Absence_Whispers and Shadow Page 30

  Ormis led Kye through the prison and out into the courtyard where a wagon stood idle. It was the type Kye knew as a prison box - a mobile cell with two small barred windows; one in the roof and one behind the front seat. The driver was leaning back against the box, taking the sun on his face. His eyes were shut and the reins held loosely in his hands. A team of horses hung their heads in front, flicking their ears at bothersome flies. The rear doors were open to allow the breeze to circulate and they walked around the back to look in. Two benches ran the length of each side, currently supporting five people. Ormis gestured to a woman and two men on the left, ‘Suula, Rauul and Kail,’ and then at two men on the right, ‘Dorian and Steith.’ From the inner shade they all looked out, giving Kye a brief acknowledgement before looking away. ‘Heed what they say and follow their instruction as you would mine.’

  Kye climbed in and the doors clattered shut.

  Road Block

  Ormis jumped up onto the front seat, jarring the driver out of his doze. He apologised, blamed the heat for his lapse and started the horses in motion with a flick of his reins. The wagon moved off with a jolt, turned a wide arc in the courtyard and rolled out through the main gate and onto the narrow street that fed the prison. It was still early and they clattered along the cobbles, unimpeded by the sprinkle of citizens setting up shop and running errands.

  They eased out of the city and turned onto the road that would lead them up into the mountains, passing a row of caravans on a strip of dirt. Several children played in the dust between the wheels and a crooked old lady with a red ribbon in her hair was hanging washing on a line. A window swung open in the side of one caravan and a bleary eyed man stuck his head out to spit into the weeds. It was from behind the last of these caravans that a familiar figure lumbered out and planted himself in the middle of the road.

  Kring.

  The giant folded his lower arms, and placed his upper hands on his hips, widening his shoulders into a ridge of muscle. The tattoos on his folded forearms were lined up with each other, creating a line of five symbols. Ormis had never asked Kring what those symbols meant, but he’d seen this posture many times before. It was a sign the giant wanted to break heads. He held a hand over the reins and the driver brought the wagon to a stop twenty yards in front of the muscular monolith. He jumped down and strode over to him. ‘I thought you were away to the Caliste.’

  ‘Aye. I bet you did. And I’d have been there by now if I hadn’t heard the chandler spouting off to Beredrim’s interrogators - telling how he saw three torucks arrive at the prison while he was locking up last night. He didn’t get much off before he got wind of me, but I heard my brother’s name.’ He spoke this last like an accusation, narrowing his eyes and watching for a reaction. But he didn’t get one. Ormis stood rigid and uninformative - like a signpost without directions. ‘So I took a walk down the gates. Asked the gate guards if they’d seen my brother. They said Karkus was first out at sunrise and that I wasn’t the only one asking. They reckon to have told the same to Beredrim’s men only an hour earlier… You suspect he’s involved in all this don’t you? That’s why I was reassigned.’ He was puffing up, darkening and boiling, his eyes bulging as if they were stoppers to some enormous eruption in his head. Most men would have trembled under such a glare, but Ormis faced him without an ounce of tension in his body. Fear was something alien to him - an advantage that allowed him clear thought when most men were swamped with emotion. He searched the giant’s face. Everything about his reaction suggested he was unaware of his brother’s involvement in the gaol break.

  ‘There’s more to it.’

  ‘Then I’d hear it.’

  ‘A few weeks ago Karkus took a search party out from Rockspur to investigate a plume of smoke. He was out overnight.’

  ‘You’re saying he got a dose of mist?’

  ‘Perhaps, but there’s something more… You’ve heard of Izle Rohn?’

  Kring nodded.

  ‘We thought him dead – swallowed by the Wilderness. But we were mistaken. We think Izle made the smoke to lure Karkus away from Rockspur; so he could use his forbidden arts to bend him to his will. And we think he sent him here to get the girl.’

