The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (26 page)

‘Who are you?’ demanded Tobin, as he surveyed the six dead hounds.

‘I...’ he began, trying to slow his laboured breathing, ‘am Dalian Thief Taker, greatest of the wind claws.’

None of the men knew what the title meant and they were none the wiser as to the identity of the strange man who had saved their lives. They looked at each other until the sound of more hounds approaching shook them out of their confusion.

‘I need to find Rham Jas Rami,’ repeated Dalian in a hoarse whisper. ‘Can you help me or not?’

Tobin nodded and turned to his two friends. ‘Help us get out of Cozz and I’ll help you find the Kirin.’

‘We can’t just leave... I built this yard with my own hands,’ said a second man of Ro. ‘How do we know Wesson isn’t kicking their arses at this very moment?’

‘Wesson is dead,’ replied Dalian simply, ‘and your town is overrun.’

News of their lord marshal’s demise hit all three of the blacksmiths hard and each looked at the floor with the sudden realization that Cozz would fall and would probably be razed to the ground.

‘We need to leave,’ said Dalian, standing upright and flexing his sore back. ‘Get moving. We head for the eastern gate. They won’t be there yet.’ The men of Ro returned blank looks. ‘Move!’ he shouted.

As blacksmiths, they were built for strength rather than speed, and even a tired old warrior like Dalian could keep up with them as they ran east out of Culver’s Yard.

The streets of Cozz were erupting in chaos. Men and women ran from their homes, clutching any belongings they could carry, as the hounds of Karesia stole anything they found and killed any that stood against them.

‘Keep to the side streets,’ said Dalian, shoving Tobin behind him. ‘If you die, I’ll kill your friends and join in razing Cozz.’ He didn’t mean what he said, but he needed the three men of Ro to be more scared of him than they were of the hounds.

Dalian poked his head out of the side street and could see the eastern gate a few streets away. Between them and the safety of the eastern plain were several dozen hounds. Izra’s pack had spread quickly through the merchant enclave and now the scene before Dalian was one of violence and destruction. Men had died defending their homes and families, women had been dragged into stables and violated by several clumsy rapists at a time, and buildings had been set on fire. He flinched as he saw two female hounds rape a man of Cozz with their scimitars.

‘They’ll die for this,’ growled Tobin from behind. ‘This is Tor Funweir.’

‘It was,’ replied Dalian in a deathly quiet whisper. ‘Now it belongs to the Seven Sisters.’

The Thief Taker ducked back down the street, grabbing Tobin as he did so, and turned away from the scene of slaughter. They quickly ran down three adjacent side streets until they reached the outer stockade of Cozz. The wooden walls were secure, but several small gaps were in evidence. Dalian ushered the blacksmiths behind him and stepped out into a narrow alley that ran along the length of the eastern wall. No hounds were within his field of vision, though the sounds of their assault echoed from all around him.

‘Move quickly,’ he said to the men of Ro, ‘and try to keep quiet.’

With the wind claw in the lead, they moved from the side street and quickly reached a gap in the palisade. By moving two planks out of the way, it was a simple matter to squeeze through, though the bulky blacksmiths made the operation a slow one.

Dalian dragged the men through the gap, and they fled east across the grassy plains of Cozz.

* * *

As the sun went down and the smoke rising from Cozz faded over the horizon, Dalian allowed the three blacksmiths to stop for a rest. He had been planning to travel through the night and gain some ground on the assassin, but Tobin the smith had stubbornly refused to tell him anything until he’d had a chance to eat and sit round a fire.

Somewhere in the world, under a rock, in a tavern, or killing one of the Seven Sisters, was Rham Jas Rami, the Kirin assassin. Dalian was impatient, but he tried to keep his temper while the big men of Ro wheezed and complained, lamenting the loss of their home. The man of Karesia sympathized, even if he expressed it poorly because he was running out of time and needed to keep moving.

