed empty and quiet.

He tested the weight of the pack on his shoulders and found he could manage it. He tiptoed down and was just short of the door when he spied Ingrid in the side room. She sat in her nightgown hugging herself and rocking slightly. Her eyes were unseeing and she gave no sign that she was aware of his presence.

‘I-I’m sorry!’ Jillan mumbled, hurriedly drew back the bolt on the front door and moved to head out into the dawn.

‘Don’t be,’ Ingrid said absently. ‘Everything’s fine.’

Saint Azual wiped the blood from his face with his hands, not knowing if the blood was his or Samnir’s. He licked his fingers. A mixture. The Hero had put up a hell of a fight, even without a weapon made of sun-metal, and Azual’s confidence had been shaken. Surprisingly, some of the Heroes of Godsend had tried to intercede on the Saint’s behalf – clearly there was no love lost between Samnir and the others – but Azual had roared at them to get back.