‘And who are you to judge what I consider to be helpful?’
‘I’m Maddie Jackdaw, and I judge things the way I see fit.’
The dragon paused for a moment. ‘Maddie Jackdaw?’
‘It’s my name, you ninny, and that’s the first time you’ve said it since I met you.’
‘It’s a foolish name.’
‘So’s Blackrose.’
‘That is not my real name, you silly girl.’
‘Oh yeah, what is it then?’
‘And what makes you think I would tell you?’
‘Is it a secret? Are there no humans you tell it to?’
‘The only two-legged mortal a dragon gives her name to is the one she chooses to ride upon her, Such, anyway, were the traditions of my world.’
‘That’s a coincidence.’
Blackrose glared at her for a moment. ‘Fine. What is?’
‘That’s the favour I was going to ask.’
‘What favour? You’re mistaken, girl; I don’t owe you anything.’
‘You broke eight bones in my body; I say you do.’
The dragon paused, and swung her head away. Maddie glanced up at her, seeing the black scales shimmer in the lamplight of the lair. Beautiful and brutal, elegant and savage, all at the same time.
‘Perhaps you are right.’
Maddie’s heart leapt. ‘I am?’
Blackrose lowered her head, her long neck turning in a sinuous curve to bring her eyes level with Maddie’s face.
‘Perhaps I do owe you a favour.’
‘Then I want to ride upon your back.’
Blackrose opened her jaws and laughed, her breath blowing through Maddie’s hair. This time, she noticed that the dragon’s laughter lacked the spite and venom that had filled it before.
‘What’s so funny? A favour’s a favour; you can’t get out of it.’
The dragon’s laughter stopped, and she made a noise that sounded to Maddie like weeping. That can’t be right. Dragons don’t cry.
The dragon lowered her head and laid it on the ground. ‘Maddie Jackdaw. You ask for something that I cannot give. I know what you’re doing; you’re trying to distract with favours and names and your endless questions. There’s nothing for me here but this prison cell, and these chains. Give me one good reason why I should choose to live rather than die.’
Maddie tried to smile, but her heart was breaking. She leaned back into the dragon’s limb. ‘I don’t have an answer, Blackrose, unless “because I love you” counts as one.’
Chapter 16
Acceptance
The Circuit, Medio, The City – 8th Koralis 3419
Daniel walked down the line of troopers, checking they had everything they needed for the patrol. For almost twenty days, the Queen’s Own Regiment had been based inside an abandoned soap factory deep within the territory of the Circuit, after being moved up from the frontier. In that time, Daniel had watched the appearance of the troopers under his command degrade; their professional uniforms now filthy and perpetually coated in the grey dust that permeated the Circuit.
‘You look like a bunch of peasants,’ he said to them. ‘I know this will be your eleventh dawn patrol in a row, but there’s no excuse for letting your standards slip. I can see four men here who seem to have forgotten what a razorblade looks like, and several with holes or rips in their uniforms that could easily have been repaired.’ He paced down the line again, knowing full well that the troopers were barely listening to him. ‘You’re wondering, who cares about keeping your uniform neat and clean when every day we have to go out onto the streets and face… rocks, stones, fire, dog turds, crossbow bolts, and whatever else the rebels and rioters throw at us. The answer is that I care. When the Evaders look at us, I don’t want them seeing savages, I want them to see a professional force that is in the Circuit to protect them from the rebels, not to bully or harass them. I’m perfectly aware that many of the Evaders loathe us, but that’s no excuse for discarding what makes us civilised. Instead, it means that we have to work even harder to gain their trust, to prove to them that we are fellow citizens who are here to help.’
He shook his head. No one was listening. The eyes of the troopers were already distracted, as each pictured themselves being out on the streets. He glanced at Sergeant Monterey. ‘Let’s go, Sergeant; lead us out.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the man saluted. ‘You heard the lieutenant; form up and move out.’