They had found a small forest directly east of Cozz, and now they sat within the tree line, huddled round a fire. The mountains of the Claws were just visible across the fields, towering over the eastern landscape, and Dalian was in unfamiliar territory, deeper into Tor Funweir than he had ever been, and far from the lands of Jaa. It was not especially cold, but the weather across the flat lands was temperamental and the wind never seemed to stop, putting the old wind claw in a foul mood.

‘You should eat something, Karesian,’ said Tobin, offering a bowl of Gorlan stew.

Dalian was not convinced of the blacksmith’s culinary expertise. He thought the spiders he’d used had been far too small to make a flavoursome broth, and the men of Ro did not seem to understand the concept of seasoning. ‘I’ll pass, thank you,’ he replied, as politely as he could.

The blacksmiths were in melancholy mood, ruminating on the destruction of Cozz, and on family and friends who were most likely captive or dead by now. Each had family elsewhere, however, and Dalian had heard a dozen plans as to where they would go and how they would finance their future blacksmithing endeavours. They were tough men, and the old Karesian admired their spirit, if not their stamina.

‘How long do you need to rest before you’ll tell me what I want to know?’ he asked.

They each looked at him and exchanged concerned glances. None of them had asked him anything about himself or why he’d been in the merchant enclave in the first place, and it was evident they were simply glad they’d managed to escape. ‘You saved our lives, Karesian,’ said Tobin, nodding in subtle gratitude.

‘I am a servant of Jaa, it was the Fire Giant that saved you,’ replied Dalian. ‘You should thank him.’

Tobin smiled. ‘There isn’t a god of blacksmiths. When they invent one, I’ll follow him... but I’m not thanking a Giant for anything.’

The remark made Dalian chuckle ironically. He’d kill any man in Karesia who made a similar comment, but these were simple men, and the clerics of the One clearly allowed a more flippant attitude than the wind claws of Jaa.

‘This country is strange to me,’ said the Thief Taker with a smile.

‘Never been to Karesia,’ replied Tobin, taking a mouthful of stew, ‘but I’m fairly sure that we’d find that place strange too.’

‘Can I push you for some information, or would that be rude... given that your town was recently destroyed?’ asked Dalian, trying to remain patient.

The three men of Cozz looked downcast, and it took a moment for Tobin to reply. ‘You’re after Rham Jas?’ he asked.

‘I am.’

Tobin looked at his fellows, who evidently did not know who Rham Jas was. ‘He passed through my yard... maybe three weeks ago, with a mobster from Tiris. Glenwood, I think his name was,’ volunteered the blacksmith.

‘Tobin, you been fixing for criminals again?’ asked one of the other blacksmiths in a judgemental tone.

‘My steel isn’t as good as yours,’ replied Tobin. ‘A man has to make a living.’

‘But fixing for assassins? That’s dirty work.’ The other two were shaking their heads, and Dalian snapped his fingers to attract Tobin’s attention.

‘The assassin, where is he?’ he repeated, more insistently. ‘Or the Prince of the Wastes, a Karesian friend of his.’

‘Yeah, I know them both,’ Tobin conceded reluctantly. ‘I’ve not seen Al-Hasim for a while, though. He was running bootleg wine out of Tiris a few years ago.’ He paused for a moment and ate some more of his thin and watery stew. ‘Rham Jas was on his way to Arnon and then Leith, something about some women that need killing.’

‘Did he give you any names?’ asked Dalian, hoping that the women in question were the Seven Sisters.

Tobin shook his head. ‘I don’t ask for names. All I do is provide food, steel, repairs, supplies... I don’t ask questions.’

‘How do I get to Ro Arnon?’ asked the Thief Taker, planning to leave in pursuit as soon as possible.

‘Why are you after him?’ pressed Tobin with narrow eyes. ‘Has he pissed you off?’

‘I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you’re asking,’ replied Dalian.

Tobin chuckled to himself and looked unconvinced. ‘I’m not worried about that. Rham Jas is a slippery fucker. You’re tough, but I know people who think he’s unkillable.’

‘I’ve very glad to hear that.’ Dalian looked to the sky. He estimated that it was approaching midnight. ‘I’ll leave in the morning.’

‘You’re better off heading to Leith,’ said Tobin. ‘You’re a few weeks behind and you’ll miss them in Arnon.’

