“And you’re betting on Blaine McFadden,” Betta said. “You think he’ll be king?”
Folville shrugged. “Better him than the others, if there’s to be a king. Maybe he’ll settle for warlord, but sooner or later, someone will want the crown. He’s already made me one of his Lords of the Blood. If we hold the city for him, if we do this right, I might get made a real lord, with land and a house. Imagine, Betta. We could do worse.” His new ability to truth-sense, gained in the ritual that restored the magic, had already been a valuable asset.
“And we will, if you’ve bet wrong,” she warned. “We’ve thrown in our lot with McFadden, and everyone knows it. If he goes down, so do we—and there will be a line of enemies, his and ours, waiting to shove in the knife.”
“You always know how to find the bright side in everything,” Folville said with a sigh, but a note of affection colored his words.
“I have your back,” Betta said. “And that includes telling you what you don’t want to hear.”
“So you’re coming with me, to meet with Simmons?”
“Of course. Maybe things will go wrong, and I’ll get to kick some Red Blades ass,” she replied.
CHAPTER TEN
THE ROOSTER AND PIG HAD SEEN BETTER DAYS. Before the Great Fire, the pub’s garish red roof and bright-blue shutters had been visible from halfway out in the bay, and while the ships’ captains had steered for the safe berths of the harbor, the soldiers steered to the Rooster and Pig for the best bitterbeer in Castle Reach and the least poxy whores.
The pub had taken a direct hit in the Cataclysm, leaving little but broken walls and smoldering ashes. One-Eyed Hank had staked his claim to the ruins, pressing his brothers, sons, and bastards into building the tavern back up again, cobbling together a roof and stealing enough shutters to get the place back in business. Word had it that Engraham, the old pub owner, had gone to Edgeland, so Hank had the place fair and square.
“Gimme ale.” Folville bellied up to the bar. Hank gave him a nod, and his good eye blinked in acknowledgment. Hank was big as a bear, with a leather patch over his left eye and a wooden peg for his right leg. Anyone who might have thought that made Hank an easy target found out otherwise, the hard way.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Hank said as he poured ale into Folville’s tankard.
Folville shrugged. “Been busy.”
Hank chuckled. “Look at you. A legitimate businessman.”
Folville gave a lopsided grin. “Don’t go around saying things like that. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Indeed he did. Folville was well aware that the occupants of the Rooster and Pig were watching him as he entered. Glances shifted nervously between Folville at the bar and a big man who sat at a table in an empty corner of the room with two other men standing a few steps behind.
Folville took his tankard and headed to the table. Betta and Len, one of Folville’s Cur bodyguards, stayed behind him. Patrons at several other tables took their drinks and left the tavern. Usually, Curs and Red Blades were only together for a fight. Not this time, Folville hoped.
“Simmons,” Folville said in acknowledgment.
“Folville.” Simmons glanced from Folville to Betta and Len with cold, dark eyes. “You’re looking well fed.” His words held an edge of resentment.
Folville shrugged. “Set aside your claim, disband the Red Blades, and swear allegiance to Lord McFadden and you get some of the spoils, too.”
“That’s what you came here to say?” Simmons growled.
Another shrug. “It’s the truth.” He took a sip of his ale. “So why did you want to meet, if nothing’s going to change?”
“We’ve got a common enemy. The Badgers have been causing trouble.”
Folville leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his beer. “Oh?” His scouts had given him reports of Badgers being active in the northern end of Castle Reach, but Folville was interested to see how much Simmons knew, and whether his information differed.
“There’s a big stretch of nothing down the eastern side of the city, outside where the walls used to be,” Simmons said. “You know, the burying yards and the burning ground.”
Folville nodded. “Yeah, I know the place.”
Simmons leaned forward. “Do you also know that the Badgers are moving into that space—or trying to?”
“How do you know?”
Simmons let out a coarse bark of a laugh. “Because my men have seen them, that’s how I know!”
“What’s in it for the Badgers?” Folville asked. “That’s a wasteland.”
