Chapter Thirty-Six - The Breach

‘Easy!’

The snow beneath his feet gave way, and he fell onto his hands in the sludge. Pain shot through his fingertips, and hidden, icy stones sliced at his knees.

‘On your feet!’

Someone took him by the arm and yanked him upright. Cadven grunted, rubbing snow from his gloves. His legs were burning, and there was a lead weight in his chest heavier than a boulder. The sword at his waist dug uncomfortably into his ribs, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to feel his toes. Still the slope ran on ahead, an interminable wall of white, summit lost in the haze. Around him, hard, sharp-faced men and women in furs and leather jerkins climbed on without complaint, steel glinting at their hips. Amongst them, a handful of boys struggled upwards wearily, heads low to the wind, cheeks red with frigid cold.

‘Keep moving!’

Cadven took another step. Then another. The wind howled around his ears, sweeping up great drifts of powder into the air, clawing at the hillside and snatching the breath from his lungs. The cold was beginning to take its toll. He could feel the chill creeping through his furs, slipping like icy water between the fabric of his clothes. Makers, but he’d never been this cold. He took another step, and his boot punched through the deep snow with a crunch. It was a fickle stair. Knee-deep, even this early in winter, hiding a treacherous slide of shale and razor-sharp stones. His hands and knees were already raw from it, and he could feel blood trickling over his fingers inside his gloves.

‘Ah!’

One of the smaller boys collapsed into the snow with a thump, and began to slide backwards, scrabbling vainly at the ice with wild eyes, squealing.

Then one of the warriors was at his side, hauling him roughly to his feet.

‘You walk.’ the woman told the boy him bluntly, already turning away. ‘Or you die.’

Cadven shivered, looking away. He took a step upwards. Then another. One step. One step. Two. His legs groaned, but they didn’t give way. Not yet. They’d been climbing for hours. No way of knowing how far they’d come, or how far they still had to go. The wind whipped the snow around his head, whirling, spinning, clawing at his eyes, and he scowled at it, setting his jaw. Ahead, the ground dissolved into the haze, blurring through the dark shapes of the other climbers. He lowered his head to the gale, scowling harder. They would not leave him here on this hillside. The bottom was a long way behind, and what he’d left behind was further, still. So he ground his teeth and dragged himself upwards, inch by painful inch, pawing at the snow with his blistered hands. His legs were on fire, knees close to buckling. Every bit of him ached in protest, dragging ragged, broken breaths through his ice-scorched throat. He stumbled, scrambled, dug at the snow, squinting, half-blind and reeling.

Then he was there. He reached for the snow again, but his hands took nothing but air, and he fell sprawling face-first over the summit, spent. Cold bit at his cheeks, and dirt filled his gloves, but he didn’t care. The gale had dropped away around him, and an eerie quiet descended over his ringing ears. He rolled over onto his back, sucking in a great lungful of frigid air. Around him, the older climbers were cresting the hill, footsteps crunching, breath ragged. He could hear the boys too, murmuring deliriously as they spilled into the quiet. Cadven lay there, feeling the heat begin to creep back into his fingers. His ears rung, and every sound was a thunderclap. But he could almost feel his toes again.

By the time he sat up, the other boys had caught their breath, grinning and laughing to each other in the sudden gleam of the sun. Cadven ignored them, looking back over the edge of the hill as it dropped away into reeling clouds. Beyond, the snowy plains of the North ran away westward in a carpet streaked white and green as far as the eye could see. He imagined for a moment he could see Tall Trees on the horizon, Tarling in the north, even the keep at Jotheim, looming tall over it all. He blinked, and they vanished into the clouds with all the rest, endless and white and writhing.

‘Fuck me.’ someone panted next to him. It was the smaller boy, the one that had fallen, dark, scraggly hair whipping around his bone-skinny head.

‘Hope I never have to do that again.’ another said nearby, scratching at the adolescent tuft of hair at his chin.

‘Not that.’ the first boy told him. ‘Look!’

He was pointing east. Cadven looked, too, blinking, and realised for the first time there was no snow. Behind him, the white face of the slope fell away into the clouds, covered in drifts deep as shoulders. Ahead, nothing but rock. Dry as scorched bone. It was still cold, colder than ice, but you wouldn’t know to look at it. The snow simply stopped. A single, unbroken line, white to black. Like something had burned it all away. Cadven blinked at it, brushing a glove against the stone, and it came away covered in a film of dark, red-tinged dust. Looked almost like… Ash?

