Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three)

by Richard Ford

  They came screaming across the plain and all of a sudden the hurt he’d felt over the past days was gone. Nobul stared down at them, gripping his hammer, wringing it like a cloth, teeth grinding together in anticipation.

  He should have been at the gate, smashed in and useless as it was. That was where they’d head for, that was where the fighting would be most intense, but there were enough men there already. The Wyvern Guard, the Knights of the Blood, bannermen from Steelhaven and Valdor and Dreldun, all standing side by side, a steel wall that the Khurtas would smash against. Nobul didn’t wear no steel – he was just flesh and a black helmet. He’d be more a hindrance than a help down there, so he stood on the wall and waited. There was sure to be enough fighting to go around anyway. Most of the Khurtic siege towers were smashed and broken down, the ram they’d been using was in pieces, but there were still plenty of ladders for them to scale the wall. Nobul could see them now through the night, a hundred Khurtas carrying each one.

  The arrows started flying as he watched and he ducked under the deluge. Hake, standing beside him as he’d taken to doing, didn’t move an inch. As the rest of the lads on the wall cowered beneath the volley of bowshot, the old man walked forward and spat a gob over the edge, chuckling to himself.

  ‘You’re a crazy old bastard, you know that?’ said Nobul.

  Hake didn’t answer, just gave him a wink.

  A ladder hit the wall some way down. Nobul wanted to walk down and wait for the first Khurta to pop his head over the battlements but he resisted.

  There’ll be enough to go around, Nobul Jacks. Just you be patient.

  Sure enough, two more ladders clanked against the lip of the wall. Nobul glanced up and down the walkway, wondering if they had enough men left. Wondering if this was when they’d be overwhelmed.

  Not while the Black Helm was fucking standing here, they wouldn’t.

  The first head popped up. Nobul crushed the top of it with his hammer and the Khurta fell silently. A second head appeared, raising a shield. This time Nobul went at it like he was hammering steel at his anvil. The Khurta managed to hold him off for longer than Nobul would have liked. All the while more ladders hit the wall – a dozen in all – and as they did more arrows came flying over.

  Lads were screaming from further down. To the western side of the Stone Gate a boulder took off the top of the battlements. More screams over the pounding of his hammer on shield. Eventually the Khurta had nothing left, falling back. This one screamed all the way to the foot of the wall.

  Something tamped down on Nobul’s helmet as he took a step back, waiting for the next Khurta to show himself. It took a moment for him to realise it was raining, a few drops at first then more, big and fat and splashing down all around. The sound in his helmet was tremendous, and he thought for a second of taking it off when another Khurta showed his face. Before Nobul could smash him back over the wall another one came screaming from the left. There was barely enough time to raise his hammer to parry the fucker’s curved blade. The weapons rang together and Nobul braced his thighs against the Khurta’s attack.

  Hake came in from the side, sticking the bastard in the ribs with his sword. The Khurta screamed, bounding away, and collapsed against the battlements, whimpering to himself as the rainfall soaked him through.

  ‘Get back,’ said Nobul, pushing Hake behind him as he turned to face more of the Khurtas coming over the wall. They both backed away as three more of the enemy edged forward.

  ‘You take the two on the left,’ said Hake. ‘I’ll have the big twat on the right.’

  ‘Why do I get two?’ Nobul said, though he was happy with the deal.

  Before Hake could answer the wall exploded in front of them.

  Nobul felt a moment of weightlessness, then something hit him hard in the back.

  He blinked, once, twice, feeling the hard rain as it splashed against his face. His helmet was gone somewhere, his hammer somewhere else. As he tried to pull himself to his feet he groaned at the hurt, but it wouldn’t keep him down, nothing would. Where he and Hake had been stood there was a massive gap in the walkway, rainwater now starting to piss down into the breach.

  ‘Hake?’ shouted Nobul. He could still hear men fighting further down the wall but in the dark and through the rain and smoke he could see fuck all.

  ‘Here,’ came a reply through the night.

  Nobul staggered towards the sound, finding Hake sitting on a pile of rubble. He had a cut over one eye but other than that he looked fine.

  ‘You all right, old man?’ Nobul asked, pulling Hake to his feet.

