by David Wragg
Chel rubbed at his temples. He wished he’d brought the water with him. ‘No formal dining room this morning?’
Lemon barked with laughter. ‘Aye, right. No chance, chum – think we ran our hospitality dry when the household folk turfed us into bed in the wee hours.’
Foss’s grin subsided. ‘They might have left us there if you hadn’t started singing.’
‘Ah, balls to ’em, those kids woke themselves up. Who doesn’t love a sing-song?’
‘You weren’t singing “The Ballad of the White Widow” then?’
Foss and Lemon stiffened, their smiles vanished.
‘What’s the problem with that song? Why doesn’t Rennic like it?’
Foss’s eyes were serious. ‘He’s never said why. But if one of the company has an issue with a thing, then all in the company do. That’s how it works, my friend.’ His smile returned. ‘Now! Enjoy some mystery trail-meat with us, care of our hosts. Then, if you wish, we can go through your exercises together.’
Chel lowered himself down beside them, feeling every ache of weeks on foot, and took a grateful bite of Foss’s offering. ‘Everyone else up? I can’t be the only one feeling like the back end of a dog.’
Whisper smirked, indicating Lemon with a twirl of the sharp-stone. Lemon blew hair from her eyes. ‘Aye, right, fine, maybe I’ve lost one breakfast already today. I’m on the mend, though.’
Foss flipped another slab of the mystery meat on the iron. ‘Our good company has survived the night, indeed. The boss is off with Lady Palo, Spider at his back no doubt.’
‘Loveless?’
Foss blinked, then nodded past his shoulder. ‘You walked past her, friend.’
Chel turned, finding the mist thinned behind him. Loveless was ten paces away, out in the courtyard, arcing through forms with her scabbarded blade in hand. She moved in silence, pivoting and stretching with poise and precision. Chel recognized a couple of the positions, but her movements between them were so fast and fluid and controlled that the whole practice seemed wholly alien.
Lemon grunted. ‘Bit bloody keen if you ask me. I’m sure the boss didn’t mean dawn dawn.’
Chel watched, entranced, bobbing his head as nuggets of mist drifted between them. ‘She moves like a dancer.’
‘Like that’s any bleeding surprise.’
‘What do you mean?’
Lemon gave him an even look. ‘Are you yanking my plank? You’re as bad as Prince Dick-head.’
‘Hey, wh— Wait, where is the prince?’
The mercenaries exchanged a look. ‘Lady Palo took him,’ Foss said.
‘Took him where?’
‘Down to the jetty, I think.’
‘The jetty? What’s there?’
Lemon gave him a considered look. ‘Boats?’
Chel was on his feet. ‘Why? What’s going to happen?’
Whisper’s hands moved in a calming gesture, followed by a short string of motions. It’s out of our hands. Foss nodded. ‘Our bit’s done now, friend. Your prince will be well looked after. Lady Palo has more honour than a sackful of lords and churchmen.’
‘She said she wanted to kill him!’
‘Yes. But she won’t.’
‘Which way is the jetty?’
Lemon stood up beside him. ‘Easy, wee bear. Listen, we’re down a man or two, and always looking to expand. Even the boss has said you’d be an, uh, adequate hire.’
Whisper gestured. He said more than that.
‘Aye, right, but point stands. You could kick along with us from here. No bugger would think any less of you, except maybe Dalim, and he’s a pox-riddled prick. You’ve already gone way farther than anyone else would.’
Chel’s jaw was set. ‘I swore an oath.’
Foss stood too. ‘So did we all, once upon a time.’
‘Which way is the fucking jetty?’
With a sigh, Foss pointed. ‘Mind the path, it’ll be a bastard if the mist clings.’
Chel was already racing away, the blanket left in the mud.
‘Didn’t even hesitate. I’m a bit offended by that,’ Lemon muttered.
‘Keep your wits!’ Foss called after him.
Lemon tossed a dismissive hand. ‘Too late for that, Fossy. Far, far too late.’
***
The steps were carved straight into the cliff-side, smooth with age, slick with cooled mist and streaked with gull-shit. Chel bounded down them as quickly as he dared, arms extended for balance, the pain in his shoulder dull but persistent. He heard Rennic’s voice rumble out of the mist as he approached the cliff’s foot, the only visible shapes before him a run of greasy timber and a looming dark pillar that might have been a mast.
