Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

  He should have died in that arena. Then he’d have been a hero, lauded as the queen’s saviour, celebrated across the land. They might even have built a statue in his honour.

  Not now, though. Now he was just another casualty. Just another nameless servant of the Crown, wounded in the line of duty.

  Still, it beat the shit out of being dead, so he reckoned he shouldn’t complain.

  The door to the chamber opened. Merrick assumed it would be someone come to check on him, perhaps bring him food or water. So far he’d been treated like an invalid, even though the wound barely troubled him. It wouldn’t do to let on though; he could easily get used to this treatment; being waited on hand and foot. Someone even came to clear his bedpan for him which was a privilege he was in no hurry to forego.

  As he glanced across the room though, he realised the last thing his visitor would be doing was getting rid of his shit and piss.

  Tannick Ryder closed the door behind him. He regarded Merrick, judging him, finding him wanting, as always. This time though there was something else in that glare. Was it compassion? Was it concern?

  Don’t be fucking stupid. Tannick Ryder doesn’t know what compassion means. And he’s likely more concerned about his horse than about you.

  Despite his loathing for this man, Merrick still struggled to sit up, still slid his legs over the side of the bed. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want his father to see him lying there weak and vulnerable, he still felt the need to stand and show the man some respect. Merrick hated himself for that.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ Tannick said. ‘You need to let yourself recover.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Merrick replied, rising to his feet. He was surprised at how easy it was. His wound merely felt tight, as if it had only recently knitted back together.

  They stood there for a moment, and for the first time Merrick thought his father looked awkward, lost for words even. The old man just sighed, looking his son up and down.

  For his part, Merrick didn’t know what to say. The last time they spoke Merrick was made to feel a fool. Then his father had set one of his attack dogs on him. This relationship was anything but healthy.

  ‘They say you showed great bravery,’ said Tannick finally. ‘They say you saved the queen’s life. Some even say you should be granted lands and title for your courage.’

  ‘They say a lot, don’t they?’ Merrick replied, though he had to admit, he quite liked the idea of lands and title.

  ‘Look …’ Tannick looked at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but at his son. ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is … you did well. I’m … I’m proud of you.’

  Proud of him? Tannick Ryder was proud of him? It took all Merrick’s strength of will to not glance out of the window to see if there was a pig flying past.

  ‘I’m glad the fact I almost died finally made you proud. If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have looked for a fucking bridge to jump off years ago.’

  Tannick bunched his fists, his jaw setting as he ground his teeth. He took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘This isn’t easy for me, Merrick. I know I may have misjudged you—’

  ‘No,’ Merrick replied. ‘You’ve been right about me all along – useless, feckless, lazy – a selfish little bastard. That’s what I am. That’s what I’ve always been, and who have I got to thank for it?’

  ‘I had duties to perform. There were more important things to consider. More important than me, than you—’

  ‘Than mother?’

  Merrick saw a flash of emotion cross Tannick’s eyes at the mention of his wife. For a moment Merrick felt guilty about mentioning her, about using her as a weapon to stab at his father, but the old bastard deserved it.

  It was clear her memory caused Tannick pain. He had lost her after all. Had been hundreds of miles away when she died. Merrick had always thought him a cold callous bastard, but looking at him now anyone might think that wasn’t true.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Merrick. ‘I shouldn’t have brought her up.’

  ‘No, you’re right.’ Tannick’s voice had softened. It was almost gentle. Merrick had never heard his father speak in such a manner. It made him seem almost human. ‘I wronged her, and I wronged you. I know that now. But I’ve come to make amends.’

  Merrick shook his head. ‘Make amends? You’re going to give me back my childhood are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Tannick. All the strength and authority had returned to his voice. His moment of sorrow was past. ‘I’m giving you the chance to join me. There’s a place in the Wyvern Guard for you. A place by my side, if you’ll have it.’

  ‘A place by your side? What in all of Arlor’s godsforsaken country makes you think I want to stand by your side?’

