Chaosmage (14 page)

A
s he stared into the glowing heart of the campfire Tom pretended that nothing had changed since the war. He was just another warrior in the army. Just another sword who had answered the King's call and signed up to do the right thing. During the war it had been about fighting for his home and country. Now the war was done, but the echoes were still being felt and the people of Shael needed protection. Raiders, mercenaries and even some locals who'd gone mad on power, were trying to make little kingdoms of their own. They didn't respect the crown or the law and something needed to be done.

That was some of what he'd said to those in the army when he'd asked for volunteers to travel all the way here. Knowing what they were fighting for made it a lot easier than just having your name drawn at random.

No matter how just the cause, coming to Shael meant months away from home, and that was tough for those with families. It was bad for those left behind as well. Not knowing. Waiting to hear if their loved one would come back on their feet or if they'd just get a letter. So far Tom had not written many of those, as the bandits were desperate but no match for
well
-
armed
and
well
-
fed
veterans of the war.

Making speeches was just another part of his new life. Normally he didn't mind giving them, but today was different.

Given his role during the war, it made perfect sense. He could relate to the soldiers, since he'd stood beside them on the front line. He had the scars and the stories to prove it. Tom had also been part of Vargus's unit and had fought beside the man everyone said was responsible for starting the Brotherhood. The old bastard had never wanted that. He'd told them not to keep his name mixed up with it, and for a time they'd separated the two. But then he'd gone and died on the wall, and that was that. His name and the Brotherhood became the same thing.

Now Tom wasn't sure what to think. Vargus had died and yet he was alive again. He was also something inhuman and timeless. It was days after his encounter with the old warrior in Oshoa and yet the vision he'd seen still haunted him.

“They're ready for you,” said one of Tom's royal guards. So much for pretending.

The warriors from home were all assembled. They'd been here for a few months and this was supposed to be where he gave them the good news. They were going home. That was what he was supposed to say.

Tom didn't like it but he had to stand on top of a couple of boxes to be seen by everyone in the crowd. There were a lot of tall Seve men and women from home. The sea of faces in front of him all blurred into one. Each of them was different, but they all had the same look. They were veterans. Toughened by the war or just by their time here. Even those who'd signed up after the war and come to Shael on their first posting weren't fresh faced any more. They were lean and hard, like old leather. Food was scarce, and not even the work they'd been doing entitled them to double portions. Tom felt the weight of their eyes on him and he stared back unafraid, showing them that despite his fancy title and rank, they were still the same.

“I'm supposed to make a speech about duty,” said Tom, pitching his voice so it carried to those at the back. “About how you've served your Queen well and done a good thing for the people here. I'm supposed to say a lot of nice things so you can go home proud, but I can't.”

Tom sensed his royal guards shifting restlessly beside him. They didn't like it when he didn't follow the script.

“Why not?” someone asked.

“Because I need your help. It's not fair, given what you've all been through, but it has to be done.”

It sounded like a confession. As if he'd been caught stealing and needed an alibi from a friend. Something in his words, or perhaps his face, communicated a different message to those in the crowd. A tense silence settled across them and once more he felt the combined weight of their eyes resting upon him.

“I'm not here as your King. I'm here as someone who fought on the wall during the war. I was there at the beginning, when Benlor first gave it a name, and I was there at the end. I saw him die.” Tom was still looking at the crowd but now he was seeing the past again. That awful feeling of helplessness swept over him as once more Vargus went over the battlements and he was too far away to help.

“I need the Brotherhood.”

“You have it,” said a familiar voice, bringing Tom out of his reverie. It took a few seconds but eventually he realised he wasn't still lost in memory. The past and the present collided as he stared at his old friend. It was Hargo.

“What's the matter, rich boy? You look like you've seen a ghost,” said the big man with a grin. He looked exactly the same. A silver ring in each ear and that same cursed Yerskani cleaver hanging from his belt. He'd diced up so many with it during the war that after a while Tom had stopped counting.

“I've seen plenty of those,” Tom finally managed to mutter. “Did you mean it? Will you help?”

“It's what we agreed, isn't it?” said Hargo. “To help each other.”

“It's a bad situation,” warned Tom, raising his voice so the whole crowd could hear him again. “I won't hold it against any that don't want to come. You can rest here until it's done, one way or the other.”

“It's all right, Tom,” said Hargo, clapping him on the shoulder. “They might not have been there at the start, but everyone here is my brother. Where are we going?”

“Voechenka.”

A shadow passed across Hargo's face and he nodded grimly. “I thought so. We've heard stories. Who's with me?” he bellowed at the gathered soldiers.

Moving as one the crowd stepped forward.

T
he following morning, with a cool winter sun on her back, Tammy travelled west towards the first mercenary camp. It was still early, but no one in the city slept much and most of their camp had been awake when she left.

Alyssa had insisted on coming with her, but before they'd left the winery Tammy made her promise she wouldn't go inside the mercenary camp.

From the way she'd spoken about them, Alyssa didn't really understand what kind of men and women they were. She wouldn't truly know the mercenaries until she'd been in a tight spot with them. Long before she'd been a Guardian of the Peace in Perizzi, Tammy had dealt with their kind, and worse.

