The complete first chapter of Holy Land. Here you go! Happy reading.
Chapter One
Ultrina hitched her scarf a little closer to her face and considered the path before her. Narrow with blind spots it was the perfect place for an ambush and she could practically feel the mortals nearby lying in wait. Of course, that could have been her paranoia playing tricks, but bandits were known to frequent these parts. There were dozens of small villages to feed off of like the parasites they were. She fastened her scarf back to hide everything but her deep brown eyes. Thin black coils hung from her head in need of a good washing, but it had been a time since she had been in a village with a wash house she was willing to frequent. Too many of them were too open for her taste. She considered sending her horse ahead of her, galloping to spring the trap before she could walk into it, but she needed the animal. It, placid nature notwithstanding, had been the longest companion she had ever had. That included the bare handful of lovers she had taken over the course of her life.
Sad, but true.
She caressed the creature’s nose and once again considered the path. They wouldn’t be at the first bend where they could be easily taken out by someone coming nearby. The bandits would be waiting more toward the center where they wouldn’t be seen immediately. If they were even slightly worth the trouble it would be to deal with them. Ultrina thought her way through what was to happen next. Her executioner’s ax hung heavy from the horse’s saddle. Unhitching it wouldn’t take but a moment; however, it would advertise how she expected trouble. Maybe that would be enough to get her through safely. Bandits, being generally cowards, preferred to deal with those who weren’t armed to the teeth. Ultrina wasn’t quite that armed, but she had a fair amount of history with weapons. They were not how she made her living, but they made living as a nomad somewhat easier.
“Alba,” she murmured to her horse. “We’re going to walk a while.” Her tone, even and slow, matched the nature of her horse. Ultrina wasn’t the type to get excited about the prospect of death, but there was just a little bit of anticipation there. She might not have to kill anyone. Of course, that depended entirely on the bandits themselves. Would they run at the first sight of their own blood or would that redouble their efforts? Such a question. Ultrina strolled, Alba’s bridle in hand, waiting for the first strike. It would, she suspected, be an arrow, an attempt to run off her horse and thus separate her from her means of escape.
Alba wouldn’t run. Warhorses didn’t usually run from arrows.
Ultrina swept her eyes over the path before them, certain of the way being booby-trapped. Bandits were cowards. They wanted every advantage they could get. Part of her hoped they would find her too small a target, one person traveling, to attack. Yet with the winds of change running through the area, with its wave of famine, she knew better. They would attack. Starving wolves would take anything to not starve.
Ankle high dying grass brushed her boots as she moved into what the bandits had probably aptly called a slaughter pen with Alba walking beside her. Alba’s bulk, even without armor, dwarfed her to the point of her being able to hide in his shadow. They were quiet in their movement, but still obvious enough they would trip the trap set for them without further effort. She needed them to get close enough to fight, which meant getting the archer to sound the attack as soon as possible so the others would rush in to try and take her. Emphasis on try.
Ultrina had been alone a long while and protecting herself had become simply her nature. She could do nothing less. If the bandits thought they would find themselves with an easy mark, they were mistaken.
As she walked beside Alba, Ultrina prepared to snatch her ax from its holster. She would need it when the first wave came.
After that, well, things would become quite hard for the bandits.
The anticipated arrow came from a nearby sparse copse of trees as she came around the second bend in the road through the hills. Ultrina had almost given up worrying about the ambush when it sliced through the air to land squarely in front of Alba. A non-warhorse would have spooked and taken off running. Alba did neither, but bent his head down and brushed the edge of the arrow’s fletching with his nose. Then he stamped his foot as if daring the archer to try again. Alba’s armor was packed away, but his bulk meant even if someone hit him with an arrow, they would have quite a time hitting anything vital. Ultrina snatched her ax out of its holster and shut her eyes a moment.
Seven men, her senses said. Seven men whose lives were about to be forfeit for their audacity.
The ax edge could split a hair and it’s weight cleave bone in two. Her favored weapon, but not her only one.
The disorganized bandits did not provide a united front. They came at her haphazardly, each of them making their own time. If they had a leader, she had to wonder if he was new to group fighting tactics. Or perhaps they were simply too hungry to hold to a proper plan.