‘You ever seen anything like that?’ the first boy was saying.

Cadven looked east. The top of the hill opened up into a long, unbroken plain of dark stone and dust. A mile. Two? He couldn’t tell, with nothing to measure it by. But there, where the shelf ended, outlined in checkered black against the pale sky, the Teeth thrust out of the earth like blades, a jagged wall of ancient rock, pitted and slashed by five thousand years of wind. Tall as the sky. It was hard to imagine anything so massive. As he watched, the sun burst for a moment through the clouds behind them, and the smooth black face of the mountains caught fire like glass.

‘Look!’ one of the boys murmured excitedly. ‘Almost there.’

There, it turned out, was a small cluster of dark buildings clinging to the side of the barren cliffs, half-hidden by the dark uniformity of the rocks. Standing watch over the edge of the world.

‘On your feet!’

The other boys went on excitedly, now, weariness forgotten, and Cadven walked beside them, eyes fixed on the peaks ahead, thinking of home.

*

By the time they reached the fort, the Teeth were so tall he couldn’t see the sky behind them. They trudged out across the barren rock, heads low to the whining wind, a column of mismatched shapes in the distorted clarity of the thin air. Everything seemed muted, empty, the sky overhead a single, shapeless mass of grey. Thin didn’t quite do the air justice, either. Even without the snow to contend with, Cadven could feel his breath straining as he walked, rasping through his throat. Seconds dragged by into minutes, minutes into... Well, he wasn’t actually sure. How long since they started climbing into the mountains? Since he’d been anything but ice? Since he’d been able to feel his toes? He stared at his feet, watching the little puffs of grey-black dust shimmer across the bare rock, then ground his teeth, and kept walking. Didn’t have time to think about it. One step. One step. Two.

His lungs were crushed like old waterskins by the time the fort’s dark walls reared up out of the grey haze. A nest of black wood, pressed against the face of the Teeth as though it was worn closer to the sheer mass of rock with every new day’s wind. There were men on the walls, more of the same; dark furs over dark leathers, dark eyes staring down at them as they walked. Women too, just as leathery and sharp as their brothers. The gate creaked, groaned, then began to draw open, clinking, and the column drew on into the maw, shivering and rasping at the frigid air. There was a courtyard beyond the gate, pressed in by the leaning, faceless buildings, and the boys half-walked, half-fell into it, legs giving way. The warriors beside them retreated wordlessly into the shadows around the edge of the square, watching them, and more joined them, slinking out of the narrow alleys and buildings, dark warriors with dark stares, thick braids, cheeks weathered like old leather. Cadven could feel their eyes on him, stabbing at the numbness of his skin. The other boys barely noticed. Couldn’t have been more than a dozen of them, in all, grinning at each other, laughing breathlessly, their toils finished. Ready for their rest. Seemed the grass had sent only boys, this year, but even that couldn’t snatch their excitement. Somewhere ahead of them, deeper into the fort, a tower of stone rose out of the wood, looming tall over the rest, walls gleaming like black glass. Cadven stared at it, frowning. Even here, where they had been needed most, the old stormtowers were empty.

‘Form up!’

The voice echoed around the walls, cracking against the thin air. The boys blinked, flinching, and scrambled to their feet.

‘I said form up!’

This time they did, dragging themselves into a little square of slumping shoulders. Cadven took his place near the back, looking towards the sound. There was a woman standing at the edge of the courtyard on a raised platform, wrapped neck to toe in furs the colour of jet, head protruding out of them like a scarred thumb, crowned with a ring of close-cropped, grey-streaked hair. The hilt at her hip was notched worse than an old whetstone, and there was a leather patch over one of her eyes with a pale scar dripping out over the cheek beneath it, silver like bubbled wax. Her one good eye glared back at them, dark and unblinking.

‘Cold, are we?’ she asked them softly, watching them.

The boys nodded, shivering.

‘Weary?’

More nods. The boys shifted nervously. Cadven didn’t stir. The men and women around the courtyard watched, unmoving, and the one-eyed woman on the platform stared.

