Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three)

by Richard Ford

  Merrick felt his heart beating faster, a grin coming to his mouth as he ran alongside the rest of the Wyvern Guard. He flushed with pride at being beside these men – men who had become his brothers. At being beside his father, a man he had hated all his life but who he now followed to his death.

  This was what it had all been for. This was where his life had led and he was glad of it.

  Tannick hit the Khurtic line, his massive blade hacking the first of the enemy almost in two. Then, in a bronze wedge, what remained of the Wyvern Guard fell on the Khurtas. Shields rang discordantly as they caught the enemy blades, smashing into the line of invaders with unkempt fury.

  Shouts went up from amidst the Khurtic ranks, their battle cries rising above the sound of clashing weapons. Merrick barely heard as he looked for his first foe. His blade came down, slicing through the rain, slicing through the top of a wooden shield, slicing into a Khurta’s neck. He screamed, unleashing his rage, every lesson he had learned in the Collegium of House Tarnath now gone, to be replaced with a savagery all his own. He heeded his father’s words well. He had not grown up in the harsh mountains but tonight he was every inch a heartless bastard like his brother knights.

  After their initial rush the Wyvern Guard formed up a shield wall, locking together with unspoken discipline. The Khurtas battered at the circle of steel, moving to surround them, and in no time they were being assailed from all sides. Merrick desperately parried the flailing attacks, his blade swift to counter as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Cormach and his father. For his part, the Whoreson moved swifter and stronger than anything Merrick had ever seen, in his element, a true beast of war. Tannick swung the Bludsdottr with a fury, laying low any Khurtas that dared to attack.

  The Wyvern Guard were in a tight circle now, surrounded by deafening screams and wicked blades. It was hopeless, they would never survive this, but Merrick Ryder felt a joy he had never known. At the point of his death, for the first time, he was truly alive.

  Something hissed past Merrick’s head, and with a grunt his father fell to one knee. A Khurta ran from the horde and, before Merrick could intercept, his sword struck forward. Half the blade sank between Tannick’s spaulder and breastplate. No sooner was the blow struck than the old man roared, his mighty sword coming up to impale his attacker.

  ‘The Lord Marshal,’ someone shouted, as Tannick foundered, all vigour gone from his body.

  Merrick grabbed one of his father’s arms, Cormach the other, and they dragged him away from the Khurtic onslaught. The shield wall was hastily re-formed around them, the fight raging on as Merrick cradled the old man in his arms.

  He removed his father’s helm, confused to see Tannick smiling through a blood-rimmed mouth. They looked at each other, the sound of the battle seeming to fade in Merrick’s head. He opened his mouth to speak but had no idea what to say.

  ‘Do you see now, boy?’ said Tannick. Merrick had no idea if he did see or not. ‘It’s your turn now.’ Tannick thrust the Bludsdottr towards him. ‘Take it. It’s yours.’

  Merrick looked down at the blade and shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can. It’s yours. It was always meant to be yours. These men were always meant to be yours.’

  Merrick looked up at Cormach. The Whoreson simply stared back, offering no words of advice, though Merrick knew he’d never get any from this bastard.

  The blade looked big and heavy but it wasn’t its unwieldiness that filled Merrick with doubt. It symbolised the heart of the Wyvern Guard, only to be wielded by the Lord Marshal. Merrick was no leader of men; he had no right to it. The Wyvern Guard would never follow him. Not these warriors, tempered in battle and hate. Who was he but a drunken fop? How could he ever hope to lead knights?

  ‘I can’t,’ Merrick said again. ‘I’m not the man you want me to be. I never will be.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Cormach said, wresting the sword from Tannick’s weak grip. ‘I’ll fucking do it.’

  Merrick looked up just as the shield wall broke. Three Khurtas burst through the defence, leaping over the corpses of fallen Wyvern Guard.

