The Sword Saint

by C. F. Iggulden

  ‘They are all searched as they come in – any weapons would be found.’

  ‘Small comfort when guns are sold in city workshops! I pray to the Goddess a quick search is enough, but we should have cells ready to take anyone who raises suspicions. Has that been done? Is anyone watching to see if weapons are thrown aside before they can be searched?’

  ‘You have the mind for the task, clearly,’ Regis said. ‘Perhaps you should go down, Geese, and direct the guards on the gate.’ He noticed the young man made no move. De Guise was one of those who preferred to point out flaws, not the sort who mucked in and put them right.

  ‘I tell you, my lord,’ De Guise said after a time, ‘sooner or later, we will have to close these gates – and anyone still outside in that hour will be run down and lost. I’d do it today rather than let more in to weaken us, or invite in some killer. Yes, that’s what I would do. And, Lord Regis?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I would prefer it if you called me Robert, or Lord De Guise. Not “Geese”.’

  Regis was tempted to pitch him over the battlement in that moment. He could see exactly how to do it – one quick grab of his thigh, a jerk upwards and no more irritation. He resisted the temptation. As far as he knew, no other twig on the De Guise branch was able to carry the family sword – and the city truly needed that weapon, just as they needed the Regis shield and the Sallet Greens. Whatever the Féal king intended, his forces would be met with magic, gunfire and iron. Regis smiled at the thought, until he recalled how little they knew of the army all these refugees were fleeing. Would the regiments of Féal throw themselves against Darien if they had no way to break walls? It was a sobering thought and Regis hoped Tellius was on his best game. Regis knew the speaker and Sallet consort for a cunning and competitive man. Not likeable. Occasionally more like a street-seller bawling his wares than a man with a claim to royalty and high status. Yet there was something unbending in the old Shiang bastard. That at least was something Regis could appreciate.

  ‘Gentlemen – and lady,’ Tellius said to the group of three standing before him. With the permission of the king, he had borrowed a gymnasium in the royal palace to introduce them to one another. Leather-clad pommel horses, weights and wall bars lay on all sides, with a floor of polished oak pieces that reflected the beams of the ceiling in shimmering lines.

  ‘The army of Féal is marching south. I have scouts and spies watching, though they have a net of their own people far out. They certainly know we are there.’

  He did not say that he had lost a dozen men sent to report and observe the approach. None of them had been reckless. Whoever ran the Féal counter-measures was both ruthless and experienced.

  ‘It seems to be a disciplined army, with good order and chains of command. They keep cavalry on the wings, as a screen. They fortify their location each night, digging huge trenches, complete with gates and embankments. As well as the fighting lines, they appear to have a substantial support group. These remain behind during the day and come to the fore when it is time to assemble the camp.’ He saw the grim expressions of the little group and chose his words carefully. ‘Though I would prefer a group of savages or berserkers, there are weaknesses in those rigid structures that we will be able to exploit. At this moment, we assume their intention is to sack Darien. They have made no attempt to engage the villagers and townspeople running before them and seem content to drive them in like beaters and hares. Our biggest problem is that we have little idea of their strength. So I would rather strike fast, when they do not expect you, than wait and perhaps be overwhelmed.’

  He paused to look at the three before him. Elias was there because Tellius had offered a pardon – and subtly threatened him in the same conversation. The man’s daughter Jenny had remained at home to look after her sister, though she’d argued bitterly about that until she and her father were the same shade of brick-red.

  Nancy had come because she had as strong a love for Darien as anyone Tellius had met. She’d demanded a high price, but four years before, Tellius had watched her burn a street rather than run or hide. If the city was under attack, he knew Nancy would stand in the line with whatever weapons she had.

  The last was the one Tellius knew and trusted least, though the man had been born in his home city and trained in the Mazer steps. Taeshin had come to Darien as the unwilling host of another, made to march thousands of miles like a puppet. The power of an entire stone had been lost to send that host back and heal Taeshin. Yet he was a master swordsman by the standards of Darien – or the kingdom of Féal.

