God of Broken Things

Chapter 11

After a hurried breakfast of bread and cheese and a brief spell of morning weapon training, we packed up and hiked through a gentle snowfall up into a wider valley dotted with small farmholds like the one we had passed earlier. All were deserted with no livestock to be seen. Ice-rimmed streams gushed from clefts in the rock face and gathered in the centre of the valley to form a long, narrow lake before taking the lengthy and winding route southwards to reach Barrow Hill and the sea beyond. Tall weatherpitted standing stones jutted from the earth in an apparently haphazard fashion, monoliths left in their ancient seats by superstitious Clansfolk despite taking up prime farmland on the fertile valley floor.

Being geomancers, Cormac and Granville took great interest in the stones, but didn’t have time to do more than a cursory inspection with their magic. Whatever they did find troubled them, and as we marched they remained deep in conversation for several hours.

We kept a wary eye on the handful of bone vultures circling on the air currents high above the valley, watching us. Eva had to restrain our aggravated aeromancer Bryden from using his power to pluck the creatures from the sky. “Not yet,” she said to him. “Never show your hand until you have to.” I caught her glance in my direction as she said it.

I flashed a grin. The mask made it difficult to gauge her expression but she withdrew from my presence and kept her distance. It was probably another mistake, but why should I treat her any different now just because of scars and physical damage? I knew exactly how shallow the flesh was, and I’d liked her. Wasn’t normality what she wanted? I sighed and as we marched onwards I stared up at the fat, drifting snowflakes. If the ordeals of the Black Autumn had taught me anything, it was to cherish every enjoyment you could, while you could.

The valley splintered into four smaller, craggier paths, the widest route heading north east towards Kil Noth and eventually Dun Bhailiol. This was where my knowledge of the geography of the Clanholds ended. Of the valleys and holds located further west and north I had no real idea beyond a handful of names attached to barrels of ale and fine whiskies.

Eva sent scouts racing along every route while we waited, concerned that our larger force might be attacked in the rear by Skallgrim skirmishers. A half hour later word came back that no enemy had been sighted, so we began the advance. Eva and her heavily armoured battle coterie took the spearhead, marching two-abreast through deep snow, followed by Bryden, myself, Cormac, Secca, Granville and then Vincent bringing up the rear.

Even with Eva’s force ploughing a path through the snow, we found it slow, hard going. After an hour the wardens in front of us stopped dead and my nerves jangled as they readied weapons. The sky ahead was black with bone vultures.

Bryden looked to Eva, who nodded. His face burst into a wide grin. “Finally!” Wind whipped past and carried the lanky form of Bryden into the air at the centre of a swirling blizzard. He soared above the cliff walls, then higher still to survey the terrain ahead. The flock of bone vultures dived to attack him. He laughed as invisible fists of wind seized their wings and pinned them together. The things dropped like hailstones to smash against the mountainside somewhere above us, a drumming of dull thuds and very brief squawks.

A few scattered cheers erupted among the wardens. Even such a small victory lifted their moods, but for me every step just took us closer to Kil Noth, and to my grandmother.

I wasn’t nearly lucky enough for that spiteful old crow to be dust and bones in her family tomb. She was no kin of mine, whatever she claimed. My mother had fled Kil Noth as a young woman and hadn’t returned even when the madness of the voices overtook her. And six years ago I had finally discovered why.

A pulse of fear interrupted my thoughts. Bryden’s grin had vanished and he was staring hard at something in the distance. He plummeted towards us, slowing at the very last moment to land in a swirl of snow. “I see plumes of black smoke to the north east.”

I couldn’t be sure but from what he was describing it sounded like it was coming from Dun Bhailiol, the furthest east of all the Clansfolk holdfasts, and consequently the closest to occupied Ironport. It was right in the path of the Skallgrim advance, and only three days’ steady march away from us.

“Then that is welcome news for us,” Eva said. She had the good grace not to sound happy about it. “If they have stopped to siege the holdfast then it grants us more time to fortify the area around Kil Noth. Every day they delay in the Clanholds grants the Arcanum more time to take Ironport and come to our aid.”

