Halfway there he stopped, turned back, and crouched, waiting. He did not have to sit long. Out of the dark came the thump of heavy footfalls. A pale shape emerged, crashing into broken trunks, half falling, loping onward.
The form resolved into a blood-streaked Ryllandaras. Chains snaked behind him. One trailed from a wrist, another from his neck.
‘M’lady!’ the creature bellowed, roaring, desperate. ‘You are here?’
Silk straightened, waving. ‘This way!’
The man-beast lumbered towards him. Behind came calls and the clatter of armour. Ryllandaras frowned down at Silk, blinking. Though slashed and bloodied he still emanated ferocious power and vitality. Silk considered the old saying that a wounded animal is the most dangerous. ‘You?’ the beast roared, pulling up short.
Silk pointed to the tunnel. ‘She waits within – she offers sanctuary from your hunters.’
The man-beast examined the chain dangling from his wrist, shook it, and barked a rolling laugh. ‘Sanctuary from my hunters! Ha! I was besting them!’
Appalled, Silk crossed his arms. ‘Do you wish to see her or not?’
‘This way!’ came a distant shout from the dark.
The monster ducked, grunting his agreement. ‘I will enter, little mage. But not in search of sanctuary from any foe. I go to see her.’
Silk waved him on. ‘Very good.’ The man-beast thumped past, heading for the opening. Silk followed, walking backwards, his Warren of Thyr now raised.
Shapes in dark armour came running out of the night. Silk raised a bright flare of light, causing the closing mercenaries to halt and throw their arms up over their faces. Silk recognized Cal-Brinn among them, who blinked at him. ‘Stand aside!’ one of their number called.
‘The hunt is over,’ Silk answered.
‘Just kill the bastard!’ shouted another of the Guard, and he pushed forward.
Silk intensified his light into a sizzling white ball that he waved before him. ‘Would you make war upon Li Heng as well?’
Cal-Brinn threw an arm before his companion and addressed Silk. ‘You do not know what has happened.’
‘Inform me.’
‘The beast has slain Malkir, heir to the throne of Gris.’
Silk merely shrugged. ‘He was a fool to have risked hunting him.’
Cal-Brinn gestured to the wall. ‘And what is it you are risking?’
Silk dared a quick glance back: the aperture of the tunnel was even now closing as a great slab of dressed stone descended. He lowered his Warren and blinked in the dark. ‘You could not have slain him – we’ll finish the job.’
Another shape came lumbering out of the dark, the Guard’s commander, Duke Courian D’Avore, together with some twenty more of his force. His iron cuirass was splashed with blood and he gripped his neck where fresh drops ran down his raised forearm. His son K’azz sought to support him but he shook him off. ‘He’s ours!’ the man bellowed, spitting in rage. ‘Paid for in blood! Yield him to us!’
Silk bowed to the Duke. ‘The city mages of Heng will see to Ryllandaras.’
‘Keep him as your pet, you mean!’
Silk felt far from confident, surrounded as he was by a maddened crowd of mercenaries who felt cheated of their quarry, but he crossed his arms nevertheless, hoping to convey complete indifference. He wished Koroll, Ho or Mara were here rather than he. But they no doubt had their hands full at the moment attempting to subdue the man-beast, wounded though he may be. Thinking on that, he reflected that perhaps he was better off here than closeted in a narrow tunnel with an enraged Ascendant.
Courian raised his bloodied blade. ‘Yield him to me now, or by the beast gods I’ll separate your smirking head from your slimy body.’
K’azz took hold of his parent’s sword arm. ‘We have made one enemy today, Father. Let us not make two.’
The duke glared down with his one good eye, scowling his confusion. ‘An enemy? What do you mean? What enemy?’
‘With Malkir dead his twin, Malle, is now heir,’ said Cal-Brinn. ‘She spoke against his coming and will not forgive us. I fear we will not be welcome in Gris.’
The duke grunted his assent, drew his blade across his already red cloak, and sheathed it. He peered at Silk through his one eye, slitted until it was almost closed. Silk had the impression of a bull squinting through a fence. ‘You’re lucky, little mage. If it were up to me alone I’d cut you in half just on general principles.’ He motioned Cal-Brinn onward. ‘We’ll return the body. Come, we’re moving out.’