  The idea of sending so few against an army was the spear-thrust Tellius had described to Elias – right to the heart. Tellius knew more about each of them than he could admit. He knew Elias and Deeds had been sent into Darien to kill the old king. There had been few survivors, but those who had lived had been able to describe both men. Tellius had put together a sequence of events that was close to complete. He enjoyed puzzles and mysteries of exactly that sort, spending evenings at a desk with a single candle until he had fitted all the pieces in their right places.

  He knew Nancy had grown up around Fiveway, one of the roughest parts of the city. He knew she’d worked in the Old Red Inn and that she’d bought her current home and shop with gold coins melted down from some artefact she had found in the black desert.

  When Tellius looked at Taeshin, it was hard not to see the face of the madman who had set a good part of Darien on fire in his death struggle. Yet Tellius had watched him instruct the younger ones in the first Mazer school of Darien, supported by Sallet funds. Micahel had learned from him – and without Hondo and Bosin, Taeshin was the best blade in the city at that moment. There were other reasons for Tellius to want him there, though he did not share them.

  His assessment did not help their chances of survival, of course. There were just too many unknowns. Tellius bit his lower lip as he decided how best to go about it.

  ‘You’ll understand this has come quickly. We are reacting, not planning. The prince of Féal was left for dead and now his father is racing south. I don’t need to be a genius to know the two things are linked. So we are moving. You are the first spear thrown. If you fail, we’ll stop his army at the walls, with the Aeris legion, the militias and the artefacts. If you succeed, you’ll save the lives of thousands of your people. Those are the stakes.’

  He waited for them to stop glancing at one another.

  ‘We don’t have time to let you train together – to send you into the hills and have you tell how you …’ He waved a hand in exasperation. ‘How you learned to deal with bullies, or that summer you were … I don’t know, touched by an uncle. Understand? If we had a month, I’d give it to you, but we haven’t. The army is making twenty to twenty-five miles a day and they are one hundred miles north of this city. We have three, four days at most, so just accept this: each of you is extraordinary in your own way. I can give you this evening to work in this room, so that you understand what you can do. After that, I have horses waiting with one of my scouts to take you as close to the army of Féal as he can. You’ll get past the sentries …’

  ‘Just like that?’ Nancy said.

  Tellius pointed to Elias.

  ‘Ask him. You’ll reach the king’s personal tent or headquarters. If you kill him, the personal vendetta ends.’

  ‘Or … his officers decide to attack the city that murdered their king and his son!’ Nancy said.

  ‘We only maimed the son, but, yes, that could happen. Which is exactly what they’re doing now. Your point?’

  ‘Nothing. I understand.’

  ‘Good. I want you to go in, kill the bastard in a crown and get back to the city. If they keep coming, we’ll need all three of you on the walls. Understood?’

  ‘You expect me to fight for you?’ Taeshin said. ‘I have sworn no oath of service. Darien is not my city.’

  ‘The lady you live with … her name is Marias, yes?’ Tellius said. ‘She was your slave back in Shiang.’
>
  The swordsman’s eyes narrowed, instantly hostile.

  ‘Yes, that is true.’

  ‘She has a life here now – and so do you. Yet some things have to be earned, do you understand? I came here from Shiang and I paid my dues. Do the same.’

  Tellius held the gaze of the Shiang swordsman for an age, until Taeshin dipped his head, accepting. Tellius nodded in turn.

  ‘And you should marry her, by the way. I will make you a gift of a house of your own when you do.’

  Taeshin gaped at him. He had always known exactly how to react in Shiang. The rules of conduct were there to prevent weakness or confusion. He looked back on that earlier existence with longing. Nothing made sense in the same way, not since the moment he had woken up in Darien.

  ‘I will not fight for this city … just because you offer me a house!’ he spluttered.

  ‘I did not say you should,’ Tellius snapped. ‘I said I would make you a marriage gift. Marias is a good woman – and more patient than you deserve. No, you should fight for the city because it is your city. Because for the rest of your life, when people ask you what you did when the army of Féal was bearing down on us …’

  ‘I will say I don’t want to talk about it – because such things are not for the ears of those who were not there,’ Taeshin replied.

