THEY headed south on the Penitent Path for two days. The fresh horses given to them in Kantor were a vast improvement on the nags they’d ridden from Dunrun, and by the end of the second day Ctenka was beginning to think himself a plains horseman reborn, even taking some joy in the journey. It didn’t last long.
The air began to cool with every mile they travelled, the landscape growing more lush. As the sky turned dark and the first rainfall began to hit the ground, Ctenka realised why the Suderfeld Kingdoms were so renowned for their greenery and the miserable mood of their populace.
For hours they plodded until the rain finally relented. As they rode in their sodden clothes, Ctenka spied a waystone, the legend scratched into the worn granite long since faded. It reminded him that the Penitent Path had once been a grand thoroughfare. Much like the Skull Road it had drawn trade and culture to Kantor from a far-off nation. Since the War of Three Crowns that trade had subsided and the two militiamen seemed the only ones who had travelled its length in an age.
‘That marks the border,’ Ermund said as they passed the waystone.
‘And how much further are we to travel?’ Ctenka asked, glancing up at the grey sky with a feeling of foreboding.
‘Perhaps another two days.’
Ctenka thought about Ermund’s words as they left Kantor – how he had suggested they might well meet their end once they reached their destination.
‘This is not the kind of country I would like to die in,’ he said.
‘With any luck you won’t. Although I can’t think of any country it would be a good place to die.’
‘My own country,’ Ctenka replied. ‘With the sun above me, not this…’ he gestured at the grey pall, ‘…this curtain of doom above, waiting to soak me through.’
‘You’ll get used to the rain.’
‘I’m hoping we won’t be here long enough for that.’
‘Then you’d best put heels to flanks, boy,’ said Ermund, encouraging his mount into a canter.
‘Forgive me if I’m not so eager to face my death,’ Ctenka replied, but if Ermund heard he didn’t bother to reply.
It didn’t take them long before a building rose up from the greenery in the distance. Ctenka felt his hopes rise at the prospect of sheltering from the inclement weather but they were dashed as soon as the place was in sight. Though the building was large and had clearly once been some kind of hostelry, now it was dilapidated, its roof long since caved in. Nevertheless, the closer they got the more they heard signs of life.
As they made their way through the trees, Ctenka could see a group of men camped under awnings, a fire lit within the open walls of the place. Something was cooking on a spit and his stomach growled in appreciation.
Ermund reined in his horse and dismounted. Ctenka did likewise and followed the southerner towards what used to be the doorway, but now stood as a gap in the crumbling wall of the inn. The place was sodden, but one side of the main room had been covered with a hastily nailed canvas. Beneath it stood a miserable-looking man, skull cap pulled tightly down over his fat head.
‘Do you have shelter for the night?’ Ermund asked. ‘Maybe a hot meal?’
‘Aye,’ said the innkeeper, barely looking up. ‘Three bits apiece.’
‘Three bits?’ Ermund asked, clearly perturbed by the expense, but then he shrugged and fished for the coins.
As Ermund paid, Ctenka couldn’t resist leaning forward. ‘Lovely place you have,’ he said to the innkeeper. ‘Nice and airy.’
The innkeeper gave him a sullen glance that spoke volumes about what he thought of Ctenka’s levity.
Their shelter turned out to be a leaky stable, the hot meal a few pieces of stringy rabbit and some watery broth. As the evening went on they hunkered around a fire in the centre of the open building and Ctenka gave thanks that the heavens held onto their load.
Other than Ctenka and Ermund, there were five others who had paid for the innkeeper’s ‘hospitality’. Five women, their dull grey robes and the braided girds around their waists marking them as priestesses of some denomination Ctenka didn’t recognise.
‘You are pilgrims?’ Ermund asked, making polite conversation as they sat about the fire.
The oldest of them nodded. ‘We are,’ she replied. ‘Travelling south from the shores of Devil Sound, taking the Penitent Path to its source in the Suderfeld. I am Le’Shan.’
Under her hood, Ctenka could see a lean and scarred face, her hair cut short in tight dark curls.
‘You are the leader of this group?’ Ermund continued.
The woman shook her head. ‘We have no leader among us. But I am the oldest, so it often falls upon me to speak for the rest.’ She looked nervous, but that was hardly surprising. Women unaccompanied on the road, even priestesses, would be vulnerable to attack from all kinds of miscreants.
‘You come from the Ramadi?’ Ctenka asked, his curiosity piqued. He had heard hellish tales of the northern desert lands and was keen to hear more.
‘We come from many places,’ said Le’Shan, gesturing to her fellows.
In the firelight Ctenka could see all five of them looked very different. One bore the dark skin of a Scorchlander, another the olive tint of the western Cordral, the rest Ctenka had no idea. There was a wariness to them, as though they might be attacked at any moment.
‘And… which gods do you serve?’ Ctenka asked, fearsome stories of sacrifice playing at the back of his mind.
The woman glanced for a moment at her sister priestesses, who all averted their gaze to the ground. ‘We respect all the gods,’ she answered.
‘That’s a good policy,’ Ctenka said. ‘Hedge your bets. I’ve never seen the point myself. All that praying takes up a lot of free time. Although I guess you haven’t got much else to do.’
