by Tom Lloyd
Those with more sense fled into the stonedun, desperately trying to pull the heavy door closed behind them, but Kohrad slipped from his saddle and ran for the entrance himself. He threw his sword at the man trying to pull it shut, spearing him in a burst of yellow light, then leapt into the gap to stop the massive door on its inward swing. One man, seeing the white-eye had no sword, turned back and attacked him, but Kohrad dodged out of the way of the falling axe, then twisted back to grab the weapon, pulling the soldier off-balance.
Kohrad shoved the door open again to disentangle his foot, then snapped a kick into the man’s ribs, knocking him over. A second soldier ran forward as Kohrad tugged the axe blade free and spun it upwards with a flourish to catch his attacker under the chin.
In a matter of seconds it was over and stillness returned. Styrax surveyed his troops and gave an approving nod. The Reavers were unparalleled throughout the Land, but most of them were white-eyes and they were actively encouraged to be wild. These Cheme troops were normal men -albeit many were far from normal -but discipline was as valuable as strength. He could trust these men to be swift and neat. Without an order spoken, they had dropped from their horses and started to drag the bodies inside. Styrax looked around and realised that Kohrad had disappeared. He opened his mouth to ask Gaur to fetch the unpredictable youth when the boy appeared again, sword drawn and dripping with blood.
‘The guardroom is clear,’ Kohrad announced in a low, level tone. Styrax nodded briskly. His son was making a great effort to remain in control, and he wouldn’t insult him by remarking on it.
‘Good. Major, stay here with the men. I doubt anyone will come; if they do, deal with the matter or pull back. Gaur, Kohrad, with me.’
The major nodded and unsheathed his dagger to cut the colourful robes from one of the dead men: they might as well look the part. Styrax left the man to it and swept through the door. Speed was of the essence now. The Third Army was waiting outside the city for the signal to attack. The longer they waited, the greater the likelihood that Salen’s troops would discover them, losing them the element of surprise. As he moved silently up the stone steps, he heard frightened whispers. Ahead of him was a sharp turn - anyone hearing the fight outside would no doubt be waiting there to see who came up the stairs. They would be expecting an assassination, a quick death in the night for the talismanic general instead of an execution that would likely spark a riot.
Styrax checked his pace as he reached the corner, in case an axe was going to be swung blind, then shot round it. A grunt of surprise preceded a heavy spear being thrust forward. Styrax, ready, grabbed the shaft and tugged hard, pulling the youth from the shadows. Gaur, close behind as always, slammed a hairy fist into the unprotected forearm holding the spear. The youth yelped and dropped the weapon, trying to scramble back until he realised the bestial general had him by the scruff of the neck.
‘You’ll do,’ muttered Styrax. He took the boy from Gaur and gave him a shake. Startled, fearful eyes stared up at the huge white-eye as the boy froze. ‘You understand me?’ Styrax demanded in Chetse.
The youth flinched then opened his mouth to speak. Unable to find words, he nodded hurriedly.
‘That was a foolish thing to do. Lord Salen would have used it as an excuse. Lucky for you that you just tried to run me through instead of one of his men, wouldn’t you say?’ Styrax smelled an acrid smell rise up from the boy, who looked to be less than thirteen summers -too young to join the army, too young to have developed the muscle a Chetse warrior needed. He smiled and put the boy down, then removed his helm and let the boy see his face, instead of the unnervingly angelic aspect of Karkarn etched into the face-plate.
‘I want you to do something for me, boy,’ he said. ‘Did you hear what happened at the gate?’
The boy managed a nod.
‘That was us killing the men who’ve been guarding you. They were going to wait until dawn, and then kill the general. Are you related to General Dev?’
Again, he got a nod. In a dry rasp, the boy said, ‘He’s my great-uncle, sir.’
Styrax thought it sounded strange to hear the Chetse tongue in a high girlish voice. It sounded lighter, more poetic than he’d suspected -until now, he’d only heard it spoken by soldiers. ‘I thought as much. What’s your name, boy?’
‘Esech, sir.’
‘And you know who I am?’
