The Black Hawks

by David Wragg

  Chel thought of Whisper and shivered.

  ‘Why not end this? Why not reveal all?’ Tarfel was leaning forward, one hand on the chair. He seemed weak, desperately pale.

  ‘Are you familiar with those metal rods that crowned the tallest spires in the old cities? They ran all the way down the sides, all the way to the ground. Most are rusted away to nothing now, of course, but I’m told you can still see the grooves in the stone. Do you know what they were for?’

  Tarfel shook his head, dumbfounded.

  ‘They were storm-catchers, channellers of tempestuous fury. Our Taneru forebears used them to draw lightning from the sky.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because if you choose where the lightning will strike, you also choose where it won’t.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Our shuffling ex-Primarch is my storm-catcher, brother. The great jutting villain that looms dark over the provinces. His shadow leaves a lot of room to operate.’

  ‘To what end, brother?’

  ‘To draw out our secret foes! The so-called nations that crowd our diminished borders have no wish to see a unified Vistirlar, the rebellious territories and breakaway cities reunited at last. They do not want their meddling and profiteering disrupted, Tarfel. They fund their wars and their courts with credit and favour, they whisper and scheme and sow division and dissension, and it is time to cut off their grasping fingers. Those nations were our vassals in the time of the empire, they were thralls to the Imperial Throne. They need a reminder from history.’

  Tarfel said nothing, merely watching his brother with wide, wet eyes.

  ‘Where is the Watcher?’ Palo said from the doorway. Her hands gripped the bars, knuckles white.

  ‘Ah.’ Mendel turned to her. ‘Here. You’ll be wanting this.’ He slung the sack toward the door. It bounced twice before sliding to a halt at the foot of the bars.

  ‘Where is the Watcher?’ Palo said. Her voice was like cold lead. Chel realized he was shaking.

  ‘I think you should open the bag.’

  Palo made no move, but Dalim reached down through the bars and snatched at the sack. He rolled it open far enough to reveal the sightless sockets of the severed head within, then staggered back with a howl.

  ‘He put up sod-all fight as well,’ Mendel said, his tone conversational. ‘Witless dolt. Never saw it coming.’ He blinked, then laughed. ‘Ha, never saw it coming, Tarf. Ha!’

  Tarfel stood frozen, framed by the gallery beyond. ‘You killed him? Why?’

  Mendel started as if catching a foul odour. ‘He and his ghastly minions have been a persistent irritant for far too long.’ He waved a hand toward the prisoners in the audience chamber. ‘Using the Merciful Sisters as cover, though, I should have spotted that. Oh, the Sisters are due a reckoning for their treachery. But don’t worry, they’ll be in good company.’

  ‘Why kill him? You know everything, you’ve seen everything! He only wanted to root out the corruption of the Church! To bring peace to the kingdom! Why did we all come here today?’

  ‘Oh, Tarfel,’ Mendel said, head tilted, his expression weighted with compassion. ‘Don’t be thick. They came here to kill us – all of us. You, me and Father. He was carrying a little vial of poison, presumably to off me once the heavy lifting was done. He was convinced that he was our mother’s secret son, that we were half-brothers. That sightless pederast thought he had a claim, thought he’d clear out his rivals then scoop up Vassad’s reins. Well, someone beat him to it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. Sit down and be quiet. I’ve been very patient with you, little brother, but I think we’ve wasted rather too much time laying things out for the proles. Here ends the lesson.’

  Tarfel moved to speak again, and Mendel’s hand jumped to the sword at his waist.

  ‘Enough, Tarfel.’

  The young prince took a step back, eyes burning with emotion. For a moment, his gaze met Chel’s, then his gaze dropped. His old shoulder-slump returned, and he began to shuffle toward the chair. Behind them, Vassad had made his way to the chilly balcony, burbling at a cluster of congregating pigeons.

  ‘And now,’ Mendel said, turning back toward the barred doorway, ‘as for what to do with—’

  The knife whipped through the air, flashing between the two princes and ruffling Mendel’s hair. Mendel ducked down behind the chair, Tarfel stood dazed, unsure of what had happened.

  ‘Cheeky!’ Mendel said, peering up from behind the chair. ‘Was that you, Palo? Pity you’re a rotten throw.’

  ‘Am I?’ Palo said from the door, her voice razor blades.

