Too Cold to Bleed

  Contents

  Also by D.M. Murray

  1. Chained

  2. The Grandfathers

  3. Ruins

  4. Council

  5. The Takers

  6. Our Friend, Fear

  7. Where In The World

  8. Come Together

  9. First Cut

  10. Of Food And Forks

  11. Emissary

  12. All The Friends

  13. Tusk

  14. Valeswater

  15. Grantvik's Bay

  16. Table Manners

  17. Tempest

  18. Frayed

  19. Broken Things

  20. Odd-eyes

  21. Into The White

  22. Veterans

  23. The Maracost

  24. Raven Men

  25. Skulls And Drills

  26. Onwards And Upwards

  27. Cold Blood, Slow Blood

  28. The Way

  29. In The Gully

  30. Eve

  31. Resident Evil

  32. Stranger Danger

  33. Wingless Angel

  34. Bound

  35. The Bear Essentials

  36. The Truth Shall Out

  37. Bold Deeds

  38. Eye On The Prize

  39. Serkers And Flame

  40. The Wall

  41. You Take The High Road, And I'll Take The Low Road

  42. Sharp Metal

  43. Where's My Bottle?

  44. The Breaking Of Things

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Reviews

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by D.M. Murray. All right reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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  Also by D.M. Murray

  The Red Season

  Red Season Rising

  Art of War

  Rendered Chaos

  One

  Chained

  The soft chiming of metal skirted the edges of Evelyne’s consciousness. Wood rumbled and creaked, and she sensed a light breeze blowing chill and delicate about her. The sound of slow-flowing water played at her ears. Pain shot through her head and she smelled the stink of unwashed bodies. A hungry wind bit at her skin, and something cold touched her wrists and ankles. She was certain she heard sobbing, then realised it was her making the sounds.

  Evelyne tried to open her eyes, but they would not obey. She flexed her fingers, the joints stiff and weak, then touched her fingertips to her wrist. The flesh beneath the metal band was sticky in parts, and crusted in others. It all hurt. She tried to move her hands towards her ankles, but the chain connecting her wrists clanged tight. Where am I? She cast her memory back. Her mind raced through images, seeking the last thing she saw before the blackness and the dreams took her. The dreams. The creatures in my dreams. She seemed to have been dreaming for days. She still carried Dajda, of that she was sure. But the warmth of Dajda’s love was gone. All that remained in its place was a dark knot of fear, heavy and worming through her belly. Unearthly creatures – Desverukan, her father called them – haunted her thoughts. Had they killed Kal? What of Carte? Was the world torn to ruins? Evelyne felt sick.

  A horse snorted nearby and someone cleared their throat.

  “What have you done with the old man and the girls?” Evelyne croaked in a dried-out mockery of her voice.

  “You’re awake?” A deep voice sounded. There was a lightness to it, the voice of one at ease.

  Evelyne tried to open her eyes once more and saw bright light. She shut them and winced as pain shot through her eyes to the back of her skull.

  “Go easy. Take your time,” the voice said.

  The accent was Solansian.

  “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “I am Grunnxe. You may have heard of me.” The owner of the voice laughed at his own joke.

  Evelyne felt a coil of panic tighten around her throat.

  “As for where you are,” Grunnxe continued, “you are currently slumped, in a rather unladylike fashion, in the back of a caged wagon. At my command, that is. You are in Solansia, where you travel with me – and my army – to a delightful little place in the mountains. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for you, but you will just hate it.”

  “Carte.” Tears filled her eyes.

  “No, no. Certainly not. Do not waste your time thinking of Carte. The city is a shell. A ruin, populated by the dead. That world is dead now. You are part of the new world. A very treasured part, in fact.”

  Evelyne opened her eyes, slow and careful, and let the light bleed in until she saw the outline of Grunnxe. He sat astride a horse, swaying in the saddle, one hand casually gripping the reins. He turned his head to her as her eyes adjusted, and she saw a scar cut through the left brow and eye of the man, blinding him on that side. His dark beard was shot through with grey, and his hair was tied behind his head in two thick braids. He would have been handsome but for the violent history etched across his face, and the madness residing in those eyes. Those eyes. I’ve seen them before. Before the cloth came over my mouth. Before that sweet smell flooded in and clouded everything.

  Evelyne’s vision swayed and her mind was foggy. An intense pressure throbbed at the back of her skull and a dull ache stretched down the back of her neck. She looked about her and realised she was surrounded by filth. Hay and dirt clung to her bare feet and legs. She was wearing a stained grey robe, with ragged tears exposing her ribs and a deep cowl in the neck leaving her breasts partly exposed. The stink of her suddenly rose up and she gagged.

  Grunnxe laughed. “Not pleasant, is it?” He leaned across to her in the saddle. “May be the best way to keep these horny fuckers off you, believe me!” He inclined his head behind her.

