Too Cold to Bleed Page 2

  “Dajda, give me strength,” she whispered.

  Ruah found her rhythm. Breathe, step, pain, pray. Breathe, step, pain, pray. The mud on the ground – cold and sticky – varied between ankle- and knee-deep. It wasn’t long before Ruah’s leather breeches were caked in the stuff.

  “Fucking morning muck.” She snorted and spat out a gob of phlegm, steeling herself. She focused on the Grandfathers and the promise of faint warmth from the rising sun behind.

  The Grandfathers was the name given to the ridgeline covered in one hundred giant, ancient oak trees, the last remaining ancient stand of trees in the Eastflows of Solansia. Standing dark against the red sunrise, the Grandfathers never failed to capture her imagination. The highest, and only interesting thing about the plains of the Eastflows, they offered purchase for her imagination as she pulled the muck wagon.

  “Amongst the Grandfathers men of war stand, with bellies empty and weapons in hand, their blackened forms back-lit by red, in minutes hence we’ll all be dead.” Ruah mumbled the childhood rhyme and smirked to herself.

  “It’d be a fucking mercy to the likes of you,” a voice called from behind.

  The voice startled Ruah, causing her twisted leg to slip in the mud. She crashed to the ground and winced as the pain shot through her.

  “Here, let me help you.” The owner of the voice approached

  Ruah looked up from the dirt to see Selby standing over her, a sneer corrupting her perfect face.

  “Get fucked, Selby. Haven’t you got some cock to be plucking?” Ruah struggled to get purchase in the mud with her good foot.

  Selby moved aside and swept Ruah’s good foot from under her, sending her sprawling in the mud again. “Maybe you should be more polite to your elders, Twisty.”

  At sixteen summers, Selby was a year older and already promised to Administrator Dhendrin’s son, Halpern. Overn Station’s golden couple. A right pair of perfect bastards. Ruah cooled her temper for a moment in the mud, recalling Selby’s kindness when they were children. She sometimes wished she wasn’t such a coward, always trying to see the good in folk. It was hopeless. Selby would always be the same, and so there was no point fighting. Ruah’s anger was swallowed up in the moment.

  “Selby, I just want to get on. I’ve work to do. Don’t want to keep Old Man Paw waiting. You can have your fun later.” Ruah hauled herself onto her knees and wiped the dirt from her face.

  “Go on, then. Back off to your shit cakes with that dirty old bastard.” Selby kicked a clod of mud into Ruah’s chest and walked off.

  Ruah sighed for a long moment and sucked in a deep, cold breath. She clenched her teeth and hauled herself back up to her feet, steeling herself once more to find her rhythm. Breathe, step, pain, pray. Breathe, step, pain, pray.

  “Never you mind that bony-arsed little cock-plucker, Roo,” Paw said as he scooped up the cattle shit and slapped it into the muck wagon. “She’s not got half the smarts or looks of my apprentice.”

  “With a golden tongue like that, Paw, it seems madness you never took a wife.”

  “Aye, well, I’d have taken me a wife, thanks be to my tongue and such, but when you have a face like a dried-up old arse and come home smelling of shit, it’s hard to pull off.”

  He rasped a laugh. It was a sickly sound, all wet and crackly, but it always made Ruah smile. The creak of that old wagon and the laugh of that old man were about the only sounds of comfort Ruah could recall. Those, and the fading memory of that bloody awful lullaby her mother sang to her when she was little. Before the Scale Lung took her and left Ruah alone.

  “Where’s it for today, then?” Paw asked as he scooped another load of cow shit and slapped it down into the wagon.

  Ruah straightened up with her shovel and looked at the old man. “There’s still enough here to keep us going for a few hours yet.”

  “No, child. Morning dew has this stuff here too wet. Think, think,” Paw implored as he fished out a small cinched pouch of tabac. “Where’s good stuff today?”

  They had stopped the wagon east of Overn Station to collect the muck from where Fourteenth Herd had been grazing the day before. Ruah looked across the plain to the east. The sun was up now, but the sky was still a pinkish orange, topped with peach clouds. She pursed her lips and squinted up at the Grandfathers.

