Tainted Page 2

  *

  Screams ripped through the air, puncturing the harsh crackle of burning thatch. The street was muddied from the recent downpour, and the large pools of water that remained reflected the fierce glow of orange and grey that drifted towards the skies. Thousands of embers darted up at the cloudy heavens before falling around me, like the devil’s rain. There was beauty in this, but today I had wanted a moment from the winding streams of blood that came with it. There hadn’t been any doubts in my mind when I watched the men steal away into the murky air of a breaking morning, leaving me to my own thoughts. A ragtag band of bandits and deserters they might be, but the finest of their kind. The townsfolk would never have expected an attack in the widening light of a new day. ‘Attack’ would be putting it unkindly, this was a massacre. The dead lined the street; some with their face turned against the dirt, others sprawled with their eyes staring into the sky, tranquil in their horror.

  I kept up the pace I could, trudging along past the fire and death. They had always been faceless under my gaze, once the spark of life had left them and the bodies crumpled down into a tangle of limbs. Empty. Now I saw the sleeping figures of withered men, wrinkled women, slender youths, oblivious to anything but their own nightmare. I stopped in the sludge to look at Grunt, who had fallen back a dozen strides in my hurry to move past the scene. He walked along as if this were a familiar picture, skirting around the bodies to keep his balance, with the extra weight he carried. Afella was slung over his massive shoulders, finally given up on the struggles. I hoped she couldn’t see much of what lay around her.

  A loud thud sounded ahead, and the swarthy frame of Carsis exploded into view from the flames surrounding one of the buildings, dragging a young woman along with him. Catching sight of the incoming party, he dropped the whimpering creature into the dirt. A struggle followed, finished abruptly by a huge fist to the side of the head, getting a short chuckle from Grunt. Leaving the unconscious figure to rest by her townsfolk, Carsis marched quickly towards us. The Southerner was a towering specimen, set with unforgiving black eyes. I always had to watch him, Carsis. Of my merry band, he was comfortably the man I knew the least of. A Southerner was a rare find in these lands, and he certainly kept the secrets he brought with him from the sweeping deserts of his homeland.

  ‘Fenreth!’ He flashed a bright grin. ‘I thought you were to meet us on the cross-roads north of here?’

  I gestured towards Afella. ‘Fell upon some troubles. Where is Kenrick and the rest?’

  Carsis frowned at my answer, but pointed up towards the billowing smoke. ‘You see the old stick with the pronged star, rising above the roofs? Head there and you’ll find them. The games are starting soon enough.’

  Sure enough, I could see the shadowy construction looming large above the frantic flames.

  ‘Plenty captured then?’ The chill was once again fighting its way through me.

  He grinned again. ‘Aye. Kenrick said we had a few hours to spare.’

  I nodded abruptly and moved past him without another word. The star-set structure gradually rose higher and higher, standing proud against the louring heavens, as I moved down streets as quickly as the squelching mud would allow me. I didn’t spare a glance for Grunt, he would be following me at his own speed. The sound of voices, of fear and mocking delight, grew to a crescendo, and the houses lining the narrow paths finally fell back and gave way to an open space. A few dozen of my men dotted the area, in great voice under the ashen skies, some making a play of chasing several terrified young women. As I walked out towards the warriors, they gave a rousing cheer, waving arms and clay jugs in salute. To the right stood the building I was seeking, crudely hewn from granite and dwarfing all around it, maybe a tribute to one of the strange forest gods of these lands. At the bottom of the stone steps that rose from the dirt to lead to the temple, stood the prisoners in a line, linked by a rope that bound each of their hands. They did not turn their eyes my way, staring instead at the wet ground by their feet.

  My stride towards the prisoners was interrupted by Kendrick, who the men looked to in my absence. I played no favourites and placed none but myself above the rest, but a wily veteran such as him had a way of rising to the top through simple reputation.

  ‘Your moment with nature didn’t go so well?’ He looked almost arrogant as he said that.

  A wrenching scream stopped my reply before it began.

  ‘Afella! Afella!’

  A poor soul in the rope-bound ranks was squirming frantically, threatening to move the entire line forward in her struggles. The arriving Grunt swore loudly as his cargo began her own fight, pounding away on his back with her tiny fists. Berren, one of my men who stood guard over the captives, moved over to give an ending to the grey-haired woman who caused the impotent chaos.

  ‘Stop.’ I spoke cold and calm through the piercing clamour. My icy tone caught everyone into a standstill. Even the grey woman turned her eyes on me, flickering between anger and dread. Kendrick was watching me strangely.

  I raised a hand towards Grunt. ‘Let the girl have her feet.’

  The giant made a short guttural noise of assent, and lifted Afella up and onto the ground. She wobbled on her trembling feet, nearly falling back into the filth, before willing her little legs to run to what I guessed to be her mother. The girl buried her face against the grey woman’s spattered tunic, body wracked in silent tears.

  Something had to change.

  ‘Lads!’ I threw my voice out to the warriors, their merriment a lost memory as they stared at me. Faces that looked confused, curious, impassive; but all were turned towards mine. Kendrick’s eyes were narrowed.

  ‘This.’ I pointed at the captives. ‘This is not the great calling men may dream of. We are not the vultures of the night, scrapping for small pieces. Burning down the defenceless, the feeble, the innocent. This not our calling.’

  Kendrick spat and cleared his throat. ‘Fenreth, don’t...’

  I cut him with a harsh look and returned to my audience, now captives of my own. ‘Forget this land. Forget this life. North, you all know what lies north. Beyond these trees, on the rolling plains. Dagroth.’

  I spoke every word with a heavy air now. ‘Land of Kings.’

  Some men looked like they might have an idea of where I was leading them.

  ‘Against the massed ranks of any of the self-proclaimed royals, what is there besides a death without hope? What chance do we stand? A hundred entering the realm of the tens of thousands. Why would we join the tale of bloody dreams?’

  Kendrick had withdrawn from my side, arms crossed, a darkened face.

  ‘Because it is my dream as well. Mine. The son of a fallen kingdom, the last of the Mayargs, the last of its line. A land now lost along with its name, where a dozen pretenders lay their claim, a land now known as Dagroth.’

  I ignored the wide stares. ‘We will step into the war of nobles and take it by the throat. We will play the game however we can, and we will play to win. Why die wondering, lost in this low existence? Thinking ‘What if?’ Trying is what makes us men!’

  Looking from man to man, I spoke in a more reserved tone. ‘Drop your women, drop your wine, we’re moving out. The real war lies ready for us.’

  I didn’t stop to watch the men’s response, they would not turn me down. Facing the girl, I was met with cold, unflinching eyes. Hatred.

  But a better world lay in wait.