A group of guards made for the pit grates. They unlocked them and pulled them open, the metal landing on the floor with a clang. The other guards began shouting at the miners and rounding them up. Herin and Clarin made straight for the pit entrance, and Gyrmund followed them.
It was a six foot drop down into the pit. The walls had sconces attached, and the guards lit them, shedding a dim, flickering glow along the straight lines of the pit, and creating shadows which danced along the walls. One end of the pit stank of faeces and urine, so they made their way towards the other end.
Herin chose a position for them at the far end of the pit, and all three leaned against the wall and watched as the pit filled up with the other miners. The men who found themselves in this stinking pit were from all over Dalriya.
The greatest number were humans from the east of Dalriya, commonly referred to as Barbarians. Gyrmund had visited there himself, and learned that they did not refer to themselves by that name. There were, in fact, over fifty different tribes, each with their own name and traditions, all independent of each other. They had never been united and had no wish to be, but lived out a tough existence, farming and foraging on difficult land. Over the past year the forces of Ishari had been gradually subduing these tribes, and many of the men folk had clearly ended up here.
Gyrmund had learned that this campaign had been successful, and that Ishari had moved south into the lands of the Bear-men. This was confirmed by the presence of one of them at the opposite end of the pit, where the prisoners made their toilet. It was crouched down against a wall, seemingly oblivious to the smell. Although he was well travelled, Gyrmund had never seen one before. In most respects, it was human-like, but larger in every way, with huge, powerful shoulders. Bigger than Clarin or any human Gyrmund had met. A huge mop of dirty hair and a scruffy beard covered most of its face. But they didn’t completely disguise the huge, powerful jaws that protruded out from its face. Certainly, nobody was getting too close to it.
Gyrmund had spoken to fellow travellers about the Bear-men, and knew that they avoided all contact with other races. If humans entered their territory they would usually disappear. They had their own language, impossible to understand. Gyrmund wondered how they had persuaded it to go down the mine in the first place.
In addition, there were a few prisoners from other lands. Gyrmund could identify some Persaleians, who had likely been captured defending against the recent invasion; and Gyrmund studied two men in quiet conversation who had taken up position on the opposite wall to them. They had Brasingian moustaches, though how they came to be here wasn’t obvious.
As Gyrmund was considering going over to introduce himself the dungeon fell silent.
‘Who are they?’ asked Clarin, glancing over to the other end of the pit.
Gyrmund took a quick look. Five creatures were heading in their direction.
‘Dog-men,’ he replied, recognising them as a race who lived in the north, and who had long ago come under the control of Ishari. They were known as fearsome fighters, built like humans but generally taller and stronger, their bodies covered in fur, and with a muzzle full of sharp teeth.
‘Don’t know what they’re doing down here,’ Gyrmund added. ‘They usually fight for Ishari.’
‘Punishment. For ill-discipline of some kind,’ said Herin. ‘Be very careful with them,’ he advised, emphasising each word.
The five Dog-men walked slowly up the centre of the pit, eyeing the prisoners around them, who all looked away and avoided eye contact. The one in front was the biggest, a great beast of a creature, whose muscles rippled as it walked along, and whose black eyes stared out with hatred and aggression. The other four flanked it, walking slightly to the side and behind, signifying it as the leader. Inevitably, it led the group to the three newcomers. It walked up to Clarin, who happened to be standing in the middle of the three of them, perhaps because it saw him as the main threat. The others stood two to each side, so that they stood in a straight line of five facing Gyrmund and the others, black eyes staring and muzzles twisted into snarls. Gyrmund took a quick glance at Clarin and Herin, and was impressed at how relaxed and unflustered they looked; he did his best to do the same.
‘Where are you from?’ demanded the leader, its voice incredibly loud so that it rang out around the pit. It was shoving its muzzle into Clarin’s face, but the rank smell still carried over to Gyrmund.
