the mossy earth. Slick tubers, tangled vines, unstable logs, strange guano – all of it threatened to upend him. Yet even in his heavy clanking boots, both curved to the left at the toe, Jolm moved with something approaching grace.
'I had not known they were Dauwarks. I thought they were Rovann, like me.'
The Krune officer seemed amused by this and a low chuckle escaped him.
'Rovann? Blood-drenched Sickles of the Gladestorm, slinger! You Rovann are too small to be real soldiers. What are your kind at best, six foot? Six foot and a half? No, the Gilt Plates are Dauwarks alright. Big and wide, clad in armour your kind could not even lift let alone march under.' They passed under a dappled shaft of light. Shiny black insects the size of fists scurried amongst fuzzy orange-stalked plants. 'You have not been trained in Dauwark anatomy?'
'Uh, not really.'
'Don't worry. They may not look it but they are like big Rovann. Everything is in the same place, more or less, and functions in the same way. They don't have their brains in their buttocks or their balls in their throats, for instance.' Again, he chuckled. 'The folk of the Ten Plains have more in common than you think, beneath the skin.'
Well, we're all willing to die in a strange land for a king we have never even met, Chalos thought. How's that for common ground?
'We soldiers know a lot about anatomy,' Jolm added. 'We carry out more autopsies than any of your scholars. We just do it quicker, and with bigger blades.'
'You also know a lot about the Gilt Plates,' Chalos asked, keen to maintain conversation. Although they were mere minutes from camp it still seemed as if they had slipped into some other, distant realm of the Dallian Woodland, and would never see another soul again. 'You have fought alongside them before?'
'Oh, ha!' the lieutenant roared. 'Fought, yes. Alongside, no!'
'You were enemies?' the healer gasped.
'When the King finally conquered Datha'Aish, it was the Gilt Plates that broke us,' he said without a shred of bitterness. 'They smashed into our lines like a huge glittering bull, leaving paths of blood and shattered bone. In awe, we surrendered to them. First, the callow Tarukaveri and then my people, the brave Tarukataru. The master of the Gilt Plates, Dolga, saw the worth in our warriors, and advised the King to offer us a place in his army. Now, the Black Talon and the Gilt Plates are the most renowned close-quarter fighters in all of the southern plains.'
Fascinated by the tale, Chalos realised why Jolm held Agryce, the other Krune lieutenant, in such contempt. She was Tarukaveri, the tribe that had surrendered to the King first. He wondered which tribe Duke Elas belonged to. He was about to ask when Jolm suddenly paused and turned, placing a huge gauntleted hand on the healer's shoulder. Frozen to the spot, Chalos stared wide-eyed into the dark glare of the demon helm. 'With any luck, Dolga still leads the Gilt Plates,' Jolm boomed. 'Then you shall see a hero!'
With that, the lieutenant burst into the camp, calling for his aides and officers. Chalos was left standing on the edge of the camp, cradling Mysa and wondering what else the day would bring.
Four
Effigies and Agonies
For three more days they rode, passing a series of grotesque sign-posts carved from the corpses of Riln warriors, each more grisly than the last. Even the Krune seemed disturbed by the mass of entrails and organs nailed high to a tree, crowned with a pallid severed head, the eyes stitched shut and what appeared to be a rodent stuffed into the mouth, the tail hanging limply over the putrid red mass of gore beneath.
Chalos had been spending more time alongside Jolm, who had now moved his retinue up the column to ride on the vanguard's heels, and the healer found himself developing a resistance to these horrific sculptures of dead flesh. This numbness disturbed him as much as the sculptures themselves.
Jolm was making use of him, dredging his memory of
'I had not known they were Dauwarks. I thought they were Rovann, like me.'
The Krune officer seemed amused by this and a low chuckle escaped him.
'Rovann? Blood-drenched Sickles of the Gladestorm, slinger! You Rovann are too small to be real soldiers. What are your kind at best, six foot? Six foot and a half? No, the Gilt Plates are Dauwarks alright. Big and wide, clad in armour your kind could not even lift let alone march under.' They passed under a dappled shaft of light. Shiny black insects the size of fists scurried amongst fuzzy orange-stalked plants. 'You have not been trained in Dauwark anatomy?'
'Uh, not really.'
'Don't worry. They may not look it but they are like big Rovann. Everything is in the same place, more or less, and functions in the same way. They don't have their brains in their buttocks or their balls in their throats, for instance.' Again, he chuckled. 'The folk of the Ten Plains have more in common than you think, beneath the skin.'
Well, we're all willing to die in a strange land for a king we have never even met, Chalos thought. How's that for common ground?
'We soldiers know a lot about anatomy,' Jolm added. 'We carry out more autopsies than any of your scholars. We just do it quicker, and with bigger blades.'
'You also know a lot about the Gilt Plates,' Chalos asked, keen to maintain conversation. Although they were mere minutes from camp it still seemed as if they had slipped into some other, distant realm of the Dallian Woodland, and would never see another soul again. 'You have fought alongside them before?'
'Oh, ha!' the lieutenant roared. 'Fought, yes. Alongside, no!'
'You were enemies?' the healer gasped.
'When the King finally conquered Datha'Aish, it was the Gilt Plates that broke us,' he said without a shred of bitterness. 'They smashed into our lines like a huge glittering bull, leaving paths of blood and shattered bone. In awe, we surrendered to them. First, the callow Tarukaveri and then my people, the brave Tarukataru. The master of the Gilt Plates, Dolga, saw the worth in our warriors, and advised the King to offer us a place in his army. Now, the Black Talon and the Gilt Plates are the most renowned close-quarter fighters in all of the southern plains.'
Fascinated by the tale, Chalos realised why Jolm held Agryce, the other Krune lieutenant, in such contempt. She was Tarukaveri, the tribe that had surrendered to the King first. He wondered which tribe Duke Elas belonged to. He was about to ask when Jolm suddenly paused and turned, placing a huge gauntleted hand on the healer's shoulder. Frozen to the spot, Chalos stared wide-eyed into the dark glare of the demon helm. 'With any luck, Dolga still leads the Gilt Plates,' Jolm boomed. 'Then you shall see a hero!'
With that, the lieutenant burst into the camp, calling for his aides and officers. Chalos was left standing on the edge of the camp, cradling Mysa and wondering what else the day would bring.
Four
Effigies and Agonies
For three more days they rode, passing a series of grotesque sign-posts carved from the corpses of Riln warriors, each more grisly than the last. Even the Krune seemed disturbed by the mass of entrails and organs nailed high to a tree, crowned with a pallid severed head, the eyes stitched shut and what appeared to be a rodent stuffed into the mouth, the tail hanging limply over the putrid red mass of gore beneath.
Chalos had been spending more time alongside Jolm, who had now moved his retinue up the column to ride on the vanguard's heels, and the healer found himself developing a resistance to these horrific sculptures of dead flesh. This numbness disturbed him as much as the sculptures themselves.
Jolm was making use of him, dredging his memory of
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