  ‘That’s insane!’ Kring said, throwing his arms up. ‘Karkus could never be turned to such deeds - not if he spent a hundred years in the company of Izle Rohn and not with a lungful of mist!’

  ‘You underestimate the malleability of the mind. When Izle connected with a scour, your brother would have been defenceless - his personality and moral persuasion counting for nothing.’ Kring shook his head and his thick fingers worked against each other. ‘Karkus entered the city with Argol and Rox late yesterday and they left at first light. The chandler saw them at the prison and the wounds on the guards are consistent with toruck blades.’

  Kring stared at Ormis and back on the wagon the driver shifted nervously in his seat. The children had stopped playing to watch and the old lady was now gawping at them with a peg in her mouth and a dripping shirt in her hand.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

  ‘Why do you think? You know now and you’re in our way.’

  Kring looked over his shoulder. ‘Who’s in the wagon?’

  ‘The boy, Suula. Some soldiers.’

  ‘Elite guard?’

  Ormis gave him nothing. Kring’s line of inquiry was worrying. He knew without looking that Rauul would be watching from the front window of the wagon box and he could imagine his men making ready to burst out of the rear doors the moment he gave the signal. They all had bows and might have deployed already if not for the fact he was standing close to the giant. Kring was big, but he was fast and if he tried to run back to the wagon he would be caught.

  ‘What’s your plan? Sneak up behind him and put an arrow in his back?’

  ‘We need the girl.’

  ‘Then I’ll go with you. See this change in my brother for myself.’

  ‘You can’t. The High Exorcist forbids it.’

  Kring blew a breath of contempt and shook his head. ‘You think I’d turn on you, if what you’re saying is true - that our common blood would blind my eye and force my hand. You’ve much to learn of our people Ormis… If Karkus has fallen foul of some strange power, then I might be able to help. It might be possible to undo what Izle did to him.’

  ‘It wouldn’t work having you along.’

  ‘Then you’d better call your friends out because that wagon doesn’t go any further without me on it.’

  Kring was telling him the road was closed and it surely was. They might as well have stopped for a landslide. He could call the soldiers out like the giant said, but he knew it would end badly. As soon as he did, Kring would grab him or run him through with a sword. There was only one option left. ‘Alright. You can come. But you must relinquish your weapons.’

  Kring’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Ormis waited patiently while the giant weighed it up, knowing he had no option but to agree. For despite his outrage his only chance of catching up with his brother was with their help. If he decided to take root in the road a patrol would soon be along to break the stalemate and arrest him. And if he took him hostage and tried to force his company on them, then he would never make it through the Wall. He could almost see this reasoning playing out in the back of Kring’s eyes. The sun was already hot and his bald head was shining with perspiration.

  At last Kring tapped the hilt of one of his daggers. ‘Where do you want them?’

  Ormis turned to the wagon. ‘In the seat box.’

  Kring walked past him. The driver stood, flipped the lid and Kring dropped his swords in with a clang.

  ‘Daggers as well,’ Ormis said, moving around to the opposite side of the wagon. Kring complied, adding two blades that would be swords in a man’s hand. He stepped back and held his four arms out to show he was harmless. But Ormis didn’t believe it for a second. The situation had changed very little. There was enough muscle on Kring to pack the frame of a prize
bull and he was almost as dangerous with his hands as he was with his swords. But it was good enough for now.

  He gestured to the wagon and Kring heaved himself up onto the seat, dropping down next to the driver and rocking the wagon to one side. Ormis climbed up the other end and looked through the small barred window where six taught faces looked back in anticipation. ‘Kring rides with us.’

  Rauul and his men were ready to act at a moment’s notice and there would be ample opportunity to deal with their toruck problem once they reached the Wall. He raised a hand and the wagon rolled off. The caravan children resumed their play and the old lady went back to pegging out her washing. The driver stole a quick sideways glance, first at Ormis and then at Kring. It was going to be a long journey.

  The Wall

  The wagon rolled east.

