by Freya Pickard
in Issue 99, April 2020
BBodila waited patiently in the hallway of the governor’s palace. She was tenth in the queue and she had been waiting all day. The others in the hall stared listlessly at the wall hangings or at the floor. Bodila watched everyone, noticed each servant as they walked in and out of the main door. She would get her way.
A bell rang in the tower to the rear of the palace and the guards outside the audience chamber stood to attention. A slight man in black robes slipped through the door and looked apologetically at the waiting supplicants.
“The audience is over for today. Please return tomorrow morning.”
Bodila ground her teeth as the man disappeared inside the room once more. All she needed to do was get permission to leave the city via the Water Gate. She was not going over to the enemy. She was merely passing through. And with each day that she delayed, the murderer’s trail grew cold.
*
Amarok was not a pleasant man. He lived by his magic and his wits. Life had not treated him well and he had made several mistakes. The last one had resulted in his incarceration. He supposed he should be grateful to the enemy outside the walls of Tunglfell. If they hadn’t have arrived without warning, his head would now be adorning a spike on the walls. He knew his reprieve was short. Once the enemy without was defeated, it would be his turn for the block.
His cellmate moaned in his sleep, jabbering in the incomprehensible Tunglfell dialect. Amarok rose to his feet and crouched down beside the man. No sweat gleamed on his skin and the man’s breathing was strong. No fever then. Just bad dreams. He stretched out one hand and laid it on the man’s greasy forehead. He whispered words of power and the man sighed, stopped moaning and fell into a deeper sleep. He knew what it was like to have an out of control talent; how it tormented one even in sleep.
Amarok yawned and returned to his own hard pallet. He missed doing good. How long had he been using his powers for evil purposes? Too long. But the sad truth was that wicked people paid a lot of money for his talent.
*
Ublar closed the woman’s eyes, a sense of sorrow filling his heart as it always did. He had worked as a healer for too long now. Every loss saddened him. He had never developed the hard skin and unfeeling heart of most healers. The sadness within him was deeper than ever. He still missed Talini painfully. While she had been alive, she had eased the sadness of death. Now she was gone, the bitterness of death remained.
He turned to the High Duke.
“I am sorry my lord. She has gone.” He bowed his head, waiting for the inevitable.
“Then you die too.”
Ublar looked up as the man walked out of the red and gold bedroom. Two guards, their faces neutral, escorted the healer through the house, to governor’s palace. He still carried his bag of supplies and implements. He was a healer. No one would take them away from him. He half expected to be thrown in the dungeons but was instead shown to a small, windowless inner room with a fire burning in the grate.
“Governor Vegard will determine your fate in the morning,” a steward clad in white told him. “You will not be allowed to leave this room until you are summoned. You will be served supper before sunset.”
Ublar sat on the bed with its soft mattress and eiderdown and smiled to himself. To be executed was almost a relief. Would he be with Talini again? Or would he just slip into forgetfulness?
*
Eskil woke from a deep, clinging sleep to a clear head and aching gut. He reached the chamber pot just in time and threw up violently. It was still dark though there was a stillness in the air, even down here in the dungeons, that hinted of approaching dawn.
“Finished?”
His cellmate sounded cross. Eskil was frightened of the large man. There was some hidden power within that muscular frame and Eskil feared anyone stronger than he.
“Yes. Gods, I felt shit.”
The man in the bed opposite him snorted with laughter. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you speak clearly.”
Eskil sat on his own bed, head in his hands. “I hate being sober.”
“Why?” In the gloom, Eskil fancied he could see the other man’s eyes glittering.
“I see things. No one believes me. Whatever I see, happens. I just want to end it all.”
“So that’s why you tried to jump off the wall into the enemy camp yesterday?”
“Did I?” Eskil raised his head to see the other man shrug. The air was getting lighter.
“That’s what the guards told me. You jabbered all afternoon in your uncouth language until I put you to sleep.”
“What did you do?” Eskil felt strangely clear and focused. He hadn’t felt like this for months.
Again the man shrugged. “I have my ways.”
“You mentioned an enemy. Where am I?”
“In the dungeons of the Governor’s palace in the city of Tunglfell.”
“Ah! That’s where I’ve lived all my life.”
“I thought it was Tunglsprak you were ranting in.”
“What did I say?”
“No idea. I don’t speak Tunglsprak.”
“Shit. Usually I say something about what’s going to happen.”
“Ah! You’re a seer.”
Eskil grunted. “Much good it’s done me.”
Silence. Then,
“You kept repeating one phrase over and over; Eldr Orvar.”
