Shadowblood

Chapter Twenty-One

Sardec sat by the camp fire conscious for perhaps the first time in his life of the enormity of defeat. It hung over him like a vast shadow, making its presence felt in the chill of the breeze and the darkness that danced around the flickering embers.

He hoped they had put enough distance between themselves and the battlefield. He had led them northward away from the main track taken by the Talorean staff and all the other retreating soldiers. Any Sardean cavalry would follow the main road in the hopes of overtaking the officers, Generals and the rich pickings of their baggage train.

Rena was still trying to comfort Sergeant Hef's wife. The children sat round the fire, looking bleakly into the embers. Toadface talked with Handsome Jan.

“What do we do now, sir?” asked one of the new men. Sardec had not bothered to learn his name yet. He could not remember whether the man had told him it or not, and to be honest, he did not really care. He knew he should but he could not. All eyes focused on him. Everyone present was looking to him for a lead.

All of them, even Weasel and the Barbarian, normally so self-confident, had a beaten whipped-dog look. He was surprised that those two were still present. He had half-expected them to slope off on their own. But, like the others, they seemed to find some reassurance in numbers. And Sardec did not blame them. At this time he found their familiar faces oddly comforting even though he had never liked the men who owned them.

“We strike West,” he said as confidently as he could, trying not to think of all the long miles that separated them from Halim, let alone the Talorean border. “There will be a garrison there, and most likely reinforcements will have arrived.”

“What good will that do?” asked Handsome Jan. “They won’t be able to stand against the dead any more than we could.”

If you have any more constructive suggestions I will be happy to hear them, Sardec almost said but resisted the temptation. Now was not the time to get into arguments with the men. Now more than ever he needed to maintain his position in their eyes, and provide them with the sort of leadership they would need to get home. “It will get us back into the Queen’s service, soldier, and we will get another chance to throw back those Shadow-worshipping scum.”

There, he had said it, the words they had all feared to mention were out in the open now, and they all knew it. “Do you think the Princes of Shadow have really come, sir?” asked Toadface, licking his fat lips with his obscenely long tongue.

Sardec nodded. “You’ve seen the dead men walking; can you doubt it?”

“They just kept coming,” said the Barbarian. “I’ve never seen dark magic like it, not even when we were below Achenar. And sometimes when they pulled a man down he would get right up and fight alongside them, against his mates and all.”

He said the last as if it were somehow more obscene than the man rising from the dead in the first place. Perhaps to someone with his primitive code of honour, it was. Sardec smiled sourly. For the first time ever he had allowed himself to think that a man like the Barbarian might possess something like honour. It was a measure of how much his thinking on the subject had changed.

“I’m surprised we managed to get away at all,” said Weasel. Sardec was not. If any two men were able to escape from such a situation he and the Barbarian were them. The only other person who Sardec had encountered who equalled their slipperiness was the half-breed Rik. Had he and Asea managed to escape or had the half-breed’s astonishing good luck finally ran out? Sardec wondered if he would ever know.

“Perhaps God is preserving us for a reason,” said one of the newcomers, his eyes fixed on Sardec, begging for confirmation of this. They were all looking for any reassurance in the face of the vast supernatural evil that had reached out and touched their world. Sardec saw no reason to deny them this consolation. After all, who was he to say whether or not it was true? In times like this faith could be a source of strength and they were going to need all the strength they could find.

“Perhaps he has.” All of them were grateful for the words, and Sardec found himself oddly grateful to them for their faith in him. It was reassuring to feel trusted and needed in a time like this. Resolution firmed in his heart that he would not let them down while breath was still in him.

Sardec’s thoughts wandered back to Rena in the ensuing silence. He wished she had not come with the army. What chance did she have of surviving? The weather was getting worse. The walking dead were everywhere, and the Sardean cavalry would scour the countryside to round up survivors.

He shuddered to think what would happen to anyone they found. He had seen the Sardeans sabering any fleeing Taloreans they had encountered. He told himself that it was most likely that they were still filled with the fury and bloodlust of battle, but he had a suspicion that it was more than that, that they had been given orders to do so, to kill and leave the bodies so that they might rise again and follow the dreadful drumbeat to which the armies of the dead marched.