  Tellius smiled tightly at the response. There were times when he missed Shiang.

  ‘You will know what you did. Some things have to be earned, Master Taeshin. I was there when the Bracken Stone wrenched you back. I imagine you were spared for a reason. I want you to win against these people who think they can break our walls and enslave our people. I am no longer the king of Shiang, though I retain an estate and title. I want you to win – I want them also to lose.’

  Tellius saw the younger man’s eyes widen slightly as he registered the form of the words. Taeshin nodded as Tellius turned to Elias.

  ‘You should know my scouts report vast forces. We have the Aeris legion of five thousand and forty-two thousand in the militias. We can make Darien a fortress, believe me. Yet more than eighty thousand are on the march towards us. They have some sort of legion structure, with at least twenty separate banners. More, they have wheeled constructions at the far rear: huge things pulled by oxen and horses. They are very well guarded. I haven’t been able to get anyone close. Siege engines or towers – at this point, we have no idea. For all we know, their weapons are capable of smashing down our defences. Beyond that, I cannot say, but I will not lie to you. Your task is appalling – an assassination in the middle of that armed force. However, we are not without resources.’

  Tellius took a slim wooden box from a long pocket on the inside of his jacket. Nancy had seen it before and her gaze followed it like a starving man seeing food.

  ‘This is the Sallet Stone,’ Tellius said, sliding the lid open. ‘As well as the signature colour and symbol of one of the Twelve Families of Darien, it is a repository of magic. We do not know how it was created, nor how to replenish it if it is used up. The Bracken Stone turned to pale dust when the last of its magic was used. I do not want to see that again here, though we will not stint, nor hold back from whatever you need to do …’

  ‘What is wrong with her?’ Elias said. ‘Oh, Goddess …’

  Nancy had begun to draw from the stone the moment it was opened. For lesser artefacts, a touch was needed for her to pull the golden threads into herself. For an actual Darien stone, it felt like a window opening onto summer, a vast warmth and light that poured into the room. Her hair darkened and became tinged with red, seeming almost independent of her in that moment. She knew too that her eyes would be more deeply flecked with gold as she opened them once again. Taeshin had taken a step away involuntarily and Elias seemed differently focused, as if his attention was on something else entirely. Nancy smiled and Tellius shut the box with a snap, startling her. At the same time, servants entered the gymnasium to light lamps along the walls. One of them approached to hand a sword to Taeshin.

  ‘There,’ Tellius said. ‘Elias is the leader. Obey his orders as if they were my own. Work together, please. The servants will show you to your rooms when you are tired. If you leave at breakfast tomorrow, you should arrive at the enemy lines in darkness. Now, I’m afraid I must go. I’ll see you at dawn. As important as you are, you are not my only iron in the fire.’

  Without another word, he turned and left.

  Deeds eyed the rider cantering towards him along the road. There wasn’t much question of an ambush, not with Hondo and Bosin alongside. The two swordsmen of Shiang seemed to have no concept of hiding. They stood like trees on the verge of the road that stretched all the way to Darien.

  The first part of Deeds’ plan to return home had been to get back to that paved stone surface. In the camp, the Shiang ambassador had watched in fury as Hondo and Bosin had selected horses for themselves and Deeds. Their right to do so was less than clear, though none of the other guards had been inclined to challenge them. Deeds had the suspicion they’d all be outlaws if they ever returned to Shiang. That was not something he’d said aloud, however. Presumably Ambassador Xi-Hue had kept his own counsel rather than risk being a loose end or an irritation to a sword saint.

  The horse they’d chosen for Deeds had gone lame almost immediately on a steep slope, slipping and sliding down, then whinnying in distress and standing with one leg cocked. Rather than leave it to be torn apart by wolves, Deeds had dropped it with a single shot to its head. After that miserable event, Deeds had been forced to ride behind Bosin for another hundred miles or so, through plains and woodland he was always on the verge of recognising, but never quite.