  They soon reached a fork in the road that offered the last chance to turn off toward civilisation and they took the other option, beginning the long climb into the mountains. Little by little the lush green to either side gave way to a rocky terrain that was broken up only by scrawny patches of tough vegetation. The sun was high in the sky when they came beneath the beacon station at the entrance to Joebel Pass. Situated on a rocky outcrop several hundred feet above them, the station had a direct line of sight to Irongate and the Wall. If there was a threat to the Wall the beacon could be lit, alerting the watchmen in Irongate and ensuring reinforcements arrived within the hour. The two soldiers currently responsible for the task were looking down at them from beside a huge lattice of covered wood. They waved, but neither Ormis nor Kring looked up at them. Only the driver returned the salutation and he lifted a hand just before they disappeared into the pass beneath them.

  Joebel Pass was the lowest of six that ran through the mountains. Its narrowest point was a ninety-yard gouge that separated two flanks of sheer rock. Here, at the boundary of civilisation the people of the Westland had built the Wall – an enormous hulk of grey blocks that looked like a handshake between mountains. It was one of three such defences along the range, but at twenty feet thick and a hundred feet high it was by far the most substantial. Three towers rose above its castellated walls, one at its centre and one either end, through which there was access to a network of steps cut directly into the mountains. The steps ran up to a series of high ledges and nooks, some of which were furnished with small ramparts that allowed defenders to strike the rear of an attacking force.

  In its long history the defenders of the Wall had repelled two major attacks. The first time was during its construction, when a horde of quaggar struck during the night, killing most of the builders and half the guards before being forced back down the eastern side of the pass. The second time one of the jungle leviathans ventured up the pass and scaled the Wall with suckered hands and feet. It was slain on the battlements, but only after filling its sagging belly with five of its defenders. Afterwards its jawbone was claimed by the Caliste and used to create the macabre arch at the foot of the Cragg.

  The only way to the other side was via a tunnel that ran through the base of the Wall, the access to which was controlled by a heavy portcullis at either end. The Garrison Commander was in charge of the Wall’s defences, but the day to day movement of traffic through the tunnel was overseen by an exorcist. His mandate was to ensure nothing of potential detriment to the Westland came through from the east, be it of a spiritual or physical nature.

  Tucked in behind the Wall were two rows of single storey buildings built into the sides of the pass. On the north side: the garrison office, the barracks and an armoury. And on the south side: the mess hall, the stables, and a forge where the sound of punished metal currently rang out. As their wagon rumbled up to the Wall the resident exorcist swaggered out of the garrison office to greet them. When the driver brought the horses to a stop, Ormis thumped on the wagon box and spoke to the soldiers through its barred window. ‘Stretch your legs.’

  The back door swung open and Rauul and his men jumped out with four scrunches of gravel. They took up positions either side of the wagon and although none of them looked directly at the giant they kept him in their peripheral vision as they kicked at mountain shale.

  Ormis jumped down and strode over to meet the exorcist who doffed his hat, exposing his face to the full force of the sun. ‘Ormis Brathra. Been sent for some real work eh?’ He extended a hand and the two men shook, the mist stones on their middle fingers pulsing synchronous green light.

  ‘Looks to me like you’re the one kicking your heels Cal,’ Ormis replied without humour.

  Cal laughed anyway. ‘Aye most of the time I am. But there’s need for one of us up here. Only last week a soldier came through with a spirit demon. You would never have known to look at him. But you should have seen the others scatter when it caught in my scour and he started to jerk. Right lively bugger it was.’ He smiled broadly. ‘You should think of me as an unsung hero – a handsome and fearless guardian of the West.’

  Ormis simply nodded as if Cal was imparting a serious opinion of himself. He was one of the few exorcists that still tried to joke with him, but he didn’t see the point of senseless banter and wasn’t one to reward persistence. He reached into his cloak and handed Cal the document Beredrim had provided him with. ‘Seven for Rockspur.’