  Cormach lifted the sword but stumbled as he did so. All his prowess seemed to leave him as he tried to swing the huge blade and he missed the first Khurta. The second hacked in as Cormach almost fell, the sword seeming to weigh him down as though he was lifting a tree trunk. An axe glanced off his arm and he dodged back, dropping the Bludsdottr to the ground. Jared rushed forward, doing his best to divert the assault, but he was outmatched by the three assailants and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

  Merrick stared down at the sword. His father was unable to speak now, his eyes staring, imploring. The Bludsdottr lay there, huge and cumbersome.

  He could hear screaming. The last stand of the Wyvern Guard failing fast now its Lord Marshal was mortally wounded. Merrick stood amidst the confusion. Stepping towards the sword as the battle raged. Men fought and died, the rain pounding down all around them as he stopped and knelt, his hand closing around the handle …

  The grip is bigger than any sword you have held but fits in your palm like it was made for you … because it was made for you. When the Bludsdottr was forged by Arlor himself it was gifted to a line of heroes – a line of kings – and now, after the centuries have passed and it has served men in battle for all that time, it is finally yours to wield.

  Merrick lifted the blade as though it weighed nothing. Battle went on all around him but he was calm within the seething tempest.

  Your blood, and the blood of your ancestors has been spilled in defence of this realm for more than a thousand years and this sword has served them all. It is yours and yours alone. It is part of you; your heart and your soul.

  A body came screaming through the rain, an axe raised high. Merrick barely noticed it, but the Bludsdottr spun in his one hand, twisting through the rain as drops bounced off the blade. It cut the Khurta in half, his blood spattering Merrick’s bronze-armoured body.

  It will serve you unto death, and afterwards it will serve the blood of your blood until the end of time.

  No sooner had the first Khurta fallen than a second came, then a third. Merrick grasped the sword with two hands, feeling his blood course, pumping in his chest, thrumming in his ears. The blade spun again, arcing through the air, severing a head, then a leg.

  The Wyvern Guard rallied, falling back to stand beside Merrick who stared out from a bloody face. The Khurtas stood aghast, wary now as Merrick looked back at them with clarity. His fugue was over, the sword in his hand having cast its spell. He knew its worth … he knew his worth.

  But no number of magick swords would save what remained of the Wyvern Guard from the thousands arrayed against them.

  Merrick smiled as they stood before the enemy. He wanted to speak, to spout some litany worthy of a hero, but for once he had no words. There was no way even he would fuck up this moment by opening his mouth. This time was sacred, he knew that now. To die with these men was an honour even he could not spurn.

  Before Merrick could lead their final charge a howl cut the air. A cry of death that froze every man to the spot.

  From the city came a swarm of daemons, spewing through the breach, out of the city like all the hells had just been opened.

  As it came for them, Merrick Ryder raised his father’s blade and laughed.

  FORTY-SIX

  From her vantage point on the bastion of the River Gate, Janessa watched again as the Khurtas attacked. She’d lost count of the number of men she’d seen slaughtered, the number of Khurtas cut down by volley fire. And still she watched.

  Through the rain she watched as brave men died. She watched as the Khurtas attacked again and again. She watched as they flung themselves at the Steelhaven phalanx. Janessa Mastragall watched until she could watch no longer.

  Now was the time to act. Now was the time to fight. All else had to be forgotten – all her pain and grief. All her past doubts. Even River, who she had last seen held prisoner b
y her most hated enemy. It all had to be forgotten as she led Steelhaven against its unstoppable foe.

  A siege tower moved inexorably into view, peppered with arrows, looking like it had been hacked from a mountain of steel. There were barely half a dozen men to stand against it, but still they stood, ready to die to defend the city. Her city.

  Janessa’s heels kicked her horse’s flanks as she loosed the reins. The Helsbayn rang from its scabbard as she galloped along the wall. Kaira cried something in her wake but Janessa paid it no mind. Men moved from her path in panic and arrows hissed past her bare head as she made her way towards the siege tower. The ramp fell with a metallic clank just as she reached it and the Khurtas within were unleashed, howling at the night.

  The Helsbayn sang its reply.