The newcomer’s question came back to haunt him. What could they do in the face of such uncanny sorcery? It was so new and strange and potent, on a scale unlike anything Sardec had yet witnessed. The destruction of the Serpent Tower had been impressive, but it had been a local event, unique, that could and would happen only once, but this was different. Evil magic had reached out and blanketed a nation, and unless he missed his guess it was getting stronger with every day that passed. Perhaps it fed on the deaths of the plague victims or on any deaths at all. Perhaps it really was a harbinger of the end of the world. Perhaps the Light really was passing judgement.

Sardec looked at the soldiers. “I believe we should pray,” he said.

No one disagreed.

The building in which Rik and Asea camped had been a watermill once. The rotting remains of the wheel were still there even though the upper part of the structure had long ago tumbled into the river. The place was defensible and they were unlikely to find a better one in which to camp for the night.

A flame crystal burned in a brass setting in the middle of the main chamber, providing both heat and light by virtue of its magic. Karim produced food and wine from the travelling chests. Tamara sat nearby, still in chains, watching everything with a wary eye.

Rik remembered the nightmare of their flight, as the huge wyrm ploughed through the fleeing soldiers and camp followers blocking the road, like a massive galleon making its way through a swarm of rowboats.

He recalled only too well the looks of shock and suffering on the faces of those they passed, and the despair of those who knew that sometime soon death would overtake them on the road, while the Terrarchs looming above them might still escape. There had been hatred there amidst the despair and Rik could not blame those people for it. He would have felt that way himself in their position.

Asea looked bone weary. Defeat was etched on every line of her face. Tamara did not look much better. She had the appearance of one who thought she had reached sanctuary and found her safe haven a trap. Only Karim looked indifferent to their circumstances but then he always did.

Rik took the bit of beef he had been heating on the point of his dagger and offered it first to Asea and then to Tamara. After both of them had turned it down he began chewing on it himself.

Asea rose and walked around the four corners of the building putting wards into place. Rik felt the slight surge of power as the spell activated. He wondered if the wards’ presence might give them away to any pursuers then dismissed the concept as ludicrous. The presence of a large black bridgeback wyrm outside of the place was all the clue anyone hunting for runaway Terrarchs would need.

Asea sat down once by the heating crystal once more. She was still armoured and looked like a war-goddess from an earlier age.

“I take it things did not go according to plan,” said Tamara. There was a mocking note in her voice, as always. She seemed incapable of keeping it out when she talked to Asea.

“You take it correctly.”

“What now, Milady?” Rik asked to forestall any further sniping. He feared that things would not go well for Tamara, given Asea’s present mood.

Asea considered for a moment. “The power behind the plague is a mighty one. The Army of the Dead is only going to get stronger until the spell is ended and the gateway closed.”

“I would say that is a fair assessment of the situation,” said Tamara. “But somewhat irrelevant.”

“How so?”

“Because we have no way of breaking the spell. Your army was defeated today, Milady, and the armies of the East march towards your homeland.”

“Be that as it may, it does not alter the nature of the problem in the slightest. While the dead march the West cannot win this war. Every casualty is a potential new recruit for our foes. Every loss to our side is doubled.”

Tamara nodded. “I know that as well as you but that was not point. Without your army you have no way of getting to Askander and closing the Gate.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I should think it obvious. All the armies of Sardea lie between you and your destination.”

Asea smiled. “Perhaps not. As you have so astutely pointed out, they will soon sweep on, invincibly, into the West.”

“You cannot be thinking of striking East on your own.”

“Why not? I can do no good here and I may be able to close the Gate in the East.”

“It is guarded.”

“Guards can always be taken by surprise. You of all people should know that. And I doubt our enemies will expect such a bare-faced attack.”

“Presumably because they assume you are not insane.”

Rik stared at Asea. She sounded serious. She really was considering heading East, on her own, to try and close the Gate. Perhaps she had gone mad. It was possible some backlash from today’s sorcery had deranged her.

“You have no chance,” said Tamara.

“I have a tiny chance,” said Asea. “And when you have run out of options, that is better than nothing.”

