Wintercraft: Blackwatch

by Jenna Burtenshaw

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Edgar. ‘Kate didn’t harm anything or anyone and you’re all crazy to think that she ever would.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Baltin said sternly. ‘You are a guest in this cavern, Mr Rill. Remember that.’

  Edgar was about to argue, but a flicker of doubt crossed Kate’s mind. What if Baltin was right? What if she had done something wrong? What if she was dangerous? Kate knew too well how close the hundreds of people in the city square had come to death on the Night of Souls. She had seen the current of death with her own eyes, she had watched it claim the life of the councilwoman Da’ru and she had helped do its work. Baltin was right: if anything had happened to the gathered people that night she would have been responsible. She could not risk anything like that happening again.

  Kate stepped forward and turned to Edgar. ‘I’m going with them,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘No, it won’t. They won’t let you out again. They’ll keep you down here. Kate!’ But Baltin’s men were already surrounding her.

  Two of them held Edgar back as Kate followed Baltin down the cavern’s main street, heading towards a small building that was off limits to anyone except the one who held the key. The locks on the door were stiff from disuse. Baltin swung open the door and stepped inside the candlelit darkness, signalling for Kate to follow.

  Inside was a single room that the Skilled used as a lockhouse. Someone had been in recently and prepared it for her arrival. There was a bed next to the door, a long table stacked with old books that looked as if they had come from someone’s dusty attic, and a row of shelves that ran all the way round the circular wall, holding four lit candles, already burned halfway down.

  ‘For your own sake, I suggest you get used to this place,’ said Baltin, his voice echoing dully round the room. ‘You can do no harm in here, and you shall remain here until we decide upon a more permanent solution.’

  ‘I haven’t hurt anybody,’ said Kate, as Baltin positioned himself between her and the door. ‘I didn’t kill Mina.’

  ‘This is not just about that,’ said Baltin. ‘We all knew what you were, even before you did. You may think you have not hurt anyone, but the veil does not lie to us. It warned us about you four years ago and it says that, given time, you will. I have people to take care of here. They trust me to do what is right, and this is right. Do you really think Mina would not have done the same once she had learned everything she could from you?’

  ‘Mina welcomed me into her home,’ said Kate. ‘She trusted me, just as she trusted my parents. They gave their lives to help the Skilled. Do you really think I would break that trust?’

  ‘Children are not their parents,’ said Baltin. ‘You may be right about Mina, but look what happened to her. The veil warned us about your . . . unique capabilities. I respect your family, I always have, but I would be a fool to ignore that warning now. I cannot afford to trust you, Kate, and since you agreed to be brought here, I do not think you even trust yourself. You will have regular meals, but no visitors until we decide what to do with you. Beyond that, I can promise nothing.’

  Baltin left the room, leaving Kate standing there alone. He turned the locks tight and rattled the door after each one to make sure it was sealed. The moment the last lock slid into place, he and his men walked away and silence fell hauntingly in the room – the kind of silence that suggested that someone was standing close by, trying not to breathe.

  Kate picked up the nearest candle and held it up. She felt as if someone was watching her. Her skin prickled, and it was only then that she noticed the trails of frost veining her arms. The veil was closer than usual in that place and it made her uneasy. ‘This is it,’ she told herself aloud, sitting down on the bed. ‘This is what you have to look forward to for who knows how long.’

  A deep whisper circled round the room in answer to her words, and Kate shivered. She dared to reach into the veil a little and saw the shadowy forms of shades standing against the walls like statues carved into the stone. Seeing them so clearly no longer scared her, and their presence gave her some small comfort as she sat there on her own. If Baltin wanted her to stay out of the veil, locking her away was not going to do any good. He had to have known that. Sitting there in the silence, Kate could not help thinking about what kind of permanent solution he and the magistrate had in mind.

  4

  Bandermain

  ‘Wake him up.’

  A voice trailed sluggishly through Silas’s mind as he tried to piece together what was happening to him. Rope bit into his blood-soaked wrists, and the smell of damp earth was overwhelming. He was in a cellar, tied to a chair and unable to move. That was all he could be sure of without opening his eyes. His mind, taking that as a command, tried to lift his eyelids. One of his eyes was badly swollen and the lid would not budge. The other was sticky with blood, but as his eyelashes pulled apart he took in all the details of his surroundings in a single blink.

  A candle flame was burning just inches from the tip of his nose. Behind the flame was a face, watching him, and beyond that were at least three other men, each one armed and staring blankly at the wall behind him. Silas tried to move as his senses gradually returned, and pain flashed down his leg. The bone felt as raw as a rod of red-hot iron.

  Tiny movements allowed him to test his limbs one by one. One of his shoulders was dislocated, making his left arm feel detached and heavy, and every movement sent pain searing through his body. Instinct forced him to stay as still as possible. Most of his finger joints felt cricked and twisted, one of his ankles was broken and his right arm was cracked in at least two places. He tested his lungs. A crackle of broken ribs rippled in his chest and he knew not to breathe deeply again. It felt as if every part of him was bruised, broken or bleeding. This shouldn’t have been happening. He should have been healing.

