by Tom Lloyd
‘Every single member of my staff?’ Ammen repeated, purpling with rage. ‘Unacceptable, get them out of bed or the privy – I don’t care where, they’re no use to me there. And string that damn chef up before you do, no wait. Bring him here. I’ll do it my damn self! I’m invited to the Monarch’s court for a special function this afternoon; they’re not allowed to be ill!’
‘Fired the cook myself, sir,’ Aben claimed cheerfully. ‘Man didn’t even put up a fight or argue his case. Knew he’d been caught the moment the first of ’em got up and left a trail to the privy. Wasn’t sick himself neither, bastard knew what he was doing that’s for sure. I gave ’im a kick in the nuts on behalf of my mates and told ’im if he came back he’d get worse. We’ll not see the bugger again, even once he does prise ’is balls out o’ his gut.’
‘Private!’ roared Onerist, finally recovering his senses. ‘Guard your tone and hold that language in front of your betters! My apologies, Senator Ammen, the man will be reprimanded for forgetting his place.’
Ammen, no stranger to a military campaign, looked far from perturbed by Aben’s tone. He was already lost in thought and waved his hand dismissively.
‘As you choose, captain, but it can wait. This man is the only soldier we have left at present.’
‘Still got the mercenaries, sir,’ Aben added, unperturbed by imaginary punishments. ‘Think I recall we brought a few spare uniforms too, in case you needed a larger honour guard anywhere.’
‘Did we indeed?’ Ammen said thoughtfully. ‘The mercenaries, eh? You said my secretary would be ill all day? You’re certain of this?’
‘At least a day sir, spilling out everything they put in. It’s ah … It’s a mess back there already, if I’m honest. Reckon I’ll need to see if any of those mercenaries is handy with a mop too, like a troupe o’ monkeys have just been flinging the stuff about!’
‘Thank you, that’s quite enough, private,’ Ammen said sharply. ‘Go to the mercenaries, bring Commander Anatin and his lieutenant, that Toil woman, here directly. If there’s anyone else in that gaggle of thieves with some manners, have them come too and find out where those spare uniforms are kept.’
‘Right away, milord,’ Aben said, saluting once more. ‘Sure they’ll be delighted to oblige you in any way you require.’
The city wall of Jarrazir cut a long arc through the landscape from the hills on the west all the way around to the craggy cliffs of Parthain’s shore on the eastern flank. Three huge towers rose from a great ridge of earth backed against the wall of stone and brick. Coupled with smaller emplacements and the fort atop the hills, they presented as fearsome an approach as the two monstrous towers guarding the bay.
The city had long ago grown up to the very perimeter of this great wall, but the buildings were low in this newer part and the great blade of the Ongir Canal cut through both. From the western shore of the canal, Exalted Kastelian could see all the way to the wall. He had been there an hour, just one dragoon for company, though of course neither of them was in uniform. To any interested onlookers, of which there seemed to be none, the pair appeared to consist of a merchant of modest means and his bodyguard.
When boredom started to intrude, Kastelian pulled a cigar and a packet of matches from his pocket. He knelt and struck a match on one of the great blocks of granite that comprised the canal bank, the match’s dirty yellow smoke billowing across the water as he lit his cigar and tossed the match away. He’d chosen this spot because it afforded him a clear view of all traffic on the canal, but there was also one more sight of note. The North Keep rose between roofs on the far bank of the canal, half a mile away.
At this distance there was little to see, but the great portcullis-covered gate had remained closed the entire time. The keep was isolated from the rest of the wall with only one entrance and supplies enough to withstand a modest siege. With the deep armoury of bombardment spheres somewhere beneath it, he doubted the standing guard changed often. It was a massive structure, a blend of stone and brick that no doubt had layers of earth encased within to absorb the power of mage-spheres hitting it.
The outer wall was rounded with a squared-off back, seventy feet high with a wall protecting the great trebuchet stationed on the top. It was a formidable building, all the more so for the fact these defences were mostly a precaution. The trebuchet ensured that threats to the tower would come in the form of sneak attack – its range was so long and the power of the bombardment spheres so great, no army could march up to Jarrazir without being obliterated.
