by Ben Galley
It was a bloody half hour, but by the end of it, Temsa’s men had won the courtyard. The tor swaggered to the gateway, where the ram was being picked up, ready to tackle the door. The soldiers hoisting it up decided to give the weapon some momentum, and ran at the doorway full pelt. With an almighty crack, the ram bounced from the door, sending men sprawling on the steps. With a groan, Temsa clicked his fingers, and a nearby soldier with a forest of facial hair disappeared into the mist.
Danib plodded closer, each footstep a resounding thud and clank. His broadsword was notched like the toothy edge of a saw. Temsa knew he was missing the soulblade Caltro had pilfered. ‘Hold this courtyard for as long as you must. Get grapples on the lower balconies if you can. Ah, here we are.’
The hairy soldier had returned, now with a skinny figure struggling in his arms.
‘Ready, Tooth?’ asked Temsa. ‘It’s on you now. Find me a way in.’
The locksmith pushed some matted hair out of her face and mumbled something, lips moving but no real words coming forth.
‘Good! You’d better!’ he said.
Temsa pushed her forwards, making her whimper, and the soldier hauled her towards the tower. With his hulking bodyguards at his side, Temsa joined the royal entourage, who were working their way back into the alley, out of range of any other bows Horix might be hiding. Temsa caught Sisine’s eye through the raised shields of her guards.
‘Enjoying the show, eh, Your Majesty?’
The look Sisine threw him was so cold Temsa was surprised he didn’t see his breath in the air. ‘I will enjoy it when I have Caltro’s half-coin in my hand, Tor!’ she called.
‘Fair enough,’ he muttered as his own guards folded around him. His aching wounds had reminded him of the value of leading from behind. If it was good enough for a princess, it was good enough for him.
That lesson was immediately reinforced when he heard a rising roar coming from a side street. For a moment, he wore a beaming grin; the rest of his soldiers had finally found their way. But it was a short-lived thing, and it withered when he saw the large shape of a man clad in silver battle armour leading a hundred-strong charge of bellowing soldiers into their misty arena.
‘What the fuck is this, Tor?’ Sisine snarled at him.
Temsa wished he knew.
‘We need to go!’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ I snapped as the flood of silver armour filled the street. The arrival of the empress-in-waiting had been enough to make my jaw drop. I had wished for a distraction, not a war.
‘Now, Caltro!’
I caught sight of the muscular figure at their head. ‘It’s Colonel Kalid. Horix’s man!’
‘Move!
‘No…’ I watched the men rush past me, recognising the seal emblazoned on their breastplates. They ignored the ghost curled in the gutter, focused only on their tower.
‘Now!’
‘Shut up!’ I hissed, waiting a fraction before bounding from my hiding place. Sand flew as I sprinted after the last rank of soldiers. ‘Now!’
Being dead, I was naturally breathless, but I still felt the panic riling against my efforts to dim my glow. I ran with my lips clamped shut, an effigy of strain. Pointy bobbed frantically by my side, the face on his pommel as uneasy as my own.
I must have been obvious, a streak of blue amongst a mass of flesh and bone, but none of Kalid’s soldiers seemed to notice or care once the blades began to clash, and what a thunderous collision it was. Skidding to a halt beside the gate’s ornate hinges, I watched the shining crowds roil about the courtyard. Ranks heaved against each other, what little space remained between them turned into areas of fierce butchery. Blood spurted in black arcs above the sea of helmets. The madness of it momentarily stunned me.
‘Dead gods, don’t just stand there!’ Pointy shouted at me.
My eyes darted left and right as I ducked into the shadows, stepping over corpses littered with broken triggerbows. A soldier flew into the wall ahead of me, his unprotected skull painting the stone all kinds of colours. I flitted past him before his corpse could fall. A spear nicked me as it hurtled past. Its owner was too busy dying to use it. The snaggle-toothed woman’s blood sprayed my smock as her neck was split by a sword. Her dying moan somehow lodged in my ears, giving an eerie echo to the crash and roar of the courtyard.