The boy nodded, unable to say the words.
‘Esech, I gave no orders for the general to be killed, nor for many of the other things Lord Salen has done in the city since I’ve been gone. Do you know what I do to men who don’t follow orders?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now tell me whether there are any more Menin in the stonedun.’
‘Only four, sir; two in Uncl—in the general’s chamber and two at the door.’
‘Thank you, Esech. We’re going to go and free your great-uncle now. I want to talk to him a while.’
‘You’re—Are you going to kill him?’
‘No, I’m not. You believe me, don’t you?’
The boy froze, unsure, incapable of saying to this huge white-eye’s face that he disbelieved the Menin lord. After a moment he lowered his eyes and nodded.
‘Good. Now go back to your family’s rooms and tell your family that in a few minutes the stonedun won’t have any guards. That means you will be able to do what you like, but it’s not going to be much fun on the streets tonight. I suggest you all stay quiet and safe. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then nod once more if I just keep on going up this main stair to reach the general’s chambers, and go back to your rooms.’ Styrax watched the boy bob quickly and scramble away. He straightened and replaced his helm.
‘Right, no unnecessary commotion here. Kohrad, take Gaur’s crossbows and go ahead. You can see well enough to get both guards?’
Kohrad nodded and sheathed his own sword, the flames from the blade licking at the gold band on the scabbard for another heartbeat before dissipating. He accepted one of Gaur’s crossbows, loaded it with ease as the general did the other, then turned and began padding softly up the steps, both crossbows levelled and ready. Styrax followed close behind, weaving a simple spell to bind the tunnel’s shadows around his son.
The darkly flickering armour melted into the murky surrounds and Kohrad turned up the last corridor without hesitation. Styrax caught sight of the two drowsy, bored guards over his son’s shoulder only just before Kohrad shot them, one following the other so swiftly that the second man didn’t even have time to see why his companion had grunted before a bolt hit him in the throat. Styrax stepped over the corpses to the closed iron-bound door.
More sloppiness, he thought to himself as he realised the door was too thick to allow the sound to travel. I would hope for better from my own army than this. Don’t tell me they let the old man claim he’d catch a chill and allowed their numbers to be divided the night before he was damn well scheduled for execution? Haven’t they even contemplated someone attempting a rescue?
He drew a breath and hefted Kobra. The strange, fanged blade was pitch-black colour - except after it had killed, when it took on a deep red sheen. Styrax had always considered it a hateful weapon, too eager to drink the blood of those he killed. Unfortunately, that also made it the most powerful sword he’d come across, with the exception of that wielded by Koezh Vukotic, the last weapon forged by the Elf king Aryn Bwr, which was filled with the last king’s grief at the assassination of his son.
Styrax could have taken that sword as he watched Koezh Vukotic’s corpse putrefy and disintegrate, but it had rejected him. There was not enough loss in his soul, he suspected. After he’d touched the blade with his scarred hand, Styrax hadn’t wanted it either -so much pain would eat its way into a man, and that power was not worth the high price demanded. A long time ago he had been told that he would have to take everything he had, that nothing would be given freely to the Saviour he was to become. That suited Styrax, e
ven after he’d rejected the dubious honour. He had earned his ‘gifts’, and bore no debt to the Gods because of them.
Kicking the door off its hinges, Styrax stormed dramatically into the room, almost colliding with the guard who had jumped up from his chair and was still fumbling for his sword. Styrax scanned the room quickly, then swung Kobra up to meet the second soldier’s axe which was crashing down towards his hip. The force of his blow drove the man back and Styrax stepped away to give himself space to swing his broadsword properly, removing the man’s head in a shower of blood and shattered bone. The other guard had regained his feet, but he barely had time to raise his own weapon before he found himself spitted on Styrax’s sword. The magical blade pierced the centre of his cuirass and pinned him, whimpering, to the wall. Stepping close, Styrax snapped the man’s neck to finish him off quickly, and left the sword jammed in the stone, feeding greedily.
