by A. J. Smith
He looked at her with suspicious eyes, wondering exactly what they wanted from him. He didn’t have much of an army or any real desire to assist Tor Funweir. As a Black Guard, he was technically an outlaw.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked. ‘I can offer you hospitality, but little else.’
Xander slammed his fist on the table. ‘You are a lord of Ro!’ he repeated, this time virtually shouting. ‘You have a duty to your people. You can hide in your keep or you can ride with me.’
‘To what end?’ demanded Brom, also raising his voice. ‘You can’t win against people who can control your mind.’
The Red Prince leant back, letting the corner of his mouth curl into a smile. ‘Your friend, the Kirin assassin, claims he’s killed four of the Seven Sisters... I can vouch for one at least. That leaves only three women who can control our minds.’
Brom smiled at the mention of Rham Jas. He had heard nothing about his friend’s progress and was happy to hear that he was alive and still successfully killing enchantresses. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’
‘He said he was bound for Ro Weir,’ replied Xander. ‘All we need to worry about are the Hounds.’
‘Of which there are likely to be a lot,’ interjected the Blue cleric.
‘But just men... who die at the edge of a blade,’ offered Gwendolyn.
Brom sipped at his wine, considering their words. He had been waiting in Canarn for months with an itchy sword hand, hoping for an enemy to fight or a battle to join. Now that he had the opportunity to take up arms, he found himself hesitant. He was no coward, but the lord of Canarn doubted that a frontal assault would be the answer.
‘We can win, Brom,’ said Xander.
‘How many Hawks do you have?’
‘Five thousand,’ he replied. ‘Plus any men you can bring. The barracks in Tiris are mostly empty, but once we retake the city there’ll be another five thousand at least – guardsmen and knights. I can send to Leith and Arnon for allies as well, once Ro Tiris is ours. The White Knights of the Dawn from Arnon haven’t taken the field yet. Markos of Rayne commands five thousand knights.’
Brom puffed out his cheeks. ‘And your brother?’
‘He’ll be busy in Ranen for months. The people of Rowanoco won’t fall easily and the king won’t know what we’re doing until we’ve done it.’
‘Come with us, Lord Bromvy,’ said Gwendolyn.
‘I think you should go with them, my lord,’ said Sigurd, tilting his head at Gwendolyn.
‘You are welcome as well, Tyr,’ said Xander, showing an awareness of Dokkalfar names. ‘And any forest-dweller who will stand against the Seven Sisters and their Dead God.’
‘There are many who will come... humans, too,’ replied Sigurd. ‘But only if our lord leads us.’ He looked at Brom, displaying his loyalty to Canarn for perhaps the first time.
Brom looked down, muddling through his options. To leave Canarn with a skeletal force to protect it would be asking for trouble, but Xander was right about the king. He would be unlikely to turn away from his Ranen campaign. The lord of Canarn could muster two thousand good men and, depending on Vithar Joror, another hundred or so Dokkalfar. If the forest-dwellers were feeling particularly active, they might even come in force.
‘Okay,’ he said quietly, still looking down.
‘Okay, what?’ asked Xander.
‘Okay, I’ll come.’ He paused, standing up and puffing out his chest. ‘You can count on the forces of Canarn, and her lord.’
The Red Prince also stood, extending his hand to Brom. ‘We are glad to have you, my lord.’
They shook hands, maintaining eye contact, and Brom felt he was entering into a pact from which he would not be able to withdraw. ‘Is there a plan?’ he asked, resuming his seat.
‘There is,’ replied Xander. ‘Archibald will defend Tiris, throwing guardsmen at us, but once we breach the city walls they’ll likely surrender.’
‘Likely?’ queried Brom.
‘We’ll march straight for the knight marshal’s office and the Spire of the King. My cousin will surrender or lose his head.’
‘Even if they surrender, we’ll need to get past catapults and the sea wall first,’ offered Daganay. ‘Make no mistake, they won’t give it to us, we’ll have to take it. If we just sail through the shipping channels, they’ll bombard us to wooden splinters.’
‘Black wart,’ said Gwen, smiling at Sigurd. ‘If we can procure enough and chain the explosions – boom.’