  ‘You should be dead.’ The face behind the flame stood up, taking the candle with it. ‘Why aren’t you dead?’

  The question was not meant for him. The gravelly voice was talking to itself, studying Silas carefully. Silas did not like to be studied.

  The shadow of the man caught in the candlelight dominated the entire room. His shoulders were wide and powerful, his strong arms well used to wielding a sword. His face bore the thin scars of many battles and his pale lips were curled up into a look that was half curiosity and half grudging admiration. When Silas had seen him last, this man had carried a two-handed sword upon his back, and whilst the rest of the Blackwatch wore daggers in their belts, he still bore the same weapon that had claimed many Albion soldiers’ lives. Its hilt rose from its place against his right shoulder, the pommel wrapped in black leather banded with well-worn gold.

  ‘Started travelling with a pack, have you, Bandermain? You must be getting old.’

  Celador Bandermain was taller and older than Silas, and had often proven himself to be a master strategist with the strength and stamina of a bull. The last time Silas had seen him, he had commanded more than half the Continental army. He was an accomplished fighter and his strength had matched Silas’s own whenever they had met in battle. But that was in another life, before Silas’s spirit had been torn away. A lot had changed since that day.

  ‘I always knew I would be the one to bring you down,’ said Bandermain. ‘I was right.’

  Light flooded his face, casting thick shadows across deeply set eyes which gave away nothing of the thoughts that lay behind them. He was wearing the long red coat of a high-ranking member of the Blackwatch, and many strangers might have thought him handsome at first glance, but there was an edge of danger to his appearance – an edge worn only by people who had killed and loved to kill. It was a trace of darkness that could only be sensed by another killer, or by his victims in the fatal moment when they realised they had become his prey.

  ‘I thought you would be long dead by now,’ said Silas, using his lungs as little as possible. ‘Isn’t that what normally happens to officers who let the enemy walk free from their lands?�
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  ‘That was a long time ago,’ said Bandermain. ‘I have learned from my mistakes. I have regained the trust of my leaders many times over, while you, so I hear, have recently lost the trust of yours. Treachery. I never would have expected that from you.’

  Silas kept his eyes upon Bandermain, but said nothing.

  ‘I have heard many rumours about you since you were last here,’ said Bandermain. ‘Now I can see that at least some of them are true. Bridges fall. People beneath them die. Every one of them. Every one . . . except for you.’

  ‘Strong bones,’ said Silas. ‘Hard head.’

  ‘I do not think so. We are not as ignorant as your people like to think we are on this side of the sea,’ said Bandermain. ‘We know about the veil, and we know what your High Council plans to do with it.’ He signalled to one of his men, who stepped forward and unrolled one of Albion’s newsposters for Silas to read. It was a recent copy, less than a week old, but the main story was one that had been repeated over and over again for many years. ‘What do you have to tell me about this?’

  War To End

  New Strategies Set Into Place.

  Continent To Feel Might Of Scientific Advances.

  Albion On The Attack!

  Silas coughed a mocking laugh. ‘You believe that?’ he said. ‘How many of those have you intercepted? One? Maybe two? This is what you are afraid of? I used to look forward to facing you in battle, Celador. Now . . . I just pity you.’

  Bandermain’s fingers twitched, but Silas knew he would not attack a prisoner, not one who could be useful to him. Despite the company he kept these days, Bandermain was no fool.

  On any other night not even the Blackwatch would have stood a chance against Silas, but something had changed, and Bandermain was being far too confident considering the bloodied state Silas had left him in the last time they had met. A pale scar was still clearly visible along Bandermain’s jaw, one that had been given to him by Silas’s blade. Silas had shown him mercy that day. He did not intend to do so again.

  ‘I know what you have become,’ said Bandermain. ‘I ordered my men to prepare for a long hunt. Capturing you was meant to be a challenge for them. Yet here you sit, proving yourself to be no more of a threat to us than a fish in a net. I find that interesting, if not a little disappointing.’

  ‘You know nothing about me.’

  ‘I know that you can heal without medicine. Fight and not tire. And tonight I saw you stay underwater longer than any man alive.’

  ‘That would be a very interesting trick,’ said Silas. ‘But as you can see, you cannot believe everything you hear from across the water.’

  ‘You do not sound like a man who is in pain.’

  ‘I have had practice.’

  ‘I am sure that is true,’ said Bandermain. ‘There are people who would be very interested in acquiring you. You are a legend, my friend. Children talk about you in the streets. They play games and take turns to be the one who vanquishes Silas Dane, the “mighty soldier from the west”.’

  ‘I have no interest in your country’s young,’ said Silas. ‘Is that where the Blackwatch gather their information these days? From children in the streets?’