  When they’d finally reached the new road, it had been with the awareness of hunger, thirst and the desperate need for Deeds to have his own horse before Bosin lost his temper again and killed him. The awakening of the huge swordsman was not like flipping a coin. At times, Bosin was as blank and dead of face as he had been for two years. Then without warning, the big man would smile at something Hondo said, or perhaps a memory that amused him. It was like watching a corpse come back to life. Deeds could not help prattling nervously in the company of one who might take it into his head at any moment to avenge old wounds. Nor did he particularly enjoy having to hold another man around the chest – especially a chest so big it made Deeds feel like he was a little boy travelling with his father. He strode the world with lightning on his hip! It was humiliating to snore on someone else’s back and go wherever he was taken. A man liked to choose his path. For that, a man needed a new horse.

  Deeds drew both pistols and levelled them at the rider approaching. The fellow seemed to understand the threat Deeds represented and reined in.

  ‘I bear sealed messages, gentlemen. I have no coin, nor anything of value. Let me pass.’

  ‘You can pass on foot,’ Deeds said. ‘I need your horse to get home.’

  ‘This is your plan?’ Hondo said. ‘To rob a bonded messenger? Why, Deeds, when you have a place behind Master Bosin? Would you make us thieves?’

  Deeds did not take his guns off the man staring nervously at them. He replied through clenched teeth.

  ‘I am not “making” you anything. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t use my name aloud. I thought I had made that clear.’

  ‘That was before I understood you were contemplating a robbery.’

  ‘“Deeds”?’ the rider said suddenly, looking from one to the other. ‘One of my messages is for you.’

  Deeds blinked, then holstered his guns and held out his hand.

  ‘No tricks, son. I’ll drop you if you make a move.’

  He watched as the young rider slowly reached to a satchel under his leg, undoing the buckle with wide-eyed tension. A sheaf of papers came out and the rider had to dismount and hand his reins to Master Hondo, then lick his thumb and sort through them one by one. Deeds drew his pistol alongside his thigh and slowly reversed it, so that he could use the hilt as a hammer. Hondo shook his head slowly in warning
while the messenger searched on, oblivious.

  ‘I thought so. Here it is, from Master Tellius,’ the messenger said.

  ‘Hand it over, son,’ Deeds growled to him. He backed away from the others to read it, knowing they would not do anything until they knew what Tellius had to say.

  Deeds smiled. There were only three lines on the page. It was the sort of message a man might scrawl in a tearing hurry, with a dozen other things on his mind.

  ‘Some sort of trouble with the kingdom. What kingdom?’

  ‘The kingdom of Féal, sir,’ the young man replied.

  ‘That prince? I knew he was all wrong, the first moment I saw him.’ Deeds thrust the paper at Hondo. ‘Tellius wants us to come back. Terms to be discussed later. If it’s war, he’ll give you anything you want, I should think. And me too. I think I’ll ask him for a patent of nobility. “Lord Deeds”. That sounds like a man’s ambition, doesn’t it? Or Lord Hondo?’

  Deeds looked at Bosin and couldn’t imagine the massive swordsman being made anything else than what he was.

  ‘You found us, son. Well done.’

  The rider was in the middle of replying when Deeds cracked the hilt of his pistol on the side of his head. He folded in a heap.

  ‘You have made road-thieves of us,’ Hondo said.

  ‘Well, you’re Darien men now,’ Deeds said with a shrug. ‘Grasp an opportunity when you see it, would you?’ He sighed at the hostile expressions. ‘All right. I’ll leave his horse at the next tavern – and perhaps a coin or two for his trouble. I’ll have to take another one, though. Will that suit you?’

  ‘It will have to,’ Hondo said.

  ‘So you’re coming back with me?’

  ‘If we are needed, Deeds, yes.’

  ‘Lord Deeds,’ he said.

  ‘I will not call you that.’

  The three men mounted. The road was paved and flat all the way to the city for another eighty miles. If they changed horses three times at road taverns, they could do it in four hours.