  ‘I’m still breathing,’ he said, looking up at Nobul. ‘You don’t look too great yourself, though.’

  Nobul reached up and felt a sting as he touched his nose. It was tender; his finger came away covered in blood.

  ‘Does it look broken?’ asked Nobul.

  ‘You’re still an ugly fucker if that’s what you’re asking.’

  Nobul stared at Hake for a second, wanting to laugh. Wanting to slap his knees and bellow from the bottom of his lungs. Before he had the chance he heard howling from down the wall.

  Hake stared back at him. ‘That don’t sound fucking good.’

  ‘No it don’t,’ Nobul said, glancing around for his hammer. In the smashed rubble it could have been anywhere.

  Up ahead, through the rain and the murk, he could see figures approaching and he doubted he’d last long if he had to face them with a piece of broken masonry.

  ‘Here,’ said Hake. Nobul looked up just as the old man threw him his hammer. Nobul felt relief wash over him as he caught it, feeling its reassuring weight in his hand. ‘Now go bloody kill something.’

  Nobul didn’t need any encouragement. He was more than happy to do that. His boots splashed through the puddles that had gathered on the walkway as the rain washed blood down his face. His hands were cold but he knew they’d soon warm up. The first Khurta snarled at him as he came out of the rain but Nobul’s hammer smashed the grimace right off his face. He swung free, all the aches gone, washed away by the downpour, every strike making a wet slap, sending the Khurtas reeling.

  Hake was just behind him every step, the sly old bastard stabbing in here and there when he could but mostly making sure to stay out of the way. Wouldn’t do the old fella any good to get in front of Nobul Jacks when his mad was up.

  The swinging came to an end with a roar, but not one from Nobul’s lips. It came from further down the wall, a feral cry; Nobul couldn’t tell if it was animal or man. The Khurtas that were left backed away, not taking their eyes off him but moving as quick as they could.

  Nobul stood watching, wondering what the fuck Amon Tugha had unleashed on the city as the weather beat down, soaking him through to the skin. Hake stood beside him, rain tamping off his helm, running off his beard. If he had any advice he was none too keen to share it.

  A beast walked from the gloom. Nobul recognised the figure and tightened his grip on his hammer. He recognised it from the day before, from the Khurtas on the plain singing their war challenge. A challenge Nobul had accepted. Their leader had been scary enough from a distance, and now close up even Nobul felt the bite of fear. If this thing had ever been a man it wasn’t any more. It must have touched nearly seven feet, face a mass of scars so gruesome Nobul could see sharpened teeth through its cheeks. Rings and chains and all sorts of other shit were pierced through its flesh and even its eyes had a hint of the animal about them.

  Over one shoulder was slung the biggest hammer Nobul had ever seen and it gripped the haft in a hand the size of a keystone. It snorted from ruined nostrils, sending steam and spume out into the rain-filled night.

  Nobul had come close before, on more times than he cared to remember, but he knew now, beyond doubt, this was where he’d die.

  The twisted face bent into what Nobul assumed was a smile. The creature hefted the hammer, holding it in two hands, and beckoned Nobul forward.

  He took a step.

  ‘
Sure you want to do this?’ whispered Hake from the corner of his mouth. ‘That’s a mighty hammer he’s got there. Makes yours look like a bell ringer.’

  Nobul glanced at his own hammer, then at the one held by the beast.

  ‘It’s not how big it is. It’s what you fucking do with it,’ he replied, before walking forward to meet his end.

  The giant’s grin grew wider, the flesh of its face contorting, showing more teeth between lacerated cheeks. Its eyes opened wide, black as its soul, but Nobul didn’t care for any of that shit. He’d stared into the hells before. They held no fear for him.

  Nobul rushed in as the beast lifted its hammer high. At the last second he sidestepped, swinging his own hammer one-handed as the huge war maul crashed down. The maul smashed splinters from the walkway just as Nobul’s hammer caught the beast in the ribs. It was a solid blow, bringing a grunt from the giant but no more. Its own hammer came up fast and Nobul had to duck to avoid having his head caved in.