He took stock of the living: two women cowered near the bed, obviously terrified, while a young unarmed Chetse soldier by the window looked almost frozen on the point of running forward. Styrax ignored them all and walked to the bedside, where an elderly man had raised himself up on his elbows. His only reaction was to raise an eyebrow at the newcomer, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the thick grey bandage wrapped around his head.
‘Ah, General Dev,’ Styrax said graciously. ‘I hear you’re scheduled for execution in the morning.’
‘Lord Styrax.’ Chote Dev acknowledged his fellow soldier. ‘I had suspected as much -but it appears that is no longer the case.’
Styrax paused and stared down at the man. ‘Well now, that rather depends on you,’ he replied gravely. He pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed as Kohrad and Gaur arrived at the open doorway. ‘You are no fool, and running a guerrilla campaign at your age would be rather taxing. I think you’d enjoy an easy retirement -and I don’t actually want to have to kill you and all your family in a most unpleasant fashion. It would be a tedious waste for both of us.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Dev, sounding puzzled. The ageing general was not best pleased to be at so great a disadvantage when speaking to his people’s conqueror, but he was, as Styrax had gambled, a considered and cautious leader. The Menin agents in Thotel all agreed the general was one of the few men Lord Chalat had paid any attention to at all.
Styrax leaned forward. ‘It’s simple. Your reputation precedes you, both as a warrior, and as a man of honour. To execute you is unnecessary, as well as detrimental to my position here. I have shattered the Thotel legions. Soon I will defeat those coming from the remaining free cities.’ The massive white-eye held up a hand as the general began to protest. ‘My intention has always been one of conquest, not slaughter. I have no desire to destroy the Chetse people -I am no Deverk Grast.’
Styrax didn’t bother concealing the scorn in his voice, and he could see the effect it had on the general. Most Menin revered Grast, despite the man’s terrible acts -trying to wipe out the Litse hadn’t been his only crime, just his most notable. History had many monsters, yet outside the Ring of Fire, where the Menin lived, few names were as reviled as Grast’s.
‘And so—?’
‘And so I see no need to further insult the wounded pride of the Chetse by murdering the man who is the epitome of traditional values. I want your word that you will engineer no rebellion against me, that you will take no part in any such activities.’
‘And you will take my word?’ wondered Dev, too surprised to hide his surprise. The look on the old man’s face said the rest: I wouldn’t trust my word in your place.
‘I will. In return, you may retire to your estates outside the city in, say six months? The city needs your leadership right now.’
‘You want me to rule the Chetse from your pocket?’ General Dev snorted. ‘I think I preferred Salen’s conversation. At least he didn’t offer false hopes.’ The Chetse veteran looked at the Menin soldier pinned to the wall and the beheaded man on the floor.
‘I will appoint a permanent governor in due course,’ Styrax continued, ‘but I have no desire to see the city collapse into chaos because its leaders have been slaughtered. I must listen to someone among the Chetse, and better it be someone I respect.’
‘I’ll be seen as your puppet.’
‘Then get something of value from it. I’m here to negotiate if you want.’
‘Leave the city?’ the general replied quickly, prompting a laugh from Styrax.
‘Perhaps not that.’
‘Well, I had to ask,’ Dev said with a sigh. ‘If you want me to govern this city, I need some concessions. No requisitioning of held wealth or slaves, no conscription, and a guarantee that there will be no purge of the nobility.’
‘No slaves beyond what would be acceptable by normal Chetse traditions,’ Styrax countered, ‘no conscription - I’ve never taken conscripts. If men want to join, they can, and they’ll do it with the same rights and pay as any Menin. My coffers will need some refreshment, but nothing to bankrupt families or empty Chalat’s treasury; it does me no good to break you. No systematic purges, of officers or nobles. I can’t expect all of your countrymen to be reasonable, however, and my agents are extremely effective people. Doubtless some will die.’
The general grunted. ‘I suppose that’s reasonable. What about the Lion Guard? Salen said he would disband it.’
‘The Lion Guard will stay. I will, of course, take control of your armoury and disarm the men, but I realise the Lion Guard is not just a legion, to be disbanded and sent back to their homes. A Menin commander will be appointed on your retirement. Someone with sense.’