‘Exile won’t care if you’re cold.’ she barked at them suddenly, eye flashing. ‘Teeth won’t care if you’re weary. If you’ve swung a sword once. A thousand times. Seen ten winters or fifty. They’ll kill you all the same.’

The little troupe of boys blinked, frowning, glancing at each other uncomfortably.

‘The worst. That’s what we send out through the mountains. We, and we alone, stand between them and your bastard father. The whore that whelped you. The girl you think about when you find your bed at night. The boy. Gaolers, they call us. What they call us doesn’t matter, so long as it keeps them safe and warm.’ The woman paused, and her dark eye moved over them, sharp as glass. The boys shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m Captain Gunil. Some of you will be here a few weeks. Some of you months. Some of you'll never see the sun again. It’s my job to make you swords of the Breach, or send you back to the grass in a box. There are no lords here. No ladies. Only soldiers.’

Cadven frowned. The Captain’s eye prickled at his skin, and he almost shivered. He’d heard the stories about Gunil. There wasn’t a boy or girl in the North who hadn’t. The woman who escaped the Wastes. The Exile who turned gaoler to her own kind. The boys scratched their boots in the frozen dust, eyes on their feet. They’d all heard the stories.

‘Sleep well, tonight. Tomorrow we begin.’ The one-eyed warrior told them, scarred face gleaming. ‘Master Hemm will show you to your quarters.’

With that, the woman who was Captain Gunil turned on her heel and disappeared into the darkness beside the buildings, leaving the courtyard in silence. The frozen black dust of the Teeth swirled in little dark eddies over the rocks, and the warriors of the Breach moved with it, leaving the courtyard in shabby shadows, about their business again. The new recruits watched them go, frowning. Not the welcome they’d been expecting. Cadven might have smiled, if he wasn’t so cold himself.

*

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Master Hemm, the Breach’s Master of Keepers, turned out to be a hunched man in his late sixties, worn away into his black furs like a deflated waterskin, a few strands of wispy white hair licking over the papery wrinkles of his pale head. The boys followed him wordlessly into the shadowed interior of the fort, smiles gone, and Cadven came on behind, keeping to himself. The hilt at his waist dug into his ribs, and his legs were half-numb with weariness. But there was nothing to be done about either, so he kept walking. The old Keeper led them to a long building with a low roof pressed right against the outer wall of the fort. Firelight flickered through the door as he drew back the bolt, and the boys hurried past him into the glow, breath back in a rush. Cadven was the last to enter. The silent old Keeper watched him expressionless as he stepped, blinking, into the warmth, slamming the door shut behind him.

The room inside was long and windowless, lined with two rows of narrow cots pushed back against the walls. Fire flickered between them, hot and rumbling. Not much, but it was warm. The boys were already picking out their beds, squabbling over those closest to the fire. A few of the faces nearest the door looked up as it thudded closed, eyeing Cadven suspiciously. But they soon went back to their work, shrugging packs off their shoulders, chattering, joking, cursing, ignoring him entirely. Cadven sighed, and went on slowly down the aisle, looking for a spare berth. The cots closest to the fire were already taken, but at least there were no windows. The other boys went on with their work around him, tipping packs out onto their beds, hanging rigid cloaks beside the fire. They barely looked up as he passed, and that suited him just fine. He spotted a spare cot at the far end of the dorm, and made for it, dropped his pack onto the floor beside it, wincing, then fell wearily onto the bed, closing his eyes.

‘Hullo!’

Cadven blinked, looking up to find the face of the small, dark-haired boy from the hilltop leaning over him, smiling cheerily. He grunted, closing his eyes again.

‘I’m Dagge.’ the boy told him, apparently unperturbed. His words tripped over each other in his haste, stuttering. ‘Wh-what’s your name?’

Cadven opened his eyes, ignoring him, and began unbelting the sword from his waist, trying to look busy. The skinny boy didn’t take the hint, sitting down on the cot opposite his and looking at him thoughtfully. Cadven gritted his teeth.

‘No, don’t tell me! Hair like that. Red as a fox! Fancy cloak, fitted leathers. Big as a bear. Your own jerkin.’ Dagge scratched his chin, then jumped to his feet, snapping his fingers. ‘You must be the Lord’s boy.’

Cadven grunted.

‘You heard the Captain. No Lords here.’

