‘And why would taking them be a favour?’
‘Because the people who paid for the weapons are going to be a little annoyed that they didn’t arrive where they were supposed to.’
‘Ahhh. I see. And who are the rightful owners?’
She shrugged. ‘No idea, but the guy bringing them in killed himself rather than tell me.’
Bekha jumped down onto the deck of the vessel then leant over and picked up a short mace from the compartment. She hefted it in her hand, then examined it closely.
‘This has been stolen from a City armoury,’ she said, her eyes scanning the base of the handle.
‘Yeah, that’s what I…’ Aila’s voice tailed off as she heard a low rumble in the distance, followed by what sounded like drum beats. Her heart sank.
Bekha’s ears pricked up, and she climbed back onto the wharf, the mace still gripped in her hand. ‘Everyone, get inside and bar the doors.’ She glanced down at Aila. ‘Grab something useful, then lock that compartment and come in with us; it’ll be safer than out here.’
Aila closed the compartment and fitted the padlock. ‘Thanks, but no.’ She tossed the key to Bekha.
‘But you know what those drums mean?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘They’re coming this way.’
‘Yes, they are.’
‘You don’t seem concerned. You should be.’
Aila smiled. ‘This won’t be my first riot, and I doubt it’ll be my last.’ She climbed up onto the wharf and shook Bekha’s hand. ‘Remember, sink the barge when you’ve taken what you need; either that or dump it somewhere far away; it’s the only connection leading the weapons to you.’
‘Sure,’ said Bekha, her attention distracted by the approaching sound of drums, screams and breaking glass. ‘Good luck.’
Aila waited until they had gone back into the building, then she began walking along the side of the canal towards the torrent of noise. She wondered what appearance would best suit the situation; should she present a strong or a weak face to a mob of rioters? Both had their uses. She turned a corner but remained in the shadows. Away from the canal, the streets of the circuit deteriorated into unpaved tracks and twisting alleyways that made their way between the grey, concrete houses that towered four or five storeys into the sky. The first wave of rioters were moving from street to street fifty yards from her, smashing every window, setting fires, and destroying whatever they could lay their hands on.
It was a sight Aila had seen before, and it broke her heart every time. The poorest tribe, living in the worst conditions; she knew the many reasons for their anger, but despaired whenever they took it out on their own communities.
You see me as an enormous man, wide-shouldered, scarred and brutal-looking, wielding a three-foot length of steel pipe.
That should do it, she thought, as she stepped out into the narrow street.
‘Any closer and I’ll smash your brains in,’ Aila roared to the approaching crowd as she swung her illusory weapon.
The lead rioters took one look at her and scattered into the maze of nearby alleys, drawing the riot away from the canal, and from where Bekha and the others were sheltering.
Cowards, she smiled to herself, slipping back into the shadows.
You see me as a fellow rioter.
She re-emerged, and joined the fringes of the mob as it tore through the streets. Whistles and horns were blaring out over the steady beat of drums. The locals shuttered their windows and barred their doors, and prayed to the gods that the mob would pass in peace. Some houses were lucky, others not. The part of the mob Aila was with reached a ceramics plant, and burst in through the wide doors, dispersing into the building, and smashing everything in sight. A few workers protested and were given a vicious beating, but most stood aside or fled as their stocks and equipment were destroyed.
Aila glanced at the faces of the rioters. Most were young, and all were caught up in the chaos and thrill of violence; their pent-up anger seemingly satisfied by the destruction they wrought with their own hands. The mob reached the far end of the plant, and crashed through another set of doors, spilling back onto the streets. Ahead, the road had been blocked by Circuit militia, a double line of stout shields and extended pikes that was sealing the route towards the Great Racecourse and the centre of the district. The mob wheeled away, spreading to the left and right to avoid the soldiers.
Aila dodged into the alcove of a boarded-up shop, and waited for the mob to pass.
You see me as… myself.
