God of Broken Things

Chapter 22

I had plenty of time to think as I limped down the hill, my back on fire from the movement. Dwelling on serious topics and coming up with detailed plans was not my strong point, I was far more of an on-the-fly kind of guy.

Those stinking bard’s tales all featured a wise old mentor spouting cryptic nonsense to manipulate the brave young hero of the story, but this was just taking the piss. That history lesson had been about as much use as knitting gloves for a fish. Was I supposed to be so dazzled by the big hairy fucker’s age and knowledge that I threw all sense into the sea and did exactly what it advised? Probably; it did call itself the Eldest, and the old always thought themselves so much wiser than the young. Nah, I was too cynical for all that gullible shite. I knew something it didn’t – a truly wise person had to change with the times, not grimly clutch onto the past. Which begged the question of why of all folk I knew that.

I also knew that we pitiful few stood almost no chance against what was coming for us. And just where was that bastard army promised by the Free Towns Alliance? Not that I held out much hope there; however well-armed they were, they would only be mundane humans with a few relatively untrained Gifted to provide magical muscle. Against an elder tyrant infested with a Scarrabus queen they would either die or be taken over and forced to serve in their army.

All I could do was wait for Eva to return, and my prisoner with them. Then I would have to make some hard decisions. I glared at the rocky snow-capped peak of Kil Noth and shivered. The last thing I wanted to do was allow my grandmother to get her claws into me again. I wanted nothing to do with her bloody spirit.

Then a thought struck. Yes. YES! The druí dealt with spirits, which would be immune to the enemy tyrant’s powers. Sweet Lady Night, this could be the answer to everything! The druí would have to use them or die. But knowing my grandmother as I did, it wouldn’t be easy. If the worst came to the worst then I had the leverage needed to force them into it, but I really, really didn’t want to have to deliver myself up on a platter to her.

I tore down the hill… briefly, then slowed to a limp again when I ripped my stitches and the back of my tunic grew wet with blood. Great. Could that great hairy heap of ancient history not have sat and had a chat right there in my tent? Sod it and its nostalgia trip. I was a magus. I could do this. It was only pain.

I limped downhill with all the stubborn determination of a cat fleeing a bath.

Jovian stared at me in confusion as I wandered towards my tent, blood-soaked and drenched in sweat. As far as he had known I had been safely sleeping inside. He scampered over and grabbed my arm, guiding me in and back onto the furs. I groaned with relief as I lay face down and rested my aching back.

“How…” he began, then shook his head and thought better of asking as he stripped off my sodden tunic. “Have you fought cats once again?”

“A know-it-all giant ape this time,” I replied.

He sucked air through his teeth and prodded the wound. “You heal as fast as you drink.”

“Not fast enough. I need to get to Kil Noth with all speed.” My belly chose that moment to rumble.

He eyed my wounds and my shaking hands. “You need food and wine and more rest. A man who was dead to the world this morning is fit to fight nothing greater than mice. Or perhaps small, slow, and especially stupid children.”

“Being dead will hamper that somewhat, which is exactly what we will all be if I don’t get back there.”

“Vaughn has his pony, Biter, and a small cart,” he said. “Travel as glorious as a sack of grain perhaps, but you shall get there all the same.”

I nodded and he stepped outside to have a word with Vaughn. The big man whooped with joy. “Bring me my war pony!”

Jovian returned bearing a water skin and a lump of hard cheese. “He should have been a stablehand instead of a murderer. A happier life for all, I feel.”

I unstopped the skin and smiled at the unexpected sour aroma of cheap wine instead of water. “I’m more afraid of that evil pony than I am of him.”

Jovian’s expression was entirely serious as he made his way back outside. “As you should be.”

A deep swig of wine warmed my belly as I waited for them to gather the pony, cart and pack up our weapons and supplies. Coira and Nareene helped me up and settled me down atop furs on the back of the cart. Nareene was oddly tender about it. She leaned in close to whisper in my ear, “Thank you for Vincent.”

I took a peek inside her mind and found it a pit of flaming death and overly-sexual dancing. Everything burned in there, everything but our resident pyromancer who was naked and, well, engorged. Whatever this was between them, it would likely explode in our faces. Or perhaps the enemy. Gods help that poor boy if he ever decided to leave her and shack up with somebody else.

We were off, and as I passed Secca, who seemed to be heading for my tent, she looked up in surprise and caught my gaze. She paled and a conflicted and unreadable range of emotions flickered across her face. “Where are you going?”

“Eva is in trouble. The Scarrabus queen is here and it inhabits the body of an elder tyrant. I go to fetch help.”

She stared at me open-mouthed. And then a few moments later the cart turned and she was out of sight. It was a lot to drop on somebody but there was nothing any of them could do but wait for Eva to return – it wasn’t like they had any defence against an elder tyrant.

I suffered a half-day of bone-rattling as Biter pulled the cart along the rutted track heading back south towards Kil Noth, my coterie walking alongside. I could swear that the vile creature took us over every single bump it could possibly find. And if it farted one more time I would not be held accountable for my actions – I’d have Vaughn hitched up to the cart instead if needs be!

It was mid-afternoon when we finally trundled into the town that squatted below the ancient holdfast and I found Angharad and seven druí there waiting for me. Unlike how the pompous Arcanum might have done it, there was no formality here – they were sat around a table outside a tavern with horns of honey-scented mead in their hands and bowls of gnawed chicken bones in front of them.

