Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (10 page)

The seven mercenaries caught up with the rest of the company on the old King’s Highway towards Grasiel mid-way through the following morning. While Payl rode on ahead to catch up with Anatin, leading a small column at the front of the company, the others reluctantly divested themselves of their horses and fell in with the rest on foot.

The company marched in suits, Lynx and Teshen joining the rear of Tempest’s column. Though the kings and kingdoms had long since been eradicated, many of the names remained – possibly as reminders of past failings as much as anything else. The King’s Highway drove a near-straight path up through the inland seas of the continent, starting at Whitesea Sound five hundred miles to the south-west and heading north-east.

The Mercenary Deck would be travelling a hundred miles on it, stopping short of the rich and fertile region that stood between two of the continent’s largest inland seas, Udrel and Parthain, to reach the merchant state of Grasiel. From there, once the rescue was complete, they would travel east then north, rounding the mountainous ruin of Shadows Deep to reach Chines. Lynx had visited that grand old city on the south-eastern shore of Parthain once before – a city easily remembered for the legacy left by a guild of stone mages who had ruled it for hundreds of years.

Grand towers, tiered arcades that wove a path above the streets, arches forming something akin to a dragon’s ribcage over the vast lower plaza – Lynx had spent his days there marvelling at the sights, but doing less of a good job watching the back of the card sharp who’d hired him. Grasiel City, by contrast, was a younger and more vibrant place – wealthy but without old-kingdom grandeur, a hub for the mineral wealth of the mountains, spices and dyes of the south and the agriculture of the land between lakes.

Anatin set a fair pace each day riding at the fore of the column, but with the region knowing a rare period of peace, the company met it easily and there was a relaxed air as they made camp each evening. Too large to be bothered by any town militia or raiders, they needed only minimal sentries on watch and Anatin was happy for the rest to drink and gamble, so long as they could keep pace the next day.

To Lynx’s surprise, Payl and Varain proved to have excellent voices and often both would be cajoled into regaling the company once they had finished eating. Thanks to the variety of backgrounds within the company – coming from all points of the compass and including natives from the shores of every sea and coast so far as Lynx could tell – the pair had learned songs from across the entire continent. Payl in particular sang comfortably in languages she could not speak, so good was her ear.

Lynx kept himself to himself during those first few days, watching the balance of personalities and slowly teasing out the power links between them. Anatin was a charming, unpredictable rogue who could be father one instant, tyrant the next. Payl was devoted to him completely – a reliable constant to balance the man out. If Lynx hadn’t seen evidence to the contrary, he would have assumed they were lovers by the closeness of their relationship, but a different sort of loyalty seemed to exist between the two.

A handful – namely the seer, Estal, Teshen, the giant Reft, and Safir, the fallen nobleman who wore a skirt and called it a kilt – were mostly exempt from the usual rules of banter and griping by something unspoken among the rest. Kas rose above the ranks to serve as a point of reference for the entire company, sister to half and object of lust to many of the others, but never obviously exploiting the affection she was held in. Himbel, by contrast, made it clear he didn’t give a damn what the others thought of him, while the foul-mouthed and rarely silent Deern seemed to revel in the discord he sowed.

The third day on the King’s Highway saw the weather turn worse and a persistent drizzle greeted Lynx as he heaved himself up from his bed roll and looked out of the end of his tent. Sullen grey covered the sky, the first chill of autumn lingering in the air. At the smoking remnants of the fire, Anatin bellowed for the company to muster with an irate edge to his voice and Lynx wasn’t the only one to hurry on his jacket, tricorn and boots.

‘Bitch better be worth it,’ Deern announced, emerging dishevelled and scowling from the tent he shared with Reft. ‘If that lost girl turns out to be some lump of lard with a face you’d improve with a punch—’

‘It wouldn’t matter,’ Anatin broke in loudly, ‘’cos you’re being paid to get her out of Grasiel, not fuck her.’

‘Hah!’ said Himbel, one hand down his trousers, apparently readjusting himself without regard to his audience. ‘That’d be one cruel joke on the father. Here’s your daughter, congratulations – she’s pregnant with the ugliest, most miserable brat you’re ever likely to wish was drowned before it could talk.’