“Huh. You would think that. Raig and the Badgers, they don’t have shame. They’ve been looting the graves and digging through the cinders in the burn heaps, going through the garbage pits, to find things they can trade or use.”
“Hard times are like that,” Folville said, taking another swig of ale. “But what’s that to you—or me?”
“He’s gotten bolder. Been poking around our borders like he was looking to find out whether we’d stand up to him or not,” Simmons replied. “We did—but it’s been a while since Raig got that cocky. I don’t like it.”
Folville shrugged. “So, put him down.” All three gangs had a long and bloody history with each other. Simmons and Folville had come to lead their gangs at about the same time, and remained in charge longer than usual. For that, Folville thanked the Cataclysm. With so much around them uncertain, a familiar leader was someone people could trust as the rest of the world burned. Raig, on the other hand, had taken his position by force just a few months ago. That made him an unknown, and forced Folville and Simmons into an uncomfortable truce.
“Not as easy as you make it sound,” Simmons said, shifting in a chair that was too small for his bulk. “He’s been recruiting from somewhere. The new Badgers aren’t as dumb as they used to be. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was getting in guys who used to be soldiers.”
“Oh, really?” Folville raised an eyebrow. “The only soldiers around Castle Reach should belong to Lord McFadden or his allies. And I just spoke with Traher Voss. The Badgers aren’t getting men from him.”
“Well, they look smarter and healthier than the dregs Raig usually gets,” Simmons said. “And that’s bad for business.”
It certainly could be, Folville thought, if the Badgers were connected to some other force out there. “Any word on the street about whether he’s got himself a patron?” Folville asked. His thoughts whirled, trying to come up with likely suspects.
Simmons shook his head. “No. But Raig’s people don’t talk about him to outsiders, at least not more than once.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because if I know Raig, he’ll get greedy if he’s got a patron,” Simmons replied. “Start looking to take more territory, especially if he’s got new men and new weapons.” He leaned forward. “And if someone’s crazy enough to back Raig, that someone wants more than a beat-down third-rate city gang. Now that the city isn’t on fire or under water, seems to me other people are going to want a piece of it.”
Folville let out a long breath. “All right. I’ll send some of my men to our far-east line to hold the territory. What are you going to do?”
Simmons downed his ale and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Same. Just wanted you to know that I wasn’t making a move on your boundaries.”
“I’ll see what I can find out about who Raig’s been keeping company with,” Folville added. “We could agree to share that information, if you’re willing.”
Simmons glared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Aye. Serves us both well to know who’s really calling the shots. If I learn more, I’ll tell you.”
“I’m expecting our truce to hold,” Folville said.
Simmons looked as if he had swallowed something that tasted bad, but after a moment, he gave a curt nod. “For now. We’d be fools to fight between ourselves when we’ve got a common enemy.”
Maybe more than one, Folville thought. Whoever hol
ds Castle Reach holds the kingdom. We’re sitting right at the eye of the storm.
“Hey, Boss! Wake up! We’ve got trouble.” Folville sat upright in the darkened room of the tariff house. Enough moonlight streamed through the cracked windows to let him recognize Teller, one of his lieutenants.
Folville’s thin blanket fell aside. He was already dressed, an old habit from sleeping in cellars and doorways. His sword and knives were close at hand, as were his boots, which he began to pull on. “What’s going on?”
“A couple of big ships just out of range of our mages and arrows, and some small boats already on their way in,” Teller reported.
Folville cursed under his breath. “And of course, our defenses aren’t ready yet. Damn!” He staggered as he shoved his foot into his boot, then belted on his scabbard. He and Teller banged on the doors of the rest of his inner circle, and one by one, Betta and the others came to the hallway, all traces of sleep gone from their faces, armed and ready.
“Kentel and Zost, head to the upper walls,” Folville ordered. “Rouse anyone you can find. Get the archers up there, and roll a couple of the catapults into place. Some nice, heavy boulders can take out a mast or two, or sink one of those blackguards’ ships.” The two men nodded and took off at a run.
