by Stephen Deas
He is Aimes. Berren remembered that from the woods by the beach, the night after the battle against the slavers. Master Sy had meant something more than skin-deep. Berren couldn’t imagine what, but the thought made the hairs on his arms prickle. ‘This brother of yours, he’s some sort of idiot, right?’ He watched carefully as a cloud crossed the thief-taker’s face.
‘He was after he got kicked in the head by a horse.’ Syannis sat down and wiped the sweat off his brow and took a sip of water, fresh from the river outside. In Deephaven the river stank. Master Sy had sent Berren two miles every day, along the riverside to Sweetwater where the river was clean, but most people drank beer or weak wine. Here, though, they kept their rivers so you could drink from them.
Syannis passed the water skin to Berren. ‘Talon and I are both bastards. Aimes was the true heir to Tethis. When Radek and Meridian came and our father was killed, Talon and I fled but I left Aimes behind. I just couldn’t get to him. Everyone knew there was something wrong with him and maybe that’s what saved him. Anyway, they didn’t kill Aimes, even though they tried hard enough to get rid of me and Talon.’ He leaned closer. ‘Meridian declared Aimes king and then promptly sat on the throne and called himself regent. I suppose it gives him more of an air of authority in the kingdom. Meridian rules but strictly it’s Aimes who wears the crown.’ The thief-taker pursed his lips. ‘He’d be a few years older than you. To look at him, he’s in perfect health. They say he’s a good rider and would probably be handy with a sword if he had the first idea what it was for. It’s like something inside him is missing.’
‘Something missing?’ Berren almost choked. ‘Like someone cut out a piece of his soul, maybe?’
Syannis looked at him long and hard. ‘He was kicked in the head by a horse. It happens. He shouldn’t have been playing in the stables.’
Berren took a long swig of water and burped loudly. That was one of those thief-taker answers he’d grown used to over the years. Yes, there’s more to it, but you’d better stop asking questions. He laughed. Fine. He didn’t care about Aimes and he didn’t care about Syannis’s stupid war either. He went back to digging. ‘Sorry doesn’t bring her back,’ he said. ‘Nice trick getting me to leave my sword outside the town though. Why did you tell me she was still alive?’
‘I never said any such thing.’
‘I didn’t dream it. In the woods by the beach. You asked me if I saw her actually die and I said yes, and then you asked if I was sure as though you knew something that I didn’t. Like maybe that other sword-monk got to her in time and did that thing that one of them did to you when she smashed up your knee. Why did you tell me that if it’s not true?’
‘I’ve told you before: I didn’t tell you anything. If you didn’t dream it then it must have been someone else.’ Master Sy spat into the dirt and picked up his shovel.
‘Did you see her die?’
‘I saw the same as you. No one lives through a cut like that. She’s dead, Berren. I’m sorry I had to kill her but I did. I didn’t know she meant so much to you. Actually I thought you didn’t like her.’
‘Would it have changed anything?’
Syannis shook his head. ‘In the heat of the moment? No, I don’t think it would.’
‘I’d never seen so much blood.’ Berren looked away. He could see her again now, lying on Radek’s ship with her throat torn open. He’d be able to see that moment whenever he wanted for the rest of his life. Everything else, the times they’d spent together in her fighting circle, the moments alone, the touch of her cheek on his hand, all those were slowly fading, but the last memory stayed as clear as though it was yesterday.
‘Why did you stay here, Berren? Why didn’t you go back to Deephaven?’
Berren stopped. He turned on the thief-taker and glared. ‘Back to what? You took everything!’ He shook his head. ‘Being a soldier, even if it means digging privies for a twelvenight, is better than being a thief, never knowing where your next meal is coming from, never knowing when you might be caught and what will happen when you are – a beating, a branding, maybe a broken bone or two; maybe they’ll take your hand off, or maybe they’ll just stick a knife in you and roll you into the river. You don’t know what it’s like, because you’ve never had to do it.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m a foreigner, a dark-skin from across the sea and a warlock’s boy too, so the other soldiers here don’t like me much, but I still hear their stories. They’re people who lost their homes, lost their families or never had anything in the first place. They dream of saving enough silver to buy a piece of land, build a home, raise a family . . .’ He chuckled, thinking of the Hawks who had other dreams. Tarn wanted to start his own fighting school and there were a couple who were set on buying their own forges. And then there was Divan, who wasn’t quite right in the head, and who was firmly convinced that he’d stop being a Hawk one day and travel to the sandy wastes at the southern end of the world to live in a palace of gold and marble and be waited on by exactly three hundred and twelve concubines. The smile faded from his face. ‘Even Talon’s lost his home,’ he said. ‘They’re wanderers. I fit.’
