by Stephen Hunt
‘Did you not hear what I said about Duncan?’
‘You damned fools; they’re coming for their revenge! To execute every escaped slave and make an example of us …’
‘Are you mad, girl? Do you care nothing for your brother?’
Duncan Landor. No wonder that Holten was less than happy about this turn of events. Just as she was about to produce a new heir to the Landor fortune, up popped the previous one to spoil her plan. The saints must have been laughing in paradise. ‘Duncan made his damned choice when we were slaves, the stealers take his soul.’
‘Forgive Willow, please, Benner. This must be her guilt and shame talking,’ begged Holten. ‘It can’t have been easy, living every day with the knowledge that she abandoned Duncan to rot in the Burn while she escaped with her crooked lover …’
‘Your heart is too soft, my love. Lord Wallingbeck, if your wife was not with child, I would urge you to have her committed to an asylum,’ Benner told the viscount, shaking his head. ‘My own daughter … It’s unimaginable, unpardonable. It’s those filthy Carnehans. That murderer’s son has utterly corrupted her.’
‘Yet, she will still be the mother of my child,’ said the viscount, reaching out to rub Willow’s stomach even as she recoiled in disgust from him. ‘So we must be merciful. I will see the mistress of my house has every assistance needed to support her, and that my heir is given many siblings for playmates as soon as possible.’
‘You’re the ones that belong in an asylum. I know you for what you are. All of you!’
‘Remove her ladyship,’ ordered the viscount. ‘If my wife can find no joy in the news of her brother’s return, she can seek out her pleasures back at the hall.’
Willow jerked back in horror when she saw who appeared from the side of the shop. Nocks, the stocky brute’s plain manservant livery swapped for a sergeant’s cobalt-coloured uniform. ‘Don’t I look fine, Lady Wallingbeck? Once a soldier, always a soldier. All them lawyers and mill owners made officers in the new army; they’ll have need for a little experienced grit and ballast to steady them.’ He pulled Willow out of the shop, frog-marching her back to the carriage. ‘You’re going to be a perfectly behaved little dove for us,’ snarled Nocks. ‘No more running away and spouting the pretender’s cant. Or your precious Carnehan boy will taste more than the whip from me. I’ll visit the palace cells with my knife and slice off a finger for you as a keepsake every time you cross me. And when I run out of fingers maybe I’ll find something else to slice off you’ll miss more.’ He guffawed at his own crude humour.
‘Leave Carter alone.’
‘Then you’ll do what’s needed,’ said Nocks. ‘When Duncan arrives, you’ll do everything you can to keep your dear brother sweet. King Marcus needs the Vandians on our side. You’re going to play your loyal part in that arrangement. So is your old man.’
‘The imperium only has one side, you idiot … their own.’
‘Then they’ll get along fine with me, because damned if that isn’t my philosophy as well. War’s as fine a time as God ever created for men like me. We’re fed well and we get to fight, and at the end of a battle, if we’re the ones left standing, we take anything and everything we want. If there’s someone else eager to do the killing for us, so much the better. Let the Vandian legions be first in the line. They’ll take the bullets and I’ll take the widows in their own beds. As long as old Nocks gets to join in the sack of a good few rebel towns and villages, he’ll be happy as a pig in the proverbial.’
‘You turn my stomach.’
‘Need much help in that regard, lately? I see Wicked William didn’t waste any time planting his harvest in your orchard, eh. Back to the old dog’s whoring for him now that you’re marked. I’m not a fussy bugger like his lordship, though. Beggars can’t be choosers. That’s the good thing about them that’s in the family way; you can’t be made double-pregnant, can you?’
She lunged for the knife on the side of his belt, but he grabbed her wrist and turned it so hard she had to bite back a scream. ‘Nocks hasn’t forgotten about you, my little weeping Willow. The time will come when you look to me to keep you safe. And I will … for a price. Yes, war’s a fine thing.’
‘Give me your knife and I’ll pay you in steel.’
Nocks snorted in amusement as the servants took Willow from his hand and hurried her up the steps into the carriage. ‘I see your belly hasn’t slowed you down yet, girl. It will. You’ll be waddling like Lady Landor back there soon enough. Let’s see how much spit and fire you have then. Your brother anything like you?’
