Prince Ashere’s death lay heavy on him. They had buried him yesterday, deep inside the bowels of the Emperor’s Crag, where dark caverns seemed to stretch on interminably. Walter had stored all sorts down there—barrels of drink and food, even horses, that had somehow been winched down. It seemed to Farred a desolate sort of resting place, and he feared that Ashere’s soul might be unhappy. But at least the prince was far from the monsters who were tormenting the living.
Despite the fighting going on around him, Farred couldn’t shake off a strange feeling of disinterest. Maybe, he wondered, this is what all of us will be like by the end. Maybe when they finish us off, we won’t care very much anymore.
‘Farred!’ a voice interrupted his thoughts, and he was glad of it.
‘Thought I’d find you up here,’ said Walter.
They clasped hands. Walter looked at Farred for a while, perhaps judging whether further words on the Prince were required, and instead slapped Farred on the shoulder.
‘We’ve found something very interesting up in the keep, Farred. And I know you’ll want to be one of the first to see it.’
Walter had the face of a child torn between blurting out some exciting news and keeping it to themselves.
‘Well, I’m in suspense already. Lead on, Lord Walter.’
Walter led Farred to the top floor of the Emperor’s Keep, and into the corridor off which Baldwin, Walter, and the other key members of the imperial entourage had their rooms.
‘Notice anything...unusual?’ asked Walter, that childish expression still on his face.
Farred had a look. There was nothing in the corridor to see. Castle corridors were dark by nature, but this one had plenty of wall sconces on each side, with torches throwing up light. There. Towards the far end of the corridor, shadows flickered off an irregular shape. He looked over at Walter. Walter made a ‘what could that be?’ facial expression.
Farred walked over to investigate. At first, he didn’t quite believe what his eyes were telling him. Poking out of the wall was half a forearm, a wrist, and a hand flopping downwards at the end. Farred gave it a long hard look. He gave it a touch. It was a human hand. A man’s hand. He turned around to Walter with a quizzical expression.
‘Quite,’ came the reply. ‘How does one respond to that? I decided to tour the keep, checking the walls, floors, ceilings. I won’t drag you down there to see, but in the granary, behind a sack of flour, one of my men found the edge of a shoe. I cut into it and sure enough, there was an inch of someone’s foot poking out.’
‘So—you think it’s Ishari?’
‘Who else? Haskan soldiers. Their sorcerers beamed them up here, presumably in the night. Almost certainly more than these two, who knows where the others ended up? Mid-air, presumably, some of them. And there’s more.’
Walter reached under his cloak and retrieved a dagger.
‘This is what our friend here was holding when he got beamed up. It was on the floor. That’s what I saw first, actually.’
‘Assassins, then.’
‘Yes. Sent to kill my brother.’
Farred nodded. All things considered, it wasn’t so much of a surprise.
‘You’ve told Gustav?’ he asked, thinking it was something a wizard could perhaps protect against.
‘Yes. He knows. He says he’s working on a response, and Inge has been added to Baldwin’s bodyguard.’
‘Can I do anything?’
Walter smiled. He clearly hadn’t confided in him just for the sake of it.
‘Oh, I see.’
The Marshal put his hands up.
‘It’s not a big deal, Farred, really. Baldwin’s pretty set on not ordering your men into battle for the foreseeable future.’
Farred nodded. He wasn’t about to disagree with the Emperor—the Magnians and Middians had given a lot already.
‘But I haven’t got many spare men to reassign. If you could give me some trusted men to stand guard at certain points around the keep? It would need to be day and night, in shifts. I’m thinking thirty at a time, eight hours on?’
‘That’s not a problem, I’ll get them for you. Starting tonight?’
‘If you can do it.’
‘We can do it. Anything else?’
Walter hesitated. Farred raised an eyebrow.
‘Something else just for you, Farred. But completely optional. I am led to believe that, in Magnia, people are often...less bothered by sorcerers than they are in our country?’
Walter seemed surprisingly uncomfortable with this topic.