‘What in hells? What about the rest?’
‘It’s exactly what you agreed with my comrade.’ Palo’s voice, steady, compassionate.
‘Yeah, for a sit-and-squint. We’ve brought you a fucking prince!’
‘And we’re beyond grateful. This is a turning point for our campaign.’
Chel slowed his pace, boots slipping on the last of the wide steps.
‘So, where’s the material aspect of your gratitude? I’ve half my gear in hock and a company that’s owed. We could have brought you nothing but a report of his death!’
‘I understand your company has dwindled. That should mean more to go around.’
‘That’s low—’
‘Please, Master Rennic, you know as well as any that we are neither kingdom nor church. Every copper must be accounted for. Can’t it be enough to know that, for once, you will be on the winning side?’
Chel crept along the jetty, the incessant crash of the waves around them covering the creaking of the boards beneath. Man-shapes materialized at the jetty’s end, Rennic’s bullish form looming and stiff.
‘I’m on no one’s side, Palo. What am I to tell my crew?’
‘Whatever you would have told them if you’d done the job you originally took. Perhaps they’d all still be with you, and you’d be less out of pocket. Who’s to say? We’re grateful for the windfall, but the coffers are empty.’
Rennic took a step forward. ‘Perhaps I’ll take my prince back, then. He’s bleated plenty about his worth in ransom.’
Chel heard a whimper from Rennic’s feet and realized with astonishment that Tarfel was crouched between them, wrapped in a cloak and shivering.
Palo’s head tilted. ‘Come, come. We both know there’s no ransom to be had. Tarfel Merimonsun of Vistirlar is dead, murdered by Norts at Denirnas. The kingdom mourns.’ She looked down at the huddled form at her feet. ‘Your value is not in ransom, young man. But rest assured, you remain valuable.’
Chel thought he heard a muffled ‘thank you’ from within the cloak.
‘Now, on your feet, please. The tide is slipping. My thanks again, Master Rennic, for your efforts and your sacrifice. You will be remembered, irrespective of “sides”. You have my word.’
‘Your word is shit to me, Palo – can I sell it? Burn it to stave off winter cold?’
Palo ignored him, turning with the risen Tarfel toward the gang of the narrow boat behind them. They were taking him aboard. Chel bounded forward.
‘Hoy! Wait!’
Those on the jetty turned. Something sprang from behind Palo, a lithe figure, and Chel skidded to a stop as the blade of Dalim’s glaive whipped up through the mist, halting inches from his chest.
Dalim curled his lip. His nose was still swollen, marring his easy looks. ‘Chel the Andriz. You’re in the wrong place.’
Chel looked beyond him, to Palo, as she stood with one foot on the gang.
‘Where are you taking him?’
He could make out her face now. Her expression was guarded, but not angry. Curious, perhaps, her gaze even. ‘Master Rennic, this is one of yours.’
Rennic strode over, slapping Dalim’s glaive aside, his voice a growl. ‘The rodent-rapist is right, boy, you’re in the wrong place.’
‘Lady Palo, where are you taking him?’
Palo hadn’t moved any further. ‘What concern is it of yours, Master Andriz?’
‘I’m sworn to him, Lady Palo. At his brother’s behest. I cannot leave him, nor allow harm to befall him. I’ll be coming too.’
One eyebrow raised, Palo turned her gaze to Rennic. The big man shot Chel an exasperated glare, then turned to meet her.
‘Interesting company you’re keeping, if you’ll forgive the pun,’ she said.
Rennic’s eyes narrowed in sardonic acknowledgement. ‘He’s new.’
‘Is he lying?’
‘No.’
She nodded to herself, then turned back to Chel. ‘I’m taking your liege to a safe place, away from assassins and prying eyes. We’re going to meet someone very special. And we’re going to change the tide of history.’
Chel stepped forward, away from Rennic, past the snarling Dalim.
‘Who? Who is your liege, Lady Palo?’
She offered him a sad smile. ‘We have no lieges, Master Andriz. Our oaths are sworn to duty, not people.’
‘That sounds confusing.’