Either way, it made things easier for Ultrina.
She moved away from Alba to give her room to swing, knowing the horse to be perfectly capable of protecting itself from attack. The first reached her with a longsword in his grip and he swung it with a heavy overhead swing which, when he missed, left his shoulders, neck, and head exposed to counterattack. Ultrina made use of the lapse, swinging her ax at his neck. It made an almost light sound as it went through the bones, sinew, and muscle of the man’s neck and sent his head flying to land with a dropped melon plop on the ground nearby. Alba, for his part, had two attempting to grab his reins and bring him down from where he had reared up and kicked with his front hooves. One caught a hoof in the face for his trouble and the other, who had managed to grab the leather, found himself fighting to get his feet back on the ground.
From above and at a distance, the archer continued to rain down arrows albeit fairly slowly. They whistled as they approached, but he didn’t appear to be able to notch more than one at a time. His other three compatriots were slower about considering what to do. They had the advantage of numbers certainly, but they seemed to be more the type to farm than to fight, leaving them with a dilemma: Fight this obviously well equipped and violent opponent or make a run for it and live to bandit another day. Ultrina took the choice away from them when she surged forward and closed the little distance between them and her with a snarl. Two broke and ran. The third stood his ground and was mowed down immediately. Alba galloped toward the trees, practically daring the archer to shoot him.
The two runners, realizing they had little chance of putting enough distance between them and Ultrina and Alba to escape turned around to face their possible doom and their faces went white with shock. Behind Ultrina by only a bare few steps was their comrade, lumbering along, his face destroyed by the blow from Ultrina’s ax. They shed the weight of their weapons as if that would make them fast enough to escape.
Ultrina took down one from behind, severing his head from his body with one swing. The other, seeing his end coming, yelled,
“Run, Drali, run.”
Ultrina could only guess that was the name of the archer. He shimmied out of the tree he’d hidden in and disappeared into the darkness beneath the trees. Ultrina did not give chase. Killing everyone might have been better, but it would take her out of her way to chase down one lone bandit in terrain he knew better than her. Taking the edge of her already dirty skirt, she wiped the edge of her ax to get the blood off of it. It would need to be oiled and filed, but she would do that when she made camp for the night.
With a sigh, she surveyed the remnants of the battlefield. Two of her puppets awaited her commands, their souls bound to their bodies by her will. They would not eat their fellows, but they would need nourishing. Ultrina swept a hand through the air, fingers making the ancient sigils of her people, and the two puppets dropped where they stood. They looked no different from the other dead bodies, but they were a bit away from where they should have died. Ultrina doubted anyone would be all that interested in checking a random field at the edge of the road for where someone should have properly bled to death, but there was never any telling. Best to take the precautions.
As she was in the process of walking to each of the bodies and setting them alight, one of the bandits groaned. The man Alba kicked in the face hadn’t died, but only ended up unconscious. Ultrina looked at him with a critical eye.
Then she took the brand she had been using to set the others alight and pressed it to his leg, watching the flames leap to life on his clothes. He screamed. She said nothing as he tried to put the fire out with his hands and set his sleeves alight as well. The dry grass picked up the flames and spread it in patches. He screamed more. Ultrina mounted Alba and waited as he screamed, his eyes pleading for help as the fire consumed him.
It took some time, but soon the battlefield had been completely cleansed by fire. Someone, one of the Royal Guard perhaps, could come along and they wouldn’t be able to tell what she had done.
Good.
Ultrina turned Alba back toward the path, the greasy smell of burnt flesh and hair in her nostrils, and they trotted away.
Ultrina traveled through the night to get away from the pyres of the bandits. There would be those who asked questions of smoke appearing in the air in strange places and she wanted nothing to do with those questions. Instead, she pressed on past one village in the night, aware of how good a bed would feel against her body, and to another. She reached it at daybreak, the peeking sun over the horizon greeting her with the sight of a cluster of buildings gathered around the much larger building of a church of the realm. Ultrina took a deep breath as she looked at the way the light played off the great monument at the steeple.
One night here, she thought, no more.
