Chapter Thirty-Seven - Nobody

‘Grnnn.’ A’kira growled, grinding the sole of her boot into the dirt. The sun was rising overhead, and her little rain shelter in the trees was dripping away the last of the morning wetness around its edges. She hated the rain. She’d never seen so much water. This island was wetter than the sea, and she’d hated that, too. Never thought she’d miss the sands.

She cursed under her breath, checking her bowstring again. The liar had been gone all night and half a day already. They should have been moving again, by now. She hated standing still. It made her nervous. Not that she was frightened of the liar, or for him. A’kira wasn’t frightened of anyone, especially little liars with more tongue than bite. But neither was she accustomed to spending more than a day in one place. Especially when that place was wetter than a stale puddle.

A’kira gritted her teeth, rubbing at the silvery lines on her dark cheeks. At least no one could sneak up on her, here. Not that she’d ever let anyone sneak up on her anywhere else, mind. The ledge where she was standing clung to the side of the sheer hill like an abandoned nest, crowded with a little stand of spindly, ragged trees. It ended abruptly several paces behind her, shearing away like an old sword blade into a fall of rocky, blackened shale. She doubted even a bird could sneak up on her, in a place like this, but she’d like to see a bird try.

She ran a finger over her silvery cheek again, scowling. How had she ended up here? She hated the cold. She hated the water. She hated the grass. She hated these white-skinned pigs with their soft bellies and their dirty hair. She didn’t trust them. But then, she didn’t trust anyone, and this particular white-skinned liar paid well. Gold was gold. She tested her bowstring against her finger again, muttering a few choice curses. A noble venture, he’d called it.

Liar, she thought.

She stiffened suddenly, ears twitching. The drip-drip-drip of the rain from the trees. Wind whining over the hilltop. And footsteps. Footsteps heavier than a sand golem. She turned and stood for a moment, looking back towards the narrow trail winding its way around the jagged hilltop. At least it had stopped raining. She cursed again, spitting in the dirt. Then she stepped out from under her little rain shelter and dissolved quietly into the trees, soft as a shadow.

*

‘Fuck.’

Brand’s boot slid out from under him, and he grabbed hold of the mare’s saddle to keep himself upright. The path out of the village was barely wide enough for one man across, let alone a man as big as Brand, scratching itself into the side of the sodden hills like a trail of shit across the rocky grass. The kind of mud that would snatch a boot if you weren’t careful. It was nearly midday, and they’d been climbing since before dawn. The rain had stopped, but he was wet to the bone, the old wound in his back was aching, and his plums were shrunken like stale acorns. The mare was struggling on gamely behind him, flanks caked with mud. The fool with the nothing face was a few paces ahead, walking as though the mud was no hindrance at all, boots barely leaving a mark. Brand briefly considered killing him again.

‘Cunt.’ he grumbled under his breath, hauling himself upright again.

‘You know, it strikes me that your name is rather fitting.’ the fool was saying in his sharp little voice. Dressed like a merchant, and still improbably clean in his nondescript way. Brand looked down at his own leathers, half-covered in mud, and scowled. ‘How many men have scars you gave them?’

Brand grunted, and said nothing. He’d lost count when he was about seventeen. What was one more, after all...

‘How much further?’ he growled. The path was winding its way up and over towards a thick stand of old woodland, trees clustered together against a sharp slope. He didn’t like trees, especially this close to the road. Couldn’t see for shit in any direction. Good place for an ambush. But he hadn’t eaten a good meal in days, and his stomach was growling like a bear in spring. Might snag a rabbit, if he was lucky. Rabbits down south were short and fat, just like their men. He stood for a moment, weighing up the possibilities of the treeline, and decided he was too hungry to care. Still loosened his sword in its sheath, though.

‘We’re here.’ the fool told him. He’d reached the spine of the hill already somehow, and quickly disappeared down the slope beyond, humming tunelessly to himself. Brand snarled, working his knuckles, and struggled on after him.

