Blood of the Red

Chapter 19 - Sindri

Chapter 19 - Sindri 

Six soldiers closed on Sindri from the gates of Glorsa. They wore blue leathers, hardened in boiling oil and dyed with Cho-shell in the manner of Arkasians. The swords at their sides stayed sheathed, they were six to one.

"You!" The leader didn't bother to point, Sindri stood alone in the muddy road now, all the Glorsans gone into the smoke and ruin of their homes.

Sindri parted his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Yes?" The mud splashed the Arkasian's gleaming leather boots as he strode. He drew short before Sindri and ran a hostile eye across him, head to toe, lingering at his axe. Of all the soldiers, only the leader wore a helm, fire-bronze, close-fitting to the skull, opening for the eyes and nose in a 'Y'.

The Arkasian sergeant stood taller than his men but the crest of his helm came scarcely level with Sindri's chin. All of them looked to be veterans, men in their thirties, with scars to tell the tale of past fights and calluses on their sword-hands.

"Big and white. Gentlemen, we have ourselves a Sark invasion."

A quick crackle of laughter ran around Sindri. The soldiers had him flanked on every side. They don't like him but they fear him. Father said a man will do a lot for fear - but more for friendship.

"I came for passage to Conault," Sindri said. It was the best he could think of. It's a port, they must have ships.

"You came to the wrong place, boy." The Arkasian's lip curled beneath the black bristle of his mustache. "These ships are all the property of Lord Marluk. Perhaps you thought to steal one from him?" The sergeant looked to the man at his right, "What do you think, Greck? He looks like a thief don't he?"

Greck nodded, wiping a hand across his hungry smile, "I hear the men of Sark like to steal ships? Do the boys like to steal them too? Boy?"

Sindri held his face stiff against the threat of a snarl. The 'no' escaped through gritted teeth. With effort he kept his hand from straying to his axe. If I were Red Gregor they'd all be dead by now. Melchem would let them talk, he always liked to let a man talk his way into the grave.

The sergeant laid a hand on his sword hilt. "Well, boy, we'll see what Lord Marluk wants to do with you when he arrives. Until then you can warm a cell under the Keep." He raised a finger and a hook-nosed soldier leant forward to take Sindri's axe. Every muscle screamed for action.

If I fight them I'll die and the quest is lost. If they take me, I could die in chains.

That's a 'could' against a 'will'. They will kill you if you fight.

The quest is on me. Against every instinct Sindri opened his hands, keeping them from his axe. I will not fail.

The hook-nosed soldier reached to take Sindri's axe. Unexpectedly he slumped forward, falling face first in the puddled road. Sindri didn't understand. The man had reached for the haft and then ... tripped? Laughter rang out. The sergeant did not laugh. "Get up, Morton, you idiot."

Morton made no move. Sindri imagined his hook-nose must be buried in the mud. A moment of tangible silence passed and Greck, a grizzled man with graying stubble, squatted to shake the fallen soldier. He took his shoulders and turned him. The stink of corruption hit Sindri, grasping at his stomach. He saw the soldier's hand first, just white finger-bones, the flesh sliding off them. Morton's face was in a less advanced state of decay. His lips peeled back from yellow teeth and mud spilled from his mouth.

Without a conscious decision, Sindri reached across his waist and flipped the heavy axe into the air. He was already turning as he caught it again, low on the haft. In the same motion his boot connected soundly with the base of Greck's spine, crouching before him. The axe took the sergeant's head cleanly, shearing just below the helm. Corlothis' spells left the weapon light as a willow stick but let it fall as though it were fashioned from lead. The blade carried on, as the sergeant fell in pieces, and chopped deep into the side of the solider to his right.

Blood from the sergeant's neck pulsed briefly over Sindri's chest, drenching the dark links of his mail. Blood flooded from the ruin of the next man's side, bright crimson over the white of exposed ribs. Sindri wrenched his axe free to the sound of cracking bone and two swords clearing their sheaths.

