Hangman's Gate Page 9

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  The road west was barren for the miles that they plodded along it. Where once might have stood field upon field of verdant crops was now nothing but dried scrub. The occasional derelict outbuilding or abandoned irrigation machine stood like broken statues in the sun. Testament to how far his country had sunk in the hundred years since the Fall. Beneath the oppressive Cordral sun, Ctenka felt exposed. Without the walls of Dunrun to protect him he felt vulnerable, despite this being the country of his birth. As much as he was supposed to be the guide on this journey, he suddenly felt glad he had Ermund to protect him.

  Glancing over at the tall southerner, Ctenka realised there was no other man in the world he would have rather been on this journey with, despite the lack of conversation. There had always been something about Ermund that commanded respect. A confidence about him that was undeniable. It made Ctenka wonder about that mysterious past and what might make such a man leave his former life to pursue a lowly position in a foreign land.

  ‘Have you spent long on the open road, Ermund?’ he asked, fishing for anything from the implacable veteran.

  ‘I’ve had more than my share of years in the saddle, if that’s what you mean,’ he replied, scratching his grey beard.

  Ctenka could hold back no more. ‘So a sellsword in the southern companies, then? No… a captain. You commanded your own band of mercenaries?’

  Ermund shook his head. ‘Why the sudden interest, Ctenka? You want to know the quality of the man you travel with? Or is there a bet among the militia recruits?’

  ‘Pah. If I had to bet I’d say you were some kind of bandit chief. Cast out by a treacherous second-in-command.’

  ‘That’s something of a stretch, Ctenka. Perhaps you fancy yourself as a fireside storyteller?’

  Ctenka laughed at that. As usual it didn’t even raise a smile from Ermund.

  ‘Well, it’s clear there’s more to you than meets the eye. All anyone knows is your first name. If that’s even the one your mother gave you.’

  ‘There’s not much in a name,’ Ermund replied. ‘You should not put so much store by them.’

  ‘Really? That strikes me as words from a man who once held a great name. A feared and respected name.’ As he spoke, Ctenka realised his inquisitive line of thought may have run away with itself. For his part, Ermund said nothing, merely creasing his troubled brow yet further. Perhaps Ctenka had struck upon the truth after all. A truth Ermund would rather have stayed buried. Still, it did not stop him, and against his better judgement he pressed further.

  ‘Were you always so bloody dour? At least tell me there was once some joy in the life of Ermund of the Suderfeld, before he lost everything.’

  Ctenka was surprised when Ermund replied, ‘A man who has felt no joy cannot call himself a man.’

  ‘And now he speaks philosophy like a sage.’ Ctenka laughed. It felt dry in his parched throat.

  ‘Not philosophy. Just sense.’ Ermund looked at him with those deep blue eyes, shining in the sunlight. ‘But if you must know, yes. I have lost much over the years.’

  Ctenka had so many more questions, but he satisfied himself with that for now. He had already learned more about Ermund in one brief conversation than in the past six months of living with the man. And it was a long road ahead. No need to rush.

  As the evening wore on into night, Ctenka couldn’t help but feel relieved to be out of the sun. It was clear his horse felt much the same as they plodded along the arid roadway, but his sudden good humour faded fast when Ermund spied a campfire up ahead.

  ‘What do you think?’ Ctenka asked.

  ‘I think bandits wouldn’t make such a large fire in the middle of the night,’ Ermund replied.

  ‘Maybe it’s a trap?’

  Ermund kicked his mount towards the fire. ‘It’s good that you have your wits about you, young Ctenka. So let’s introduce ourselves. If they rob and murder us you can be satisfied that you were right.’

  Ctenka hung back, surprised at Ermund’s uncustomary disregard for caution. As they drew closer he relaxed a little as the sound of music and laughter greeted them. Closer still and Ctenka heard voices he recognised.

  ‘Merchants,’ Ctenka said. ‘How could you know that?’

  ‘Because they are due to arrive at Dunrun tomorrow,’ Ermund said matter-of-factly. ‘If you ever checked the fort’s supply ledger you’d know that.’

