The Scarred God Page 5

  Vedic was staring at her from about a foot away.

  ‘Do you want to live?’

  Anya nodded.

  ‘Then get the cloak and the knife, and let’s go.’

  The sound of claws on wood chased at Anya as she ran to the kitchen and back. On her return, she found Vedic bolstering the front door and the shutters with pieces of what had been his chairs.

  ‘Ready?’

  Anya nodded.

  ‘We’re going out the back,’ said Vedic, leading her to the far wall of the living area. She got ready to push the window open, but Vedic stopped her with his hand on hers. His touch was dry and rough. She didn’t like it.

  ‘No,’ he said, softly. ‘They may expect it. I have an escape route.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Hardly the time, little one,’ said Vedic. ‘Follow me.’

  The woodsman pulled up the rug and lifted a trap-door that dropped down to the forest floor below the foundations of the cabin. He scrambled away for the rear left corner of the building, where the trees were thickest. The sound of rain was so loud they could only just hear the howling behind them. Anya followed the woodsman’s path under the cabin. He waited for her and only spoke when she was close enough for him to whisper in her ear.

  ‘Follow me,’ he hissed. ‘Stay as close as you can until we hit the stream, then follow me into the water. We must lose our scent to stand a chance.’

  Anya nodded.

  Vedic sprang from under the cottage, oblivious to the weather and the wolves. Anya followed him into the night, praying she had made the right decision and the forestal could protect her. There were people whose survival depended on her.

  Chapter Five

  ‘The thain has not provided any evidence that the Kurah would have any reason or capability to attack us. There has been no incursion since she defeated the Kurah king fifty years ago.’

  The thain stared at Golan of the Shaanti council from her seat. The councillor’s large frame seemed to draw his peers into his orbit. The council were in the war room that lay next to the main throne room, where the Shaanti court gathered on the increasingly rare occasions that the thain felt like socialising. The war room had always been the heart of this thain’s reign, first because of the war that had made her famous, and then through habit. The chamber was light, the exterior-facing wall made of glass, painted with the named warriors of Shaanti legend. In the late afternoon sunlight, the room was cast in shades of deep red. An ugly hue, matching the mood of the council.

  The council sat round a roughly hewn wooden table that had been gifted to the thain’s grandmother by the now-vanquished Delgasians. Not a single member of the council met her eyes. The capacity for politicians and merchants to completely overlook the facts in the interest of personal gain of power and money was a constant disappointment. She could almost smell their fear … No … that was simply the nauseous collection of their perfumes.

  ‘The Kurah have taken Delgasia,’ said Bene, her chief bodyguard, from his place next to her. ‘It is a case of when, not if, they invade.’

  ‘Even if that were true,’ said Golan, looking at Bene as if he were an ant, ‘we have time. They cannot simply carry on marching – they must lay supply lines and wait for the spring or risk the same mistakes milady exploited.’

  The thain’s smile did not meet her eyes. The written reports of her scouts and spies were stretched out on the table in front of her. She could recite whole passages by memory. Would that help?

  ‘This Kurah king,’ began a councillor by the name of Kurn, who was more corpulent than Golan and usually a man to be relied on for sense. ‘He killed his father to take the throne?’

  The thain nodded. ‘Montu didn’t even hide it. Stood up in front of the lords and told them straight that if he had not, the Kurah would have fallen.’

  Jeb shifted in his seat. The ancient warrior was an ally who had fought with the thain since she was a young girl, come to power too soon. His hair was the colour of snow, and his skin was cracked like dried mud, but his eyes were as sharp now as they had been pretty in his youth. The thain wondered when they had both got so old.

  ‘That young king was right,’ said Jeb, rolling his empty pipe in front of him. ‘His father was a fool. There was a need for change, but his methods … they are ruthless on a level we have not seen in these lands in a hundred years.’

  ‘This is my point,’ replied Kurn, thumping the table. ‘This king is no fool. He must know that we only defeated the Kurah because his grandfather had overextended himself. He will not invade while he has to assimilate the Delgasians into his territories. At best, he gets held at the Barrens; at the worst, he winds up with two fronts on either side.’

  The thain cleared her throat. ‘While I welcome my friend’s analysis of the last war, those of us who were there recall a slightly more complex set of reasons behind the enemy’s defeat. Including the blood of many of our friends and relatives on the field of battle.’

  The room was silent. Only Jeb was nodding in approval at her words.

  ‘Even if we assume that your analysis is correct,’ said the thain to Kurn. ‘We are still talking about when, not if.’

  ‘You can’t know that,’ said Golan, shaking his head.

  The thain nodded. ‘Yes, I can. The Kurah king is not doing this for glory. He pays close attention to the events beyond the sea, and he knows the Tinaric are looking at these lands. This continent is not unified. The Kurah look weak to them, and if he cannot subjugate us, then an invasion attempt is almost certain.’

  ‘Why not form an alliance?’ asked Golan.

  ‘The Kurah do not negotiate,’ said the thain. ‘Have you not remembered your history?’

  ‘When we formed this council, you promised to abide by our decisions. This is sounding like you have made up your mind.’