Somehow, I ducked and dodged my way around the edges of the fighting, which was already turning in Colonel Kalid’s favour. His soldiers were on home ground now, and they were military types, ex-soldiers, honed in the emperor’s wars in the Scatter; not scrawny sellswords hauled out of taverns and slapped in armour.
By the time Kalid had reclaimed the doorway of the tower, there were more corpses in the courtyard than fighters. Temsa’s soldiers fled or fought their way back through the gates. I was now crouched close to the steps, busy hugging a column. Kalid and his soldiers now stood between me and the door. I considered rushing around to the rear of the tower, but large stones blocked the way.
There came another roar, this time beyond the walls. I heard Kalid bellow frantically for formations. A few of his soldiers began to pound on the great tower door. It seemed Temsa had learnt a trick from old Finel: he had more men waiting in the streets, waiting to pounce.
‘The colonel has sprung his trap too early!’ Pointy yelled to me. I was not listening. I was staring at the gate, where the twin lumps of Danib and Jexebel had appeared. Men in sooty armour flowed around them like a black tide.
I ran too, driving myself up the steps. I poured all my concentration into the nearest of Kalid’s men, and hurled myself at his chest. With a muted whump I bounced straight off him, and sprawled awkwardly across the steps.
Fucking copper! I cursed.
He slashed at me and I rolled away, waving Pointy madly. By luck, I sheared the point from his blade, and he staggered, yelling for the colonel.
Kalid saw me then, standing in my blood-stained smock, fake white feather on my breast, rubbing confusion from my eyes. ‘Caltro!’ he shouted. He saw me look up, dazed, and knew then it was me. ‘Seize that shade! Get him into the tower!’
Three soldiers tore themselves from the ranks to grab me. I let them, seeing as I wanted very much to be inside, and away from all this chaos. I clasped Pointy to my chest, and perhaps the white feather was the reason they didn’t take him. Perhaps they believed I was a free shade. Their grip was lighter than I had become accustomed to.
Kalid’s shout had reached the ears of Danib. The great armoured ghost scythed his way through Horix’s soldiers with his broadsword. No living man or woman in that courtyard was a match for his brute strength and massive blade. Blows fell upon him in their dozens but they did nothing to halt his ferocious momentum. Those who escaped his lunging swings fell to Jexebel’s axes instead. Her arms windmilled, chopping at anything that moved like an unhinged lumberjack.
I too began to pound on the door. I felt the shudder of locks unwinding between strikes. Horix had locked herself in too tight. ‘Colonel!’ I shouted. ‘Hurry the fuck up!’
I watched Kalid’s gaze sweep around the courtyard, taking in every corpse, every black-clad attacker, and every sweep of Danib’s sword. It took him barely a moment to decide. With a wordless roar, he beat his sword against his chest and marched to meet Danib. I craned my neck, hand hovering over the steel of the door. This, I had to see.
‘Get into the tower! All of you!’ he bellowed.
The colonel was huge in his own right, but the ghost had maybe a foot or more on him. Danib’s vapours curled from the grille in his new visor. I wished there was some great horned and furious beast around so I could teach the ghost another lesson.
Danib waved Jexebel back with a grunt, and she went about her hacking. Kalid struck first, sliding under the ghost’s arm and driving his sword at a gap in his armour. Red sparks flew as the hardened copper found its mark.
The ghost made no sound, though I saw white smoke curling over the thrashing crowds. His giant sword cam
e slashing in great arcs, forcing Kalid to weave. He jabbed where he could, but the blade came closer every time; Danib was getting the measure of him. I wondered how many decades the ghost had on his opponent. How many hundreds he had killed.
With a screech of steel, Kalid’s pauldron was ripped from his shoulder. He rolled to avoid being split in half by the next swing. He was spry, for a big man. Cunning, too, as he went for Danib’s heel. Like most men who strive for muscle, he was top-heavy. With a crunch, the colonel cut deep enough to make the ghost kneel.
Kalid spun full circle, almost acrobatic. His sword slammed into Danib’s breastplate, bludgeoning him to the ground. I stared on, shocked and strangely still while the fight raged around them. I heard the last clicks of locks, but I strained on my tiptoes to watch the colonel drive a sword through the ghost’s shoulder. I could almost hear the sizzle of vapour against copper-lined steel. Kalid pressed down on the blade with all his weight, trying to sever the limb.