There was a smattering of laughter around the camp, but the sun was only just over the horizon and most were too tired to pay much attention or join in. After Deern cursed Himbel’s parentage and a part of the continent five hundred miles from the man’s birthplace, a busy silence descended on the camp as the tents and stores were packed and stowed in the carts.

Once they’d set off, Lynx noticed Teshen had fallen in beside him, the Knight of Tempest’s hair hanging like a veil over one side of his face. He inclined his head, but had seen enough to know that if the man wanted to talk, he’d do it on his own terms. They were of a similar size, although Lynx was comfortably broader of chest and waist alike, but he knew in any fight it’d be Teshen’s speed, not his own strength, that would prove the difference.

Not for the first time he wondered about Teshen’s origins, but an unspoken rule in any mercenary company was to not enquire too much. Few of them had a happy tale to tell and Lynx had no intention of expanding on what he’d shared himself. With a Hanese face he was forced to explain a certain amount, but beyond that his past was his own.

Once the company had settled into the steady, shambling rhythm of soldiers on the march, Teshen began to say what was on his mind.

‘You were a commando.’

It wasn’t a question, but Lynx nodded anyway.

‘Must’ve been young.’

‘I could read and write.’

‘Officer material, eh?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Good.’

Teshen was quiet a while longer, but finally he seemed to make up his mind about Lynx. ‘This rescue, it’s no full-scale assault on a castle; word is she’ll be in the city where the baron’s main holdings are, well away from his wife. Just a townhouse to deal with, but district watchmen not far off.’

‘Diversion, then?’ Lynx asked. ‘Small team goes in and grabs the girl, rest of the company covers the escape?’

‘Close enough. A commando could be useful.’

‘You’re leading the team, not Payl?’

‘She’ll be giving the orders,’ Teshen said with a shrug. ‘Those’ll be to do whatever the fuck I say.’

Not your first covert mission then, not by a long shot. Sounds like yours is a more interesting tale than most, maybe even the sort that’s dangerous to be told.

Lynx couldn’t help but glance down, just a sideways look at Teshen’s hands, but the man wore no rings of any sort, let alone the three diamonds of the Vagrim.

‘Price of my card, is it?’

‘Man with a noble card on his jacket gets paid better,’ Teshen said in a non-committal tone. ‘Even if he hasn’t actually been given the badge yet. You’re expected to be worth it. But getting Anatin value for money ain’t my concern when I take a team in somewhere.’

‘Fair enough.’ Lynx nodded. ‘Guess I’m in if you want me.’

‘I know.’

Lynx shot him a look at that, but could make out nothing on Teshen’s face and had no intention of pressing the matter. Instead he let his mind drift as the miles crawled by and the drizzle waxed and waned – never turning into a downpour but never letting up either. With his hat tilted forward and his jacket fastened tight, Lynx did his best to ignore it all, letting the world wash over him. The tang of mud and tramp of boots were easy to dismiss after years of wandering and soon it all faded from his awareness.

In his mind he explored places he had only read about in the one luxury he permitted himself, the books he would save and scrimp for – the books he would mourn for weeks when finally he sold his current one to make way for another. The roads he walked varied little and the principalities, city-states, republics and fiefdoms that dotted the continent rarely possessed a veneer of the unique. Money ruled and strength led. There was no justice outside the states and precious little within them, save for those who decided what justice was.

But in his mind he could walk the deserts of the east, where high stone formations preserved tiny wildernesses from the rest of the world below. On roads such as this one or chalky, overgrown tracks barely big enough for carts to use, he had stalked the souks of the mage islands and raced with the dusk hunts through their maze-like streets. With the rain falling all about him and his cheeks damp, Lynx conjured the legendary Jewelled Falls and felt his breath catch at the sight. There it was said the River Araiv emerged from a great forest to cascade down a hundred waterfalls and cast a hundred rainbows before it wound its way to the waters of Lake Witchfire to the north.

When the shout from up ahead came, he missed the words spoken and on instinct was reaching for his gun before Teshen caught his arm.