It was likely a few were half decent, but the rest had made coin their master and the bedrock of their faith. Protecting their own skin and the money in their pocket were the only things they really cared about. Not one of them would think of anyone else when things became difficult, but Alyssa thought otherwise. Tammy hoped she never had to find out the hard way.

“If you see anyone being abused—”

“I can't interfere,” said Tammy, cutting Alyssa off. “I'll be outnumbered twenty or thirty to one. Starting a fight will only make things worse. Going in like this will be delicate enough as it is.”

“I wasn't going to say that.”

“But you still want me to offer the people something,” said Tammy, and Alyssa's jaw tightened. It was the reason she could never be allowed to see the inside of another camp. At the very first sign of abuse Alyssa would intervene, even if it cost her own life.

“Offer them shelter with us,” insisted Alyssa. “We've had others come to us from time to time, but only out of desperation. Let them know there is something better. They don't have to be slaves. They need to know they'll be safe with us.”

Tammy kept scanning the street as they talked. It wasn't only the Forsaken she was worried about. “The food we brought will help for a while, but it won't last forever. If I tell every person they can stay at the winery, how will we feed them?”

“The Blessed Mother will provide,” said Alyssa, grabbing Tammy gently by the arm. “Offer them sanctuary.”

The look in her eyes told Tammy everything she needed to know. Alyssa's faith, even in this terrible place, was unshakable. Nothing would change her mind.

“I will make the offer,” promised Tammy. Only then did Alyssa let go of her arm.

A few minutes later they arrived outside the mercenaries' camp. The smell of smoke had faded since their last visit, but soot still covered a large portion of the brickwork. Behind the bars on the ground floor the windows had been boarded up. The front door was more dented, but it had been reset in its frame and there were a number of fresh scratch marks on its surface. It looked as if some massive beast had tried to claw its way into the building. If she were in the mercenaries' position Tammy would have bricked up the door and all
ground
-
floor
windows from the inside. As they drew closer she could see solid brick behind the door through some of the holes. Perhaps they'd make it through the night after all.

“Hello?” said Alyssa, calling up to the roof.

Less than a minute later three bearded faces appeared. All three men were dressed in mail or leather armour and Tammy could see each carried a weapon. All three looked worn out, dirty and hungry. Even so, there was still a glimmer of defiance in their eyes.

“Back again already?” chuckled one of the mercenaries. “Just couldn't stay away.”

“It must be your smile, Graff,” said one of the others. “It's what gets me out of bed in the morning.”

They were putting on a good show with their banter, but Tammy could see the strain of maintaining the charade was beginning to show. Their eyes darted up and down the street several times, even during their brief conversation with Alyssa. They were scared and exhausted.

“My friend would like to come inside,” said Alyssa. “Just for a short visit.”

The three mercenaries studied her closely and Tammy met their gaze evenly. She expected a bit of leering but saw none. Their eyes were cold and calculating. They were trying to work out how much of a threat she posed.

Zannah was right. This city had stripped away much of the gristle and fat, leaving behind only the meat and bone. It reduced a person to their most basic parts. Tammy wondered what they saw when they looked at her. Did she still carry the mantle of a Guardian? Or had it already been scraped away? Did they see something familiar in her face? Did they see her as an easy target or a threat?

“Why do you want to come in?” asked one of the mercenaries.

Tammy shrugged. “I just want to talk to a few people. An hour of time where I can talk to anyone. In return you get what's in here,” she said, pulling the heavy pack off her shoulder. A few bottles inside clanked together loudly enough for the mercenaries to hear.

“What have you got there?” asked Graff, although he clearly already knew, as Tammy could see him licking his lips. She opened her pack and took out one of the eight bottles of wine she'd decanted from a barrel. She knew nothing about wine but had been told by one of the locals it was a
full
-
bodied
red. It was also sold abroad so Tammy hoped they wouldn't speculate about its origin. Then again, looking at their faces Tammy didn't think they'd be able to tell the difference.

“Eight bottles, for an hour,” said Tammy, holding up the bottle. She tilted it from side to side, the wine clinging to the glass, so that they could see it wasn't just coloured water.

The three mercenaries conferred briefly but Tammy knew it was only for show. She sent Alyssa away even before they'd finished.

“You'll have to climb up,” said one of the mercenaries. Tammy had been expecting that, which is why she'd left her armour and sword back at the winery. She didn't need the extra weight on top of the bottles.

A knotted colourful rope, made from several pieces of carpet sewn together, was thrown down.

“Careful,” said Graff as she was halfway up the front of the building. Tammy was under no illusions that he was concerned for her health. He just didn't want her to slip in case the bottles shattered in the fall.

When she reached the top, Graff moved to help her up but she stopped him with a look. He backed away slowly with hands raised until she pulled herself onto the roof.

