by Tom Lloyd
Just ten yards between them, Lynx and the monster. He fell and hit the ground hard, bounced and rolled over. Couldn’t stop himself going, sliding on the shallow slope as the crack of a gunshot rang out.
The jagged, angry roar of a sparker raced over his head. Through blurred vision Lynx could see it, could smell the burned air and feel the prickle and hiss of its claws on his skin. It caught the bag dead-on, high in the air as the golantha reached to snatch it. Just a moment’s difference but one that seemed to last for ever to Lynx. Then the bag exploded.
Everything went white. Fire and lightning swallowed by a cloud of fury incarnate. He felt the hammer blow against his back, throwing him back the way he came.
Lynx scrabbled at the ground, instinct screaming to get away from the terrible flames. He could see nothing but that brightness – hear nothing beyond the great elongated detonation of cartridges and grenades. There was heat and the stink of scorched flesh, but he couldn’t even tell if it was his own. Eventually he came to a stop, lying on his back and staring up at the sky. Some strange instinct kicked in, a voice roaring in Hanese.
Press on, push through!
Some nameless sergeant, probably long dead, but the words were in Hanese and his body obeyed like a whipped dog. He pushed himself upright and took a few staggering steps. The golantha was a blurred shape, raised high in the air and swaying. Light and swirling dust filled the air. Lynx felt the patter of rain or something on his face as ghostly trails of heat swept across his face.
He pulled the mage-pistol from his holster and raised it just as the golantha screeched. Still he couldn’t make out anything, but right now he knew he didn’t have to. The great shape was too big to miss, a dark lump shot through with shuddering flashes of light. He raised the pistol, both hands wrapped around the grip to keep it steady, and fired.
The earther kicked backwards so hard that he fell again, barely seeing it strike. A gout of something exploded from whatever had been left of the golantha’s face. Even amid the blur, Lynx saw it convulse under the impact.
Icers followed it; three, four, five white blades of light slamming into its face. The whip-crack reports filled the air, gore and dark dust bursting up into the night sky. The golantha tipped sideways and slumped. Lynx felt it hit the ground, the impact shuddering through his body as he flopped on to his back. The mage-pistol fell, forgotten, and only one flailing hand stopped him from cracking his skull on the stone ground. The golantha shuddered and twitched, death spasms scoring the slopes with its spear-like legs before finally going still.
‘Got you,’ Lynx whispered to the dead beast. ‘Lastani got you.’
The sound of feet echoed distantly behind him. Lynx kept his eyes on the golantha, as though fearing it would rise again. Strong arms slipped under him and hauled him up, the arc of the skyriver sweeping overhead as he went.
‘You mad bastard!’ a voice yelled.
Lynx blinked. It was Toil.
‘Someone had to,’ he croaked.
‘And that someone’s you?’
Lynx nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘Fuck.’ She looked away and Lynx saw several of the Cards approaching the corpse, guns at the ready.
‘Is it dead?’
‘Looks like it,’ Llaith replied. ‘Either that or it’s bloody good at pretending.’
‘Make sure!’
‘Shoot it in the face!’ someone added, but Llaith shook his head.
‘It ain’t got one left,’ he reported, looking close. ‘It’s dead.’
Lynx felt the final ounce of strength drain out of his body and he sagged. Only the combined muscle of Aben and Toil kept him upright. Then Reft appeared and pretty much tucked Lynx under his arm like a puppy.
‘They’re both dead,’ Lynx said, dazed. ‘That’s good. Too tired to go again. Anything to drink round here? Water even?’
Toil laughed, incredulous. ‘After this, I think the finest chefs in the city will be yours to command.’
Lynx’s stomach gave a lurch as the jangle of terror and exhaustion there recoiled at the idea. Some distant part of his head was more receptive, but his body wasn’t taking orders from that yet. The whole idea was more than it felt capable of right now.
‘Too tired,’ he sighed. ‘Let’s get pissed and just see what happens.’
Toil laughed and took hold of his head, cupping his face and kissing him painfully hard.
‘Fine, let’s get pissed.’
