by David Wragg
The general volume of the room rose as spiced wine was poured and the joints carved and shared. Chel looked up from his own food to see Tarfel looking quite cheerful, his cheeks pink and lips purpled with drink. On his far side, Spider was fixated on his platter at the exclusion of all else, so the young prince had attempted to engage Palo in conversation. His reedy voice carried over the din.
‘I was beginning to worry it would be old bread and dried goat forever!’ the prince exclaimed.
The big woman put down her cup and nodded to him, then resumed her meal.
‘So what is this place, anyway? There are high-period Taneru ruins here, if I’m not mistaken. Was it an old sea-fort? A watchtower?’
Palo once more put down her food and turned to the prince. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, your highness.’
Undaunted, Tarfel ploughed on. ‘And who’s the liege around here? I didn’t see any pennant on the way in, is that tolerated?’
‘Wavecrest has no liege, highness, beyond Erdi and her family.’
‘Oh. Who’s her family? I should know all the primary branches.’
‘Her family are my family, highness. We are cousins.’
‘Oh, she’s a Palo, too? It’s funny, I’m sure I’ve heard your name before but I can’t place it.’
Palo placed her knife carefully beside her platter.
‘If you wish to place it, try Farashan.’
Tarfel frowned, his stained lips moving as he navigated his memories. Chel became aware that the room had quietened, as if all present were listening in. Rennic was staring straight ahead, unseeing, his cup tight in his hand.
‘Farashan? You’re a long way from home, that’s on the other side of the kingdom.’
‘Indeed. This would have been nearly a quarter of a century ago. Before it was part of the kingdom.’
Even Chel could pick up the cues of a dangerous conversation. Tarfel was either too drunk or too ignorant.
‘Oh! That was one of the big sieges, right? In the Liberation?’
‘It was the first.’
‘Did your family ride with my father against the heretics?’
‘No.’
‘With another liege of the Hallowed Union? As emissaries of the Church?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Of that I am aware.’ Palo shifted in her chair. She’d removed her mail and travelling leathers, but she remained physically imposing, wide-shouldered and powerful. Her knife still rested beside the platter on the table before them, and she didn’t look directly at the prince. ‘Perhaps you would recognize my name’s original form: Oktepalo.’
‘But … that’s the name of the godless villain that my father rescued my mother from …’
Chel saw the moment that Tarfel’s brain caught up with the conversation. The colour drained from his face, rendering him a dark-lipped ghost in the torchlight. Before he could respond, Palo continued.
‘Farashan was my family’s seat for seven generations. When my cousin surrendered the city, it was on the condition that its populace – and his family – be spared. He alone would atone for whatever sins Vassad had laid at his feet. These terms were agreed.’
Tarfel swallowed hard.
Palo turned and fixed him with her gaze. Her face, like her tone, was flat, expressionless, her eyes dark pools that drank in the light. ‘Do you know what happened then? Did your tutors tell you? Do they teach it at the Academy? Perhaps your father sang you the tale as he bounced you on his knee?’
The prince shook his head. Sweat shone from his forehead.
‘Do you know what it means, to be crossed? For a family to be crossed?’
‘To be … betrayed?’
‘I’m talking about the …’ she paused. ‘Righteous punishment.’
Tarfel was visibly shrinking down.
‘It’s where they, uh …’
‘It’s where they mark a person, then traverse their family tree. Across. Up. And down. Sisters and brothers. Mother or father, whichever carried the name. The grandparent, great-grandparent, if they still live.’ Palo’s eyes were still locked to Tarfel’s. His eyes were slick in the torchlight, from horror, terror or both, Chel couldn’t tell.
‘And, of course, the children.’
Tarfel nodded, his movements spasmodic.
‘And then they are executed, one by one, top to bottom. To send the message that the Shepherd is just and loving and wants only what is best for us all.’
She broke her gaze and returned to her food, biting and chewing with no great emotion.
Tarfel sat for a moment, clammy and trembling, and Chel thought he might faint. He reached out an unsteady hand and took another swig of wine, then sat a little straighter and made to speak.
