by David Wragg
‘Aye, fuck, that’s an ugly mess.’
Rennic released the bundle at Lemon’s feet. ‘Yeah, we had to gag her to stop her biting the mules. Lemon, meet Breckikuristaja.’
‘Brecki … Brecki the Strangler?’ Lemon shot another sideways look at Chel’s neck. ‘Now there’s a name with no fucken mystery to it.’
The bundle growled.
After a few minutes of fruitless, broken questioning met by snarls and grunts, Lemon threw up her hands. ‘Language barrier or no, boys, I’m getting no joy from this wanker. Doubt we ever will.’
The skinning knife was already in Rennic’s hand. ‘Then let’s put an end to this sorry chapter now.’
‘Master Rennic, please stay your hand.’
Palo was behind them. Chel had no idea how long she’d been there. Lemon spun around. ‘Aye, fuck, where’d you come from?’
Palo ignored her. ‘She deserves a trial, as does every freeman of these lands.’
‘Oh, aye, right, course she does.’
Rennic raised his eyebrows. ‘A trial? For a Horvaun reaver? Palo, we watched her kin commit murder as savage as any I’ve ever seen.’
Palo gave him an even stare. ‘I did not say that she would be acquitted.’
‘Well, can we do it now?’
Palo frowned sharply, as if the question was so absurd it caused her pain to hear it. ‘There is nothing like a people’s quorum here. She can wait until we reach Roniaman and resolve matters there. There will be much to settle in the days that follow.’
‘Seems like we’d be saving ourselves a lot of trouble—’
‘No, Master Rennic. Not in the name of the free people.’
‘Then what the fuck do we do with her until then? Keep feeding her? Wash her? She was none too fragrant when we met her, and she’s only gone downhill since.’
Palo turned and stared off into the darkness in the direction of the river’s babble.
‘I’m sure you will do as your conscience directs.’ With that, she strode off toward the big tents.
Rennic stared after her.
‘Well, what the fuck does that mean? Who’s going to risk their fingers trying to keep this wretch alive?’
Chel stared down at the battered, broken woman, the ruins of her war-paint now indistinguishable from the streaks of road-grime that coated her. Brecki was indeed none too fragrant. She’d murdered the dark-eyed archer, she’d tried to murder him too. Twice. He put one hand to the bruises on his neck and closed his eyes. Palo’s words echoed in his head.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said.
TWENTY-NINE
‘Do we ride with an army now, boss?’ Foss was carrying almost as much on his back as one of the mules, and easily keeping pace. He looked out over their expanded column, over Chel’s head, taking in the fluttering pennants that marked the latest arrivals as they joined the rear, slogging through the churned ruins of road in the early morning drizzle.
Beyond Chel, Rennic jerked the rope on his mule, yanking its questing head from a verdant roadside bush. ‘Hardly call this bunch an army. Maybe a contingent. Seems our Watcher has been calling in some favours. As long as we keep ahead …’
‘Been a long time since we fought beneath a pennant.’
‘You shit-heads better keep away from anything with a flag on it, yeah? Wouldn’t want to lose one!’ Dalim was jogging past them, his leather-wrapped glaive flexing against his shoulder, his step light despite the mud.
‘Jog on, pickle-tickler,’ Rennic said, without any particular emotion. Dalim flicked a hand-signal and continued his progress toward the wagon at the column’s head, where Torht travelled in comfort with the princes.
Chel leaned forward. ‘What’s he talking about?’
Rennic spat into the mud, but Foss turned his head to reply. He looked pained. ‘The boss and I once had an … unfortunate outcome to a contract. You know what a Company of Death is?’
‘They guard a … standard?’
‘Among other things.’
‘And …’ He paused, reflecting on Dalim’s words. ‘They defend it with their lives?’
Foss gave a sad nod. ‘Yet here we are.’
‘That’s why he keeps calling you failures?’
‘Well, that other mess at Lauwei did our reputation no favours. Nor did that dropped charge against the western breach at Paradeh.’
‘Just those, then?’
Foss looked uncomfortable. ‘Those … and perhaps some other things.’