With that we shouldered all our gear and marched quicker than ever before. At least our effort kept the winds from biting too badly, though already one or two wardens seemed to be suffering the beginnings of frostbitten fingers and toes. My group remained hale and hearty, and during a rest stop I ignored Adalwolf surreptitiously passing around a flask of cheap Docklands rum. I wasn’t about to take the last of their drink off them, not when I might have to share my own hidden flask of fine whisky in return. I took a belly-warming sip and slipped it back into my coat pocket.

We camped only a day from Kil Noth and we had still not uncovered any signs of life, just hastily abandoned homes and empty barns. Huddled around our fire, bowls at the ready, I doled out salt-beef broth and hard bread before settling down with my own. There was a little left over, but I’d leave them to argue over that. I could do without, mostly because I had a private stash of dried meat and fruit they knew nothing about. If there was one lesson that life had beaten into me, it was to look after yourself first before trying to look after others, and to always keep something back for when Lady Night’s luck flipped to the Night Bitch’s misfortune.

Dusk arrived quickly in the Clanholds, the sun dipping below the mountains to paint the snowy slopes a burning bronze. It was breathtaking; you had to give these barren and icy lands that. With the sun slumbering, Elunnai’s silvery light sparkled all along the valley, a silvery path enticing us onwards to Kil Noth, the accursed holdfast of the druí.

The campfires were eerily quiet tonight, devoid of the music and song I’d been led to expect of armies on the march. I opened my Gift to seek out the answer – they were dwelling on the enemy’s massive numbers, and after seeing the work of their flying daemons our men were now also nervous of the open sky. My leadership only made things worse, but Eva’s relentless efficiency and martial power seemed to counter that in their minds. I knew that I was pretty much just here as a sacrifice – Kil Noth wanted me back for some reason, and they were happy to use this war as leverage. They knew I would never return willingly, not unless the fate of all Kaladon hinged on it. I was a confirmed black-hearted bastard but even I wasn’t that selfish.

I couldn’t get to sleep, tossing and turning and mind racing with a thousand different thoughts; mostly dreading tomorrow. I gave up and threw on my overcoat and thick cloak, then pulled on my boots and gloves and headed out into the snow. With my Gift it wasn’t difficult to move unseen, or rather, disregarded; I wasn’t actually invisible. My footprints in the snow proved the only troublesome aspect, convincing the sentries to continually ignore them while I was away.

It was undoubtedly a stupid decision to leave camp without my guards, given we were at war and daemons were loose in these hills. But I didn’t give a rat’s arse, I needed to be alone and free of the morass of stray thoughts pressing in on me. People kept so much locked away in their heads, unsaid and unacted: flashes of anger and disgust, images of punching some annoying git in the face for scraping a metal spoon across a pot or for chewing too loud, hints of lust and filthy images… all sorts of impulses that they would never act on in reality. And yet I knew it all. People were never exactly what they portrayed on the outside – Eva was not the only one to wear a mask.

I tramped a fair way towards Kil Noth until I glimpsed the mountain it was burrowed into, all limned in silvery light. A few columns of smoke rose from unseen fires somewhere deep inside its subterranean halls. I stood in the snow, thinking and occasionally sipping my whisky for warmth. Eventually I became aware of a quiet presence off to one side watching me intently. I reached out to investigate and found a human mind curled up tighter than a snail in its shell. Eva.

“Want some?” I held my flask of whisky out towards her without looking in her direction.

A white cloak rose from the snow to reveal the armoured form beneath. She took her time approaching, emotions as inscrutable as ever behind her steel mask. She took the whisky from me but didn’t drink.

I yawned into a glove. “Did you expect me to run and hide?” Her single green eye studied me. “I was ordered to stop you if you did. We made a very specific deal with the Clansfolk druí.”

“Not what I asked.”

It took a while for her to answer, never a good sign. “No,” she said finally. “Not now.”

I’d tried to flee before, more than once when faced with the Magash Mora and the Skallgrim. “And why now?”

