The Grim Company

More Haste, Less Speed

The sun was at its zenith by the time the small band finally approached the Tombstone. The massive column of basalt jutted out from the small outcrop of hills surrounding them, and was visible from a good few leagues away once a gap in the ridge line finally opened up.

To the west, a day’s ride on horseback would carry them back to Dorminia. The city was too far away to be seen from this distance, but the dark line of the Demonfire Hills was visible even to Brodar Kayne’s ageing eyes. Small villages and towns dotted the ancient road that ran all the way from the city to terminate just below the mine ahead of them. He and Jerek had followed the same road only a month past. The last stretch of their epic journey had turned out to be fairly pleasant, all things considered. For one thing, no one had tried to kill them.

He couldn’t say the same for the Badlands a couple of days’ ride to the north. A vast, treacherous stretch of country filled with hidden gullies, the Badlands were haunted by gangs of bandits that preyed on the Free Cities of the Unclaimed Lands to the east — and, when they could get away with it, those settlements in the small hinterland that swore allegiance to the Grey City. The bandit tribes that pursued a life of lawlessness in the Badlands had to choose their targets carefully if they wished to avoid deadly retribution.

‘Carefully’ had not included a pair of ragged Highlanders passing through, at least not at first. Kayne and Jerek had left a trail of bodies in their wake as they fought their way south through the Badlands to the Trine. That particular part of their trek had taken many weeks.

North beyond the Badlands, many days’ travel further still, and through places he would as soon forget, the land began to rise. The temperature dropped, becoming cold and then bitter, and slowly the High Fangs emerged, marking the place where the very world ended. It was an enormous country of sheer ridges and plunging valleys, fast-flowing streams cold enough to freeze a man to his bones and forests of snow-capped pines so tall they towered over anything built by the hands of men. It seemed like another lifetime away.

Or at least it had, until Borun appeared like a ghost from his past.

What were they doing this far south?

He supposed he ought to have asked before the encounter had taken its inevitable turn for the worse. The fact was, a meeting between him and Borun was only ever going to end one way.

Jerek strode beside him in silence. The Wolf looked almost content, which wasn’t something you could say about him often. Nearby, Sasha struggled along with Vicard, who had been whining ever since Kayne had taken his pouch away from him. Isaac ambled along at the rear of the band, whistling a jaunty tune. He’s an odd one and no mistake, the old barbarian thought. There was something troubling about the man, but nothing he could quite put his finger on.

Sasha stopped suddenly, flicking sweat-matted hair away from her face. ‘The Rift is just ahead,’ she said.

From his current vantage point, Kayne could just about see the top of a wooden tower protruding from the yawning pit that opened before the Tombstone. Dark smoke and noxious fumes rose above the pit, staining the sky above a murky grey. A huge pile of earthen waste dominated the eastern side of the chasm.

‘According to the brief Garrett provided, almost a hundred men work the Rift,’ said Sasha. ‘The Augmentors could return at any time, so we’ll need to make this quick.’

‘What about the Watch?’ asked Vicard. ‘There’s sure to be a few soldiers around.’

Sasha’s eyes narrowed as she searched for any sign of movement around the edge of the chasm. ‘I don’t doubt it.’

Brodar Kayne flexed his neck. ‘I reckon the Wolf and me can handle a few of those red cloaks, if it comes to it,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to stay out of the way if there’s any trouble, lass,’ he added. ‘Keep an eye on that one.’ He nodded at Vicard, who shot him a dirty look. Sasha didn’t look too pleased either.

Isaac raised a hand to get their attention. ‘I’ll fight. You might need the help.’

‘Where’d you learn to handle a blade?’ Kayne asked. ‘I thought you might struggle to tell one end of a sword from the other, but you held your own back there and no mistake.’

The manservant shrugged. ‘I like to read. Swordplay isn’t so different to any other craft. You just need to pay attention to the instructions.’

Something about Isaac’s words struck him as being off, but once again Kayne struggled to pinpoint exactly what it was. ‘You’re a fast learner, I’ll give you that,’ he managed. ‘How did you end up at the depository anyway? The Halfmage don’t seem like the most grateful employer, if you don’t mind me saying.’

A bland smile appeared on the manservant’s face. ‘He’s not as grouchy as he appears. Sometimes his worries just get on top of him, you see. Especially his- Oh. Oh, no…’

‘What’s wrong?’ Kayne asked in sudden alarm. Isaac wore a look of such concern the old Highlander was certain he had just spied an army of Augmentors marching down the road towards them.

‘I forgot to leave his ointment behind,’ Isaac groaned. ‘He’s going to be furious! I knew I’d overlooked something.’

