The Heresy Within Page 8

  “Reckon its bad,” he managed to say, a weak ghost of his grin on his lips.

  “Fuck,” Jezzet agreed with him.

  “Too late... for my one... the road.”

  Jezzet just stood over him. She knew she should feel sad or scared or feel something at least. Instead she just felt numb. The fort was lost. Constance had won. Jezzet would be humiliated and killed in the most painful way possible and she was damned sure Constance could think of some very painful ways. It would be better If I just ended it now myself.

  “Too late for everything I reckon, Eirik,” she said.

  Wonder If I can find a way to kill Constance before she kills me.

  “No,” Eirik said and coughed, his entire body shuddered and blood bubbled up from his mouth. “Under... shitter... my quarters... tunnel.” Another cough, more blood and then nothing.

  Jez should have said a prayer for him or maybe a couple of words about him being a good man or some such. Problem is she didn't feel much like lying and she didn't have the time either. She turned and ran-limped towards Eirik's quarters.

  Soldiers, whores and children ran this way and that through the buildings and courtyard. All pointless. Jez knew Constance well enough to know that if the cunt-sucking bitch was robbed of getting to kill both Jez and Eirik with her own hands she'd murder every last person in the fort. The only way out of this alive for anyone was to get out of the fort and Jez wasn't about to take anyone with her.

  She heard the shouts of surrender just as she barged her way into Eirik's quarters. The tub she'd bathed in just hours earlier still stood, the water long since cold and near brown with the sweat and dirt she'd washed off. The roof had been hit by a stray arrow and was just starting to catch fire. A good sign maybe, if the building burned to the ground Constance would never find the tunnel.

  Jez flung the door to the shitter open and looked down at the circular stone she'd sat on so many times to relieve herself. She pushed her sword and her dagger back into their sheaths, took hold of the round stone and wrenched this way and that. The boards below it were loose.

  Thank you, Eirik you damned bastard. She thought with a grin.

  Jez sank to her knees and scrabbled at the wooden boards, tore at them with her bloody fingers until one came free. She flung the board behind her and then tore up another and then a third. There was a hole just big enough for a slim woman to squeeze through into the foul smelling tunnel below.

  She wasted no time. Jezzet squeezed, pushed, wriggled and squirmed her way into the tunnel. It was small but large enough for her. It stank of shit and worse and was slick and vile underneath her hands in a way that made her want to vomit. Craning her head around Jez could see the tunnel extended both ways. Behind her it ran further into the fort, in front of her it led towards the east, towards the mountains.

  It was then Jezzet realised she'd left her pack up in Eirik's quarters. Everything she owned bar the clothes on her back and the sword at her side was in that pack but she'd be damned if she was going to risk going back for it. So Jezzet Vel'urn set her hands into the filthy, stinking muck in front of her and started crawling.

  Shit.

  The Black Thorn

  Funny thing about settlements in the wilds; they all had walls. Every village, every town, every city, every port, every fort, every manor and every savage tribal camp. They all sported walls and Bischin was no different. It reminded Betrim of every other town on the plains he'd ever been to and he was pretty sure his count currently sat at somewhere near all of them.

  Low wooden walls ringed the town and though they would do nothing to stop a determined force they served to keep out wild animals and disorganised raiders. The Boss' little band of sell-swords were neither but the guards on the gate still looked at them as though they were animals

  “No trouble,” said one of the guards as they passed. He was a big man with bushy, overhanging eyebrows and more than a few missing teeth, the rest of his set were well on their way to browning. Yellow teeth were one thing but brown teeth struck Betrim as plain wrong.

  Bones smiled as he towered over the man showing his own set of yellowing chompers. “Do I look like I could cause trouble?”

  The guard paled and the Boss clapped him on the arm. “Jus' passin’ through, friend. Be gone in a couple o' days.” The guard nodded at the Boss' words but didn't take his eyes off Bones.

  “So what we doin' here, Boss?” Swift asked as they passed through the gate. “I mean it's a bit of a shit-hole ain't it.”