‘Right you are, I suppose.’ Dagge went on, sitting back down on his cot. ‘Where are you from? Wait, I remember; Jotheim. No, Tall Trees!’

‘Tarling.’ Cadven interrupted, glancing up. The boy was close to a foot smaller than he was, and younger, but even for his age he was thin, with narrow shoulders and wrists the size of twigs. Fourteen, maybe. Young, for the Breach. His brown cloak was patched, a few inches too long, and his pack sagged emptily.

‘Tarling! Highlander, then.’ Dagge tutted, slapping his knee. ‘Ma says they’re queer folk, up there. Not real Northmen, like the rest of us. Heard even the men wear dresses.’

Cadven didn’t reply.

‘Ever been to Jotheim? Course you have. I was there, once, you know.’ Dagge told him, nodding knowingly. ‘Saw a sorcerer from the south swallow fire like it was water, then spit it back out again just the same. Ever seen magic like that?’

The boy stopped for a moment, staring back at and him without blinking, and Cadven sighed.

‘No.’ he said reluctantly.

‘Bet he couldn't do it here. Air’s so thin he’d choke on it.’ Dagge went on. ‘Wonder if that’s why there’s no snow. Don’t talk much, do you?’

Cadven looked back at his bed. He lifted the sword from beside his pack and set it against the edge of the cot, watching as the firelight glittered on the mirror-hilt. It was good steel, but bore no adornment. He frowned at it, and the sword stared back, indifferent.

‘That’s a nice blade.’ Dagge was saying, following his eyes. ‘Steel like that must have cost good gold. Suppose they’ll give me whatever they can find, when training starts. How long you staying? Not long, I bet. You Lord’s sons never do, I heard.’

Cadven went back to his bag, drew out a few items of clothing, folding them carefully into the empty chest at the foot of his new bed. Two new cloaks in dark wool, some spare tunics, furs for the cold. A few pairs of thick, woollen socks. His frown deepened.

‘What do you think the food will be like?’ Dagge asked, rubbing at his belly. ‘I think that’s what I’ll miss the most. Good food. My ma cooks the best lamb you’ve ever had, she does. With rosemary, and potatoes in butter. Can almost taste it.’

Cadven said nothing. There was one last thing in the bottom of the sack, something small and sharp. He drew it out, holding it up to the flickering torchlight. A short dagger, its blade pitted with use and faded with age. The hilt was wrapped in fraying leather, unadorned and plain. Cadven frowned, tucking it away at the bottom of the chest.

‘Won’t kill many Exiles with that!’ the boy opposite said, giggling to himself.

‘No.’ He looked away into the flickering firelight. The other boys were smiling again, planning their glory at the edge of the world, joking and laughing and still saying nothing at all. Fifteen? Sixteen? Even younger than he was. What did they know about blood? The bite of steel? He could feel their eyes on him, when they thought he wasn’t looking. Wondering, questioning, spying. Cadven looked back at his father’s sword, frowning at it, and wondered how it had come to this.

*

It was dark when he snuck silently out of the windowless dormitory, closing the door behind him.

The cold hit him like a hammer, driving the breath from his lungs, filling his blood with ice. He’d known cold before. Known it his whole life. The Highlands new snow better than grass, and the lakes were frozen solid almost half the year. But this was something new. A keenness in the eerie stillness of the snowless ground. A mute light to the endless grey of the sky. The wind whined over the battlements of the fort, kicking swirling wisps of black dust into the air, and he scowled at it, shrugged himself deeper into his furs.

Still, no point in complaining. He was here now, and there was nothing to go back to. He lowered his head, forehead aching from the cold, and set off through the squat, windowless buildings, following a distant blur of torchlight. He stared at the dust beneath his feet as he went, but he could feel the weight of the Teeth bearing down overhead, a black face taller than the sky. There wasn’t a place in the North you couldn’t see them, but now he was so close he found he didn’t much care for them at all. Reminded him of shadows, when the night was at its darkest. And he hated shadows. Those ones most of all.

It was quiet between the buildings as he walked. The men and women of the Breach had the good sense to have found their beds. At least the day brought a little comfort with it, muted through the grey haze of the sky; by night, there was none to be had at all. Still, Cadven was grateful for the quiet. There were no eyes to watch him, now. No whispers. He gritted his teeth, shivering.