‘If it were up to me,’ Palo said, her eyes still on her platter and the knife in her hand, ‘I would have killed you the moment I saw you. I would have blinded you, castrated you, separated your limbs from your torso. At this moment, nothing would please me more than driving this knife into your body until you were empty of blood and innards. I would tan your skin for my saddle. I would make pipes of your bones.’
She set the knife down again and met his gaze.
‘Be grateful that it is not up to me, your highness.’
Tarfel nodded again, cowed, silent. This time Chel was sure he was crying. Palo signalled to Dalim’s erstwhile henchmen. ‘Our guest has finished his meal. Please escort him to his quarters and see that he remains there comfortably.’
The two men hauled Tarfel to his feet and bustled him from the room. Before his cup had settled on the table, Palo herself stood and nodded to the remaining diners.
‘I must bid you a good night, but please stay and finish at your leisure. Beds have been laid for you, and there’s plenty more wine at least.’ She took a deep breath, and for a moment Chel thought he saw true emotion dart across her face. Then she leaned forward, hands on the table, addressing the members of the mercenary company. ‘You’ve done well, very well. You’ve surprised us. I’ve sent word ahead. This will be the start of something.’
She left through the other door, while Chel wondered who ‘us’ referred to. Dalim followed a pace behind, mouth twisted in petulant resentment. He kept sniffing his hands. Spider made a show of finishing the food on his platter, wiping his mouth, and exiting the room at a leisurely pace in the other direction.
For a moment, all was still, then the clink of wine jug on cup echoed around the room.
‘Popular fellow, princey’s dad, eh?’ Lemon chuckled.
Rennic’s scowl lingered only from habit. ‘He doesn’t know the half of it.’
He’s not the only one, Chel thought to himself, and reached for his mug.
***
They stayed up drinking until the wine was gone, then Loveless and Whisper went to find more. Even the lanky scout was in her cups, her normally sure steps a touch unsteady, her speaking gestures more expansive, less precise. She certainly smiled more than the others. Even drunk, the rest of Rennic’s crew seemed to keep their mirth internal, expressed only as barbs at each other’s expense. Through the haze of wine, Chel wondered if Whisper escaped the cycle of sniping only because she lacked a tongue to lash. Foss remained gentle in his humour, Lemon perverse, Loveless contentious. Rennic was darkest of all, but as he refilled his cup for what must have been the thirtieth time, the sharp corners of his mouth were tweaked upward, his voice loud and incautious.
‘Training starts tomorrow, fuckers. Remember that!’
Lemon’s head was resting on the table, but she raised her cup in acknowledgement. ‘Aye, right, you mentioned.’
Chel turned his head one way, then back again, marvelling at the gap between the movement and the lurch of his consciousness. ‘So, what’s happening tomorrow? Is the job finished? Someone said it was finished.’
Rennic gazed at him across the table, his black eyes, for once, no longer burning with checked rage. ‘Aye, it’s done. Tomorrow is payda
y, boy. Tomorrow we get what we’re owed.’
‘And then what?’
‘I’m buying some shiny new armour.’
‘And after that?’
‘Then? The future. The unwritten. The great expanse.’ He waved both hands through the air, summing up the majesty of existence.
‘But—’
‘Why do you run?’ He was leaning forward now, one elbow on the table, finger pointing. ‘Did you. Why did you run?’
‘I—’
Rennic slapped the table in front of Foss, who was dozing, his head on his ample chest. ‘Hoy! Did you know that? Fossy? This fucker ran every morning, rain or shine. Not that you see much beyond shine in Denirnas. But up he went, off round the walls at dawn, fast as his little legs could carry him. Every fucking day for weeks.’
Foss nodded, eyes still shut. ‘Mmm-hmm,’ he said.
‘I saw you drink a skinful of that wretched port-wine they have up there, and still you were bouncing along the following day. The fuck did you do it?’
Chel sat dumbfounded. ‘How long were you watching me? Why were you watching me?’
Rennic’s eyes narrowed. ‘I asked you a question, boy.’