The two dozen troopers turned, and began marching through the old warehouse, passing stacks of crates and barrels of fresh water. Groups of Taran soldiers were sitting around, some displaying signs of exhaustion from the previous night’s patrols, others getting kitted up for the day ahead. The large sliding door at the entrance was closed and heavily guarded, and the captain on shift nodded to Daniel as his platoon arrived. Their details were scribbled down in the regimental logbook, and two burly soldiers pulled the massive door open, letting in the pink light of dawn, and the stink of smoke.
Sergeant Monterey led the way out, followed by Daniel and the troopers, with Sergeant Hayden at the rear. The forecourt of the factory resembled a fortress, with concrete barriers and guard posts, and a high wooden tower that overlooked the neighbouring streets. No Evader civilian was allowed to approach the front entrance, and a new bolt-throwing ballista had recently arrived to help enforce the rule. Three soldiers were standing behind it, and its long stock was pointing at the street. It had yet to be used in anger, but Daniel had seen the machines being operated and knew that a single bolt had the power to pass through two or three bodies, and that the crews had been trained to loose six bolts a minute.
Daniel frowned at they passed the killing machine, but said nothing. What was the point in making a fuss about it? No one listened to his opinions, not the troopers under his command, nor his superiors. None of them seemed to care how the ballista appeared to the civilians they were supposed to be protecting, as yet another example of the disparity in power that existed between the tribes; another reminder of who was in charge, and who was powerless.
The barricade at the entrance to the forecourt was lifted, and the platoon filed out into the narrow streets. Their patrol route was varied daily according to a formula that was supposed to be random, but which anyone with a head for numbers could have worked out in two minutes. They turned left, and headed down an alleyway that was enclosed on both sides by high concrete housing blocks. Several of the apartments were burnt-out shells, their narrow window slits blackened holes. A group of filthy children in rags were playing on the street, jumping over a gutter that ran with raw sewage down the middle of the lane. When Taran forces had first been sent into the Circuit, the children had fled from them, but their courage had grown since, and now they jeered at the soldiers as they passed, or made slitting motions across their throats. A stone ricocheted off the track by Daniel’s feet. ‘The first of the day,’ he thought as he stepped over it.
In response to the stone, two troopers raised their shields and rushed a few steps towards where it had been launched from, and the children broke and ran, disappearing into the labyrinth of twisting lanes and derelict buildings. The soldiers laughed, then resumed their places in the column.
Daniel frowned, but said nothing. A pall of smoke drifted over from the right, but from the smell of it, Daniel judged the fire to be some distance away, and decided not to investigate. Getting every one of his troopers back to the soap factory alive at the end of each patrol had become his sole purpose; everything else was blurring at the edges.
They reached a major junction, where five different roads intersected around a plaza. In the centre was a ruined fountain; crumbling and vandalised, and it looked like it hadn’t worked in decades. A permanent guard post watched over the traffic passing through the plaza, and Taran soldiers stood at each of the roads leading away from the centre. Daniel’s patrol reached the first check point and he approached the officer on duty.
‘Good morning, Captain. Any news?’
The officer nodded as his eyes scanned the crowds of Evaders milling through the plaza. ‘Plenty, and none of it good. I received a report that a convoy of supply wagons was hit last night over by Candlemaker Row, and I’ve got no one spare who can go and check it out. Your route this morning will take you close to the location, so I want you to secure the site and await reinforcements.’
‘Yes, sir. What was the convoy carrying?’
‘Malik alone knows. It was destined for the Third Supply Depot by the quarters of the Seventh Taran Regiment of Foot, so it could be anything. There were four civilian wagon drivers and six troopers protecting it. If those Evader scum have killed our people I want to know first. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Get to it, then.’
Daniel saluted and return to his platoon.
‘Trouble, sir?’ said Monterey.
‘Could be. We’re being diverted to Candlemaker Row; a convoy might have been hit.’