  Tannick shook his head. ‘I understand how you feel about me. I understand there’s a lot of bridges need rebuilding. I am trying.’

  Merrick looked at his father. He was trying, that was for sure. The fact he’d even come here to see Merrick must have been a real struggle for him. Was this his way of apologising for all he’d done? Should Merrick throw away this chance for conciliation, just like that?

  ‘I’ll think on it,’ Merrick said.

  ‘Good. That’s all I ask. I’d be … proud to have you.’

  With that the Lord Marshal turned and left Merrick alone.

  He stared after his father for a long while, just standing there in that room, thinking about what had just happened. Back when he had thought his father was dead, Merrick would have given anything to see him again, to be offered a place by his side, to be told Tannick was proud of him

  Now he had it, he wondered if it was worth a shit.

  In the past few days Merrick had been through the hells and had almost died. Now his father deigned to come see him, to offer him a place in his Wyvern Guard, to call him a comrade. It was a poor second to being called a son. But then what had he expected? Tannick Ryder had never indulged in emotion, even before he’d abandoned his family. They were never going to hold each other in a warm embrace, never going to talk long into the night and share a jug of wine.

  Merrick donned his shirt and put his boots on. When he opened the door of the chamber he felt the evening chill. He breathed it in, glad to still be alive. The dark shadow of death still played on his mind but he shut it out as best he could. No point moping. The Lord of Crows got everyone in the end, whether you worried about him or not.

  Kaira was exactly where he thought she’d be, polishing her armour; her sword and whetstone sitting beside her waiting for her attention. Merrick waited rather than announce himself. The last time they’d spoken she had beat the crap out of him. Surely she’d be better disposed towards him now, after he’d saved the queen?

  ‘Are you going to stand there all day?’ she said, without looking up from buffing her breastplate.

  ‘Wasn’t planning on it,’ Merrick replied taking a seat opposite her.

  He watched her for a little longer, wondering if she’d say any more, wondering if she’d commend him on his bravery. The silence just wore on.

  ‘How is the queen?’ he asked finally.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Kaira replied, still polishing. ‘A little shaken, understandably, but unhurt.’ Another pause as she rubbed vigorously at a troublesome spot on the armour. ‘You did well.’

  Will wonders never cease? A compliment from the ice maiden. Praise be to Arlor and all his beardy priests.

  ‘I only did my du—’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Kaira, looking up. ‘Don’t start talking about duty now. We both know it was nothing to do with that.’

  Merrick felt himself getting annoyed. He’d saved the queen’s bloody life, surely he deserved a bit of respect for that. Didn’t he?

  ‘No?’ he replied, feeling his healing wound itch uncomfortably as his ire grew. ‘So what was it to do with? I don’t go around throwing myself on the end of swords just for the bloody laughs.’

  ‘You tell me. Was it a chance to prove you’re not a coward,
or was there just no alternative – were you cornered?’

  ‘Fuck you!’ Merrick said, standing up and turning to leave. He stopped when he heard her chuckling.

  ‘Whatever happened to that famous Ryder sense of humour?’ she said with a smile. ‘Started taking yourself seriously all of a sudden?’

  ‘Being stabbed in the chest will do that,’ he said, sitting back in the chair. ‘When did you become a bloody jester?’

  ‘Maybe I’ve learned from an expert.’ She eyed him wryly.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘I only came to tell you my father’s been for a visit.’

  ‘Really? Have you put the past behind you?’

  Merrick shook his head. ‘Not yet. He asked me to join him. In the Wyvern Guard, I mean.’

  ‘And you’re not sure whether that’s the right thing to do?’

  For a humourless, stone-cold maiden of the sword, Kaira had certainly become insightful.

  ‘What do you think I should do?’

  Kaira laughed and went back to polishing her armour. ‘I think you should follow your heart, Merrick. What else can you do?’

  ‘I could stay here with you and Garret. I could be one of the Sentinels. I think I’ve more than proved my worth.’