Chapter 43
Lynx thought about opening his eyes, but decided he’d regret it. Quite a lot of him hurt in a surprising number of different ways. It was unlikely a view would improve matters.
The deep ache of overtaxed muscles vibrated like a drum through his body, the hot sharp sting of scorched skin singing like a fiddle across it. Trumpets blared inside his skull too, while the state of his guts was more the discordant jangle of collapsed buildings and shattered windows.
Glimpses of the previous night flitted through his mind. The blood and destruction were impossible to drive out, however hard he tried. Everything that followed was a blur, a dull haze compared to the sharp memory of gunfire and horror.
Teshen. It was impossible to forget that sight, Teshen fighting to the last – Lastani too.
More of a mercenary that she’d have ever thought, Lynx reflected. Takes true fighting spirit to go down the way Lastani did.
The bed jolted suddenly as a boot connected with the
side.
‘Come on,’ said someone above him, ‘time to get up.’
Lynx groaned.
‘Wha?’ he managed before his head protested.
‘It’s morning,’ Toil informed him.
‘So?’
‘So get up. Sanshir’s back.’
Lynx thought about that for a while. Nothing about it seemed to suggest he needed to get out of bed.
‘So?’
‘Just move. There’s food, laid on special for the hero of the hour.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘You, ya damn fool.’
‘Oh.’
Lynx was quiet for a while.
‘What sort of food?’
Toil gave a snort. ‘Smells like pork.’
Lynx make a determined effort to get up, but his wobbly muscles had a number of contrasting ideas on that front and none were willing to work together. He mostly slithered off the side of the bed on to a reed floor mat. Lynx lay there for a while until Toil started to kick him in the shoulder – not with real malice, but certainly enough to be annoying.
With an effort he got both arms to work together and pushed himself up, muttering curses under his breath as he did so. Toil watched him with what he suspected was cruel amusement until Lynx had righted himself and managed to sit on the side of the bed.
‘So the hero thing didn’t last long, eh?’
‘Even heroes can be annoying,’ Toil said. ‘I’ve met a few, my tolerance is low.’
Lynx scowled and grabbed at some clothes to pull on. After a bit of effort he stopped trying to fit into Toil’s trousers and found some of his own.
‘Not going to help?’ Lynx asked eventually.
Toil just shook her head. When finally he had trousers and a shirt on, Toil turned towards the door then paused as Lynx sat back on the bed.
‘What is it?’
‘Just … ah, takin’ a moment. The whole city’s grieving and my head’s all a-tangle.’
Who else did we lose? Lynx asked himself, appalled that he couldn’t recall their names. For a while he felt like the true bastard some people saw him as, but eventually faces loomed in his memory.
‘Crais and Sethail,’ he exclaimed at last.
‘Never found,’ Toil said, misinterpreting him. ‘We can only guess what happened, but likely it was the tysarn.’
Lynx nodded absent-mindedly. He’d not known either really, Crais being the only one of the pair he’d even exchanged more than a few words with. A stocky man, balding and freckled with a loud voice and unco
mplicated appetites, Lynx hadn’t taken to him but he’d been popular in the company. Sethail had been a quiet youth, but showing promise.
‘Ah gods,’ Lynx said. ‘Sethail joined the same night as me.’
It seemed a long time ago to Lynx now – waking up in that cell in Janagrai and needing a job to get him out of town. He hadn’t been the only one to join up that night. Fashail and Sethail had been shop apprentices until the Cards swaggered into town. Cousins too, kin to look after each other. And now in the space of a couple of nights, both were dead. Fashail in the fight at the lodging house, Sethail lost in the press as the Cards fled the golantha. Killed by tysarn most likely.
‘There were three of them, that first night,’ he recalled. ‘Cousins. One didn’t go through with it, thought better of a life of adventure. Now he’s the only one alive.’
‘That’s the life,’ Toil said stiffly. ‘It’s cruel, but that’s the way it is. We all got lucky when we were young, stayed alive long enough to get good. Plenty others weren’t so lucky.’