The sergeant nodded, and gestured to the troopers, who started moving again. Evaders cleared a path for them as they marched through the busy plaza, and Daniel ignored the looks of hatred and the muttered curses as they passed. Didn’t they understand that the Tarans were there to help? Without tribal intervention, the riots had rumbled on with no sign of them ever ending; with the Tarans, Pellans and Dalrigians all sending regiments, at least the streets were calmer during the hours of daylight. Sometimes.
They left the plaza, taking one of the main routes towards the direction of the Middle Walls. Several of the buildings on the right hand side of the street had been demolished, and enormous piles of rubble and broken slabs of concrete rose above the height of their heads. Daniel kept his eyes open, scanning every heap of rocks, and every flat roof.
‘Go back to Tara!’ screamed an old woman by a street corner, her finger raised and pointing at the soldiers. ‘You don’t belong here; go home.’
The platoon ignored her. They had heard every insult the Evaders could think up, and Daniel had made it clear that no one on either side of fighting age should be arrested or pursued. Many were convinced that the rioters made the children and old folk of the Circuit taunt them in the deliberate knowledge that the troops would do nothing; or perhaps they were hoping that the Taran militia’s restraint would crack, and then they would use the resulting casualties to rally more support.
A stone bounced off the shield of one of the soldiers, and they glanced around, looking for the source.
‘Keep moving,’ growled Monterey. ‘Don’t stop.’
The troopers kept on, as the sound of taunting laughter echoed from the nearby rooftops. Daniel could also hear the complaints murmured by the troopers; their frustration and anger all too plain to recognise. They reached another junction and diverted towards Candlemaker Row. Smoke was rising from the upper storeys of a large tenement block, but it looked derelict, so Daniel kept the platoon moving. The number of Evaders on the street increased the closer they got to the route the convoy had taken, and many scattered at the sight of the soldiers, clutching onto bags or sacks as they ran.
Daniel frowned. ‘Clear the road, Sergeant.’
Monterey nodded, and took a whistle from round his neck. He blew and the whistle emitted a shrill blast of noise.
‘Off the road!’ he bellowed at the crowd. ‘You have ten seconds.’
The crowd began to disperse, some shrieking as they ran in terror from the soldiers, while others slipped away quietly, taking their looted possessions with them. As the road cleared, a trail of debris was left behind. Crates had been smashed open, and barrels were lying upended, their contents leaking into the gutter. Up ahead, where the road intersected with Candlemaker Row, a wagon was sitting abandoned.
Daniel ordered the platoon forward, and they hurried up the deserted road. Another four wagons came into view, and Daniel spotted the first bodies. Amid the ransacked wagons, two troopers were lying, their uniforms bloodstained.
‘Secure the area!’ Daniel shouted, and the two sergeants dispatched troopers to surround the wagons. Some of the crowds had returned, and were watching from a distance, their hands clutching stones. Daniel walked through the devastated convoy, counting another three bodies as he went. A trooper called over to report another slain wagon-driver, his body stripped and hacked to pieces by the side of the road.
‘Sir?’ said Monterey, his eyes dark. ‘What are your orders?’
‘Gather the dead, and put them all onto the back of a wagon. By my count we’re missing four; three troopers and a wagon-driver. They may have been taken alive. Send two troopers back to the plaza to let the captain know there have been casualties, then we wait for reinforcements.’
The sergeant saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’
Daniel walked over to the wagon where the troopers were beginning to gather the dead. Six bodies were picked up from the road and carried over. Some had been killed with a single wound, while others had clearly been tortured first. Daniel wanted to blame someone, but didn’t know who. The people of the Circuit had killed them, but things didn’t happen without a context. He could see the rage growing in his troopers’ eyes as they regarded the dead. A final body was discovered lying half-submerged in the gutter. It was another trooper, her throat cut. Two of her colleagues waded into the sewage and dragged her body free.
‘Someone needs to pay for this, sir,’ said a young trooper, his eyes burning with anger.
‘Quiet, trooper,’ said Hayden; ‘keep your eyes on the mob.’ The sergeant turned to Daniel. ‘That’s seven fatalities altogether, sir; we’ve searched the rest of the convoy.’