  She looked up from the squalor that surrounded her and craned her head back. Behind her stretched Grunnxe’s army. Thousands strong, the broad expanse of soldiers stretched like a great black snake across the featureless and undulating landscape of grassland. Grey clouds gathered overhead and a peal of thunder rumbled across the sky before them. Evelyne shivered and tried to hug herself.

  “Are you cold?” Grunnxe asked. “I’m not a monster; you only need to ask, and I shall provide for you. You are my honoured guest, after all.”

  “I remember demons. Where are they?”

  “Ah, the children of our true God.” Grunnxe smiled wistfully at her. “They are absent for now, while the divine Balzath recovers his strength. It won’t be long, I assure you.”

  “Where are the girls?” Evelyne snapped the words with more aggression than she thought wise, but she didn’t care much for consequences. If Dajda was trapped within her, it only required she die for Dajda to be freed. Grunnxe could suffer her aggression.

  “Now, now,” Grunnxe replied in a mocking tone. “I don’t want you making demands of me. You may be my honoured guest, but I’m not beyond peeling pieces off my guests. A touch more courtesy, please.”

  “Where is Olmat? Where are the girls?” Evelyne asked, her tone not softening one bit.

  “I can see there’s little point in reasoning with you. You’re a stubborn one.” The King of Solansia lifted his left hand to his face and frowned as he inspected his fingernails. “The thing with blood is, I can never seem to wash it all away. It gets into all the cracks and notches of these old hands.”

  “What di
d you do to them?”

  Grunnxe stared ahead in silence.

  “What did you do to them? Answer me!”

  “I have grown weary of you for today. Stop the wagon,” Grunnxe commanded the driver.

  The wagon jolted to a halt. Evelyne winced as the metal about her wrists tore open the scabs.

  Grunnxe had stopped his great black horse and stepped down from the saddle. He turned his back on Evelyne and reached into the saddle pouch, pulling free a square of cloth and a blue glass bottle. He uncorked the bottle and turned it upside down onto the cloth.

  “What’s that?” Evelyne asked, irritated by the tremble in her voice. You know what it is. The smell.

  Grunnxe turned to face the cage and put one hand on the chain connecting to Evelyne’s wrists.

  “No,” Evelyne growled, tears hot in her eyes. “Not again!”

  “Come now, don’t fight, blah, blah, blah.” Grunnxe pulled the chain with such force that Evelyne lurched forward, her brow slamming into a bar of the cage. She saw stars. The cloth wrapped over her nose and mouth, and she was flooded by a sweet, warm smell. The pain throbbed at the back of her skull, and a fog settled over her mind. Her vision clouded, and she heard Kalfinar’s voice.

  You’ve given me your strength.

  “Maybe today you will be a little more polite than the last time you came round. What do you say?” The voice rang metallic in Evelyne’s ears.

  She opened her eyes and light stabbed at her. She shut them again and swallowed the feeling of sickness that washed over her. The pounding at the back of her head had worsened, and she tasted chemicals on her swollen, dry tongue.

  “Would you like some water?” the voice asked.

  “Water.” She stretched her hand towards the voice, feeling the cold pain of the metal on her wrist. She remembered the chains and the wagon. She remembered Grunnxe, and the cloth about her face. A cup was placed in her trembling hands, and she felt water spill on to her wrist. It felt good. She brought the cup up to her mouth; metal touched her dry, cracked lips and cold water spilled into her mouth, tasting better than anything before.

  “You’ve not drank much for a few days.”

  Evelyne remembered to open her eyes slowly, allowing her eyes to adjust. The light was reddish. It seemed like dawn.

  “You’ve not eaten much, either. Mind you, none of us have.”

  She looked up and saw the King of Solansia. He had one leg propped up on the wagon wheel and he leaned his thick, hairy forearms on that knee. He reached for the cup she had drained.

  “Want some more?”

  She nodded and handed the cup back.

  “What do we say?” He narrowed his eyes, a thin smile creeping onto his lips as he played with her.

  “Please, Your Highness.”

  “Well!” Grunnxe smiled and stepped back from the wagon. “I wasn’t expecting ‘Your Highness.’ A ‘please’ would have been progress today. Perhaps you’re not as stubborn as I thought.” He filled the metal cup from his own waterskin and handed it back to Evelyne. “Perhaps today we can grant you a shawl, to keep this wind off you.” He looked off into the distance. “If everyone behaves today, we may even have some food to give to you.”

  Evelyne drank the water in three great gulps, the cold liquid flooding her belly and causing it to ache. Hunger gnawed at her, and she felt a sickness well within her belly once again. She looked about and saw there were dozens of huge trees in front of her. They were on a high hill, and the plain stretched all around, semi-lit by the early morning light. In the distance there appeared to be a town. Metal ground against stone, and Evelyne looked around her. Soldiers were sharpening their weapons. Realisation dawned on her. She looked up at Grunnxe, and the king was smiling at her.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “I thought you said we were in Solansia. Aren’t these your people?”

  “They are.” He adopted a look of benign innocence. “But if they don’t give me what I ask for, what is rightfully mine, then I will have to become a vengeful king, and take it for myself.”