  ‘You would be surprised just how far my spies have reached,’ said Bandermain. ‘As things stand, it would be seen as a service to both our countries if I were to kill you right here in this room, but after tonight I think we both know that is not as easy as it appears to be.’

  Silas felt his broken fingers begin to crack and click back into place. The bones racked with pain as they rejoined, but he tried not to draw attention to his returning strength. ‘The boy in the boat,’ he asked. ‘Was he one of yours?’

  ‘No,’ said Bandermain. ‘He knows as little about lens lights as you do, but his clumsy signal was enough to attract our attention. He thought that turning you over to us might earn him mercy. That choice was all that saved his life. You should have kept a closer eye on your shipmates, Silas. The captain in particular. We all knew you would leave Albion eventually, and my men were ready to find you when you did. I have had people watching you for a lot longer than you think.’

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ said Silas. ‘I, however, have had no one watching you. You are not that interesting. In fact, my men and I haven’t given you a thought for years. We have had far more important things to do.’

  Bandermain stood tall, failing to hide the anger simmering behind his eyes. ‘Important things like treachery? Murder? Betrayal?’ he said. ‘My contacts tell me you have had dealings with witches. You have protected them, given up your good name to help them. What did they give you in return?’

  ‘I have protected no one,’ said Silas.

  ‘Yet on the Night of Souls, “Silas Dane, grand champion of Albion’s warden army” turned on his own. The city square of your capital ran red with blood. Isn’t that how your council’s historians are telling it? There was a time when I would not have believed such stories. You betrayed your High Council, killed your own men and murdered the woman you had sworn to protect, all to save one Skilled girl you had been sent out to hunt. That is not the Silas Dane I remember. The enemy I knew valued honour above all else. He would not have turned against his oath without good reason. If his council had asked it of him, he would have slit that girl’s throat and let her veins bleed dry. Instead, you chose a different path. It was fine work, I’ll admit, but you left yourself open, Silas. It got my attention.’ Bandermain stepped back and nodded to the guard holding the newsposter. ‘Show him.’

  The guard rolled up the first poster and unfurled a second smaller page. Silas knew what it was right away. The paper was rough and yellow, cheaply made. Servants would have sat in their dozens making copy after copy and distributing them across Albion for as many people as possible to see. It was a wanted poster. He knew it even before he saw the ink, but when the guard turned it his way he was surprised by the face drawn upon it. A young girl with long black hair and cat-like eyes. Unmistakable.

  ‘I see that you know her,’ said Bandermain. ‘She is the girl you were protecting. Isn’t she?’

  Silas said nothing.

  ‘Miss Kate Winters. Daughter of Jonathan and Anna Winters. Last Skilled member of the Winters bloodline. This girl was your ally. You killed for her and committed treachery for her. Which leaves us with the question . . . why did you leave her in Fume to die?’

  Silas looked directly into Bandermain’s eyes, letting the deadness of his soul connect with the fire in the heart of his enemy. ‘I did nothing for the girl,’ he said. ‘She is of no interest to me.’

  ‘Yet she interests so many others. You knew that when you left her behind. Did you warn her before you turned and ran?’ Bandermain placed his hands on either side of Silas’s chair, close enough for Silas to smell the scent of meat upon his breath. ‘Did you tell her that she would be hunted down like an animal in the street? Because I would very much like to make that promise a reality. I know that she has something to do with you and your . . . condition. I know she is hidden somewhere within Fume, but she will be of no use to me dead.’

  ‘I do not care what you want,’ Silas said coolly. ‘The girl seems very much alive to me.’

  ‘Your little trick in the city square as good as painted a target upon her back,’ said Bandermain. ‘My men are closing in upon her as we speak. They will find her.’

  It was no surprise to Silas that Bandermain had risen so quickly through the ranks of the Blackwatch. He was by far the Continent’s most adept and devious liar, but there, in that room, he was not adept enough. ‘You don’t know where she is,’ said Silas.

  ‘Then why don’t you save us the time of a prolonged hunt and enlighten us? A lot less blood will be spilt that way. I do not want Blackwatch swords tainted by Albion blood any more than necessary.’

  ‘Why are you asking me?’ said Silas. ‘ “The echo of every word spoken leads to the ears of the Watch.” Isn’t that what your people believe? You have ears everywhere. Hear
everything. Or are you saying they are wrong? Have things changed since you were put in charge? Your men should have the ear of the highest leaders in your land. Instead they lurk around smugglers’ holes, threatening slave boys and getting themselves killed by enemies they really shouldn’t have challenged in the first place.’

  Bandermain leaned closer, his face red with anger, and Silas took his chance. He twisted his right arm free from the ropes and grabbed his enemy’s throat, squeezing it tight. Bandermain did not react, but the Blackwatch fell upon Silas at once, and even though his strength had not fully returned it still took four men to free his hand and tie his arm back to the chair. Bandermain stood his ground as Silas was restrained again, a wide bruise blossoming across his neck. He did not seem surprised. Instead, he looked down at Silas with a sinister expression of victory.