‘Hrrrrr.’ he groaned as he reached the hilltop, grimacing and lowering his eyes as the wind caught him across the face like an icy slap, snatching the breath clean out of him. The mare snorted and yanked on the reins. He swore at it, straightening again, and looked out over the ledge.

‘Fuck me.’ he panted, glaring angrily at the sheer drop ahead, a cliff spearing down into an endless roll of grassy green hills. He missed the sea. And snow. At least snow had the decency to fuck off for half the year. Closer, the gnarled little stand of trees clung to the side of the cliff, knotted and twisting in the wind.

‘You coming?’ the fool called back over his shoulder. Brand growled a few choice curses at him, but the man had already turned and disappeared unhurriedly into the trees, still humming tunelessly to himself. Brand looked back at the valley below, frowning. Fucking grass.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

The going was a little easier on this side of the hill. He tried to ignore the cliff on his left as he dragged the nervous mare along the path, but at least it was also too steep for to have been turned to slush by the rain. Little things. Little things like the pouch of gold pressed against his ribs. The promise of another when it was done. With that kind of money, he could retire to a whorehouse in Dal and live out his days a happy drunk. With that kind of money, he could disappear. Disappear where no one would follow. Somewhere he’d never need to rely on snares for his next meal again. The thought made him feel a little warmer.

He was in the trees now, and the ground had levelled out into a flat ledge of stone. The branches dripped around him, muttering to themselves. He peered ahead through the boughs, grumbling, but the fool was nowhere to be seen, so he stumbled on, catching his boots on trailing roots, low branches scratching at his ruined face. Then the trees ended, and he found himself at the edge of the precipice, hard stone beneath his feet, the endless, empty grasslands of Valia opening up before him like a colossal sea of rippling green water. He cursed under his breath again. Where was that prick?

‘No move.’ someone said behind him.

He blinked. He didn’t know that voice. His fingers went to the knife in his sleeve.

‘No.’ the voice told him. A strange voice, accent sharp as cut glass. He scowled. Hadn’t heard anyone sneaking up. Not so much as a whisper. Fucking trees.

‘Turn around.’

He did, slowly, holding up the mare’s reins carefully, and found himself looking down the shaft of a particularly cruel looking arrow. Brand hated arrows. Almost as much as he hated being wet, and that was a lot. At the other end of this particular arrow was a woman, but she wasn’t like any woman Brand had ever seen. Wrapped head to toe in dark cloth, swarthy with the weight of it, dripping spent rain onto the stone. The bow in her arms was long and viciously curved, and the arrow had a cruel-looking, knotted-rope point, twisted at the edges. Her bald head was dark as nightwood, but it was so crisscrossed with scars it almost looked silver. No, not scars, he realised, frowning. Markings. A maze of silver lines thinner than a hair, shaped in elaborate patterns across the woman’s midnight skin. A pair of dark, angry eyes glared back at him, unblinking.

‘Easy.’ Brand said quietly. He eyed the newcomer carefully, suddenly very aware of the sheer cliff a few feet behind his heels. Some good distance between him and that arrow. Too much distance. Still, he might be able to get a blade in her before she loosed it. If he was careful. He had size on his side, as usual. More than a foot of it. He let his fingers brush the hilt of the knife in his sleeve again, pressing one foot a little harder into his boot.

‘No.’ the scarred woman told him in that same sharp accent. She snarled, and the patterns across her face shifted, writhing like oil on water. Brand snarled back, frozen in place, fingers twitching on the knife’s hilt. The bowstring groaned, and the mare snorted, entirely oblivious.

‘That’s enough of that.’ the fool said suddenly, appearing out of the trees beside them. He pulled back his hood, smiling his forgettable smile, and waved a hand at the woman with her scarred face. ‘A’Kira, you can put that away.’

The woman with the bow did not flinch. ‘Why did you bring golem here?’ Brand frowned, trying to place the accent. From her skin she must have been Western, from beyond Dal, but he’d never seen someone carve their face like that.

