Return of the Crimson Guard (32 page)

Rillish considered ordering his sergeant to skewer the bastard. Damned Untan Great Families – they'd feuded with the Wickans for generations. Now they saw their chance.

And he was in the way.

To his sergeant Rillish asked aside, ‘You are certain you saw no soldiers out there?’

‘None. Adventurers, opportunists, squatters, shiftless frontier malingerers. Nothing but filth.’

Rillish drew off his helmet, wiped the sweat from his forehead. Hot here on the plains. Not like down south. Or like Korel. It'd been damned cold all those years in Korel. He cinched tight the helmet. ‘Pack up your mob and decamp and I promise you we will not pursue.’

The envoy stared, frowning, as if the lieutenant had gibbered in some foreign language. Then he rallied, flushed. ‘Aren't you aware of your situation, you ox-brained foot soldier? You haven't even enough men to properly defend your walls!’

‘And you haven't the belly for a siege.’

Raising his voice, the envoy addressed the entire fort: ‘You fools! This man has just thrown away your lives!’

‘Now
I'm gonna skewer the bastard.’

‘Is the parley over then?’ Rillish called. ‘Because if it is, my sergeant here would very much like to shoot you.’

The envoy's jaws worked as he swallowed the rest of his words. ‘We are done,’ he spat and turned his back to march away.

‘What now, sir?’ the sergeant, Chord, asked beneath his breath.

‘Quarter rations immediately. Confiscate all water. Double the watch. They'll probably try to rush us tonight.’

‘Aye–aye, sir. Pardon me for saying so, sir, but this garrison's green, sir. Not like the old command.’

‘No new command is ever like the old one, Chord.’

‘Yes, sir. That's true as rain, sir.’

‘We could use some of that.’

‘Use some of what, sir?’

‘Rain.’

‘That's true, sir.’

Rillish looked out over the fort enclosure. The faces of the Wickan elders and children he'd managed to shelter turned up to him. Their eyes watched him, but not with worry, or with pleading, just watchful, patient. ‘A quiet posting until retirement, they said, Chord. A well-earned rest. I should've stayed in that chaos-hole of Korel.’

‘May the Gods answer you, sir.’

Rillish strode to the stairs. ‘Well, on second thought, let's hope they don't, Chord.’

* * *

They were trimming and setting the boat's planking when ships breasted the south headlands following the shore north. Shouts from the villagers took Ereko's attention from overseeing the adzing. At his side Traveller set down his axe. ‘Locals?’ Ereko asked, though he felt certain they were not.

Traveller shaded his eyes. ‘Far from it.’

Ereko studied the vessels’ low beam, their simple square sail configuration. ‘They are daring seamen.’

‘They have come a very far way.’

‘You know them, then.’

‘Yes.’

In that ‘yes’ rode the strongest emotion Ereko had yet to hear
revealed by his companion. Curiosity grew within him to meet these people who had somehow managed to stir within Traveller what could only be called plain human hate. The headman's nephew came running from the huts, pointing out to sea. ‘They come! It is they! The grey raiders from the sea!’ His people came following in a wave; mothers running with their skirts gathered in one hand, children yanked along in the other.

‘Yes.’

The nephew swallowed to still his panting. ‘What … What do we do?’

‘Run away. All of you. Run into the forest. Don't stop.’

‘What of you?’

‘I'll meet them.’

‘But – if we all hide – perhaps they will pass us by.’

‘I don't want them to.’

The headman gaped at Traveller as if he'd just promised to commit suicide. He backed away, his gaze troubled, then sad, and finally he turned and jogged off.

Traveller crossed to where he'd left his weapon. He shook it from its sheath. ‘You too,’ he said. ‘You need not involve yourself.’

Ereko joined him as he started down to the strand. ‘No, I will come. I should mark these people so that I would know to avoid them in the future.’

Traveller deigned not to answer that, though he did glance sidelong. Out in the bay the ship's prows had turned to shore. Either they had seen them or they intended to land in any case.

‘Your armour?’

‘There's no time.’

Of course he showed no fear but Ereko was worried. Warriors who inspired such dread were obviously no fools. They would bring their bows to bear upon them, if they had such. On the way down he retrieved his spear. ‘Two ships,’ he mused as they reached the strand.

The ghost of a smile teased Traveller's lips. ‘Very well. The right or the left?’

Ereko eyed the two tall-prowed, narrow vessels. Both decks seethed with figures. ‘The right, I think.’

The raiders had jumped down into the surf and were pushing their way up on to shore when Ereko understood the reason behind the villager's dread.
The grey raiders from the sea.
To him, nothing more than one more race of alien invaders. Tiste Edur. Children of
Shadow. As they closed where the surf licked the black shingle Ereko dredged up what Edur he'd picked up over the ages. ‘Welcome.’

The lead figure, this detachment's war leader probably, gestured a halt and looked Ereko up and down. ‘Name yourself.’