  Yet more veiled admonishment. Ctenka wondered how much more he could take on one journey.

  Both men dismounted, walking their steeds into the camp. Immediately Ctenka recognised Mohanan, the bearded tinker whose smile was almost as big as the belly that protruded over his thick sash.

  ‘My boys,’ Mohanan said over the sound of lilting tamburs and the singing of his fellow merchants. If any of them were surprised at the arrival of two militiamen in the night they didn’t show it.

  Ermund and Ctenka were greeted like old friends, and it was a relief to know they didn’t have to build a fire or even prepare their own food on the first night of travel.

  Ctenka was buoyed by the subsequent music and conversation, until Ermund asked the merchant about the current mood in Kantor. A sudden shadow fell over Mohanan’s usually jovial countenance.

  ‘Kantor prepares for war,’ he said, pulling at that long beard. ‘The queen is eager for the Cordral to retain its neutrality. After the death of the king she is desperate to raise the prince to be a strong ruler, but the White Widow in the north presses for an alliance. She has already united most of the Ramadi cults and turns her eye to the Cordral. I see a darkness descending.’

  ‘And to the south?’ asked Ermund.

  ‘Not much better, my friend. The War of Crowns is all but over. The three kings of Suderfeld are now united.’

  ‘By what?’ Ermund sounded surprised by the fact. Ctenka found it curious that Ermund appeared troubled by news that the war in his homeland was now over.

  ‘No one knows. But now war in their own lands has passed, it appears the three kingdoms have come together, and they too look north towards conquest.’

  ‘And Kantor is stuck in the middle,’ said Ctenka. It seemed the importance of their mission had now grown.

  The two men remained silent then, as the merchants played on into the night.

  With the threats from north and south, Ctenka could only hope the queen would take seriously the grave news they were bringing from the east. As he lay down beside the fire, the sound of music still ringing in his ears, Ctenka wished he had not been so eager to be the bearer of such dark tidings. For the second night in a row sleep evaded him.

  10

  CTENKA wanted to complain about how hungry he was, but there was no way he was going to whinge to Ermund. His southern friend had moderated his rations and still had an abundant supply of dried fruit in his pack. Ctenka on the other hand had nothing, but then moderation had never been his thing. How he wished he’d packed some wine in one of their waterskins, at least then he’d have something to take his mind off the hunger.

  As it was, all he had was the desolate scenery – the wide-open sands, interspersed with the odd tree. In the distance they’d now and again spy a farm as someone tried to scratch out a meagre living from the harsh land. The further west they went, the more of these tiny homesteads they saw. It made Ctenka suddenly grateful he’d left his own settlement behind to join the militia. Rather that than be just another tragic farmer, wasting his life in the desert.

  Ctenka hadn’t remembered the land being so bleak when he’d first travelled east to Dunrun. But back then he was filled with a sense of naïve duty and optimism for what was to come. He hadn’t been battered by the endless days with nothing to do but drink his wine ration and gamble. Now he saw this place for what it really was… doomed.

  It was getting late and still no sign of Kantor. Four days should have been enough, but still they plodded on with not a sign of another traveller along the road. Ctenka was almost at his wits’ end. What he would have
given for a hearty meal and some grog.

  ‘Do you think they’ll give us beds in the capital?’ he asked, bored of looking at the back of Ermund’s head.

  ‘What do you think?’ Ermund replied.

  ‘I think we deserve something. Perhaps a dabble in the harem as a show of gratitude? That might be nice.’

  ‘Of course they won’t give us beds, you dolt,’ Ermund snapped. ‘And harem? The city’s ruled by a queen. If she has a harem it’ll be full of strapping young men with square jaws and broad shoulders. If you fancy a dabble with one of them you’re more than welcome.’

  Ctenka made a mental note to think things through more before he wished for something.

  Just as the sun was going down they reached Ankrav Territory, passing a field sporting a surprisingly fertile crop. A lone farmer toiled in the midst of it, filling a little cart with sheaves of corn. Ermund was about to ride on but Ctenka slowed his mount.

  ‘Do you think he’s got a spare bed?’ Ctenka said absently.