‘Yeah, I know. Still – it makes a man think when he wakes up, sore but alive, the nightmares still fresh in his head.’
‘Come on,’ Toil said, beckoning. ‘It’s company you need, not quiet. Company and food.’
Rather unsteadily, Lynx followed her outside. A cool breeze drifted over him as she opened the door and Lynx squinted around, for a moment thinking that she’d woken him not long after dawn. Finally, he realised that the low rumbles he could hear weren’t his stomach, but thunder from the clouds over the mainland. The flash of lightning was visible over the long wall of cliffs. A few desultory spots of rain fell, but they were more than welcome after a searing few days. The heavy grey clouds hiding the sun seemed a blessing as Lynx walked unsteadily down to the courtyard.
Many of the Cards were eating, a few already drinking again too. Lynx had no idea what time of day it was, but instinct told him it was late morning at least. He certainly couldn’t face another drink, not after last night, but most of the company were up and about. If it had been early, the courtyard would be mostly deserted.
He was ushered to a table by one of the cheerless old ladies who ruled the lodging house, tiny and unsmiling even as she set a pot of coffee down in front of him. The other of the harridans emerged from the kitchen door a few moments later. In her arms was a round clay dish so big Lynx could see her strain under the weight. That too was set down on the table and the lid removed to reveal a great cloud of steam and delicious smells.
Lynx snatched at the nearest plate. He was already digging out a portion before he’d even worked out what was being offered. There was a sweet, peppery spice overlaying the heady smell of pork – whatever else was included, he was willing to fight even Reft for it.
Llaith dropped heavily into the seat opposite Lynx. The ageing mercenary looked bruised and old, but there was a smile on his face and a smoke hanging from his lips. Sitain appeared too and joined Toil on Lynx’s right, while Kas, Himbel and Safir took the remaining seats. Lynx had started by the time anyone else managed to get a portion, almost moaning with delight at what he’d found. Some sort of dumplings filled with salty white cheese, fried with the heavily spiced pork and all baked together with about two dozen eggs. For a while he couldn’t even see anything beyond the plate.
Once Lynx slowed, he looked around at the rest of the company. There was a buzz of chatter coming from a table on the other side of the courtyard. Craning his neck he saw the stern face of Sanshir. The kaboto was almost unrecognisable beneath several dozen black teardrops painted on to her cheeks in addition to the smile she wore.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Local tradition,’ Llaith explained. ‘Knowing the dead, she called it.’
‘Eh?’
‘She turned up mebbe half an hour back, asking to hear stories of Teshen’s life in the Cards.’
‘Holding a candle for him all this time, eh?’
The comment provoked a playful punch on the shoulder from Toil. ‘She loved him once. That leaves a mark whatever comes later. Go over, listen to her.’
Lynx did so, fetching a second portion for the journey. He positioned himself behind a small gathering of Cards all focused on Sanshir.
‘Why the Bloody Pauper?’ Anatin asked as Lynx arrived. ‘He never told us that.’
Sanshir inclined her head. ‘No family,’ she explained. ‘People say here, “with family close, no person is poor”, but Teshen was an orphan.’
‘You’re telling that ta the wrong crowd,’ Anatin said. ‘A bunch of well-paid loners, that’s this lot.’
‘Family by a different name,’ she said with a dismissive flick. ‘Also, if you kill during Masts, you pay their family out of your winnings. Teshen preferred glory to money.’
She broke off and spared Lynx a nod. ‘Good morning. My kabat sends his thanks.’
‘Ah, sure. He’s welcome.’
‘He also wishes your company to go away soon.’
Lynx nodded. ‘No argument here. Um, Toil said you were here to know the dead.’
‘Yes. When we die, our family and friends gather – tell stories. No person is just a son, a friend, a lover. We often do not see each side, so to remember them we ask for more. You were his family, I was his past.’
Family eh? Yet for a while I couldn’t even remember all their names. Lynx grunted. ‘And the paint?’
She touched her cheek, her smile vanishing. ‘For each of the dead. To paint more than one is a great sadness.’
