The Huntsman's War, page 14
“M—” Gregan swallowed, trying to work moisture back into a mouth that had suddenly gone very dry. “Madam Governor.” The title hung in the air as he took a breath, “Are you familiar with the Lord’s Rite?”
She jerked in her saddle, blinking in apparent surprise. “I am. Yes, I am. But I have not the skill, I would not know where to begin.”
“I can show you,” Gregan said. “I just thought, this being your first hunt—”
“No. I mean, yes.” She hopped down from her horse and took the knife, flashing him a quick smile. “I would be honored to receive the Lord’s Rite.”
Gregan turned, leading her to the beast, but they’d only gone a couple of steps when Ironshaw suddenly spoke up. “Hey, Gregan! Mind if I take a look at the thing?” Gregan did not have to fake a scowl as he turned to look at Ironshaw, who sat there with a small smile. “I’ll stay out of the way. I’m just curious.”
I am your God, Gregan. I have given you your life, your purpose, your hounds. You have debt, Gregan. I am calling on you to repay that debt.
Sighing, Gregan gestured over his shoulder, hoping he didn’t show how much the motion hurt him. “Fine. Come on.”
Grinning, Ironshaw hopped down from his horse.
War is a time for hard men.
And that was true; Gregan knew that! Did that really excuse the actions of those hard men?
They walked closer, Ironshaw putting himself on Gregan’s left, directly behind Kenat. The governor was spinning the knife in her hand, but she never took her eyes off the cockatrice. “So where do I begin?”
Bodies hanging from trees above the road. I am the light that holds away the darkness. Gregan gestured toward the beast’s neck. “Start there, under the chin.”
A whole town watched in resigned silence as their friends and neighbors were hanged, one after the other, for crimes that had been contrived by a thug. I am the fire that drives away the inhuman.
Kenat knelt by the beast’s chin and placed the tip of her blade at the nape of the jawbone. “Here?” As she asked, Ironshaw positioned himself between Gregan and Kenat.
A store house was filled with people who screamed and begged and wept as they were burned alive. I am the shield that preserves civilization.
“Exactly,” Gregan said, watching as Ironshaw slid his blade out from its sheath. “Just slice the skin on down. Open it up.”
She nodded, staring as she made the cut, intent on her work. Ironshaw hefted his own knife.
A small girl stood beside the table, being inspected for this man’s use.
I am the sword that slays the nightmare!
Gregan’s sword was in his hand, and he spun around the man, bringing his blade around to deflect the dagger as it fell toward the governor.
VIII
Blades met, and a shudder ran up Gregan’s arm into his ribs. Pain lanced through his side and, as the dagger was deflected, he forced himself to take a step back, one foot behind the other, blade raised in a guard as Ironshaw turned to him, face white with fury. Gregan had a second to consider his position. Not good. His ribs were cracked, if not broken, and even just breathing was painful. And of course, it had to be his left side, the side he favored to keep forward. His shoulder ached, and he was exhausted, still feeling the effects of the crash. So… definitely not good.
And despite all this, he was suddenly more at peace than he had been in weeks.
Someone screamed, and Gregan couldn’t stop his eyes flicking to the side just in time to see a Collective guard go down, blood spewing from his neck in a crimson arc. The other Collective guards were scrambling to recover, drawing their weapons as the Black Fist men closed on them.
“You know,” Ironshaw spat, flipping his knife into a reverse grip, “I’m not even surprised.” He unhooked his mace from its place on his belt and began to advance. Behind him, Kenat had twisted to see what had caused the disturbance. She did not look shocked, scared, or even angered. Gods, the woman looked… interested? As if she was idly curious to see what would happen next.
“Uhh, Greg?”
Taking a step back from Ironshaw, Gregan glanced to the side to see Jellod, Tiod, Rickton, and Kizen standing to the side, each looking lost in the new situation. Damn, they’re going to hate me for this. Gregan spat out, “Will of the Gods!”