Rennic snorted, not in mirth, but as a horse might. ‘None of which we could be blamed for. Not by anyone who knew shit about shit. A contract man can’t help his orders; you do the job or the job does you. And if those other company wankers think themselves too precious to work with us, well, that’s their fucking issue.’ He turned his head, animated now. ‘And who’s to say there’ll be fighting this time, anyway?’
Foss looked out over the woodside, drenched and glistening grey. ‘This many marching folk, the fighting will find us,’ he said, so quiet it must just have been to himself.
‘We’ve got a contract, Fossy. In writing. The pricks are going to honour it, one way or another.’
Foss looked unconvinced, running an absent hand over his bundle of braids. ‘Roads are too empty, even for this close to winter.’
Rennic nodded with a soft grunt. ‘Looks like the lands are waiting to see how this one falls.’
‘… and a kingdom holds its breath,’ Foss intoned, although Chel didn’t recognize the reference.
‘Any news from the north?’
‘Garbled. Norts departed, Norts invaded, Norts unchanged. Riots and unrest, whispers of another famine.’
‘The port still blocked?’
‘Heard from more than one that the new grand duke, that weaselly friend of yours, celebrated his ascension by ordering an assault on the visitors in the bay.’
‘Yeah? How did that go?’
‘About as well as you’d expect. He’s abandoned Denirnas, fled south with his surviving household to Roniaman. Left the winter palace for the birds.’
Chel had never liked the peacocks.
A horse thundered past, throwing clumps of squelching earth from its hooves. The rider reined in at the wagon, throwing back the hood of his cloak to reveal Spider’s glistening dome beneath. He exchanged low words with Palo on the driver’s bench, far from Chel’s hearing.
‘The road was full of ill tidings,’ Foss said, his eyes on the new arrival, ‘sad tales. You hear about Grigol of Koba?’
Rennic grunted. ‘Dead?’
‘Someone carved him up in his sleep. And his wife, children, half a dozen servants, twelve hells, even the dog.’
Between them, Chel recoiled. ‘The fuck they do that for?’
‘Stop it barking,’ Rennic said automatically. ‘Thought he’d have been off the road, this time of year.’
‘He was,’ Foss said. ‘Household back at Koronur.’
‘Serious? Were they besieged?’
Foss shook his head. ‘Assassins scaled the walls, scaled the keep, came in through the roof. Left the same way. Guards never raised the alarm.’
Chel followed his gaze. It was fixed on Spider, who was grinning at the unsmiling Palo.
‘How far is that from here?’ he said.
‘Couple of days’ ride, maybe, less if you weren’t minded to spare the horses.’
Rennic jerked his mule onward again, then spat in irritation into the verge. ‘Evil days,’ he said.
‘Evil days, boss.’
They plodded on in soggy silence for a while, until Foss spoke again. ‘Bad time to be a member of the Executive Council, it seems.’
Rennic took a long breath in through his nose but said nothing. When it became clear he wasn’t going to speak, Chel said, ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Two gone in a week.’
‘Who was the other? Was it bad?’
‘Asa Keshani. Ate something that disagreed with her at Qish Baymul.’
&nb
sp; ‘She died?’
‘Retched out her organs, heard it told. They were turning to jelly as they came out. Course, you can never believe everything you hear, but she’s passed over, no doubt. Right in front of the local worthies.’
‘Poison?’
Foss raised an eyebrow, his gaze still on Spider. ‘And how would I be knowing anything about that?’
Chel gave a rueful nod. ‘Evil days,’ he said.
‘Evil days, friend.’
***
‘D’you ever feel like, I dunno, the world lost something … irreplaceable … when the empire collapsed?’ Lemon said, staring across the sloping valley at the ruined bridge that marked the official bounds of Roniaman city. Beneath them the wide sweep of the Roni glittered in the rosy light of the diminishing sunset, the air already crisp and misting. The great towers of the Ronilartsei bridge itself stood proud and solitary along its broken span, huge, sinuous spirals of bone-pale stone, glowing like coral in the dying light. Behind them, the final camp bustled. When the sun rose again, they would enter the city.
