~ Chapter 02: Let the Dead Judge ~

At least when I'm dead, I won't have to move. Breeze thought, sagging in the saddle, Erasmus's slender paws tight around his waist. Everything hurt. His face throbbed with the devil's fire, his muscles were tense and locked, and he could feel even his eyeballs jiggling dryly around in their sockets. Yes, that's a good plan, I'll die.

He fell from the saddle then, raising a cry from the otter as he grabbed hold Breeze's collar, yanking him upright once more.

“Scores, you northmen are made of dense stuff!" He chuckled nervously. “Steady on now, only a few days more, I'm certain."

At least they'd left those lonesome pale rocks behind, that was one small mercy, and Breeze was good at counting those. As promised him, things got wetter and greener the further they pressed into Union land. They plodded now across gentle fields and agreeable hills, occasionally having to cross the odd mire or creek. The biggest difference from the north were the leaves; all colours, floating on the wind, drifting listlessly, free.

Breeze envied them. Besides that, and the more cooperative weather, it felt more like a mild northern place such as Eltric than he cared to admit. Several times he found himself waking confused, wondering how he'd wound up back in the belly of the chasm, even after travelling so far.

Shit place for a battle though, no cover, all open spaces. Royal armies might like to line up and charge one another down like fools, but things were different where he came from. In the Madlands the terrain dictated the battle, and a war between clans was usually little more than a series of quick and brutal skirmishes. It was dark, wet, and filthy work, slopping through the mud like that, pissing on yourself more often than not; but still he imagined it a deal more honest than the southerners' pathetic excuse for what they called a war.

Bunch of barely trained boys, wedged into armour heavier than they are and lined up to die. All the while their supposed betters sit back and sip wine, mulling curiously at the latest in a line of pyrrhic victories. We only lost thirty men, what a triumph! In the north, there was only one way to end up in charge, and it was to prove your bones in battle. You got followed because those that did knew for a fact you were worth the trouble.

Breeze blinked one eye then the other, each movement a struggle of its own. He wiped at the slime on his lips, bile rising in his throat. He had a nasty infection brewing in his shoulder alright, and if they didn't do something soon it'd spell his death. A poor way to go, he'd seen it before, men roasting from fever inside-to-out. It was almost funny, surviving the ambush that killed all his men, only to die like this.

“Why..." He groaned, massaging the point between his eyebrows. “Didn't you bring... another bloody horse?"

“Er, well I did." Erasmus replied sheepishly, his voice right in Breeze's ear. “But you see, I... uh, lost it."

Breeze let out a wail, spitting to one side. His body kept telling him to do that, but spitting had done nothing to help his throat or sentiment.

“Here." The otter said, pushing the flask into Breeze's paw.

“M'right."

“We'll be at Respidon right soon, it's a small lumber town some ways from Hieron. I can refill there as we rest." Breeze nodded, accepting the flask and drinking deep.

He'd started seeing Hellan now. Near trees, skulking in the shadows, the young man sometimes reaching out, sometimes just staring. Breeze saw him as he'd died; an arrow stuck through one eye, the iron head sticking out the back of his skull, shiny with gore.

Can't be helped. He told himself. People die. Especially in the north, every day they do. The world knows I've sent my own score of souls to the dirt. Get gone spectre, I'm not crazed yet.

But the oryx remained, his lips moving, not a discernible word carried on them.

I won't regret your death.

“I don't."

“Pardon, Master Breeze?" Erasmus asked, leaning over his shoulder. They'd been travelling like this for three bloody days now, and Breeze had long given up trying to get him to drop the honourific.

“Nothin'." He murmured, struggling to think through the fog in his head. “We need to stop, it's getting late."

Erasmus let out a sigh of relief, and Breeze felt his body relax against his backside. “Yes, I think that's wise." He replied as Marlough slowed, swinging his leg awkwardly between them and dropping to the dirt with a soft grunt. Breeze remained in the saddle for a second, wiping at his dribbling nose.