‘And I asked you in return. Answers for answers, Gar Rennic. Spear of the South. Eastern Eagle.’ He trotted out the names Dalim had used, trying to recapture some of their barb, and felt himself flushing as he did so.
Whatever history lay there, it got a reaction: Rennic bristled, his mighty nostrils flaring. ‘Dangerous choice, boy.’
Chel held his gaze, cheeks burning. ‘So is calling me boy. Last fellow who did that fell to his death in flames.’
Rennic sat back, one eyebrow raised in sceptical appraisal. ‘You killed him? Didn’t strike me as the slaughtering type, Chel the Andriz.’
‘Well, I … I was beside him when he fell.’
Rennic’s smile returned, wolfish, hungry. ‘You’re a well of surprises, aren’t you, little man?’
Chel shrugged. His shoulders felt heavy. Whisper and Loveless had been gone a long time, and he was beginning to wonder if they’d gone to bed already. ‘I’m only me.’
‘So why do you run, only Chel?’
‘Answers for answers.’
‘Nine fucking hells, boy, fine. Answers for answers.’
‘You first. Why were you watching me? How long for?’
‘That’s two, but I’m a generous soul. Lemon will tell you.’ Rennic nudged Lemon beside him, who remained face-down on the table. Up came the cup in agreement. ‘We watched you for as long as you were in Denirnas. We watched you because you were in Denirnas. We were watching everyone in Denirnas.’
‘Why?’
‘Now, now, my turn. Why the running?’
‘I was usually late for—’
‘Yet you took the long way around the walls. Truth. Now.’
Chel squirmed in his chair. He felt hot and tired, and his shoulder ached. ‘My father.’
‘What about him?’
‘That’s another—’
‘Don’t fuck about. My patience for this game is strictly fucking limited.’
Chel put up a hand. ‘He used to. Run. Every day at dawn. He’d go off round the manor, look in on the settlements.’
‘I’d have expected a mount, even for a little manor.’
‘Father always said the tenants shouldn’t have to look up to see their liege. Guards had to run to keep up. I tried to keep up, but I never could …’
Rennic nodded. ‘When did he die?’
Chel blinked at the question’s bluntness. ‘How did you know—’
‘Give me some credit.’
Chel recovered some poise. ‘Then it’s my turn. Why were you watching Denirnas?’
Rennic looked away, tutting in exasperation. ‘You want this to be your question?’
‘Wait, right … Because that was the job. For Palo.’
A sarcastic thumbs up.
‘But who does Palo work for? One of the Names? The Great Powers? Outside instigators?’
His brows came down like a portcullis. ‘Ask something else.’
‘Wh—’
‘Something. Else.’
Chel chewed, his tongue thick and furry with departed wine. ‘Why did you trip me? That was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Ha!’ The grin returned. ‘Simple enough. I wanted to see what you’d do.’
‘What I’d do? How about fall the fuck over?’
‘Then hypothesis proven.’ His dark eyes were keen in the low light.
‘Ever pull the legs off an insect to see what it would do? You seem the type.’
‘Are you an insect, Chel the Andriz?’
‘You’ve not pulled my legs off yet, old man.’
‘How is the arm?’
‘Healing. Back to its best in no time.’
‘Good to hear. You should take care of it. You never know when you might need both hands.’ He flipped his knife up from the table, landing its grip on the back of his hand. His eyes still fixed on Chel, he flicked it up, rolling it around then on to the back of the other hand, before spinning it over and snatching it from the air. He drove the tip into the table’s wood with a thud.
‘That’s nice. Almost as good as when Spider does it.’
Instead of the anger he’d expected, Rennic’s face broke into a broad grin, one that reached the corners of his eyes. ‘You’ll do, Chel the Andriz. You’ll do.’ He paused. ‘So explain the name. Why does an Andriz family have a name from the south-east?’
‘My parents … They took local names, when they moved down, gave me and my sisters local names.’ Chel put his chin on his hand. His throat was very dry, and his head was beginning to pulse with great foreboding. ‘Did you mean what you said earlier? To the others. About me having saved you all.’