“Nowhere to run to,” she said. “Everywhere is at war, with daemons and gods and fuck knows what else popping up everywhere. You would be hunted with a ferocity that no rogue magus has ever seen before.”

I grunted. “True enough.”

“And you have seen true horror,” she added, the words oddly soft in her cracked voice. “In the end you did not shirk that terrible task. You faced down daemons, the Magash Mora, a god, and the Arcanum itself to do what had to be done. What is this petty little skirmish in comparison to that?”

Unexpectedly, I laughed. How had she managed that? “You make it all sound so easy.”

Now it was her turn to laugh, a harsh hacking. “What do you make of this place?”

I shrugged. “The Clanholds is a backwater, but not without its charms. It’s an impenetrable maze to outsiders and all those stones make me nervous, especially the ones marked with three eyes. This place harbours a hundred ancient mysteries. Have you ever heard of the myth of the God of Broken Things?”

She shook her head. “It’s a local legend around these parts, but unusually this one is about a god instead of giants or spirits so perhaps the tale bears some kernel of truth. There is supposed to be a sacred valley around here that only the despairing can find, hidden from the sight of all the rest. There, a god makes its home. It is said that the broken can find succour and safety there. Wish we could find it. I wouldn’t mind having a god on our side right now.”

“Sounds farfetched to me.” She turned away and eased her mask up to take a drink.

“There’s no need to hide,” I said. “I have seen horrors beyond compare and your scars were gained protecting us. Without you we would all have been lost to something worse than death. Your wounds were earned in righteous battle, not like…” I traced the scars running down my right cheek, “…not like mine, earned from naive stupidity. I appreciate a good mind more than the meat we wear.”

My breath misted the air for long moments until she chose to turn back to face me. I could only see her lower face, but that was enough to know exactly what she suffered. Her nose was missing and the left side of her face was a tapestry of black and red ruin with bone peering through in patches. The lips were gone to expose bare teeth. Her right side was better, but still a mass of angry burn-scars. She opened her mouth and poured in a goodly amount of whisky. Her single eye pierced me, defiant and expecting comment. I made none.

She stoppered the flask and tossed it back to me. “So now you know.”

Her scars didn’t matter to me. Without thinking, I reached towards her and stroked her scarred cheek with my hand. The moment I touched her I knew it was a mistake. She slapped my hand aside, a whisker away from breaking my arm, then hastily slid her mask back down into place. Her hands shook with fury. “How fucking dare you, I should break your face.”

Words were crude things at times. I let go of my emotions, Gift radiating exactly what I was thinking and feeling. She lurched backwards, swamped in my unfiltered admiration and respect. Anger at what had been done to her, yes, but not a single bloody smidgeon of pity. No, I wouldn’t run, and not because I had nowhere to run to – that had never stopped me before – but because of her. I wished to possess even half of her brave heart and iron will. Again, her ruined figure clad in half-melted armour stood before me during the darkest hour of Black Autumn, spirit-bound sword in her hand and duty in her heart. In agony, she did what needed to be done. Me? I just followed in her wake. She had saved me, and I owed her. I intended to pay her back in kind. I would be something better than I was. I was here to fight at her side and her ravaged body did not dissuade me – it was her mind I was attracted to.

A strangled choke from behind the mask, and then she fled as fast as knightly body-magic could propel her, a blurred shape blasting through the snow and out of sight in seconds before the waves of snow had even settled.

“Oh well done, you fucking arse. Handled that well, eh?” I had no idea how she was feeling and as usual I’d just done whatever I wanted without a thought in my stupid head, and damn what anybody else felt about it. “Walker, you absolute shitestain.” But now she knew exactly how I felt about her. Surprisingly, this was also the first time that I did as well.

Jovian was awake and waiting for me when I returned, a disapproving look in his eyes. I said nothing and tossed him the last of my whisky.

“We are in this together, yes?” he said, taking a swig. “Best you had remember that, lest I spank you like a little boy.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I snapped, full of self-recrimination as I replayed my mistake with Eva over and over in my head, wishing I wasn’t such a cack-brained prick.

“Challenge accepted,” he replied, deadly serious. “We shall see at dawn.”