Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three)

by Richard Ford

  But first he had to prove himself in the south. Had to conquer. Had to destroy. Had to tear down everything these southrons held dear and then rebuild it in his own name.

  The Khurtas had been the first. Barbarians for sure, but effective in their killing ways and vast in number. It took him less than a year to defeat their nine tribal leaders and bring them to heel. In honour of his victory over them they gave him the name Amon Tugha, and he bore it proudly.

  Next would be the Teutonians. A trickier prospect, no doubt, but he knew this would never be easy. He could only hope news of his victories was carried north to the Riverlands where his mother could hear of them. Where his brother could begin to fear him.

  King Cael had at first appeared a worthy adversary, but he had faced the Khurtas with hubris. It had been his downfall. The king’s untimely death had been unfortunate. How much he would have liked to have taken that life himself, but it was not to be.

  Still, with the king’s army defeated and routed, it was only a matter of time before he plucked the jewel from the crown of the Free States – Steelhaven.

  And it would all have been so easy had she not taken up her father’s mantle. Had she not dodged his assassins and confounded his spies at every turn.

  And there she still stood, defiant as ever. And that was why she had to die …

  River felt his vision blur, the story about to end, but there was something else. Something … someone watching at the corner of his mind while he saw another life play out before him. He tried to turn his head, but the eyes upon him had already begun to look into his own.

  Amon Tugha stared. Amon Tugha saw him and knew him and read his intent.

  ‘Come, boy,’ he said. ‘Come if you dare.’

  River opened his palm, letting the crushed rose fall to the floor.

  Bile had risen, stinging his throat and dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes stared, burning, as though the blood vessels within them had burst from the strain of witnessing Amon Tugha’s past.

  He ignored the discomfort. Ignored the effects of the magicks that even now tormented him.

  River was struck with a new determination. Steeled into action by what he had seen.

  Amon Tugha had come south for a kingdom, and only Jay stood in his way. The Elharim would kill her if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Unless River killed him first.

  TWENTY

  She walked in the back way, pausing for a second in the dark hallway as she breathed deep, glad she was still alive. Rag’s jacket had a massive hole burned in it and her big toe was sticking out of one shoe. Her hair stank and was all crispy on one side, and she was filthy from head to foot.

  Nothing you ain’t used to, though, is it, Rag? Just count your blessings you ain’t a charred piece of coal like that poor bastard Yarrick.

  One more deep breath and she opened the door into the main room of the tavern. They were all still there, all milling around like they had been when she left. No one paid her much mind, even though she looked like someone had just tried to set her on fire.

  ‘Well?’

  The voice came at her like a black cloud out of the dark, filling her with that dread she felt every time she heard it. Bastian was sitting in one corner, surrounded by his men. He looked expectantly at her. She didn’t need no telling, and walked towards him across the tavern.

  ‘Did what you asked,’ she said.

  Bastian nodded. ‘Good.’ He looked her up and down like she was a carrot he was about to take a bite from but there was a big maggot sticking out of it. ‘No problems, I take it?’

  Yes, there was problems. I nearly got killed and poor old Yarrick burned himself all to death. You could say there was pretty much all the fucking problems you could ever have thought of.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘No problems.’

  Weren’t no point in telling Bastian her woes. He didn’t give a shiny shit anyways.

  He stood up without giving her a second glance, walking to the middle of the tavern and just waiting there. Gradually the chatter that filled the room ended as his men saw he was stood there ready to say something.

  ‘The message is delivered,’ he said in a quiet voice, though everyone could hear him. ‘Tonight we open the Lych Gate. The gatehouse should be clear for you to simply walk in, but be prepared. Your lives depend on it. When this city falls, and it definitely will, the Guild needs to have done its part. There’s a new power coming to Steelhaven, and we have to pick the right side now, or we’ll all be eating our own bollocks come the time Amon Tugha takes the throne.’ The men in the room made agreeable noises, some looking gleeful at the prospect, others keeping their impassive expressions. ‘You all know your jobs. When the time comes, make sure you’re ready.’