‘Now now, A’Kira, be polite.’ the fool replied, still smiling. He took another step forwards, waving a hand grandiosely towards Brand. ‘This is no golem, though you might be forgiven for thinking that. He is our new companion. Now, if you please. Put that arrow down.’

‘He is ugly.’ the woman said, reluctantly lowering the bow.

‘He isn’t here for his looks.’ the fool replied cheerily, eyes flashing. ‘This is Brand. Where he’s from, men call him Stonesplitter. Amongst other things.’

Brand grunted. Happy as he was to no longer have an arrow pointed at him, he was not quite ready to dismiss the possibility he might need that knife. His fingers turned white around the mare’s reins.

‘And this, my giant friend, is A’Kira. Her people call her…’ the fool trailed off, eyeing the dark-skinned woman curiously.

‘Nobody.’ she finished, and the scars on her face twisted as she spoke. She had not taken her eyes of Brand, and her bowstring was still taut.

‘Just so.’ the fool agreed.

‘Enough games. Where is the old man?’ Brand grumbled. He was cold, wet, hungry, and his limited patience was wearing very thin.

‘Our wise leader is somewhat… indisposed, for the moment.’ the fool replied. ‘We will pick him up on the way. Don’t worry, your money will be with you as promised, if you see us safely to journey’s end.’

‘Why should I trust you, liar?’ the scarred woman snorted, turning a little towards him. Brand noticed the bowstring loosen a little.

‘Have I ever let you down before?’

The woman snorted again, and spat at her feet, sneering lopsidedly. She gave Brand one last suspicious look, dark eyes gleaming. Then stalked off into the trees, muttering to herself. Brand didn’t recognise the words, but it sounded to him a lot like cursing.

‘Charming woman, isn’t she?’ the fool said, smiling to himself.

‘I’ve never seen scars like that.’ Brand replied, watching her go. ‘Where is she from?’

‘West. From the Great Sands. Don’t know more than that, and I don’t care to ask.’ the fool grinned at him, sharp eyes flashing. ‘She’s dangerous. Very dangerous. Probably almost as dangerous as you are, when she puts her mind to it. Not much easier to look at, either.’

Brand grunted again. He didn’t disagree. She looked dangerous. Quiet enough to sneak up on him, too. He’d have to keep an eye on her.

‘The horses are over there.’ the fool was saying, waving a hand towards the trees south along the slope. ‘One for me, one for the woman, one for the old man, when he joins us, and one more, just in case.’

‘Just in case what?’

‘In case we pick up any strays.’ the fool told him, winking. Brand ground his teeth. ‘There’s some food in the packs. We’ll eat on the move. The path down onto the plains is treacherous, but I know a way. We’ll be ten miles from here by dark.’

‘Good.’ Brand grumbled, looking out over the rolling grass. The Riftlands. Much greener than the bit he’d seen, but he still didn’t like it. Made him nervous. Made him remember. He ground his teeth a little harder. How the fuck did he end up here?

‘A liar, a giant, and a nobody.’ the fool was saying, looking out at his side. ‘A good start.’

‘Next, a fucking sorcerer.’ Brand replied, eyeing the horizon darkly.

‘Just so.’ the fool replied, smiling. Brand swallowed a few choice curses.

‘What do I call you?’ he asked reluctantly. It seemed he would not be killing the man with the nothing face, just yet. Names were useful in a scrap.

‘Finn will do.’ the fool told him.

‘Is it your name?’

‘No.’

With that the man who wasn’t Finn turned and went away into the ragged trees, humming to himself, boots barely making a sound. Brand stood, watching him go, grinding his teeth into little nubs, jaw tensed and clenching. His hand curled around the hilt of his giant sword for a moment. It would be so easy. The ledge would do the work for him. Wouldn’t even need to bury him, out here.

Then he sighed, letting his hand fall, and followed the fool away into the trees, leading an indifferent mare behind him.