The Beast of the North (20 page)
Read The Beast of the North Online
Authors: Alaric Longward
‘It’s your father’s plan so ask him,’ Sand said and held his side, experimentally twisting his torso as he poked at the sore ribs. I cursed, as my friend did not really know the full plan, the part Crec was to play in it. He didn’t even know I was related to Gal. It bothered me, but the memory of Shaduril’s smile and kiss overwhelmed the remorse. Sand nodded at me. No bones were broken, and Taram wiped his hair from his eyes as he prepared to pummel Sand again with the staff. We were standing in the middle of a circular chamber, and it was empty, save for racks of wooden weapons on the side. The Lifegiver was shedding its light from holes on the top, illuminating the room though it left parts in deceitful shadows. Taram was just about done testing our abilities, and he was not impressed.
‘I know it is my father’s plan, thank you,’ he said irascibly, swirling the man length staff wildly about him, his balance, and skill perfect. ‘And asking won’t do any good. But I don’t enjoy being on the outside. Especially if I have to spend my precious playtime on this useless crappy joke. I could be courting rich women in Dagnar. I could bed some, if not most. I could be gambling in the Brewery and sailing the Straits. But I cannot make you a fighter in a few months. Not with you displaying an utter lack of skill. I promised Father, but perhaps I should not have done so. The simple, clumsy movements. Predictable, girly arms, weak strikes and thrusts. I could beat you with my legs broken. This training is as likely to succeed as it would be to teach a starving beggar to dance.’
‘Now wait right there …’ I began, and he launched an attack at Sand. My rough faced friend had not expected it at all. He dodged aside, very awkwardly, holding his own staff up with a shoddy, weak block, his arms straight, and Taram’s staff danced down, then under the block and ended up on Sand’s cheek with a meaty swat. I charged forward, pushing at Taram’s apparently unguarded back, but the young man sprung away and lithely landed on the ball of his foot. I fell over his other, outstretched leg, landed heavily, and bruised my shoulder. I saw his staff coming down, cursed and tried to guard my face. I yelped as the staff bit into my midsection instead of my face. ‘Augh!’ I yelled from the pain, and Taram stepped away, swishing the end of the staff at a speck of dust as if terribly bored. I cursed and climbed to my feet and together with the wobbly-footed Sand we clambered around, searching for the staffs. Taram laughed softly and waited for us to come at him. He looked deadly, his face hidden in shadows, and I was not sure how we could get any speck of respect from the man.
‘Right,’ Sand whispered. ‘I say I just tackle the bastard, and you pummel the Hel out of his back hide. The way we would do it at Bad Man’s. None of this dancing shit.’
‘Go,’ I agreed.
Sand charged forward; I followed and Taram grinned, danced aside, kept Sand at bay with a whirling slap on the shoulder that made my friend flinch with pain. The young Blacktower was turning and running from us, positioning his body so we could not tag team him. Then he stepped forward to poke at us with the staff, playing cruelly with his victims, unconcerned and superior. ‘Inexperienced? Inept? Clumsy as an old whore?’ he chortled. ‘Which shall I put in my report of you two?’
‘Tyr’s beard!’ Sand hollered and threw the staff at Taram, who was surprised enough to stumble back a step, blinking his eyes. Sand charged in roaring, rolled on the floor under the poke that Taram threw his way and just managed to grasp Taram’s foot.
The young man fell on his rear, his grin gone.
Sand was dragging Taram to him, grasping at his waist, and I got there, using the staff like a spear and thrust down. It connected.
With the floor.
Taram had managed to squirm aside, and gone was the near eternal, foolish smile on his handsome face. He kneed Sand so hard blood flew across the floor from a cut lip, and he pulled himself up. I cursed and slapped the staff at him from the side, and he blocked, then poked ahead for my face. It connected, and I fell back and saw red dots of pain. He was coming for me again, fast as a snake, the staff whirling in the air, and I rolled aside, only to feel stabbing pain on my back, then again and a well-aimed kick in my rear. I groaned and saw him aiming another kick for my face. ‘For Shaduril,’ he hissed. ‘Keep your hands off my sister.’
The foot hit hard, and I was sure I would not get up.
Shaduril? He was beating me for his sister?
He had seen us.
Then I felt the rage.