He had no reply to that. Both sides of her face were covered with the black teardrops, he guessed two dozen at least. She was the Kaboto of Vi No Le, most of her friends would have been within the crews who had fought on that shore. Most of her friends would likely be dead now.
‘Do you have a story for me?’
Lynx hesitated. ‘I … no. Didn’t know him well enough. Lastani neither – or the others we lost.’
‘They were not your family?’
‘Guess they were,’ he said, uncomfortable.
‘Then tell me.’
Lynx looked away. ‘Let someone else speak, I’ve got
nothing.’
‘We’ve all been speaking,’ Anatin said, eyeing Lynx through a cloud of cigar smoke. ‘She’s heard our stories. Even the one about the wrestling contest out Aldath way, which frankly I still half don’t believe an’ I was there beside the man – just as naked and just as blue.’
‘Doubt there’s much I can add then.’ Lynx shrugged. ‘I stood beside each of them when things turned nasty, was glad to have them there when it did. None of ’em were perfect, no person is, but I was glad to know them and stand with them.’
Sanshir nodded. ‘They have told me of Shadows Deep, of Jarrazir and the years before. Now I tell you of another Teshen, the young man who was born Tekeil Shenqin.’
She paused after saying his true name out loud, as though just that had exorcised a ghost of her past. The first tale was an amusing one, a young Tekeil hiding in a gaggle of prostitutes long enough to evade a kabat’s guard, before she moved on to his Masts victories and other bloody deeds.
Later, when she was done, Sanshir pushed herself up from her seat. She looked weary as though such memories drained her more than the running and fighting ever could. She wrapped a white shawl around her shoulders, mourning cloth and Masts allegiance both, and left as silent as a ghost while the Cards were left to remember their dead.
Lynx nudged Anatin as the group broke up. He was reluctant to break the solemn hush that descended in Sanshir’s wake, but felt compelled to speak all the same.
‘Anatin, I … well. I guess I owe you an apology.’
The commander of the Cards raised an eyebrow. ‘Aye, it’s likely that ya do, but what for this time? Just tell me it’s for somethin’ I already know about. Don’t reckon I could face one o’ your surprises this morning.’
Lynx gave a cough as he felt a pang in his chest – something halfway between amusement and guilt
. ‘Don’t worry. I just wanted to say you were right. About joining the fight on the shoreline, that is. We lost people these last few days, but … Shanshir’s the one grieving all her friends.’
‘Aye, there’s that,’ Anatin said. He took a deep breath and nodded, looking away to the rumbling clouds over the distant cliffs. ‘Doubt there’d be a company after that, true enough. It’s funny really. Doesn’t feel like we got off lightly, but we did. Given what we faced anyway.’
‘Yeah, we did an’ that was down to you.’ Lynx coughed. ‘Anyways, seemed worth saying. You made the right call. I was wrong.’
Anatin scowled and heaved himself up. ‘No good choices there,’ he said. ‘But some better’n others even if you’re not the man to see that.’ He looked down at Lynx, the pain visible in his eyes just for a moment. ‘You did all right these past days though. I reckon we’re both too old and tired to drag up disagreements now. Let’s forget the apologies and just keep on living, eh?’
He didn’t wait for a response, just headed away in a cloud of cigar smoke.
Lynx watched Anatin head up to the high terrace that looked south across the sea. The man clearly needed some time alone so Lynx shifted seats to join Toil.
‘What now?’ he whispered as she rested an arm on his shoulder, leaning heavily against his large frame.
‘Now?’ Toil ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Now we get ready to go.’
‘Where are we going?’
She laughed. ‘I’d thought this job would be a good break, I truly did. Useful for me too, I’ll not deny it, but a rest for the company. Now I see we’re going to get into the shit wherever we go, most likely.’
‘So …’
Unexpectedly she leaned in and kissed him.
‘So now, we face the fact there’s a war brewing. There’s news of fighting in the north, the Sons of the Wind have razed a town and fortress of the Knights of the Sacred Mountain.’
‘That’s our business how?’
‘Because they’re turning on each other. They know the magic has changed and they’re getting ready for the last battle.’