  Janessa felt the excitement of her first kill as the blade took a head from its shoulders. The thrill of that one small victory. A hunger began to burn as she swung again, taking another Khurtic life. Her steed bucked and snorted, its bulk knocking three of the enemy from the ramp. Janessa was screaming now, adding her own battle cry to the dirge. Blood splashed her armour and chin, matting the curls of her hair. She had no idea if any of it was hers but it mattered little to her now.

  She turned to see Kaira watching from the saddle of her own horse, the sword in her hand slick with blood. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, but there was also pride. She said nothing, she didn’t need to. Janessa merely gave her a nod, which Kaira returned, and that one gesture meant everything; more than any words could ever convey.

  You are a warrior queen now.

  Janessa turned her attention back to the battle. All along the wall she could see the Khurtas swarming to attack. Even she knew that every man who stood against them would be slain if she did nothing.

  She spurred her horse, riding it along the walkway, shouting at the top of her voice for her men to rally, to hearken to her call. Janessa held the Helsbayn aloft as she rode and saw every eye turn to her. As she rode past one of the wall’s bastions she plucked a flag bearing the Steelhaven coat of arms and raised it up. The flag was drenched from the rain and heavy in her grip but she held it out for all to see the crossed sword and crown emblazoned upon it.

  ‘Rally to the square,’ she cried. ‘Follow me.’

  Janessa rode back down the stairway, her fleet horse managing to stay sure of foot on the slick surface. The open space had few defensible positions but at least her soldiers could form ranks. The Khurtas would be channelled, their numbers less overwhelming in the confines of the square.

  As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs Kaira and Captain Garret were by her side. Kaira’s destrier snorted, sensing battle was coming.

  ‘This is madness,’ said Garret. ‘We have to get you away from here. You have to retreat to—’

  ‘I won’t leave them,’ Janessa said, as men flocked all around, milling in the square awaiting their orders.

  Kaira began forming the defenders into ranks, ordering an upturned cart be made into a meagre barricade and that archers take positions to the rear.

  ‘Your safety is paramount,’ said Garret more forcefully. ‘I cannot protect you if this is what you insist on.’

  ‘Then don’t protect me,’ Janessa replied. ‘Protect my city.’

  It was not an order, which she knew he would obey without question, but a plea.

  Garret stared at her, the rain soaking through his hair and beard. The days of fighting had left him looking smaller somehow, his face matted with dried blood from half a dozen wounds.

  ‘Always, Majesty,’ he replied.

  Janessa glanced back towards the battlements. Already the Khurtas had breached the wall, flooding over it, the noise of their arrival rising above the pounding of the rain on the square.

  She urged her horse forward, still holding the flag in her hand, raising it aloft.

  ‘Men of Steelhaven!’ she cried. ‘I don’t ask that you fight for your city and never that you fight for me. Only that you fight with me this one last time.’

  There was a cry from every man. A cry that filled Janessa with pride. For a fleeting moment she only wished that her father had been here to see this, to see her one last stand. But he was not here. There was only her. Queen Janessa Mastragall. Sovereign of Steelhaven and the Free States. Protector of Teutonia.

  The Khurtas had reached the bottom of the wall now and were charging towards the square. Janessa spurred her horse, drawing the Helsbayn from its scabbard once more and riding forward. There was a cry on her lips, something feral, something from the dark empty pit inside her. Kaira spurred up beside her, as did Garret and half a dozen Sentinels – all that remained of her retinue. They smashed into the Khurtas like an axe hitting rotting wood, splintering the enemy charge. The Helsbayn hummed through the air, delivering Janessa’s fury.

  As they fought there was a thunderous smash. Janessa pulled back on her reins, her horse rearing as in the distance she saw the Tower of Magisters had been struck by a massive boulder. The ancient stone at its base suddenly gave way, the tower lurching back violently. It toppled, crushing rooftops and houses beneath its vastness, but Janessa had no time to lament the loss as the battle still raged around her.

  Arrows whistled overhead in both directions whilst the rain beat down relentlessly. Janessa’s red curls were plastered to her head, the rain running in rivulets within her armour, but it did not weigh her down or hinder her as she swung that sacred blade.