‘You should go back, Berren.’
Berren started shovelling the contents of yet another old privy onto the back of a wagon. He was up to his knees in excrement and slime when he saw that Syannis had stopped and was standing over him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Syannis said again. ‘But that’s all. That’s all I have for you. If that’s not good enough then get on a ship and leave.’
‘You should have told me,’ Berren said, his voice dull. ‘You should have let me help you. You should have let me be a part of it.’
‘And you should have stayed where you were put, listened to what you were told and done what you were asked.’
Berren glared at him. ‘Would you?’
‘No. No, I doubt that I would.’
‘Well then.’ Berren climbed out of his hole and stood face to face with the thief-taker. His hands and his shoes and his trousers were covered in filth. Somehow, Syannis didn’t seem to be nearly as dirty as he should be. ‘Still shouldn’t have.’ He grabbed Syannis’s shirt and pulled hard, throwing him into the privy. Then he looked down at his old master, up to his knees in shit, hands covered in filth and a face covered in outrage. He laughed, even as there were tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘I can’t forget her. I just can’t.’
‘Boy!’ Syannis looked ready to explode.
‘Not something that’s supposed to happen to a king’s son, eh?’ Berren barked a bitter laugh. ‘Where I grew up you could be stabbed in the street for a few pieces of copper. Life is cheaper than gold or silver and worth more than both. Nothing changes, wherever I go. And I’m not your boy any more.’ Syannis opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, Berren threw a bucket at him. ‘This is what you wanted,’ he said. ‘Now dig, bastard prince.’
The thief-taker stared up at him. The anger in his face slowly changed and he started to laugh. ‘You’re a whoreson, Berren, you truly are.’
‘It does seem likely.’ Berren shrugged.
‘You want to play it like this? Fine.’ Syannis picked up a handful of filth and threw it. Berren ducked and it sailed past his face. The thief-taker started to climb out. ‘You’re going back in that hole, boy. One way or another.’
Berren picked up a spade and held it like an axe. ‘You and who’s army, king’s bastard?’
Syannis was still laughing, but there was a glint in his eye of the old anger, that dangerous look just before he took someone’s head off. This time Berren knew exactly how he felt, but halfway out of the pit, Syannis stopped. He pointed.
‘Maybe that one.’
20
LESSONS IN BREAKING AND ENTERING
Berren followed the thief-taker’s finger. Through the maze of tents, a posse of soldiers were weaving their way towards the castle. They weren’t wearing the purple of the king’s guard, the green of the men from Kalda, or the brown and black of the M
ountain Panther.
‘Come on! Help me out!’ Syannis thrust a hand towards Berren. Berren pulled him out of the pit and then followed as Syannis ran to the palisade. They climbed up, ignoring the shouts of nearby soldiers. Down in the harbour two fat-bellied ships that hadn’t been there in the morning now wallowed in the water. If he squinted, Berren thought he could see longboats inching their way towards the shore.
‘Oi!’ There was an angry shout from below and behind them. ‘You two!’ A soldier was staring up, waving his fist. ‘What do you think you’re doing up there? Get down and get back to work!’
Berren hurried down and ran back towards the privies with Syannis hot behind him, hoping the soldier would ignore them, but he followed. ‘We were just—’ started the thief-taker, but the soldier stopped him with a glare.
‘I don’t care what you was just – you want to work, you work!’ He pointed at a patch of clear ground. ‘A new one. There. When you’ve done that, this one needs filling in and that one needs digging out. Looks like there’s going to be a lot of work for you two today, and you’d better put your backs into it if you don’t want to go home hungry.’
