by Julia Knight
Bold enough, and the guild will become involved. His insides roiled and cramped. Kass thought he was dead, and Petri was. The old Petri had wanted nothing more than to hide away, but this new one was bolder and thought perhaps showing her just how strong he could be would be sweet as strawberries.
Chapter Eleven
Four months ago
Petri obeyed the summons, which came in the grey light of a coming snowstorm. Scar’s hut was as welcomingly warm as before; she paced as she had done, looked up when he came in. She wasn’t alone.
Maitea hovered in the background, as impassive and regal-looking as her mother had once been. Kepa stood behind Morro, one meaty hand holding the magician firmly in place, a casual knife ready should it be required.
A cold hand gripped Petri when he saw the magician’s gloves laid neatly in his lap, leaving his hands for all to see, and the markings that writhed over them, dark and ominous. Now swords, now half a face, now a severed head.
“Petri, sit,” Scar said, and he did. “Kepa, take them both to the mess, get them some food. And keep an eye on him.”
“Make him put his gloves on first,” Petri said.
Kepa pulled the magician to his feet, shoved his mittens on him and hustled him out of the door, the knife never far away from the man’s back. Maitea followed slowly, with a glance for Petri as she went.
Scar stopped her pacing, sat at the table and ladled out some food for Petri. Something behind her look, he thought again.
“Eat,” she said.
So he did, trying not to bolt it, savouring the hot rush of it in his stomach. She leaned forward, and the scent of her overpowered him. Metal, leather, another darker scent. Ambition, he though obscurely, where he’d never noted it in her before.
“You’ve dealt with magicians before, Morro said.”
A nod from him.
“And it didn’t end well. I understand that. But Morro can help us, and he will if he knows what’s good for him. If I make sure he knows who his mistress is.”
Petri fidgeted with the spoon, but all appetite had fled. “Magicians are their own masters, and he’ll make himself your master too. He’ll have you in his net as soon as you can spit.”
Scar waved a derisive hand. “This one will work for me or find himself at the bottom of the mountain with his throat cut. They still die like any other man. They have cares too, points to lever them on, just like any other.”
“Maitea?”
“Exactly. She’s minded to help us, is grateful to me. I can use that–her–to keep him in check.” She sat back and looked at Petri critically. “Do you ever wonder, Petri, what it is we’re doing here?”
“Surviving. Keeping your waifs and strays fed.”
A bark of a laugh at that. “Yes, and barely at that. Don’t you think we deserve more, these poor wretches whose life has been shat upon? Don’t we deserve lives like those fat old sots in the villages, the towns, deserve their warm houses, tucked up against the snow? Enough food to eat? Almost every man and woman here fought last summer–whether for Reyes or Ikaras–and was then thrown aside when the need for their help was past, when they were too broken, too scarred. Aren’t you the same? Discarded when no longer of use?”
Her face glowed with the need to make him see, her eyes flickering orange in the firelight. They weren’t like her eyes at all, and the words weren’t like hers either. Her ambitions before had never gone further than keeping her “boys and girls” safe and fed. Now a magician had appeared, and she had changed in a way that made his skin clammy.
“Let me tell you something.” She fingered the scar on her face. “Everyone always asks, except you, so I’m going to tell you. I got this when a man got upset that I wouldn’t fuck him, like he had some right to it. Thought he’d make sure no one else would want to, or some such stupidity. It worked, his stupid plan. Plenty of people can’t see past the scars, men and women both. Then again there’s some who can, if you give them reason enough. You have to let those people have a chance.”
Petri swirled his stew with the spoon. “Do I?”