‘Peace, Stranger,’ Teshen said as Lynx flinched under his touch. ‘Just knights on the road.’

Lynx shook himself awake. ‘There a problem?’

‘Nah – we just make it a habit to call out when we see any. They don’t like mercenaries much, which is funny when they get paid to fight the same as us often enough.’

He heard it properly now as the call was passed back by those in the middle, unnecessary perhaps but anything to break up the day, and many Militant Orders were unpredictable at best.

‘Charnelers!’ came the muted voices down the line, one woman’s voice raised above the rest; whoever that was, they were marching safe in the anonymous heart of the company.

The nickname was down to their avowed holy missions, that just so happened to be the basis for their power and wealth. For millennia they had gathered and stored the fragments of the five shattered gods which had been scattered across the known world by their apocalyptic final battle, raising great charnel fortresses to securely store the hoard. Lynx glanced down at the cartridge box at his waist. Each glass core inside the cartridges was charged with magic, each one of those had been created using a god-fragment to focus the power.

‘Looks like they caught a sparrow,’ Teshen commented as the column moved on. ‘Who are they? Knights-Charnel of the Long Dusk? Could be worse, I guess.’

Lynx craned to see over the heads in front of him as a party of horsemen trotted towards them. There were six in the party, four men and two women; five wearing the quartered black and white livery of their order, with a shield device on their chest bearing a spear and a red setting sun. It was a sight Lynx knew well enough. The other rider was a small shape in a grey shawl, her bowed head covered by a white scarf. Barely more than a girl by her size, she rode at the centre of the knights – an escort of some form, but she didn’t look rich enough for the better sort.

The Knights-Charnel of the Long Dusk were one of the largest of all the Militant Orders. Cities had built up around their three principal fastnesses, which were now hubs in the production of mage-guns and cartridges, and many of the roads Lynx had walked in his life were thanks to their wealth. Most likely half of Lynx’s own ammunition had come from a Knights-Charnel sanctuary, the walled and guarded heart of their cities where mages lived under the generous protection of the Knights-Charnel.

‘Better or worse than other prisons,’ Lynx muttered, ‘that ain’t much of a ringing endorsement.’

Teshen shrugged. ‘I’ve seen inside one. They might not live like kings, but they do better’n you and I.’

Lynx snorted. ‘While they make their masters rich.’

‘True enough.’ Teshen seemed disinclined to say more on the subject; after all, they both knew it had been an old argument long before either of them were born.

The knights wore long coats down to their knees, asymmetrical so the badge stood centrally on their chest, and fastened with fat brass clasps down one side. Wide-brimmed hats kept the rain off and conspicuously decorated gun holsters hung at their horses’ flanks, while each soldier wore a plain rapier on their hip.

The young captive straightened a little as they passed the mercenaries, finally lifting her head from its weary slump. Despite her white scarf, Lynx could see she had trails of brown hair, darkened in the rain and plastered across her face. She couldn’t have been much more than fifteen or sixteen, taller than most perhaps, but Lynx realised with a jolt that was down to her parentage. Whatever the colour of her hair, her features dragged him straight back to his homeland – memories of girls he’d kissed in his youth or just passed in the street every day of his early life.

The girl’s eyes widened as she saw him too, recognising something in him, and her lips parted to croak words Lynx couldn’t make out. The knight at her side grabbed her arm and shook it angrily, but though she cringed she repeated her words and this time he heard it clear enough.

‘Tau-na-se.’
Save me.

Lynx hesitated mid-step. Hair stuck across her face by the rain. Anyone with their hands free would’ve moved it.

‘Sorry,’ he said in a low voice to Teshen.

‘Huh? Oh shitting hells …’

Lynx had already stepped back and slipped between the last few mercenaries behind him, an icer flipped from the ready-pouch at the front of his cartridge box. In one movement he drew his mage-gun and slipped the cartridge into the chamber.

‘’Scuse me, gents,’ he called out, casually holding the gun out with one hand so it pressed again the belly of the last rider.

The lead knight, already past him, glanced back and saw the weapon. He yanked hard on his reins to bring the horse round as his comrade stopped dead, looking with horror at the gun at his belly.