She strode back onto the street and headed toward the forest of pikes facing her. She halted a few inches from the razor-sharp points.
‘Good morning, troopers. I’d be awfully obliged if you could part so that I can get to Redmarket Palace.’
An officer opened his mouth to shout at her, then paused as he realised who was standing in front of the shieldwall. ‘Clear a path for the Adjutant!’
Aila waited until the startled militia shuffled out of her way, then she squeezed through the gap.
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ the officer said, bowing before her. ‘I wasn’t informed that you were out in the districts today.’
‘No need to apologise, Captain. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to report to my cousin, the Governor.’
‘Of course, ma’am,’ he said, saluting as she turned away.
She hurried the rest of the route to the palace, hearing the sound of the riot rumble on behind her. She passed the cordon of militia by the entrance, and went in, walking straight to Ikara’s office. The chamber was in confusion, as militia officers and tribal officials shouted at each other, while Ikara sat stony-faced in her large chair.
‘Good morning, Governor,’ she said.
Ikara cocked an eyebrow at her as the room began to quieten. ‘Where were you earlier? You weren’t in your quarters.’
‘I left the palace before dawn; I had a couple of matters to attend to. While on my way back, I ran into the riot.’
Her cousin frowned. ‘Which one?’
‘There’s more than one?’
Ikara shook her head at her. ‘Over a dozen riots are currently raging throughout the Circuit, dear cousin; a fact you would have known had you been here. From Iceward to Sunward, and from the Union Walls to the Middle Walls; the Circuit is ablaze.’
Aila pursed her lips. ‘Co-ordinated?’
‘That,’ Ikara said, waving her hand at the people in the room, ‘is precisely what they’ve been arguing about.’
‘The violence has clearly been orchestrated,’ said one of the militia officers. ‘If one area was leaking chaos into another it would be explicable, but for a dozen separate locations to erupt at the same time? A hidden hand is at work.’
‘It’s the gangs,’ said another; ‘they’ve been waiting for this opportunity for months. They’re showing us how powerful they’ve become, and daring us to respond.’
‘Madam Governor,’ said one of the officials, ‘with our militia already stretched to capacity, and our entire economic infrastructure under threat, is it not time to request assistance from the other tribes?’
Ikara gave the man a withering look of contempt. ‘What, after a few hours of rioting? Are you unable to hold your nerve for a single morning? Do not fear, mortals, for I will have the Circuit under control long before any assistance could possibly arrive.’ She turned to Aila. ‘My Adjutant shall see to that.’
‘I will?’
‘You most certainly will,’ said Ikara, glaring at her cousin. ‘I want you to crush the riots will all the force at your disposal, which means everything; I’m putting you in charge of the militia, and your sole remit is the restoration of order, by whatever means necessary. Do you understand?’
‘Of course, cousin,’ said Aila, repressing the warning sounding in her head, ‘as you will it.’
Chapter 10
The Grand Tour
Arrowhead Fort, The Bulwark, The City – 6th Izran 3419
‘And this,’ sai
d the clerk, opening a thick set of shutters, ‘is your new view, sir.’
Corthie smiled at he gazed out from the large window. The panes were set into a wide curve that occupied a third of the entire wall, and he could see the Bulwark laid out before him, and, in the distance, the dark line that marked the Middle Walls.
‘Funny,’ he said, ‘I expected the window to be on the other side of the tower.’
‘As the leader of the Wolfpack has to see the greenhides every day, sir, the architects felt this way would be better. You see what you are defending, not those you are fighting against.’
Corthie nodded. ‘The quarters are beautiful, but…’
‘And don’t forget, sir, that they include not only this, the upper floor of the tower, but also the rooms on the level below us, where there is a living space, a dining-room, and small apartments for two officers or assistants of your choosing.’
‘Only two? I don’t know. I’d miss being around the rest of the company.’
The clerk paused for a moment, as if he had never considered that Corthie might refuse.
‘There is also access to the roof, sir. Private access. Would you like to see?’