Otherwise, there might well be trouble her ax couldn’t get her out of. Alba whinnied at the smell of other horses. A stable for the night would cost her something, but she had enough. A stable for him, a bed for her, and depending on the conditions perhaps a wash house.
Ultrina stopped at the ramshackle country stable which looked as though it had last taken care of a proper horse sometime around the crusade. She dismounted and took her ax from the holster. It hung heavy in her hand as she moved to the stablemaster’s door. After several knocks, a blurry eyed man appeared.
“I would like a stall for my horse,” she said without preamble. “I have coin.”
“Oh,” said the man. He drew himself up to a respectable height and seemed as if he might actually take some pride in his establishment. Ultrina was not impressed. “How long?”
“A day, no more,” she said. “And feed for him. Don’t bother attempting to brush him down, he won’t let you.”
If she had coin for every stablehand Alba had kicked over the course of their relationship, she might well have been able to dine with the King of Terarose. Of course, that left to the imagination why she would want to.
He managed not to scowl as she put her hand inside her tunic and drew out her money bag. Made of soft leather, it jingled invitingly as she counted out coins.
“Where can I find a bed?” Ultrina asked. Not that she cared for his input, but one did find it easier to get around when the lay of the land was known.
“For yourself?” he asked. Ultrina scowled, stopping in the motion to remove a pack from Alba’s saddle. He quickly corrected himself. “There’s a widow what keeps a room or two toward the edge of town. Clean beds, decent food, won’t cost you much more than the keep for the horse.”
The keep for Alba would not impoverish her, but she had to wonder what kind of house a widow kept when she was renting to strangers for such a rate. Ultrina kept her thoughts on the matter to herself and surrendered Alba’s reins to the stablemaster. The man looked the stallion over warily.
“That’s a good attitude to have. He bites.”
The stablemaster didn’t appear to be put off by that, but he also didn’t let Alba’s mouth out of his sight as he walked with him into the stable. Ultrina tried not to chuckle and mostly succeeded.
A bath would do her well, but it would wait for rest. She would find this widow and her rooming house before she would look for a local bath house. Ultrina turned away from the stable and walked, one pack on her shoulder and her ax in hand, to the main road. The main road was dirt, undoubtedly mud when it rained, with ruts made by a procession of large wagons coming through. Ultrina didn’t think much of it. She didn’t have to.
The widow’s house was simple enough to find. It stood at the edge of Marset, one of the larger places besides the local lord who lived further down the road and up on a small rise. The widow, Anne, met her at the door with a smile showing mostly healthy teeth. The woman greeted her with a bow and said,
“What can I offer?”
“A bed for tonight and directions to the local bath house,” Ultrina said.
Whatever the older woman thought she kept inside her aging gray head where it belonged in Ultrina’s opinion. She preferred less prattle in her life. Perhaps why her only companion was a horse.
“In what order?” asked the widow.
“Bed first. Bath house tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, before you get back on the dusty road?”
“Yes, tomorrow after I’m rested.”
Anne said nothing else, but opened the door wider and stepped away. Ultrina took one look around, noting the exit door from the kitchen which might led to a garden or somewhere else. It didn’t matter. It led out of the house and she could find her way from there if need be.
Anne led the way from the front of the house to a small room with a bed and a quilted cover.
“You may find yourself chilly at night here,” Anne said. “Or perhaps not. From where do you come?”
Ultrina said nothing in return but turned her ax handle up and placed it on the floor near the door. She put the pack within arm’s reach of the bed and sat down. After taking off her boots, she stared at Anne.
The widow took the hint and exited the room, shutting the door as she went.
There were others in the house, Ultrina could feel them. None of them felt as though they would be trouble, but she intended to keep a few smaller weapons close by while she slept. It would not be the first time she had been waylaid in a supposed place of safety.
For now though, she sat on the bed and planned her next move. The bandits had not been much of a problem in all truth. More an annoyance than an obstacle. However, she had one which had gotten away and that meant somewhere along her supposed route, she was likely going to have to deal with stories.