The Guard backed away, covering their commander. All but the young K’azz, who remained behind. ‘What will you do with him?’ he asked Silk.
Silk studied the slender youth looking so very martial in his battered blood-red armour of overlapping iron bands, mailed sleeves and skirting, his bright pale eyes quite open and curious. Still to come into his full growth, yet already a good hand’s breadth taller than he. So this was the Red Prince romantics sang of. He felt an unaccustomed sensation of envy and it was so new he almost savoured it. He shrugged again, his arms crossed. ‘We cannot be certain of slaying him, so we will entomb him.’
The youth nodded, backing away. Silk turned to go.
‘You betrayed us,’ the youth called. ‘You used us to weaken him and drive him to you.’ Silk stilled, saying nothing. ‘One good betrayal deserves another,’ the lad called again from the dark, and disappeared into the gloom.
For a time Silk stood motionless, frowning at the night. Then he shook himself, shuddering with the chill, and hurried to the one remaining northern tunnel entryway to aid his fellow mages.
Finding his brethren together with the entrapped Ryllandaras was not difficult; the creature’s bellows shook the catacombs’ stone walls. Clashing chains and angry, frustrated yells guided him to the site of the struggle. All the tunnels were far too low to allow the man-beast to stand, and so he lay flailing and lashing. The chains crashed and rattled against the walls.
Ho was shouting to Mara: ‘Hold him still, dammit!’
‘Don’t you think I’m trying!’ she snarled.
Koroll had two of the beast’s chains in his hands and was struggling to drag the monster up the tunnel. Silk stepped over to where Smokey stood leaning against a wall. ‘Took your damned time,’ the mage of Telas murmured beneath the cacophony.
‘How’s it going – or need I ask?’
Smokey waved to indicate their lack of progress. ‘The damned beast’s not cooperating in his imprisonment. Rather like a drunken soldier.’
‘How unreasonable of him.’
Ho threw down the end of one chain and backed away to draw a sleeve across his sweaty face. ‘All right, you stubborn bastard. We tried being nice.’ He nodded to Smokey.
Smokey cracked his knuckles. The man-beast turned his long head to glare up one-eyed at the mage. ‘Don’t make me burn you bald,’ Smokey said with a smile.
Silk missed it; a telltale tensing of the muscles it must have been, or a slight drawing in of the limbs, but Mara caught it and even as the beast lunged forward, jaws agape, his head was smashed aside into the wall. Everyone cursed their surprise, ducking and backing off. Clouds of dust obscured the narrow tunnel. Silk slapped it from his fine blue shirt and black vest.
The dust settled, revealing a hole bashed through the wall to a neighbouring tunnel, and Ryllandaras, blinking, shaking the stone dust from his head.
‘I’ll twist your head off if I have to!’ Mara called, her voice taut with anger, and perhaps a measure of fear.
The beast’s lips drew back into something like a mockery of a smile, revealing black gums and canines the length of daggers. ‘You can try,’ he growled with a panting, jackal-like laugh.
Ho set a hand to his hip, ran the other over his brush-cut grey stubble, and looked to the ceiling. ‘Not going to make it easy, are you?’ He motioned to everyone. ‘Grab a chain and pull . . .’
*
A sharp jab woke Iko. She opened one eye, fully aware, to s
ee Hallens peering down at her, a fierce grin at her lips. ‘Ready yourself, little sister. Word has come. We leave immediately.’
She jumped to her feet, pulled her quilted aketon over her head, asked, ‘Where?’
But Hallens had already moved on.
Iko yanked on her mail coat, belted it, and threw her sheathed blade over her head and on to her back. All around, her fellow Sword-Dancers readied themselves. All was silent but for the soft tinkle of fine mail armour and the shush of leather sandals. At the doors, sisters signed commands: double file, quick.
They formed up and set out across the gardens. Two sisters waited there. Knotted ropes had already been secured over the wall. When Iko reached the top she glimpsed the sprawled shapes of palace guards among the bushes – unconscious only, she hoped, as she bore them no particular ill will.