She ran a finger along the blade of the knife. “Oh, I think you do, Petri. I think you want to tell me at least a bit of it. All I see now is a man with a fucked-up face and a fucked-up heart, full of hate for the world and rage at everything in it, who doesn’t care who he hits, who he threatens, even if it’s just for a bed for the night. Oh yes, I know how it’s gone in the barn. I see the scars of those who cross you, see how even Kepa looks at you as though you’re a snake waiting to strike. A man like you could turn quite happily on the hand that is feeding him, I see that right enough. I’ve given you time, and food. I’ve given you something to do, and maybe, just maybe, I might give you what you’re really after, payback for whatever kindled that hate. But you’ll have to tell me. Because I won’t have a man in my camp who might turn on me, or any of the people here. A man like that is as good as dead, just like that magician if he tries to cross me.”
The knife wavered in front of him, but he wasn’t scared now. He was tired of being scared, sick of the terror that littered his dreams. Instead of visions of a hot knife, now came hot rage, dimming his vision, blinding him, energising him. He wanted to take the world by the scruff of the neck and show it that it was wrong.
His good hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, twisted it until she dropped the knife, kept twisting until her shouts, and a stiff cuff around the ear, penetrated his head. He dropped her wrist like it burned him and shoved his chair back, shaking and sweaty.
The door opened behind him, let in a blast of frigid air that cleared his head. Two men ran in, two of the company’s rare guns drawn and ready to blow his head off at Scar’s word.
Scar sat half out of her chair, rubbing her wrist, the knife already back in her hand. Pointing at him. A shake of her head, and the two men left, grumbling under their breath. They didn’t go far though–Petri could hear them take up stations just outside the door.
He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t seem to get words past his lips, past the fear pent up in his throat, past the icy rage that seemed to burn his skin.
Scar sat back in her chair as though nothing had happened, changed her grip on the knife and drove it into the wood of the table.
“Not many men would dare to do that,” she said. “And none in this camp, though I value a man who would dare it, might dare to tell me when I’m wrong. Tell me now. Tell me how I’m wrong about you, about who made you like this and what you want to do to them.”
He shut his eye, but that didn’t stop him seeing the hot knife, hearing Eneko tell him he was weakness, stop him hoping for Kass, that she’d come. She hadn’t, she never would; she’d look at him and turn away from what he’d become, at how weak he’d been. Eneko was dead, and Petri couldn’t get his revenge on the dead, but Kass… He’d started this all that time ago because he loved her, because she’d shown him things he’d never seen before. He’d betrayed because of her, lost his old life for good, would be hung for treason now if ever they found out where he was. Then, when he’d needed her, Kass hadn’t been there. She hadn’t been there, but now everyone knew what a coward he’d been, how he’d spilled his guts while he waited in vain for her.
“She abandoned you,” Scar said, and he realised he’d spoken aloud. “She left him to do that to you. She didn’t care enough to stop it or what came later. She discarded you like so much rubbish, like all of us were discarded. And you hate her.”
The knife blurred in his vision, and his throat seemed to close up, but he nodded. Nothing in his head made much sense right now, but Scar’s words cut through all that.
“Yes” was all he said, and that came out a whisper.
“Poor Petri,” she said and came closer. “But all that changed you for the better, didn’t it? I see it in half my crew, more. They’ve all been forged in the heat of every hell and come out the other side stronger for it. Like you. Stick with me and you can show her, show all of the
m, what they threw away.”
His head swirled with her words until he felt dizzy. “I thought… I thought you wanted to keep your head down, stay safe, not do anything to attract the guards’ notice?” Stay free, not invite a trip back to the Shrive, or worse. His skin shivered at the thought of another cell. Free, that was all he’d ever wanted, and he had it now. Free and strong. Why jeopardise that?
She frowned and stared at the fire for a while, as though she wasn’t sure where her words had come from or if she meant them. When she spoke, it was slowly, as though reciting something she’d had to commit to memory.
“Too many of us now. When there were only a dozen, we were easy to hide. Now, after the battle with Ikaras, our numbers have grown. All good men and women, fighters, discarded like the rest of us, too scarred to be of use to anyone but me. We can’t hide any more, and why should we?” Her tone grew belligerent, as though he’d argued with her. “Plans change, Petri. Now I have a magician to use, and use him I will. To make us stronger than anyone ever thought. I have you to use as well, and an assassin to either get on my side or ransom.”