“Gods and Goddesses! Are you sure? Eldr Orvar?”
“Yup. Just that. What is it?”
Eskil felt the clarity and focus were a curse. He’d much rather be drunk and insensible. “That means Fire Arrow which means the enemy outside the gates are the Jarnbruni.”
“You mean the people who throw exploding fire at cities and destroy them?”
“They’re the ones. Why am I here?”
“Desertion I think. You won’t be tried until the enemy have been driven off.”
Eskil groaned. “The Jarnbruni are invincible. We’re going to die at their hands.”
This time he saw the other man shrug clearly. “I’m due to be executed. Why should I worry.”
Booted feet echoed in the corridor outside and a key turned in the lock on their door. Eskil cringed as the door opened.
“Amarok, your presence is required in the Governor’s audience chamber.”
The tall, muscled man rose to his feet, looking surprised.
Eskil felt despair drag him down as the man left and the door was locked once more.
*
Bodila sat on the bench nearest the door to the audience chamber. Today, she was first in the queue – only because she’d arrived outside the gates an hour before cockcrow. True she was still freezing cold, but the temperature in the hallway was a lot warmer than the air outside. She felt pleased with herself. Today she would get what she wanted.
Booted feet tramped up steps and three men marched the length of the hallway. Two guards in grey armour and one blue-robed, unshaven mage. Bodila glared at them as they passed her and entered the audience chamber. Why was a prisoner preceding her?
*
Amarok stood before Governor Vegard wondering if his execution had been brought forward. The man was seated at a large white marble desk, his grey head bent over a parchment.
“Approach.”
A black-robed scrivenor beckoned Amarok forward. The guards released his arms and he strode up to the desk.
“Mage Amarok,” Governor Vegard looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You are due to be executed at the earliest opportunity for the deaths of two dukes, three soldiers and a page boy.”
“I am.” Amarok agreed.
“However, in these dire straits we find ourselves in, we need a mage to assist the city.”
Amarok said nothing, waiting to hear the conditions.
“If you assist us and successfully banish the enemy from our gates, you will be pardoned on the condition that you never step foot in Tunglfell again.”
“Fair enough. How do you expect me to vanquish the Jarnbruni?”
Vegard blanched. “That’s who they are? Gods help us all.”
Amarok smiled bleakly. “I’ll give it my best shot.” He shrugged. “After all, if I fail, I’ll be dead anyway.”
Vegard looked at him steadily and then turned to the scrivener seated at his own small desk to one side. “Issue a pardon for Mage Amarok and give him a pass to enable him to go anywhere in the city.”
“I have a condition too.”
The Governor looked surprised. “Ask away.”
“The man in my cell. I want him to assist me.”
Vegard laughed. “He’s a drunkard and possibly a double agent.”
Amarok shrugged again. “I’ll look after him.”
“Why?”
“He has talents I can use.”
“Do it!” Vegard ordered.
*
Bodila watched the dishevelled mage leave the audience chamber, a piece of parchment in his hand. Surely it was her turn now. More booted feet and two more guards escorting a healer, by the look of the bag he carried, passed her. Into the audience chamber they marched and the door clanged shut. Bodila scowled.
*
Eskil felt light-headed in the late morning sunshine. The wind was bitter and he shivered inside his thin fur cloak.
“What am I doing here?” he asked plaintively.
Amarok had a hand on his shoulder and was marching him along the eastern defences. “That, down there is the enemy.”
“The Jarnbruni, yes, I know.”
Their tents spread like grey lichen as far as the eye could see. Although the bitter wind swept across the plains below, no campfire burned.
“They are going to attack us. I want you to tell me their intentions.”
“I’m a seer, not a diviner!” Eskil pulled away from the mage’s grasp. “I can’t command it like that.”
“Yes, you can.” Amarok turned and pushed him against the granite fortifications. “Seer power is similar to mage power. Open yourself to it and tell me what you see.”
Eskil felt shaky inside, as though he was going to throw up. He wouldn’t throw up, he was completely empty. When had he last eaten? More importantly, when had he last had a drink?
“Well?”
The mage was not going to take no for an answer. Eskil was not strong enough to overcome him and not quick enough to run away. Besides, the soldiers on duty would catch him within minutes. He had no choice but to do as the mage ordered.
He opened himself, let his thoughts clear and realised how empty he was. Not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Then he heard it, a faint murmur. The sound of the Jarnbruni thought was sharp, like a waterfall full of needles. War. War. War. Blood. Flesh. Burning. War. War. War. No mercy. No prisoners. Just kill, kill, kill.
