Nothing but Tombs

by Tim Stead

  A noise behind him turned his head. It was Catto, blade already drawn.

  “Spans is staying with the Lady Sheyani, My Lord,” Catto said. “But someone has to look after you.” He grinned.

  Other men came up behind Catto.

  “Stay out of my way,” Cain said. “Shoot the first man through the door with this,” he handed Catto the bow. “But carefully – the arrow’s poisoned.”

  Catto pulled a face. “Dirty trick,” he said. But he took the bow and nocked the arrow. Cain drew a dagger with his left hand and waited.

  They came through fast. The latched lifted and three men burst into the hallway, expecting trouble. They got it. Catto’s arrow took the first man through the throat and Cain leaped forwards and killed the other two with sword and dagger. More pressed forwards, but the door was only wide enough for three at a time and Cain was equal to that. The men behind pushed his attackers forwards onto his blades, unbalancing them, and they, in turn, were hampered by those pressing them.

  Catto came up on his left and another man on his right, dealing blows enough to keep the enemy busy while Cain used his superior speed and strength to kill them.

  With eight men dead they pulled back, and Cain saw the bows come back up. He pushed the man to his right away and dragged Catto aside just as a dozen shafts came through the door.

  “Wait!” he ordered.

  They waited, offering an empty door. Cain looked back and saw that the others were crouched down to the right of the great stair, well out of harm’s way.

  “Come on you spineless street hogs,” Cain called. “You didn’t think this was going to be easy, did you?”

  Another flight of arrows came through the door by way of a response, rattling against the stairs but causing no harm. Cain laughed.

  They would attack again. They had to. But it was clear that they were reluctant to face him. He turned and looked at his men.

  “Did you bolt the doors?” he asked. One of the men nodded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The windows,” Cain said. “Close the shutters. We three will hold here ‘til you’re done.”

  The men ran off, scattering to the ground floor rooms, but as they ran Cain caught the sound of hooves outside – horses, a lot of them. There were cries of fear.

  He stepped forwards and risked a look out of the door. The archers were running for the trees and a mass of men in black were wheeling round to cut them off, swords drawn.

  The Wolfen.

  Cain stepped out of the door and one of the riders broke off and came to him.

  “Are you harmed, My Lord?” he asked. It was Dantillia, Captain of the Wolfen Pledge.

  “I’m fine,” Cain replied. “But we have two men down, and there’s an archer upstairs you might be able to help if there’s a healer among you.”

  Dantillia signalled to some of his men who’d remained on the road and four men rode up to the house. They dismounted and the captain gave them their orders.

  “You followed us,” Cain said.

  “Yes, My Lord. I apologise if it was presumptuous,” Dantillia said. “But I was uneasy to see you with so small an escort, so I came with a hundred men.”

  “Your timing was good,” Cain said.

  “I am glad that it was.”

  Cain put his hand on the captain’s arm. “Your judgement is good, Captain. But next time speak your piece before I go riding off with twenty men. I promise to listen.”

  Cain was angry, but he hid it because he was angry with himself. He had not thought of the obvious. Alwain had guessed that he would come to Waterhill and had laid a trap for him. He had done what his enemy had expected and men had paid with their lives. He could not afford to be so careless again. Every move must be strong, purposeful and thought through. In truth he had put Sheyani in danger, and that would be harder to forget.

  He watched her come out of the house, and he could see the concern on her face lift when she saw him.

  “You are all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Of course.” She smiled.

  “The house,” he said. “They’ve taken Merit and the others.”

  She frowned again. “It looks like the place has been empty for weeks. I doubt they’re still alive, Sheshay.”

  It was possible, Cain conceded, even probable, but what workings of the mind would lead a man to kill another’s servants? Merit had been a good man, a loyal enough steward, but no soldier, and there had been seven others charged with keeping the house and land.

  “We will set men to search. If they killed them, they will have done it here, but there is a man we can question, if he’s still alive.”

  He led the way back into the house. Dantillia followed them. The archer was where Cain had left him. He was still clutching the water bottle, still breathing, and one of Dantillia’s men was binding up his wound.

  “How is he doing?” Cain asked.

  “He has a chance, My Lord,” the healer said.

  Cain crouched down by the wounded man. “What happened to my people here?” he asked. “Did Alwain kill them?”

  “I wasn’t here,” the man said. “It was weeks ago, but I heard not?”

  “Not? They’re still alive?”

  The man nodded and pulled a face as the healer finished tying off the bandage.

  “Alwain took them,” the man said. “That’s the story. Said they could serve him because you had his servants in the city.”

  “You saw this?”

  “No. Just a story.”

  Well, it was unlikely this man would be part of Alwain’s household, or even that he saw the renegade duke from week to week. But it gave Cain hope that Merit and the others would be alive somewhere on the road ahead. It gave him another reason to chase Alwain.

  “Not dead, then,” Sheyani said.

  “We’ll still search the grounds,” Cain replied. “A story is just a story, but at least we have hope.” He turned to Dantillia. “Search the grounds for any sign of bodies or a grave, and treat this man like one of our own. When you’ve finished, catch up with the army and report. We’ll take most of the men and re-join the column.”