  The thain stood. The room had frozen in fear. She had thought to raise her voice, but the sight of a portrait of a young boy hanging at the far end of the chamber stopped her. Such a beautiful boy. He was gone. She had hung the picture there for just this reason. Think. She placed her hands on the table and bent her head.

  ‘This council exists for good reason,’ she said. ‘Though some forget that it is meant to serve for the people and not for the council’s own sake. In time of war, the decisions are mine alone, and not for the sake of power but because war is ill-suited to decision by committee.’

  ‘We are not at war,’ said Golan, his voice soft, patronising.

  The thain fixed him with a look that made him lean back in his seat. ‘No, Master Tholop. We are not at war, and all I have made is a recommendation to muster the reserves and prepare for refugees.’

  ‘You must see that will start a panic,’ said Kurn.

  The thain folded her arms. ‘You judge our people with so little faith.’

  ‘Is it a motion?’ asked Ranth, speaker of the council, from the opposite end of the table. She said little despite the title. It was hard to tell who she favoured.

  ‘I propose it as such,’ said the thain. ‘But I leave it to your consciences for now.’ She sat down.

  ‘Those in favour …’

  Jeb lifted his hand; Bene had no vote; and the speaker lifted her hand in support. Looking around the room and seeing no further support, she exchanged a look of apology to the thain.

  ‘Motion fails,’ said Ranth. ‘To other business …’

  The thain heard little else of the council meeting. There was a series of motions from the merchants, who, to her at least, it seemed were increasingly over-represented on the council. She stared at the picture of her son. She wondered if this had ever been what he had intended when he had asked her, all those years ago, to form the council.

  The suns continued to set as the council meeting dragged on, and the thain found herself glancing at the portraits of heroes gone by. Her own pane was the most recent. Have I lived too long? Am I a useless legend that doesn’t have the decency to die or disappear? Her eyes drifted
to the pane next to hers and a face she had not seen in thirty years. Is that why you ran away?

  ‘… council meeting adjourned.’

  The thain looked at her council, waiting for dismissal – a ridiculous custom, and she waved them away.

  ‘They are such fools,’ hissed Bene, turning to her.

  She smiled. ‘They think the world is logical and in their favour.’

  ‘We are sleep-walking into defeat.’

  The thain wasn’t really listening. Jeb had not left the room – he was waiting for her to notice him as she just had.

  ‘Yes, Lord Jeb? What is it?’

  ‘Mistress,’ he replied, standing and leaning on his stick. He seemed to be bent over more heavily than the last time she had seen him. ‘I cannot but agree with your loyal servant.’

  ‘About the council?’

  ‘It was a noble experiment but a failure. They have not understood its purpose and will destroy us if we do not act.’

  The thain sighed.

  ‘And monarchy isn’t a failure? Blood is no surer sign of competence.’ Her eyes returned to the portrait of her son. ‘Besides, I am too old to solve this problem.’

  Jeb flushed. ‘Forgive me, mistress.’

  The thain laughed. ‘I am joking with you, old friend. The council is not perfect, but we will find a way forward. The people will not fall while I live.’

  Jeb bowed. ‘I will leave you.’

  The thain nodded and stood to leave herself. She whispered in Bene’s ear before she left. ‘Bring the generals to my chambers in thirty minutes.’

  The sword took too long to unbuckle. The weapon was heavier every day. That was how it seemed to the thain as she allowed herself to relax for a few moments. She placed the blade on its stand next to her bed and placed the gold circlet from her head onto the dresser. She moved slowly these days: her hips ached with a hundred injuries and the birth of a child. She moved to the table that held the washing bowl, and splashed her face with the cold liquid. The water gave her a shock and reminded her that she still lived.

  The coughing came again. Worse this time. Blood stained the cloth – bright and red like the berries she had picked as a girl.

  ‘You are doing too much.’

  The thain turned to look at the healer. He was young. Everyone was young these days. Yorg was twenty-five and one of the brightest students of his predecessor, Marakesh. The thain’s old healer had promised that she would look after the thain even as she lay on her own deathbed. Truthfully, the thain had not wanted another healer, but it had been an offer she could not refuse.

  ‘There is no time for me to slow down,’ she replied.

  The thain threw the bloodstained cloth into the fire and checked her lips and nose for stains before the generals appeared. Yorg came over to her side. He placed a hand on each shoulder and gently but firmly turned her to look at him. For one giddy moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but then she remembered her age. He leant in and tilted her head to look at her mouth. She let herself be manipulated so he could get the best view possible in the candlelight. When he was done, he placed a glass against her back, and with his ear to it, he listened for heaven-knows-what.

  ‘Breathe in,’ he commanded. ‘Breathe out. Again.’

  On the third go, he moved away. He wiped down the glass and led her to the armchair next to the fireplace.

  ‘You’re dying.’

  ‘This I know. How long?’

  ‘You have a few weeks at most.’

  The thain did not know how she felt. It was almost a relief to have an end, to know that she was not just marching endlessly on while everyone else fell. On the other hand, she felt angry. Why now?

  ‘I cannot. I refuse.’

  The healer bowed his head. Yorg was upset. ‘I am sorry, milady. I have heard of this many times in the city and beyond – it is the lung fever. The disease never spares.’