  ‘A bed?’ Ermund replied. ‘He hasn’t even got a mule to help him with the crops. I think a spare bed might be pushing it.’

  ‘He must at least have a roof. Maybe he’ll let us stay under it if he knows what an important mission we’re on.’

  ‘We haven’t got time to make friends with farmers.’

  ‘I’m not talking about making friends. I’m talking about getting us a roof to sleep under rather than a sky full of bloody stars, out in the wilderness, exposed for any animal or bandit to come along and murder us.’

  Ermund sat and looked at him. Ctenka thought he was about to argue, until he shrugged. ‘All right. By all means, get us a bed for the night.’ He motioned towards the farmer.

  Ctenka hadn’t expected that response at all, but he wasted no time in jumping down from his horse and handing the reins to Ermund. As he made his way across the field towards the farmer he expected the man to stop what he was doing and hail him at any moment, but the man was so intent on his labours he didn’t stop until Ctenka was almost upon him.

  ‘Evening,’ said Ctenka. ‘I’m with—’

  ‘Militia,’ the man said. He looked well into his fifties, back stooped from years of working the fields, face a craggy sun-blasted landscape that told the tale of his years. ‘Am I late with my tax?’

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ Ctenka replied, gleaning some strange satisfaction from the man’s appreciation of his authority. ‘My companion and I just wanted some shelter for the night. Would you be able to—’

  ‘Of course,’ said the farmer. ‘Anything for Kantor’s elite.’

  Ctenka didn’t have the heart to point out he was just a green recruit, and far from ‘elite’. As the man began to push his cart across the field, Ctenka couldn’t resist turning to Ermund in the distance and giving him a thumbs up sign.

  ‘My name’s Markhan,’ said the man, struggling with his burden. ‘My house isn’t far.’

  ‘I’m Ctenka. And let me help you with that.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ said Markhan, standing aside and letting Ctenka brace himself against the cart. He pushed with all his might, but it wouldn’t move.

  ‘Wheel must be stuck or something,’ Ctenka said, after he almost burst a vein in his head.

  ‘Yes,’ said the farmer with a wry smile. ‘There’s a knack to it.’

  Markhan took over, easily pushing the laden cart which rumbled over the dry ground. Ctenka followed him, wondering how anything could grow here, but clearly Markhan had chosen to farm a hardy crop.

  They made their way over a ridge, Ermund following with the horses in the distance, until Ctenka could see the little white farmhouse. Farmshed would have been a better description, but from where he was it looked like it had a sturdy enough roof, and Ctenka was happy with that.

  As Markhan wheeled his cart to the side of the house and began to stack his sheaves under a rickety-looking awning, the door to the house opened. A woman stood there, a big smile on her face as though she’d not seen another human for weeks. Her teeth were yellow with liberally spaced gaps, her bosom the largest Ctenka had ever seen, but still he feigned a smile in return. Ermund came to stand beside him now and both men looked at the woman, unsure of what to do.

  ‘Markhan?’ she called eventually. ‘What trouble have you got us in now?’

  Before anyone could answer she slapped both thighs and guffawed at her own joke, throwing in a little snort for good measure.

  ‘Just helping these fine fellows out, my dear,’ said Markhan, now finished with his labours. ‘Bed for the night and some vittles. Least we can do for the queen’s men.’

  ‘Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so?’ said the woman. ‘Come in, don’t be standing on ceremony round here.’

  She ushered them inside, and Ctenka was immediately hit by the smell of something cooking on the stove. It was hardly the best thing he’d ever smelled, but his stomach wasn’t too fussy about what he put in it after a few days of dry rations.

  The woman introduced herself as Felaina, and bid both men sit. Ctenka and Ermund pulled two wobbly chairs up to an even wobblier table as she tended to the stove.

  Markhan entered and began washing himself in a bowl of water, and Ctenka suddenly felt self-conscious. He was very aware of the dirt caked on his hands, but the couple didn’t seem to mind as they joined them at the table.