Rennic tilted his head to the side. ‘Maybe.’
Heat suffused Chel’s cheeks and his ears were glowing. Hot from wine, hot from pride. Hot from the feeling of Rennic weighing his value. ‘Why did you bring me?’
‘Pretty sure it’s my turn. When did your father die?’
‘When I was eight. Eleven years ago.’
‘Battle?’
‘Plague.’
Rennic sucked air through his teeth. ‘Rest of the family?’
‘Untouched. Quarantined himself.’ The black door, the heavy door, the cries beyond but never opened.
‘Good of him.’
Chel didn’t respond. His teeth were grinding in his jaw, his breath coming heavy.
‘Great news, degenerate booze-fiends of the world!’ Loveless came striding into the room, a dark cask under her arm. ‘While we found no more wine, our benevolent creator saw fit to bestow this magnificent bran—’ Her eyes fell on the knife, still quivering in the table-top. ‘Fuck’s going on in here?’
Rennic didn’t look up. ‘The boy and I are getting acquainted.’
A great rumbling snore echoed around the room, Foss at its epicentre. Lemon’s cup went up once more.
‘I’m not a boy.’
‘He’s not a boy,’ Rennic said with an exaggerated head-shake.
Loveless stood in the doorway, uncertain. ‘Do I need to come back, or something? Is this man-time?’
‘I’m a man.’
‘He’s a man.’
She nodded, her smile crooked. ‘Fuck it then. Here’s your brandy.’ She dumped the cask on the table beside them. ‘Good night, men. Don’t forget to put Lemon away.’
‘Fffuck your horsssess,’ came the reply from beneath Lemon’s mound of hair, as Loveless left the room.
Chel was aware of the sudden quiet in the room, as drunk as he was. Rennic had one casual hand on the brandy cask but was staring at him with sudden intensity.
‘That night on the mountain, at the trapper’s hut,’ he said. ‘You were outside.’ He closed his eyes, took a long breath through his nose, but the gaze was no less fierce when it resumed. ‘Is there anything I should know?’
Chel blinked and looked away
, glancing first at the slumped form of Lemon, then the empty chair where Spider had sat.
He swallowed.
‘No.’
Rennic nodded, then stood, hands on the table to steady himself. ‘Going to need some water,’ he muttered.
‘Wait,’ Chel said, grasping hand outstretched. ‘We’re not finished.’
‘We’re finished all right, boy.’
‘Man.’
‘We’re finished all right, little man. Know when it’s over.’
‘Why did you bring me?’
‘What?’
‘Why bring me? Why drag me out of the palace, all the way down to the river?’
‘I fancied a change of luck.’
‘Be serious. Why?’
‘Fine.’ Rennic took a long breath, one hand on the door frame. ‘I saw you, down in the plaza. Again in the palace. Reminded me of someone. And you’d have died in that fire if we’d left you. Now, I’m going to bed.’
‘Wait! Who?’
‘Get some sleep, little man. Tomorrow, we get paid.’
‘Wait!’
He was already gone.
TWENTY
Chel awoke to the barking of dogs in the yard, the cries of gulls over the rustle of the wind through the grove, and the pounding of a battering ram against the front of his skull. He found himself face-down in bitter drool on a pallet, stripped to his underclothes and covered with a rough blanket. His clothes and a pitcher of water lay beside the pallet, and jovial voices drifted in through the open shutters.
He dressed and struggled into the courtyard, pulling the blanket tight around his aching shoulders to find the stockade swathed in mist. Cooking smells wafted from a glimmer of fire close to the stables, along with familiar chatter.
‘Would you rather be an eagle with no wings, or a fangless snake?’
‘Hmm. The snake. At least if you kept your mouth shut, no one would know you were harmless. Hoy there, friend!’ Foss grinned at him over the sizzling iron. ‘You look as good as the orange one smells.’
‘Piss off, Fossy, smell better than you raising a sweat.’
Lemon and Foss huddled over the cooking fire. Whisper sat to one side, running a sharp-stone over the edges of a frightening array of knives and bladed weaponry. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.