‘They won’t stand for a Menin commander, and nor should any of the legions of the Ten Thousand have to.’
Styrax called softly, ‘Gaur.’ Soft footsteps entered the room and General Dev’s eyes widened at the figure approaching. ‘General Gaur,’ said Lord Styrax, ‘you have a new command: the Lion Guard of Thotel.’
‘It will be an honour,’ Gaur rumbled. ‘They were competent, at least - one of the few we met on the field.’
‘The few?’ Dev spluttered. ‘It was luck and bad leadership that lost that battle. A general possessed by a daemon is a poor tactician, and his lieutenants who replaced half the army commanders were just as bad. Without that, you would have been swept away by our phalanxes and died of thirst in the desert as you ran for home.’
Dev grimaced. Unable to leave his bed, he had been forced to lie there and hear of the fall of Thotel from a boy barely old enough to swing an axe. The Menin had swept across the Waste like a sudden spring storm and Lord Charr, or rather the daemon that possessed him, had rushed to meet them. In their haste the Chetse legions had been outflanked and outmanoeuvred. The core of their army, the Ten Thousand, had been severely mauled, but had managed to retreat while the rest were slaughtered on the field—and at the city gates, the Ten Thousand had found the way barred, Menin cavalry and centaurs waiting to pick off any soldiers too exhausted or thirst-crazed to have the sense to surrender.
‘Perhaps we would have found you a little more challenging,’ Styrax agreed with a smile, ‘but a man makes his own luck, and so does a general.’
General Dev gaped at Styrax. ‘That really was you behind it all?’
‘You find it so hard to believe? Chalat might have been limited as a ruler, but he was no fool, and he listened to men such as you. It would have been too great a risk to try to take this city with an army brought over the Waste; only a madman would divide his forces and force-march half to meet an unknown foe.’
‘And in Charr you had that madman,’ General Dev sighed. He looked his age now, his already withered skin pallid from the weeks of being bedridden.
‘Not for certain,’ said Styrax. ‘Every agent said that Charr was an idiot, the sort that gives our kind a bad name; he should never have been Chosen -but it was always a risk that he might listen to his aides and not march out. A good general makes sure of victory before he offers battle.’
&
nbsp; ‘But I still don’t understand how you managed it.’
Styrax gave a dismissive wave. ‘Some devotees of Larat playing with powers far beyond their control. A nasty business in all, but one that dropped a useful tool in my lap. The details -well, I think you would be safer not knowing. Now, time is rather against us so I must be leaving. I would appreciate it if you would accompany General Gaur to meet his new command staff. I’m certain you’re not quite as ill as Salen believed. If he’d bothered to ask, he would have discovered that you were found on the Temples Plain, so clearly someone carried you here without killing you.’
‘You want me to go now?’
‘Certainly.’ Styrax crouched down so he could speak more softly. ‘Take care they are courteous. The beast is a valued advisor. Any harm coming to him would do more than have me revoke the promises I have made.’ The white-eye gave a cold smile. ‘Gaur is a humourless bastard most of the time, but if you want to hear him chuckle, tell him you’re going to use him as a hostage when you bargain with me. Understand?’
General Dev nodded. ‘I do. A lord’s friendship is a fickle thing.’
‘Then let us go. We will accompany you part of the way. The barracks overlook the sunken orchards, do they not?’
‘They do.’
‘Excellent. I might even put on a show in your honour.’ Styrax stood and turned to leave, then hesitated. ‘Did the guards even object when you asked for the door to be closed?’
General Dev gave a throaty chuckle. ‘None that didn’t fade before the face of an ill old man they wanted alive in the morning, although I can’t say I expected you to be the one to take advantage of it!’
Styrax gave a snort and disappeared through the doorway, gesturing for Kohrad to accompany him. Gaur stepped toward the bed. With one taloned hand he gestured towards the shattered doorway. It was impossible for General Dev to make out Gaur’s expression. The deep tangle of fur hid any clues.
‘Come, General Dev. Our troops await us.’