It was a lingering one at first. It throbbed in the edges of my consciousness, hammered at my lobes. Another kick connected with my face, and I barely felt it for the rage ripped through me. My ring burned on my finger; I felt it resist the rage, but I beat the resistance with difficulty, as I wanted to unleash the anger. It came on fully and filled me with savage strength. The anger felt like burning, molten fire, and it made me see things. I saw brief images of laughing, old faces. There was a bitter wind that was whipping across a wintry landscape, and a bear growling with a bloody maw. The rage was tearing at my heart, and a growl escaped my lips. I saw the vision of the bear, its neck snapped. I laughed at that terrible image, and other blurry visions of inhuman carnage. I screamed and began to get up. Even the stone under my hand felt fragile. I ripped at it, and to my astonishment a slab of it moved and crumbled under my grip. I felt another wild swing by Taram’s staff connect with my back; I heard him curse, to tell me to go down, and then I got up, fast as a cat.
In my hands, there was a chest size piece of rock which I swung, tossed really in Taram’s direction. His eyes were round with surprise, and he fell aside with a yelp. I pounded over Sand, so fast, quick as a fox, and I could not fathom my speed. Despite my fox-like speed, my steps were heavy as if a tree trunk was pounding the stone. Chips of stone flew around, and I tried to catch Taram. His stabs kept stinging at my chest and my face, but I laughed ferally at the pain and his surprised, terrified face. I faked a move to the left, but then I bounded—like a bear at him. He tried to dodge away, but he was cornered.
‘Maskan!’ he screamed and thrust his staff at me and hit my chest. The weapon broke in splinters, and what remained drew blood from my chest and shoulder. Taram was looking shocked, and I felt very little pain, only more anger, ripping rage and hate. I hated like I had never hated before. I punched his face as he was standing there, launched him into the air, and he fell onto his back six feet away in the corner. I ripped a large splinter off my chest, viewed the wound, and licked the blood off my hand.
He was alive though dazed. ‘Taram! It is I! Taram!’ he explained with a high-pitched voice and shook his head desperately, looking for a way out. I stalked closer, fighting the urge to rip his head off. I stopped, knowing something was wrong and tried to calm myself. It was hard, very hard, and then I suddenly felt a bursting pain go through me as Sand smashed his staff across my scalp. I tottered and went down on my knees. Then on all fours as my friend jumped on me. And finally, I went all the way to the ground as I resisted the urge to fight back. I wanted to rip the floor apart, my muscles were on fire, but Sand sat on my back, spitting blood, and I did not wish to hurt him.
‘Lost a tooth,’ he complained thickly, apparently pulling at one, for something hot fell on my neck. He addressed Taram, who was getting up painfully. ‘What in Lok’s rotten heart went into you. Cannot lose, eh?’
Taram was shaken, still shocked. ‘I don’t like to lose, no. And you should learn that attitude if you are to survive a proper fight. What the Hel went into him?’
‘You were beating him like you would a mangy dog,’ Sand said darkly. ‘Kicking him, you filthy piece of shit. And what was that bit about Shaduril?’
Taram snorted, and I lifted my head at him. ‘I don’t like you two staring at her as you do. She is my sister. She will marry high, not low. It’s filthy to have you bastards drool for her.’ He flinched and rifled through the remains of his staff and stared at me. ‘You should just calm down. I might have overstepped it a bit. He needs a doctor?’
‘I’m bleeding, but I don’t want a doctor.’
‘Some of the staff went into your chest,’ Taram said suspiciously. ‘And you are fine?’
‘Doesn’t hurt much. I think it's just some more splinters,’ I told him morosely, avoiding looking at him.
Sand looked down at me, and I shook my head tiredly. ‘Nope, no doctor,’ Sand said and tapped my head. ‘He will be fine. Just hungry. Gets like that when you don’t feed him. And you didn’t. Dragging us here before breakfast.’
‘Indeed,’ Taram said carefully. ‘Have you fought like that before? Maskan?’
I sighed and got to my elbows, toppling Sand off. ‘No, not really. Just got really, really angry.’
He grinned. ‘Such anger can grant you a victory, boy, but you should be careful. You could have impaled yourself. You have to fight with control, not like a damned maniac. You looked strange as Hel. Bestial. Not like a wolf or a bear, but bulky and dangerous. And I’ve seen something like that before.’
‘You have?’ I asked him, feeling the strange strength ebb from my arms. The ring throbbed and went cool. Was it my father’s ring? Did it have some strange powers?