  Despite the questionable smell of whatever broth Felaina had made, Ctenka couldn’t wait to dig in. He reached out a hand for some of the stale bread Felaina had served with it, when Ermund grasped his wrist. The couple bowed their heads to say grace to Sol the Life Giver before he could dig in. Ermund bowed his own head, and Ctenka quickly did the same so as not to insult their hosts.

  When they were done with the simple prayer of gratitude to Sol, Ctenka took it as his signal to dive in. He needn’t have bothered – it was the worst thing he’d ever tasted. The broth was weak and sour, more like goat’s piss than the hearty meal he’d expected. For his part, Ermund shovelled it down as quick as he could. Ctenka thought he probably had the right idea. Get it over quickly.

  When they were done, Ctenka turned to their hosts, hoping for some kind of meaningful conversation. Again, he needn’t have bothered.

  ‘You have a lot of land to farm, Markhan,’ Ctenka began. ‘Is it hard to work?’

  ‘Yes,’ the farmer replied. But then, that much was obvious.

  ‘I imagine Felaina’s a great help in the fields as well as the home?’

  ‘Oh, I won’t have my wife working in the fields,’ he said. ‘She’s a precious one, and no mistake. I wouldn’t have her all wrinkled and stooped from a life of tending crops. She’s too beautiful for that.’

  He tousled her chin as though she were some pretty maid and not an old boot with a face like a hog.

  ‘Get off, you daft devil,’ she replied, swatting his hand away playfully before she rose to clear up the plates.

  The rest of the night carried on with their inane conversation. The couple were clearly unused to strangers, and took the opportunity to regale Ctenka with stories about farming the land in such harsh conditions. As much as he sympathised with them, Ctenka almost resorted to asking if they had a book in the house, but he quickly thought better of it. He doubted if either of them could even read.

  Eventually, as the sun went down, Felaina brought the men two blankets and cleared a space in the main room for them to sleep. Then the couple bid them goodnight and went to their bedchamber. Before long, Ctenka could hear Markhan snoring gently from behind the closed door.

  ‘I’m starting to think another night under the stars wasn’t that bad a prospect after all,’ Ctenka whispered into the dark.

  ‘You really are an ungrateful little shit, aren’t you,’ Ermund whispered back.

  ‘Ungrateful? That food wasn’t fit for swill.’

  ‘It’s all they had, and they shared it with us. Count yourself lucky we found such a generous couple.’

  ‘Come on, these peopl
e are halfwits. For a start, what kind of farmer tries to scratch a living in barren land like this? Secondly, what kind of farmer lets his wife swan around all day while he grafts? Especially when she has no children. And that’s another thing – where are the young ones? Flown the coop I’ll wager. Couldn’t wait to leave this shit tip and those two halfwits behind them.’

  He listened for a moment in the dark. All he could hear was Ermund’s gentle breathing as the man slept soundly.

  Fair enough, he thought, curling up in his blanket and trying to get as comfortable on the floor as he could.

  Morning came with Markhan banging around in the bedchamber. At first Ctenka thought he may have been making amorous advances to his horror of a wife, but he appeared all too soon, smile on his face as though mornings were his favourite time of day. Yet another reason for Ctenka to be suspicious – he’d always had his doubts about morning people.

  Of course, Ermund had already risen and gone outside to tend the horses. Ctenka stood up gingerly, stiff from sleeping on the floor, and went outside to take his inaugural piss of the day. He walked out into the morning sun and with no better alternative, went around the back of the farmhouse. Ctenka closed his eyes and breathed a sigh as he unleashed that first pitter-patter of piss on the ground. When he opened them, he noticed half a dozen mounds had been dug in the earth – little hills, most likely the product of desert vermin.

  Once he’d finished he met Ermund around the front, already waiting with their mounts.

  ‘You won’t stay for breakfast?’ asked Felaina, standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ Ermund replied. For all his defending her generosity the night before, he was clearly in no mood to sample any more of her cooking.

  Markhan also appeared to wave them off, and when he did Ctenka couldn’t resist.

  ‘Thanks for the hospitality anyway,’ he said as he mounted up. ‘Just to let you know, you might have a problem with prairie rats. Back of your house is riddled with mounds.’