‘Duncan’s only ever been his father’s son – a selfish fool who never sees when poisonous women are using him.’
Nocks grunted, running a finger thoughtfully down his scarred face. ‘So? You’ll find a way to get him to help us. Or I’ll make your lover a cripple and you a present of a finger bone necklace. The Carnehan boy won’t miss ’em much where he is, anyway.’
Cassandra staggered back, a cry freezing in her throat as the disfigured face swayed outside her window. Suddenly, fingers appeared – all too human – and pulled away the leering face. Straps? A wooden wind mask, and she realized she was looking at the grinning and triumphant features – albeit upside down – of the nomad Alexamir. She dropped the chopsticks she had been wielding in surprise.
‘This is a windy nest you have found for yourself, my little golden fox,’ said Alexamir.
‘I only have to cry and the Rodalians will peel you off your rocky perch quick enough,’ threatened Cassandra. As the shock of seeing the barbarian hanging outside diminished, she suppressed a small glimmer of satisfaction at realizing how many risks Alexamir must have braved to follow her. He must have been tracking her since she was taken from the raiding party. Or had he known the Rodalians would take her to the nearest skyguard station?
‘Cry out if you will,’ said Alexamir. The young man lowered and righted himself so he was no longer conversing with a rush of blood towards the head. ‘But if the mountain people chase me away, you will still be in your nest with those pretty little chains around your ankle. That is not how the Rodalians treat their guests. You must be quite a thief for them to take so much trouble over you.’
‘Hostage,’ retorted Cassandra. ‘Of noble birth.’ Of course, he wasn’t so dull-witted as to have forgotten. He was teasing her.
‘And does your fine noble blood allow you to pick the lock holding you in there?’ said Alexamir. ‘Better an honest thief.’
‘And have you come to steal dried fish from the kitchens of Talatala, honest thief?’
‘Indeed not. I have climbed these cursed crags with a generous offer, golden fox. To escape with me to the north.’
‘As the first of your newly minted harem? I think I prefer the over-salted taste of Rodalian hospitality to that cruel fate.’
‘My proposal has been improved. Come with me and I shall show you the majesty of the steppes without end. But you must accompany me willingly. If you do not find the free life of a Nijumet to your taste, you can contact the horse traders of the Thousand Duchies and send word to your people using one of their far-talking devices. They may dispatch galleons to the dunes of the eastern coast for you, or divert one of the aerial traders to the plains to pick you up. I will allow my golden fox to slip back to her distant warren if you choose to; though you steal the best part of my soul should you slip away from me again.’
‘Willingly?’ snapped Cassandra. ‘You need me willing to descend this mountain. After that, I wager I’ll be trading my leg irons for a barbarian’s rope bindings, with my royal personage as your saddle accessory.’
‘I swear I will allow you to leave if that is your choice,’ said Alexamir. ‘By the Black-God and the Six Huntresses, may they devour my horses, scatter my clan and cast me into the darkness of the night if there is a lie to be found hiding in my heart.’ He reached behind him, slipped a knife out and offered her the dagger through the narrow gap. ‘This is the only weapon I could climb with. D
escend alongside me and keep its sharp edge as my true faith.’
Cassandra took the hilt of the dagger and slid it through the gap. Obviously Rodalian and stolen. But worth a fortune out in the steppes. Alexamir might not realize it, but dagger or no, with Cassandra’s training, she could snap the nomad’s neck and break his spine a dozen different ways in unarmed combat. Her mother had paid for only the greatest tutors, with a sprawling empire of millions of fighters and exotic battle styles to select them from. The nomad might possess well-developed muscles and overconfidence, but neither would prove much of a shield against a dangerously honed Vandian royal.
‘And what of your friends … that foul witch rider?’
‘Nurai thinks me a fool for coming here,’ said Alexamir. ‘Even as she revealed where in the city I should search for you. But poor Nurai needs a victory to carry back to the clan from our foray, lest her dream sight be doubted. And not once has a thief broken into Talatala before, let alone to steal such a fine prize. But then, there has never been a legend among our ranks as audacious or courageous as the magnificent Alexamir.’