  Cal laughed loudly and the mountains stole the sound, carrying it away in depreciating echoes and giving it a final hearing in some distant gully. ‘Where else you gonna go? They say there isn’t a funny bone in your body. But they’re wrong my friend.’ Ormis’s face hardened and his stony gaze took the wind out of his good humour. Cal shook his head in defeat and opened the parchment. He scowled and looked at the wagon. ‘Beredrim’s rotating men? But we’re not due a relief for another month.’

  Ormis shrugged and used the opportunity to follow Cal’s gaze. The Elite Guard had ironed out their wrinkles and looked like four hovering falcons making ready to swoop. Rauul was watching for his signal and only the jut of his chin betrayed the coiled tension in his casual posture.

  Kring was still sitting on the wagon and was watching with the rest of them. He knew the giant would be hoping he would keep his word and take him through. But he was a man of his word only when it was freely given. The giant had forced himself on their company and this was as far as he was going.

  ‘Kring, Suula, four soldiers and an herbalist…’ said Cal, reading from the parchment. He looked to where Suula stood with Kye and the driver, fifty yards or so to the rear of the wagon. ‘…Looks a bit young.’ Kye’s face was a picture, his eyes undecided between the Wall and the situation unfolding around him. ‘So what are you up to then? You gonna throw this bored head a bone?’

  Ormis didn’t hear the question. He had approached the gate master only to give Rauul’s men enough time to take up position and stretch themselves out. He was about to give Rauul the signal when a booming voice filled the pass.

  ‘Kring!’

  The baritone belonged to another toruck. He emerged from the forge and lumbered down the incline towards the wagon, passing between Rauul and Kail and giving them the look of sulky children. He was almost bald on top, with a thick red beard and a scar down one cheek. Ormis recognised him as Janix, the next toruck in line to take up a protectorship role for the Caliste.

  His opportunity to relieve himself of Kring was now hanging in the balance. He knew it and so did Rauul’s men. Five hundred pounds of muscle and freshly sharpened steel had just strolled in on his plans and was about to clasp hands with his countryman. He didn’t respond to Cal’s question, but his fellow exorcist saw the concern on his face and looked over at the wagon.

  Janix shook with Kring in the traditional toruck way, with left hands below and right hands on top. ‘Good to see yer Kring. It’s been too long.’

  ‘Good to see you too Janix…You been bashing out some nicks? I hope they were well gotten.’

  ‘Aye. Got into a tight spot with a quaggar raiding party. They’re getting bolder, but I gave them something to think a
bout.’

  Kring half smiled. ‘I bet you did.’

  ‘Going through a bit light aren’t you?’ Janix said, frowning at Kring’s empty scabbards.

  Kring tapped the seat box. ‘They’re all here. Needed to pay a visit to the smithy myself.’

  Janix looked at him doubtfully. ‘And you thought to bring them up here in that?’

  Kring shifted in his seat and brought his two lower arms together for just a second - creating a symbol from two separate tattoos. Up till then Janix had been leaning on the wagon. But when he glimpsed the symbol he straightened up, looking around at Rauul and his men as if seeing them for the first time. Then he took a casual sidestep so that Kail was no longer directly behind him.

  ‘Have you seen anything of Karkus?’ Kring asked after a knowing look passed between them. When Janix hesitated he lowered his voice. ‘What’s wrong? Give it to me straight now. I’ve heard some strange talk already.’

  Janix took a quick look behind him to where Ormis stood with Cal, realising now that their conversation was the focal point of interest for everyone in the pass. ‘Karkus went through with Argol and Rox a couple of hours ago. I saw them from the forge, but I’m afraid to say I didn’t come down to talk…We’ve not been getting on too well of late. They’ve been ranging east from Rockspur every day. Out at dawn and back at sunset. They make their reports and go back out again – no time for banter or chewing the fat. I sat down to scran with them a couple of days back but they barely spoke a word to me. It’s like they got a dose of mist, but the symptoms aren’t quite the same. I don’t know what’s going on with them, but maybe you can knock their heads together… Everything alright between you and him?’