‘Ointment?’ Kayne asked, puzzled.

Sasha coughed unconvincingly. Everyone turned to look at her. ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she said, ‘but we have important business ahead of us. Let’s get that over with and then we can all return to Dorminia and whatever urgent matters await us there. The Halfmage can look after his own arse until then.’ Without another word she set off towards the Rift, dragging Vicard along behind her.

Jerek rubbed at his beard thoughtfully. ‘Bitch has a point,’ he said, and followed after her.

Kayne glanced at Isaac, who still looked crestfallen at having committed such a heinous error. With a sigh, the ageing barbarian set off after the rest of the group.

The Rift was much larger up close than it looked from a distance. The chasm spanned a good eighty feet across and ten times that in length, a vicious scar in the earth belching foul gases that made the eyes sting. Worse than the gases, though, was the stench. The odour was unmistakably that of death, as if something huge rotted at the bottom of that stygian pit. Brodar Kayne squinted down into the depths of the breach but saw nothing but darkness at the bottom. Just as well, he thought.

They were gathered around the edge of the gigantic fissure. A narrow path had been carved into the face of the rock, folding back on itself as it descended into the chasm. Rope bridges spanned the drop from one side to the other at various points along the length of the gap. The sound of metal clanging on rock echoed from far below. Through the miasma of smoke drifting around the mouth of the chasm, Kayne could just about see small figures hard at work.

Jerek grabbed his arm and pointed to the top of the wooden tower just below them. The path ran above it along the face of the gorge for a few hundred feet before switchbacking to cut back directly beneath. If they tried to follow the path, they would likely be seen by the men on the platform before they could stop them raising the alarm.

Kayne nodded at Jerek, who grunted, and then at the top of the tower. He turned to the others. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘We need to take out those guards before they see us.’

The two Highlanders lowered themselves onto the wooden structure as quietly as they could manage, crawling on their bellies until they were able to peer down over the edge. Two miners were standing on the platform directly beneath, talking heatedly and gesturing at the work going on below them. A Watchman lounged on a stool in the corner, taking swigs from a flask.

Jerek pointed down, put a finger to his lips and removed an axe from the harness on his back. With his other hand he lowered himself carefully over the edge and disappeared from sight. Kayne heard the thump of boots hitting wood and then a couple of strangled moans followed by the sounds of a short scuffle. All was silent for a time. He tensed, expecting the worst.

Right on cue, the Watchman soared from the platform. The unfortunate soldier twisted in the air like an unwieldy and vastly oversized robin, his limbs flailing around and becoming hopelessly entangled in his scarlet cloak. He unleashed a mighty shriek as he fell, which seemed to last for an eternity. Jerek emerged on the path below a second later, his face twisted in rage. He spat something inaudible after the plummeting figure.

Brodar Kayne uttered a silent curse. For a minute there he’d almost hoped they might do this the easy way. He watched Jerek sprint back up the path, and then he hurried back to the others.

‘Get ready,’ he said. ‘They know we’re here.’ He reached behind him and drew his greatsword, taking comfort in its familiar weight and the way the steel whispered against the scabbard. Isaac drew his own sword.

Jerek arrived just as the shouts from below reached their ears. ‘They’re coming,’ he panted. He was breathing hard.

Kayne gave him a withering stare. ‘Aye, I figured a screaming Watchman tumbling to his death might get their attention. You’ll be the death of me, Wolf.’

His old friend grinned in response. ‘Might be I saved your life earlier,’ Jerek said. ‘Take the rough with the smooth, I reckon.’

Vicard was rummaging around in his backpack. ‘Hold them off,’ he said. ‘I have enough explosive powder in here to bring the whole thing crashing down.’

‘Hang on-’ Kayne began, but a quarrel whistled past his ear and he threw himself to the ground. Another one sailed over his head. Two Watchmen were rushing towards them up the switchback trail, furiously reloading their crossbows. Three more of the bastards were scrambling to reach the bridges on the other side of the Rift, their swords already in hand.

‘We need to close them down,’ he yelled at Jerek, but the Wolf was already halfway to the two crossbowmen. Kayne pushed himself to his feet and sprinted after him, sharp pain stabbing in his creaking knees with every step. The fumes caused him to choke and squeezed the air from his lungs, but he barrelled on regardless, tears streaming down his face.

Suddenly Jerek stumbled, barely staying on his feet. Brodar Kayne heard his growled fuck, saw him stagger again as another quarrel hit him in his right arm. The Wolf slowed and then sank to one knee. Shit.