Stories had a way of gaining lives of their own in Terarose, perhaps why her own people were no more. Stories. Despite the daylight streaming through the single glassless window, Ultrina laid down to sleep. If she slept the day through and part of the night, she would be lucky. She needed her strength. Raising puppets did still drain her energy at times.
The following morning, for she had slept the day and the night away, Ultrina rose and carefully put her feet on the floor. Nothing had been disturbed. A good sign. There was the smell of food in the air. Also a good sign. Whether or not that would led to her eating anything other than what was in her own pack remained to be seen, but she could appreciate the smell of food just the same.
Ultrina shoved her feet in her boots and stood up, her awareness reaching out for those around her instinctively as a spider feels the vibrations in a web. There were others in the house. Several others. The guardian hairs on the back of her neck rose straight. She darted a glance at the window and considered using it to exit so as not to be walking through she knew not what.
“Too long away from others,” she murmured. “You’re turning into a frightened bird, ready to fly at the first opportunity.” Her momentary chiding was enough to bring her back to the smell of food. Her stomach rumbled and she realized it had been some time since she had a hot meal she had not prepared. Perhaps she needed to stop worrying so much and go see what there was for breakfast.
Widow Anne presided over a pot of porridge from the smell. The rumbling in Ultrina’s stomach grew louder the closer she came to food. The two others in the kitchen sat waiting with expectation written on their faces. Ultrina entered quietly and stood at the back of the room.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Anne said. “There’s enough in the pot for you as well.”
Though she still didn’t sit, Ultrina allowed herself to smile at the hospitality. It might not last long, but for the moment she could savor the barest of human kindness.
Two young men awaited their turns at a long table with rough hewn benches. Long enough Ultrina could sit at it with them and not be quite up on them, still she stood and waited.
“Windman,” Anne said. “Our guest is the quiet type, but she wanted the bath house today when she woke up. Would you be so kind as to take her that way after breakfast?”
“Course, Mamma Anne,” the smaller of the two young men said. He appeared to be little more than a child, but from the way his shoulders sat he’d carried many a heavy burden. Ultrina sized him up out of habit and let the idea of him attacking her fall away. If he did, he would find himself on the wrong side of eternity double quick.
Mamma Anne dished up three wooden bowls, their sides smooth with handling, and set two on the table before bringing the third to Ultrina.
“At least sit that you can eat,” she said with a weary voice. Ultrina could not help wondering how often she dealt with quiet travelers.
“Yes,” Ultrina said.
Windman didn’t disguise his interest in her as Ultrina sat down. She forgave him his stare. She was a little exotic looking for this part of the country. There weren’t many of those like her left and they generally stayed far closer to their home settlements.
“I’m Hale,” said the second man. He appeared older than Windman, though not by much. However, he had a more worldly air to him and if he was interested, he kept his eyes in his head where they belonged.
“We’re passing through,” Windman offered. “Passing through on the way to the capital.”
Ultrina did not invite the conversation, nor did she attempt to participate. Instead, she waited for Windman to take the hint she had no interest in him or his travels.
“Leave her alone,” Hale said, nudging Windman in the side. “She’s eating. If she wants to talk, then she’ll talk to us.”
Ultrina kept her mouth shut except when it was time to shovel more food in it. The porridge had been flavored with some kind of berry making it much more palatable than the straight gruel she had been expecting. Ultrina finished her bowl quickly and set it aside.
Her body ached for a smoke, but she chose to wait it out. She would have a smoke after the bath house, assuming the place wasn’t open to the air the way some of them were in this part of the country. She needed a bath house which was an actual building, not just a hot spring cleverly co-opted by those nearby.
Windman and Hale finished up their own breakfasts, wiped their mouths, and prepared to go. Then Windman stopped, undoubtedly remembering Mamma Anne had asked him to take care of the quiet stranger.
“If you’re ready for the bath house,” he said. “Then we can go.”
Ultrina gathered her pack and her ax from her room and followed Windman out of Mamma Anne’s house. Anne lived on the edge of town, apparently the bath house was closer to the center. Ultrina forced the itch in her palms to settle. She did not intend to speak with many of the villagers, but she might have to actually hold a conversation if she wasn’t careful.
