Red Empress' Reach, Ch. 1
Jacob Van Ruisdael, A Road Through an Oak Wood
As blood flows through arteries, so power and wealth flow along the road.
Delsephine, The Red Empress, understood this. She could not benefit from what she could not control, she could not control what laid beyond her grasp.
So she lengthened her reach.
A road of blood-red stone, laid by slaves promised freedom, carving through the lands of allies and enemies until only subjects remained, bringing all the world within her grasp.
The empress is gone.
The reach remains.
"Blood or gold!" Asher called, the old words rolling off his tongue with practiced clarity. A Reachman lives by his words, or dies by his sword.
Twelve arrowheads peeked from the woods, bowstrings ready behind them.
Patience. Patience.
Asher stepped forward, longsword balanced on his shoulder. "No need for blood, goodman. We know you've coin enough to pass. Twenty percent, that's the tithe."
The driver fiddled with his reins, glancing at the wagon. "Let us pass, friend. Our gold would be a curse to you."
Trouble.
"Curses I can handle! Empty bellies we cannot abide. Come now, or is charity forgotten in Derivon?"
The carriage door creaked open.
Asher sniffed. One carriage driving break-neck down the road, four horses full lather. Someone was in a hurry. Whether it would work in his favor he could only guess.
Luck rarely smiled on him.
The woman who stepped out stood head and shoulders and a little more over Asher. Golden thorns spiraled along her neck and shoulders, and a red cloak draped elegantly to the top of her ankles.
"Shit."
A dozen arrows flew. Two struck the front right horse.
Two struck the driver.
Six found useless targets.
Three struck the air where the giant stood a moment before.
Asher's longsword whipped from his shoulder in a defensive arc as the giant lunged forward. Long knives slipped from underneath her cloak, black dust matted their sheen. Poison.
Luck could be a bitch.
Very few fights are prolonged ordeals. Asher hadn't found fighting for his life to be anything like the duelists describe, no elegant dance, no flowing tide, just the din of metal on metal until a smear of red indicates the end of someone's life. Thus far, Asher had avoided that sharp end.
He parried the first knife and sidestepped the second as the horses tried to bolt. The dead horse made this impossible, and the carriage careened to the left and toppled.
The length of Asher's sword would be an advantage against knives in most fights, but not against the long-armed giant.
He could run, but her strides would overtake him.
A glinting knife-edge raced past his eyes. One more came for his soft stomach. The first he ducked, the second hit him hard, but stiff leather and chain protected his guts. Her tall white face glared across at him.
With a grunt, Asher crashed his forehead into the giant's broad nose and felt something break. She staggered back.
Three arrows sprouted from her sides. One found her neck.
Black poisoned daggers dropped to the ground, and the giant fell.
Luck was a bitch, which is why you never count on her. Archers make more reliable friends.
A young girl in mottled green rushed to his side, hugged him.
"I'm alright. Not a scratch. Wait by the trees a moment, will you?"
The girl nodded, mute as the day they'd found her.
Asher stepped toward the slain giant and spied the pretty gold thorns woven around her neck, a fine prize if they could melt it down. No merchant would touch it in that form.
Dead, fortunately.
He belted the knife sheathes around his own waist and slid them carefully inside. The thought of the poison put a shudder through him. Best to wash them later.
The carriage lay on its side, horses tangled in a knot of broken legs and shattered yokes, one already dead. The driver's corpse sat crushed along the way. Such an utter waste.
And what was all this blood for? A little gold? Doubtful. Not with the giant to guard it.
Speed. They were traveling light and fast.
In the carriage, a chest.
In the chest, gold, but also a scroll.
Written on the scroll, the summons to war.
Fuck the prince. Fuck his damned glory-hounding.
Asher looked across the camp, hungry men and women sharing out gold pieces scrounged from the carriage. None of the horses could be saved in the end, but they could be eaten. Roast meat was almost as welcome as the gold. That would need to be spent before it could be turned to bread, vegetables, medicine, and there were fewer and fewer merchants willing to trade with his band.
Most feared the prince too much. Feared the iron spikes so ready and willing to display the heads of traitors.
But there was meat for a few days, and someone always needed the gold, even if it came from the hands of thieves. There would be bread and medicine soon enough.