Cassandra pointed the dagger’s threatening tip towards the nomad’s nose. ‘I am no treasure to be stolen.’
‘Doubtless, the mountain folk have you chained up here for the thick milk of your banter,’ said Alexamir, tapping a finger against the inclined stone slit between them. ‘You have my offer and my blade. Now, I would appreciate your answer. The wicked Rodalian spirits play most cruelly with my body out here. This climb has been a feat of fable rivalling that of the White Slywolf’s ultimate trickery, and I would rather have the tale end with a fine feast in a tent-hall, than a body badly broken over a granite ledge.’
Cassandra stared at the dagger’s gleaming steel as though her answer lay engraved along its length. Should I trust him? What was the word of a lowly barbarian worth at the best of times? A self-admitted thief and nomad reiver. But then, Cassandra understood what fate awaited her with the ploddingly honest and dull Sheplar Lesh. Another cell, and next time in a mountain citadel where her every choice would be removed from her. Remaining a hostage of the slave revolt, where the best outcome was being ransomed back to her house in disgrace; the worst, exploited as leverage to force imperial diplomacy towards the barbarians’ favour. What was it that Paetro used to tell her? The risk of wrong decision is always a thousand times preferable to indecision’s dangers. ‘I accept your bargain, thief. But play me false, attempt to make me a prisoner again, and I will steal your horse and make you a present of your own manhood with this steel before I ride off. That I swear. By my ancestors and the shades of the emperors who stand behind me.’
Alexamir’s smile gleamed back at her as white as bone. ‘A vow for a vow. Wait for me, golden fox. Think on our splendid reunion, fated in the stars. I may be gone a little while. There is nothing as confusing as dead stone corridors to the fine free men, but I shall follow your agreeable scent and see what mischief I may make on my way.’
Fated in the stars? Fated by jesters, more like. Cassandra grimaced as Alexamir tugged the leering painted wind mask back over his face and disappeared from view. It would be just her luck if the daring buffoon was caught sneaking through Talatala, just because the barbarian was hard pressed to recognize the purpose of a stout wooden door or understand what stone stairs were for. But how many could have made that climb? And how many would have bothered? Alexamir was either deranged or possessed of a death-wish; she stamped on the warm feelings of flattery lurking at the edges of her chilly prison. You should not be complimented by the novelty of his boldness. Remember, you are the daughter of an imperial house, not a common milkmaid to be charmed by the likes of him. Certainly, she had known few genuine suitors in Vandia. Doubtless, had Circae forced custody of Cassandra from her mother, matters might have been far different. Circae stood well placed to arrange pacts between the great houses of the empire, with few wishing to burden themselves with the ire of Cassandra’s malicious grandmother. It was thanks to Circae’s scheming that Lady Cassandra had been left alone, an undervalued pariah at the imperial court with dreams of how matters might change should Princess Helrena became empress … and Cassandra the sole heir to the diamond throne. She’d need a legion of bodyguards just to fight off the dutiful sons of the imperium who would arrive calling on bended knee with hollow promises and dishonest assurances. How they would fight for her hand, for there could be only one prince-consort. There would be no harem for an empress. For what would be the point of it? Entertainment, but no longer a mill to churn out heirs to the throne. If Helrena seized the throne, Circae would lose all position and power as keeper of the emperor’s broodmares, and maybe Cassandra’s father could rest pleased among the ancestors, his death by Circae’s scheming avenged at last. That would be a fine thing.
But none of it would come to pass if Cassandra remained far-called, rubbing goat-milk cream on her saddle sores in foreign parts with some barbarian chancer, however proud the rogue strode and however tall his largely self-authored exploits. She was beginning to wonder if Alexamir had indeed got caught or hopelessly lost, when a scraping came from outside the door as the bolt drew back. The nomad entered smoothly and closed the door behind him. He prowled to Cassandra, waiting on the side of her bed, and knelt down, inspecting her ankle chain. Alexamir pulled out a pair of thin iron rods from a leather pouch at his side and started to probe inside the keyhole. ‘A treasure is worth double when it is stolen. Did you know that?’