Eskil realised he could hear different voices in his head. Which ones were the commanders? “The commanders’ tent,” he whispered. “Where is it?”
Amarok consulted with one of the soldiers who pointed to a grey tent in the middle of the encampment with red stripes around the edge. Eskil concentrated on the tent, his mouth opening wide as he heard their plans.
*
Ublar stood before Governor Vegard.
“I’m sorry it has come to this,” Tor Vegard said. “The High Duke has gained too much power since his brothers died.”
Ublar smiled in understanding.
“I cannot allow you to be executed while we are at war. I would pardon you, but the High Duke has accused you of deliberately allowing his concubine to die.”
Ublar sighed.
“I know you wouldn’t do such a thing, but his word is law.” Tor Vegard’s eyes were bloodshot and Ublar wondered when the man had last slept. “So for now, I will keep you under guard to attend the most serious cases in the barracks. Once the Jarnbruni have been dealt with, I will do what I can for you.”
“Thank you, Governor.” Ublar was aware of the door behind him opening. “You have always been a true friend to me.”
*
Bodila could wait no longer. She needed to catch the man who had murdered her husband. By now he was probably beyond the Rift Range and once she was free of Tunglfell, she had the Jarnbruni to contend with. Rising swiftly to her feet she pulled the long dagger from her sleeve and opened the door. Yanking the nearest guard off his feet, she tripped him up and knocked his head against the wall. She then presented the tip of the dagger to the other guard’s neck.
“One move, one cry for help, and he dies,” she announced.
The healer, a slightly hunched man with a round, pale face stared at her wide-eyed. Behind the desk the Governor had half-risen to his feet. The scrivenor had fainted.
“What do you want?” The Governor sat down slowly, as if his legs were too weak to hold him. “Are you Jarnbruni?”
Bodila snorted. “I am Tunglfell by birth. I come from the Lakes to the north where my husband was murdered three weeks ago. His killer’s trail passes through Tunglfell and I seek permission to leave by the Water Gate.”
“Impossible,” the Governor declared. “We are under seige. You cannot leave that way…”
He trailed off as the door burst open and a black armoured soldier from the East Garrison burst in. He saw the unconscious guard and Bodlia’s knife and started to draw his sword.
“Stay!” Ublar shouted.
Everyone jumped, shocked that the quiet little healer had shouted so loudly.
“Our enemy is the one beyond our gates. What does the soldier have to report?”
The soldier rammed his sword home in its sheath and saluted the Governor. “Mage Amarok requests your company urgently on the East Wall. He and his assistant have divined the enemy’s intent.”
“Come with me,” Governor Vegard told Ublar and Bodila. “Check he’s all right,” this to the guard Bodila released.
*
Amarok stood upon the East Wall with Eskil cringing at his side.
“We’ve no way of defeating them!” the Seer moaned.
“Can you see the Eldr Orvar carrier?” Amarok asked the nearby soldiers.
“Yes, sir!”
“Are they near enough to kill?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Shoot them.”
The soldiers glanced nervously at each other.
“I know I’m not your commander, but the Governor has ordered me to break the seige.”
“We can’t, sir.”
“Why not?”
“We can’t shoot children.”
“Go fetch the Governor,” Amarok ordered.
The mage watched the children below forming up into a square. All of them bar one, held a shield in their hands. What kind of people allowed their children to carry explosive weapons into war? A cruel and clever people. It was well known the Tunglfell inhabitants would not place a child in danger. The Lake clans would not have hesitated to kill any child whom they considered a threat to them. The Jarnbruni commanders had given this invasion a lot of thought and they had struck at Tunglfell whose people considered a child’s life more valuable than an adult’s. He could try and take out the Eldr Orvar bearer in the centre of the square himself but knew his power was not strong enough. Together with Eskil they might take the child out.
“Eskil?”
“Do not ask me to kill a child.” The little man cowered down, his power lurching wildly.
Useless creature. Amarok’s hands itched to clasp the man around the throat and …
“Mage Amarok! What news?”
Governor Vegard strode to his side, a hunched healer and woman dressed in leather armour behind him.
“The secret of the Jarnbruni’s power; children bearing the Eldr Orvar.”
“Gods above!” Vegard’s pale face turned grey. “Children?”
“I have asked the soldiers to take the Eldr Orvar bearer out but they refuse.”
“Quite right! We can’t go round killing children, that would make us as bad as them.”
Amarok sighed. “Governor, I have had Eskil here listen to the enemy. He is a Seer. They plan to send the children ahead with the Eldr Orvar to open the city to the rest of the army. They know we value children. They are playing on our weakness.”
“But how can we kill them? It is wrong!” Vegard protested.
