Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three)

by Richard Ford

  ‘Far be it from me to doubt the wisdom of the Red Witch, but why on earth are we returning to this broken-down old ruin?’

  They had reached the gate now, with its fiendish brass carvings, each one in the shape of a ghoul or its victim. She drew her hand over the gate panel and whispered her quiet words. Waylian felt nausea engulf him as it had done the first time he came here, only now it was not so intense. This time he almost seemed to handle the experience with ease.

  As the brass carvings moved in their silent dance and the gate opened, Gelredida stood and stared up the path to the Chapel of Ghouls. ‘You wanted your chance at greatness, Rembram. And now you’re about to have it.’

  Bram glanced over at Waylian, both eyebrows raised as though the prospect excited him.

  ‘Er … Magistra?’ said Waylian. ‘You can’t possibly be thinking about what I think you’re thinking about.’

  Gelredida crossed the threshold and made her way up the path towards the chapel. Bram matched her long stride as Waylian stumbled along beside them.

  ‘Magistra?’ he said again.

  ‘If you’ve never trusted me before, Waylian, you need to trust me now,’ she said without turning towards him, her focus fixed on the ominous building.

  ‘But this is madness. This is insane, you can’t …’ But Waylian knew she could.

  Of course she can, Grimm. She’s the Red Witch; she can do as she pleases. How many people has she burned to get her way? How much has she risked to save this city? She was only too eager to put you in harm’s way and you’re her apprentice. Do you think she gives a shit about the lives of a few bog trotters swelling the city’s underbelly if it defeats the Khurtas?

  Gelredida didn’t lead them into the chapel itself, but up a makeshift stone staircase that twisted up the side of the building. Waylian followed behind Bram, mad thoughts of tipping the bastard off the stairs to his death flying through his head. But he knew he’d never have the courage for that, never be brave enough to defy his mistress, even when it seemed that she had lost all reason.

  They reached the roof of the chapel and Gelredida walked around the perimeter with her hand held out, palm facing down. As she passed each stanchion set in the parapet that surrounded the rooftop, a torch burst into bright yellow flame. Despite the rain drumming down hard, the flames burned bright. In the light Waylian could see the roof was perhaps twenty feet wide, gaps in the flat mosaic tiles under his feet showing through to the chapel beneath. The pattern on the tiles was laid in some arcane design which Waylian didn’t recognise.

  Gelredida came to stand before Bram, staring him in the eyes. In return he regarded her with his usual arrogant expression.

  ‘You will finish the ritual,’ she said. ‘You will unleash the ghouls on this city. Only you can do that. And only you can stop them.’

  ‘What makes you think I’ll do that?’ Bram asked with a grin.

  ‘Because if you don’t, Waylian will kill you.’

  Waylian will bloody what?

  Bram glanced over at Waylian, who tried to look as brave as he could, and not like someone had just kicked him in the fruits. ‘Him? He got lucky last time, you know that as well as I do, witch. He couldn’t kill a crippled fly.’

  ‘You would be surprised at what he’s achieved since you were locked away from the sunlight.’

  ‘You’re right, I would. If he can conjure more than piss out of his cock I’ll be fucking amazed.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about him. You need to worry about you,’ said Gelredida, staring into Bram’s eyes. Waylian could feel the air turning, a metallic tang emanating from where his mistress stood. ‘You will compel the undead of this place to destroy the Khurtic army. You will do your best to ensure they focus their assault on the enemy and spare the people of Steelhaven. Do you understand?’

  Bram stared back at her, his arrogance gone now as he looked into her eyes. ‘Yes, Magistra,’ he replied.

  ‘Now, prepare yourself,’ she said, before removing the bracelets from around his wrists. Still manacled by the iron chains, Bram set about preparations for the ritual, mumbling some dark incantation as he knelt on the floor, tracing sigils in the cracked tiles with his fingertips.

  Gelredida walked up to Waylian, regarding him warmly. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

  ‘You are ready?’ she asked.

  Waylian nodded. ‘Yes, Magistra,’ he replied, though he knew he was anything but ready.