Yet that’s exactly what we intend to do, Kastelian reminded himself. It would be the perfect time to indulge my theory about a barge-mounted catapult, but we’re already considered mavericks by the rest of the Knights-Charnel. No need to give them further reason to think so.
Finally the sight he’d been waiting for came into view. A long barge, two-decked and flying the flag of the Knights-Charnel of the Long Dusk. It was an easy one to notice, not least because of the consternation it was already provoking among the citizenry here. The barge had waited a long time where the canal met the wall, the great-horns pulling it lowing gently as Jarraziran soldiers kept a close watch without being too threatening.
No doubt a message had been sent back to the palace and the number of armed men on board carefully noted, but this was an official delegation from the Knights-Charnel of the Long Dusk. They would have little to hide and the soldiers on the wall would be careful not to give offence to the powerful Militant Order.
‘Fetch Bade,’ Kastelian called to the dragoon behind him. ‘Tell him we’re going to a party.’
‘Sir.’
The man scampered off and Kastelian puffed thoughtfully on his cigar as he watched the barge advance. As it came close he walked forward about ten yards to where a swing boom was standing idle and kicked it into movement. The barge’s great-horn team was still twenty yards away and had plenty of time to slow as Kastelian signalled for the helmsman to heave to.
The helmsman rang a bell and the teamster waved back to show he’d heard before coaxing his four huge beasts to a halt. Even the smallest of the four was as tall as a carthorse and far broader, with a great curved horn that ran down the centre of its head. As the monstrous creatures ground to a stop Kastelian nodded to the teamster, a scarecrow-ragged figure who ignored him entirely, before ducking under the tow-rope and stepping down on to the barge’s side-rail so he could announce himself to the nearest soldier.
‘Take me to your leader,’ Kastelian called as he moved nimbly forward to the central deck of the barge.
‘Your name, sir?’ replied the soldier in an immaculate dress uniform.
‘Isn’t for your hearing, trooper,’ Kastelian said. ‘But I’m an officer of the Torquen and I need to speak to the general.’ He nodded towards a small flag that fluttered behind the large sun and spear device of the Knights-Charnel. The smaller flag depicted a pair of ravens, the personal crest of General Derjain Faril.
‘You’re out of uniform, sir,’ the soldier correctly pointed out. Clearly he’d served in the general’s retinue for a while and wasn’t intimidated even by the elite Torquen branch. Kastelian had heard General Faril was a stickler for rules and as he looked around he realised all the soldiers were perfectly turned out, the white quarters of their uniforms pristine. Even officers of the Torquen were required to be correctly dressed in the presence of a lord or general.
‘That I am, soldier, but I’m attached to the Pentaketh regiment. If the general don’t like how I’m dressed … Well, that’s my problem, eh?’
The soldier bowed his head in understanding. The Pentaketh were irregulars even within the Torquen; auxiliary specialists like Sotorian Bade and worse who couldn’t fit within the rigid structure of the Order but were useful nonetheless.
‘This way, sir.’
The soldier led him to the rear of the main deck where there were two armed soldiers guarding a door. Through that and a cramped antechamber where several clerks were hard at work
, then into a low captain’s room. The near half was taken up by a long dining table, complete with butler polishing the silver cutlery, while the far end had a wide desk and four armchairs arranged before it. Three officers stood to one side; a pair of captains and a commander. They parted without a word to reveal a small woman no bigger than a child: General Faril.
Kastelian bowed to the general. She was older than his mother with grey hair and thin spidery fingers, pale parchment skin, and eyes like the pitiless black of far underground where not even maspids dared go. Kastelian bowed low and stayed there, waiting for her to speak.
‘Exalted?’ the general said at last, having noticed the studs on his collar. It wasn’t an official mark of rank, of course, but it was considered polite within the Order for officers of the Torquen to give an indication of their rank when meeting others.
‘General Faril, good morning.’