Fucking south. He thought, shivering in the cool dusk breeze . Should've turned tail northward soon as you could walk, Czeslaw you damn fool. Could've found some agreeable Weirmother who'd let you curl up in her den. But a week-pay of silver, plus some new supplies... it was a tempting offer indeed, and one he sorely needed, if he was being realistic. And what kind of fancy steel they must have in their precious Union capital. Be practical, not like you're doing anything else.

“Master Breeze?" Erasmus asked nervously, and when he glanced down Breeze saw the otter swaying slightly in place.

Damn boy is exhausted too, you keep running him like this and I'll be dragging a corpse into Hieron.

“Hush, think I hear a stream." He said, cocking an ear. He nodded slowly to himself as he listened, his ears picking up the unmistakable sound of a babbling brook, hidden behind the rustles and creaks of the trees, the distant wailing of the wind. A decent stream, no doubt. Ears got good at picking up the sounds of water in the north; it was always cold, but that didn't mean there was plenty to drink. His mouth filled with saliva at the idea of cold, fresh, running water. A blessed reprieve from the stale little canteen they'd been swapping spit from. It wasn't meat, and he had no bow to hunt that much with, but it would help appease their bellies.

“Really? I can't hear anything." The otter spun in place, looking around hopelessly. Breeze dropped from the saddle, stumbling slightly as he did, grabbing the fool boy's arm for support. “Careful there, steady."

“I'm right." He grunted. “You follow."

The otter nodded, trailing behind the big wolf as he picked a path through the narrow wood. It wasn't quite large or thick enough to be called a decent forest, but it still felt safer than the open fields they'd been travelling in 'till now. Open plains might be more honourable, more suitable for storybooks and fantasy, but Breeze would choose a thick, uneven gnarl of a copse any day over that – plenty of opportunities to surprise your enemy, and an unfair fight was one he liked giving.

Easy to surprise them, or be surprised yourself. He thought, remembering the pool of dread that filled his stomach back in Eltric, the moment Slaugh's ambush had first appeared before them.

“They're behind!" He'd howled, sword out and teeth bared, the bandits suddenly everywhere, like maggots on a corpse. Bigger Lam's horse took three arrows and skidded, and Ribneck got a bolt in his shoulder.

It had taken him weeks to wrestle Ribneck's trust, but it had been worth it in the end, he was a damn good sword. Breeze beat the fox in a duel, and then spared his life. By northern rules he was bound to follow after Breeze, but that didn't mean he had to like him. Laughter, and time, that was how he'd done it, in the end.

“Er, Master Breeze?" Breeze blinked as Erasmus shook him, his good paw snapping up and grabbing the otter by the collar. The young man squeaked, throwing his paws up in surrender, those big blue eyes peeled wide. Breeze held him a moment longer, his whole body trembling. The little creek was just beyond them, bubbling placidly, the leaves sweeping around their legs.

“Sorry." He huffed, releasing him, shaking his paw free.

“Are you seeing things yet?" Erasmus asked quietly, leaning closer, but not too close.

“I'm fine, for now." Breeze replied, nodding as he ran a paw over his head. Erasmus played that he was unphased by the outburst, but the wolf didn't miss his tail, tucked close against one leg.

A brute and a bastard, good for crushing skulls and not much else.

“But I'm the one breathin'." He muttered, shrugging off the otter's worry and taking the canteen down to the stream. He filled that first, emptying it out to rinse and then holding it beneath the icy water. Winter was on its way it seemed, a vicious time of the year back in the Madlands, where food and friends became precious things indeed. “Ay, Artificer."

“Mm?" The otter asked, rolling up the gaping sleeves of his robe and splashing water across his paws. The fur it touched went slick and dark, pressing flat against his limbs and betraying just how thin he truly was.

“What do you lot call winter down these parts?"

“Still call it winter, unless you're speaking in the Noble Tongue."

Breeze sighed, shaking his head as he replaced the canteen's stopper. “I meant, what's it like?"