When they reached the bath house, the dark gray door with the sign for water on it, Windman excused himself. Ultrina felt his eyes on her as she opened the door and went inside, but thought little of it.
Inside, the bath house was silent save the dripping of water. An attendant, a woman Ultrina’s age, appeared from behind one of the white curtains and looked Ultrina over.
“A traveler,” she said. “I am B’kira, the attendant of this house and I bid you welcome.”
“Thank you, B’kira.” Ultrina did not have to tell the woman what she wanted. Bath houses served a singular function: to get one clean when one did not have a home. Being a nomad, Ultrina bathed in rivers and hot springs unattended, but a bath house was one of the luxuries she allowed herself every so often among the civilized areas.
“You come into this place armed,” B’kira said.
“I go everywhere armed,” Ultrina said.
“Know that it is unnecessary here. None may molest one in a bath house.”
“This I know, but I know better than to trust.”
B’kira did not argue the point. Instead, she moved to the small wooden desk at the corner of the room. “Do you wish to bathe in private?”
“Yes.”
“Then it will be a few coins in donation to the house.”
“Understood.”
B’kira showed her to the private bathing room where the water flowed warm from a spring beneath the building. Ultrina thanked the Creator for the people who had built the place as she peeled off leather armor which she stacked carefully out of the water and then took off the under clothes which she dunked under with her. The soap would be used for both herself and her clothes. Others might have found it strange to wash their body and their clothes in the same water, but Ultrina knew dirt was simply a fact of her life. The water would flow away and grow clean again as the dirt settled to the bottom as silt.
Dunking her head, Ultrina massaged her scalp. It had been some time since the last bath house and her hair sorely needed a good scrubbing.
Filth came off her skin, leaving it a woodland brown. Her hair, wet and heavy, grew in length; thankfully, it would shrink back as it dried.
The bath did not take long, but it was blessed for all its length. Ultrina knew better than to think such a thing would happen again any time soon. Besides, she wanted to get as far away from the land of Terarose as she could.
When she came out of the bath wearing her shift and carrying her armor, B’kira waited silent at the door. They locked eyes and B’kira lowered hers near imperceptibly. Ultrina’s guardian hairs rose.
“What trouble?” Ultrina asked. The other woman refused to say, but stood by as Ultrina strapped on her armor once again. With nothing to go on, Ultrina knew better than to go charging anywhere. Her best plan was to find her way back to her horse and depart preferably before things got any worse than they had already.
Yet, not knowing what was happening, she could only truly guess at that being the best plan.
Still dripping hair tied back, she crept out of the bath house and headed for the stables where Alba waited. No matter what was happening, she would face it better with her horse nearby.
As she moved along at a pace which belied her sense of urgency, the whispers began. The whispers she always seemed to draw or stir wherever she went. Whispers of strangeness and darkness.
“I was careful,” she murmured, stopping to survey the road before her and decide which way to go. Going directly to Alba seemed the smartest action before; however, now she had to wonder if someone might be lying in wait there for her. It wouldn’t take much to consider she had come with a horse and would go back for it.
Apparently she hadn’t been careful enough. There were still those who knew. Like the man-child who had escaped the death of his comrades. Ultrina, proper wariness warring with real uncertainty, kept moving. Stopping further to consider her plan of action might well get her killed.
She rounded a building and narrowly missed the flank of a brown horse standing there. On its flank the Terarose royal crest with its three lobed leaf lay before her. Ultrina swallowed an exclamation. No need to alert anyone to her presence. She walked backwards away and nearly succeeded in escaping when a mounted guardsman trotted into view looking her direction.
A moment later, she knew they were looking for her. Another guardsman, trapper’s net in full expansion, attempted to sneak up on her. The warning flashed across her mind a moment before the net would have closed around her. Ultrina dove forward and out of its clutches.
It did her little good, however. Before long, she was surrounded. The odds were not in her favor, but she also didn’t want the added trouble of killing royal guards on her head. Ultrina had come this far without having a bounty added to the simple one of her life, she didn’t intend to start adding to it now.
Yet they did not attack. Six men ringed her in. If she could bring down one or two, the odds would even. Then came the near giant wearing the uniform of the royal guard, but with a purple cap holding his cape to his left shoulder.
