Curse: The Dark God Book 2 (13 page)

13

Chicken Bone

SUGAR AND URBAN took the children to the kitchens, Legs in tow. The odors of the thick dreadman’s stew the candidates called swamp rose from the cooking pots and wafted across the fortress. The stew was made of many things: barley, fish, beef, cabbage, and probably twelve other ingredients. All candidates ate it every afternoon and evening. The weaves multiplied the powers of the body, but they also multiplied hunger and thirst. And this stew slaked both. To her surprise, Sugar actually had grown to enjoy it. She and Urban took three wooden dishes and filled them with swamp for the children, telling them that they would be taken back to the border later, for it appeared they had an uncle that lived in a village not far from Redthorn.

An old cook filled Sugar’s bowl with swamp, then fetched a basket from a shelf behind her and pulled away the cloth cover to reveal half a dozen mushroom and cheese pies left over from the Apple Dance. She asked Sugar how many she wanted, and Sugar asked how many she could get. The cook simply gave the basket to her, telling her she was a brave lass. Sugar offered Urban a pie, but he waved it away. “I need to talk to Argoth about your special skills.”

Sugar took a bite of pie. The cheese was soft and pungent. The mushrooms were spiced and mixed with sweet onion. And the pastry shell flaked with every bite. She thought she might pass out for the joy of it. She took another bite. “What skills?” she asked around the mouthful of pie.

But Urban only smiled and walked back across the bailey.

Sugar thanked the cook profusely for the pies, then made her way to some tables with Legs and the children.

When they sat, Legs said, “I hate the fact that I couldn’t be there to help you.”

“It all turned out.”

“One of these days, I’m going to pluck the eyes out of a goat to see if they won’t grow in my own head. Then the next time you go to Plum, you won’t have to go alone.”

“Yes, and both of us would have then fallen into the trap.”

Legs shook his head. “Tenter’s famous for his love of garlic. If I’d been there, it’s likely I would have smelled him out.”

“But would you have smelled Redthorn?”

“I’m telling you, one of these days,” said Legs, “I’ll have my goat eyes and be able to fight. Then you won’t have to shoulder everything alone.”

“You and your goat eyes,” said Sugar. “If you’re pining after eyes, why not long for something that will bestow superior sight, like a hawk’s?”

“A hawk?” asked Legs. “Too small. Can you imagine? Those little things, rolling around in my sockets.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” asked Sugar. “You can’t grow an eye.”

“If the Green Ones can bring back the dead, they can bring back an eye.”

“So say the Divines, but I don’t know that we should believe everything that falls from Divine lips. It’s probably just more propaganda.”

“It’s propaganda I want to believe,” said Legs.

“And that’s the problem with propaganda,” she said.

Sugar ate with Legs and the children until she thought she might burst, and then she found a fist of men who were on patrol later and could take the children back. Shortly after that, the leadership filed out of Shim’s chambers along with Urban. Argoth gave the command for the candidates to form ranks. Shim’s army was a little over six thousand strong. A number of hammers were out of the fortress on various duties, and there were terrors and cohorts of men stationed at various places around the clanlands, but almost two thousand soldiers were in the fortress, and they lined up. Of these, 327, including her and Talen, were dreadman candidates. The rest were waiting expectantly to be awakened to the lore.

The army stood at attention in sharp lines, grouped by their units. The smallest units in Shim’s army were fists of ten or so soldiers. Two to four fists combined to make a hammer.Four or five hammers made up a terror. Shim’s army had enough men for three dreadman terrors, although almost all were still only candidates, their bodies still in the beginnings of change brought about by their awakening. With time, they would increase their capacity and move to more powerful weaves, then no weaves at all, wielding the lore as Ke and River and Argoth did.

Sugar took her place and watched as Argoth and Commander Eresh reviewed the soldiers. Next to Sugar stood River and the other eight females of her fist. They were the only women who had been given weaves. The plan was to teach the lore to all men and women, but priority had to go to the strongest and fastest of those already skilled as warriors. The Creek Widow, however, had insisted on a fist of women for spies, if nothing else, and had put River in charge. Legs stood behind Sugar, outside the official ranks. The big blond foreigner came in after everyone was formed up and stood next to him.