‘Vithar Joror will provide us with all we need,’ replied the Dokkalfar guardsman. ‘Enough for any sea wall.’
‘Do you know what it’s like there?’ asked Brom. ‘Since the Sisters took control?’
Xander shook his head. ‘No, but we should have at least one friend there. The Brown cardinal is not an easy target for enchantment and he’s still at the Low Cathedral.’
‘Cerro?’ queried Brom, who had met the chief Brown cleric when he was a young man.
Daganay nodded. ‘I know the man, he’s one of two cardinals in the city. The other is a Purple bastard called Severen. Of the two, I’d say the Brown is more likely to be a friend... he’s a good man, respected by the populace. He’s got one of our men with him, a young Blue acolyte of mine. We sent him before we retook Haran. If Cerro’s faith is still strong, we’ll have an ally.’
‘Sooner or later you’ll have to deal with the Purple,’ said Brom. ‘Attacking Tiris will piss them off.’
Xander’s expression showed how little he cared about the clerics of nobility. ‘They’ll do what they’re fucking told.’
Daganay chuckled and Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. The Red Prince was an intimidating presence, especially so when angry, and Brom found himself wishing he had a witty response or a way to impose his own presence. After a moment’s thought, he said, ‘You’re very confident.’
‘It helps to remove doubt,’ replied Xander. ‘Win or lose, doubt does not help a man.’
‘Or a woman,’ interjected Gwen.
‘Or a Dokkalfar,’ said Tyr Sigurd.
‘Good, so none of us have doubts,’ said Daganay. ‘An excellent start.’
CHAPTER 11
KALE GLENWOOD IN THE CITY OF RO WEIR
IT DIDN’T FEEL like lying. Each time he told Rham Jas he was okay, each smile he faked when the insufferable Kirin cracked a joke, every minute and every day he pretended to be something he wasn’t. It was easy to simulate friendship. Up until recently it had been genuine. Now he employed it as a front while he played a part for his mistress. He was not to kill his companion, though he wanted to. He was to stay close to him, to wait until the Mistress of Pain sought an advantage. When he was awake, his mind was clear, as if nothing had happened. But when he slept, she called to him, directing his actions.
I am concerned by the forest-dweller, she said.
‘Surely he is insignificant beside your power, mistress.’
Do not underestimate Tyr Nanon, he has been fighting longer than I.
‘Shall I kill him when we meet in Ro Weir?’
No... we will remain quiet a while longer. Though I will soften my hold on your mind, removing knowledge of the beautiful gift I have given you. The forest-dweller will not sense anything.
‘I don’t want to go back to my pointless life, mistress. I want to hear your voice in my head until the day I die.’
You will. I will always be in your mind, sweet Kale. I will just allow you to act... normally, as if you had never had your mind caressed by my enduring love. You will forget until I need you to remember.
‘And when can I sit at your side?’
When the dark-blood is dead.
* * *
They had moved quickly away from Haran and now, within sight of Ro Weir, Rham Jas was irritated by his companion’s constant worrying. Glenwood felt strange and, try as he might, he could not shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Even the thought of meeting up with Dalian Thief Taker and Tyr Nanon proved insufficient distraction
for the tired forger, who felt as if he were merely being dragged along. He had become more and more involved with the Kirin’s plans over the past year, to the point where their goals appeared the same. But now, as they neared Saara the Mistress of Pain, Glenwood once again felt like an outsider.
‘You’ll feel better when we’re actually in the city, Kale,’ said the Kirin. ‘It’s all this sleeping rough, I don’t think it agrees with you.’
‘Getting hit on the head with a metal torch-holder probably didn’t help.’
Ro Weir was an unpleasant place at the best of times, but now it was even worse. Law and order – an almost religious concept for the Ro – was being implemented with the unusual brutality that marked the rule of the Seven Sisters throughout Tor Funweir. Glenwood wondered if life was in any way sacred to the Karesian witches. They had let the citizens of Haran wallow in pestilence and, judging by the lines of headless bodies that flanked the main gate of Weir, things were even worse in the south.