‘Bollocks,’ Loveless said, fishing around for her wine-skin. ‘The Taneru enslaved half a continent and drove it to ruin before they fucked and drank themselves into oblivion.’
‘Aye, right. Thought you’d have approved of that?’
Loveless stood and took a long swig. ‘Oh sure, I’m a big fan of drinking and fucking. Not at the same time, mind, tends to lead to spillage. But those Taneru arseholes mixed it all up with a shit-load of gods and divine provenance, while expecting their serf class to take their word for their lot in life.’ She gestured with the skin at the ruined bridge. ‘Who do you think built those beautiful spires? Sure as sow-shit wasn’t any clean-fingered imperial citizen. No wonder the slaves buggered them all to death.’
Chel almost dropped his cup. ‘That’s … not … what I was taught.’
Loveless grinned. ‘I like to think that’s what happened. And if you believe in something enough – and tell enough people like it’s true – isn’t that the real truth?’
‘Er, no.’
‘Well, I say it is. Hence proved.’ She took another drink.
Shaking his head, Chel turned back to the valley, to the city beyond it. He thought again of Sabina, of her role in all this, of her current whereabouts. Was she somewhere within the capital, awaiting them? Was she safe? Chel had tried, several times, to confront the Watcher and demand information on his sister, but for a blind man Torht had an excellent instinct for avoiding him.
The last, low rays of the red sun slid across the landscape, slipping beneath the hard cover of black cloud overhead. They threw the far bank of the river into relief, stretching long shadows from dark bumps and bundles that rippled the terrain. The dark covering stretched for miles, all the way to the pale walls of the city itself on the distant hilltop.
‘What’s that?’ he said to Loveless. ‘On the far bank.’
‘You never been to Roniaman before, cub?’
He shook his head.
‘Those are the Shanties.’
***
Chel squatted before Brecki with his now-customary pitcher of water and hunks of trail-meat. She glowered up at him, the firelight reflected in her pale eyes like a manifestation of her hatred. She still flinched from his attempts to wash her, trying to bite him through the gag.
‘Come on,’ he muttered, waving a piece of overcooked meat in front of her. ‘You need to eat.’
She glared at him, then allowed him to slide down the gag. She immediately bit the food from his hand and set about chewing, staring into his eyes the whole time. It was hard to shake the feeling that she was visualizing chewing through him.
He stood, breaking the gaze, and the rage in her eyes faded. A moment later, she was simply chewing.
‘What brought you this far north?’ he murmured, too quiet for her to hear. ‘Can you even show contrition for what you did? Can a reaver learn remorse?’
The lights of Roniaman twinkled across the valley. It looked pretty and peaceful, but somehow the sight set something burning in his chest.
‘I’ll be back for you, Brecki, when our mission is complete. You’re my responsibility.’
You’re my mistake, his brain added. My penance. To be kept clean and healthy, right up until her trial and execution. He thought of his father, his pronouncements on ‘doing the right thing’. He thought again of the young archer, dying on the stones with a rent in her gut.
‘How can it ever be wrong to do the right thing?’
Brecki was looking past him, to where Torht and the princes were talking. She was smiling.
***
Torht summoned them before dawn. Several figures loitered by the wagon in the gloom, figures wearing mail and tabards, figures with gleaming gear and clean pennants. Their band had attracted some followers with budget. The Black Hawk Company regarded the newcomers with suspicion tinged with envy.
Mendel and Torht appeared from beyond the wagon, the crown prince dangling from the Watcher’s arm in rapt attention. Founin, the attendant, slouched behind. Mendel seemed to have become utterly enamoured of his blind companion in their days together, hanging on his words with the wonder of a child. To Chel’s eyes, with Balise gone Mendel had taken the Watcher as his new controller, desperate to have someone to keep his thoughts aligned.
‘But how would the Names have known to send contingents?’ he asked, breathless. ‘We only crossed paths a few days ago.’
Torht smiled, his empty sockets crinkling beneath his cowl. ‘We have a network of, you might say, like-minded folk, highness. Fellow travellers on the road to a Vistirlar free of Rose-control. I merely gave word of our situation, our progress.’
‘And which Names have sent help?’
‘Founin can give you a list.’