They listened, thank the Eight. They didn’t understand and they didn’t have to. The old short hand from their days in war still worked. Tiod’s face became hard, and he turned toward the mercenaries, drawing his sword. Jellod went to one knee, eyes glowing green, and motioned for Rickton and Kizen to keep the hounds back.
Gregan barely saw the others as he looked back at Ironshaw, taking another step back to maintain the distance between them. He was backing toward the cliff, which was bloody stupid, but it was his only option right now.
As men cried out and weapons clashed, Ironshaw shook his head. “Astrapor spoke very highly of you. Guess He didn’t know you as well as He thought.”
Gregan shrugged. “Maybe. But I didn’t know I was going to do this either.”
Ironshaw came in fast, blade and mace working together. Gregan blocked the knife but had to dodge out of the way of the thick mace, ducking just enough that it tickled the hair on the back of his neck. He came up with a counterattack and slash, trying to force the man to back up, but Ironshaw actually accepted the hit, letting the blade scratch across his breastplate.
Gregan gasped at the force of the blow that reverberated up his arms, into his chest. He staggered away, watching the cliff out of the corner of one eye, trying to gulp down air. Smirking, Ironshaw advanced and Gregan forced his guard to go back up, his arms trembling. To the side, he could hear the sounds of men screaming, men dying. Just had to hope it was the right ones.
The mercenary shook his head as he walked, “I thought if you were going to fail us, it would have been through cowardice. Walk away, take no part in it, but still allow it to happen. Didn’t expect you to be loyal to the Bloods.”
Gregan shook his head and his vision started to swim. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. “Fuck the Bloods.”
Ironshaw paused, surprised for the first time Gregan could recall. “So, what is this? Heroism? From you?” He threw his head back in laughter and Gregan lunged, driving his blade at the open point in the man’s armor, just above the armpit. Laughter died and Ironshaw moved easily, smacking the shaft of his mace into Gregan’s weapon and spinning as he deflected the blade. Gregan realized he was overcommitted to his attack as he lurched past the mercenary.
As he went by, Ironshaw lashed out with his elbow and lightning blossomed up Gregan’s side. He stumbled, spun, tried to lift his blade in a decent guard. His vision swam, he staggered and felt himself fall. Gods, hitting the ground hurt.
When vision finally came back, Ironshaw was kneeling over him, the blade of his knife pressed to Gregan’s throat. “You tried,” he said, tracing the line of Gregan’s neck. “But Tarbania is mine.”
A sparkle of green lights flashed by the mercenary’s head, burying themselves in the ground. The earth exploded in a shower of mud and Ironshaw was sent sprawling to the side. Something black leapt over Gregan, and Tiod was suddenly there, sword in one hand, hacking down at the mercenary over and over, trying to break through the defensive grip the man kept on his mace. Suppressing a wince, Gregan rolled unsteadily to his feet and scooped up his blade, pausing only to give Jellod a nod of thanks before turning back to the fight.
Tiod’s blade bounced off the mace again and Ironshaw’s other hand suddenly lashed out, grabbing Tiod’s broken wrist and twisting. The blackguard bellowed, raising his sword for another slash, but Ironshaw kicked Tiod’s ankle out, sending the blackguard to his knees.
Gregan bolted forward even as Ironshaw pushed himself off the ground and raised his mace for the killing blow. Gregan brought his ruby blade around with all the strength he had left, bellowing as he charged. The distraction worked. Ironshaw’s attack hesitated, and he turned to the source of the sound. He had just enough time to blink in surprise before Gregan’s sword hacked into his neck. Blood fountained into the air, splattering the back of Gregan’s cloak as he careened by, staggered from the force of the blow and his own momentum. His sword dropped from fingers too numb to hold it. He fell to his knees, gasping for air, stained crimson cloak draping over him.
When his vision cleared, Gregan staggered upright and turned to see chaos and carnage. The ground had been churned, grass flattened and ripped with pockmarks where Jellod’s magic had blasted it up. The hounds bayed in frantic confusion even as Rickton and Kizen, both looking like they’d be sick, tried to soothe them. One of the Collective guards was dead, all three of the Black Fist men were down, and Ironshaw was… well, he was taken care of.