‘We make it work.’
‘Then who is at the other end of the boat ride?’
She stood in silence for a moment, lips pursed, then nodded again. ‘You will have to see that for yourself.’
She waved him onward, then turned and escorted the shuffling prince up the gang and onto the boat. Rennic surged after her, shunting Chel aside.
‘Now wait one moment, that’s my thrice-damned prince! You’re going to take my prize, and the boy, and leave me here pissing in the mist? I don’t fucking think so.’
Palo turned her head as she steered Tarfel aboard. ‘You wish to join us, Master Rennic? I can’t promise you a sympathetic audience at our destination.’
Rennic spat into the churning grey waters. ‘More than I’ll get here. Hold fast while I gather the crew and some supplies.’
‘No time for that. We’re leaving with the tide, and the tide is impatient, Master Rennic. Come aboard now or not at all.’
Chel had already started back toward the steps. He and Rennic exchanged a glance, his uneasy, Rennic’s intent. ‘Fuck it then. Send a runner to tell them we’ll be back … When?’
Palo was ushering Dalim and his henchmen up the gang. ‘Before long. Now or never, Black Hawk Company.’
Rennic thumped his splintered staff against the pitted boards of the jetty. ‘You heard the lady, man-boy. Move your Andriz arse.’
TWENTY-ONE
The mist was no thinner away from the shore. Grey waves rolled and foamed against the hull of the narrow vessel, blurring into the curtains of mist that enveloped them. The dark tombstone cliffs were swiftly lost from view, and soon Chel heard nothing beyond the creaking of the timbers and the whispering rush of the water beneath. Even the miserable gulls seemed to have abandoned them.
He stood with his hands on the rail, breathing hard and fighting down the boiling sickness in his gut that lurched with the vessel’s every rolling thrust. The pulsing in his head was diminished, but perhaps only by comparison. He took great gulps of briny air, trying to appreciate the drifting spray cooling on his clammy skin. He should have brought the blanket.
‘Fuck’s wrong with you?’
Rennic appeared at his elbow. He’d found something to eat, possibly a portion of the same mystery meat Foss had offered. Chel realized he’d left his own breakfast behind.
‘Fresh air must not agree with me.’
‘Not after a skinful of the upstairs’ finest grape, I’ll bet.’ He took another bite, tearing off a great strip of grey meat and chewing noisily. ‘Shepherd’s tits, boy, pull yourself together. No such thing as a hangover at your age.’
Chel shivered at the echo of Heali’s words. He swallowed with great purpose, then said, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘Who does Lady Palo work for?’
‘Someone with coin, God willing.’
Chel turned, his sickness fading. ‘How can you not know? You must have an inkling, at least?’
Rennic turned, his eyes dark.
‘Plenty of inkling, no shortage thereof. But I’m not one for making claims of knowledge I don’t possess. So, I’ll be keeping my counsel for now, and we’ll see what our prayers bring us.’
Chel stared at him, uncertain, and he tossed his head toward the back of the boat.
‘Go on, go tend to your whimpering liege.’
***
He found Tarfel at the back of the boat, huddled beneath his cloak, semi-disguised as a sack of grain. Dalim stood over him in haughty guard, maintaining perfect poise against the deck’s roll, his leather-wrapped glaive held steady across his shoulders. He looked away as Chel approached, but made no move to depart. Chel steered around him, good hand against the rail, then lowered himself down beside the prince.
‘Are you all right, highness?’
Tarfel’s gaze was hesitant, brimming with mournful resentment.
‘Oh, you.’
‘Of course me, highness. I wasn’t going to let them take you.’
‘They seem to have taken both of us instead.’
Chel shifted against the deck. ‘I don’t know where they’re taking us, but I stand by my oath. My life for yours.’
The prince snorted, a gentle puff of air that set his stringy fringe dancing.
‘I thought you’d forgotten.’
Chel couldn’t tell if he meant it as a rebuke. The prince sat staring into the drifting wall of grey beyond the rail, his head rocking with the boat’s roll. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, but for now his tears had passed.
‘You know, Vedren,’ he said after a contemplative pause, ‘I don’t think I’m going to be ransomed. I think I’m being sold. This is the worst thing to happen since … since the Month of Sorrows.’