‘In Brasingia,’ he continued, ‘there is a great deal of animosity. Especially from the Church. Baldwin can get away with having them: he’s the Emperor. But that’s the exception.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s more accepted in Magnia. My prince, Edgar, has a wizard. His relative is a wizard too.’
‘What about you, Farred?’
Farred thought about it. ‘I don’t know much about it. I guess I’m not particularly bothered.’
‘The reason I ask. Inge is with Baldwin now, and no longer assisting Gustav. But the Archmage needs some help. I don’t know what it involves. Frankly, I don’t want to. You’re trustworthy, discrete; not too involved elsewhere. If you can do it, it would be a big help. If not, that’s fine too.’
‘I’ll think about it, Walter. How about that?’
‘That’s as much as I hoped for.’
The Isharite jailers ushered them over to the pits. Another day in the mines, another man hanged at the end of it, and now another night spent underground.
Gyrmund took in his last breaths of fresh air. He gulped it in, as if that would help him last until morning. He felt the now familiar sense of panic as they approached the pits. His breathing grew more rapid, his heart beat fast, his palms began to sweat. His feet stopped, refusing to get any closer.
He felt a hand grasp him tightly round the arm. He turned his head around. It was Clarin. The big man held him in an iron grip and, without words, forced him towards the edge of the pit, then forced him down into it.
‘There,’ said the warrior, ‘you did it.’
Gyrmund nodded.
But he knew that one day soon Clarin wouldn’t be able to get him down here.
He moved over to the far wall and stood for a while, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, hoping that his nose might adjust to the fetid smell.
He began to pick out the other figures in the pit. He noticed Cyprian, the small Persaleian he had befriended, signalling him over. He was standing with some other prisoners, and as Gyrmund approached them, Cyprian gathered him into a small huddle of half a dozen men.
‘Gyrmund, meet Zared,’ he said quietly, indicating the youngest member of the group. He was strong looking, wearing what once must have been fine clothes. He was already starting to lose his hair on the top, but still had boyish looking facial features.
Zared offered his hand and Gyrmund took it.
‘I wanted to meet,’ said Zared, his voice confident but tired sounding. ‘Cyprian has told me that you plan to escape. I speak for the Persaleians in here. We are ready to support you when the time is right.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gyrmund. ‘I will pass that on to my two friends.’
‘There are others, too,’ continued Zared. ‘This is Tamir.’
Before he knew it Gyrmund was shaking hands with the tallest and oldest man in the group, who had an iron strong grip.
‘I am a chieftain,’ said Tamir, with a strong eastern accent. ‘My people, whom you know as Barbarians, have suffered more than anyone from the Isharites and have been in this hell for the longest time. I can speak for them. We too are ready to give our lives.’
Gyrmund nodded his appreciation.
‘Rudy.’
‘I’m Jurgen.’
The last two men introduced themselves, with Brasingian accents. They looked similar, both slight of build and smaller than average height.
‘We’re cousins, from Rotelegen. Both of us we
re at the battle in Grienna where our army was butchered,’ Rudy explained. ‘We were among the few to survive, and they brought us back here. We haven’t been here much longer than yourself. We’ve still got enough energy to fight.’
‘I can’t stand it no more,’ added Jurgen. ‘I’ll do anything you ask.’
‘I met Duke Ellard, briefly,’ replied Gyrmund, remembering the journey they had taken with the Duke and his men, north from Essenberg. Messengers from Rotelegen had found them and informed Ellard that the Haskan army had arrived on his northern border. He had rushed ahead to meet the threat. ‘I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your people.’
Rudy gave him a piercing look. ‘We’d like a chance for revenge.’
‘Do you have a plan?’ asked Zared.
‘Not a complete one,’ Gyrmund answered uncomfortably, mindful of the needy stares of the other men. ‘We need to get rid of Vamak first,’ he said, looking around for the Dog-men, but they were in their usual place at the far end of the pit. ‘Then we will be free to organise as many of us as we can. Then we get over the fence outside. But after that—’
‘After that there’s the biggest fortress in Dalriya, full of Isharite soldiers and magi, in the middle of nowhere,’ Zared finished for him.