When he came at last to the gate, his fingers were half-numb, and his breath had filled his chest with frigid cold. The sheer mountains loomed overhead, dark as jet, blacker than the night. Here, at the eastern edge of the fort, the wall was taller, fifty feet of wood, thick as a wagon, pressed right against the cliff. The gate was banded with dark steel, studded with spikes bigger than daggers, and there were braziers laid out across the parapet. Shifting, twisting, shadows moving in the dark. Beside it, the old stormtower loomed, a pillar of black rock stabbing out of the nest of frozen wood. Dark. Smooth. Gleaming. He frowned at it, outlined in mirror-gleam against the Teeth, and looked back over his shoulder, hesitating. Nothing stirred. The fort was sleeping, and he had come a long way to see nothing but a closed gate.

His aching legs groaned in protest as he stepped up onto the parapet. Torchlight filled his eyes, blinding him, and he blinked, staring out over the battlements. The night shifted and blurred, twisting, and the Breach coalesced out of the dark before him. A notch in the Teeth, barely wider than a cart, trailing away into the rock. But not a tunnel. A ravine. Disappearing up into the gloom, sheer sides scored with spines of impossibly sharp rock, till it merged with the shapeless sky somewhere far above. The firelight gleamed down from the braziers atop the parapet, filling the ravine with amber light, dry as flaming bone. Cadven realised he was holding his breath. He peered into the opening, searching for an end, but the torchlight trailed away into the depths, leaving nothing but impenetrable gloom. Distorting like eddying water before his weary eyes. It barely looked real.

‘Boy!’

He blinked, freezing. Two warriors were standing in a ring of brazier-light beside him, one man, one woman, thick as bears in their furs, steel at their hips, dark eyes glaring at him.

‘You deaf? Come ‘ere.’

Cadven hesitated, then stepped into the firelight.

‘Ears work just fine.’ the man said to his fellow, scowling through his black beard, beady eyes narrowing. ‘It’s what’s between them that’s the trouble.’

‘Look at ‘im, Fen. Fresh meat, clear as day.’

‘Don’t matter.’ the man grumbled. ‘Ain’t no one allowed up on the wall without steel.’

Cadven had no interest in responding. He was quite happy standing in the heat of the brazier, ignoring them as the feeling returned to his fingers.

‘Hold on, Fen.’ the woman said, eyes widening. She was smaller than his companion, but barely, and her jaw was thick as an old brick. ‘Look at his hair.’

‘Well, fuck me.’ Fen said, eyeing Cadven suspiciously. ‘Aengus’ boy.’

‘Smaller than ‘is brother.’ the woman added. Cadven grunted.

‘Ain’t everyone?’ Fen replied. ‘Fucking savage, that one. Never seen reaving like it. Said he killed a hundred down south in the rebellion, ‘fore he was even full grown. Not to mention mad Talor’s butcher twins.’

The woman nodded sagely. ‘I believe it. Saw what he did to them Exiles. Carved ‘em up better than a side of pork.’

Cadven ground his teeth.

‘Bet this one’s got the madness in ‘im, an’ all.’ Fen went on, sneering. ‘Them Highlanders got the Old Blood, same as the King’s folk. The bad kind.’ He straightened, putting a hand on the hilt of his blade, and the woman grinned beside him. ‘How about it then, Highlander. You got the fire in you, too?’

‘Enough.’

The two warriors froze, looking past Cadven, and Fen dropped his hand from his sword.

‘We were just messing with ‘im, Captain.’ he said quickly, holding up his gloved hands. ‘Didn’t mean nothing by it.’

Cadven turned to find Captain Gunil stepping into the torchlight beside them, her one good eye gleaming, wrapped up to the chin in black fur.

‘Leave us.’ she said quietly. The two watchers didn’t hesitate, hurrying off along the parapet to the next brazier, eyes on their feet.

‘Not the welcome you were expecting?’ the Captain asked him as they drew out of earshot. She wasn’t a small woman, but she wasn’t exactly large either, and her scarred cheeks were lean as leather. Forty? Fifty? It didn’t seem to matter.

‘Like you said.’ Cadven replied, looking away. ‘There’s no lords here.’