Chel wasn’t sure if he was supposed to interject. ‘Was that …?’
‘Yes, when Corvel died and Father fell ill – well, he’d been a bit unsteady for a while before that, I remember, but that was when he was struck down and bedridden. Corvel died, Mendel was left horribly scarred, then Father collapsed in grief and nothing was the same. I was off to Denirnas within weeks, ward of Duke Reysel, for my own safety, and enrolled in the Academy within the year. I was only thirteen, Vedren, a little boy. Who wanted nothing more than to play games with his big brother, who’d turned overnight into a wounded, brooding soul who craved only isolation.’ Tarfel waved a hand. ‘He’s better now, of course – you saw, he’s got his humour back. But now he’s the heir he has no time for games any more, I’ve barely seen him since I was sent away. I miss Corvel. He might have been a ruthless bastard but he was still my … brother …’
The prince’s eyes were pooling again, and a single tear wandered discreetly down one pale cheek.
‘I never asked for this, Vedren. I never asked to be chattel.’
‘No one ever does, highness.’
Tarfel sniffed and wiped at his eye. ‘I’ve not forgotten our bargain. Deliver me safely from what follows, I’ll see you released. From everything.’
Chel nodded, jaw set. ‘On my oath, highness.’
A cry turned them to the bow. Chel had little idea of how long they’d been on the water, or even how far from the shore they’d strayed, but at last the mist was shifting. Drifting grey chunks thinned and split, and patches of weak, watery sunlight shone through, the sky a mottled rose behind. The surface clouds fell away before them, and the island hove into view. It jutted from the seething water, a towering pillar of stark, chunky granite, buttressed by hollow arches, ringed by sharp little rock teeth, poking up from the foam.
At its summit, hewn directly from the island’s rock, stood a structure. Small, dark squares of window travelled its walls in a spiral, while at its fringes lumpen stacks of granite had been carved into towers, topped with pale stone domes. Flat, grey walls abutted bloated formations of natural rock, following their curve and climb, and at the peak of its central
dome, flanked by hazy pennants, stood a proud, giant crook.
‘What in hells is that?’ Chel stood, his eyes fixed on the towering icon. ‘Is that a church?’
Rennic was ahead of him, knuckles white around his staff, breathing harsh and nasal. He spun around, his whole body bristling like a startled cat. ‘What fuckery is this, Palo? Are you handing us to the fucking Rose?’
Palo was at the mast, her expression unconcerned. ‘Not every sacred building is a church, Master Rennic, and not every church is in Primarch Vassad’s clutches.’ Rennic growled, and she took a step closer. ‘You’ll find friends here, be at peace.’ She turned and began calling commands, preparing the boat for their arrival.
‘Are you armed, sand-crab?’ Rennic’s eyes were still on Palo’s back.
Chel patted at his empty belt. ‘No.’
‘Then we’d better hope they’re friendly as fuck up there,’ Rennic said in a low voice. ‘As we’ve got a busted staff and a skinning knife between us.’
‘Chin up, shit-heads.’ One of the hooded figures that had accompanied Dalim aboard was standing beside them, eyes fixed on the approaching rock-pile. ‘Never seen the Silent Sepulchre before?’
Rennic’s hand shot out, seized the man by the shoulder, spun him around. He jerked back the man’s hood.
‘Spider. The fuck are you doing here?’
Spider’s bald head glimmered with spray. He snarled, unrepentant. ‘Same as you. Protecting my investment. If you’re chiselling extra coin for Prince Shitehawk, I’ll see my half.’
Chel puffed out his chest. ‘Half? You were one of seven on the job.’
Spider’s glance was withering. ‘And who do you think brought Beaky the job, rat-bear?’ He swept an arm across the boat. ‘These are my people, not his, and not yours. You are not among friends. So how about you keep your head down and your mouth shut, and you let the Spider do his work.’
He flicked the hood back over his head and stalked away.
‘Prick,’ Rennic muttered after him.
‘He telling the truth?’ Chel said. ‘He’s not one of your company?’
Rennic grunted. ‘We go back a long way, Spider and me. Always had our separate concerns.’
‘So he’s the one who works for Palo, brought you the job?’