‘So we’re missing three, if the captain’s numbers were correct. They might have got away; fled back sunward towards Sander territory.’
‘Or they might have been captured, sir.’
Daniel said nothing.
‘Perhaps, sir,’ said Monterey, approaching from the other side, ‘we should take a few hostages from the crowd. It might keep the others from doing anything stupid, and we could always ask them a few questions while we’ve got ‘em.’
The sergeants waited as Daniel considered their advice. He didn’t know what to do, but had learned that Monterrey and Hayden rarely offered their opinions, and had decided that he should listen when they spoke.
‘Two hostages should suffice,’ he said. ‘Send in a team to snatch them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Daniel watched as Monterey briefed four troopers. They dropped their packs to the ground, then the sergeant led them to the front of the convoy, where the crowd was closest. They acted as though they were going to move the lead wagon, when, at a shout from Monterey, they rushed at the crowd, their shields over-lapping as they charged. The mob began to scatter, but some were slower than the others, and Daniel saw two civilians hauled behind the half-circle of shields. The troopers retreated step by step as the crowd recovered its composure and began to re-form, and a few stones battered off their shields.
Daniel strode forwards as the snatch team returned to the convoy. The two civilians had their hands pulled behind their backs and their wrists tied. One was a middle-aged woman, the other a young boy, maybe around twelve years old.
The woman spat at Daniel when she saw his officer’s insignia. ‘Taran cowards! You’ll never beat us, never. The Circuit will be your grave.’
Daniel wiped the spittle from his uniform. By the woman’s side, the boy was standing defiant, but his hands were trembling.
‘We have reason to believe,’ Daniel said, ‘that three Tarans have been taken alive by the mob. Where are they?’
‘Look at you, the big officer,’ sneered the woman. ‘I bet you’ve never gone hungry a day in your life. You think that accent and that uniform impress us?’
‘I’ll ask again,’ said Daniel. ‘Do you know the whereabouts of the three missing Tarans? Did you see where they were taken?’
‘I had a son your age; why don’t you ask where he is?’
Hayden struck the wom
an across the face with his open hand.
‘Do it again,’ said the woman, her lip bleeding; ‘it’s all you’ve got, isn’t it? And you have the cheek to call us savages.’
The sergeant raised his hand again, but Daniel shook his head. ‘Secure them to a wagon. Make sure they’re in sight of the mob.’
Hayden frowned. ‘Yes, sir.’
The sergeant led the two hostages away and Daniel felt shame ripple through him. The other officers back at the soap factory talked as if they believed the purpose of the intervention was to prevent a civil war, but to Daniel it felt like he was already in the middle of one.
The sky went from pink to blue and then back to pink again as the day passed. Runners had been sent back and forth between Candlemaker Row and the large plaza, and reinforcements had been promised, along with ponies to replace those stolen from the convoy. The platoon had moved the wagons closer together to have a smaller area to defend, and the crowd shifted forwards on all sides to fill the gap.
At last, as the sun was dipping towards the horizon, a rumble of boots was heard along the road leading to the plaza.
‘Thank Amalia,’ muttered Hayden as they watched the first Taran soldiers come into view. The crowds on that street had scattered, and Daniel saw the long line of ponies walking beside the soldiers.
‘Get the ponies hitched up to the wagons as soon as they arrive,’ said Daniel. ‘I want to be out of here in ten minutes.’
Monterey nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
Daniel stretched his limbs, stiff after so long on duty. At the head of the approaching column, he saw the captain march, leading what looked like half a company of soldiers.
‘Good afternoon, Captain,’ he said, saluting as the officer reached the convoy. The captain ignored him, his eyes scanning the scene. He walked over to the wagon were the dead had been gathered and pulled back the canvas sheet that had been covering them.
‘Lieutenant,’ he said without turning.
Daniel hurried over. ‘Sir?’
The Mortal Blade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Magelands Eternal Siege Book 1) Page 23