Hands grabbed me, but not before I saw Danib reach up and knit his gauntlets behind Kalid’s head. The colonel tried to wrench free, but somehow the ghost held him. I yelled as I was ushered into the blazing light of the tower. The last thing I glimpsed was the colonel’s face being driven into the pommel of his own sword, again and again, until the man’s face was a horrid cavern of crimson and white bone.
I felt sorry for his ghost, but that didn’t halt my guilty elation that I was in the tower and he was not.
Chapter 8
Vengeance is a Virtue
Revenge is a dish best served while your enemy isn’t looking.
Old Skol saying
From the safety of her balcony’s railing, the widow glared down into her courtyard and watched the silver-plated body slump to the blood-churned earth. The giant ghost extricated himself from the sword; the corpse rolled to face the misty skies, and there Horix saw the ruin of Colonel Kalid’s face.
A snarl rose in her throat, building to a roar. Not one of anguish, or sorrow, but anger. Kalid had failed her in his final moments. In twenty seconds, he had undone twenty years of fine service, and she was now minus one fine colonel. A dull ache spread through her chest.
With the torches quenched, her high balcony was kept in shadow, far out of range of any triggerbows, and Horix lingered for a moment more. The fighting was down to blades and fists now. Nails and teeth, in some cases. If she leaned out, Horix saw her men pressed against the door, being yanked through one by one. The tide had turned once more, and not in her favour. Hungry waves of Temsa’s black-clad soldiers continued to flow through the gates. The weasel himself was standing in the gateway now. Sisine waited not far behind, guarded by Etane. Horix found it hard to tear her eyes away from them. The uppity little curs.
Horix spat over the railing into the battle below, wrenching herself away from the cold, foggy air. It made her bones ache. Clasping a pearl cane in one hand, she pressed the other to her chest, feeling the blunt edges of the half-coin she’d hung on a chain around her neck.
‘Yamak!’ she cried once she’d entered the light in the corridor. A single torch held back the shadows. The sweaty man came bumbling out of the darkness, his borrowed shirt of mail clinking musically.
‘Mistress?’
‘Your cutters.’
Yamak fiddled under his shirt for a moment before producing a pair of steel shears. They were small but stocky, and perfect for reducing a half-coin to shreds.
‘Widow?’ Yamak asked.
‘If Caltro’s not in Temsa’s possession, and he’s not in mine, then he has clearly fled. I cannot have that, not when the empress-in-waiting is loitering outside my gates, winkled from her Cloudpiercer! The time is now! I cannot wait any longer.’
‘But they—’
Horix set the cutters to the half-coin, aiming to snick its corner. She took a moment before she pressed, gently at first, watching the steel bite into the softer copper.
A piteous wail rose up from the stairwell, slicing through the clangs and echoes of dying. Horix yanked coin and cutters apart, shoving the latter into Yamak’s podgy stomach. He spluttered, moving promptly out of her way as she strode to the nearest balustrade. Torches wheeled below her in the spiralling darkness, like some poorly-timed theatre act.
‘CALTRO BASALT!’ she screeched.
My head wheeled from the pain. I shook as white fire sprinted back and forth down my arm. My name rang out above me. I knew that voice’s hoarse edges. Its bitter core. The widow. In that moment I had not a scrap of love for her, only hatred that she was about to snuff me so cleanly. Effortlessly.
‘The fuck was that?!’ I yelled up at the staircase, feeling dizzy as I eyed its spirals, trying to find her. I saw a black notch between its railings. It was working its way swiftly down towards me. A fat man bobbed behind her.
I clutched Pointy to my side, using him as a prop as I struggled to stay upright. The soldiers had left me sprawled on the marble. They were too busy helping their comrades close the door on those too slow or too injured to drag themselves from the fighting. Gauntlets and sword pommels thumped frantically on the steel as the bolts were rammed into place and the cogs turned.
As the grim music faded, drummer by drummer, an eerie silence fell over the atrium. All was quiet save for feet and skirts brushing against steps. Then there came a scraping, as armoured corpses were cleared from the steps. Not a single order was given on the other side of the door.