  ‘Yes, you have. But is that what you really want? There’s nothing for you to prove here, but to your father perhaps there is …’

  ‘I don’t need to prove shit to him,’ Merrick replied.

  Really? Don’t you need to prove you’re a fighter, a warrior deserving of the Ryder name?

  ‘We all have to prove ourselves worthy, every day of our lives,’ Kaira said. ‘The hard part is picking what or whom you want to be worthy of.’

  This was starting to get a bit deep, but perhaps she was right. Was Tannick Ryder worth all the bother? Would he even be able to make the old man proud? Did he really care?

  He stood up. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go … polish something.’

  Kaira gave him a nod and went back to her work.

  As Merrick moved through the barracks his hand strayed to the wound at his chest. Was it all the proof he needed of his bravery? Or was it just a reminder that he wasn’t quite as good with a blade as he’d have liked?

  Who really gave a fuck? He was Merrick Ryder – he didn’t owe anything to anyone. He’d done his part, saved the bloody queen, for Arlor’s sake. What more could anyone want of him? What more could he give?

  He guessed in the days to come he’d be likely to find out.

  FORTY-NINE

  They sat around the fire, all five of them just watching the flames, listening to the wood crackling in the hearth. None of them knew what to do. There was no one to order them around now that Friedrik had gone, so they just sat and waited.

  You should be running, not waiting. You should be on your way and not bothering to look back. You’ve ridden your luck enough for a hundred lifetimes and you’re not yet thirteen winters.

  Rag didn’t run, though.

  ‘Do you think they’re gonna kill us?’ Shirl asked in a little voice, saying what they were all thinking.

  Rag shook her head. ‘Don’t be soft,’ she replied. ‘If Bastian wanted us dead we’d be corpses already.

  That seemed to calm Shirl a bit, and she saw Yarrick glance at Essen looking a bit relieved. Of course she had no idea whether it was true or not. It would be just like Bastian to let them stew in their own fear for a bit, heating up their terror until it reached boiling, and then kill them anyway. She had no idea if they were going to die tonight or not. No point sharing that though, was there. The lads were already in a hole – no point digging them deeper into it.

  Rag glanced over at Harkas, sitting instead of standing like he usually did, hardly visible, in the shadows. She could feel him watching though, staring from the dark, his eyes always on her.

  He knows. He’s worked out who it was that betrayed Friedrik, and when Bastian comes to kill us all, that’s what he’ll use to bargain for his life.

  But did he know? If he knew, why hadn’t he said anything when Palien was having his throat slit? Why didn’t he speak up and tell Bastian then?

  Rag sat back in her chair, trying to stay out of his eyeline. She guessed she might never know; Harkas wasn’t much for sharing. Whatever his intentions, she kept her eye on the door that led out of the place, just in case. First sign of trouble she’d be through it and away.

  But you won’t, will you? Even if you had the chance you ain’t got nowhere to go.

  After Palien had bled out through his neck and his body’d been left to drop to the floor she’d still thought they were all done for. Rag wouldn’t have put it past Bastian to rid himself of all five of them without giving it a second thought, but he hadn’t. He’d just told them all to be on their way.

  So here they were, with nowhere else to go. They sat in the tavern, waiting for gods knew what, while the wood pile slowly went down.

  Rag had no idea how long they’d been sitting there. Shirl’s head kept nodding as he fought off sleep. Essen had wrapped himself in a blanket as the chill of the night crept into the bar and filled the shadows with cold.

  None of them heard Bastian’s lads enter.

  They were the same lean bastards as had killed Palien and they filled the little bar in silence, standing in the shadows, lurking like ghouls waiting to reach out from the dark and take a victim. When Rag saw them her eyes went wide with the fear. None of the other lads noticed until the door swung wide, banging against the wall, and Bastian himself walked in.

  Rag stared at his face. At those gaunt, skeletal features. The Lord of Crows himself, come to take them to the hells.