An axe is for killing. Sindri remembered his father say. There's no defence, you just kill the man before he can kill you.

Two swords, one axe - not a good equation. Sindri laughed at the hopelessness of his situation, then he laughed at himself for laughing. Mirth ran through him. He was laughing as he swung. The axe came up savagely, thunking home between the legs of the nearest Arkasian. Sindri twisted from the thrust of the other man's sword-point and threw himself in close, using the wounded man as a shield. The last soldier backed away, jabbing. With a roar Sindri threw his captive at him, the axe still bedded in his body. The falling solider snared the other's sword for a moment, and in that instant Sindri was on him. Taking the man by both shoulders Sindri drew him into a devastating head-butt.

Before the unconscious soldier could fall, Sindri snatched the knife from his belt, nine inches of brutal gutting iron. Quicker than thinking he spun, in time to catch Greck rising from the mud. Sindri's fingers locked in the man's hair and he set the blade to his throat. Blood dripped from the end of Sindri's nose, he could feel it running down his neck. He licked the blood from his lips and brought his mouth close to Greck's ear.

"My name is Hearteater. Call me boy again and I'll cut you a new mouth." He paused and glanced toward the gates. No more coming just yet. "I'm looking for what has been stolen. A key. You'd do well to tell me about it."

"Don't know nothing about it." Greck spat mud. "And I'll be damned if I'd tell some Sark boy if I did."

Sindri grinned. He wondered how he looked to Greck, drenched in blood, holding a dagger at his throat. "You're a brave man, Arkasian. You know I'm going to kill you, so why tell me anything? But you saw Hook-Nose didn't you?" Sindri reached out and tugged his axe from the body of the man he'd groined. It came easily from flesh already rotting. He held the blade before Greck's face. "I can slit your throat with Arkasian iron, or I can use this. The Black magic won't leave them much to bury. You won't rest easy in your grave. The Black will have your soul. A clean death is worth a little conversation, no?"

"Go to Hell."

Sindri brought the axe blade closer. Greck's eyes widened, he thrashed in Sindri's grip. Where the mud allowed, Sindri could see the small veins in the man's face burst and the skin bubble.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Greck babbled, clawing at the mud. "Something! We're here for something!" He spat blood, and teeth were in it. "Oh Gods." Sindri held him firm, "Raymell is hunting it. He took men to Conault, chasing a bard. Take it away, please, take it away, please."

Sindri cut the man's throat. He thrust the dagger in his belt, took up his axe and stood. He looked at the slain. I did that. I made red ruin of them. Greyheart said I would feel sick when I first killed a man. He said the stink of death, the noise and the blood, turn a man's stomach and leave him with no appetite for more. So why do I feel so damn good?

Sindri laughed again. He raised his axe and touched a gory finger to the dark iron of the blade. It seems a cruel and evil weapon - but a sharp knife is cruel. A sword brings corruption, for all it kills will surely rot. Is it evil? The Old-One said power is never evil, it is the ends to which we put it.

A squelch in the mud had Sindri turning, axe raised for the kill. It was the girl from before, edging from the shelter of a doorway. She met Sindri's eyes, screamed and ran.

So now I'm the demon? Hearteater the demon? I should run too, there will be more here any moment. The Arkasians have filled the barracks she said . . . And if I run? What then? They will hunt me on the plains. I'll be running away from the boat I need, and I'll die in the open.

A year ago Nial Castlebane returned to the Greyloft at the head of a raiding party, bloody and battered. Sindri remembered he had met his father at the gates. A year ago, when he was a child still. He had run to the Castlebane, aghast at how few came through the raiding.

"Why do you attack them, father, when we are so few and Jeggath's armies so many? The Greyloft is a fortress you said. The mountains are our walls. Why hunt them?"

His father fixed him with those sky-washed eyes, "We attack because, when we attack they don't know where to find us."

With a shrug Sindri started toward the gates. A man with an axe has no defence save attack.