‘Not trying to rule with benevolence then?’ joked Rham Jas, as they rode past the main gate and headed for a low trench through which water was flowing.
‘True to form,’ muttered Glenwood.
The northern muster fields of Weir were empty, though a huge military camp, flying a twisted tree banner, could be seen to the east. The sprawling Hound encampment was almost as big as the city and Glenwood couldn’t imagine how many soldiers it would take to fill the place. The northern farms were full of camp followers and huge carts, from which the Hounds’ drugs were distributed. They took a potent cocktail of Karesian black, a sticky, pungent substance which, when smoked, made them both violent and compliant. The entire duchy was caught up in preparations for war, making travel surprisingly easy. The Karesians cared about armies, not individual men.
‘So, it’s a full-on invasion now,’ he said, largely to himself. ‘That Red Prince fellow had better be as dangerous as he appears or Tor Funweir is in big trouble.’
‘Let’s just see how much of an invasion they can muster once I’ve killed their mistress,’ replied the Kirin, with a confident grin.
‘We need to get inside the city first,’ Glenwood said, scanning the trench for any signs left by Nanon or Dalian.
When they had parted ways in the Fell, with a vague plan of action, the idea had been for those already in Weir to find a way through which Rham Jas and Glenwood could sneak in unobserved. Attempting to ride through any one of the official gates would likely be suicide, but the assassin was sure there must be numerous other entrances.
Weir had many gates, catering to many different groups of people. The Warder’s Gate, facing north, was for officials and urban soldiers. The Leith Gate, leading to the port side, was barely guarded and the road beyond plunged into the poorest area of the city. The Hawkwood Gate, to the east, was for traders and led to the Grand Market. The only entrance to the old town was through the King’s Gate, a huge bulwark, generally kept closed, through which the lords of Weir travelled.
‘There,’ said Rham Jas, pointing to a collection of loose rocks at the base of the wall. ‘See the mark?’
Glenwood peered into the low trench and could see several parallel cuts just above the pile of rocks.
‘That’s Karesian trail script. They use it in the deserts to help people stay on the safe road.’ He grinned. ‘Dalian’s being funny... it means Kirin only.’
‘Does that mean I can stay outside?’ asked the forger, without any real attempt at humour.
‘No, it does not. I need your assistance once we’re inside. It’s a four-man job – one to rescue my daughter, two to kill the enchantress, and one to get us out of the city once it’s done.’
‘And which of those will I be trusted with?’ he asked.
‘We’ll see,’ replied Rham Jas. ‘Think you’ll be any good in a massive fight?’
‘Er, no,’ he replied.
Rham Jas rode towards the trench. The stone walls were hundreds of years old and solidly built, though at their base there were several low trenches through which slow-running water flowed from the city. They looked to have been formerly part of a moat and, though no longer used defensively, Glenwood could still see the outlet pipes that used to pump water into the gullies. The one Dalian had marked had no water flowing from it. Rham Jas dismounted as he approached. They were close to the Leith Gate and clear of wall guards and patrols.
‘It’s a bit disturbing that this won’t be my first time trudging through other people’s shit and piss,’ said Glenwood, joining his companion on the ground.
Rham Jas looked at him. ‘That sewage pipe in Arnon was mostly water... just a little bit of shit and piss.’
‘And this one, what’s the ratio this time?’
The Kirin peered down, leading his horse into the shallow trench. ‘Looks empty. Rusty if anything.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘I could find one with some shit and piss in it if you’d prefer.’
‘Fuck you, Rham Jas. Let’s just get this over with,’ Glenwood replied, following the assassin.
They quickly tied their horses to rusted steel pipes and stood side by side, looking into the dark passage. Visibility was minimal, but Glenwood could just about make out a broken section a few feet in. It would be tight, but they could probably squeeze through the pipe and drop down into whatever lay under the old outlet.
‘Any idea what’s on the other side of that?’ he asked.
‘Not a clue,’ replied Rham Jas, ‘but I’m sure Dalian wouldn’t lead us into a watch barracks.’
‘And once we’re in?’
‘There’s a tavern I used to work at – not behind the bar, incidentally – called the Dirty Beggar. Dalian knows it and we’ll meet there. Hopefully he’ll have some information for us.’