Willing his ageing body forwards, every muscle screaming, Kayne reached the two men just as they were preparing another salvo. His greatsword caught one of them under the arm, almost cleaved his torso in half in a spray of red gore. He kicked the other soldier dead in the chest. The Watchman flew backwards off the path and tumbled down out of sight, screaming all the way.

The soldiers crossing the bridges were almost upon him. One of them fell to his knees and clawed at his throat. Kayne glanced back to see Sasha reloading her own crossbow. There was a flash, a warning shout from Vicard, and then the bridge with the two remaining Watchmen exploded in a torrent of hemp, timber and sizzling blood. The searing heat from the blast drove Kayne back and knocked him to his knees. The sound of the explosion hit next, a deafening roar that sent agony screaming through his ears to pound at his brain with the force of a hammer blow.

He coughed, spat blood. He’d bitten through his tongue. More men were coming up the path from the depths of the Rift, though their progress was decidedly hesitant having just witnessed the carnage above them. Regaining his feet, Kayne turned and saw Jerek struggling to rise. Blood soaked his left arm and pooled on the ground at his feet. A bolt quivered in his right thigh.

‘Come on, Wolf,’ he snarled, dragging his friend upright and throwing an arm around his shoulders to stop him from sinking back down again. The two Highlanders half ran, half stumbled back to the others. Jerek snorted in agony every time his wounded leg struck the turf. Most men would never have made it up from the ground after taking two quarrels from near point-blank range, but Jerek was the hardest bastard Kayne knew in a world full of hard bastards.

Sasha was gritting her teeth and aiming hopelessly down at the swarm of men climbing the chasm. The miners weren’t trained fighters, but they didn’t need to be. Not when they outnumbered the tiny group twenty to one. You didn’t survive those odds.

Vicard suddenly bustled forwards, or at least limped at an impressive pace. He held a bundle of what looked like thick red tubes in his hands.

Kayne felt a tiny shiver of fear run up his spine. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked carefully.

‘Saving the day,’ the alchemist replied. ‘Isaac, pass me some flint.’ The manservant immediately obliged and Vicard withdrew a small knife from his belt. He looked up at the rest of the group. Sweat beaded on his brow. ‘When I say get down,’ he said, ‘you get down. Understand?’ He placed the knife blade against the tangle of cords poking out of the tubes and struck the flint several times. It took a few attempts, but eventually the sparks caught and one of the wicks began to burn down.

‘Five… four… three… two… get the fuck down!’ The alchemist hurled the bundle at the path and dived for cover just as the first miners arrived on the scene. Brodar Kayne pushed Jerek gently to the ground and then threw himself down next to him, covering his ears with his hands.

The world turned red.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before he risked opening an eye a fraction. The rumbling had finally subsided, though the cloud of dust floating above the wreckage of the Rift continued to mushroom above them. He glanced at Jerek. His friend had gone pale and his breathing was shallow, but he was still conscious. Vicard climbed to his feet and began dusting himself down. Sasha and Isaac stared at the scene with horror on their faces.

Brodar Kayne got up and peered over the edge of the chasm. The southern side had partially collapsed in on itself, raining thousands of tons of rock down on the unfortunate miners below. None could have survived that avalanche. Shit, he thought, and not for the first time that day. The plan had been to put a halt to the mining operation and destroy whatever equipment they could find, not cause a full-blown massacre.

‘Vicard. What the hell was that?’ growled Sasha, her large eyes full of anger. ‘Those were innocent men. Men just doing their jobs.’

Vicard flicked at a patch of dirt on his shoulder and shook his head. ‘I didn’t have any choice in the matter. We would have been killed. And you would have suffered even worse things.’

‘There’s nothing worse than being dead,’ Sasha replied. She walked over to where Jerek lay. ‘How’s he doing?’ she asked.

Kayne closed his eyes for a moment. Things hadn’t exactly gone as planned. The chances were that they’d get a whole lot worse. ‘He’s bad. Lost a lot of blood.’

Isaac knelt down and examined the Highlander. ‘None of the major vessels are punctured. He might still have a chance. Vicard, can I have your knife?’

The alchemist tossed his small blade over to the manservant and hobbled over to Kayne. ‘I want my powder back,’ he whined. ‘Fair’s fair. I saved your life.’

‘Take your bloody pouch,’ he growled back, throwing it at the alchemist’s feet. Vicard retrieved it and then went to stand alone. He pulled the flap back and raised it almost reverently to his nose.