“I think you might be noticed in your war-gear.”

“There’s always disguise.”

“They will be looking for you.”

“They will be looking for me in the West, with the armies of the West. I doubt they will expect me to go rushing into their territory. Would you?”

Tamara’s smile could almost have been admiring. “No. Because I have always thought you were clever.”

“The Princes of Shadow will come. I have already seen one world lost to them. I will not see another.”

“How will you go?” Rik asked. “The wyrm is a bit conspicuous and we do not have any dragons. Do you know some sorcery that will transport you there?”

“I will go on foot if necessary and I will go soon, for every day that passes our enemy grows stronger, and it may be that they will soon be sufficiently mighty or Talorea may become sufficiently weak for them to overcome us without their undead legions.”

“You underestimated us, didn’t you?” said Tamara quietly.

“Yes,” said Asea.

“It’s not surprising. I did too.”

“Who could have foreseen anything like this, on a world with so much less power available than Al’Terra?”

“The people who planned it did.”

“Yes. They managed to find something that would work even with the full power of their magic unavailable to them. They were devilishly clever.”

“They had centuries to prepare,” said Rik.

“So did we,” said Asea, “but we spent it building an Empire over the humans and fighting among ourselves, and our greatest foes have taken advantage of that. Then again, they always knew how to exploit our weaknesses, and why should they not, for they are just like us in many ways.”

“Does that not mean that you should be able to exploit their weaknesses in return,” said Rik.

“I hope so, for if we do not then civilisation as we know it on this world is doomed and a new age of darkness has begun.”

“Can you close the Gate?” Rik asked.

“I have done so once. I can do it again. I might even be able to destroy it, if I get close enough.”

“How will you do that?”

“I am hoping that you can show me the way.” There was a hint of pleading in the look she gave him.

“I’ll need to think about it.”

She nodded. “Don’t take too long. Every hour counts.”

Rik lay in the gloom of the ruined building. Try as he might and tired as he was he could not get to sleep. Eventually, he rose and made his way up the old stairs to watch the moonlight turn the oily surface of the river to silver. A devilwing or perhaps a large bat moved across the face of the moon. All was quiet save for the rush of the water below.

What was he going to do now? Asea seemed determined to throw away her life so he was about to lose his patron. The vision of wealth and privilege that had been so briefly dangled before his eyes evaporated like morning mist in the rays of the sun.

The followers of the Princes of Shadow were going to take over the world, and use humanity as their cattle and the undead as their fist. He saw no reason to doubt that. It was what his father would have done, and Malkior seemed a not untypical representative of the Princes and their servants.

He thought of the world wracked by plague, with humans raised to be devoured by a new generation of masters far worse than even the Terrarchs had been. It made him angry and the most frustrating thing was that his anger counted for nothing. It never had and it never would. The powerful would get on with what they wanted without any regard to the way people like him felt. It was simply the way the world was made.

The anger burned in his gut, warming him like a potent spirit. For a moment, he thought he understood what Asea intended to do. She would defy fate and the Princes of Shadow and attempt to change the way history wanted to be written. Even though she knew she had very little chance she was prepared to take the risk anyway. The alternative for her as much as for him was to flee or do nothing, and she was choosing not to do either. It was admirable in its way, even if it was foolish.

What was he going to do? Perhaps, he should go with her. She had helped look after him, and he should help look after her. He had nothing left to go back to.

Did that really mean he had to throw away his life though? The truth was that his life was most likely thrown away anyway. He was known to be of Asea’s party and he doubted that the Princes of Shadow would be any more forgiving of their enemies than the usual run of Terrarchs. He could hide but the chances were that he would be run down eventually. Even if he was not, all he could look forward to was a lifetime of skulking and fear.

At least it would be a life. Accompanying Asea would be suicide.

Ah, but if she succeeded, he would be famous. What were the chances of that though? Vanishingly small, but he had succeeded against such odds before. Perhaps he could do so again.

The thought began to take hold of him, although the voices protested. They did not want to lose their last toehold on life, terrible though it might be. Their whining pushed him in the opposite direction. He was tempted to go with Asea just to show that he was still master of his life, not their puppet and vessel.