  And that was that. Cain left the building. There would be time enough to clean up Waterhill, to fill it with life again after this war was won. He mounted and was glad to see Catto and Spans mount their own horses, ready to go as ever. He turned to Sheyani.

  “We’ll be back,” he said. “This is still our home.”

  She nodded. “Soon,” she said.

  74 The Chairman

  Mordo leaned forward in his seat. Keron and Gayne occupied the others. This was a meeting of the inner core, the true power in Afael. He’d called this meeting himself because he knew that to rise higher, he must arrange for Gayne to rise. They were sitting in the old barn above the hidden cells. Work had been done and it now presented a comfortable face to the world. A fire burned in a large hearth. Rugs covered the floor.

  “You called us here,” Gayne said. “Why?”

  Mordo played host and poured wine for his guests. This was his place now.

  “My Lord, how many of Johan’s reforms have been completed?” he asked.

  “It is a long process,” Gayne said, taking up his wine and tasting it. “The council moves slowly. They are cautious.”

  “They should not be. The ideas are good. The people need to see change happen swiftly.”

  “Why swiftly?”

  Mordo shrugged. “There are whispers. Some think the council is a new aristocracy, that they will move to secure their own wealth and position, that there will be no more choosing.”

  “That is untrue. The council has been cleansed. Do they not understand that we have been fighting a war?”

  “My Lord, the war has been… postponed. They begin to remember your promises.”

  Gayne leaned back in his chair. He sipped his wine. “So you say.”

  Mordo worried for a moment that his tactic had been wrong, that he had lost Gayne’s in
terest, but Gayne smiled at him.

  “Tell me then. Tell me your plan.”

  He had underestimated his master again, it seemed. He would have to be more careful.

  “Things might move more smoothly if the council had a central figure, My Lord. A chairman.”

  “A chairman?”

  “A leader, My Lord.”

  Gayne looked at Keron. The big man shrugged. “Makes sense to me,” he said.

  “And how would this come about?” Gayne asked. “I do not see many of the councillors jumping forward to choose me as their leader. Most already think I wield too much power.”

  “The idea of a chairman will be suggested by a councillor unconnected to you. There will be a vote. You will be chosen,” Mordo said.

  “And how will you arrange that?” Gayne asked.

  This was a delicate moment. Mordo knew that Gayne still had instincts for fairness that would have to be overcome, and Gayne was no fool. He was arrogant, though, and with some justification.

  “My Lord, chosen or not, councillor or not, chairman or not, you are the only true power in Afael. Your elevation merely confirms this. It will be a good thing for the city, for the people who rely on you to make their lives better. You know that this is true. How I do this…? Perhaps it is best if you leave the details to me, knowing that the outcome is what matters.”

  Keron nodded, and that was half the battle. Gayne was more likely to trust his big friend’s authoritarian instincts than Mordo’s subtle reasoning, but when both pointed the same way it was a powerful thing.

  “You could have arranged this without telling me,” Gayne said.

  Mordo shrugged. “I had to be certain that you would accept the position, My Lord.”

  “The question is not acceptance, Mordo. It is whether such a position should exist at all. It reeks of kingship.”

  “Not at all, My Lord. The occupant of the position will be elected every year. The council will still vote on any change to the law.”

  “Then what will this chairman do?”

  “The chairman will set the agenda, My Lord. He will choose what laws are brought before the council.”

  “But that is everything,” Gayne said. “We must allow the councillors to propose changes.”

  “In a limited fashion – on Fridays, perhaps.”

  Keron laughed.

  “They will never accept it,” Gayne said.

  “Not only will they accept it, My Lord, they will propose it and vote for it.”

  Gayne picked up his cup and drank from it again. “You will not harm the councillors. Mordo,” he said.

  “Of course not, My Lord,” Mordo said. He would not need to. “I will simply explain to them that it is in their best interest to support you. I swear that I will not harm them or offer to harm them. I will simply speak the truth.”

  Gayne stared at him. Mordo knew that he was trying to decide whether he could trust him to abide by his word.

  “I will swear it before a dragon if you wish,” he offered.

  Gayne put down his cup. “That will not be required. Do it, Mordo, but if you break your word to me you know the consequences. You know what I am.”

  “I could not be more aware of it, My Lord. I will not break my word.”

  Gayne and Keron left, but before Keron went through the door he turned, grinned and saluted with his fist. It seemed that Mordo had at last won the big man’s approval. That would be useful. Gayne trusted Keron, and Keron was easily persuaded. It was a friendship he would cultivate.

  He wondered if Keron liked fine wine.

  *

  It was not a grand house. Mordo stood in the street, Dericci at his side. The man waited patiently. He had not commented on Eridani’s disappearance, or the empty cells, and Mordo liked that. The man was discreet, he obeyed orders.

  Mordo waited until the last lights had been dimmed inside and then a little longer before he walked forward and knocked on the door. At first there was no response. He imagined the wife saying don’t answer it, maybe they’ll go away, but the councillor would want to get up and see who was at the door.