“Paketi and Mosser, get over to the mage tower. Wake up the mages on your way and see what they can do. Use the lanterns to signal the mages in the tower. See how much mayhem they can cause with the big ships, and if they can swamp the little ones, that’s even better.”
“Corwin, Rasserman, and Betta, come with me. We need to get down to the seawall and have a reception ready for any of those blighters who get into range.”
“What do you want me to do?” Teller asked.
Folville clapped him on the shoulder. “Find Voss and make sure he knows what’s going on. We can use the help. If he’s got biters who can lend a hand, I’ll take everything he’s got.”
“And then?”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Wake everyone up and get them to their stations. This is our city, dammit. No one’s going to sail into our bay and take it from us.”
The tariff house was two streets back from the new seawall. As Folville and Betta ran toward the waterfront, they heard the shouts of their people rousing the city to arms. Lanterns flickered to life in the windows. One of the bells that had survived the Great Fire began clanging and then another joined in, sounding the alarm.
“If they thought they were going to slip in with the dark, they’ve got a surprise coming,” Folville said to Betta as they reached the wharf, where men, women, and children were already gathering, armed with whatever weapons were readily at hand.
Folville heard the thwack and thud of the catapults as they launched rocks into the harbor. Loud splashes followed minutes later, or the crack of wood and the raised voices of men cursing their luck. Torches burned along the half-built fortifications on either side of the harbor, and a waning moon cast a pale shadow across the water.
Archers and catapults forced the dozen small ships to stay toward the center of the harbor. As Folville and the others hurried to the edge of the half-rebuilt wharves, lanterns and torches lit up the night as the crazed bell ringers kept up their deafening clamor.
“I don’t think they bargained for this,” Betta said, looking out over the water.
“Surprised they’re not turning tail. Hardly going to sneak in now,” Folville observed. He strode into the thick of the action as men and women scurried up and down the harbor front, preparing for invasion.
“The wind’s against them,” Betta observed. “It’s pushing them away from shore.”
Folville narrowed his eyes. “Not exactly. It’s pushing them toward the wrecks.”
In the chaos of the Great Fire, every ship at berth in Castle Reach harbor had tried to head for the sea to escape the rippling green fire that fell from the sky and burned everything it touched. The earliest ships and the biggest ships had made it out of the harbor. Many of the others, overloaded and commandeered by panic-stricken city dwellers who knew little about navigation, ended up at the bottom of the bay. The last, hard year had too many life-or-death challenges to make dredging the bay a priority. And so the wrecks sat, an underwater abatis, their broken spars and keels a last line of defense.
Folville’s gaze traveled up to the watchtower across the bay, where the mages were presumably hard at work. “When have you known the wind to blow out to sea like this?” he asked, lifting his face to the breeze.
“I didn’t think mages could affect the weather anymore, after what happened before,” Betta said.
Folville shrugged. “Maybe stirring up a breeze doesn’t count. Or maybe that’s all changed now that the magic’s fixed for good. But feel that wind? It’s pushing those rowboats right back to the ocean.”
“That’s it!” Folville shouted to the crowds along the seawall. “Let’s show those bloody pirates that we’re ready for them! Weapons out! Lanterns up. Let them see what’s waiting for them!”
Folville and Betta stalked up and down the wharf front, rallying the onlookers to a show of defiance. Most had come to see what the ruckus was all about, but few went out at night in Castle Reach without a weapon, and so his call to arms was met by every type of tradesman’s tool along with knives, staves, and more than a few lengths of rusted chain. Archers joined them, ready should any of the rowboats make it into range. The wind swept past them, gusting so hard Folville had to lean against it as it rushed out to sea.
Catapults on the embankments kept up a steady clunk-splash, sending missiles at the rowboats, which were now frantically attempting to row back out to sea. The wind buffeted them, making it difficult for them to steer, often putting the boats directly in range of the flying chunks of rocks and debris.
“I’ve counted at least four boats sunk so far,” Betta observed.
