Gelredida moved to the table at the centre of the chamber. With a flourish, she pulled back a grimy white sheet to reveal beneath the desiccated corpse of an old man — or what could have been an old man, it was almost too far-gone to tell.
She looked up at him expectantly. ‘The instruments for dissection are on that table over there.’ Waylian looked round to see a selection of blades, saws and callipers glinting in the candlelight. ‘Be so good as to bring me the filleting knife and we’ll begin.’
No! No I won’t. I’ve had enough of this and I’ve had enough of you and your bloody unreasonable expectations. Do your own dirty work from now on, you old witch!
‘Yes, Magistra,’ Waylian replied, and looked along the row of instruments for the sharpest knife.
FOURTEEN
With every new day the air seemed to grow colder. The further they trod through the lands of the Clawless Tribes the more hostile the elements seemed, the wind howling in their faces as though screaming at them to turn back, to abandon this folly. Regulus and his warriors had hunted much game — deer, wolf and the like — and taken to donning their hides to shield themselves from the cold. Kazul, cowed by the weather and in no mood for hunting, had satisfied himself by slaughtering some docile beast with a curly white pelt. It had not even attempted to flee as he leapt upon it. The cries it made in its death throes had been brief.
Of the Coldlanders they had seen little. Small settlements dotted the landscape, and it had been difficult for the warriors to resist their natural urge to fall upon those wooden huts and pillage them for what they had. But this was not where they would wage war. Not yet anyway.
‘How much further?’ said Akkula, as they crested a hill looking down on a wide valley. ‘This wind chills my bones.’
Regulus would have admonished him for his complaint if he hadn’t been so cold himself. This land seemed determined to freeze them where they stood and only through a massive effort of will did they keep moving ever onward.
‘You will be warmed soon enough, young Akkula,’ Leandran replied. The old warrior must have felt the cold more than most, but he complained the least. ‘When we offer our spears to the Steel King he will unleash us upon his foes with all the rage of an inferno. Then you can warm yourself in a pool of our enemy’s blood.’
Hagama and Kazul growled their assent, but Leandran’s words did nothing to spur Akkula’s spirits. He pulled his hide cloak about him all the tighter and took on a sullen expression.
‘There,’ said Janto suddenly, dropping into a crouch and pulling one of the axes free from his belt.
Regulus and the rest of the warriors fell in beside him, keeping low and scanning the valley ahead. In the distance they could just make out a procession of Coldlanders moving towards the west. They looked a sorry band, labouring under their packs and pulling carts behind them, their young at their heels as they trudged along the road.
‘What do you think?’ said Leandran, glaring down. ‘Do we avoid them?’
Regulus shook his head. ‘No. We will greet them. We need to know if we are heading in the right direction to reach their capital and their king. It will not serve us well if we have to wander this frigid land for many more days.’
‘And if they won’t speak to us? If they flee?’
‘They will speak to me,’ Regulus said. ‘I know their language. I will go alone.’
‘No,’ said Janto. ‘I will go with you … just in case.’
‘In case what?’ Regulus gestured to the pitiful line of figures. ‘They look about ready to drop. I am hardly in any danger.’
Regulus could see Janto wanted to say more but thought better of it. Yes, Janto wanted to accompany him, wanted to watch his back, but simply to serve his own ends and free himself of his obligation.
‘The rest of you should hide yourselves. We don’t want to alarm these people.’
His warriors understood. Regulus skewered his sword in the ground and made his way down into the valley, briefly losing sight of the travellers behind a copse of trees.
When he reached the bottom he stood to the side of the road, his hood drawn up to cover his dark features. As he waited, Regulus thought hard about the best way to approach these people without alarming them. He was a foreigner after all; his appearance alien in this land of pale diminutive folk, their teeth and claws only good for chewing grass. It was understandable that they should fear him. But he had come to serve their king, to offer his sword in their defence. Surely they would understand that.
And if not, he would make them understand.
The procession came into view along the path at the side of the trees. At the front was a man pulling a small cart. He looked sorrowful, the child at his side looking sorrier still. Regulus took a step forward, his palms showing in the sign of peace.
The man screamed.
He backed away, almost falling over his cart as he pulled his child close to him — Regulus couldn’t tell whether it was son or daughter; the Coldlanders mostly looked alike to him — but it too began screaming. At first the sound was annoying, then alarming as it spread down the sorry row of travellers. Panic gripped them as they saw him standing there blocking their path. Regulus tried to calm them, tried to explain, but his words were lost in the din as they ran shrieking into the trees or back down the path.
To pursue would only have distressed them further. Perhaps this would be more difficult than he thought. If the sight of a lone Zatani was enough to send a dozen of them fleeing in terror, what fear would he and his warparty inspire when they arrived at the capital?
Before he made his way back up the hill Regulus heard a quiet voice from down the path. He slowly made his way along the trail of abandoned carts and packs until he found an old man, kneeling on the cold earth. His eyes were tight shut and he was mumbling a hasty prayer to the heathen gods of the north.
‘Do not be afraid, old one,’ Regulus said in the Coldlander tongue. He tried to make his voice as soft as he could, but it seemed to make the old man say his prayer that much faster, as though the speed of his words might deliver him from his doom.
‘I am not here to do you harm, old one. I carry no weapon.’
The old man opened one eye, looking up as though a weapon was the last thing he feared, tears streaking his face. Regulus tried a smile, but it only made the old man’s eyes open the wider.
Gently, Regulus reached down and raised the old man to his feet.
‘I would talk with you, old one. Nothing more.’
The man shook at the knee, but he held Regulus’ gaze. ‘I’m an old man and in no mood for tricks, lord of devils. If you aim to kill me do it quick.’
Regulus almost laughed. If he’d wanted the old man dead he would certainly not have toyed with him first.
‘You have nothing to fear. I come to your lands to help. Not to hunt.’
The man’s brow creased in confusion, his patchy flesh wrinkling about his face.
‘You aren’t gonna eat me?’
Regulus looked down at the emaciated figure, wondering if there was any meat on his bones at all.
‘No, old one. I am not going to eat you.’
At that the old man seemed to calm a little, leaning back against one of the carts. Regulus briefly wondered why these people lugged their own belongings and did not use slaves or beasts of burden, but he had more important questions to ask.
‘Is this the road to the capital?’
‘Aye,’ said the man. ‘About thirty, forty miles that way — to the east — lies Steelhaven. That’s where we’ve come from. Soon be flooded with Khurtic bastards and we didn’t wanna be there when it was.’
‘Your chieftain, your king. He lies within?’
The old man looked up with sadness in his eyes. Then slowly shook his head. ‘King Cael’s been dead these past two months. Since before winter set in. Murdered by that bastard Amon Tugha and his Khurtic scum.’