  With that, Bastian headed for the door.

  Rag almost went after him, almost wanted to know what her part in all this would be, but thinking on it she knew she didn’t want no part. They were gonna open the Lych Gate and let the Khurtas flood in. They were betraying the queen and every soul within Steelhaven’s walls. Not that Rag gave a toss about anyone in the city other than her crew and her boys, but still. It just weren’t right.

  She made her way over to where Shirl and Essen were, looking all sullen and trying to stay out of the way in case they upset any of Bastian’s boys. She sat with them and watched with a pang of sadness as Essen looked around for Yarrick.

  ‘He ain’t coming,’ she said.

  Essen seemed to understand, his eyes lowering to fix on the table. He saw the state of her; it was obvious what they’d been through to deliver Bastian’s message. She didn’t need to tell him any more. Shirl weren’t so quick on the uptake, however.

  ‘Why?’ asked the fat man, brow all screwed up in confusion. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s dead, you fucking dolt,’ Essen snapped before Rag had a chance to answer. ‘Where the fuck do you think he is? Look at the state of her.’ He gestured to Rag’s tattered clothing and singed hair and face all stained with soot. ‘Does it look like she’s just been for a stroll in the Crown District? Yarrick’s fucking dead, you stupid fat—’

  Essen stopped, glaring back at the table, fists clenched. For a moment Rag wanted to give him a hug, or at least lay a hand on his to show she had some sympathy for him, but it wouldn’t do to show that kind of affection. Not here. Not now.

  Shirl seemed to get the message, keeping his mouth shut and not looking at anyone. For his part, big Harkas just sat to one side, not saying nothing or even giving any sign he’d heard. If he’d given a shit about Yarrick it didn’t move him enough to show it.

  As the afternoon wore on, the room emptied as Bastian’s men went off to do gods knew what in preparation for the night. Rag just watched them in silence, thinking all the while that what they was up to weren’t right.

  But what you gonna do about it, Rag? You had your chance to stop this by not delivering that message. Now they’re gonna open that gate and the Khurtas are gonna be waiting to pour in. And that’s all on you. Nice one, you stupid little fucker.

  The more she thought on it, the more her heart sank. She thought about the women and children and old bastards who would be slaughtered by the thousand. She thought about Amon Tugha and wondered whether he’d even hold up to his end of the bargain when he’d taken over, or just kill them all anyway. She thought about poor Yarrick and what a waste it had been for him to come with her and give his life to deliver that message. And most of all she thought about her boys – Chirpy, Migs and Tidge – and about what the Khurtas would do to them when they came running through that gate, whooping and hollering to their evil gods and hacking down anything that moved.

  And she knew what had to be done about it.

  When the room had emptied enough that Rag felt comfortable she wouldn’t be heard, she beckoned the lads to huddle in closer round the table. Even Harkas moved in so he could hear her.

  ‘This can’t be allowed to happen,’ she said, waiting a moment
for that to sink in.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Shirl. It was bound to be Shirl.

  ‘We have to stop them opening the gate.’ Her words were spoken so slow even Shirl would understand it.

  ‘And why the fuck would we do that?’ asked Essen.

  ‘Because if we don’t, the Khurtas are gonna come right through the side door and kill a lot of bloody people.’

  ‘So what?’ said Essen. ‘They won’t kill us. Bastian’s made a deal.’

  ‘Yeah, he has. With the fucking Khurtas. Do you think they’re gonna give a holy shite who’s friend or foe when they come in? And who’s to say Bastian’s even gonna let us live once Amon Tugha takes over?’

  Essen shook his head. ‘We don’t know any of that for sure. But what we do know is if we try and stop them opening that gate Bastian will have our balls stuffed in our eye sockets faster than it takes Shirl to eat a chicken leg.’

  ‘People will die if we don’t stop them,’ Rag said, sounding a bit more desperate than she’d have liked.

  ‘People are already dying,’ Essen replied. ‘And I’ve no intention of ending up one of them. Yarrick’s already gone. I ain’t gonna be next.’