Just then, a pillar of fire rose on the horizon. A moment later, Folville could see flames engulfing the tall masts and billowing sails of a large ship at the very edge of the harbor. Behind him, the crowd caught their breath in collective horror and took a few steps back.
“What in Raka was that?” Betta strained for a better look.
“Mages,” Folville said, a note of glee in his voice. “By damn! They’re doing it! They’re holding the ships at bay!”
By now, the pirate attack had become a rout. Out of a dozen small boats headed for shore, Folville could see five still afloat. Bits of wood drifted on the choppy water. The flaming pirate ship would likely burn to the waterline. At this distance, Folville could not see whether the second ship had abandoned the boaters and sailed off, but he could not imagine the pirates choosing to get closer.
The catapult kept up its assault, and the wind shifted, just enough to bring the remaining rowboats into range. Over the howl of the wind, the crowd on the shore could hear the oarsmen’s panicked screams, the crash of the catapult stones, and the crack of breaking wood.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, the wind stopped. Flames still lit the horizon. Waves lapped against the seawall, carrying broken bits of wood. Bodies floated on the dark surface of the water. The bells stopped clanging, and an eerie silence followed.
“We got them!” Folville shouted. Behind him, the crowd began to cheer, waving their weapons and shouting in celebration.
“It worked!” he said to Betta, staring out over the harbor with pride. “Even without the wall being finished, without the other defenses. They came at us and we drove them back!” For the first time in months, he felt a surge of hope. Perhaps all the plans he had made with McFadden’s people were more than empty promises. If Castle Reach could hold its own against invaders, then the city might have a chance to make itself anew.
“Boss! Captain Folville!” A man’s voice cut through the crowd’s celebration, and Folville looked up to see Hoff, one of his lieutenants, fighting his way through the throng. Betta moved closer to Folville, and he was sure that she, too, had gotten
a wary feeling from the urgency with which Hoff pushed through the people on the quayside.
“Boss, we got trouble,” Hoff said. “The Badgers are attacking, and it looks like they’ve brought in pirates from the inlets up the coast.”
“Damn.” Folville gripped his sword in one hand and his long fighting knife in his other. It had taken more than a candlemark for him to gather his men from the center of the city, leaving some to watch the harbor while the rest headed for the eastern edge of the city and Badger territory. He dispatched his fighters in teams, just like in the old days, with instructions to hold off the Badgers and cheat them out of new territory, and gathered a dozen of his gang members to join in the fight.
“Hoff. Go find Captain Hemmington and Captain Larson. If the Badgers are bringing in outsiders, then this is more than a gang fight. I’ve already sent Teller to let Voss know what’s going on. With a little luck, we don’t have to go this alone.”
Easier said than done, he thought as they approached the war zone. The eastern side of Castle Reach had never been prosperous, not even in the years before the Great Fire. It was a point of pride that Folville’s gang had forced the Badgers into this godsforsaken corner, with the help of McFadden’s soldiers.
Just slightly better than the Lower Nine, the East Side before the Cataclysm was home to cheap whorehouses, seedy inns, and disreputable taverns, and hardship had not improved it. Folville and Betta moved carefully, weapons in hand, through the darkened streets. The narrow alleys and shadowed ginnels stank of urine and fetid mud. None of the buildings had glass in their windows. In winter, boards covered the openings. Now, slats nailed over the holes let in air while keeping predators out.
“By Torven! Did you see the size of that rat?” Kendricks muttered.
“Trying not to look,” Betta replied. “Thanks for that.”
A half-grown boy emerged from the shadows as they approached. “Captain Folville? Munn sent me.”
Folville looked the boy over. Wiry and dressed in dirty clothing that was patched and stained, he couldn’t have been more than ten years old. The boy rolled his eyes. “I’m all there is. The rest of them are fighting. Badgers got here about two candlemarks ago. Munn said to wait for you, since you’d expect someone to represent him. Also said to ask you what in Raka took so long to get reinforcements. We’re getting our asses kicked.”
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