Unlike the winery, there had not been any access to the roof of the bank and they'd had to improvise. Looking around her, she could see that several crossbeams had been taken out and patched with a wide assortment of material. Roughly
sawed
-
off
joists protruded, like the ends of broken bones. A hole had been ripped in the middle and a network of metal slats
criss
-
crossed
the roof, to make it more secure.

“One hour for the wine,” said Tammy, standing up slowly. The mercenaries frowned slightly as she towered over them by at least six inches. “A fair trade and then I'm gone. I'm holding you three to it, understand?”

She casually rested a hand on the dagger at her waist. Her sword was back at the winery, but Tammy had three daggers on her person. Only a fool went into unfamiliar territory without any weapons.

The mercenary called Graff took the hint and nodded in understanding. The other two were not far behind in accepting her terms. If they tried anything she would gut them.

“Done, but one of us goes with you,” said Graff.

It was a smart move and something she'd been expecting. Tammy consented by taking out a bottle and pulling the cork with her teeth. She offered the wine to Graff, who grunted and took a long pull. He closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure before passing it on to the others.

“So, how long have you been here in the bank?” said Tammy, handing over the pack.

“Couple of weeks now,” said Graff, moving to the edge of the roof. “Our last place was bigger, but not nearly as secure. We lost a lot of people.”

The other two mercenaries disappeared into the building with the wine. It would keep them distracted for a while, and before they even thought about
double
-
crossing
her she would be long gone.

“That's a story I keep hearing,” said Tammy. “Now that there are only a handful of camps each is getting attacked every night.”

Graff grunted and started pulling up the rope. “Then we're the lucky ones. They don't attack us every night, but we can always hear them, scurrying around in the dark. Sometimes there's only one or two and they just come and watch.”

Tammy raised an eyebrow. “They watch?”

Graff was neatly folding the rope and seemed to be concentrating on it, but Tammy thought he was avoiding eye contact. “It's always people we used to know, before they were changed. They just stand there on the street for hours, out of range, otherwise we'd shoot them. They never say anything, never move, just watch. The first time it happened I thought it meant a big attack was on the way. Every now and then they show up when it gets dark, and stare at us. The others pretend it doesn't bother them or that it doesn't mean anything, but I think the Forsaken are just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Graff finished with the rope and went back to staring at the city. “For us to drop our guard. Maybe fall asleep. Maybe the one time we do that they will swarm this place.”

“So you stay up and stare right back at them.”

“Every time,” said Graff with a hint of pride. “I might get taken one of these nights, but it won't be in my sleep.”

Like everyone else in the city, Graff was pale with hollow cheeks from a lack of decent food and shortage of sleep. The shadows under his eyes were so purple they were almost black and he smelled ripe. He was determined never to be caught unawares but Tammy knew no matter how tough a person was, everyone had their limit.

“Do you ever talk to the other camps?” asked Tammy, after the silence had stretched out for a while.

“Why would we do that?” asked Graff. “Those bastards would only try to steal our food or kill us.”

Tammy sensed a partial lie. “But you keep an eye on them, don't you?”

Graff shrugged. “We know where they are, but we keep our distance. If one of our squads sees one of theirs during the day, we walk away. That's the only agreement we all made without speaking.”

“I'd like to speak with a few people inside,” said Tammy.

“Give me a minute.” Graff went down into the building and his two friends came up to the roof to keep watch.

At the bottom of a roughly fashioned ladder Tammy found herself on the top floor of a
once
-
grand
building. The black lacquered hardwood floors were now grimy from mud and an assortment of filth from many people living together in a small space. Grand metal railings twisted into fanciful designs on every floor were now decorated with damp clothes drying in the fetid air. A heavy miasma of unwashed bodies and partly cooked food flooded Tammy's nose. It hung in the air like a cloud and she had to breathe through her mouth for a few minutes until she adjusted to the smell.

“Ripe, isn't it?” said Graff. “You get used to it.”

Peering into a few rooms Tammy saw a lot of what she'd initially expected to find in Voechenka. In a place where money meant nothing, people had to earn their place in the camps in a variety of other ways.

In one room she saw a lanky mercenary sitting on a mountain of grimy pillows like a king idling on a throne. Arranged around him were several
almost
-
naked
women, each wearing only a scrap of cloth across their hips. All of them looked cold and were bone thin, but their needs didn't seem to matter. One knelt behind the mercenary gently brushing his hair while two more rubbed oils into the skin on his hands and forearms. In one corner another sat polishing his sword and yet another was furiously working to clean the rust from his armour. The room stank of sex and body oil.

In another room she saw several local people huddled together while a mercenary held a collection of sticks towards them with one hand.

“They can't fight, so whoever draws the shortest straw goes out to scavenge for food,” explained Graff with a shrug. “It's either that or they earn their keep in some other way,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the mercenary and his harem.

“Give me a minute with them,” said Tammy, stepping into the room with the huddled group of locals. The mercenary looked at Graff for guidance and then up at Tammy. She could practically hear what he was thinking and she grinned, daring him to try.

“We've made a deal,” said Graff, a note of warning in his voice. “There's some wine if you want it.”

Tammy kept her eyes on the man and one hand on her dagger until he'd moved downstairs.