  Mordo knocked again and was rewarded by a light, a single candle, in the upstairs window. He waited patiently as the light vanished and reappeared, glowing through the small skylight in the hallway. He heard a bolt being drawn and the door opened.

  Councillor Anfora was a small man with a round moon of a face. He squinted over his candle at Mordo and Dericci.

  “Who…? I know you,” he said. “You’re Gayne’s creature. What do you want?”

  “Just a moment of your time, Councillor,” Mordo said.

  “It’s late. Come back in the morning.” Anfora tried to close the door, but Dericci’s boot was in the way. He tried, unsuccessfully, to push the boot clear, but Dericci was a heavy man. “Look, I haven’t time to speak to you now. Come back in the morning.”

  Mordo smiled. “Frankly I’m surprised to find you here at all, councillor,” he said. “When you have that fine new house in Farday Street.”

  The effect on Anfora was immediate. He stopped trying to push Dericci’s boot from the door jamb and, even by candlelight, he paled.

  “House? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was unconvincing. Mordo didn’t have to be a dragon to see that was a lie.

  “Number seventeen,” he said. “Why, it must be three times the size of this place.”

  “I don’t own a house in Farday Street,” Anfora said.

  Mordo nodded. “Of course,” he said. “That house in owned by the East Ward Society of Butchers. You are a butcher, aren’t you, Councillor Anfora?”

  “Of course I am. I make no secret of it. Everyone knows.”

  “And you are a member of the East Ward Society of Butchers?”

  “What if I am? I’m sure there are many members.”

  “But you are a member?” Mordo insisted.

  “Yes,” Anfora snapped. “I’m a fucking member.”

  “And, it seems, you are the only member.”

  Anfora stared at him. “You can’t possibly know that,” he said.

  Dericci tried not to laugh, and coughed instead. Mordo poked Anfora in the chest with a hard finger. These people were so stupid. It was so easy to trap men who were unused to deviousness.

  “Of course I know it,” Mordo said. “I asked every master butcher, every journeyman and apprentice in East Ward. None of them had ever heard of it. The society is registered and you’re named on the registry.”

  Anfora seemed to have finally run out of words. He just stared.

  “So where did you find the money to buy such a fine house, Councillor Anfora?”

  “My shop…”

  “Is a decent little shop, that’s true, but it does not turn over the kind of money needed to buy such a house.”

  Anfora looked at Dericci as if there might be some help there, but Dericci stared back at him. Mordo put his hand on the councillor’s shoulder.

  “Well, at least the money didn’t come from Duke Kenton,” he said. “So we don’t have to execute you for treason.” He chuckled. “I understand. You’ve never seen that much money, and when Andriani offered it to you it seemed that it could change your life. And it can.” He put a conspiratorial hand on the councillor’s shoulder. “This need go no further, councillor, and you can keep the money. You don’t even have to vote the way Andriani wanted. We’ve had a word with him, and he understands that. All you have to do is a little thing, a small favour.”

  Anfora was sweating. He was terrified, and that was good.

  “What?” he asked. “What do I have to do?”

  “Shall we go inside?” Mordo suggested. “Best if we discuss this over a cup of wine like civilised men, eh?”

  Anfora nodded, almost gratefully. “Of course,” he said. “Come in. Come in.”

  *

  As Mordo and Dericci walked back to the barn Mordo heard his underling chuckle to himself.

  “What?” Mordo asked.

>   “It’s special, what you do,” the thug replied. “It’s like watching a lock pick at work, a few twists with a bit of wire and the door opens. I like it.”

  Mordo looked sideways at the bigger man. He was smiling and walking like a man perfectly at peace with his role in the world.

  “There’s hope for you yet, Dericci,” he said.

  “Hope?” Dericci’s smile broadened. “For men like you, perhaps. For me there’s just a job, but I like the job and it pays well.”

  They walked in silence for a little longer.

  “I have a question,” Dericci said.

  That was unusual. Dericci’s demeanour was usually marked by a lack of questions and simple obedience.

  “Ask it,” Mordo said.

  “Did you kill Eridani?”

  It was an interesting question. Mordo thought for a few paces before answering, deciding whether to tell the truth or lie. He decided on truth.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Dericci nodded, but didn’t stop smiling.

  “Thought so,” he said.

  They walked the rest of the way back to the barn in silence.

  75 A Paved Road

  Tamarak was impressed, yet again, by Calpot’s gift for logistics. When they started north from Fetherhill, leaving the castle empty, he had thought the old Berrit had made a mistake. There were thousands of men and only about twenty wagons of supplies. That amount would last them no longer than two days by his own calculation.

  The first night he realised his error. They rode over a low hill with the sun already colouring the western sky. Tamarak thinking they had left it a little late to set up camp, that it would have to be done in the dark with all the confusion that might come of that.

  Then he saw it.

  The camp was laid out before him. Tents were raised, fires burning, sentries posted, and a glorious smell of roasting meat reached him on the breeze.

  Calpot had sent an army ahead of his army, and their sole purpose was this. It was friendly country, of course. You couldn’t do this in a hostile land, but Calpot’s army was the people. This was their land. Alwain would not be so welcome here.