‘Got caught in Brasingia,’ said Clarin casually, as if it happened to him all the time.
‘Well, you’re in your worst nightmare now,’ said the Dog-man, pulling back his lips into what Gyrmund guessed must be a smile, but looked like a snarl. The other four pulled the same kind of face as if a great joke had been made.
Clarin nodded in agreement. ‘It’s a shithole alright.’
The comment displeased the Dog-man, who clearly wanted to see fear on Clarin’s face.
‘And I’m Vamak, the tormentor in chief,’ he added, turning around to look at his four allies, ‘we’re in charge down here. If we don’t like someone we make their existence so miserable they beg to go back down the mines.’
‘I understand,’ said Clarin.
Gyrmund could not help but be impressed by Clarin. He answered the Dog-man politely enough, and did nothing to provoke him, but at the same time his body language suggested that he was unaffected by the intimidation. Vamak clearly found this unsatisfactory, and felt the need to assert his authority further, but didn’t seem sure how to deal with it. Then, suddenly, he raised a hand, revealing a vicious looking set of claws at the end of his fingers with which he gestured at Clarin.
‘You’d better understand or you won’t live long. Here, this will help your memory,’ he said, and, with a quick flick, scraped one of the claws along Clarin’s cheek. Blood instantly welled along the wound. Clarin started forward but Herin quickly put one arm across his chest, shoving him back against the wall. Vamak looked at Herin, then Clarin, before throwing his head into the air and laughing—a sadistic bark of a laugh. The others followed suit and Vamak took a good look around the pit, making sure that everyone in it had learned the lesson.
‘I’m in charge down here,’ he shouted loudly, so that the whole pit could hear him. ‘The Isharites don’t let me kill new ones,’ he said, speaking now just to Gyrmund, Herin and Clarin. ‘They like to get their full use out of you first. But in a few days’ time I’ll be free to do what I want with you.’
They then moved away, taking up position at the end of the pit farthest away from the toilet. This area had been left free for them by the other prisoners, and this was clearly part of the process of establishing a pecking order.
Gyrmund looked over at the other two. Clarin stared straight ahead, still struggling to stop himself going straight after Vamak. Herin turned around to face his brother and Gyrmund, putting his back to the Dog-men.
‘Well, now we have our first objective to work on,’ he murmured. ‘How to take down that son of a bitch.’
‘Lady Belwynn? They are ready for you now.’
Belwynn felt a fresh burst of nerves.
While the Knights of Kalinth had been celebrating their feast of Saint Stephen in the Great Hall of the High Tower, she had been waiting in the kitchens until they were ready to hear her sing. She had spoken a little to the kitchen maids at first, but they were clearly very busy catering for so many knights at once, and so she had sat there with little to do but watch them, go over the song in her head, worry about it, and wonder why she had ever suggested it in the first place.
Now that it was time to go, she had to see it through. Evander led her out of the kitchen to the Great Hall. Most halls in Dalriya had a harp to provide music in the evenings, but the harp she had been given to play by the Order was the most beautiful she had ever seen, made from alder wood, and with golden strings. When she had given it a test, it played as good as it looked. That gave her a bit of confidence.
The room went quieter as the assembled knights watched her being l
ed to the dais. It felt like a very long walk. She got herself settled on a chair while Evander positioned the harp for her. He then departed the dais and left her alone. All eyes were now fixed on her, and the room had gone completely quiet.
Theron stood up from his position at one of the tables near the middle of the room, though not at the large, central table where the highest ranked knights were seated.
‘Introducing the Lady Belwynn of Magnia,’ he boomed into the silence. Belwynn thought he slightly slurred the words, and noticed that a lot of wine had been flowing during the feast. Maybe that was no bad thing.
Belwynn located Sebastian at the central table. Two seats to his left, Theron had told her, would be Galenos. She checked that the man sitting there fitted the description she had been given. Yes. Straight back, closely cropped grey hair, clean-shaven, and an aquiline nose.