  Evelyne looked at the weapons around her, glistening red in the light of the rising sun.

  “You are hungry, aren’t you?”

  Her stomach growled. “I’d rather starve.”

  Grunnxe laughed and wagged a finger at her. “Now, we certainly don’t want you to starve. We need you to be perfectly fit and well, young lady. You are our most valued and treasured guest.” His face twisted into an expression of anger. “But if you don’t like the food I present to you, then I’m more than happy to teach you another day’s worth of manners. How does that sound?”

  Evelyne swallowed her fear; she knew the cloth was coming. Dajda give me strength. She mustered every thread of defiance she could and stared coldly back at the old king. “Do what you must. Your words bore me.”

  Grunnxe laughed and nodded at her. “Good.” He smiled like a wolf before a babe. “You just keep up this act. But remember this: for you, yes, it will result in some less than kind treatment from me. But for others, it will mean much, much worse.” He turned his head towards one of the soldiers lingering in the background, looking down at the town beyond the ridge. “Captain Rinsell.” The man turned in an instant and snapped a crisp salute, his heels clacking together like two blocks of dry wood. “Very good, nice salute, thank you. When you and your men take this town, can you follow the wishes of our very beautiful guest here, and extend to them my warmest thanks for their goods and services?”

  “The very warmest, Your Highness.”

  “Roasting hot.” The crinkle at the side of Grunnxe’s head suggested he was smiling. He turned his head back to Evelyne, the smile slithering from his face to be replaced by the sneer of anger once again. “You see, my little caged bird, I can be most kind indeed. But if you wish to witness my scorn, I will make sure I spill it across this world for you to see.” He uncinched the neck of the leather pouch that hung at his hip. Then he reached one scarred hand into the pouch and pulled free the cloth, then the blue glass bottle. He smiled at Evelyne again as he uncorked the bottle with his teeth. He tipped the bottle back, allowing some of the contents onto the cloth, before fixing the cork back in place. “Hells!” He whistled, and his eyes widened. “I got a whiff of the stuff. It’s potent. Can’t think that’s good for you in too large a dose. Do you?”

  Grunnxe stepped towards her. He hauled on the chain, and she thumped against the rough metal bars of the wagon cage again. The sweet smell flooded her as the cloth closed about her mouth and nose. Then black.

  Two

  The Grandfathers

  “Hurry it up, crippled bastard. We don’t got all morning to wait about for you to stretch that twisted peg of yours, do we?”

  “Sorry, Paw.” Ruah drew her gaze from the red sunrise that bled up into the sky behind the Grandfathers. She stopped rubbing at her ruin of a left leg and lolloped after Old Man Paw. The familiar rhythm of pain flared, and she grimaced as she moved.

  “‘Sorry,’ she says. I’m the sorry one. Winning only half an apprentice at the Long Moon Fayre.” Paw clapped Ruah a playful slap on the back of her ginger head as she moved ahead of him with an ugly gait. “You know, muck slinging ain’t the shit job all them others make it out to be. We provide a good service up here. After all, who else is gonna pick up the shit cakes and dry them out? How else folk gonna keep their homes warm, or get their cook fires lit? Dajda knows there ain’t enough good trees round these parts to break a breath of that damn wind, never mind keep the town's fire’s burning. And the last thing I need, being so important and all, is to have the likes of you, my half an apprentice, spend half the morning gawking at the Grandfathers. I know they’re nice and all, and sure as shit burns bright and stinking, the sun looks mighty fine coming up as she does behind them in the morning so, but we got work to be doing. So quit the dumb cripple act, and get to work.”

  “Sorry, Paw,” Ruah mumbled as she rubbed at the back of her head. Every morning for four years
the same pretend rant from Paw, and every morning the clap across the head. “I’m grateful, I am. I’ll hitch Mavis to the muck cart and bring it down.”

  “Aye. That’s better. Fetch her quick; it’s cold out here, and my old blood’s thin from last night’s brandy.” He flashed her his ugly smile, a contented man falling comfortably into his happy routine.

  “Dajda’s sake, Mavis,” Ruah chided the old mule hitched to the front of the muck cart, “how’d you go and get clogged down?” Ruah limped through the deep churn of mud and inspected the blockage. “Told Paw not to sell Mable. Needed the two of you to haul the cart.”

  She walked back to the front of the cart and grabbed the strapping where the old mule Mable used to get hitched. Ruah fixed the leather strap from the muck wagon around her shoulders. She stabbed her good leg into the shin-deep clay of the yard and pushed. A length of her red hair flopped down over her face, and she blew upwards to shift it. Didn’t work. The hair tickled at her freckled nose. Ruah gritted her teeth and pulled. The muck wagon grudgingly gave way, causing her to move with a clumsy step onto her thin and gnarled left leg for an instant. A stab of pain shot up her thigh and into her back, continuing in its travels to stab at the nape of her skull and fizz around her ear.