  “Weren’t any fucking cattle up there, child,” Paw said as he lit his pipe and drew in the yellow smoke between a half-toothless grin.

  “Not for the muck,” Ruah mumbled. “There’re folk up there. Look. Between the trees.”

  “What of it? Can’t burn people on our fires, can we? Well, we could.” He cackled to himself. “Maybe that Selby. Wouldn’t be much of a fire, though; there’s less fat on her than you. And you’re naught but a half-starved little sparrow.”

  “Paw,” Ruah scolded. “Look!” She pointed towards the Grandfathers and inclined her head. “I’m not saying again.”

  “Fine.” He turned around and looked at the tall stand of trees high up on the ridgeline. “Aye. A fair bastarding few people.”

  “What should we do?” Ruah asked.

  “Nothing. Keep working,” Paw said as he moved the end of his pipe between his teeth and bent down to shovel up more muck.

  “Aren’t you scared it’s bandits? Shouldn’t we get back to the station and warn folk?”

  “Scared? No, child. Scared is storming the walls of Apula with those pissing trench rats firing arrows down on you. Scared isn’t living out here, or bandits. You’ve lived out here long enough to know there’s naught else to do but accept it. You worry too much, child. If them there folk up on that hill have any ill intent on us, I dare say we’ll learn it soon enough.” Paw straightened up and looked over at the Grandfathers. “Look, Roo, if they’re coming this way, and looking none too friendly, we’ll go back. Walls of the station are tall enough that any bandits will just have to pass on by. How’s that?”

  “Aye,” she said, her eyes never leaving the tree line.

  “Now get shovelling. Shit don’t shovel itself. I know you know that.”

  “Ain’t it too wet?”

  “Naw. It’s fine. This muck’ll do fine. We’ll get it half dried before we cake it.” Paw glanced over his shoulder towards the Grandfathers.

  “Aye,” Ruah said, watching the old man. Aye, you’re scared, Paw. Ah, shit! Now I’m really scared.

  “Paw.” Ruah didn’t care about the tremble in her voice. “They’re coming this way. There’s a whole lot of them, too.”

  “What?” The old man straightened with a grimace and a couple of audible pops. “Oh, Dajda’s tits, the old back’s sore today. Now, let’s see.” He turned around and looked in the direction of the Grandfathers. The sun was fully up, and the orange sky was replaced by a bright blue haze. The sun’s wintry light cast scant warmth over the rolling plains of yellow-green grass, a carpet that ran for endless miles, dipping into small gullies and scrubby woods of stunted, sickly trees. The most visible landmark was the tall ridge, and the magnificent old oaks that sprung from its top.

  Ruah watched as Paw scanned the ground between them and the Grandfathers. Her stomach twisted with unease as she saw Paw’s pipe sag from where it was pinched tight between his teeth. She looked towards the large body of men closing the distance across the plain in the direction of Overn Station. “Paw?”

  The old man said nothing.

  “Paw, what’re you thinking?” She glanced back at the advancing body, still a good distance from them. “They’ve got weapons. Can see the glint in the sun.”

  “Shit! Aye, I can see them,” he grumbled. He looked back towards Ruah. “Maybe we'd best be getting on.”

  “Aye.” Amongst the Grandfathers men of war stand, with bellies empty and weapons in hand, their blackened forms back-lit by red, in minutes hence we’ll all be dead.

  Ruah looked over her shoulder. The wagon jolted over the bumpy ground and sent a shot of pain from her twisted knee up into her back. She winced as the pain fizzed
up towards her skull. They were definitely coming this way, of that there was no doubt. And they had weapons. Lots of weapons.

  She faced forwards again. The palisade walls of Overn Station were close now. Close enough, likely, for the watchers above the open gates to see the fear in Paw’s eyes, and probably smell it from Ruah’s breeches too.

  “Raiders!” Ruah shouted tremulously, hating the fear in her voice.

  “No shit, Twisty!” the watcher replied. “You two shit-fuckers better hurry it up, or we’ll shut you out.”

  “Halpern,” Paw grumbled, eyes narrowed at the young man on the walls. “Always has to be a prick.”