The girl, he still hadn't named her, sat beside him, chewing a mealy apple as if it were a queen's feast. It didn't feel right to name her, but she refused to speak, or even write. She gave no hint as to her name. "Girl" she remained.
Ten-bones walked from the fire, carrying a roasted bit of horseflesh and a couple bowls of broth. The girl refused, as always. "You know she’d rather starve than eat meat."
Ten-bones grimaced, "Ain't right to turn down good cookin'. Should teach the girl to mind 'er manners when someone offers ‘er somethin' freely."
"Rich words, coming from you." Asher retorted, "I can't remember a please or thank you ever crossing your lips."
The too-tall man just shrugged, "Cause I don't take what I ain't earned. Don't ask for it neither."
Asher didn't argue. Ten-bones' arrow had been the one to take the giant in the neck. If not for him, well... best not to think on it.
"Fair enough. But Ten-bones-" Asher called after him as the big-fellow turned away, "Take a few vegetables out of my portion for the girl. Please."
Ten-bones shook his head. "Ain't going to do you any good. Not sure what you expect from the mute thing. Think she's more animal than human."
"I expect nothing, but a few carrots, Ten-bones. Maybe another apple." Asher watched as the too-tall fellow walked away with a shrug.
Murder.
That's what brought Ten-bones to them. Asher didn't know the victim, not even why Ten-bones had killed them, but the punishment was hanging. Or it was supposed to be. Ten-bones had bested the headsman, thrown him off as the half-giant was led up to the noose. Ran off into the woods, and hid for two weeks in the swamps, living off giant beetles and frogs.
He stank to hell when they found him, and three days passed before the big fellow finally relaxed, sure that he wasn't being handed over for a bounty.
Asher still didn't know his real name. Trust was in short supply, even after four years of wandering the Reach together.
And not once had a please or thank you passed the fellow's lips.
They were all a bit more animal than human.
The girl finished the apple, core and all, careful to spit out the seeds and cast them into the dirt. Maybe they'd grow.
"Come on. Sun's down, and tomorrow will be an early morning.” Asher stood and stretched, still feeling a gnawing hollowness in his belly. “We killed today. There's sure to be a hunt for us tomorrow."
If they're not already coming.
"Three riders. The prince’s men. They found the carriage but not our trail."
Fox was as short as Ten-bones was tall. Asher wondered if she had halfling blood in her. Not uncommon for folk to mix on the Reach, especially for those born into banditry, as Fox often claimed.
"Shit. Best start moving now."
"I've already kicked them awake. Your girl ready to move?"
"She will be."
There's nothing to wake the mind and drive the blood quite like knowing someone’s hunting you.
Asher shook the girl's shoulder. "Time to go. Now."
Her green eyes shot open. She yawned, then stood and slipped on her boots.
Damn fine life for a child. But she took to it. Not a complaint, not a question, not a sound.
Sometimes, he hated himself for the thought, sometimes he was glad she was mute.
It rained as it can only rain when one wishes for the sun. Their tracks would be washed clean, at least. But the rain brought complaints, and sliding through the mud, and spoiled hard-tack.
After a week running through the rain-soaked wood, Asher's band was ready to mutiny. He hated himself well enough.
"I know where you're headed. It won't work." Vivian said.
"You know as well as I what was in that scroll. War's coming. It could be a chance."
"A chance at what? To die horribly in some fucking prince's glory-quest?" Vivian spat.
"You know what. We aren't meant to live like this."
"So we'll die like dogs?" Vivian said, anger creasing her eyebrows. "Fine fucking plan that is."
"Anything could happen in war. We could be useful. We could earn a place."
"In fucking Joram?" Vivan shuddered. "Sure, its not as bad as the prince, but you know what kind of people they are. Fucking zealots." She leaned in. "If they see the marks on your girl, you know what they'll do."
"THEN WHAT?" Asher shouted. He took a breath, let the steam rise into the rain-soaked wood. "We live like wolves, or die like dogs. Or maybe, just maybe, we carve a place for ourselves."
Those blue eyes sank into his, glaring, hating, questioning, finally softening. "That's not what it is. What is given to you can just as easily be taken. You'll have us fight and die for Jorum, and when the war is over we'll be back in the wood or buried in the mud."
The bandit woman turned her eyes up to the rain, "I've seen it before, Asher. This isn't the chance you think it is."
She was gone before he could reply.