  They turned. At the balcony, Vassad wavered, wide-eyed, a dark red stain flooding down one arm of his brilliant robe. The knife jutted from his shoulder. He wasn’t screaming or crying, but he certainly looked perturbed.

  Mendel’s gaze snapped back. ‘Fucking hells. Tarfel, grab him and get him back to his chamber. We’ll need to staunch that. Lady Palo, you and I are going to have a long talk before you depart this mortal realm.’

  Tarfel blinked but made no move.

  ‘Tarfel, go and get him. Move your useless arse!’

  ‘The attack at Denirnas,’ Tarfel said. ‘The false-Norts, the counts who tried to kill me, the confessors who hunted me after we escaped. Was that you? Did you order that, as him?’

  Mendel paused just a little too long. ‘No. Don’t be absurd. I can’t control every shit-wipe of a nobleman, especially when they’re nasty little social climbers. Those confessors just wanted to bring you back to me.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Now get him back in before he does something unpredictable.’ Mendel was still hunched behind the chair. Tarfel began to walk toward the balcony, unhurried, unbent.

  ‘He killed my father,’ he said softly as he walked. ‘He killed my brother. He tried to poison and enslave the last of my family.’ His voice rose as he approached the Primarch, whose face was almost as pale as the unstained parts of his robe.

  The distant eyes settled on his.

  ‘Faces in darkness,’ Lo Vassad said in his faraway, sing-song voice. ‘Friend or foe?’

  ‘You don’t deserve to live,’ Tarfel Merimonsun replied, and shoved the man with both hands.

  ‘No!’ Mendel roared as the white robe fluttered over the balcony and out of sight. ‘No! What have you done?’

  Tarfel turned, eyes blazing. ‘What you should have done when you had the chance. I’m ending this!’

  ‘You’re ending nothing, you stupid boy!’ Mendel cried, and launched himself at his brother. He smashed a mailed fist against Tarfel’s jaw, and the young prince dropped to the flagstones.

  Mendel turned with a snarl as the first cries drifted up from below, shrieks, shouts and screams, the sound of alarm, of outrage, and then the clash of steel. A bell began to toll.

  ‘Well,’ the crown prince said through gritted teeth, ‘that answers the question of what to do with you all. Our red-robed friends will be with us shortly to take your confession.’ He cocked an ear. ‘And it sounds like your comrades in the courtyard are making their acquaintance, too.’

  Chel thought of Lemon, Foss and the others below, and felt sweat-palmed queasiness churn within him. Maybe the rest of the Rau Rel forces would cross the city and reach the citadel in time. There were a lot of confessors down there.

  ‘Five years,’ Mendel growled toward his groaning brother. ‘Five years of patience, of sacrifice, of acting Prince Moron the Fuck-wit. You see, little brother, as I was lying, blood-soaked, beneath my dear, dutiful twin, who gave his own stupid life for mine, I had something of an epiphany. Only one man could have ordered the attempt on my life, and only from panic. I was no threat, not yet ascended to manhood, and Father was in the prime of life. I knew in that moment that Father was dead, and that it was vital that Vassad believe that his desperate plan had succeeded. That Corvel the Wise, heir of Vistirlar, was dead. Mendel the Fair could live on, scarred and cracked, pliant to his new master
’s bidding. For a time, at least.’

  The snarl returned. ‘For five years I tolerated that revolting bastard’s existence. If I could do it, so could you, you stupid. Little. Bastard!’

  Tarfel pushed himself up on one elbow. Already his jaw was swelling, blood welling from a dozen mail-scrapes. Mendel loomed over him, despite his diminutive stature.

  ‘God’s breath,’ Tarfel said in a tiny, broken voice. ‘You’re … not …’

  A wild smile lit the elder prince’s face. ‘Oh bravo, little brother, you got there in the end. Perhaps you’re a little more like me after all.’

  Chel watched transfixed from the doorway.

  I cut my own face, did you know that?

  Chel felt his throat closing. ‘It’s Corvel,’ he breathed.

  ***

  Corvel Merimonsun, called Corvel the Wise, snapped his hands together and blasted out a long breath. The bells outside were proliferating, the drifting shouts and screams from below now part of the background. ‘You know why they called dear, dead bro “the Fair”? Everyone assumes it was his looks, but let me clue you in – we were fucking twins. Perhaps not identical, but good as, eh? No, it was because he was equitable. He was fair-minded. He was dutiful. And that’s why he had to die.’

