‘I’m proud of you, boy,’ his father coughed, fingers weakening their hold on Tol’s arm.
‘You can’t die,’ Tol told him. ‘The men need you…I need you.’
The corner of his father’s mouth crinkled. ‘I sent you away,’ he coughed. ‘Not because…’ Another cough, this one more violent, ‘…I didn’t love you.’ His body juddered once, and Tol felt the full weight of his father bear down on him, his body so heavy Tol couldn’t keep him upright, sinking to the floor alongside him. ‘Father?’ He pushed the body, but deep down he already knew it was too late. Tol closed his eyes.
A hard slap spun Tol’s face halfway round. He opened his eyes to blink away the stars and saw Kartane staring down at him, the knight’s face pale.
‘Sound the retreat,’ Kartane bawled in Tol’s face. ‘The Seven aren’t here and the fool bugler won’t listen to me.’ He slapped Tol again. ‘What are you waiting for, you idiot? Get to your feet.’
Tol staggered upright, eyes meeting the bugler’s own. ‘Call the archers from the walls,’ he said. Some of the men were coming over, leaving their posts at the mouths of the roads into the town. Tol took a deep breath. There’ll be time to grieve later. He pointed at two Havakkian men. ‘Get my father out of here.’ He raised his voice. ‘The rest of you get back to your posts, we’ll do this right and make my father proud.’
He was dimly aware of a cheer rising as he watched his father’s men carry him, his lifeless body sagging in the middle. He’s dead. His father had been larger than life, a fearsome, indomitable figure. It seemed impossible he could be dead.
People were running past him, but Tol barely noticed, watching as his father’s limp body carried away. He’s dead, he told himself. He still couldn’t quite believe it.
His father had said he hadn’t sent Tol to Icepeak because he didn’t love him, but had never had chance to explain. Why? Tol wondered. Why did he send me? And why was his view shifting violently?
A slap nearly parted his cheek from his skull, and Tol turned to find Kartane peering at him. ‘You going to fight the Gurdal on your own?’ Kartane yelled in his face.
Tol’s face scrunched up in confusion, and Kartane pointed. He followed the direction of the finger and saw all the archers were now off the walls, the last few running past him to their next positions.
‘You need to give the orders,’ Kartane shouted, his voice barely audible over the thump of a battering ram. The gates were bowing with every strike. Tol nodded, allowing Kartane to guide him towards the open mouth of the main road north. The thumping continued like a giant’s heartbeat, slowly gaining momentum as Tol watched the swirls of dust fly from the gate.
Soon, he knew.
Another thump, and something broke with a creak. Another swing, and the gates flew open. Kartane elbowed him hard.
‘Archers,’ Tol yelled, ‘loose!’
A storm of arrows flew overhead, killing all the men at the battering ram. Again and again the arrows flew, and wave upon wave of the Gurdal fell, piling up at the gates. Slowly, though, they begin to cram themselves through the narrow gap, a swarm of bodies that crept forward as the rain of arrows slowed, unable to stem the tide.
‘Now,’ Kartane hissed, another elbow jarring Tol’s ribs.
‘Fire!’ Tol yelled, his voice a hoarse cry. Somehow, the archers heard, and a slew of burning arrows sailed overhead. Men fell under the first few, but the second wave was better aimed, several burning shafts sinking into the piled barrels of oil beside the gates.
Tol heard the barrels ignite with a faint crump, an inferno blossoming out to swallow the massed Gurdal. He staggered back as a blast of heat roared across the square, the smell of burning flesh following a scant second later.
Tol staggered back, and saw more of the Gurdal warriors streaming through the gates, running past the pools of burning oil and their blackened comrades. Is there no stopping them?
Kartane grabbed his arm, a wild look in his eyes. ‘Now for the fun,’ he shouted. He drew his sword. ‘For Krom Kraven!’
A tear slid down Tol’s cheek as the roar was taken up by others. It was the smoke, he told himself. Nothing to do with his father – scion of a man thought traitor – being cheered by the gathered army.
Tol drew Illis’Andiev as the first wave of soldiers emerged from the smoke. ‘For Father,’ he whispered.
28.