“Oh." Erasmus chuckled to himself, sitting back on a smooth, round stone and massaging his legs. “Well, it rains an awful lot. Gets very green, and there's a lot of frost nearer to the coast. I think some parts of The Maw even freeze up, but I don't know rightly. It snows sometimes close to Hieron, but not much in the city itself."

“I see." Breeze nodded. So winter was easy down here, a bit of cold, some light snow for the kits and pups to play in. It didn't mean death; it didn't mean darkness almost all hours of the day. “What did you mean before, when you said 'Noble Tongue'?"

“Huh?" Erasmus had his head up and his eyes closed. “Oh, well, we're speaking Common Union right now, you see." Breeze frowned, he was speaking northern as all northerners spoke it, but maybe that was why the otter's words always sounded so overlong and flowery, as if they'd been saddled up with a whit too many Os and As. “Your northwestern language is almost the same it seems, only, uh, harsher, no offence." Breeze paused from lapping at the stream.

“None to take."

“The Nobility of the Union have their own tongue, and we speak that in the King's Court, and around the middle of the city, or in the keep. Really just when talking with anyone who owns land."

“You know 'em both?"

“I speak Common Union, Noble Union, some Wrethalian, and a bit of Astmoor's language too." Erasmus replied proudly, his chest puffing slightly.

“Why d'you need more'n one?" Breeze asked, scratching at his chin. Bloody southerners, they had far too much time on their paws, clearly. In the Madlands things were simple; you fought or you died. Whether you fought men, or the land, or the cold, that was up to you, but life was tough.

The otter sneered. “It's from an old Union custom we never did away with, and the nobility likes it so it sticks around, helps keep them separated from the peasantry. Even more so, now that reading is becoming more popular." Breeze snorted, his breath misting before his snout.

Not a fan of the nobles then, huh Erasmus? He almost laughed. Makes two of us. He looked up then, surprised to find that dusk had almost sunk into night.

“We should head back to the horse, start making camp." He said, standing with a groan. He rubbed at his bandaged shoulder, trying to ignore the tingling sensation he associated with the start of infection. No way he got that much dirt into a bleeding hole and came out clean, it was just realistic. But they'd be in Hieron soon, and hopefully there would be someone willing to take a look at it.

Knowing southerners, they'll probably just have some Soother hum at me. Damn pseudomagic.

Before he knew it they were awake and riding again, the sun in their eyes, this day thankfully free from either wind or rain. It was almost pleasant, though Breeze couldn't stop bristling at every bump, Erasmus's soft body pressed and rubbing against his back.

The pain started off bad, but grew steadily calmer all the way to lunchtime. He kept seeing Hellan's ghost in the corners of his vision, the spectre peering at him, watching, judging probably.

Let the dead judge, they earned that much. That's what Black Paw would've said. That giant wolf was the only man the Plague seemed to just make stronger, Breeze had never seen nothing like it. Black Paw leant into the madness, screaming and tearing along with the ghosts, and his axe. Damn Sandmen, he didn't regret their deaths, but scores he missed the company. Biggest pack of bastards this side of Liar's Pass, but they were alright.

As noon passed them by however, he felt the haziness wavering yet again. The short relief the forest had given his eyes was gone now too, the views turning once again into little more than fields and farms, with the occasional peasant hamlet off in the distance. His shoulder, his ear, his paw, his legs, everything hurt. He felt himself occasionally slipping in his seat too, usually starting before he completely drifted off. Breeze fought it, but more than once Erasmus had to catch him, straining to right him in the saddle. Even the otter - who'd done almost nothing since he woke – seemed exhausted, his typically chatty tongue still since midday.

“Damn weather, maybe we should be riding at night." Erasmus said eventually, earning a half-hearted laugh from the wolf. “There's some clouds in the distance though, see? And Respidon should be soon, then we can get some decent food and a warm bed. It'll do us a world of good, I suspect." The young man was so optimistic it would be annoying, if he wasn't so bleeding genuine about it.

Hard to dislike someone who saw the good of things, Breeze reckoned.