  ‘You killed him?’

  ‘Oh, rest assured, he’d probably have died from his wounds eventually. But I had a narrow window to make my play, and make it I did. The only way for our family to triumph was for there to be a single survivor, and for that survivor to be me. I had to become Prince Mendel, which meant there couldn’t really be another Prince Mendel coughing and croaking around, eh? I did what was necessary, and I will not hesitate to do so again, little brother.

  ‘Perhaps there is an upside to this mess after all,’ the prince continued. ‘It’s time for a change in the Church, I think, a clean slate. And thanks to the sterling efforts of our friends the Rau Rel, the most insidious and pernicious elements of the Executive have already been removed, along with a couple of problematic Names. Care of the bitter scheming of your late Watcher, nobody with a power base of any significance remains.’

  Chel looked around their group. Spider and Palo were immobile, eyes fixed on the scene beyond. Dalim knelt, bereft, one hand through the bars still gripping the sack that contained Torht’s head. Rennic had edged away, eyes scanning the great circular room. His gaze met Chel’s and offered nothing but defeat.

  ‘You know, it’s funny,’ Corvel said. ‘I thought we were sunk when the Norts came sailing into Denirnas, hell of an overreaction on their part. Of course, turns out they were just putting on a show for their own, but we weren’t to know. You see, we’d taken something from them, something we thought that perhaps they wouldn’t miss. Can’t be right all the time, eh?

  ‘But the strangest thing happened: the greyhairs of Omundi were suddenly concerned. “What if the Norts attack?” they said. So I saw to it that they did. Half the ducal family, and my own brother, wiped out by invaders. Ghastly business. Had to be a bloodbath to sell it, though, so needs must. And you know what? Those daft old buggers folded at a stroke. The others followed. The north has never been so united in the face of foreign aggression.’

  He tipped his head forward, staring into the dark of the cage. ‘That’s when I saw it, what Vassad himself had seen. The lesson of the Taneru. Common purpose, common identity, common enemies. That’s how you build something to last. And the best part?’ He grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘I got to keep my stolen prize. I foresee the unrest in the south will soon be over.’

  ‘We should have let you die at Raven-Hill,’ Palo snarled through the gate. ‘Should have let the Horvaun tear you to strips.’

  Corvel nodded, considering. ‘Yes, I daresay you should. It’s unlikely you’d be in this position now.’

  ‘You will burn for what you’ve done.’

  ‘I doubt it. Certainly, your little movement is at an end. I have your leadership, your support, your backers, and not before time. But do me a favour, will you? When the confessors come, don’t put up a fight. I’d love to hear your public confession. Oh, that reminds me.’

  He disappeared from view, keeping Palo in sight as long as he could. A moment later, the floor clanked, and the wall began to rotate once more. Back the way they’d come. Back toward the outer door. With a whimper, Dalim released the bloody sack. Corvel reappeared, hopping back behind the chair.

  ‘You know, I still owe you for Balise. What you did was unforgivable. You can consider the bag a down-payment on that.’

  ‘She got what she deserved,’ Tarfel said from the floor. Blood dripped from his chin, and his entire cheek had swollen. ‘Balise was vile.’

  ‘Balise was angry and full of hate and very easy to control!’ Corvel said. ‘She was an excellent first. Where in twelve hells am I going to find a replacement?’

  The outer door buckled, then burst inward. Light flooded the narrow passageway beyond the circular cage. Those in the audience chamber swivelled, hands fumbling for weapons. All except Palo, who stood immobile at the gate.

  ‘Well, it’s about fucking time,’ Corvel snapped. ‘It’s a good thing we weren’t in real trouble. Tarfel, look upset. Perfect!’ He dropped to his knees, throwing his arms over his head. ‘Shepherd help us!’ he cried. ‘They killed him, Shepherd’s grace, they killed him! They threw the Primarch from the balcony! Save us, please!’

  Shapes blotted the passageway light. The grinding of the wall brought the door-frame around, inching ever closer to the empty archway. A lumbering shape hove into view, filling the passage, waiting for the door to arrive; a grotesque figure of gleaming steel limbs, a great wolf’s head upon its hulking shoulders. It roared with a distinctly human voice, rattling the cage bars with one pink hand, pulling at them, trying to drag the doorway around. The clanking quickened.