‘You’re right,’ she replied. ‘We don’t.’
Ctenka began to get the impression the woman was merely humouring him. Served him right for trying to hold a conversation with a bunch of priestesses. He’d always found religious people to be the most tedious – why would this bunch of women be any different?
Ermund leaned forward. ‘Perhaps we will accompany you on the road tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Increased numbers may serve us both.’
Le’Shan shook her head. ‘That won’t be necessary. The road holds no trepidation for us.’
‘It should,’ said Ermund. ‘This is dangerous country.’
She fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘It’s all dangerous country.’
Ermund couldn’t argue with that.
The pair got little conversation out of the priestess for the remainder of the evening, so they returned to the stable with their horses. Ctenka was thankful for the roof, and managed to sleep well enough considering the chill air. In the morning he awoke to the fresh smell of horseshit, and as usual Ermund had already risen and was saddling up.
Ctenka was quick to stamp some life into his chilled limbs before leading his horse to the road. He noticed those priestesses had already left, but the innkeeper was still there, watching as they began their journey.
‘Your hospitality is much appreciated,’ Ctenka commented to him. ‘I’ll be sure to recommend your establishment to all my acquaintances.’
Again, the innkeeper didn’t appreciate the mirth.
A few miles down the road and Ctenka was starting to feel the boredom of the journey setting in once again. He was sure it would have been alleviated slightly by a wineskin or two, but it was clear Ermund was almost as pious as those priestesses. The chance of him enjoying a wineskin was about the same as him belly laughing at a joke.
When they eventually spotted the priestesses ahead of them on the road he knew the company was hardly likely to improve.
‘Just keep riding past and they might not notice us,’ Ctenka joked, remembering the stilted conversation he’d had the night before.
‘Nonsense,’ Ermund replied. ‘We can’t just let them travel unaccompanied. This is bandit country.’
Ctenka glanced around him at the thick woodland. ‘It’s what? You never told me that.’
Ermund ignored him, kicking his mount forward to catch up with the five women.
‘My ladies,’ he said, sounding all formal. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again.’ The priestesses nodded at him politely. ‘I’m afraid I must insist you allow my companion and I to join you on the road. As you’re strangers in this land I feel obliged to make sure you reach your destination safely.’
Le’Shan tried to argue, but Ermund had already climbed down from his horse and started walking beside her.
Reluctantly, Ctenka climbed down from his own nag, grasping the reins and pulling it along behind him. The priestesses carried on walking, heads bowed, hoods up. Clearly the chances of a decent conversation hadn’t improved.
They walked for a couple more miles, the silence beginning to grate as much as the birdsong, until Ctenka noticed one of the priestesses surreptitiously glancing at him. She looked younger than the rest, and prettier. Ctenka immediately expelled any sinful thoughts from his mind – these were priestesses after all. Then again, they were priestesses from another country. Perhaps in the north they weren’t so strict about the whole celibacy thing.
‘I am Ctenka,’ he eventually said to her.
She looked up and smiled. Her tousled blonde hair poked out from beneath her hood and Ctenka noted she had a nasty scar from her left eye that ran down her cheek.
‘I am Sicabel,’ she replied, nervously.
‘You’re a long way from home,’ he replied. ‘As am I. Though I think there’s a rural charm to this place. Not so keen on the weather though.’
Sicabel nodded and smiled. ‘I’m not so keen on the wet, either,’ she said.
‘How long have you been on the road?’
Sicabel looked up, as though the answer might be in the treetops. ‘Sixty-seven days,’ she replied.
‘That’s a long time to be away from home,’ Ctenka said, hoping he wouldn’t be away for half that.
‘It is,’ Sicabel replied. ‘But Mandrithar willing, we’ll be heading back soon.’
‘That’s enough,’ said the priestess in front of her. The woman looked at Ctenka and forced a smile. ‘My apologies, but Sicabel often forgets the vow of silence she made before we began our journey.’
The priestess gave Sicabel a withering glance and the girl fixed her eyes on the ground once more.
Served Ctenka right for trying to be friendly to priestesses. But the more he thought about what she had said, the more it bothered him. Mandrithar was a name he was familiar with but he couldn’t quite place it. It bounced around in his head until eventually it came to him like an arrow from the dark. Wasn’t Mandrithar the name of a Ramadi death cult?
He was about to walk forward and tell Ermund it might be best to take their leave, when a rustle from the nearby undergrowth made his right hand stray for his sword.
Before he could draw, he heard the sound of ringing metal. Ermund already had sword in hand, but it mattered little as a dozen men erupted from the surrounding scrub. Ctenka looked to his friend for a sign of what to do, and Ermund duly raised his hand, palm down, to signal Ctenka be still.
A grim-looking bandit stepped forward, his face a mass of scars. ‘What do we have here?’ he said as he eyed the militiamen and the five priestesses.
‘They’ve got coin,’ said another voice Ctenka recognised, as the innkeeper from a few miles back stepped out of the bush. ‘And horses. And that one…’ He pointed at Ctenka. ‘He’s got a fucking smart mouth.’
Ctenka glanced back at Ermund, who had already dropped his sword to the ground. ‘Oh shit,’ he said.
As usual, Ermund had little to add.