  Another swing and their hammers clashed. Nobul felt the jarring impact through to the joints in his shoulders, gritting his teeth against it, muscles screaming, back taking the strain. The giant Khurta held him with that grimace, leaning its head forward and gnashing its teeth. Nobul let go his hammer with one hand and punched the bastard in the jaw. It was like hitting an anvil but it did enough to put the beast off balance.

  He pressed in, swinging again, managing a hit to the shoulder, but the Khurtic war chief just shrugged it off, lifting its massive hammer one-handed and bringing it down again. Nobul turned in time, feeling the ground quake underfoot as the huge maul struck.

  Before the beast could raise its weapon again, Nobul planted his foot on the head of the maul, pressing his weight on it and striking out with the butt of his own hammer. It smashed into the beast’s exposed mouth, shattering the front teeth and sending blood shooting onto his hand. The Khurta let go of its hammer, grabbing Nobul by the wrist. Its grip was tremendous, and he felt bone and sinew grinding together. He couldn’t stifle a cry of pain as the beast forced him to drop his hammer.

  The Khurta roared, making to bite his face, but Nobul reached out with his free hand, jamming a thumb in its mouth, grasping the flesh of its cheek and dragging it away. He pulled with all the strength he had left, bellowing in its face, clenching its torn cheek in his fist and feeling it tear in his grip.

  Another roar, this time of pain, and Nobul was flung across the walkway, his head striking a block of stone. All he could hear was the beast’s booming stride as it came for him and he desperately shook his head to clear the fug. He looked up in time to see two massive hands reaching out for him.

  Desperately he scrambled out of the way, slopping across the rain-soaked walkway on his hands and knees. He knew how fucking stupid he must have looked but none of that mattered now. Seeing the massive war maul lying on the ground, he reached out, one hand grasping the haft as he rose to his feet. The beast was almost on him. Nobul roared as he lifted the maul … all of about three inches. Its weight was incredible, and he barely had a chance to realise he’d fucked up before the beast smashed a balled fist into his face.

  Black.

  His eyes flicked open. Everything was spinning but he was still alive. And it was still fucking raining.

  Move. You have to fucking move or you’re dead.

  Nobul rolled aside as the massive war maul smashed a chunk from the paving slab he’d been lying on. He staggered to his feet but stumbled, the rain washing some clarity into his head, but not quite enough.

  A hand gripped the back of his leather jerk, hauling him back. He could hear the scraping of that war maul on the broken pavement as the beast hauled it up for one last strike.

  Nobul felt fury. He was going to die here. He’d expected it all right, he was going to die sooner or later, but now it had come he was fucked if he’d take it lying down.

  The beast turned him around, wanting to look in his face as it killed him. Nobul’s head struck forward, grasping its hand, biting into its thumb. Flesh burst and blood spurted into his mouth as the Khurta roared. Nobul’s teeth ground on bone and he tore his head back, a massive thumb coming away in his mouth. The Khurta reeled back, fury in those black eyes as it raised its hammer, but Nobul’s legs were already pumping. He grasped the haft of the huge war maul, throwing his weight behind it, putting the Khurta off balance. The giant stumbled back, losing its footing as Nobul came down on top of it, the haft of the war maul coming down over its throat.

  Nobul gritted his teeth, pressing down as the Khurta stared up. All his weight was behind the weapon as he pressed it down, straining with all his might, spitting fury to the last. The war chief’s face was furious but Nobul could see it weakening. That only made him push down all the harder, squeezing the life from the ugly bastard.

  There was a choking sound as its tongue lolled from that torn mouth, the dark eyes glassing, and Nobul felt it go limp beneath him. He pressed down one last time, making sure the Khurta wasn’t gonna get up again and he didn’t stop until he heard his own victory roar in his ears.

  Breathing hard, feeling the thrill of being alive, Nobul stood to see the Khurtas watching. Even when he spat the thumb of their war chief from his mouth they still looked at him with hate. There was no fear or respect here. These Khurtas were not about to flee.

  Hake was at Nobul’s side now, holding out his hammer.

  ‘I think we’re fucked,’ said the old man, as Nobul grasped the weapon, feeling the rain washing over him, feeling his heart beat with the ecstasy of the kill.

  ‘Come on then, bastards,’ Nobul said, ignoring Hake’s uneasiness and taking a step forward. ‘Who’s next?’