The Captain grunted, looking out over the wall. The Breach gleamed amber in the shifting light of the braziers, twisting away into shadows. Cadven realized again how quiet it was up here. Still as the grave. There was an eerie weight on the dry air, and the shadows in the ravine beyond were thick and still.

‘Strange, isn’t it.’ The Captain said after a while, following his eyes. ‘That something so small needs so much guarding.’

Cadven didn’t reply.

‘They say it’s been here five thousand years. Since the Darkness. Since Ulwe raised the Teeth, if you believe all that.’ Captain Gunil went on, indifferent. ‘These mountains run north to south all the way to the sea, and there’s only two ways through. There’s another, down south. That’s the true Wastes, down there. Black sands that go on forever, they say. Think I prefer the dust. At least the Grey won’t swallow your feet.’

She paused, and her eye gleamed in the light of the brazier. ‘Greycloaks used to watch both, before. Built a fort here, too, though that blasted tower’s all that’s left. None of them left to guard it, now.’

‘None of them left anywhere else, either.’ Cadven told him.

‘Maybe.’ the Captain replied. ‘Either way, it’s us poor sods that got the job of watching it for them. Could’ve done what we were supposed to. Watched. Just like the Greycloaks did. But no, we start sending our worst out into the Grey ‘stead of killing them ourselves. Clever.’

Cadven grunted. Somewhere overhead, the wind whispered over the rocks, but on top of the wall, the eerie quiet remained, thick as water.

‘You know what they say about me, boy?’

Cadven stared at the Breach, still and black and gleaming, and said nothing.

‘Not much of a talker, are you? Out with it. I’m long past taking offense.’

Cadven frowned.

‘That you were Exiled. That you made it back.’

‘Ah yes. The Exile Captain, the woman who made it back through the mountains. Who escaped the Grey.’ she sighed, scowling. ‘Only I’m not the only one. Not really. Just the only one fool enough to stick around, after.’

Cadven looked at her, frowning. The silver scar dripping from under her eyepatch gleamed, and her one dark eye stared out over the wall, unblinking.

‘But the Breach takes what it can get. We’ve got peasants here, orphans and farmers, hunters and killers. Even get unblooded Lordlings that come calling, sent by their daddies to get a few notches in their steel before they go back to their halls and feasts and spitting on the likes of us.’ she paused, fixing Cadven with her eye. ‘They’re no different. Lost men, same as all the rest. Lost men and women of the North, guarding the worst of it.’

Cadven stared out over the wall, setting his jaw, and the Teeth loomed over him, grinning.

‘How old are you, boy? Eighteen? Older than most of the noble brats they send me.’

‘I don’t catch your meaning.’ he replied quietly, grinding his teeth.

‘Heard about the business with your brother, even up here.’ the Captain went on, dark eye boring into his skin. ‘Always was a wild one. Had the madness in him, the bloody kind. Still, King’s men, in the King’s hall? Must have been quite the rage. What was it, four?’

‘Five.’

‘Five.’ the Exile Captain whispered. ‘No wonder you came running up here.’

‘What do you want?’ Cadven was in no mood for games. He hated games. And whatever this half-blind old bitch thought she knew, it was already too much for his liking. Gunil stared back at him for a long moment, unblinking. Then she smiled thinly, looking back over the wall.

‘Nothing but what was promised.’ she replied. ‘That brother of yours took plenty of notches, in his time. Dust out in the Grey ran red with them.’

‘I thought you were here to keep them the right side of the mountains, not execute them.’

‘We are.’ the Exile Captain told him. ‘But every herd needs culling, and we do what we must. Will you take heads of your own, when the time comes?’

Cadven stared at the Breach for a long moment. An impossible notch in impossible mountains at the edge of the world. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his mouth filled with hot spit. He swallowed, then looked back at the old warrior, scowling.

‘Want to know if I’ll kill for you, Captain?’ he growled. 'Aye, I’ll kill for you. But I’m not my brother. I’m not a weapon to be pointed. And I’m not here to win myself a name. More interested in losing one.’

The one-eyed Captain stared at him for a long moment.

‘Fair enough.’

Cadven spared one last glance over the edge of the wall, then turned to go, stepping out of the light of the brazier.

‘Don’t let me catch you up here without a blade again.’ the Captain called after him, and he ground his teeth as he walked, clenching his numb fingers into fists.