He looked at her, at the sudden sheen behind her eyes that reminded him too much of Bakar when he’d first started his odd ravings. Only she wasn’t raving; it made sense. Only… only it was a sudden change, as though these thoughts weren’t hers.
“Morro, did you look at his hands?”
She started at that and almost dropped the knife. “No! No, I know better than that. I told you, I’ll use him not have him use me. I’ve heard the stories. It’s just his turning up has given me ideas. Never had the opportunity to do anything but survive before. Now I have, and I intend to get what I can for my boys and girls. I could use a man like you though. Guild trained, experienced in things I’ve never known, like magicians and assassins. Join me, properly. Not just to train my men to use their swords, but be part of us. I intend to show all those who threw us away, thought we were nothing once they’d had their use of us. I intend to show them they were wrong about us. All of us. Will you?”
Discarded when no longer of use–that described it perfectly, what seethed inside him. Dom said his name was known as that of a coward in Reyes, and Kass… Kass had thrown him away, left him to rot because she didn’t need him any more, because he was useless, weaker than bad steel, softer than lead. But he wasn’t. No, he was sharper than knives, stronger than mountains. He would relish showing her that.
“If you grow bold enough,” he said slowly, remembering Dom’s words, “the guild will come.”
Scar grinned at him. “She’ll come, you mean. And then you can show her, and all the rest, what fools they were to throw you away. So you’ll join me?”
His skin still felt clammy at the thought of the magician, of the damage he could do. “Yes. But be careful of Morro–warn everyone not to look at his hands at the very least.”
Later, after Scar had come and kissed the mess of his cheek, had told him she could see the worth of the man behind it, had taken him to bed, he wondered why even so it was Kass’s face he saw on hers.
Chapter Twelve
Now
Vocho hadn’t slept well–he thought probably none of them had, what with the sound of the wolves, sometimes nearer, sometimes further away. When Kass had come to wake him for his turn on watch, he was already awake.
The campsite was still and cold, the sky full of frost-sharp stars. He limped to the stand of trees, took a quick look about and, when he was sure no one was watching, took a slug of jollop. His deep sigh puffed out in front of him as the stuff took hold, stilled the damnable shake of his hands that only went when he got his fix. He almost dropped the bottle when Cospel came around a tree.
“Cogs, you almost killed me,” he said when he’d managed to get his heart back from out of his mouth.
Cospel glanced at the bottle as Vocho surreptitiously tried to stash it, but he didn’t say anything about it. “Wolves are getting close again,” he said instead. Vocho listened, but the howls had stopped. “They split up after we chased ’em off. Reckon that’s why they howl–to find each other again. Now they has. Look, up there.”
Vocho peered through the pre-dawn gloom. Dark shapes separated from the shadows at the end of the valley, slunk silently over the snow there and back into the shadows.
“Been talking to some of Eder’s lot–they been up here before. Reckon them wolves’ll try one more time before it gets light. But they won’t get too close to a man. Smart, they are. They know we’ll kill ’em. But if they’s hungry enough, they won’t care about that, and I reckon they’s hungry enough.”
“Thank you for that comforting speech,” Vocho said.
Cospel leered a grin in the darkness. “Wolves won’t be no problem for Vocho the Great. Will they? Might make you look especially impressive to a certain young lady.”
A fine point, Vocho had to begrudge him that. “Come on then. Wait, get some brands from the fire.”
“I wondered if you’d think of that. Eder has too. Look.”
Of course he had–five of his troop already had flaming branches in hand and were moving up the slope. Vocho and Cospel hurried to join them, Eder close on their heels, radiating contempt. Vocho wasn’t unduly disappointed when he saw Carrola’s sleepy face at a tent flap, watching them go. He straightened his shoulders and made sure not to limp.