Corthie noticed Buckler’s Eyrie through the window. The platform was at the same level as the top of the Wolfpack Tower, and he would have a good view of the flying lizard whenever he was using it.
‘What about the officer who lives here now?’
‘Commander Bilston has been re-assigned to the Sunward Fort, sir. He departed Arrowhead yesterday.’
‘So he’s already gone?’
‘Yes, sir. The quarters would lie vacant if you decide you do not wish to move in.’
Corthie glanced around the spacious chamber. There was a large, comfortable bed, wardrobes for his clothes, and a private bathroom with hot, running water. It was palatial, and reminded him of his childhood home for a moment. On the other hand, it was five flights of stairs from the barracks rooms where the rest of his company would sleep, and he would miss being in their close proximity. He knew the real reason the commanders wanted to move him somewhere else; his daily presence in the Wolfpack common room had attracted an ever-growing number of spectators, some of whom barely hid their religious-like devotion to him. It was flattering, but annoying, and they followed him around the fort wherever he went.
‘I have also, sir,’ the clerk went on, ‘been asked to inform you of some other perquisites that befit your position. Food of your choosing, brandy, opium, and any other luxury you require will be available upon request, and Duke Marcus has authorised a harem of no more than three concubines.’
Corthie laughed. ‘What?’
‘A harem, sir. We can begin the selection process immediately. I have a dozen potential concubines ready downstairs for you to take a look at.’
His heart began to race at the clerk’s words, and his imagination turned cartwheels. A dozen beautiful women were waiting downstairs for him, and he could pick three? Something didn’t sit right, though, and a nagging feeling formed in the back of his mind.
‘How did they come to be concubines?’
The clerk frowned. ‘Sir?’
‘Did they choose this… path?’
‘They have all been selected from the duke’s central harem at the Fortress of the Lifegiver, sir. They’re all clean, and have been thoroughly vetted for disease.’
‘And how did they end up in the duke’s harem?’
‘Many were born there, sir. Others were sold to the harem by their Hammer or Scythe parents.’
All desire left him. ‘No, thanks.’
‘Sir?’
‘I’d rather do without than take something not freely given.’
‘But, sir, it would be a great honour for whichever concubines you chose, and,’ he hesitated for a moment, ‘it might be perceived as an insult if you refuse.’
‘An insult to who?’
‘Duke Marcus, sir. Being assigned a harem is generally a privilege reserved only for demigods and God-Children. I believe the God-King himself has one numbering several hundred occupants. As a mortal, you have been shown a special honour, sir.’
‘Tough, I don’t want it. I’ll take the quarters though.’
The clerk’s face fell.
‘Tell him it’s cultural or something; I don’t want you getting into trouble on my behalf. Or, I could just tell him myself.’
‘And is it… cultural?’
‘Aye. My culture despises slavery, and that’s what this set-up sounds like to me.’
‘I’m not sure, sir, that telling the noble duke that you despise his traditions would help.’
Corthie shrugged as he walked to the bed. ‘What else can I say? I’ll kill greenhides all night long for you; does that mean I have to like every aspect of your lifestyle?’
He sat on the bed. Firm and comfortable. His thoughts flashed to an image of him sharing it with three gorgeous women, and he shook his head to clear it. He hated powerful men who took advantage of the weak, and if that meant sleeping alone, then at least he would have a beautiful room to do it in.
Corthie walked into the common room, brushing someone’s hand from his sleeve as he scanned the hall for his sergeants.
‘Hey, you two!’
Tanner and Quill looked up from the table they were sitting at.
‘You got a minute?’
Corthie avoided a woman praying on her knees in front of him, and nodded to the guards to escort her out of the building. More and more of his devoted followers were managing to get into the Wolfpack Tower, and the guards on the doors had been doubled in recent days. The commander of Arrowhead was on the verge of expelling all religious zealots from the fort, despite the long tradition of allowing the Blades free access to the facilities, as they were starting to interfere in the day to day military operations that engaged the defences all summer. Corthie still smiled at most of them; they were deluded, but harmless.