He told himself to sleep on it, make no hasty decision, but he knew that in some strange way his choice was already made.

Sardec studied the compass then the angle of the sunrise. By his calculations if they headed directly south they would encounter the main road. They would also encounter the triumphant Sardean army and its outriders which seemed like something to be avoided at all costs.

He looked at Weasel and the Barbarian. They had just come back from trapping breakfast. They brought with them a brace of rabbits and a bunch of edible roots and herbs and set about cooking them in their small military issue mess cans. Sardec was grateful for their skills. He could not have provided for himself with such efficiency, given the fact that he had a hook instead of a hand.

Small droplets of rain kissed his face, and a drizzle began. A mournful wind blew through the tree branches that so exactly matched the expressions on the faces surrounding him that he almost laughed.

“The heavens weep,” said Handsome Jan.

“As well they might,” added Toadface.

“We’re not dead yet,” said Sardec allowing a tone of warning to show in his voice.

“And even if we were we might not rest easy,” added Weasel. He sounded more thoughtful than mocking.

“We’ve got food, and vodka and some shelter,” said the Barbarian. “Things could be worse.”

“We’ve got bullets and blades as well,” said Sardec, “and we know how to use them. Let’s be grateful for that.”

“I’ll feel a lot more grateful when I’ve had some of that vodka the Barbarian is preaching about,” said Weasel.

“Drink it down,” said Sardec, “and then get ready to move out.”

“It’s my bloody vodka,” said the Barbarian.

Sardec looked over at where the children slept. Rena lay by them, looking just as innocent in sleep. It was only now that he realised how exhausted she must be. All of them were. The defeat and flight had drained them more than the long march and the strange weather was making things worse. He had never known a spring this cold.

What would become of them, he wondered? Would they ever manage to get home? Or would they all die on the long march? There was no way of knowing but they had to do something. Anything was better than simply waiting here for death to come.

He took an inventory of his resources. There were about ten surviving Foragers, four of them veterans that he could trust: Weasel, the Barbarian, Toadface and Handsome Jan. There was Rena, Sergeant Hef's wife and four children. It seemed like they would only slow the soldiers down but Sardec was not going to abandon them. He smiled sourly. There had been a time when he would not have hesitated for a moment to sacrifice a score of human children to ensure the safety of one Terrarch, particularly if that Terrarch was him. Times had certainly changed.

He looked at the sky. The clouds were dark and ominous and tinged with strange supernatural colours that that spoke of wicked magic being cast somewhere. He wondered where Asea was and Rik and Lord Azaar were. He could certainly do with their supernatural knowledge now, or even Asea's leadership to give him some clue as to what to do.

The whole vast structure of the Western armies had suddenly vanished, leaving him abandoned and alone. He had led units before but always there had been the sure and certain knowledge that there was something to come back to and a hierarchy to give him guidance and orders. All of that had disintegrated, vanished overnight in the face of the ominous power of the armies of the dead. It came to him then that perhaps there was no one left to give him orders, that he was on his own and entirely responsible for the survival of everyone under his command.

Was it all worthwhile, trying to be a soldier in an army that no longer existed? Was he fooling anybody, pretending to be an officer now? Surely all the humans could see that he was part of an officer corps that had led them only to destruction and defeat.

He studied the faces of the men around him and saw no trace of those thoughts there. They looked at him as if he was still in charge and as if they expected him to give them sensible orders. That seemed like a joke. How was it possible to give sensible orders in a world gone mad?

He pulled himself to his feet and walked around. He checked to make sure that everyone had some rations and enough water to at least see them through the day. He got the men to count the number of bullets they had and tell them how much powder they were carrying, and he was shocked to find that there was so little. There was no Quartermaster here to resupply them, and no way of telling when they would next be able to refurbish their supplies. The situation looked pretty desperate but there was nothing he could do about it so he pushed the thought to one side.

He made sure that the children had eaten and that the women got something too, and then he ordered everyone to their feet and told them that they needed to move out. He was not entirely sure where they were going to go but he knew they must get moving.

It would be best to keep away from the road for a while. Less chance of meeting enemy scouts even if the march was harder. Rena came over and stood beside him. He was glad that she had not tried to hug him or take his hand. It would not do to show too much intimacy in front of the men. He smiled again. As if such things muttered under the circumstances.