‘Why did he do it?’ Katarina reached the cabin wall, and spun a half circle, immediately pacing back towards the far wall. She didn’t wait for an answer from Stetch, she already knew it was pointless; he hadn’t answered with more than a grunt the other six times.
‘It just doesn’t make sense.’ Mysteries, really, were just questions asked by people too lazy to find the answers; she hated them.
Katarina reached the wall, and turned again. She stopped half-way across the cabin and scowled at Stetch. He was sitting on her bed, staring up with that infuriating expression which suggested he was indulging her. ‘And you’re sure Steven’s gone?’
He nodded, apparently bored enough that he couldn’t generate a grunt. Katarina carried on her march. This is intolerable, she thought. Why go to all that trouble to save me, and then disappear without so much as a goodbye?
She turned smoothly, stopping again when she was level with Stetch. ‘Kenzin says you nearly killed him on the docks.’ The grizzled former Sworn man had actually said “Stetch throttled the boy like a thieving whore,” but Katarina wasn’t inclined to give Stetch another florid phrase to add to his repertoire. Already, most of his few utterances were peppered with vulgarity, and she wasn’t inclined to help him.
Stetch shrugged, but not before Katarina saw him wince at Kenzin’s name. ‘Steven didn’t say anything to you before he left?’
Stetch shook his head once, and Katarina sighed. ‘It makes no sense,’ she said. She started walking again. It’s almost as if the fool did it on purpose just to irritate me. She spun her half turn, heel clicking on the wood. No, she admitted. Steven was petulant, but not, she thought, so cruel as to leave her with unanswered questions. So why? Katarina might have been a little harsh with him, but that was mostly surprise that the first familiar face she saw was his. He would understand. Surprise, but fear too. Had she known how close the Gurdal were when he rescued her, the fear would have been greater. A lover, perhaps? The angel seemed unlikely, which left the three nuns. No, not them. The most likely dalliance was his so-called childhood friend from the north, but she had apparently died in Meracia. Sadness? It was, she thought, possible; the pair had seemed close, despite the years between their meetings.
She turned again, but walking wasn’t really helping, just a temporary distraction. No, she decided after considering the idea, he was too focused in Meracia to be so easily distracted by even Vixen. Also, it was three days ago. Not long, really, but long enough for a numbed mind to recover.
Another turn. So why, after risking his life to save me, did he simply leave the ship without so much as a wave? Katarina cursed softly, furious with the man. There was, she realised as she turned back towards the door, only one way to find out what had been going on in the idiot’s mind, one way to find out why he had suddenly lost interest in her. She glanced at Stetch, his expression of boredom helping make the decision. All she had to do really was alter her direction ever so slightly. She was out of the door before Stetch had even noticed.
Katarina stepped out onto the deck, the sky bathed in the orange glow of sunset. The crew were busy scuttling around, doing whatever sailors did when they weren’t carousing. By the looks of it she had arrived just in time; the ship was still in port.
She walked towards the starboard side, stopping as she saw the dark mass of writhing shapes south of the city. Not a moment too late. She reached the rail as Kenzin appeared at her side.
‘Don’t you worry about them,’ he said as she watched the approaching army, ‘we’ll be out of here in a few minutes.’
‘That may have to wait,’ she told hi
m, ‘I have a small matter to take care of first.’ She met his gaze, refusing to flinch; she knew him too well to be scared of such tactics.
‘Battlefield’s no place to be,’ he said after a moment.
Katarina smiled. ‘Then I shan’t tarry. Lower the boarding plank, old friend.’
He wavered for a moment, but finally capitulated, muttering a curse at his men. He looked past her shoulder to the dark presence she sensed there, like a black mood which followed her around.
‘You going to let her do this?’ Kenzin asked.
She turned to Stetch, and tried the breezy smile again. ‘This shouldn’t take long,’ she said. ‘Come along.’
He grabbed her arm as she turned, his strength holding her in place. ‘No.’
‘You forbid me?’
Stetch nodded, his lips a tightly compressed line.
Katarina kneed him in the groin. ‘Silly man,’ she muttered as she strode past and leaped nimbly onto the plank.
‘We ain’t waiting,’ Kenzin shouted after her. ‘Not even for you.’