  Bastian just stood there and all five of them stared back, not sure what to do. It would have been a fucking stupid thing to speak – no one was going to risk interrupting Bastian.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said finally, like he was carrying on a conversation from a moment before. ‘It did cross my mind to have you all offed. You’re not the best bunch the Guild has got, after all. But then Friedrik must have kept you around for something: perhaps your loyalty. Loyalty’s worth a lot in these trying times. You did let him get captured, but then that was down to Palien, so I can’t really blame any of you.’

  He looked straight at Rag then, those eyes boring into her like a weevil in her flesh. Then he smiled slightly. It looked odd on his cruel face and it made Rag’s skin go all tingly with the creeps.

  ‘About Friedrik, by the way,’ he said, the fire dancing off his sharp features giving him a daemonic look. ‘Apparently he’s been executed. So we won’t be seeing him again. Consequently, all responsibilities for running this outfit pass to me. I’ve asked around and no one has a problem with that. I assume none of you do?’ Rag didn’t move, but she could see Shirl, Yarrick and Essen shaking their heads in the dark. ‘Good. Then we can move on.’

  One of those lean shadowy bastards brought a chair forward and Bastian sat in it, crossing his legs and straightening his black undertaker’s jacket.

  ‘War is coming.’

  Bastian let his words hang in the air.

  ‘We … we know, Mister Bastian,’ said Shirl.

  Typical Shirl – never could keep his bloody mouth shut.

  ‘You’ve probably been wondering what your contribution will be to the war effort,’ said Bastian.

  Shirl glanced at the other lads. ‘Actually … erm … no.’

  ‘No,’ said Bastian mirthlessly. ‘Of course you fucking haven’t. You were more than likely wondering how you’re going to avoid the fighting and survive when the Khurtas come knocking.’ The lads nodded. ‘Well, I’m here to tell you. The Guild has been made an offer. One that will see us survive this whole shitty mess. Obviously there will be things to do in the coming days, but I won’t entrust the important work to a bunch of useless fuckers like you. However, I’ll need all the men I can get, so be ready. I’ll have word sent to you when the time is right, so don’t go far.’

  Hi
s last three words were spoken like they were all a bunch of halfwits.

  ‘No, Mister Bastian,’ said Shirl, Essen and Yarrick in unison.

  ‘Good.’ Bastian stood up, his men already moving towards the door. ‘You.’ He pointed at Rag. ‘Show me out.’

  Show him out? Did he not know where the bloody door was?

  She stood and walked beside him. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps she was the one would be getting it. The one with her throat slit as an example to the other lads not to fuck about. But as they went into the little back room that led out on the street, Bastian stopped beside her.

  He looked down and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know the rest of your crew hasn’t got the brains of a dray horse between them. That’s why I’ll be relying on you to hold them together.’

  ‘Yes, Mister Bastian,’ she said without thinking, just grateful he wasn’t going to kill her.

  ‘There’ll be a chance for you to prove yourself in the coming days. Friedrik always surrounded himself with fucking idiots – that was his way. He was arrogant you see, thought he was untouchable, that his reputation would protect him, but it’s clear he was wrong about that. Still, he seemed to think you were different.’ He gestured to the men around him. ‘Now, as you can see – I don’t surround myself with idiots. And after this whole Palien business I’m beginning to see what it was Friedrik saw in you. You’re clever. There’s potential in you, girl. You could go far.’

  ‘Yes, Mister Bastian,’ she repeated. ‘Thank you.’

  She resisted the temptation to add a ‘sir’ to the end of that. She didn’t want to seem too much of an arse licker, after all.

  Bastian nodded and followed his men out onto the street. The last of them closed the door behind him, shutting out the chill of night. Rag just stood there, thinking a while.

  She could go far?

  What the fuck did that mean? Was he grooming her for big things?

  Inside she should have been jumping for joy, but all she felt was sick. It seemed that no sooner had she got past one trial she was jumping straight into another. He’d just put her in charge of this crew. Just promoted her. And all she’d had to do was tell a few lies and get a couple of people killed.