‘Those explosives were worth twenty gold spires,’ he said. He inhaled deeply from the bag. His face became slack and then broke into that stupid smile. ‘You have no idea how much of this stuff twenty spires could afford. I tell you, I could be sitting on a whole mountain of hashka. The best money can buy. I-’

There was a blur behind him and suddenly the alchemist gasped. A barely audible whine escaped from his lips and for a moment he stood there swaying, blood leaking from his mouth. Then he toppled forwards onto his face. The hilt of a dagger was buried in his back.

‘Right through the spine,’ said the baby-faced killer who had appeared from behind Vicard. He smiled in satisfaction, revealing a perfect set of pearly-white teeth. The assassin flicked a blond curl away from his blue eyes and drew another dagger from his belt.

Brodar Kayne saw the glow around the man’s feet and tensed. Those boots. Magic. Bastard’s an Augmentor. He took a deep breath and stepped forwards. ‘Takes some courage to stab a man in the back. Why don’t you take off those boots you’re wearing and face me like a real warrior?’

The Augmentor smiled again, as if he found the thought terribly amusing. He picked casually at his nails with his dagger. His hands were perfectly manicured, like those of a noblewoman. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ he said eventually. ‘Look at you. So old I doubt you can get your prick up, and yet you bluster like a man thirty years your junior. There’s nothing quite as sad as an ageing savage.’

Bastard. Clever bastard. His hands tightened on his greatsword. Isaac rose from where he had been kneeling beside Jerek. Sasha was surreptitiously reaching under her cloak for her crossbow. He gave them an urgent shake of the head. A moment passed, and then their hands inched back away from their weapons.

‘Tell you what, old man,’ said the Augmentor in a conversational tone. ‘Give me some sport and I promise I’ll make the deaths of those two quick. I’m not like Garmond or Thurbal. They’d make the girl scream something fierce.’ He gave a rueful chuckle. ‘That’s hardly fitting behaviour for a gentleman like me. One has certain standards to maintain.’

Kayne narrowed his eyes. ‘Best we get to it then,’ he said. He raised his greatsword and waited.

There was the faint sensation of a breeze prickling his skin and suddenly the Augmentor was directly before him, dagger stabbing at his neck. At the last possible instant the old barbarian threw back his head, and the blade scored a shallow flesh wound. He brought his greatsword swinging around to cleave the bastard in two, only to slash at empty air. The Augmentor was back where he had been before, a full thirty feet away. Kayne felt blood trickle down his neck and dribble onto his chest.

‘Not bad, grandfather,’ said the smiling killer. He raised one hand in a mock salute. ‘Let’s see you evade this one.’

There was another blur, and before Kayne had time to react the Augmentor’s dagger was plunging into his stomach. He felt his hide shirt give way, the burning hot sensation of cold steel tearing into his guts. ‘Urgh,’ he grunted. The cherubic face in front of him flashed another white smile and then it was gone. The Augmentor reappeared twenty feet to his right.

He sucked in air as he felt the warm blood flooding his breeches. Fire burned in his stomach. He risked a glance down at the steel buried there. Nausea threatened to unman him. Look at your opponent. Look at him.

The Augmentor casually drew yet another dagger. This one was cruelly hooked, a weapon intended to catch and tear at flesh. The killer smiled at him once more, but just before he did so his eyes flicked to a spot on the barbarian’s chest.

Suddenly Brodar Kayne understood.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he gasped. ‘Come at me.’ He took a deep breath, saw the muscles twitch in the Augmentor’s arms…

In that same instant he dropped to one knee, brought his greatsword arcing around. He felt the slight rush of air, the thud of his sword connecting with flesh. A dagger clattered out of the air above his head and hit him on the shoulder before tumbling to the ground. Ten feet away, his would-be killer appeared. He had a confused expression on his cherubic face.

‘What-’ he began, and then his right leg fell away just above the knee in a gush of blood. He toppled over.

Brodar Kayne walked over to the squirming Augmentor. ‘You ought to have listened to me and taken them boots off,’ he said. ‘Your legs might move like the wind, but the rest of you ain’t no quicker than anyone else.’

He raised his greatsword. ‘That’s the problem with magic. It warps a man’s measure of himself, makes him lazy. The only place where speed really counts is in here.’ He tapped the side of his head with a finger.

Then he brought his greatsword down, plunging it through the Augmentor’s chest and driving it deep into his heart.

He released the hilt. The blade stood there, quivering. He stumbled a few steps, looked down at the steel protruding from his own body. He felt weak suddenly. There was movement behind him, but he was too tired to care. He just wanted to lie down and rest. He was allowed that much, wasn’t he? I’m too old for this sh-

This time the world turned black.