*
Stetch was singularly annoying at the best of times: stubborn, taciturn, tedious, and generally malfeasant at the most inconvenient moments. Apparently, bodily harm to his most prized possessions had done little for his humour. To someone that didn’t know him, there was no outward difference: he remained near-silent, scowled perpetually, and looked at everyone he encountered as potential numbers in the ledger. Katarina could sense the difference, though. First, he had actually tried to manhandle her back to the ship. He might even have been able to do it if Katarina hadn’t screamed so loudly, hitting him and yelling exactly what she was going to tell her father when they got back. So he had relented, allowed her to enter the city while he stomped along at her side with all the good humour of a pox-ridden harlot.
‘I need answers,’ she said, castigating herself for feeling the need to justify what she was doing.
He ignored her.
‘It’s just plain stupid, Stetch, that’s what I can’t understand. Why swagger into a battleground to rescue someone and then just disappear without waiting to see if they’re going to shower you in gratitude?’
Stetch sniggered.
‘True,’ Katarina said, ‘I wouldn’t have done any such thing, but Steven cannot know that for certain.’ She ignored Stetch’s derisory snort. ‘I should thank him for his efforts though, it is only polite.’ She turned right, heading south through the near-deserted city streets. It was quiet in the dwindling heat of dusk, but a low rumble had begun to the south. We don’t have long, Katarina thought. The Gurdal won’t wait. She had seen the size of their forces from the Sea Crow and knew that Obsidian would fall. The winding streets would help the defenders but eventually sheer numbers would force them back through the north gate, scuttling back towards Galantrium. She quickened her stride.
‘He’s a fool,’ she said, a sudden surge of noise roaring down the road towards them. ‘Anyone else would try and make the most of it, force some title or reward from my father or try and win my heart or something.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s a stupid, stupid, frustrating man.’ She grabbed Stetch and peered up into his hooded eyes. ‘Why didn’t he come and see me? Why?’
Stetch shrugged and glared at her tiny hands until Katarina let go of his shirt.
‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘Battle’s started.’
Katarina glowered at him. ‘I need answers.’
Stetch shook his head. ‘Hurry.’
She nodded and squeezed his arm, not really expecting he would let her get this far. She started walking again.
‘Maybe he’s forgotten about me now he’s got that winged harridan,’ Katarina muttered. ‘How can anyone forget about me?’
The sounds of battle were growing louder now, but the streets were all but empty except for the occasional lookout lurking in the deep shadows. ‘Where is that damned man anyway?’
Finally, she saw others, a small knot of northmen coming up the street towards them. Katarina stepped into the path of the nearest one, scowling up at him as he tried to walk around her.
‘Where’s Kraven?’
The soldier looked to Stetch then back to Katarina. ‘Dead,’ he said. He brushed past Katarina and was swallowed by the darkness.
Dead. She took in a deep breath. ‘He can’t be dead.’ She stamped her foot. ‘I won’t allow it!’
Stetch put hand gently on her shoulder. ‘We need to leave,’ he said. ‘Right now.’
She shook her head. ‘Steven can’t be dead, Stetch, he can’t.’
‘All that lives, dies.’
‘Not before he explains himself,’ Katarina hissed through her teeth. She shook his hand away and started off again. The sounds of battle were growing louder now, and the walls played strange tricks with the echoes. Katarina could have sworn it sounded like someone was fighting up on the roofs overhead. ‘Kartane wouldn’t let him die,’ she said. ‘He makes like he doesn’t care about him but he does really.’ She tried to calm herself. ‘Kartane will keep him safe.’ She repeated it under her breath a few times, and found the sharp twist in her stomach faded. She took a deep breath, finally calm, and took another step forward.
A huge shape dropped onto the sand a dozen feet ahead. A low concussive sound hammered Katarina’s chest as the impact sent tiny clouds of sand outward in concentric circles. It was dark, a misshapen deep grey lump of rough planes and ragged lines. A demon, Katarina realised. She exhaled softly, and the thing moved, lifting itself upright and turning to face her.
It’s not dead, she realised as large red eyes swung towards her. A dark maw opened to reveal yellow teeth, sharp as knives. The horrible expression on its face, she realised, was a smile.