‘So how do I get to Leith?’ he asked.

‘Take the road east, towards Arnon. When you cross the river, head south past the Claws. You’ll have to rough it a bit, but it’s a pleasant enough journey.’ Tobin was chewing on a stewed Gorlan leg, but remained suspicious as to why Dalian was looking for the assassin.

The Thief Taker smiled, content that he had the information he needed. ‘Thank you, blacksmith,’ he said. ‘Find somewhere nice to live. Start a business, meet a woman, drink wine, eat food and raise children.’

All three men of Cozz looked at him and Dalian smiled. He was not unsympathetic to them and he genuinely hoped that the people of Tor Funweir would find a way to weather the invasion of the Seven Sisters. Unfortunately, these men were simple folk and knew nothing of the larger game being played out. They worried about their lost town, their dead friends and family, and their future. But they were not pious, or even afraid, and they lacked even the most basic divine awareness. They were not true children of the One any more than they were children of Jaa.

CHAPTER 10

They had left Tiris is a hurry and, much to Glenwood’s distress, had been sleeping rough ever since, without even an overnight stay in Cozz. An occasional night in a roadside inn was apparently too much to ask, and Rham Jas had resorted simply to ignoring questions that he didn’t want to answer. It was an infuriating habit, but no less than Glenwood had expected. They had little to talk about, and the forger was just as comfortable in his own little world, trying to forget where he was and keeping busy with his sketch pad. He’d sketched mountains, rivers and skylines. He’d even drawn pictures of his companion, moodily hunched over in his saddle.

All Rham Jas had said directly to him, since they had crossed the river and entered the Falls of Arnon, was that their next sister would be Lillian the Lady of Death – who, in Glenwood’s opinion, sounded absolutely lovely. Since then, it had been three days of silence as they ghosted along next to the Red Road that led to Ro Arnon, avoiding passers-by and spending their nights by the roadside. It was not a comfortable way to travel, the only break in the monotony being the occasional night when they found a small wood to camp in.

‘Do you blame people for being afraid of you, Rham Jas? As far as I know, you can count your true friends on three fingers, no?’ asked Glenwood, while he stoked the fire and attempted to get some warmth back into his aching body after a long day’s travelling.

The assassin frowned and took a large gulp of wine. ‘I’m just misunderstood.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Glenwood shot back. ‘Don’t try that
poor me
shit, you’ve gone out of your way to fuck with people... me included.’

Rham Jas looked off into the rising darkness as if he were trying to identify landmarks through the trees. ‘I don’t mean to... well, not always.’ The swarthy Kirin was not as guarded as usual and looked set for an evening of alcohol. ‘Can I tell you something, Kale?’ he asked, without looking up from his half-empty bottle of wine.

‘Sure,’ replied Glenwood. ‘Are we bonding now?’

‘No, no, we are not. I’m just a little short of company. Of those three friends you mentioned, one is dead, one is stuck in Canarn, and the other is... prancing around Ranen somewhere.’

The forger knew Bromvy and Al-Hasim, but he was fairly sure both were still alive. ‘Who’s dead?’ he asked.

‘Big, dumb Fjorlander, name of Magnus.’

Glenwood shook his head. ‘Never knew him. What did you want to tell me?’

Rham Jas’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to be falling into something approaching melancholy. ‘I wanted to tell you why I’m doing this,’ he said wearily.

‘Doing what? Making my life more difficult than it was before?’ Glenwood infused more vitriol into the comment than he had intended.

‘Fuck you, Kale. This isn’t about you... or me. Forget I said anything.’ Rham Jas was angry now and he huddled up, clutching the wine bottle as a child would a favourite toy. ‘Just tell me about Arnon.’

‘What do you want to know?’ Glenwood shot back, again with needless aggression. ‘It’s full of clerics and they don’t like Kirin.’

‘Who’s in charge?’ the morose assassin asked between gulps of wine.

Glenwood had not been to Ro Arnon for years and was by no means an expert. The church city, known as the City of Black Spires, was traditionally where the three high orders of churchmen made their homes.