  ‘At the first sign he is about to betray you, kill him.’

  ‘But … how?’

  Gelredida smiled. ‘You will find a way, Waylian Grimm. You always do.’

  As much as he appreciated the faith she was putting in him, he couldn’t help but feel it was misplaced. How was he going to stop Rembram if the bastard disobeyed his mistress? And for that matter, where in the hells was Gelredida going to be?

  ‘Magistra. I don’t understand. Why is it down to me to control Bram? Why can’t you do it?’

  Gelredida smiled back at him, and he could see sadness in her eyes. ‘My time is over,’ she said.

  Waylian felt his stomach lurch.

  He opened his mouth to speak but found he had no words as she turned and walked away from him to kneel in the centre of the rooftop. Bram came to stand over her. His former friend was grinning once more. ‘You really haven’t told him anything, have you, old woman?’

  She began to pull off her robe. ‘I am sorry, Waylian. But this is the only way. I have been infected with the power of the Veil itself. I am already dead.’

  Waylian could see the sickness that infected her hands had spread, covering her shoulders and chest in a web of black veins. Bram glanced over at Waylian as Gelredida handed him an iron dagger from her robe. ‘You see, Grimmy, you can’t achieve anything without sacrifice.’

  ‘No,’ Waylian screamed. ‘You can’t.’

  Gelredida stared at him with genuine sorrow in her eyes. ‘Remember what you must do. And do not hesitate.’ She looked back at Bram. ‘You neither.’

  Bram gave her a wink. ‘Oh, you know there’s no chance I’ll hesitate, old woman,’ he said.

  As he raised the dagger, a silent incantation on his lips, Waylian wanted to rush forward. He wanted to rip the knife from Bram’s grip and plunge it into his heart. This was madness, this couldn’t be happening. Gelredida wasn’t thinking straight, the canker that had infested her body must have spread to her brain. But as the sounds of battle crept across the city, Waylian realised she was right. The Khurtas would soon overwhelm the city. This was the only way.

  Gelredida closed her eyes as Bram plunged the knife into her chest. Waylian almost felt it pierce his own heart, clutching at his robe, tears welling in his eyes as he gritted his teeth against a cry of remorse. She made no sound as her head lolled backwards. Bram continued his incantation, seeming to gain in strength and stature as he mumbled the dark words.

  Waylian could only watch through the torchlight as he saw dark magick seep from the blade of the iron dagger, spreading across the magistra’s body. As it did so pressure began to build in Waylian’s ears. He lifted a hand to his face to stem a trickle of blood from his nose just before the rooftop beneath his feet shuddered. One of the torches fell from its stanchion, and all the while Rembram mumbled his silent incantation.

  As the dark sorcery continued, the air growing more humid despite the cold rain, Waylian took a step forward, heeding his mistress’ words. If Bram betrayed them he would have to be killed without hesitation. The boy’s eyes were shut tight now as he grasped the dagger in two hands, the blade still buried deep in Gelredida’s chest. Her flesh had turned black, her body little more than a desiccated shell. Waylian clenched his fists, willing Bram to show him any sign of treachery.

  The Chapel of Ghouls shook once more; this time masonry fell from the side of the building, shattering on the ground far below. Something cracked open within, like a giant egg breaking open with life, but Waylian knew there was nothing alive in there
.

  Bram’s eyes suddenly flicked open, two black orbs staring up at the rainy night sky. At the same time something howled. Waylian felt it more than heard it. The noise seemed to clench his insides, tearing out any strength he might have had, replacing it with terror.

  He staggered back, gripping the parapet of the roof. Below, in the wan light, he could see movement. Figures were creeping from the chapel, moving like animals though their limbs were unmistakably humanoid. From this distance Waylian could make out no details, and part of him was grateful for that.

  After seven centuries, ghouls were abroad in Steelhaven once more, and all that could stop them running amok was an insane murderer.

  And the only thing keeping that murderer in check was Waylian Grimm.