  Betrim had to agree on that one. Low wooden buildings half of which looked to be falling down. Scum lined the streets in droves, some of them sell-swords, some of them thieves, some of them nothings with less than nothing to their name. Waste and garbage was piled high in some spots, as if no one could be arsed to clean it away so all were happy to just leave it lying in the streets. That made Betrim grimace; even animals knew not to shit in their own homes.

  There were a few shops selling all manner of goods. Each shop had two or three big, tough-looking guards hired by the shop owners out of their own pockets. Better that than get robbed and killed by the first scum who took a liking to whatever you were peddling.

  Women with painted faces stood waving from the balcony of a large three storied wooden shack. Their breasts hung loose and free and heavy and they whistled towards the Boss' little group of sell-swords as they passed. Nothing like a pair of tits to catch a man's attention.

  “Boss,” Betrim started, never taking his eyes of the jugs that hung above him. “Where we meetin'?”

  “Inn called Thieves Rest, you know the place?”

  “Aye,” Betrim said and without another word walked towards the whore house.

  “I'm with the Black Thorn,” he heard Swift say and then a moment later.

  “Me too,” from Green.

  The doors swung open to a gaudily-lit room that stank of perfume. It was almost enough to choke him the smoke and haze was so thick. A bar at the far end of the room had a few patrons enjoying drinks and rooms upstairs were closed or open to indicate whether they were in use. Some women lounged around waiting for business while others entertained men. At the edges of the room in dark alcoves Betrim could see women grinding their hips on top of men. Those not rich enough to rent a room or those without the modesty to care, he reckoned. From time to time the scene was punctuated by the odd masculine grunt or a feminine giggle.

  A plump lady of ageing years with more powder on her face than dust in the desert approached. The cloying scent of a hundred different perfumes clung to her but none could hide the stink of sex that trailed behind her.

  “Can I help you gentlemen? We cater for all tastes,” she asked in a low, throaty voice with a wide smile on her red, red lips.

  “I'll take a room, a girl and a bottle of something strong,” Betrim said in a growl.

  Swift laughed. “Fuck the room, I'll fuck the girl and something to smoke wouldn't go amiss.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Green said with all the eagerness of a boy who's never been inside a whore.

  “Best make it a boy for the young'un,” Betrim said, grinning his horrific grin, “be an experience fer him.”

  “Fuck you, Black Thorn. I ain't no weird,” Green shouted, earning himself more than a couple of looks.

  The look the ageing mistress gave Betrim was far more worrying though. She studied his face for a moment, studied his collection of scars. “We don't take too kind to people messing up our girls, Black Thorn.”

  Swift broke into a raucous laughter. “Ya reputation is well known, Thorn,” he said and then broke off as he spotted a girl he liked the look of. “I'll take that one. Come here, girl. I got something fer ya ta suck on.”

  Green laughed, nudged Betrim in the side and scuttled off to find a girl of his own. Never had Betrim wanted to kill the lad so much. He noticed the powdered mistress was still staring at him, studying him. Betrim stared right on back with a neutral expression.

  “I don't mess up wh
ores. I don't beat women,” Betrim paused, “well not unless they deserve it. I want a room; a drink an' a girl ta fuck. Don't much care what she looks like, I ain't the prettiest thing ta look at myself.”

  If the mistress was cowed at all by Betrim's name or reputation she didn't show an ounce of it. After a while she nodded towards the stairs. “Third door on left is free. I'll send a girl up with a bottle.”

  There were no smiles for Betrim anymore, he noticed. People rarely smiled at the Black Thorn. With a final stare that could have shattered a mirror he headed for the stairs and towards the third door on the left.

  By the time Betrim and the others made it to The Thieves Rest he felt a little less angry and a lot more relieved. The girl he'd gotten was only just prettier than he was but she knew her way round a cock, no doubt, and Betrim had not been left wanting. She had a wonderful set of teeth on her too, all pearly white and only the one missing. The bottle of spirits he'd got were a little disappointing but had a satisfying burning sensation on the way down so he kept the whole bottle. It would serve him well when they got back out on the plains.