‘Hopefully,’ agreed Glenwood.
It took a few minutes for them to haul themselves up into the outlet pipe and, with muttered swearing, Rham Jas started to squeeze through the broken section.
‘Putting on weight?’ quipped Glenwood, as the assassin inched his way through the gap, taking care not to wound himself on the jagged metal.
He received a glare in return. Then Rham Jas suddenly grinned and let go of the outlet pipe, dropping down into darkness. Glenwood crawled slowly up to the hole and, placing his hands carefully on the rusted metal, peered after his companion.
‘You alive down there?’
‘Yup,’ replied Rham Jas. ‘It’s just an old warehouse.’
A few sparks of light appeared as the Kirin coaxed a torch into life and illuminated the stone room. It was ridden with cobwebs and rats scattered away from the light. Rham Jas moved away, blowing on the small flame and casting light over the floor. A door came into view, fused to its frame with rust.
‘So Dalian has led us into a room with no way out?’ asked Glenwood, still crouched in the outlet pipe above. ‘That was nice of him.’
‘Stop whingeing, Kale, and get down here. I think there are some loose bricks, should lead us out into the city, north of King’s Folly.’
Glenwood pursed his lips and nodded before starting to negotiate the rusted opening beneath him. ‘Tally ho,’ he muttered.
It took them a few minutes to move the loose bricks and find their way out of the abandoned warehouse. They were nestled against the city walls and surrounded by rusted pipes, snaking up the brickwork and depositing brown water on the cobbles below. A few deserted back roads to the south and they emerged on the northern road, within sight of the watch barracks.
Ro Weir was a mess of a city. Buildings were boarded up, streets were devoid of life, shops were forced to employ armed guards, and Glenwood was startled to see Karesian wind claws and Ro watchmen working side by side. Wooden stocks lined the streets near the Warder’s Gate, the majority occupied by terrified and malnourished Ro, their heads and hands poking through the wood and covered with vegetable matter and excrement.
‘I like a bit of dirt on the street, but this is ridiculous,’ he said, joining Rham Jas as they w
alked away from the barracks and towards the main bridge that led to the old town. ‘Where’s this tavern of yours?’
‘Near the eastern harbour. Past the market,’ replied the Kirin, making sure his hood was up and his face obscured. His Dokkalfar war-bow was wrapped in a bedroll and his katana was inside his cloak.
‘Try not to look at any wind claws. We don’t want a street fight.’
‘Good plan, I’ll... I’ll do that.’
The street was wide, with shallow trenches indicating cart tracks and cobbled stones marking the walkways either side. Compared with Ro Tiris, where Glenwood had lived for many years, Weir had always been dirty and overcrowded but had made up for those shortcomings by being colourful and full of life. These advantages had disappeared now and all that was left was the dirt.
‘They’ve sucked the life out of two cities,’ said Glenwood, feeling a little patriotic for a change. ‘I’m suddenly glad we helped out in Tiris and Arnon before it got this bad.’
‘We?’ queried Rham Jas, with a smug grin.
‘I helped,’ replied the forger. ‘You couldn’t have got close to either of them without me. Katja the... whatever, and the bitch of death.’
‘You ran off in Leith,’ joked the assassin, gently prodding his companion in the ribs, ‘like the coward you are.’
‘If I’d helped, I’d be dead. They don’t care about me, remember.’
‘Just pointing out that there are still enchantresses to be killed when we’re done in Weir,’ replied Rham Jas. ‘The one in Leith slipped through my tenacious fingers.’
‘One enchantress at a time,’ said Glenwood.
The Kirin nodded towards a side street, leading south past the Grand Market. Though Weir was a wide sprawl of a place, it was filled with narrow alleys and labyrinthine streets, making it a paradise for men who lived on the wrong side of the law.
The two of them cut through the port side, trusting in the Kirin’s sense of direction and staying away from patrolled areas. It felt strange to Glenwood that he had learned to trust in Rham Jas’s abilities over the last few months – from his knack of staying alive to his skill at killing. Even the infuriating man’s quick wits and guile had proven invaluable since they left Ro Tiris all those months ago.