But he had to make it to Respidon in order to get that world of good, and that seemed nigh impossible in his current state. Even as a smattering of distant building-shaped-blobs wobbled on the horizon, Breeze felt sure that his fight was a losing one. He could go back to his earlier plan and die perhaps. Or he could sleep, maybe that was better. And so what if he slept? Karley and Bigger Lam had always slept in their saddles, somehow. He was dog-tired, he had no energy left to push with, and less reasons to try, he would just close his eyes a minute...

He lurched again, and was asleep.

Breeze woke with a crash, the sharp pain of a knife biting into his shoulder, dirt in his mouth and eyes. It was raining, and something had him, had pulled him from the horse. He cried out, thrashing, trying to get it off, to hurt whatever manner of foul creature it was had its limbs wrapped tight about him. It didn't feel like a man, no, it was a demon, it was--

“Master Breeze, oh my!" Erasmus cried, and the wolf froze as he heard boots hit the soil. He tore his sticky eyelids open and saw Erasmus hovering above him, those shimmering blue eyes wide with shock and shame.

“What happened?" He growled, looking around and realising he was on his back. It was also nearly dusk, when did that happen?

“You, uh, you fell!"

“And you didn't catch me?!" Breeze shook himself, realising the thing that 'had' him was, in fact, a rather large rosemary bush.

“I fell asleep too, I'm sorry!" He offered a paw and Breeze took it, tugging himself to his feet and looking around. It was nearly dusk, and just beyond them laid the earlier-seen smattering of unassuming peasant buildings. A simple dirt road ran through the middle of the town, and tucked toward the west Breeze saw a two-storey barn dwarfing the squat dwellings.

“Respidon?" He asked, and the otter nodded sullenly.

Oh, he does look tired.

“Only, I fear things are not as we'd hoped." The wolf raised an eyebrow, but Erasmus didn't answer, taking the horse's reigns and leading her down the road. Brushing his trousers off, Breeze followed cautiously. His head felt clearer now, as if the darkness of the plague had been pushed back. His injured body still fought him at every step, but the madness at least has slithered back behind its loathsome rock.

Not gone, never gone, and never forgotten, but set aside for the moment.

Oh, this pissing country. Breeze thought, as a figure in – what seemed to be – fancy dress came hesitantly toward them. The person's sex was completely obscured by a long leather cloak that ran down both their front and back. A hide half-cape hung around their shoulders, and one paw clutched a copper thurible, a waft of pale smoke trailing behind it. The figure's headgear was the strangest piece of all; it was of stitched leather, like the rest of the garb, but shaped with a long beak like a bird, with two dark glass portals for eyes.

“Hail!" Erasmus called, raising a paw in greeting. The figure stopped in place a few metres from them, watching.

When they spoke, the voice was muffled, giving away no clues of species or gender. “Hail thee! 'Tis best ye steer clear of Respidon this eve, we're thick with plague."

“Shit." The otter coughed, looking away.

“We could stay a single night, won't do much harm." Breeze suggested quietly, earning an incredulous look from Erasmus.

“You northmen truly are insane." He replied wearily, shaking his head. Breeze looked to the one in the leather bird costume, then back to Erasmus.

“If you say so." He replied, too tired to argue.

“Could we perhaps visit your weirmother a spell?" Erasmus called to the 'bird'. The figure came forward a little more, shaking their head. “We have supplies for trade!"

The costumed figure shook their head yet again. “No, 'fraid not. This whole mess began with her neckin' herself it did, right after she'd cooked some young'uns alive." The otter stumbled to the side, grabbing hold of the horse for support. Breeze just blinked. “Dark times have come, dark times indeed."

Worse down here than I thought.

“Be on your way!" The leather-bird cried at them, waving with their free paw. “I expect the King's Trust will be here to clean us out by the morning! Some have fled north already - I pray I am still well when they arrive."