Commander Eresh walked down the line of candidates. He took one man by the ear and pulled his head back and forth as if appraising how well it was connected to his shoulders. He sniffed another man. Another was told to open his mouth and show his teeth and gums. Sugar herself was told to look up so he could see the whites of her eyes.

Eresh said, “There are better uses for pretty things than putting them in front of a great mass of brutes.”

“Zu,” said Sugar, “with all respect for your fearsome power, the pretty things here can beat half the fists in this army.”

Eresh looked at Argoth.

“They’re good,” Argoth said.

Eresh grunted and moved down the line. When he finished, both he and Zu Argoth returned to the front to address the group.

“Candidates,” said Zu Argoth. “Before you stands Eresh the Bloody. He was one of those that stopped the black hordes and sent them back to their mountains. He once led two terrors of Dreadmen. He has joined our cause and is now the master of candidates and will oversee your training.”

But Commander Eresh had wandered over to the cooking pots. He took the ladle from one of the cooks and took a sip of the hot and steaming broth. He rolled it around in his mouth and smacked his lips.

Sugar wondered if all Kish were so rude and distracted. Or was this simply the first sign of incompetence? She stole a questioning glance at River who shrugged. Sugar could tell the other candidates were having the same questions.

Commander Eresh dipped the ladle again and fished out a chicken leg from the pot. He put the leg into his mouth and with one bite dragged the meat off the bone. Then he handed the ladle back to the cook.

All watched in silence.

As he chewed, he nodded. “Not quite,” he said. “But good, very good.” He bit the cartilage end off the chicken leg and munched it.

“Commander,” said Argoth. “They’re yours.”

Eresh walked back to the soldiers. “Never underestimate the importance of a cook,” he said, the meat and cartilage still in his mouth. “Dreadmen are nothing without their cooks. But, of course, that’s not what you want to hear. You want to hear of battles and tactics and awe-inspiring feats. The power feels good. As fine as a silky woman’s skin.” He worried a stubborn pieced of flesh off the bone with his teeth. “The power is like a lover. You’ve all felt it.” He pointed at a man. “What do you say?”

“I’d say that she’s a succulent thing.”

“Succulent, indeed,” said Eresh. “She caresses you. Flatters you. You’re quick, she tells you. You’re strong. Invincible. But if you listen to her, that will be your doom.”

He turned to Argoth. “I need a formidable volunteer.”

“Bags,” said Zu Argoth. “Step forward.”

A soldier of many years broke from the lines. The tattoos on his forearms proclaimed him an armsman, fully trained, with many kills to his name. He was in the top group of candidates and often helped with the skills training.

Commander Eresh cleaned a morsel from between two teeth with his tongue. He eyed Bags. “Very good,” he said. “Zu Bags, do you wear your lover?”

Bags pulled up the sleeve of his tunic and showed his candidate weave.

Eresh pulled up his sleeves and tunic. Then he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them to show he wore no weave. He looked ridiculous.

“I’m an old man,” he said. “Fat, half-blind. And I’m going to strike you. Avoid it if you can.”

Bags nodded. “And do I get to strike back, Zu?”

A number of the candidates chuckled.

“If you think you can land a blow, do it. In fact, I will make you a promise. If you land a blow, I will be your servant for a day. I’ll wash your feet. Pick your toenails. Bring you cake. Agreed?”

“Throw in some good wine,” said Bags.

Eresh grinned. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

Bags stretched his arms wide, loosening himself. He was a big man, a seasoned warrior. He was not someone to toy with. As he approached, Eresh bit the chicken’s leg bone in two. He sucked loudly on half of the bone, extracting the marrow and juices. Then he began to munch it.

Bags stopped two paces away from Eresh.

Eresh pointed at him with the other half of the leg bone. “Have you prepared yourself, Candidate?”

“Aye,” said Bags.

Commander Eresh struck. One moment he was standing casually, the pointed half of the chicken bone in his hand. The next moment Bags was reeling backwards, clutching at his forehead.

Eresh stood back and spat a bit of bone shard off his tongue.

Bags got his feet underneath himself. A part of the chicken bone stuck out of his forehead. The other part was shoved up under his skin. Blood began to pour out of the wound. Bags steadied himself, yanked the bone out, and looked at it in dismay, and then the blood began to run down his brow and into his eyes.