  FORTY-ONE

  Rag had no idea how she was going to square this one off. She’d just got the lads to foil Bastian’s plan to open the Lych Gate and now she had to tell them they was the ones had to open it. But what else was she going to do? Run?

  You ain’t got no choice, girl. That’s your only option now. You open that gate and the city’s doomed. You don’t open that gate then you’re the one doomed.

  Everything had gone to shit. She’d thought she was so fucking clever, always one step ahead, but now it was obvious she weren’t. Rag may as well have let Shirl be in charge. At least he’d be the one in the firing line when Bastian decided someone needed killing.

  Time to call it a day. Time to get the fuck out of here before the shit well and truly landed. There was no other way. She’d never open that gate, it just wasn’t an option. As much as her life depended on it Rag knew she’d never be able to live with herself if she helped the Khurtas come flooding in. There was only one course left – get her boys and get the fuck out.

  Harkas, Shirl and Essen could come if they fancied. She wasn’t in charge of them, not really. They could make up their own minds, but Chirpy, Migs and Tidge were her responsibility. She’d left them once and felt the guilt of it like a knife. There was no chance she’d be doing it again.

  As she saw the tavern up ahead, sat all alone in the dark and the rain, she knew that there was no other choice. They could all disappear into the night. Four street kids fleeing the terror. Who’d even know? They’d spent their whole lives not being seen and staying in the shadows. She was sure they’d be far from this place before the Khurtas even noticed. Then they could just keep going. Let Bastian send his bloodhounds, let him put the word out that she was to be offed. It was sure as shite less dangerous than hanging around here.

  Besides, weren’t no guarantee Bastian was even gonna survive this. Who was to say Amon Tugha would keep his bargain and give the Guild a pass? Especially now Bastian hadn’t kept his side of the bargain.

  No, her and the lads would be far away by the time the dust settled. Once the fighting was done, if Bastian was out of the picture they could always think about coming back. There might even be rich pickings too. Lot of empty houses to hole up in. Lot of family heirlooms left abandoned. Lot of dead people wouldn’t be needing any of their gear no more.

  Rag walked into the tavern by the back door, wondering about the rights and wrongs of that last one, when she heard a ruckus from inside. She opened the door to the main bar to see the place was upside down: tables overturned, bottles smashed, tankards strewn about. Big Harkas was sitting silent, leaned up against the wall, bloody towel held to his face. Shirl was sat beside him like some kind of useless nursemaid. Essen stood in another corner looking scared half to death.

  ‘What’s goin on?’ Rag asked, feeling a little sting of panic as she realised there was no sign of Chirpy, Migs or Tidge.

  ‘Some of Bastian’s boys paid us a visit while you were gone,’ said Essen. ‘Said you’d have some news for us when you got back. And—’

  ‘Where’s my lads?’ Rag said, fighting back the dread.

  Two heads popped up from behind the bar, and Rag let out a sigh as she recognised Chirpy and Migs. They both looked terrified but at least they was alive.

  ‘We tried to stop them,’ Shirl said. ‘But they said Bastian wanted to make sure you knew he was serious.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rag said, glancing about the bar. ‘Stop them doing what? Where the fuck is Tidge?’

  ‘They took him,’ said Essen. ‘Said you’d have a job for us and taking him was to make sure it got done.’

  Rag could only stare in between Chirpy and Migs. At the space where Tidge should have been stood.

  You’ve got a decision to make now, girl. Looks like all those thoughts of running away are gone on the wind like so much ash. Looks like you’re gonna have to do exactly what Bastian wants or little Tidge is gonna get his little heart carved right out of his little chest. How you gonna live with that one?

  Rag knew she could never live with that one. But neither could she live with opening the Lych Gate and letting those Khurtas in. That would never fly, no matter how much danger her boys were in.

  ‘What is it we’re supposed to do?’ asked Shirl, looking all mournful like he half knew the answer.

  Rag looked at him, then to Essen and Harkas. Then to Chirpy and Migs.