‘Ain’t you got enough shit holes?’ Berren laughed.
The soldier snorted. ‘Got another company shipping in, haven’t we?’ The sneer in his words was clear. Not his company. He snatched up a shovel and tossed it at Berren. ‘Dig, you oik! I’ll be watching you.’
Berren dug, and Syannis too. They looked up now and then, watching what was happening. The castle yard grew busier. More tents sprouted up. New soldiers began to arrive, these ones in grey with a black sword, point down, emblazoned on their tunics. Now and then Berren caught sight of an archer or two, with longbows as tall as a man slung over their shoulders. They walked tall and proud, with a swagger as though they expected everyone else to move aside for them. Later in the afternoon came an even more startling sight. Six men armoured in shining metal plates came striding by. Even the king’s guard stopped what they were doing to stare.
‘The Black Swords!’ whispered Syannis. ‘All of them!’
Berren shrugged.
‘That’s nearly a thousand men. They usually split into separate companies and fight in two or three places at once. They’ve got archers and a few men in that Dominion armour. Everyone else is afraid of them.’ He whistled softly and then grinned. ‘Talon must really have put the wind up Meridian. Good.’
‘Huh.’ To Berren the men in their metal skins looked slow and clumsy. Difficult for a man with a spear or a short sword to find a way through it all maybe, but what did that matter if you could simply stand back and throw rocks at them? He shrugged and went back to his digging. Maybe no one had enough rocks to wear them down?
Once it was too dark to work, the sergeant who’d hired them sent them away, each with a penny and a burned end of bread. Berren wrapped his in cloth and put it inside his shirt for later, for when his hands weren’t encrusted with other people’s shit.
‘Tomorrow?’ asked Syannis, but the sergeant shook his head.
‘I seen you two slacking off. Lazy. Got no place for lazy men here. Piss off and be glad you got paid.’ He turned and left.
Outside the castle Syannis idly threw his crust of bread away. Berren shook his head. ‘Duke’s boy,’ he muttered.
‘What?’
‘You come from where I come from, you wouldn’t throw away perfectly good food, that’s what. Old habits die hard.’
‘I’m not eating like this!’ The thief-taker raised his hands, every bit as filthy as Berren’s.
‘That’s because you don’t know what hungry is.’ Berren shook his head and looked away. ‘Bet you never have. Not once.’ This could be where they went their separate ways. He’d done what needed to be done. Things would never be the same between them, but he’d said his piece now. The hole was still there inside him, but he didn’t need the thief-taker any more. The itch was gone. ‘It’s all right. I don’t want to fight. It’s just funny, that’s all.’ He turned and started to walk away. There weren’t going to be any goodbyes.
‘Talon says you fought well,’ said Syannis. ‘What was it like?’
‘Bloody,’ muttered Berren. The fight on the beach still troubled him. Not because he’d been scared, which he had, but because in the fragments he remembered the strongest impression was of how much he’d liked it. And because of what he’d done afterwards to the old woman with the knife, while the buzz of it was still hot inside his head. Troubled him a lot when he thought about it, so mostly he didn’t. ‘I was too busy staying alive to notice much else. I expect I’d have a very different idea if I’d been watching from a distance.’
‘There’s going to be more. Berren?’
Berren paused. ‘Master?’ Even now the word came out with a will of its own. He could have punched himself.
‘I can’t do this without you. You’re right about Meridian. He’s here. I know a way to get close. But I have to deal with Aimes and so I need you. You have to do it. You have to get rid of Meridian.’
‘Me? No. You’ve got Hain for that.’ Berren turned away.
‘Hain?’ Syannis almost howled. ‘You think Hain could do something like this? No. But you could. There’s going to be a war, you see. A bloody one. Me and Talon against all the soldiers you saw in that castle. A lot of people will die. People like Tarn. Your friends. Kill Meridian, maybe you could stop it.’
Berren took a deep breath. ‘You want to stop it, don’t fight it,’ he said. ‘Let it go.’