  “Aye,” Ruah said quietly, chastened by Halpern’s words. Three years her senior, and grown tall and broad now, he’d been tormenting her for as long as she could remember.

  The wagon rattled up the final distance and passed into the thick churned mud of the main street. The gates slammed shut behind them as Paw pulled up on Mavis’ reins.

  “You two shit-fuckers not think about coming in sooner?” Halpern called from behind. “Didn’t you see the host of men coming?” He walked up to where Paw was sat on the seat of the wagon. “I should take that horsewhip and beat you with it for putting us all at risk.”

  Ruah watched as Halpern approached Paw. The old man stared straight up the main street, avoiding Halpern’s eyes. People criss-crossed between rows of two-storeyed wooden buildings. Windows shut, doors slammed. Some windows opened again, arrows peeking out like curious little wasps.

  Halpern persisted. “Aren’t you fucking listening to–”

  Paw’s heel crashed into Halpern’s face, sending him onto his arse in the churned mud. Paw turned his head towards the stricken watchman.

  “Naw, you listen to me, you little prick. I’ve seen more raids and bloodshed in my life than you’ll ever dread to experience. So why don’t you take your fear-reeking bravado, and shove it right up your quivering arsehole, where your brain can keep it company.”

  Halpern lay groaning in the mud, bright red blood bubbling from his burst lips and down his chin and neck.

  Ruah didn’t know whether to cheer in triumphant fury, or keep her mouth shut for fear of retribution at Halpern’s hands. Her left leg twitched with a desire to replicate the action, then she was distracted by the pain. It twitched again, and her whole body fizzed with agony. Bastard of a leg.

  “You two. What did you see?” Administrator Dhendrin approached, her oddly deep voice drawing Ruah’s attention.

  “Good morning, Administrator!” Paw said with a leering smile. “Looking ever beautiful and authoritative this fine morning.”

  “Shut your hole, Paw,” the administrator snapped back. She pointed to Halpern as he was helped out of the mud by two other watchmen. “You mind not kicking the shit out of everyone able to hold a spear in this fucking town?”

  “Ach.” Paw dismissed her with a wave of his liver-spotted hand. “I’ve been holding a spear longer than that boy of yours has been holding his little cock. He was asking for it. Nothing but a flapping arse for a mouth.”

  “Aye, that he does. Takes after his father in that respect,” Dhendrin said. “But we’ll need him. What did you see?”

  “Men, lots of them. With sharp things. Raiders, you know?”

  “Right you are,” Dhendrin said. She cleared her throat. “Rollins, Finnick, get the auxiliaries armed now. Halpern, clean yourself up and get back on the wall. And try not to be a prick all the time. Paw, Twisty, get that wagon up there behind the gate. Block it up with whatever else you can. It’s been a while since we’ve seen bandits in this number. It’s gonna be a hard morning. Anyone able, get yourself something to hand that can brain a man.”

  Three

  Ruins

  Kalfinar dragged the body through the slush of sooty snow and blood-stained rubble, then looked over his shoulder towards the mound of bodies outside the walls of Carte. He looked back down at the milky-white eyes of the corpse, at the yawning mouth and the blood-smeared chin. The body had belonged to a man at one stage, but that soul had passed with the unnatural plague that ravaged the city. All that made the man, all that was good, was gone. What filled the void was a blackness. A demon was the last to inhabit that body. A demon that had killed and fed on the very people Kalfinar was now responsible for protecting.

  Evelyne’s face clouded his thoughts, distracting him from the still-smoking ruin of the city. Her laugh, with its gentle warmth that so unburdened him, deafened him to the plaintive cries of the population. Their sorrowful wailing sounded a lament to all that was now lost, all those families torn apart and left as broken things in the ruins. Kalfinar knew now his loss was no longer a special case. It was all around him. He was no longer alone in suffering a gnawing and constant pain. He was the chief marshal of Carte, of the Free Provinces, and it was his responsibility to steer the course through the sea of despair. No matter the cost to him, the needs of the people came before his own. Or so it was expected. I have to get you back. I will get you back.

  “Over here,” Broden said, calling Kalfinar over to the mound of bodies. “Got a nice spot picked out.”