They were in a desperate position, it was true. But what did these men want him to say?
‘Will your friends be able to get us out?’ asked Jurgen hopefully.
Gyrmund looked over to Herin and Clarin, stood not far away from the Dog-men, talking quietly together. There was something about them, a sense of confidence they exuded in the middle of this horror, that these men looked to. Just like Gyrmund, they were desperate and needed hope. He understood what they wanted from him.
‘Yes, give them a few more days,’ he said, doing his best to look and sound confident. ‘Hold on a bit longer. Then we’re getting out of here.’
Gyrmund made his farewells and shuffled over to stand next to Clarin. He hoped that he had done enough to keep up the spirits of the other men in the pit. They would need their support if they were going to make a successful escape bid.
Exhausted, Gyrmund dropped down to sit on the floor, his back resting against the wall behind him. He felt like offering hope to the other men in the pit had somehow drained it from him. He put his head in his hands. He experienced a sudden certainty that they weren’t going to escape from this alive. None of them—not even Moneva, wherever she was. If she wasn’t dead already. From out of nowhere, he felt the urge to cry. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid.
He turned at movement to his right. Clarin had sat down next to him.
‘Want to tell me about it?’ asked the big man.
‘About what?’
Clarin gave a half shrug.
‘About whatever is making you suffer in here, and in the mine. You’re not the same man you were in the Wilderness. Tell me. It might make you feel better.’
Gyrmund looked Clarin in the eyes. There was an intelligence, an empathy there, that he hadn’t seen before. Perhaps he’d just ignored it, assumed that he was all brute strength, no brains. And perhaps Clarin played up to that.
‘I’ve never told anyone before.’
‘Then perhaps it’s time you did.’
Perhaps so, Gyrmund considered. And in all honesty, what is there to lose now?
‘It’s from my childhood. We got ill. My whole family, my parents and sisters and me. One of the things I found hardest to accept, for a long time, was that my father was the one who brought it into the home. I idolised him when I was a child. He was strong, resourceful—I thought he was invincible. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes. My father was a tough man, too. A soldier. He trained me and Herin as fighters from when we were mere lads through to adults. Every lesson I had worth learning was down to him. Ain’t that right, Herin?’
‘Yes, that’s right. If I’ve done anything well in this life, it’s down to him.’
So, Herin has elected to stay standing, but he is listening in too. So be it.
‘No-one knew where he got it from. He was a huntsman, so perhaps he picked it up from the forest—a poisonous plant, or diseased animal of some kind. He came home and fell sick. In a few hours we all had it. His landlord—his friend—decided it best to quarantine us, to stop the disease from spreading. We had to stay in our tiny little house, with no fresh air or sunlight, and they posted food and water under our door.
‘We lay there, too ill to move, for days. Dying. My mother and sisters passed away. Then my father died. I had thought he would last the longest, but it was me who was left alone at the end. Then, I started to get better. For some reason, I fought off the illness. They made me stay in there, with my family, `til they were sure I was better. My father’s landlord raised me as part of his family afterwards.
‘Since then, I’ve had a dread of enclosed spaces. Cowardly, I know.’
‘Not a bit,’ said Clarin quietly. ‘Understandable.’
‘No,’ Gyrmund replied firmly. ‘I’m a coward. I was the one who lived, and what have I done with my life? I’ve been running away from that memory, like a scared child, ever since.’
When the army had reached the outskirts of Heractus, Theron went to the gates of the city. With him went Count Diodorus, the general of the king’s disbanded army. Evander accompanied them with the white flag of truce. Theron’s role at the gates was to speak for Sebastian and the Order—to calm fears about their objectives in taking the city, but also to demand peaceful entry. Diodorus was there to make it plain that there was no longer a royal army, and that no help would be forthcoming.