Kastelian straightened and did his best not to flinch under Faril’s scowl.
‘Name?’
‘Exalted Kastelian Ubris, Pentaketh regiment liaison.’
‘Good, I’ve been expecting you. Report.’
He nodded. ‘First of all, I ask that you wait here a while longer before continuing to the palace. I’ve summoned a few of my men, they should be along presently.’
‘See to it,’ she said to one of the captains, who scuttled out. ‘Right, where are we?’
‘In an excellent position – an informer has confirmed one of the labyrinth entrances has opened into the North Keep. Our specialist is preparing the ground so we can breach it at our leisure, should that prove necessary. He will then scout his way into the labyrinth proper – however, an opportunity presents itself.’
‘Which is?’
‘The Monarch is addressing the guild leaders and noble families today, announcing the city’s response to the situation. I’m sure you’ll be invited to attend forthwith. To act effectively they will be in particular need of specialists such as ours. I believe your influence could win us a presence on the city’s official incursion, perhaps even to lead it. The choice would be yours as to whether we send a covert group ahead and delay the Monarch’s troops, of course.’
‘Your man’s a renowned relic hunter, no? That’s what the Lord-Exalted informed me.’
‘Indeed, general. More than qualified to lead the incursion. Your oncoming troops will have been noticed and reported back by now. I’m sure the Monarch will not want to give you a reason to take offence.’
‘All this will not stretch you too thin?’
‘No, sir. My team is ready to move with an hour’s notice even without Bade and his crew on hand.’
General Faril sniffed and looked Kastelian up and down.
‘Very well, but get yourself into uniform. You’ll not be part of my delegation looking like that.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Chapter 16
(Now)
‘Toil!’
Lynx started forward on instinct, only to have the butt of a gun thumped against his chest to drive him back. They really were under arrest now, there was no confusion about it this time and no one was getting out without being shot.
‘Keep back,’ the other soldier snapped, levelling his mage-gun.
Away down the corridor, Toil looked up and smiled slightly. She was under escort too, limping slightly and the right-hand side of her face looked swollen. Her silk dress was torn and stained, her feet bare – though she had been given a man’s coat to drape around her shoulders. It was plain and dark but clearly made for someone with money. Puzzled, Lynx looked past Toil and spotted a large bearded man with a red scarf around his neck and white shirtsleeves showing.
Who’s this one? Friend of Toil’s I’d guess if he’s given her his coat.
Aside from the stranger, Toil was accompanied by a pair of guards and an officer in the same black uniform, burly and balding with a magnificent dark moustache and muttonchops. As they came closer the strange man reached out and touched Toil on the shoulder. He said something to her and gestured off down another corridor, whereupon she nodded and slipped the coat off her shoulders. She returned it to him and gave his hand a squeeze before he set off and disappeared from view.
Despite the events of the day and the threat of flogging that gnawed at the back of Lynx’s mind like a rat, for that one moment jealousy eclipsed all. He soon got a grip of himself, but it remained in the darkness of his head even as he forced himself to focus – a mouse as dark and determined as the rat, nibbling away.
He made to start forward again, but Payl hauled him back.
‘You’ll keep still if you know what’s good for you,’ warned a second guard, levelling his gun.
Lynx snarled and pointed at the large tattoo on his cheek. ‘Do I fucking look like I know what’s good for me?’
‘Lynx!’ Payl said, putting herself between them with one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. ‘Reel it in, you hear me?’
He glared at her, for a moment the spark of anger inside him blotting out all rational thought, but at last he remembered to breathe and his wits came back to him.
‘That’s better,’ she said firmly, increasing the pressure on his shoulder. ‘Now step back and let’s just wait to see what’s going on, eh?’
‘Fine,’ he muttered, looking away.
They had been dumped in a small room with barred windows that wasn’t quite a cell, not with chairs and a table, but without any of the finery of the last place they’d been confined to. From the table Teshen looked lazily up at Lynx, clearly less worried than Payl about his comrade getting a beating. Aben was with him but watching them all warily, Toil included.