He had a casual grin on his face. ‘Ask Father. He dabbles in magic and lore. I’ll tell him to talk to you about it, in fact. Don’t want to get killed because we don’t understand you. But for now, let us bind ourselves up.’ He spat out a glob of blood and whimpered as he touched his jaw gingerly. ‘With that strength, I think you might do very well in Dark Sands.’
‘Dark Sands?’ I asked, shocked. Did he know?
‘Fighting pit,’ he explained, holding his hip painfully. ‘I sponsor a team there with a dozen other nobles. The Red Sashes. You could try it after I’ve trained you and Father is done with you. Would make some gold to sate my gambling habit. You’d do well.’
‘Or be entertaining, at least,’ I agreed.
‘That can be superb business as well.’ He laughed. ‘There are bets made on who wins the fight, but also on who slays how many and who makes a fool of himself. Sky is the limit with betting.’
‘I’ll pass,’ I told him heavily. ‘I disdain people dying for no reason.’
He looked shocked, and then his eyes went to slits. ‘ Father is making a mistake if he trusts a man who cannot kill. No matter what he is doing.’
I snorted. ‘Careful, Lord, or that other person might come visiting, and he is not like Maskan.’
He nodded at me slowly, pulled his hair into a ponytail and walked to the door, which he pushed open angrily. ‘The main room, breakfast is served there,’ Taram said and walked out unsteadily. Sand was smiling at him, and as soon as he disappeared, Sand turned his face to me.
‘What the Hel was it?’ he asked me with a whisper. ‘I was to be the brawn of the outfit. Show me the wounds.’
I turned, and he lifted my shirt. He was clucking his tongue as he was picking wooden slivers out of the shallow wounds. ‘I don’t know, Sand. The rock was there, I lifted it, and it was so damned easy. I just … ripped it out, and I wanted to kill Taram.’ I rubbed my face. ‘Just got so unreasonably angry. I was thinking of Ann earlier. And Mother. And how Black and White hung them. The king? And my Father?’
And of Crec
, I thought but did not voice it. I spat and groaned as Sand shook his head at me. And Shaduril. He wanted to deny me Shaduril and that had been the real reason. ‘Perhaps I don’t want people standing between me and my ... goals.’
Sand nodded. ‘Goals. That’s a funny way of putting it. You and that noble bitch? The one that disdains me? I know.’
I looked at him. ‘I kissed her. She said maybe.’
‘Maybe?’ he asked, hammering at his head. ‘Really?’ He looked astonished.
‘Thank you for the vote of confidence,’ I growled.
He slapped my head. ‘Didn’t think it possible. This is getting very complicated. They don’t want you to court her.’
‘She is sad, but also lovely,’ I told him. ‘And she makes me happy. While I worry about our vengeance, she is there, at the end of the road. And so are we. You and I. Let’s remain positive, Sand.’
‘I said she will change things,’ he grumbled. ‘She will never accept me. It won’t be like it was with Father and your mother. She would not accept me under her roof.’
‘She might yet, and who knows what our roof looks like? Give her time. For me,’ I pleaded with him as I eyed the scratches in my chest. ‘Strange how little this hurts.’
‘Skin mostly,’ he said and took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry. I will try.’
‘Thank you,’ I told him and looked away. ‘It might change things. But not our friendship. They will mock us both, and they will ignore you as best they can. Remember it is not me, who—’
He slapped my head again. ‘Look, I’m your friend. I am,’ he said uncertainly as if unused to speaking of such matters and he was. He poked me roughly as if to make sure I understood he was still thoroughly dangerous. ‘I’m the Bear’s son. He, like the others, despises me; I can see it in his face.’ He nodded at the door and Taram. ‘I have no place in this world of nobles, other than making a living off their hides. That is my function. Thieving and robbing. I have no family left, but you.’ He bit his tongue as he said that, and there was a hint of moistness in his hard eyes. He looked away and then back, discreetly wiping his eye as if making sure no hint of his weakness remained. ‘I don’t really care about the high politics and even Red Midgard. I will fight for you, and I will fight for me and damn the rest. I’m of the low. But you and I shall bring down the mighty. Don’t mess it up. You have been messing up a lot in the recent past; whatever it is that made that thing come out just now? Keep it closed and locked. And I shall endure my humiliation and loss and their damned high airs.’