  ‘I’ll tell you what you’re supposed to do,’ she answered, feeling her jaw tighten, her fists clenching. ‘You and Essen are gonna get Harkas and the young lads and you’re gonna hide down in Dockside. Those fire ships have been burnt to cinders and are sat at the bottom of the bay so it’ll be the safest place in the city. You’re gonna find the deepest hole and you’re gonna hide in it and wait.’

  She knew she’d said it like she meant it and none of the lads looked ready to argue.

  ‘Wait for what?’ asked Shirl eventually.

  ‘Wait for me to come get you.’

  ‘Why,’ said Shirl, almost in tears. ‘Where you going?’

  ‘Where do you think I’m going? I’m off to get Tidge. Now enough talking and more fucking moving.’

  Essen and Shirl picked Harkas up, who silently accepted their help. Chirpy and Migs followed them as they went for the door. Chirpy looked up at her as they made their way out.

  ‘You are coming back, ain’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘Course I am,’ Rag said, tousling his greasy mop of hair. ‘Now piss off.’

  She watched them go, standing there for a minute alone in the tavern. She knew there weren’t much chance she was coming back. If Bastian didn’t do for her then the Khurtas would most likely come crawling over the city walls and do for her instead. There was no coming back from this. Up till now she’d always had some sort of plan, whether she thought of it in plenty of time or at the last moment. Right now she had no plan. No idea what in the hells she was gonna do.

  No point putting it off, though.

  Rag walked out of the tavern. The streets stank of rot and mud and smoke. Of war. Of death. She didn’t care about any of those things, though. As the rain soaked her hair and her jacket through, she didn’t think about any of it. All she thought about was finding Tidge … and maybe killing that bastard Bastian to boot. If only she was a killer. If only she’d taken to carrying a knife and learning to use it then maybe none of this would ever have happened.

  As she saw the Chapel of Ghouls in the distance Rag knew it was hopeless anyway. She’d never have the stones to use a knife. Not on a living, breathing person. Getting someone else to do the killing for you, now that was easy enough. Sticking sharp metal in them until they stopped breathing was more than likely beyond her.

  Once she’d made her way to the entrance to Bastian’s lair she paused, squinting up the street, towards the chapel. Was there something moving up there? Something fucking weird through the rain and the dark?

  Focus, you stupid cow. Letting shadows in the night spook you is a sure way to get yourself killed.

  Rag shook her head, ignoring whatever it was – if it was anything at all. The fear was most likely addling her mind, making her sloppy. Being scared had a habit of doing that, and she knew she couldn’t afford t
o let it put her off. Tidge was relying on her.

  She slipped in through the entrance, relieved that there was no one guarding the door. Inside, the sound of rain echoed down the corridor to the underground passages and it weren’t no trouble for her to move silent. There were a couple of fellas standing in the dark, hoods drawn up against the cold and damp, but Rag was by them without either even knowing it. She’d never had the best sense of direction but even she managed to make her way to the centre of Bastian’s hideout without getting lost. There, in the shadows, she tried to think what in the hells to do next.

  Light was coming in from somewhere, but from her hiding place in the dark Rag couldn’t tell which direction. Before she could think of where to start looking for Tidge she heard a voice from down the corridor.

  ‘It’s true, I swear it.’ The voice sounded firm but with an edge of desperation. ‘I’d cleared the rest of the gate detail ready for your boys to go in and do the job. When I saw all the lights had gone out I went back for a look.’

  Rag made her way towards the sound of voices, careful to stay out of the light where it was cast across the floor of the underground cavern.

  ‘Then what?’

  Rag almost froze at the sound of Bastian’s voice, creaking towards her like a rusty door hinge. This was it, though; Tidge must be close by somewhere.

  ‘Then I saw Jerrol. Asked him where the rest of his crew were and he said outside, but there weren’t anyone outside. Then he got spooked. Went up to check out some noise on the roof. I could hear weird shit all around so I fucking hid. It was dark, no one was going to see me. Then Jerrol started shouting, ran out of the gatehouse and into the street. That’s when he was fucking murdered. Later on when it had gone quiet I had a look around and his whole crew was piled up in the shadows. Wiped out to the last man.’