  Something struck the haft of the flag she held, jarring it from her grip, and it fell amidst the press of Khurtas. She parried a swing of a sword, raising the Helsbayn to counter when her horse stumbled beneath her. With a squeal of anguish the stallion collapsed to the ground, Janessa crying out in anger and frustration as she fell. The impact jolted the sword from her grip, her head hitting the cobbled ground. Her vision swam as Janessa made to stand but her leg was pinned beneath the dead animal. Panic gripped her as she realised she was helpless.

  The melee continued to rage all around as the Sentinels did their best to protect her, but she was held fast. The Helsbayn was just beyond her grip, tantalisingly close as she reached with outstretched fingers.

  Janessa looked up in time to see the sneering face of a Khurta bearing down on her but his expression twisted from anger to agony as a sword blade pierced his chest. Garret withdrew the blade with practised ease, reaching for her as the Khurta fell. She gripped his arm, crying out as he dragged her from beneath the horse, her leg numb from being crushed beneath its weight. She still had the presence of mind to grasp the Helsbayn as Garret helped her to her feet, despite the pain. In an instant Kaira was also at their side, her own horse forgotten.

  ‘Get her out of here,’ snarled Garret. ‘To the temple.’

  Kaira nodded, dragging Janessa away from the battle as her Sentinels and bannermen blocked the Khurtic assault. She was about to protest but the pain in her leg stifled any objections. As they retreated Garret turned back to face the Khurtas, his sword held high as he proclaimed his loyalty to the Crown for all to hear. She could only stare at Garret – brave, loyal Garret – as he was consumed within the mass of savages, his blade still swinging.

  Janessa held onto Kaira as they backed away from the fighting. ‘Retreat!’ Kaira barked to the rest of the men, cowering behind their barricade. ‘Into the city, hide yourselves!’

  Some of them ran immediately, needing no further encouragement, but some raced forward, helping Kaira lift Janessa to her feet.

  Her leg throbbed, a stabbing pain shooting through her knee with every step, but still Janessa moved. She had wanted to fight the Khurtas to the end, but now that seemed like madness. This whole thing was madness. In the distance something brayed to the night, like an angry herd of bulls had been unleashed upon the city, only adding to the insanity.

  The Khurtas were rushing forward now, their fury unrestrained, cutting down anything in their path. Kaira did her best to help Janessa move south, away from the carnage, but with her
leg the way it was she knew they’d never get far.

  Two Khurtas burst from the pack, charging forward with blades raised. Janessa pushed herself away from Kaira, stumbling slightly but still finding her feet. She raised the Helsbayn as Kaira had taught her, holding it poised to strike. It felt good in her hand, it felt ready to kill.

  A shadow dropped from the building next to them, pouncing on the two Khurtas like a leopard on its prey. Janessa watched in horror as the beast caught one of the savage’s heads in its mouth, gripping the other by the throat. With a snap of its jaws the head came free. A squeeze of talons and the throat was ripped out. For a moment it took the time to feast, tearing flesh from its victims with abandon, and all Janessa could do was watch in horror. Then the beast’s black eyes looked about as it sniffed the air.

  Janessa felt Kaira’s grip on her arm, pulling her back, and slowly they moved away until the monster was out of sight.

  ‘What was that?’ Janessa asked, her heart thumping in her chest, the hand that did not hold the Helsbayn shaking uncontrollably.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Kaira. ‘But we can only hope it hates the Khurtas more than it hates us. Now come, I must get you to safety.’

  ‘Where are we going?

  ‘The Temple of Autumn. It is our last line of defence,’ said Kaira as they stumbled south through the deserted streets.

  Janessa saved her breath, moving as quickly as she could and biting her lip against the pain in her leg.

  The sky was lightening. She could only hope that when the new day dawned there would still be a city to defend.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  He had no idea why the Elharim woman had set him free, but River was not about to waste time thinking on it. All that mattered was finding Jay, but first he had to survive long enough.

  The Khurtas stood before him on the plain in their thousands but their focus was on the city. River was stripped to the waist, his face a mass of bruises and blood; it would not be difficult to go unseen amongst this savage horde.