Mongen. Ultrina knew him by reputation only, but there was no missing the man said to be the right hand of the King. What he was doing so far from the capital she could only guess, and her guesses did not include anything specifically to do with her.
“Puppeteer,” he addressed her. “We would have a word with you.”
Ultrina resisted the urge to spit at the pejorative, puppeteer. That was for those who couldn’t fully raise the dead, which she could, but then again admitting to that in her current situation meant going to the block swiftly. She had no desire to go to the block, executed and then hung out for the crows.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Denial might not get her anywhere, but Ultrina refused to walk right into an admission worth her existence.
“Funny,” drawled the giant. “Funny indeed.” He made no attempt to close the distance between them, but Ultrina felt him prepare for something, an attack from her maybe. She couldn’t be certain. “Come with us.” It was not a request. The royal guard did not make requests.
Ultrina shouldered her ax, making great show of coming along quietly. Perhaps she would be lucky enough to get out of this unscathed. Unlikely, but fortune had favored her before.
The troop formed up around her and Mongen, three before and three behind. The formation walked to the church in the center of the small village. It was not as much a fortress as it would have been if they had been in a bigger place, but the formidably high white-washed wall made it clear one might enter and never leave.
Mongen dismissed those around them with a wave of his hand once they were inside the gates and the great wooden doors had slammed shut on them.
“Come,” he led the way into the main building. Ultrina narrowed her eyes. This was not what normally happened.
With those of her kind, or ilk depending on who spoke, there was always a jail cell and interrogation regarding the whereabouts of others. Ultrina considered attempting to brain Mongen who had his back to her for the deaths she knew of. It might well have gotten rid of one of those who sought her kind and consigned them to death, but it wouldn’t stop them all. There would always be more who thought necromancy was an evil art worthy only of eradication.
The interior of the church stood dark and quiet only the forever lit candles of the Creator remained glowing. Mongen genuflected in the direction of the altar before taking a side hall away from the main space. Ultrina followed, eyes roving and brain cataloging in case she got a chance to escape. Tapestries along the hallway could be set on fire with one of the sparse candles in order to provide both smoke for cover and a distraction. She fought the urge to knock one of them over and then hightail it in the other direction. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she didn’t. Instead she followed Mongen into a room slightly larger than the room in which Ultrina had spent the night. An out of the way room inside a Terarose church, this was where those like her came to die.
Ultrina studied Mongen as he moved around lighting candles.
“You don’t know why you’re here,” he said.
“No,” Ultrina replied.
“Of course you don’t.” He put the last candle into its holder and turned to face her. “There is something of a proposition for you, but I doubt you’ll find it all that interesting unless I make it clear what’s at stake.”
“And what’s at stake?” Ultrina still had her ax on her shoulder; she could fight him. Fight him and win or lose. Either might be preferably to the sense of pins and needles she had in her spine from uncertainty.
“Put simply, your life.”
Simple enough, Ultrina thought.
“What’s the catch?” she asked.
Mongen stood there, his head nearly brushing the low ceiling, and contemplated her for a moment.
“You’re not much of a negotiator.”
“There’s nothing to negotiate. You want me to do something and my life is forfeit if I don’t, not much grounds for negotiation.” Ultrina kept her voice low, as she often did in the middle of buildings. She could only hope that whatever they were about to discuss wasn’t going to end up in common rumor.
“Good,” he muttered. “At least I don’t have to threaten you for your cooperation.”
“What is it you want?”
“That will require a trip back to Renate,” he said. “The King wants to see you.”
Ultrina doubted that seriously, but she knew better than to allow herself to get too excited. There would be opportunities to make a run for it along the trail, or she could see this through and find out what it was that the King of Terarose wanted.
“Why?” She had no reason to trust him, but he might actually give her something.
Mongen considered her. Ultrina saw it in the movement of his eyes, the wheels turning in his mind placing her in one caste then another. Ultrina waited, keeping her impatience which paced like a caged tiger to herself.
“These words were never spoken,” Mongen said.
Ultrina nodded.
“The Princess is dead.”
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