  ‘Whatever that is, it ain’t friendly.’ Rennic pulled his sword from its once-blessed scabbard. Dalim was back on his feet, the spear fast in his hands, his arms spinning in familiar alternation. Spider’s curved blades glinted in his fists.

  ‘God’s bollocks,’ Rennic whispered. ‘There are hundreds of the fuckers.’

  Chel scampered back to the gate, squeezing past Palo to press his face to the sliding bars. ‘Highness,’ he hissed. ‘Prince Tarfel!’

  Tarfel lay in the balcony’s shadow, eyes glazed, blood now pooling from his damaged chin on the flags below. Chel hissed again, and he looked up. His watery blue gaze offered only fear and helplessness.

  ‘The mechanism,’ Chel called. ‘Reverse the mechanism! Please!’

  The young prince blinked a couple of times, as if the words were meaningless, but as Chel prepared to cry again, Tarfel moved. He struggled to his feet, one hand wobbling against the flags, and looked around for his target. He’d already taken a step when Corvel lashed him with a sharp kick, knocking him sprawling. His drive recovered, Tarfel scrabbled forward, making for the hidden levers, but his brother was on him. Another kick knocked him to his back, and before he could pull away Corvel’s sword was out, its point resting on his chest. He’d cleaned it, but badly, since beheading the Watcher; gory streaks darkened its otherwise gleaming length.

  ‘No, Tarfel,’ Corvel said, breathing hard but voice level. ‘No. You’re my brother and I’m not going to kill you, but I’ll cheerfully take a fucking hand if you move again. You fancy being Prince Stumpy for the rest of your days, you go right ahead.’

  Tarfel looked up at him, then back to Chel, tear-filled and pleading, then he slumped back against the cold stone, crying. Behind Chel, the steel doorway ground over the stone edge of the outer passage’s archway. The cries of the confessors reached fever-pitch, and the giant roared again. Corvel stepped from view, ready to halt the cage’s movement.

  ‘Come on then, you red bastards,’ Rennic said. ‘Who wants to see your afterlife?’

  The doorway opened.

  The giant was too big to squeeze through at first, and a smaller confessor slid in,
mace gripped tight. Another followed, a tuft-headed man carrying a length of heavy chain. Those behind them jostled and cried, and some had begun a ritual chant.

  Dalim met the first man head-on, faking one way with the spear before slapping it back and around, slamming the point against the man’s cheek. As he reeled, Spider passed him, slicing hot cuts across his neck and back as he swirled around. Rennic watched the chain-bearer approach, sword loose in his hand, stepping back from the man’s wild swings. Chel guessed he was not a fighting confessor, more an enthusiastic amateur, but that made his whirling chain no less dangerous. Rennic watched him all the way, then dropped to one knee and drove the sword into the man’s midriff. The confessor collapsed, gasping, and as Rennic stood he slashed the sword across the man’s face.

  Already two more confessors were inside, and the doorway was now wide enough for the great metal giant to enter. He stooped and scraped inside with another gleeful roar, the white fur of the wolf’s head brushing the gilded edge of the dome above, and a moment later the floor clanked and the wall stilled.

  Chel turned to Palo, who remained motionless, facing away. ‘Palo! We need to fight! We need to get out!’

  She said nothing, her mouth a thin line, her brow creased.

  ‘Fine, give me your fucking sword then.’ He reached, but her hand was fast on the pommel. She wouldn’t budge. Still she said nothing. Behind them, Dalim had impaled one of the new confessors and Spider and Rennic between them had sliced the second, but the giant was closing and they were falling back against a red tide.

  ‘Five fucking hells!’

  Chel darted away, stooping low to avoid the swish of a sword stroke, and snatched up the trailing edge of the chain the second confessor had dropped. He ducked again as a spear whistled past, then scuttled back to avoid a mace-strike from a confessor who’d spotted him. Now the man filled his vision, his face snarling with righteous fury as he thrashed at Chel with the mace. He does think we killed his Primarch, Chel thought as he scrambled backward on all fours. No wonder he’s angry.

  A sword blade hacked at the man’s arm, and as he turned in rage a second slash cut him across the legs. He pitched forward with a cry, and the blade slammed into the top of his head.