‘Caltro Basalt!’ the widow said again, this time a hiss. Perhaps she imagined ears pressed against the door.
‘Widow Horix,’ I replied, noting the half-coin dangling from a gold chain in her hand. ‘It’s been too long. Apparently almost too long to bear, seeing as you were about to snuff me.’
I was greeted with a sharp slap around the face. Her copper rings carried the weight of it, and I reeled. The soldiers bunched up around me, realising I might not be as harmless as they originally thought.
‘That is for taking your time coming back to me. And what is that?’ She jabbed a finger at the sword, now held fast in my grip.
‘My sword.’
‘I think I recognise this woman…’ the sword mused inside my head. I had no time for half-memories, only assurances.
Horix cackled. Her eyes bored into mine. ‘A bound shade owns no possessions. Especially not as ornate as this.’
The door shuddered as a ram collided with it. I let the echoes of the boom die before I spoke. ‘I doubt you have the time to argue.’
‘Relieve him of it,’ the widow growled. I felt gauntlets snaking between my ribs and arms. I had just been considering running at her, seeing what haunting that leathery old skin was like.
‘I need it,’ I asserted. ‘For whatever job you want me so badly for. So badly you would kill me to stop Temsa or the empress-in-waiting from getting hold of me. Looks like I must be the best locksmith in the Reaches after all.’
She stepped closer. I watched the flicker of torches play amongst the crags of her face. ‘And here I was, hoping Temsa or Busk had cut out your tongue for your cheek. Keep the sword. But you will be watched closely.’
The gauntlets stayed on my wrists and shoulders, and I was marched after the widow. Instead of up, Horix made for the basement door, the one I remembered sneaking through not so long ago. The terror of the courtyard was fading quickly, abruptly replaced by excitement. After enduring the company of Busk and Temsa, I had completely forgotten Horix’s secrets, and my own desperation to know them. That burning curiosity hooked me afresh. Better yet, all was about to be revealed. I would have done a quick jig if I hadn’t been held tight.
‘Well, that was easier than I expected,’ said the sword.
‘Mhm,’ I agreed. It looked as though luck could throw you a bone in death as well as life. I was glad for it.
A soldier with stripes on his armour and a tattoo of a scarab on his bald head rushed past me. He stood to attention at the widow’s side. I heard his rushed whisper.
‘Shouldn’
t we barricade the door, Mistress?’
Horix sized him up, prodding him in the breastplate with her pearl-topped cane. ‘You are Kalid’s replacement?’
‘Yes, Widow! Capt—Colonel Omshin.’
‘Well, Omshin, we only need to keep them out for a short while, don’t we?’
‘Well… yes, Mistress.’
‘Good. Then stop wasting my time with ridiculous questions and get your men aboard.’
Aboard. My excitement grew.
‘Forwards!’ Omshin immediately cried, leading his soldiers tramping down the stairs. Two stayed to hold me. Yamak wheezed behind the widow.
Dozens of torches blazed in sconces, adding smoke to the dust that filled the air. We passed through the cave I remembered, where tools and rubble had been piled. That pile was a mountain now, touching the ceiling. Scrapings on the floor suggested many more carts had been taken elsewhere. We skirted the mound and crept around a corner, where we were painted in a bright green glow; a hue born of competing ghost and torch light. They kept the fire to the entranceway, as if it were forbidden to take it any further.
My eyes took their time taking in the cavern Horix had hidden for so long. Several hundred dead stood around the mighty cavern; in crowds in the pit below us, or lining ramparts and scaffolding. All of them stood silently, waiting. These were the diggers, the builders, the architects of the great void my gaze had somehow missed on my first visit. I bucked in the grip of the guards, wanting to stop so I could put all my concentration into staring. They muscled me on.
I have witnessed many great feats of human architecture in my life. There were those that aimed for size, such as the Bonebridge at Urul Gorge. The Cloudpiercer. Even Araxes itself. Or there were feats of beauty, like the Coralossus in the Scatter. What Horix had achieved was one of sheer ingenuity and boldness.