"Where shall we go?" she asked.

"We'll head North and then eventually strike due West and aim for Halim. Hopefully we can join the garrison there and if we can't, we'll head for the mountains."

"I'm glad you're still alive," Rena said. "I'm glad you found me."

"I am too. You've no idea how much." He took her hand then, not caring who saw it or what they thought. For a brief shining moment, he felt happy, which he found strange considering that he was standing in the ruins of a world. For a moment he felt hopeful, as if something good might eventually come out of all this destruction, even if it was only his ability to show his feelings to the woman he loved. Then he thought about the huge army of undead monsters and the moment passed vanishing like the warmth of a sun passing behind a cloud.

Weasel came over and stood in front of them. He showed no signs of having noticed the fact that they were holding hands. "I think we'd best be going, sir. I think I can see something moving along those ridges behind us and judging from the numbers and the speed with which their moving, I'm guessing it’s some deaders."

"Thank you, Weasel. You're the Sergeant now. At least until we can rejoin the army." Sardec have expected Weasel to grin but he didn't. He looked solemn and his shoulders slumped a little as if the new responsibility pressed down on him.

"Thank you, sir. You're showing a lot of faith. I'll try and not let you down."

"I'm sure you won't. I'm counting on you to back me up. I'll need that if we are all going to get home alive."

“I think we’re going to need more than that, sir, but we’ll do what we can with what we’ve got.”

“That we will, Sergeant. That we will.”

As the sun rose, Asea sorted out her gear. She set Karim to burying the things she could not take: the elemental flasks, the chests full of magical paraphernalia, the exotic weaponry usable only by a mage. Her hair she clipped short and she wore a soldier’s tunic and britches. She looked surprisingly convincing as a Terrarch officer. Such gear as she could carry she put in a holdall.

“What now?” she asked Rik.

“I am going with you.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“You will need someone who knows what they are doing to keep you out of trouble.”

“I can see how your skills would be useful.”

“I want to come with you as well,” said Tamara.

“Why should we allow that?”

“Because my knowledge of Sardea is greater than yours. Because I know how to get where you want to go. Because I have skills that will help keep you alive on your travels. And not the least because we are on the same side.”

“Are we?” Asea asked.

“We share enemies.”

“That is not the same side.” Rik glanced between the two Terrarch women. Hostility bristled in the air, ancient and instinctive. They were not two people who could ever like each other. If Tamara could be trusted she would be an invaluable ally, for all the reasons she had outlined and more. She could teach him things about the powers he had been born with. And that might help keep him and Asea alive.

“I think we should take her with us.”

“I am not sure I trust her.”

“She will be always within reach. You can kill her if she betrays us.”

“I will not betray you.”

“She might be recognised.”

“So might you and she has the skill to conceal herself, and you too, should you choose to use it. I can testify that her talent for disguise is a formidable one.” Asea lifted an eyebrow, and Rik suspected that at some point he was going to have to explain that last remark. There was no help for it now. He wanted Tamara to come with them. She was a trained Shadowblood assassin. That had to be useful on a mission like this. “Her skills increase our chances of success. Given the odds against us, surely that is the most important consideration.”

Asea appeared to consider this for a long time. Eventually she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Very well, but be warned, at the first sign of treachery, Tamara, you die.”

Tamara’s smile was icy. “There’s a good chance I am going to die anyway.”

Rik wished that he could disagree with that statement. He was sorry that she had made it. He was already having second thoughts about the wisdom of accompanying Asea but he was committed now. The voices screamed in protest. He told them to be silent. If things got really bad, he could always flee later.

By then it might be too late, they chorused back.

“You’ll have to remove these chains if I am to go with you,” Tamara said. “People might find the sight of you travelling with someone bound with truesilver a tad suspicious.”

Asea considered this for a moment, then nodded to Karim. He opened the locks and they waited expectantly as Tamara stepped from her fetters. They stood frozen as if expecting violence.

Tamara smiled and said, “When do we go?”

“Now,” said Asea, and picking up her pack she set off towards the East.