‘Boss?’ said Quill as she approached, with Tanner a few feet to her side.
‘I’m moving.’
‘What? Where? Have you been assigned to a different fortress?’
‘No,’ he laughed, seeing the look of worry on her face. ‘Just upstairs. They’ve offered me the old commander’s quarters.’
‘Wow. I heard it’s like a palace up there.’
‘Aye, it’s pretty nice, but there are a lot of stairs between there and here. Just getting to bed will be a ballache, specially if I’ve had a few to drink.’
‘You’re an officer now, lad,’ said Tanner. ‘The commanders probably don’t think you should be drinking with the lower orders any more. I assume there’s a fully-stocked bar somewhere in your new rooms?’
‘Aye. Food, booze, whatever I want.’
‘You got servants?’ said Quill.
Corthie shrugged. ‘A few, but I’d rather do without to be honest; they just get in the way.’
‘So, are you needing a hand moving your things, or will your new servants do that for you?’
‘I never thought to ask. The main reason I’m telling you is that the quarters come with two small apartments on the lower floor…’
‘You’ve got more than one floor?’ said Tanner.
‘I’ve got three, if you include the roof. Anyway, guess who I’d like to move into those two wee apartments?’
Quill’s eyes widened.
‘Grab your stuff and head up; I’ve already told the guards on the stairs to expect you.’
A young man dressed as a courier approached through the busy room.
‘Pack Leader Holdfast,’ he said, bowing low before Corthie.
‘Aye?’
‘I have an invitation, sir,’ the man said, straightening, ‘from the noble Lord Naxor. He awaits your presence at the Fifth Gate on the Middle Walls, and has sent a carriage to take you there.’
‘Lord Naxor? Will it take long? I still haven’t slept after last night’s shift, and I need a good seven hours before I go back out tonight.’
> ‘Lord Naxor has successfully requested that you be excused duty this coming night.’
Corthie frowned. Who would protect the Rats if he wasn’t there? He was about to say no, when Tanner glanced at him.
‘Come on, lad. You’ve been here over two months. Surely you’re not going to turn down a night off?’
‘It’s not fair, though. Why should I get a holiday while the rest of you are still having to go out there?’
‘Because we’re Blades,’ said Quill, ‘it’s what we do. For Malik’s sake go, boss. The moat’s been clear for days, thanks to what you’ve done out there. We’ll cope.’
‘We’ll do better than cope, lass,’ said Tanner. ‘Let’s show the big guy here we can manage for a single night without him.’
Corthie narrowed his eyes. ‘And you won’t go beyond the moat?’
Quill laughed. ‘We promise.’
He turned to the courier. ‘Alright; let’s go and see what Lord Naxor has planned for me.’
The carriage was large and comfortable, and Corthie watched the view as the Bulwark passed on either side of the wide road. On his right were the neat streets and plazas where the Blades lived, but on the left, set twenty yards back from the road, was nothing but the long wall that separated the Blades from the Hammers and the Scythes. The two other tribes of the Bulwark were names only to him, and he still had no real idea how the City worked.
The straight, dark line of the Middle Walls grew with every minute that passed. So many walls, he thought; thick lines that split the City, dividing its people.
He had to disembark the carriage when it reached a large gatehouse at the end of the road. The entrance tunnel was walled up, but a small postern door led into the gatehouse. Blade wardens patrolled the area, ensuring no one was able to pass through. Corthie was led into the building, where Lord Naxor rose to greet him.
‘The famed champion,’ he said, a smile on his lips.
‘Morning, Naxor,’ Corthie said, shaking his hand.
‘I’ve completed the requisite paperwork,’ he said, ‘and am free to take you out of the Bulwark for the day.’
The Mortal Blade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Magelands Eternal Siege Book 1) Page 14