Stetch moved past her, sword already in his hand. ‘Run,’ he said.
Katarina couldn’t move her legs, staring helplessly as Stetch stepped up to the creature. He didn’t wait for the creature’s attack, instead launching an assault of his own so fast that trying to watch his sword move left Katarina dizzy. She heard the sword as it struck solid blows against the demon. Once, twice, three times in quick succession. Stetch stepped back, grunting in surprise as he realised the beast was still standing. Katarina didn’t think he’d ever encountered an enemy he couldn’t kill. Until now.
Stetch didn’t wait for the demon to attack. He continued his assault, blade moving in a blur. The demon, a squat lump of muscle, moved surprisingly lightly. It fended off each strike with ease, its grin widening. Again and again Stetch attacked, his blade ringing as it bounced harmlessly off the creature’s coarse hide. Katarina saw the demon’s mouth open wider as it casually parried a lightning fast strike one-handed. She saw it happen like a dream, everything slow and laboured: Stetch’s sword was knocked aside and the demon reached forward with one clawed hand. It flicked its wrist at the side of Stetch’s head and Katarina saw him leave the ground, the force of the blow sending him flying sideways where he smacked into the wall and crumpled to the ground.
She glanced at Stetch. He wasn’t moving. Only half a dozen feet separated her from the demon as it bared its blood-stained fangs. It took a leisurely step towards her and Katarina felt its fetid breath, a horrible stench like rotten meat, turned in the sun. She met its gaze because that was how the Sworn would face their death.
I suppose I’ll never know why Steven left. She found it to be a most unsatisfying final thought.
29.
The air was thick with screams as the ragged mass of Gurdal worked their way across the square towards the mouths of roads crammed with defending soldiers. Arrows lanced down from archers ringing the rooftops and Tol saw dozens of men fall with each flight. But for each wave that fell, another group of Gurdal came forward to take their place. Slowly, inexorably, the Gurdal were gaining ground. Tol gripped his sword tightly. The screams were getting louder with every moment, and they seemed to be coming from everywhere – not just in front of him. He stood, watching and waiting, numb to the horror unfolding in
front of him as men stumbled over the bodies of their comrades in a mad rush to get in close where the arrows wouldn’t fall on them.
It doesn’t seem real. A few moments ago his father had been alive. Even after seeing fellow Havakkians carry his father’s lifeless body away Tol couldn’t quite accept he was dead. They had never been particularly close – and sending his son away to Icepeak hadn’t tightened the bond – but Tol’s father remained a giant in his memory; an indomitable, grizzled wall no man could scale and no force on Korte could quell.
My father is dead. Tol licked his lips and tried repeating the phrase. It didn’t make it seem any more real. He said it again, dimly aware of a hand on his shoulder and a buzzing noise in his ear, barely audible over the sound of dying men. Tol ignored both. No matter how he pictured it, he couldn’t imagine his father dead.
A hand loomed large in his vision, swimming in front of the Gurdal ranks and slamming Tol’s cheek with enough force to make him see spots. He blinked, and rubbed his jaw.
‘Call the angel,’ Kartane was yelling in his face, pointing at the flat roofs, fully stocked with archers. ‘There’s a bloody demon up there.’
Tol shook his head, the pain bringing him out of his mourning. ‘There’s no time,’ he shouted. Even if Kalashadria could hear his call above the screams, she would arrive far too late for the archers above. He looked upward. He couldn’t see the demon, but he could hear the path of destruction it left in its wake; the stream of arrows overhead was already dwindling. Tol sheathed his sword and grabbed Kartane’s arm. ‘Get me up there.’
Kartane barged his way back through the knot of men, Tol on his heels. ‘Hold,’ he shouted at the front rank, ‘Kraven’s going to kill a demon.’
The men cheered as Tol followed Kartane through the press of bodies, but their shouts sounded dark and fearful. Seeing the men arrayed against them, Tol didn’t blame them. Going up against a demon might be easier than facing a horde of angry Gurdal.
They passed through the men and Kartane leaned against the wall, interlocking his fingers to form a step. ‘Up you go, lad.’ Kartane caught Tol’s eye as he lifted a foot. ‘Don’t get killed.’
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