Their route took them south through the empty night-time streets; the city’s own strict curfew aided them in their passage. They were running in double file, as swiftly as was possible in potentially hostile territory. Sisters posted at turns, or forced-open posterns or minor gates, directed them on then joined the rear of the file as it passed. Soon, Iko knew, it would be her turn to be posted as they cycled through their number.
When she reached the fore, Hallens was there giving commands. At this point they had reached a section of the second-last of the ringed rounds, the Inner, and were next to the tallest building in sight. Its third-storey roof was pitched, which was unusual for the city, and allowed the easiest access to the parapets rearing above. A sister was already at the top straddling the ridge, readying ropes. Hallens nodded to Iko and another, Gisel, to make the climb. They started up the building’s side, cat-walked up the steeply pitched roof, and took hold of the rope.
Iko went first. The ropes were knotted and she climbed by alternately raising hands and feet. So far their blazing speed had served them well; if any alarms were being sounded, they’d left them far behind. The climb was strenuous, and after the months of waiting she was in far from her best shape, but the adrenalin of action drove her on. She slid in through a crenel and fell to the catwalk to roll to a crouch, then froze.
A guard was approaching from less than thirty feet away; perhaps he was on patrol, or the scraping of the iron grapnel had drawn him, but in any case her sudden appearance had shocked him as well. Only now did he begin to raise the crossbow in his hands.
She charged, eyes fixed on him, searching for the telltale signs of imminent firing. Luckily the lad gave them: a sharp inhale and that rise and tensing of the shoulders. She fell, rolling. The bolt cut the air above her. She came up but was still short of her target and had to roll once more, coming up with one arm to brush aside the weapon and the other jabbing, fingers straightened, up into the throat.
She caught both him and the weapon as he fell choking, hands clutching at his neck. She pressed a hand over his mouth and whispered, close: ‘Hush now – it’s all right. It’s over. You did your best. Hush now . . .’
He strained for breath one last time. Terror of death filled his wild eyes as his gaze pleaded with her. Then they lost focus, easing into a fixed empty stare. She straightened from the corpse.
Behind, her sisters were descending the wall on the outside.
She continued to stare down at the body, studying the clean face. A boy. Just a lad. Perhaps forced into the watch, handed a weapon, and told to walk the walls. Hardly any training at all. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair at all.
Steps behind and Hallens stood with her. She too studied the dead youth, then turned to her. ‘That must have been a hard one.’ She motioned to the sisters waiting their turn. ‘Take the rear.’
Somehow unable to speak, Iko merely nodded.
They ran in double file along the streets of the Outer Round. To Iko’s growing surprise and dismay she realized that they must be headed to one of the main city gates. If their mission was to take and hold the gate how could they hope to prevail against the city mages? It was plain suicide – they would be brushed from the position in an instant.
Being at the very rear she did not have to participate in the various skirmishes that accompanied the taking of the gate. All was over in a bare few minutes. She stepped over fallen Heng guards, found kicked-in doors and broken furniture. The counterweights were released, initiating a great shuddering and groaning within the walls, and the enormous slabs of iron-plated wood – strong enough to withstand the beast Ryllandaras – began grinding open. Iko joined Hallens and five sisters waiting at the mouth of the entrance tunnel; the rest of the Sword-Dancers had spread out to hold the gatehouses and adjoining parapets. Without, the dark of mid-night betrayed no movement.
Iko looked to Hallens who stood with arms crossed, displaying no unease. ‘Where are they?’ she whispered. ‘A city mage will be here soon.’
Hallens merely lifted her broad shoulders in a shrug. ‘We will fulfil our mission.’
Then noise brought Iko’s attention to the raised road outside. Dark shapes now rose from all sides. They seemed to swarm the road, advancing in a tide. Kan Elites, their tabards and gear smeared in soot, came jogging in. They parted, swerving to the right and left of the main way. One halted before Hallens and nodded. ‘Hallens,’ he said.
‘Kuth.’
‘You are relieved.’
Hallens inclined her assent. ‘We’ll hang about, if it’s all the same to you.’
He answered the assent, gave a drawled, ‘Always welcome,’ then turned to ordering his troops.