And of course, all that meant blood. The land was stained with it and the smell, oh Gods, he remembered that smell. That thick, pungent smell of iron that clawed at his nose and made him want to sick up was as familiar to him as an old friend. Tiod got to his feet, coated in the blood. So was Jellod. And, as he touched his face, Gregan realized that he was covered too.
And in the middle of this mess, kneeling by the cockatrice and seeming entirely unconcerned by what she’d just witnessed, was Madam Governor Kenat of the Collective.
Apparently seeing the danger had passed, the woman rose and brushed off the guards who moved to check her, keeping her gaze fixed on Gregan, scrutinizing him. And, he realized, so were Tiod and Jellod. Gregan staggered forward, suppressing a wince with every step until he stood before the governor and pointed back at the headless body of Derek Ironshaw. “He was hired to kill you. Months ago, before he even contacted you. Astrapor paid him, promised him governance of Tarbania until the war was over, lordship after.”
“Astrapor? This wasn’t the will of the Gods?”
Jellod’s voice made Gregan turn to face the Thrasher, who was supporting Tiod. Jellod’s face, ruddy at the best of times, had turned a brilliant scarlet, and the blackguard’s face was lily white with pain, but both were staring at him as if they’d never seen him before. He’d lied to them. There would be consequences for that later. But, well, that was later. This was now.
Governor Kenat was nodding slowly. “And you have proof of this?”
“Not really,” Gregan admitted, “I do have a note he sent me, arranging to meet in a town called Winebridge. That was to discuss details of this plan. I was supposed to be a part of it, help give him the opportunity to take you off the board.”
“I see.” She reached up and, very gently, placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have done well. The Collective will remember this.”
“Don’t care.” Gregan shook his head. “Didn’t do this for your Gods damned Collective.”
Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. She took a step back, blinking at him before smoothing over her face and nodding. “Of course. You did it for your hounds.”
“No.”
Her face twisted in confusion. He continued, “I did it because somebody had to. Because nightmares like that man shouldn’t have power and if they do, someone has to protect those under them. Believe me if it had been my choice, I would have picked anybody else for that job other than me.”
From the side, Jellod spluttered, “The Hell am I hearing?”
Ignoring the Thrasher, Gregan kept his eyes fixed on Kenat. “Huntsmen are supposed to be protectors. I don’t like it, I don’t want it, that’s not who I am, but sometimes there is just no other Gods-damned choice.”
For a long time Kenat stared at him, not speaking. Her face had schooled itself back to that unreadable expression. Gregan stared back and hoped his pain wasn’t showing through. He’d admitted to being part of a conspiracy to assassinate her. She could still have him executed. Hell, that might be what he would do in her position. Wash everything away, scratch out every question mark.
The governor gave a short nod. “I see. But you believe I will be more lenient with your people?”
“There’s a reasonable side to you,” Gregan growled. “There has to be, otherwise you would not be trusted to manage the city of a God, isn’t that right?” He barely waited for her nod before speaking. “I’m trusting you, because you’re the best hope we’ve got now.”
A small smile slid across Kenat’s face, and she reached out a hand. It only took a little effort for Gregan to make himself shake it.
They mounted in silence. Rickton and Kizen seemed uncertain what to make of this. They were eyeing Gregan with confused expressions. Jellod and Tiod though… They wouldn’t even look at him. They didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to explain it to them. He knew where his loyalty belonged, where it had to be. No God, no government, no force across the sea. No, he belonged to the people who depended on him, who trusted him to drive off the nightmares that they could not.
And after all, it was a good day to kill a monster.
Appendix
The Eight Living Gods of Asalka
Astrapor- Living God of Light
Coromatzur- Living God of Fire
Fraygar- Living God of War
Mezzurah- Living God of the Sea
Taralahine- Living God of Life
Wyldfared- Living God of Thought
Zarahendar- Living God of Time
Death- Living God of Death
Bennett Barclay, The Huntsman's War