‘Grand Master Galenos,’ began Belwynn, making eye contact with him before looking around the room, her voice ringing out clearly around the hall, ‘Knights of Kalinth. I am honoured to be given the chance to perform for you tonight. I intend to perform a song which I learned when I was very young, but instantly fell in love with. It was a song about a place called Kalinth. At the time, I fancied it was a pretend, fairy tale land. When I was older, and knew better, I used to dream of visiting Kalinth to see its knights for myself. And, finally, here I am. The song I will sing is called Stephen and the Green Dragon.’
There was polite applause and mild cheering from the audience once Belwynn had finished speaking. She had hoped for something more when she introduced the song, Stephen and the Dragon being the best loved story of the knights. It was a different kind of atmosphere to any other hall she had been to. She had to hope that she could have the same effect on this audience as she usually did.
‘In Chalios there dwelt the beast
That wrecked our land from west to east
No king nor duke nor count had fay
To seek the dragon out to slay
No spells nor rich man’s wealth had he
But Stephen had his bravery
No men to fight for him had he
But Stephen had his chivalry’
Belwynn looked over at her audience, many mouthing the familiar words themselves. Some stared at her, already captivated by her voice. She knew the lyrics of the song had a crucial role to play in their plan. She glanced at Galenos, watching on with a frown. Did he suspect?
‘So long the people of the land cried out
For saviour with no fear or doubt
`Til one young knight swore ‘It shall be me
To end this monster’s tyranny’
No spells nor rich man’s wealth had he
But Stephen had his bravery
No men to fight for him had he
But Stephen had his chivalry’
Some of her audience were now entering the trance like state Belwynn could induce with her voice. Galenos and his entourage were looking around the hall, suspicion on their faces. But it was too late to stop her now.
When Belwynn finished the song, with the dragon slain, many of the knights jumped to their feet to applaud. Theron, Tycho and their allies were prominent at first, but others in the room followed their lead. After the applause ended some sat back down again but others stayed on their feet.
‘A lesson for the Order,’ shouted Tycho, gesturing with one arm at Belwynn. ‘The Knights of Kalinth were founded to confront and fight evil. Ishari is our dragon. Yet here we are cowering in the High Tower, while they grow in strength and infect our kingdom with their poison.’
Tycho moved his arm along until it pointed directly at Galenos. If he felt fear, he showed none. Belwynn suspected that he wasn’t the kind of man who did.
‘Our Grand Master has failed us!’ he declared.
An intake of breath followed this statement and then there was shouting from all over the room, some for and others against, but nobody could properly be heard, until Euthymius pushed his chair out and stood up to confront Tycho. He pointed straight back at the young knight.
‘Treason!’ he shouted, his voice slightly hysterical. ‘Tycho attacks our Grand Master and our King! Does your oath of loyalty mean nothing to you, Tycho? We are the Knights of Kalinth, and we are sworn to obey! But you and your allies have made a habit of defying orders!’
‘No!’ shouted Theron, who was already on his feet. ‘We are speaking for our Order. We are sworn to protect our kingdom and our people! They must come before loyalty to any one man.’
Theron’s argument seemed to take everyone assembled by surprise. Belwynn could see many of the knights frowning as they tried to grapple with the contradictory statements offered by Euthymius and Theron. Into the moment of silence Remi struck home.
‘Sebastian! Lord Sebastian must speak!’ he demanded.
Other knights, prepared by Theron in advance, joined in the call.
‘Sebastian! Sebastian!’
All eyes turned to him, even those of Euthymius and Galenos. The Grand Master seemed uncertain, almost in shock at the unexpected attack he was facing. Sebastian looked at him for a moment. Then, slowly and deliberately, he stood up and looked out at the room. He took his time before he spoke, to make sure that everyone was listening.