  Rag stared at him, feeling her argument slipping away. If Essen didn’t join her the other two would be lost. Or so she thought.

  ‘I agree.’

  Slowly, Rag, Shirl and Essen turned to look at Harkas, whose rumbling voice was rarely heard by anyone.

  ‘Eh?’ asked Essen, when they’d finally got over the shock of Harkas speaking.

  ‘Rag’s right,’ he rumbled on. ‘We can’t let them open the Lych Gate.’

  ‘Look,’ said Essen. ‘Leave the thinking to us, all right. Trying to stop them opening that gate is madness. We’ll all be better off just leaving it alone. Bastian’s done a deal. The Guild and anyone in it is safe. We just have to sit tight and ride this one out.’

  ‘You can do as you please,’ Rag said, feeling more confident for Harkas’ support. ‘But we’re gonna stop them while we have the chance. You in, Shirl?’

  Shirl stared at her. Then at Essen. Then at Harkas.

  ‘I’ve still got family in the city. They won’t be safe when the Khurtas come. I guess I’d best help.’

  Rag turned back to Essen. ‘That’s three to one. You still out?’

  Essen shook his head. ‘I ain’t having nothing to do with this and you can’t bloody well force me.’

  ‘Ain’t no one gonna. But you’d best keep your mouth shut about what we’re gonna do.’

  Essen glanced at Harkas, who just stared, all silent and intimidating. Then slowly he nodded.

  ‘Right,’ said Rag, ‘that’s that then. We’ve got some planning to do. But first I’m gonna see if we can get more recruits.’ She stood up, feeling the weariness of her night creeping into her limbs, but she pushed it back. ‘You two meet me at the main square in Eastgate in two hours,’ she said to Harkas and Shirl. Then she looked at Essen. ‘You best stay the fuck where you are.’ Essen didn’t answer.

  With that she was gone from the tavern and out on the streets. The cold crept into her bones, seeming that much crueller after the heat of the night before. Her big toe in particular, sticking out of her shoe as it was, seemed to feel the chill most of all.

  She stopped in the street, kicking off both shoes and leaving them there. She’d spent most of her life padding round in bare feet, and she’d never liked the way the shoes made her feet feel anyhow.

  As Rag made her way south through the city to Dockside she saw what the Khurtas had done to the place. She’d seen first-hand what fire had done to the Rafts. Now she saw what it had done to Dockside and the Warehouse District. Weren’t a house on any street that had got away unscathed. Some were reduced to rubble, others to ash. Every roof had at least half the slates missing and by the time Rag reached Slip Street she began to think this was a fool’s errand. When she saw the state of the Silent Bull, she slowly raised a hand to her mouth.

  The tavern where Chirpy, Migs and Tidge made their home was flattened like cow shit. The buildings on either side were still standing, more or less, but the Silent Bull was nothing but a pile of bricks and smashed timbers.

  Rag staggered forward, stumbling through the wreckage. All she could think was that her lads must have been on the roof, minding their business, when a ball of flame came and took them all out in an instant. At least it would have been quick. Or that’s what Rag kept telling herself.

  In the distance another ball of fire came flying over the wall, and Rag watched as it smashed into something on the other side of the district.

  This had been stupid. No one was still in Dockside, and even the lads wouldn’t have been dumb enough to stay here with those ships in the harbour raining all kinds of shit down on the south of the city.

  She turned to leave.

  ‘I told you it was her.’

  Rag spun at the voice, glancing around for a sign of whoever owned it. At first she couldn’t see nothing, thinking her ears were playing tricks on her, and then she noticed him standing there. Tidge, face and hair all black, standing at the edge of the wreckage. Chirpy and Migs came into view then, looking at her all suspicious, but she didn’t care. She ran to them, grabbing hold of Tidge and Chirpy in a headlock and squeezing them till they started to struggle. She kissed their filthy heads, feeling the tears of relief flood her eyes.

  ‘You gone fucking soft?’ said Migs as she tried to reach out for him too.