Erasmus swallowed, steadying himself. “Oh. We mustn't delay Master Breeze, come now. We'll have to ride hard, straight to Hieron I expect." With a short grunt he hefted himself back onto the horse, gesturing for Breeze to retake his position in front. The wolf clambered on awkwardly, then frowned as Erasmus ran them hurriedly through the town and out the other side.

“What is the King's Trust?" Breeze called back, and Erasmus scoffed.

“Magister Baine's answer to the plague in Ferrin." He replied curtly. “Once a renowned regiment, but these days, they mostly get sent out to infested towns. And then... they burn it out."

“They burn the village down?"

“Oh no, just the sick. The dying. The mad." Breeze felt the otter shake his head, leaning against him for support. His words came slurred, like a child on the cusp of sleep. “It's... frankly, barbaric. But it won't stop, not until this damn, war... is through."

The otter fell asleep on him then, much to Breeze's chagrin.

He kept them going until he was too tired to go any farther, eyes and body sagging as he slowed Marlough to a crawl, guiding her into a small nestle of trees and rock. He fought the waning strength, fumbling around in the darkness for some half-dry leaves and twigs, which turned out quite the challenge in such a luscious area. Eventually though, Breeze had enough to build something close to an acceptable fire, and he shoved Erasmus down next to it, taking watch on the opposite side.

He bit periodically into his paw to keep from napping, eyes watchful of the darkness, searching for any sign of danger. The tendrils of darkness crept up on him again then, and he sat up alone for most of the night, muscles aching, veins searing, no company but the ghosts of his own making.

He eventually lost the fight to an hour or two of sleep, and when he woke at dawn, the delusions were oddly quietened. The unexplained reprieve caused Breeze to wonder briefly if perhaps there was some mystical quality about the sun down in these parts.

Maybe that was why the Union fancied themselves so high and fucking mighty.

He still hurt though, and hurt bad. But he could fight through pain if he had to, and so while the wolf was able to pull himself up and awake, the otter had no such luck.

It was almost as if Erasmus were drunk. He got to his feet well enough, and in all fairness he certainly tried to climb up the horse, he just didn't quite have it in him. The effort was rewarded with him slipping free and landing belly-up, as if it were his first time riding. He showed no sign of getting up, and so with a grunt, Breeze picked him up and tossed him over the mount's arse like a sack of potatoes, tying his paws and feet with a rope running under the creature's belly.

“Look at you," Erasmus muttered. “Not gonna leave me then?" He chuckled, three dry and rasping coughs that carried precious little humour in them.

“Need you to deliver what you promised, so quit yer weepin'." Breeze replied tersely, pulling the last knot tight. He didn't want to let the small dandy die out here, not with his home practically in sight.

He'd left men behind before, back when he was with Slaugh, and far too many at that. He didn't know if he could stand to leave another.

You've killed dozens of men, maimed countless more. How many mothers have you robbed of their sons? How many pups grew as orphans thanks to your bloodied paws? What's one life saved in the shadow of all that? It's nothing. Insignificant. You're a savage, Witchborn, a brutal northman, and that's all you'll ever be.

He didn't regret it, his sorry, violent life. It was what it was, Slaugh had been like a father back then, and when you're young you do what your father tells you to.

No, he didn't regret that life; but he'd be damned before he lived it again.

“I knew we chose the right man." Erasmus groaned, as Breeze swung himself into the saddle, swearing as pain lanced through his joints like ice. “Even despite the stories... The Inquisitor has a mind for these things you know..."

“What's wrong with you?" He grunted, giving the otter one last sorry look.

“Least, one of us is... thinking straight. Better you'n me, Master Breeze, better you. Count the stars for that." That gave the wolf pause, and he frowned. Could the monk-like fellow be sick with plague after all? It seemed unlikely so soon, but after a life spent in the city perhaps he had a weaker tolerance to the north.

“Quiet now." Breeze called back, spurring the horse forward and shivering, despite the morning sun. “You're starting to sound like a bloody Soother, can't have that. We're gonna ride hard, so hold on tight, this might break a rib."