‘I have come to the decision that our Order can no longer ignore the threat to our kingdom. It is with regret that I say Grand Master Galenos has failed to show proper leadership in recent months. I am therefore submitting myself to replace him as Grand Master.’
The Great Hall erupted in uproar. Belwynn surveyed the scene. Theron and his allies, plus those knights who had been persuaded by her song and who agreed with what they had done, were certainly making the most noise, cheering Sebastian’s name. A smaller group were hostile and shouting back, calling Sebastian a traitor. The majority of the knights, those not on either side, were looking around in bewilderment.
Overall, Belwynn believed that it had worked. It had certainly gone to plan, though she feared it had been a bit too slick. It must have been obvious to some that it was a deliberate ambush, as well organised and thoroughly planned as a military campaign. Those knights caught in the middle might blame Theron and Sebastian for dividing their Order. But Belwynn believed that most of them would support Sebastian in the end.
Evander appeared at her side to lead her away. The Great Hall was chaotic and, fearing it might even erupt into violence, Belwynn was quick to leave the dais. Turning around, she took one final look at the central table. She saw Galenos, white as a sheet, and suddenly looking much older. She saw Sebastian, sombre and serious looking, with his head slightly bowed. While all around them both, younger men jostled and shouted and jeered. Belwynn had made her impact in Kalinth. But at that moment she did not feel proud.
9
In Arioc’s Chambers
MONEVA HAD NOW SPENT A DAY and two nights in the bedroom in Arioc’s chambers. The only contact she had was with Babak, the man whose job seemed to be looking after the rooms. He brought her meals. He was polite enough. He showed her another tiny room off the main chamber, which was a toilet with a hole in the floor. Other than that, he left her alone.
During the day, he left the chambers to run unspecified errands for a few hours. He locked the door behind him with a key. Moneva considered trying to escape. When he returned, she considered attacking him and taking the key. That would have been easy enough. But she knew that trying to escape from the tower, and then the fortress, would be next to impossible, so she didn’t try. That was why she had been given the relative freedom she had, rather than being locked in a dungeon somewhere.
Deep down she knew why she had been taken here.
Moneva felt like she understood men. She had inhabited the world of men for as long as she could remember. She had no memory of her mother, who had died when Moneva was two. Her father was a kind enough man, but not an attentive parent. When he died from a fever she was still only ten, an only child with no income. She was not completely alon
e, but led a transitory existence, staying with various family, friends and neighbours. She spent increasing amounts of time on the streets of Essenberg, getting involved in petty crime. That was how she came to meet Max.
Max, it turned out, was a ruthless crime lord. But to Moneva, he was kind, complimentary, and, above all, interested in her. A father figure. He was like that with all the children, always having time for them. It wasn’t an act. Not completely. But he began to show special interest in Moneva. She was better than the other kids: quicker to learn, sharp witted, and more hard working. Also, she was a girl, and that gave her a special edge. He could send her to spy on people, run special errands for him, and people wouldn’t suspect her.
After a period of transition Moneva left her old ties, and immersed herself in Max’s world. She devoted herself to learning the trade, just as if she had been apprenticed to a cloth maker or a dyer. She wanted to please Max, and any small praise or acknowledgement from him was enough—was all she wanted. As she got older and stronger, she was taught to fight and to kill, just like the boys. Max insisted that she was given equal treatment, not spared anything because she was a girl. She never asked to be. Despite her age and her gender, she became a respected member of the unit. People knew that she was completely loyal to Max, and that he trusted her completely. More than anyone else. That made her powerful—even feared.
But things changed when Moneva stopped being a girl and started to become a woman. Max began to flirt with her. It was innocent enough at first, but gradually got more serious, and Moneva was very flattered by it. She was young and naive and thrilled when Max paid her any kind of attention. Eventually they became lovers. Looking back, older and wiser, Moneva realised that she had never wanted that. She had wanted a father. But she had wanted to please Max, and had felt grateful for what he had done.
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