Stepan went on: “Without Lord Northwic’s stout presence, and with the elite troops of the enemy on the rampage, our centre lost its nerve. All this we heard later, but it looked inexplicable to those of us riding the sea. As we watched, the whole line crumbled and was overthrown by pursuing Anakim. Bobbing among the waves, we saw nothing less than a massacre unfold. Every man who turned to run was cut down and Bellamus, here, said the battle was done, and ordered us to row south.
“Through luck, we alone had survived. The Anakim cannot swim, and had no boats, and so we were safe as long as we stayed at sea.” Stepan sobered a little, the theatrical glint extinguished from his eye. “We floated south, Bellamus commanding us to throw our armour into the sea. ‘Strength of arms is no longer our primary weapon,’ he told us, ‘and if you fall overboard you will drown. Keep your weapons only.’ We did as he bade, saving only a few breastplates to bail out our leaking tubs.
“We wanted to put ashore: dark clouds were gathering on the horizon and a strong wind was building up the swell, but bands of Anakim scouts were shadowing us along the coast. We had to wait until night fell, but fortune was against us that day, and an early winter storm overtook our company. Lightning cracked the sky and the waves towered above us. Every last boat was overturned and we had to swim for land. Though it was not far, thousands drowned in the rough waters, unable to see the shore beyond the waves which crowded them. Every last one of us would have joined them if our armour had not already been committed to the sea, and we crawled back onto the shores of the Black Kingdom. Quite rightly, our captain left us barely a moment to rest on the sands. We were too exposed on the open beach, and though it was the last thing any of us wanted, the flash of lightning lit our path as we retreated into the dark forests.
“They are places of unnatural evil, my friend. The trees are like mighty towers, and make those here in Suthdal look like shrubs. Little light makes it from the canopy above to the floor below, which is haunted by nightmare creatures and strange phantoms. The howl of the wolf is a constant ringing in your ears. Woven eyes and carved hands have turned the trees into barbaric totems of worship. Suthdal seems like a pleasant dream to me now. Over there, beyond the river, is reality.”
Bellamus, listening intently, smiled as he heard that. He felt a small thrill run through his fingers, and picked up his beaker again to hide the wistful expression he could not keep from his face.
Stepan had not noticed. “We struggled south under cover of dark, Bellamus here navigating through such subtleties as the growing places of lichen and the stars glimpsed through the canopy on rare cloudless nights. Among the trees we lost dozens more: poor souls who fell victim to bears and wolves, or simply disappeared on the march, never to be seen again. I pity any man wandering alone among those forests.
“We were the lucky few. By avoiding campfires and through no small fortune, we were not discovered by the enemy. We made it to the northern bank of the Abus, and there waited three days for a moonless night, constructing rafts so we could steal across that cursed water and back into the south. That was last night, and I can barely believe that here we now sit, in a comfortable inn with good ale.” Stepan raised his cup to Bellamus. “One more toast, I think. To our captain. Every one of us owes him their life.” The table toasted Bellamus lustily, Bellamus raising his cup with them.
“I’ve always said they couldn’t swim,” said the innkeeper. “Demons cannot stand water. We’ve lost a good few of the hybrids to the river.”
“Probably because their legs were shackled together,” said Stepan, from behind his cup.
The braided innkeeper did not seem to have heard. Instead, Bellamus could see his eyes lingering on the inhuman sword he had strapped to his back. The innkeeper opened his mouth to comment on it, but was intercepted by a roar from outside. Bellamus was on his feet at once and running for the door, the innkeeper staggering up behind him and Stepan on their heels. Bellamus burst into the blue snow glare outside, to find one of his men, a red-haired knight, flat on his back just beyond the door. One of the hybrids, spitting and swearing, was in the process of being dragged off the red-headed man’s chest by another three soldiers. The snow all about was adulterated with specks of blood and clumps of cream feathers, drifting gently over the spoilt surface. Another soldier with hollowed cheeks stood nearby, a limp chicken hanging from each hand.
The hybrid, still swearing and at one point managing to flatten one of the soldiers with an open-palmed slap, was forced onto his back and pinned there, just as the innkeeper ducked beneath the thatch, a heavy cudgel in his hands. “Your men have killed my chickens!” he shouted at once, pointing accusingly at the hollow-cheeked man who stood clutching the birds. There was uproar as the men replied to the accusation, most appealing to Bellamus.
Bellamus held up a hand, and his men fell quiet at once. Only the hybrid continued moving, struggling to free himself of the soldiers who held him down, until the innkeeper cracked him on the head with the cudgel. It seemed to stun the wretch, whose movements became gentle and uncoordinated.
“What happened?” asked Bellamus, looking at the red-headed knight who had been pinned by the hybrid, and was now getting to his feet.
“The monster threw itself on me!” he said. “We left them alone, like you said, Master.”
“He attacked you because you were killing my