Like his men he wore furs over leather armour decorated by tufts of hair, twists of ribbon and smears of orange and umber pigments. His long hair was braided and greased. He bore a spear, sword and knife – Ereko saw no missile weapons. But his relief at that ended when a woman, no more than a girl really, appeared at the ship's high prow. One of their witch women. The long tatters of the cloths, shawls and scarves wrapped about her flickered in the weak wind.

‘Stand aside, Ancient One,’ she called.

The war leader glanced to her. ‘Perhaps we should invite this one to accompany us.’

‘Not him. He is no warrior.’

A clash of weapons carried over the heaving of the surf. The dark eyes of the warriors now fixed glittering upon the far vessel.

‘Slay him and go,’ the war leader commanded.

‘Hold!’ This from the girl. ‘Strike him not! He is sacrosanct.’

The leader spun to the girl.
‘Claims who?’

‘I!’

‘Warleader …’ This from one of the Edur.

‘Yes!’

A nod in the direction of the other vessel. He turned to where all the warriors stared and Ereko watched a sickly paling of this Edur's grey hue. The sounds of battle, Ereko noted, had ended some moments ago. A wave and the warriors charged past. Their leader called up to the girl,
‘That
one I hope you will allow us to slay.’

But the young witch woman was deaf to his jibe. She too had seen Traveller, and so too had she seen all that moves inexorably with him. Her body was frozen, yet a war had broken out upon her face as it twisted, appalled, stunned, fascinated and horrified. The war leader had run to engage Traveller. Ereko, however, chose to watch the battle betrayed on this young girl's face as one faith held as immutable truth met the incarnation of another.

Which would win?

So far, of all the spiritual crises he'd witnessed in those open to them, Traveller – or rather that which travels with him – had won.

A slight wash in the surf and Traveller stood beside him. His shirt was slashed and dappled in lashes of blood. Rising in clouds from his stained chamois trousers blood stained the water around him. The girl stared down at them, her face frozen in a rictus that pained
Ereko to see, then, with a howl, she threw herself backwards from sight.

‘What of the ships?’ Ereko asked. They both knew they could not use them; they hadn't the crew.

‘We'll have to burn them.’

‘A shame, that. They are of interesting construction. We can salvage some of the wood, I hope? It would speed our efforts considerably.’

‘Very well. But nothing distinctive.’

He turned away and Ereko followed him up out of the surf. So many questions pressed themselves upon him but their peculiar partnership did not permit anything approaching explanations. For his own reasons Traveller wished it that way. But then, so too did Ereko.

A shrill call from the water, ‘Revealed One!’

It was the girl. She stood in the surf, supporting herself against the ship's bow. The tatters of cloths and scarves she wore hung from her like draped seaweed. While they watched she dragged herself up the black gravel of the shingle.

‘Please! I beg your guidance!’

‘What is she saying?’ Traveller asked.

‘Ahh, you do not know Edur. I will translate. She wishes guidance.’ Ereko lowered his voice. ‘Should she be allowed to live? She is a witness. There may be reprisals.’

‘Some things must be witnessed.’

Traveller's response staggered Ereko. Even he, of another kind and immortal, glimpsed in those words the faintest hint of what this man might be bringing forth upon the world and he was awestruck by its implications. After a time he indicated the girl now prone on the wet stones before them. ‘What should I tell her?’

‘If it is guidance she wishes tell her that I cannot give her anything she does not already have.’

Ereko translated, ‘What you seek lies within.’

She howled, disconsolate. Her fingers clawed through the stones. ‘I have nothing. Everything was a lie! I – my life – all is bereft of meaning! I am empty!’

‘Tell her to spread the word of what she has seen.’

Ereko thought about Traveller's words. ‘What is your name, child?’

She wiped her eyes savagely. ‘Sorrow.’

Ancient Mother!
Now it was Ereko's turn to stare until, misunderstanding his silence, the girl hung her head. He had to clear his
throat before he could find his voice. ‘Sorrow, go forth into the world. Bring word of what has been revealed.’

At his words the length of her body convulsed as if struck. She raised her face and deep within her dark eyes Ereko saw flames kindled. Those flames rose to a shining that brought tears streaming down her cheeks. She climbed to her feet. Her mouth tightened to a bloodless slash and she knelt on one knee. ‘I will return to my people and all the ancient lies will be cast down. I will bring this new truth to them.’

Ereko translated for Traveller.

He was staggered. ‘No. They'd just kill her out of hand. Tell her to go north. She might have a chance up there.’

Ereko translated, ‘Your people are not yet ready for the truth, Sorrow. It would destroy them as it nearly did you. Their time will yet come. He bids you travel north as a pilgrim. There you may find fertile ground.’

She straightened, though her eyes now remained downcast. He studied her: such a young malnourished thing! Is this part of the foundation upon which Traveller would set his message? And there were marks upon her, invisible to others, but which he could sense. Monstrous cruelties were there burnt upon her spirit. This one has spilt much blood. But then, who else would possibly dare to carry such a burden as the one Traveller lays upon these converts?