Belwynn wasn’t required to appear in her golden robe on this occasion, for which she was grateful. Sebastian wasn’t required either, so they stood around and waited while the army made camp.
She was a bit underwhelmed by the city of Heractus from this distance. There was no extravagance like the Knights’ High Tower. No defensive structures that came close to the fortress of Chalios. It didn’t seem to be half the size of Essenberg in the Empire. What it did have was a lot of grey. There were grey stone walls defending the city, and she could make out more grey walls inside, presumably the royal castle. The walls looked strong enough, but there was nothing to give the Knights much cause to have doubts, and, she thought, nothing to give those inside the city much hope.
‘Do you think they’ll open the gates?’ Belwynn asked Sebastian, as she waited impatiently for Theron to return. Her fear was that the Kalinthians inside the city would turn on him while he was negotiating.
‘It would be best if they did. Jonas won’t want to do it, and his eldest son, Straton, is a bit of a hothead. But we must hope that other voices in the city put their foot down. A siege would lead to misery for everyone concerned.’
Eventually they spied Theron and the others returning, at a leisurely pace, which indicated that at least they weren’t in any danger. In fact, Belwynn became frustrated at their speed, desperate as she was to hear their news.
When they made it to the camp, Evander had to help Theron from his horse before he was ready to share his news.
‘They’re opening the gates for us,’ he declared with a grin. ‘Diodorus played his part in persuading them that was the better option.’
‘Thank you both,’ said Sebastian.
Diodorus nodded in acknowledgement, but still had the slightly sad expression Belwynn noticed when they had first met him.
‘What do you think our approach should be now?’ asked Sebastian.
‘I still think we need to be careful,’ replied Theron. ‘Tycho and I will bring some troops in first, I reckon about two thousand. Take some into the castle, find quarters for the rest, and set up a new city guard. When I’m happy the whole place is secure, we’ll send for you. The rest of the army will have to stay out here for the night, unless you want them all in. But that would mean turfing people out of their homes.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ said Sebastian. ‘We want to get
people on our side as soon as possible, not upset them.’
‘I’ll get started straight away,’ said Theron. ‘We want to get control before nightfall.’
Theron and Tycho rounded up the units they needed and marched them to the city gates. There was a pause of some minutes before they were slowly opened and the Knights of Kalinth entered Heractus, to the cheers of the men left behind.
Sebastian’s tent had been erected for him. Belwynn, Elana and Dirk sat inside with the new Grand Master, while his squire Alpin came and went on errands. Sebastian suddenly seemed very alone, with only the three of them for company. Time crept slowly as they waited for the news that Theron had the city under enough control for him to enter.
‘Waiting is hard,’ Sebastian commented, perhaps noticing Belwynn’s tension. ‘But such is war. Endless waiting, interrupted by brief moments of terror. Theron will have the city secured soon,’ he said reassuringly.
‘How does being a Grand Master suit you?’ asked Elana.
Sebastian thought about it. ‘Not so well. I’d rather be in Theron’s position. Doing something instead of sitting here like a precious relic that needs protection. But that’s the way it has to be, so there’s no point in moaning about it.’
Indeed, Theron was playing the role of the villain in the capital, using force to exert his authority over Heractus. This allowed Sebastian to be disassociated from any unpleasant measures and, hopefully, to retain his popularity.
‘But you’re still the one in charge, in control of the situation,’ said Belwynn. ‘Theron and the knights are only doing what you want them to.’
‘True enough,’ Sebastian replied, ‘to a point. You would think I should feel in control of things. Leader of the Order, in charge of an army. But I don’t—not fully. I wonder if that’s how Jonas has had it all these years. King of Kalinth, but not even in control of his own country.’
Belwynn thought it was a gloomy reply in the circumstances and she wondered why. Sebastian was perhaps looking ahead to his meeting with Jonas, and the daunting tasks ahead of him now that he had secured power. Standing up to Ishari being first among them. Indeed, she considered, taking power away from Jonas was all very well. But it didn’t, by itself, solve the problems that the Kalinthians faced.
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