“And in such a manner,” said Commander Eresh, “is one of the mighty slain by a chicken.” He looked at the other candidates. “Is that the best you have to offer?”

Nobody moved.

“Come,” said Eresh. “If any one of you lands a blow, I will grant him a boon. Or is it true that Mokaddian clansmen are nothing but old women?”

Another man stepped forward. A tall Burundian with a massive beard. He went straight at the commander. His blow should have landed, but Eresh dodged, took him by the throat, and before the man could react, Eresh had him bent backwards over an empty vegetable wagon. He slammed the man’s head into the side board and stunned him.

“Mokad comes,” Eresh said. “They know you’re something now. Seafire. Slain Divines. The mighty Grove of the New Lands. They come with all their powers to kill every last one of you.” He slammed the man’s head into the side board again. “And you present this?”

Another man stepped forward.

* * *

Talen watched the old Kish in amazement. These men were some of the fiercest fighters in Shim’s army.

Flax had been standing behind Talen. He leaned forward and whispered, “Are you going to let a Kish talk to you that way? Show your comrades what a Koramite is worth.”

“Are you mad?”

“I’ll go at him from the front. You get behind him, on his blind side. Hit him with anything you can find.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You think the Commander is playing fair?”

Eresh tripped another man and sent him to the ground.

“Don’t let me down,” Flax said, and then he began to circle around in front of the Commander.

Talen hesitated. Flax wanted him to strike a superior officer in the back?

Flax looked back, motioned for Talen to get moving.

The Hand were Divine killers. Maybe Flax knew things Talen did not.What did he have to lose? If this was how you fought in the mad world of dreadmen, then so be it.Talen moved. He wasn’t going to close with Eresh. He’d seen the results of that. Instead, he looked for a rock.

A fourth man came forward, but he did not close immediately with Eresh. Instead, he paced back and forth like a wildcat in a cage. He was a fighter known for his murderous kicks. He feinted. Commander Eresh, his naked legs looking ridiculous, rolled his eyes.

Talen circled around behind. There weren’t any rocks, but there was a crookneck squash at the base of the vegetable wagon.

The fourth man kicked at Eresh’s blind side, but Eresh caught his ankle and lifted his leg up high. He grabbed the man by his crotch. “Good-bye walnuts,” he said and squeezed. “You’re Mokaddian. You don’t need them anyway.”

The man groaned in pain and fell back.

“And so your lover betrays you,” said Eresh.

“May I play?” Flax asked.

Eresh turned. “Ah,” he said, “the fearsome Hand.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of your age.”

The other candidates laughed.

Eresh looked over at Shim for permission. “I won’t hurt him too much. I promise.”

Shim didn’t looked convinced, but he nodded his assent with a warning look.

Eresh turned back to Flax and rubbed his hands together. “Let us see what a man with such fine pants is good for.”

Talen picked up the gourd. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

Flax began to close the distance. He moved to the side. And Talen saw it was to make sure Eresh turned so Talen would be behind his blind spot. Flax stepped to the side again. Eresh turned, putting Talen in his blind spot.

This was Talen’s moment. He took two steps and hurled the gourd at the back of the commander’s head. The gourd flew straight and true. And at the last moment commander Eresh must have seen the faces of the candidates who noticed it, for he turned like lightning and caught it.

Flax flew into motion. He kicked. Eresh spun back. The blow landed on Eresh’s back, but not squarely. Eresh caught Flax’s leg and twisted. Flax went down to the ground, Eresh on top of him. There was a flash and Eresh held Flax’s own knife at the man’s throat. Hate and disgust twisted Eresh’s face.

“And so your lover lies to you,” Eresh said and moved the knife closer.

“Commander,” said Argoth evenly.

A beat passed. Then Eresh pushed himself up off of Flax and stood back.

Flax grinned. “I believe that counts as a blow.”

“Indeed it was,” said Shim. “Which means he’ll receive the promised boon, won’t he commander.” It wasn’t a question.

Eresh threw the knife into the ground at Flax’s feet. “Of course he will. I keep my oaths, unlike others.”

Flax motioned at the candidates. “I give my portion of wine to you. And I’ll throw in a barrel more. I think you’ll remember the lesson better that way.”