The wolves coiled among the trees at the end of the valley, working up the courage to attack again. As Vocho and the rest approached, brandishing flames, they shrank back until all he could see was the spark of their eyes as they reflected the light.
They didn’t hold back for long–one, a bigger wolf with a shaggy silver mane, seemed bolder than the rest and crept forward out of the shadows despite all the brands. Vocho leaped forward, brand in one hand and sword in the other, but while the wolf retreated every time he got close, it didn’t stay back. Neither did the rest. They oiled in and out of the shadows, inched left and right, wherever Vocho and the rest weren’t, flanking them, keeping just out of sword reach for now. Maybe not for long. They were hungry enough, desperate enough, Vocho supposed.
One of Eder’s troop strayed too far from the others. The lead wolf leaped at her with a snarl, and she darted back only just in time to avoid the teeth that snapped at her face. That seemed to embolden the wolves, and they flowed forward, two dozen or more silent grey forms. Half headed for the horses, and two of Eder’s troop followed, shouting and waving their branches. One shot his gun wildly into the air, and the noise paused the wolves, but not for long.
The lead wolf and what was left of the pack swirled around Vocho, Eder, Cospel and the three remaining guards. Vocho tried a few lunges with his sword, but quick as he was, the wolves were quicker. He couldn’t even get close. Their tongues lolled almost like they were laughing at him.
Behind Vocho the horses began screaming, and the stamp of hooves echoed around the little valley. They couldn’t afford to lose any more mounts. In front of him the lead wolf leaped straight at Cospel, ignoring the flaming brand he thrashed about in front of him.
Vocho whipped a glance to Eder, who raised his gun and fired wildly. The bullet hit nothing but air. No time to lose–Vocho never stopped to think about it, he was too far away, the wolf had knocked Cospel to the ground, and Eder’s shot had done nothing. Vocho grabbed the gun from the man standing next to him, and with a prayer ringing in his head–I hope to crap this works–he fired, hoping the noise would scare the beast.
It did better than that. The wolf fell dead from a bullet to the back of the head, leaving Cospel to clamber out from underneath, awash in blood. Vocho ran to him, helped him up and checked him over. A couple of scratches and a longer gouge along an arm, but it could have been worse. Much worse.
The death of the lead wolf had more of an effect than all their flaming brands, flashing swords and fired shots. The wolves circling Vocho and Cospel shrank back until they were just eyes among the lessening shadows again. The ones by the horses needed mor
e effort, but soon they too had been driven off or downed, just as dawn began to lighten the sky.
Eder came over, face darker than ever as Carrola came bounding over the snow and looked down at the dead wolf.
“That was a shot and a half,” Cospel said. “Didn’t know you was any good with guns.”
Neither did Vocho, but he wasn’t about to admit that.
“A great shot,” Carrola echoed and gave him a smile that could have melted every snowflake on the mountain.
“Luck,” Eder snapped. “Sergeant, the rest of you–” Vocho belatedly realised it hadn’t been just Carrola watching, but most of Eder’s troop, along with Kass and their guildsmen “–get to your tents. Ready to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Carrola shot Voch a look that spoke volumes he wasn’t sure he understood, and then Eder’s troop broke for their tents to get them down and packed on the horses in time. Vocho headed for their own tents, Cospel not far behind, muttering about some ointment he had that would help his scratches. Kass was already there. Neither of them wanted to be left behind again for a captain’s stupid pride, especially with a hungry wolf pack on the prowl.
“We could just—” Vocho began.
“Just nothing, Voch,” Kass said. “You saved Cospel, and that was good–great even, and a fantastic shot. Unfortunately you just upstaged Eder. Or that’s how he’ll see it. Like he didn’t need another reason to hate you. Well done, Voch. Well done.”
“I should have left Cospel to get eaten?”
She stopped her frenzied tent packing. “No. Of course not. But you couldn’t have found another way?”
“No other way presented itself at the time.”
“Great,” she said. “Just cogging great.”