  Kalfinar hauled the corpse and dumped it at the base. The pile was half as tall as a house, and twice as wide. “That’s the last of them.” Kalfinar straightened and winced. “That we’ve been able to find, anyway.”

  “Good. Be glad to see them burned.” Broden rested a heavy, grime-stained hand on Kalfinar’s shoulder. “You all right?”

  “Aye.” Kalfinar rubbed a forearm across his sweating brow.

  The temperature was freezing, but the work of the last three days had been non-stop. After Grunnxe’s army had retreated, and disappeared, the creatures remaining had dropped lifeless where they stood. The demons that inhabited the corpses had departed, leaving nothing but the husks of their hosts. The work since that moment had been relentless. Citizen and soldier alike battled to extinguish the fires that hungrily feasted on the city. In some parts it was hopeless, and large parts of Carte had been left as nothing but smouldering echoes of a better time. Greasy pillars of black and yellow smoke stretched to the heavy, dark clouds, spreading wide and low over the city. All that remained now was a people exhausted, and a city sounding its death rattle as scorched buildings tumbled one after another.

  Kalfinar stood alongside a crowd of the sorriest-looking survivors he had ever seen. Wan faces looked on at the massed corpses. The troops and citizens who had assisted in retrieving the last of the creatures' bodies were covered from head to toe in filth, and had the look of vagrants – except, of course, that vagrants had more sparkle in their eyes, and a damn sight more food in their bellies. It gnawed at Kalfinar that in mere days, citizens would begin to starve. He had dispatched riders to the surrounding townships with orders to bring in as much as could possibly be spared. But he knew in his heart that a nation already beset by crop failures for two years, and now in the grip of winter, would not be able to reap any kind of harvest amongst its people. They would have a winter famine. There was no avoiding it. And the Free Provinces would be on their knees. He knew it was his responsibility to feed them, no matter what the cost to him. It was to be expected, after all.

  I will find you, and bring you back, if it costs me everything. I would trade this whole city, such that it is, for you, my love.

  “Want to do the honours?” Broden nudged Kalfinar in the side with his elbow. He handed the burning torch across. Kalfinar regarded his cousin in the moment. Normally one to be smiling, no matter how impossible or grim the situation, it was clear even Broden was hurting. Kalfinar took the torch and nodded in thanks. He waited for those pouring oil over the corpses to empty their vessels and step back, then Kalfinar tossed the flaming torch. It landed on the stomach of what appeared to have once been a little girl. Her hair was curly and brown, but her eyes shone fully white. Her chin was stained with blood.

  The flames spread quickly, covering the massive pile. Kalfinar hawked phlegm and spat on the bla
zing mass. He turned and walked away through the dirty slop that now covered the unpaved ground before him.

  Broden walked through the puddles and filth beside him, exchanging hollow encouragements with those he passed. Kalfinar barely looked up at them, determined to get back to the High Command.

  “We need to find her,” Kalfinar said quietly as they made their way through the east gate and into the city.

  “Aye,” Broden said with grim determination.

  Kalfinar stopped and turned to the bigger man. He stepped in close, and looked about him. “There is an expectation, and rightly so, that I stay here and help rebuild what is left of the city. To feed the people, and to establish some defensive capability.”

  “There is,” Broden replied simply.

  “But I can’t.” Kalfinar stared hard at him. “I need to get her back.”

  “We all want her back, Kal. For Dajda’s sake, we need her back.”

  “I must go after her.”

  “Others can go, Kal.”

  “No. It has to be me.”

  “The city will not allow it.”

  Kalfinar lowered his head, staring between his mud-caked boots, the leather soaked through to his feet. “I have to go.”

  “Dajda, Kal. You’re the chief marshal. You’ve no place running off.”

  “My place is with her.”

  “Your place is with your people. Let me go. I’ll bring her back.”

  “No, Broden.” Kalfinar noticed passers-by watching them, and he lowered his voice. “No. I have to go. I’m not built for office. Neither of us are.”

  Broden nodded with a slight smile. “Aye, right enough. But it’s no use. They’ll not let you go. You may as well forget it.”

  “Forget it?” Kalfinar snapped off the words, surprised by his own aggression in the moment. “Forget her?”