“I’ll do it.” The leather-clad woman stepped forward.
Amarok regarded her. She was strong and warrior trained by the shape of her muscles. Her cold eyes held a resoluteness that he admired.
“And why would a woman kill a child?”
“This city and that army are in my way,” she announced. “If I don’t set out today, I will lose the trail of my husband’s killer. Although I was born here in Tunglfell, I have spent most of my life amongst the Lake clans. We are not squeamish about killing children who are dangerous. Show me which child to kill and I will do it.”
Amarok smiled. He didn’t like women, particularly strong ones. But this one was speaking sense. “Thank you…”
“Bodila. What weapon would you suggest I use?”
Eskil pushed himself upright. “A fire arrow. It’s the only way.”
The men around them muttered disapprovingly.
“Why is it the only way?” asked the Governor.
“Why do you see no campfires?” Eskil said miserably. “They don’t need them. They drink the explosive powder they put in the Eldr Orvar. Fire will make them all die. We need an Eldr Orvar ourselves.”
Amarok clapped the alcoholic on the back. “That’s the best thing you’ve said all day.”
“But we don’t have a fire arrow,” Ublar pointed out.
“How can you support this?” The Governor rounded on the healer.
“I don’t. But if we don’t stop the Jarnbruni, it won’t just be us that die. Our entire country will be invaded and overrun. To me, that is wrong.”
“Can you use a crossbow?” Amarok asked Bodila.
“I can.”
“Good, Ublar you can guide the sight while Eskil and I will use our power to create our own Eldr Orvar.”
*
“They’re moving into position for attack!” warned a soldier.
Bodila was ready. At last! Kill the brat that held the Eldr Orvar and get out of Tunglfell.
“Ready, Bodila?”
“Yes!”
Amarok moved behind her as did Eskil. Ublar fiddled with the sight and then stepped out of the way.
Bodila closed one eye and looked through the sight. The crossbow was well made, heavy and solid, balancing easily on the stock. The yew wood was carved into a recurve design which meant the bolt would accelerate more quickly and also that less shock would be delivered to her hands. The girl below was pale-faced with straw-coloured hair and bright blue eyes. So innocent looking. Then Bodila saw she was wearing protective clothing; hardened leather, probably treated with a fire retardant. A concentrated look came onto the girl’s face and her mouth opened in a chant.
“What are they saying?” Bodila demanded.
“Death to the Ice Heads. Kill! Kill! Kill!” Eskil translated.
“Evil little…” Bodila took aim and drew the tickler back, creating tension in the whipcord.
Normally she would have prepared the cross bow in advance, but the mage and the seer needed to ‘change’ the bolt as she moved it. Something to do with life and energy.
The cold metal beneath her fingers become warm. Bodila felt a rush of hot air around her and fire flickered all over the cross bow. Could she do this? Could she kill a child?
“Kill! Kill! Kill!” came the chanting below.
Think of your husband, she told herself. He needs to be avenged.
“Now!” Amarok roared.
The bolt seemed to have a life of its own and she released it. Black metal turning red hot as it sped through the air. The four-sided quarrel flew straight towards its target. Bodila watched it strike the little girl’s chest and felt a moment of remorse. Then the explosions began.
*
At dusk, the fires below Tunglfell had burned themselves out. Amarok stood by the Water Gate with Bodila, Eskil and Ublar. Governor Vegard handed them each a pardon.
“Paperwork, I know. These are conditional; none of you must ever return to Tunglfell. A sorry way to repay you for saving the city, but the law is the law.”
“And the High Duke rules,” Ublar smiled sadly. “Thank you, my friend for giving me a second life.”
Eskil cringed away from the Governor, hardly believing he was free. Amarok shook the Governor’s hand.
“Sorry my contract meant killing the High Duke’s brothers. I can give you the name of the man who hired me…”
Vegard shook his head and smiled. “I’m due to retire next year. The High Duke can take over then. I’ll be far away.”
“As will I!” Amarok looked at Bodila. “Well, where are we headed?”
The tall woman looked coldly at him. “Who says you’re coming with me?”
“He did.” Amarok nodded at the Governor. “That’s the other condition of our pardons. We are allowed to leave because we are travelling with you.”
“For at least fifty miles,” Ublar said cheerfully.
Bodila did not look amused. Then she shrugged. “The trail’s cold. You mage and the seer might be able to find it and a healer is always useful to have around.”
©April 2020 Freya Pickard
Freya Pickard is a cancer survivor who is not afraid to explore the darkness. She has twelve e-books published, mostly fantasy. This is her first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.