Bells now clamoured all about the city and the sounds of fighting echoed from far down the main avenue. A long column of green-coated regulars was advancing up the south road. They must already have been on the move even as she and her sisters took the gate, Iko realized. ‘Why have we decided to attack tonight?’ she asked Hallens.
The captain considered, tilting her head in thought. ‘Must have been a tip. A Hengan traitor sending word that now was a good time for some reason.’
Iko nodded at that. Yes, that was how most sieges ended. Betrayal from within. ‘So it is over, then. The city taken.’
Hallens eyed her in tolerant amusement. ‘This is only the first wall. Three more nested defences face us now. Each as strong as the first.’
As if on cue, crossbow bolts came arcing down among them, smacking into wood or skittering from stone. Everyone ducked behind cover even as the first ranks of the regulars came marching up the tunnel and followed directions to split to right and left.
‘You see?’ Hallens said from her side of the guard-post doorway where they’d taken cover. ‘Each inner wall is taller than the outer. They can shoot us at will.’
‘And where are the mages?’
Hallens’ answering grin was knowing. ‘Where indeed?’
Iko was shocked. ‘You think it was they? Betrayed their mistress?’
‘Chulalorn might have given them a better offer.’ Hallens shrugged again. ‘It’s possible.’
As a trained warrior, Iko was raised to value honour and duty above all. But she was not naïve or some callow youth; she understood that others carried far looser interpretations of those words than she – and that some knew them not at all. Still, it was unsettling. What, then, of trust?
Eastward, up the avenue, the clash of battle rose. After a few moments Iko could see that a sudden press of Hengan defenders was pushing the Kanese regulars back. Hallens had also been studying the fray, and she stepped out, offering Iko a wink. ‘Shall we—’
Something knocked the woman spinning and she staggered, peering down at her chest. Iko stared as well, horrified yet fascinated to see blood now spreading in a rich red bloom down the armour. Hallens fell to her knees. Iko and three other Sword-Dancers rushed out to drag her to the cover of a gatehouse.
She lay on her side, coughing up great mouthfuls of blood. The fletched butt of a crossbow bolt protruded from her back. She reached out to Sareh, kneeling before her, and strained to say something, but no words emerged. The effort se
emed to take all her remaining strength and she sagged, her chest no longer heaving.
Sareh rose, still staring down. ‘They’ve killed her.’ She said it as if she couldn’t believe it.
‘The cowardly scum,’ Yuna breathed, too stunned for rage.
Iko could not take her eyes from the corpse. Hallens, dead? The best of them? How could this be?
‘We will exact such a blood price,’ Yuna snarled. She snapped her gaze to Iko. ‘And you? Still think they are worth any respect?’
Blinking, Iko looked to her, and saw that tears marked gleaming streaks down the woman’s face. She raised a hand to the grip of her whipsword, clenched it there, fierce. She had to force open her jaws to answer, ‘No. None.’
*
It was only Koroll’s incredible Tartheno-Thelomen might, combined with Ho’s own surprising display of strength, that allowed them to drag the chained Ryllandaras into his stone sarcophagus – that and the powerful pushing of Mara with her D’riss Warren. Silk and Smokey contributed little, it was true, other than to remain as additional hands should the beast break free.
Along the entire route the man-beast maddened them all with his constant panted chuckling and obvious mirth at their groaning and sweating to scrape him along. As they dragged him up and over the lip of the stone sarcophagus, Silk could contain his irritation no longer and he glared down at the bound beast, snapping: ‘And what do you find so funny about this internment?’
Ryllandaras shrugged his monstrous shoulders as best he could, wrapped in chain and pressed within the carved stone depression as he was. ‘I wish to thank you,’ he panted. ‘You, my enemies, deliver me to my love. Now she can come to me whenever she wishes. Many hours shall we while away in the dark.’
Silk flinched from the stone lip and it seemed to him that the beast’s new bout of laughter was directed solely at him. Ho began drawing on the hanging chain and the thick granite lid of the sarcophagus suspended above began creeping down.
The stones grated as they met and Silk thought to hear some final threat or curse from the beast, but instead all that came to him was a last murmured, ‘Fear only love, my little mage friend.’
Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1 Page 32