Cassandra prodded him in the shoulder with the dagger’s tip, but held back from drawing blood. ‘Beware, barbarian, this treasure is protected by a sharp-staked pit.’
‘All treasures worth the taking should be. Or where would the joy be in their theft?’
A clink sounded as the shackles fell to the floor and Cassandra rubbed the itching skin when she felt the cold air against her bare skin for the first time since she had arrived in Talatala.
‘We should be climbing down the mountain before my mischief makes itself known,’ said Alexamir.
‘Mischief?’
‘I left a fused pouch of gunpowder in a carpet-weaver’s shop,’ said Alexamir, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. ‘Sheep shearings and dyes burn most splendidly, and guards passing water buckets are too hard-pressed to notice a golden fox descending the slopes of Talatala.’
Cassandra groaned. ‘Better we departed quietly at night and left the town sleeping. One of my captors is Kerge, a twisted forest dweller … a gask. Gasks possess a homing sense they can use to follow people they’ve spent time with. I suspect that is how the skyguard tracked me down before.’
‘I have heard songs of the gasks and their poison spines and strange spells, making luck as a smith forges horseshoes; but they hold to the southwoods – I have yet to meet one.’
‘Kerge’s natural talents have grown somewhat sickly and shaky, but I would not wish to put them to the test again. We need a faster way to cross Rodal than pony and foot,’ said Cassandra, ‘or we may wake in a ravine one fine morning to find a flock of Rodal’s canvas-covered crows circling us, with skyguard pistols jabbed against our chests.’
‘Sadly, all my rustled ponies have been reunited with their owners. I have two feet, and luckily for you they belong to Alexamir. When I run, Kalu the Apportioner himself rises in the sky and gazes down towards the plains to see whose cheeky sandals wake him with such thunder. I can sprint for a week and still not think it too much.’
‘Running towards capture or death?’ said Cassandra, uncertainly. ‘Best I handle the planning, blue boy, along with the navigation.’ The boasting she would leave to the nomad. Alexamir seemed more than capable of handling outrageous claims for them both. She opened the cupboard and removed two robes, tossing one at the nomad before slipping her robe over her body and raising its hood to cover her head. ‘Keep your face lowered and pretend you have taken a vow of silence.’
‘I will itch as though tied to an ant-hill,’ complained Alexamir, examining the wind
priest’s garb.
‘You will itch more from a pistol shell. Put it on!’ Cassandra waited for him to do so, then opened the door and checked outside. A long empty stone corridor lit by a couple of flickering oil lamps, no sign of the ghosts Sheplar Lesh had spoken of, although the hackles rising along the back of her neck told another tale. Curse the Rodalian and his stories.
Alexamir shivered as he followed her out. She trusted her disguise appeared more priestly than the nomad’s robes, his broad shoulders rolling with the strangeness of the clothes. ‘All towns are tombs to a free man, but none more so than a Rodalian’s settlement. A burial mound’s rock between us and the clear air. They have no riders’ blood; they are jackrabbits who stuff their high stone burrows with treasure to tempt honest thieves to die against their crags.’
‘The crags won’t be a problem. Now, battle silence.’
There was nobody in the corridor, although Cassandra heard snoring from one of the cells as they slipped into the mountain passages. There were few people about at this late hour and the lanterns in the cavernous streets had been allowed to burn low, presenting long shadows to add to the escaping pair’s disguise, a slow, stately shuffle with bent heads, retracing her steps through Talatala. The town looked different with moonlight spilling through the cavern’s light ports, the mirrors used to defuse the natural illumination dark now, with only a reflected scattering of the stars visible hanging outside. Cassandra had mastered her urban orienteering training long before she had needed the skills … counting the steps between each turn and marking the time passed during their passage, memorizing the shape of the streets’ rooftops as well as the foreign shop signs cloaked by night-time. Now, she rewound that memory like a yarn of string and led them silently back towards the hangars carved into the mountain. They passed few Rodalians, and those they did ignored the sight of two priests returning home. Cassandra and her companion halted in the shadow of a warehouse-like building close to the skyguard’s mountainous launch tunnels.