‘Evening, boys and girls,’ Toil called with forced cheer as she entered.
The guards moved aside to let her and the officer through, but she stopped short of the chair Aben offered.
‘We all having fun in here?’
‘Loads,’ Teshen said with a yawn. He stretched and got lazily up. ‘It’s been a madcap few hours of getting threatened, sitting down, standing up, sitting down again. If it wasn’t for the witty repartee from our hosts I don’t know how I’d have coped with all the fun.’
‘Sorry to break up the party then, but there’s work to be done.’
‘What sort?’
Toil paused for a moment before replying. ‘That rather depends on the Monarch,’ she admitted, ‘and what she wants.’
‘That,’ interjected the Bridge Watch officer, ‘rather depends on how the Knights-Charnel react to your little stunt.’
Toil turned to look at the squat, moustachioed man. ‘Ah yeah, this ray of furry-faced sunshine’s called … um. No, I forgot it again.’
The man fumed quietly but was careful not to shout in reply to her needling. ‘If you cannot even remember that, I doubt you’ll prove much use to the Monarch.’
‘How about I crack your skull and you try to remember my name?’
‘Have at it,’ he said, not backing off an inch. ‘The Monarch does not need you wasting her time, best for all concerned if you take a swing at me and my men shoot you.’
‘How about you both calm down?’ Payl sighed. ‘Gods, how much more am I going to have to say that by the end of the day? You, captain, what’s your name then?’
‘Cothkern,’ the man said slowly.
‘Ah, I was going for cock-something, so close,’ Toil said.
‘Enough, Toil!’ Payl snapped. ‘Captain Cothkern, may I ask what your orders are now?’
‘To escort you and your comrades back to your lodgings. Apparently this one thinks she can be of more use out of her dress than in it – broadly the conclusion my men have come to.’
‘That surprises me in a city of pederasts,’ Toil growled. She turned her back on the man and Lynx saw her take a moment to focus on the matter at hand rather than starting another fight. ‘We’ve got kit to pick up; the Monarch’s got officers fetching our weapons to bring them here.’
‘Here?’
‘We�
�re foreign mercenaries, she doesn’t want us wandering the streets armed. I need to prove I can lead an expedition underground before I ask her to arm the Cards. Right now I just need a few people to volunteer for the scouting mission, not the whole Mercenary Deck.’
‘I can think of someone who might not volunteer for relic hunting duty,’ Lynx said pointedly. ‘Other than me that is.’
‘Her with the white hair?’ Toil nodded. ‘Tough shit for her then, I need an expert and she’s not a Card so I didn’t promise Anatin anything about her.’
‘You gave her your word!’ he said, dismayed.
‘What a scamp I am then.’ She caught the look on his face and scowled. ‘Oh don’t give me the kicked puppy routine, I’ll persuade her.’
‘And if you can’t?’
‘I’ll just have to succeed, I’ll use charm and everything.’
Teshen laughed. ‘Been working well for you so far today.’
‘I’ll take a long run up at it.’
‘And if she doesn’t agree?’ Lynx pressed, ignoring Cothkern as the man cleared his throat to interject.
‘Then it’s my problem,’ Toil said, before offering up one of her best winning smiles. ‘Do we need to have this argument now, honey, in front of the kids?’
As Teshen chuckled, Lynx tried to react angrily but found his temper melting away in the face of that smile. With a disgusted sound he turned away. ‘Fine, let’s go.’
Before anyone could take a step towards the door there was a roar in the corridor beyond. ‘Where is she?’ bellowed a voice, followed by the heavy stamp of feet.
‘Oh goody,’ Toil muttered just before Envoy Ammen rounded the corner – face purple with anger.
‘There you are, you damned idiot woman! What in the name of the blessed gods do you think you’re doing?’ Ammen stormed up to her until his face was mere inches away from hers and the spittle flew as he continued to yell.
‘I’ll have you hanged the moment we set foot on Su Dregir soil, you hot-headed little whore! Have you any idea of the damage you’ve done to relations between our cities?’