  He was right, of course. Lung fever was utterly fatal. She had watched enough warriors die from the contagion on various campaigns and expeditions. She had dispatched some herself to save the suffering.

  ‘The universe is cruel,’ she whispered. ‘That I must leave my people in such dire circumstances.’

  ‘I promised to look after you,’ said Yorg as he kicked at the stone floor. ‘I have failed. I am sorry.’

  The thain watched actual tears fall down the man’s cheeks. This was no good at all. She placed a hand on his shoulder and raised him up so that he was looking at her.

  ‘You must not think like that,’ she said. ‘This was not your fault. I am old, and the old get sick.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. I need you to listen to me. This is an absolute secret on pain of death. Not even Bene can know.’

  The man stared at her.

  ‘The council would take over if they knew,’ she said. ‘You understand what that would mean? Golan, in charge of the Shaanti. I must have time to sort this out. I must leave you all safe.’

  The healer was scared. She could smell fear on him, but he nodded his head in acquiescence.

  The thain held him in her gaze for a moment. Partly to make sure, and partly because he was so damned beautiful.

  ‘Now go,’ she hissed. ‘Before the generals arrive. Come back when you have a way to slow this contagion down.’

  The thain watched the healer leave by the hidden path. Satisfied she was alone, she placed the circlet back on her head and lit a pipe before sitting back in front of her fire. She found the heat helped her move like she used to. The door swung open, and Bene ushered her six generals into the chamber.

  The generals – Hedite, Roathfort, Culino, Vort and the two men Ashnon and Yurn. The thain had forgotten when the people she commanded had started to look like children to her, but it still distressed her. Jeb entered from the antechamber and wordlessly sat down in the chair opposite her.

  ‘As you commanded,’ said Bene. ‘The generals and Lord Jeb.’

  ‘Apologies for the secrecy,’ she began. ‘The council has voted not to begin preparations for the coming war. I do not have time to debate the finer points of this decision with them or you. Instead, we will prepare on our own.’

  ‘That could be dangerous,’ said Vort. She arched her eyebrow as if the thought would never occur to her. ‘If the council were to find out …’

  ‘They will not,’ said Bene, his arms folded and his glare hard to look at.

  The thain smiled. ‘The council will see nothing other than a meeting between the military leader of the people and her generals. At most they will see normal drills and practice against the rising dangers of our world.’

  ‘That’s good,’ conceded Jeb, nodding. ‘Very wise.’

  ‘Glad you approve,’ said the thain. She fought down another cough by clenching the pipe between her teeth. ‘Now, I need each of you to make your reservists ready – the usual: full weapons check, swords sharp, gear at the ready. I want the traps checked for readiness and all of the beacons between here and the forest checked for communication.’

  ‘That will be hard,’ said Hedite. She gestured east. ‘The council had the beacons nearest the forest dismantled.’

  The thain looked up at the ceiling in frustration. She had lost that vote as well.

  ‘They weren’t scheduled to removed until next year.’

  ‘It was brought forward,’ said Jeb. He shook his head. ‘Stupid people.’

  ‘Very well, we must increase the scout patrols to the border but without anyone appreciating we have done it. Use reservists you trust – no warriors’ colours. I want to be in a position that if anyone passes wind on our border, I know about it within two days.’

  The pain was lancing. It felt like someone had shot an arrow through her left breast. They all noticed, and that upset her more than the pain.

  ‘Milady,’ said Bene, leaning over her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said. She waved him away. ‘I am just tired. Do as I have asked,
and report to me tomorrow.’

  ‘Milady …’

  ‘Go!’

  The thain regretted shouting, but even Jeb left the room silently. The outburst had had the desired effect. As soon as she was alone, the pain drove her to her knees, and she found herself panting for breath. Blood dripped onto her tunic from her nose.

  ‘Here.’

  The shadow passed her a handkerchief that she took without looking up. The thain pressed it to her nose.

  ‘You’re late.’

  ‘I got held up,’ replied the figure, dressed in black. Her shadow. First amongst the order of shadows. A spy she had recruited when she was just a pretty noble-girl playing at picking her pocket.

  ‘What news of our merchant friend?’

  ‘He is confident of taking control of the council,’ said the shadow, moving through the room like she was a ghost. ‘Based on your current health, he may be right.’

  ‘I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,’ hissed the thain. ‘What I need to know is who else is with him.’

  ‘I do not know,’ said the shadow, sadly. ‘But I agree, there is more to our merchant than meets the eye.’

  ‘I must know the extent of his betrayal,’ she said, slamming her hand against the fireplace. ‘Without that I cannot act with free rein.’

  ‘If I could get to the border,’ said the shadow, ‘I could see what they are planning.’

  ‘Others must carry that burden,’ she said, not unkindly. ‘You must hunt down this traitor that is working with Golan before it is too late.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  The shadow turned to leave.

  ‘No,’ the thain said, looking once more at the blood on her sleeve. ‘Stay. For a little while.’

  The shadow turned, pulled back her hood and looked at her with older eyes than the thain remembered. Without speaking, she strode to the thain, picked her up and carried her to the bed.