‘You always wanted to learn swords. I gave that to you. What was it for?’
‘I don’t know any more,’ said Berren quietly. ‘It wasn’t for what happened in Deephaven, I know that.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Tasahre not to be dead, that’s what I want.’ To go back in time and make things different. Nothing that Master Sy could give. Yet he still didn’t walk away.
‘I gave you everything. Do I have to beg?’
‘It would help.’ I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t my war and I shouldn’t be fighting it. I should go home back to Deephaven. But back to what? Come on, there must be something. Some reason!
The next thing he knew, Syannis was in front of him down on his knees. The tension in his face was obvious, obvious how much he loathed what he was doing, but he was doing it anyway. ‘Please, Berren. Please help me. Just Meridian. Then do what you like.’
Berren bit his lip. This wasn’t the Master Sy he knew. Maybe what he’d done in Deephaven had changed him after all – maybe he really was sorry. ‘I’ll tell you what I want then,’ he said slowly. ‘There was a . . . what’s your name for it? Bonds-maid? In the castle. She belongs to Princess Gelisya. I had to whip her, and all because she stood up for what she thought was right. I want her to go free. Not to be mine. Just to go free.’ There and then it was the only thing he could think of.
‘Very well. When she’s mine to give, she’s yours. I promise.’
‘No, I don’t want you to give her to me. I just want you to let her go.’
Syannis shrugged. ‘If that’s really what you want.’
‘It is. But you’d better do it. There’ll be hell between us if you don’t.’ Why did she matter so much? He barely knew her, but then this wasn’t about her at all. She was a symbol, that’s what. A way to redeem himself for Tasahre. And perhaps to redeem the thief-taker too. It was a strangely fierce thing inside him, a reason. A purpose. It had been a long time since he’d had one of those. He offered Master Sy his hand. ‘You’re not my master any more.’
‘I know.’
‘Fine then.’ He couldn’t look at the thief-taker. So fallen from what he’d been. An idol almost. Everything he’d aspired to be once, long ago as a foolish boy. And still the closest thing he’d ever had to a father. ‘Right then. Let’s go kill your king.’
‘Regent,’ murmured Syannis. ‘Not my king.’
They walked on down the road from the castle and into the town. The night-t
ime streets were quiet and the market square was almost empty. A couple of soldiers lounged against a wall, pointedly ignoring a man taking a piss against someone’s door. Syannis led the way past them, along a narrow street between small houses jammed up together along the side of the river, until the road became a track and the houses became huts, and then the track narrowed even more to a path, steep and uneven, and the huts came to an end. Before long they were clambering between rocks, while the river hissed and splashed beside them. They took a moment to clean the worst of the muck off their hands and clothes. A half-moon was rising.
‘Doesn’t anyone ever keep watch down here?’ muttered Berren.
‘Tethis doesn’t have walls. No reason to watch the river. Well, none except the one that only Talon and Hain and I know about.’ Ahead of them, a hooting call broke the quiet. Syannis stopped. ‘That’s Hain.’
Berren thought it sounded like a night bird, but since he’d been born and raised in a city, he supposed he didn’t know too much about birds. Apart from seagulls, he thought sourly. Syannis set off again. Long grass and brambles tore at Berren’s boots as he followed. The second time they stopped, Berren looked up. The top of the slope was maybe a dozen men standing on each others’ shoulders above him, steep enough that a man would need his wits and both his hands free to climb it. He could just about make out the low castle wall that overlooked the gorge. The river was below them now, rushing and hissing. Its foam glinted in the moonlight. Another bird call hooted out, and this time they were close. Syannis eased his way between two tall thorn bushes and Berren followed. Behind the bushes was a hollow. It was so dark that Berren didn’t see Hain until the thief-taker’s squire spoke.
‘All here,’ breathed Hain.
‘You found it then?’
‘I could find it with my eyes closed.’
‘Lamp?’
Hain reached down and lifted something. A dim light lit the floor of the hollow. Berren could see their boots. He could see that the hollow turned into a small hole in the side of the gorge. Large enough to crawl through. A cave.