  Swift whistled and skipped all the way from the whore house to the inn and Green wore a stupid grin and kept mumbling something about tits. Betrim tried his best to ignore the little shit lest his anger return.

  They found the others sitting alone on a table in the most crowded part of the common room. Henry was nursing a pint and eyeing the collected masses with dangerous intent. A brooding Boss sat next to her staring into his mug of beer with a dark expression. Bones looked more bored than anything else and his face lit up when he spotted the others. Seemed conversation had run a bit dry. Didn't surprise Betrim, Swift tended to do most of the talking in the crew.

  “How'd it go?” Bones asked the new comers with a knowing wink.

  “Green only went an' said Black Thorn's name in the middle of the damned whore house,” Swift said grinning from ear to ear.

  “An' yet he still has all his teeth,” the Boss said without looking up from his mug. “The Black Thorn must like our newest recruit.”

  Betrim growled as he waved at the serving girl to bring a mug over and flipped a bronze bit her way. She caught it in her hand and bit it to make sure it was real before sauntering off to fill a mug.

  “You boys not too drunk I hope,” the Boss said.

  “Take more 'an a cheap bottle o' spirits fer that,” Betrim insisted.

  “Didn't touch the booze, Boss,” Swift said, grinning.

  “What about the smoke?”

  “Didn't touch the booze, Boss,” Swift repeated, still grinning.

  The serving girl arrived with Betrim's beer and he took a large gulp. Tasted like watered down piss but beer always did in the wilds. Betrim couldn't remember the last time he had a good strong beer. Probably last time he attended one of those fancy blooded folk's parties which would put it somewhere around never.

  “How come you two didn't come get yaselfs a whore?” Green asked pointing at Bones and the Boss. “Ya do like women right?”

  “Oh I'd love ta,” Bones said. “Unfortunately my wife says if I go around whorin' she'll know an' she'll chop my stones off.”

  “You married?” Green exclaimed in a loud voice. Seemed he'd had a bit too much drink or smoke or both. “Where is the bitch?”

  “Fuck knows. As far away from me as possible I hope.”

  “Oh right. What 'bout you, Boss?”

  Everyone at the table just stared at Green. Well, everyone but Henry who broke into loud, vicious laughter. The boy would figure it out at some point. Maybe after he heard them going at it. Betrim had been in battles quieter than those two fucking.

  “Fancy makin' some money, Bones?” Betrim asked the big man.

  Bones looked around the common room. “Reckon we can squeeze a few bits out o' this crowd.”

  Betrim and Bones moved down the table a ways and Swift followed to look after the purses. He wouldn't steal from either of them; he knew better, but they'd be other purses involved in no time and there weren't quicker fingers in all the wilds than Swift when it came to relieving purses of some of their weight.

  Both men slapped their purses down on the table and that got the attention they were looking for. Nothing pulled gazes in the wilds like the metallic clink of bits. So Betrim put his elbow on the table and raised his hand and opposite him Bones did the same. They clasped hands and on Swift's count of three they started pushing. Arm wrestling against Bones was a lot like pissing into the wind; a pointless exercise that was only going to leave you worse for wear, but the giant went easy on Betrim. That was the entire point after all. Make it look like a smaller man had a chance and then pull it back from the brink and win and Bones did so with a dramatic flair and whoop of joy when he won.

  Swift handed both purses to Bones and Betrim made a show beating the table with his fist before stalking off to the others. He knew he'd get his purse back later with interest.

  “Have ya ever seen such a manly display?” Henry mocked him.

  “Fuck you, crazy bitch,” Betrim replied. That earned him a dark look set above a hungry grin. He gave her a shove and the grin turned into a smile. It was rare that Henry smiled but when she did Betrim got the impression she might have been pretty if she wasn't such a murderous little imp.

  “Ten bronze bits or one silver bit fer a try against the giant.” Swift was saying to a big man with tree trunks for arms who had sat down opposite Bones.