  Rag laughed. ‘Yeah, I think I have. I thought you were all …’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Chirpy, looking pleased to see her. ‘We would have been if we hadn’t been out on the rob. Every house round here’s left empty. Easy pickings.’

  ‘Not every house,’ said Tidge. ‘Boris stayed in the Bull after everyone had left.’ He gestured to the wreckage. ‘He’ll be in there somewhere, flat as a fucking fart.’

  ‘He was always moaning about his weight anyhow,’ said Migs. ‘Don’t have to worry about that no more, do he?’

  ‘What about Fender?’ asked Rag.

  Migs shook his head. ‘Ain’t seen no sign of that cunt since before the Khurtas got here.’

  Rag had thought that would be the answer. They didn’t need him anyway. She was here now. She would look after them.

  ‘What you doing here anyhow, Rag?’ Tidge asked.

  She smiled at him. ‘I’ve come for you lot,’ she replied.

  ‘What?’ asked Migs. ‘Come to see if we’re still living in the lap of luxury?’ He gestured around at the carnage.

  ‘No,’ Rag said with a smile. ‘I’ve come to see if you want to help save the city.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  A moment of quiet reflection. It was all Janessa had wanted. Part of her felt selfish for it. There was so much still to do, so much planning, so much to know, to organise, but she needed a moment alone.

  The gardens had been her father’s sanctuary; there seemed no reason why they shouldn’t also act as hers. Even though the shadows of dark memory lingered here – the sickening touch of Azai Dravos, when he had looked into her heart, into her belly and found her unborn child – she still took solace in the place. Besides, she had killed Dravos; struck the head from his shoulders and stood the survivor. That was a victory she could revel in.

  Thoughts of Dravos faded as she stood within the winter garden. The chill of the air did not bother her. She had dismissed her Sentinels and Kaira was elsewhere, most likely taking some deserved rest after her labours during the night. Janessa was alone, the weight of her armour and her sword gone for just a brief amount of time.

  She breathed deep, remembering what it had been like before all this. Before she had lost Graye to betrayal and murder. Before she had lost her father to the hand of Amon Tugha. Before River had abandoned her.

  For that tiny moment, as the cold breeze caressed her face and swept through her red curls, she was carefree again. There was no city in peril, no savages at the wall.

  Should she
have taken her chance weeks ago and fled the city? It would have been so easy. A swift horse or passage on a ship. Enough gold to make a new start, a new life. All this would have been as nothing – a past she could have left behind. There had been a chance, when River had asked her to run away with him. At the time it had seemed a difficult choice but now, in that garden, with the weight of ten thousand lives resting on her, she could hardly believe she had hesitated.

  That chance was gone, though. Now there would be no swift horse. There was no caravel to carry her to safer shores. So she would take this moment and savour it. Breathe it in, despite the stench of death and fire that was carried on the air. Who knew when she would get another chance? Who knew how long this moment might last?

  ‘I also find the quiet moments are the best.’

  Janessa turned, her daydream shattered. Leon Magrida stood watching her from beneath the naked branches of a willow. Baroness Isabelle’s son smiled at her warmly but it did nothing to stifle the cold on her skin. He too had lived at the palace since the Khurtas had set Dreldun on fire but thankfully, unlike his mother, Janessa had seen little of him in the past days of strife.

  Her eyes scanned the gardens but there was no sign of anyone else. How he had made it past her Sentinels she had no idea. He certainly had a talent for lurking unseen. The thought did nothing to put her at ease.

  ‘Lord Leon,’ she said. There should have been more. Some polite small talk as was traditional at court, but Janessa could think of no words. This was hardly the time for such pointless wittering. And what would she have said anyway? Hope you are well. Are the palace rooms still to your satisfaction? It hardly seemed appropriate while her people died by the hundred.

  He walked towards her, the smile still on his face. As he did so he straightened the black doublet he wore and she noticed the dagger at his side, instantly dismissing the notion he might be a threat. This was the heir to Dreldun, she was in no danger here.

  ‘My apologies if I startled you, Majesty. But it has become increasingly difficult to find a moment when you are not surrounded by guards. And it is important that I speak with you.’