“I knew ye would be here,” my grandmother said, taking a gulp of mead. “Have ye made a decision?”

I shrugged. “You must summon your spirits and set them on the enemy leader. He needs to be kept away from the battlefield at all costs.”

“No.” She took another drink, taking pleasure in my shocked expression.

“You must be mad. They will kill you all and destroy this place just as they did with Dun Bhailiol.” My coterie spread out and their hands settled on the hilts of their weapons.

She ignored the implied threat. “So? It is just death. You Setharii may not believe that humans becomes spirits after the flesh dies, but we druí do.”

I looked to the other druí to knock some sense into her. “Are you really going to sit here on your arses and do nothing when you could all be aiding the defence of your own people? How many of your children will be slaughtered if you don’t act?”

An old woman met my challenging gaze with a pitying look. “Angharad of the Walkers speaks fer all o’ us on this matter. She has the second sight and has foreseen the need fer a great spirit to tread this realm in the flesh. You will have no aid without following the true path laid out before you.”

“Are you all cracked in the head?” I demanded. “What makes you think I won’t just walk away and leave you to die of your own stupidity?”

They declined to answer. “Don’t make me force you to do it,” I said, changing tack. “Ye may be able to control them,” Angharad said. “But ye cannot control the spirits they have a pact with. The spirits will know what ye have done and will refuse ye.”

I ground my teeth and reached out for her mind. I didn’t know enough about spirits to know if she was telling the truth. Her mind was open and brimming over with ironclad certainty.

I pulled back with great reluctance. It would have been so easy to break in there and mess her up.

“Then fuck you all.” I turned and walked away, stewing in anger at the depths of their stupidity. Why would they refuse to save themselves? It made no sense to me.

“Ye will be back by dusk,” Angharad spat at my back. I glanced back to see her staring at my tainted hand hidden within its glove. “Ye will bow to the wisdom o’ the spirits.”

I stalked off, too furious to even feel the pain of my back. My coterie slipped into formation around me.

“No luck, Chief?” Coira asked, scratching a scarred cheek with a blackened fingernail.

“Want me to crack their stupid heads?” Vaughn added, ever hopeful. “After the first few the rest will listen real good.” Baldo nodded in agreement, and leaned in close to whisper in Andreas’ ear. They both glanced back at the druí and licked their lips unpleasantly.

I sighed and put a hand behind my back to support it as I limped over to a shoddy ale house for a seat. I fumbled money out of my pouch and slapped it down. Turned out it was a fat Esbanian gold coin bearing one of their merchant princes’ noble profile. I couldn’t even marshal the strength to take it back and try to fish out another. “Bring us ale,” I growled. “The good stuff.”

The gold invited stares until a boy brought us mugs of drink. I doubted any of them other than Jovian, once sword-master to rich High House brats, had ever seen such money and here I was buying drink with gold enough to supply a month’s worth for all of us.

“Do we leave them to their doom?” Jovian asked. The others stilled, listening.

I badly wanted to throw my hands up in disgust and head off home. I tried to rest my face in my hands but they refused to cooperate and I failed to achieve even such a simple thing.

How were we supposed to survive this if these stubborn fools refused to help themselves? It was all politics and backstabbing, self-interest and secret agendas and bloody alchemic-fuelled visions and whatnot. The Arcanum, the Clansfolk druí, and even the Free Towns Alliance were all obsessed with their scheming self-interest. I’d had a gutful of it and just wanted somebody to stand up and do the right thing for once in their fucking life – much like Eva I supposed. Despite her constant physical agony she was out there fighting for all of us more than for herself. If it were me I would have ended myself before now. I knew her will was iron but even so, there had to be a limit to human endurance.

If I ran then Eva would still stay behind and do her duty, and the Scarrabus and their hosts would overrun this hold. They could not hope to resist an elder tyrant for long. With me here they at least stood a slim chance. Which meant it was all on me to stand up and do the right thing. Again.

I groaned and downed my ale. “More!” The serving boy’s lips thinned at my rudeness, but gold made up for many things in life.

Last time I trusted my grandmother I’d ended up a butchered hog atop her altar. I suspected this time around would prove no better. I could run and survive, until my taint consumed me anyway, but I’d left Eva to die once already and I refused to do so again. I would have to toss the dice and see if they could cure my hand and grant me power enough to defeat the enemy. Shackling myself to her frigid spirit would come with its own, as yet unknown, costs. Nobody ever gave great power away for free.

I sat pondering my plight as the light faded. Just before dusk a tired and sweaty Clansfolk runner arrived in a hurry from the north. I dipped into his head and what I found caused my mug to shatter in my hand. A new wave of flying daemons had appeared from nowhere, raiding our camp, killing many before disappearing back into the mist. If they attacked again Eva and her advance force might become trapped, and come the next day when Abrax-Masud cleared a way through Granville’s avalanche, she would die.

I couldn’t allow that. Not when I could do something about it. Exactly as she’d predicted, at dusk I stood once again before my grandmother. She lounged back on a bench, her three crystal eyes glowing softly as she waited for me to speak the words.

I had to drag them out kicking and screaming: “I will do it. Call your spirits and send them to keep the enemy leader away. He’s the greasy-locked prick in the blue robes riding on a huge beetle, in case they can’t tell. Do it now and I will come with you.”

She smiled, and it was that rarity of hers: genuine pleasure. “Very well, grandson, let us go and save the world.” She snapped her fingers and the other druí leapt to carry out their part of the deal.