  The walking tree slapped down a single silver bit which Swift scooped up and Bones had the good graces to look worried at least. He gave the walking tree a brief glimpse of victory before felling him hard enough to shatter the man's hand. The tree walked away swearing blind and rubbing his hand. Another man sat down for the challenge then another and another.

  “Everythin' good, Boss?” Betrim asked. Dark eyes raised and met his and the Boss shook his head.

  “Got a drop house in town. Get all sorts of messages left there. We got good news an' bad. Good news is I got us another job. A big job, biggest one we done yet. Bad news is that girl we killed back in Korral was blooded. Those riders passed us a few nights back on the plains were after us an' I don't reckon they jus' gonna leave us be.

  “Problem is being well known as we are means people see us, people talk 'bout us. Makes us easy ta find. Ain't your fault, Black Thorn. We're all of us pretty noticeable. Well, 'cept Green here. Ain't many southern sell-swords an' my colour makes me stand out. Never seen another as big as Bones. Henry here has a name almost big as yours in parts and there ain't no mistaking the bastard blood in Swift.

  “Facts are we got folk lookin' fer us with intent an' a price on all our heads. We need ta get out o' this province an' with some great haste.”

  “Even me?” Green asked.

  “Even you.”

  “Never been out of Forswai before. What are the other provinces like?”

  “They're jus' the same but with less folk lookin' ta kill us,” Boss said and then turned back to Betrim. “We're headin' back ta Korral in the mornin'.”

  “Shit,” Betrim cursed with some venom. “I'd rather fight a group o' hunters than an Arbiter, Boss.”

  “What?” Green looked confused. “The Black Thorn is scared of an Arbiter?”

  Both Betrim and the Boss ignored the boy. “Fact is, Thorn, we don't know that Arbiter's after ya. Those boys passed us on the road want our heads. That an' the job I got us is in Chade.”

  “A boat trip an' all, Boss? S'got bad idea written all over it,” Betrim said.

  “I ain't askin' opinions, Thorn. Jus' tellin' it like it is. We're headed back ta Korral at first light an' not by the roads. Need ta keep as out o' sight as possible. Good.”

  It wasn't a question but Betrim nodded anyways. “Good.”

  “I'm headed to my room. Henry.” The Boss looked at Thorn, his teeth flashing silver as he spoke. “Tell the other two when they done playin'.”

  The BladeMaster

  If someone ha
d told Jezzet at the beginning of the day that she'd find herself running from Eirik's fort with only her clothes and her sword to her name and with her hands, arms, feet, legs and somehow her hair, covered in shit. Well if someone had told her that she wouldn't have believed them. But then if someone had told her just two hours ago that she'd make it out of the fort alive she wouldn't have believed them. Truth was Jezzet Vel'urn knew just how damned lucky she was and no amount of shit was going to convince her otherwise.

  The tunnel ended a few hundred feet from the fort and opened up into a trickling of water that might once have been called a stream. The opening had been blocked up by earth and piled up refuse and Jez had to dig her way out. From the tunnel opening it was about a mile to the mountains, she reckoned, and so she had set off right away. No sense in hanging around. Once Constance's forces had secured the fort and the warlord realised Jez wasn't among the living or the dead the bitch would send people looking for her. Jezzet wanted to be well away by then.

  The grass between the fort and the mountains was long and the ground underfoot was lumpy and treacherous and Jezzet's twisted ankle was screaming in pain with every step but she was alive. For now at least she was alive.

  She glanced behind her and saw the hot orange glow and dark grey smoke of fire in the fort. That was a good thing. With any luck Constance's forces would be too busy putting out the fires to be looking out over the walls. With the moon so big and bright anyone who took the time to look eastwards would see her figure cutting through the grass. She'd be safer when she reached the mountains. The pass wound into and around the mountains. She'd never travelled it herself but she knew it was jagged, broken in places, dangerous and rarely travelled by anyone save the foolhardy and those with nothing left to lose. Jez was pretty sure she currently fit into both categories.