  FORTY

  ‘But you told me he was dead,’ Waylian said, looking in disbelief at Bram though his words were directed at his mistress.

  ‘I told you no such thing,’ Gelredida replied.

  They stood in the entrance hall to the Tower of Magisters. Outside the distant roar of battle crept over the sound of the rain beating down.

  Waylian could only stare at Bram, at his hollow, dishevelled features, at the arrogant smile he held despite his appearance. Hatred burned inside him along with the need to throttle the bastard, but he knew he couldn’t. If Gelredida had released him she must have done so for a bloody good reason.

  He could only think about how they had been friends. About how popular Bram had been with the other apprentices, but what a dark secret he had hidden. The murders he had committed and the evil magicks he had conjured that day within the Chapel of Ghouls. Had Waylian not managed to manifest some magick of his own and stopped Bram, the outcome would have been catastrophic. And here was Magistra Gelredida, unleashing him from his prison to roam the city once more.

  ‘Why is he alive?’ said Waylian.

  Gelredida glanced over at Bram, who shrugged his reply, obviously as much in the dark about that as Waylian.

  ‘He is the Maleficar Necris. He has power beyond imagining. Power that perhaps no mortal should be allowed to wield, but right now he could be the only thing that will save this city.’

  Waylian was about to say he didn’t understand, but he stopped himself. He’d said those words far too often. Made himself look the dolt on too many occasions. He was damned if he’d do it again, especially with that murdering bastard Rembram Thule leering at him like some loathsome toad.

  ‘If there are no more questions, we have work to do,’ said Gelredida.

  In the absence of further argument she led them from the tower. Bram followed, Waylian at the rear. Gelredida had seen fit to send the rest of the Raven Knights within the tower to the wall, so they had no further escort as they made their way out onto the city streets.

  Two sets of manacles secured Bram’s wrists; one made of iron and another similar to those Gelredida had worn in the Crucible of Magisters to nullify her powers. Waylian could only hope they would be enough. He had seen Bram’s potency first-hand and it had almost killed him. The only reason he’d su
rvived was blind luck and he was in no mood to push it any further. It was times like this he wished he carried a blade. Then he could see how dangerous Rembram Thule was with a knife between his ribs. He wouldn’t be so fucking scary then, would he?

  ‘How’ve you been, Grimmy?’ Bram asked conversationally, as they made their way across the city. Screams rose above the sounds of battle and the rain had already soaked through their cloaks to the robes beneath. And now a man Waylian thought he’d killed was talking to him like they were strolling along a quiet beach. Of everything that had happened to him – from a near icy death in the Kriega Mountains, to facing a murderously animated tree in the amphitheatre – this was the most insane.

  ‘How the fuck do you think I’ve been?’ he replied.

  ‘I don’t know, Grimmy. That’s why I’m asking. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been locked up in a dungeon for Arlor knows how many weeks. They didn’t keep me apprised of how you were getting on and I’ve missed my old pal.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Waylian spat. ‘Fuck off, you fucking mad fucker.’

  Bram looked genuinely hurt. ‘Aw, come on now. There’s no need for rudeness.’

  ‘No need for … You tried to end the fucking world, Bram. What in the hells is wrong with you?’

  Bram shook his head. ‘There’s no need to be hostile. I’ve just got ambition, that’s all, Grimmy. It’s not my fault you’re happy to be someone’s lapdog.’ He nodded towards Gelredida. If she could hear she didn’t acknowledge it.

  ‘I’m no one’s lapdog. And you’re bloody insane. Don’t talk to me.’

  He dropped back a little, letting Bram and Gelredida walk ahead some distance. As much as he wanted to believe he was no one’s lackey, he knew the truth of it. And he knew he’d let Bram get to him. Despite his former friend being insane he was clearly still a manipulative bastard. Probably best if they both kept their mouths shut.

  They didn’t have to walk on much further for Waylian to realise where they were headed. The Chapel of Ghouls stood ominously in the distance. Waylian felt a knot tighten in his stomach as they neared it, the memory of what had so nearly happened in that place making him feel sick. What made that sickness worse was the uncertainty about why Gelredida was taking them there now. Luckily Bram asked the question so Waylian didn’t have to.