Chel sensed movement at his elbow, and turned sharply to find Rennic standing dew-slick beside him, the plume of his breath merging with the mist. He offered a mirthless grin. ‘Hells, would you look at all these posh pricks, there’s some coin been dropped on this one. We should double our fee.’
Torht stepped away from Mendel with a nod and turned to face the gathered crowd. ‘Today, my friends, we will make history. Today we will reclaim our fair kingdom, our homeland, from the pernicious forces that have choked it for too long. For more than two decades, Vassad and his snarling Rose have squatted like poisonous reptiles at the heart of our state, spreading misery, disease and death. Today that ends!’
Chel found himself nodding along. Images of the past floated unbidden into his mind, and he clenched his eyes and shook his head to try to shake them away. If Rennic noticed, he said nothing. He was watching the proceedings with one eyebrow raised, idly chewing at a nail.
‘I can only thank you for the sacrifice and dedication that has brought us together here today.’ Torht continued. ‘Truly, we stand at the cusp of something momentous. And we would not be here without Prince Mendel’s devotion to his kingdom and his people, and his desire to see justice done at last!’
To a chorus of cheers, Torht reached out a hand and ushered Mendel forward, urging him to speak. The handsome young prince bounded forward, bright eyes wide, narrow silver band shining at his brow.
‘My subjects,’ he began, then paused. ‘My friends. I have learned so much in the last few days that my head is spinning. I have learned of the crimes of Primarch Vassad, more heinous than I could have ever supposed. I have learned that five years ago, when my beloved brother Corvel and I were attacked by brigands and he gave his life for mine, when my father Lubel was struck down by grief on the news of Corvel’s death …’ He paused to wipe at one beautiful eye. ‘I have learned that those brigands were agents of the Rose, and that my father fell to Vassad’s alchemy. I have learned that Lo Vassad murdered my brother and poisoned my father. And I am so glad that today is the day that we rid the kingdom of an ungodly stain!’
He stood back, beaming, to another round of cheers. Tarfel gazed at his big brother, enr
aptured.
Rennic spat out a sliver of nail. ‘We should triple our fee.’
***
Lemon found them as they were repacking the mules. She was dragging one of the sacks. ‘Got something for you, boss,’ she said with a grin, and tossed the sack to Rennic.
He opened it and dug inside, then cried in triumph. ‘About fucking time! How’d you swing that? Here, little man, give me a hand with the lacing.’
Lemon smiled. ‘Took a detour on the way over. Palo’s cousin, or whoever she was, she really came through, sorted us out with some bonus silver for the Denirnas job. Thought you wouldn’t mind if we spent a bit.’
Rennic unbundled a great leather carapace from the sack, trailing laces and straps, its body composed of hard, overlapping scales. It looked finely made, if very battered.
‘Wait … Where’s the fucking helmet?’
Lemon coughed. ‘Well, fella said prices had gone up, what with the Nort blockade and all, and your share didn’t—’
‘There’s no helmet? What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’
Loveless stuck her head over a mule.
‘Try not to get hit on the head, maybe?’
Rennic cast his eyes skyward. ‘Thrice-damn you. I leave you alone for a moment, and this—’
‘Hey.’ Loveless’s tone was fierce. ‘Be grateful. Thank the lady.’
Rennic paused, then turned slowly to Lemon.
‘Thanks, you cloth-eared fuck-stool.’
‘My pleasure, you reeking piss-wizard.’
The big man sighed. ‘Come on, little man, help me get this on. You can call it another learning opportunity.’
Loveless popped her head up again. ‘How’s you in armour going to help the poor lad’s training? He’s getting a mud-breakfast either way.’
Rennic grinned, dark and sharp. ‘Little man knows the drill. His beatings continue until he lands a mark on me. Maybe this old gear will slow me down a touch, eh, little man?’
Chel’s own grin was weak, half-formed. He was not enjoying his training.
***
Chel arrived late to Palo’s briefing, appalled to find Rennic already standing at the back of the mail-clad ring of partisans, mercenaries and seconded house-guards, each craning to see where she carved lines in the cold mud with a spear-tip. Others milled and drilled in the background.
