Matt jumped from the plinth. Maybe the demon had grown tired of fireballs. He was now hurling anything within reach—bodies, broken columns, and ripped up flagstones. Matt took shelter behind the statue that had been her platform, but it would be no protection if the demon thought to use it as a missile.
While the demon tore man-size chunks of masonry from the ruins of the palace, Matt scurried around the edge of the plaza. There would be no safe hiding place if the demon spotted her, but she could not leave Eawynn. A loud crash announced that the demon had turned his attention from the palace to the temple. The Sanctuary of Liffrea was now minus an outer wall. Another crash, and the statue had also gone. Its head bounced across the plaza and cannoned into the front of another building.
Matt reached the corner of the palace. Screams and groans came from the rubble. Some clerics were still alive. What chance that Eawynn was one?
Another roar, but this time it signalled satisfaction. Matt ducked from sight, hiding behind a fallen column. The demon made a last circuit of the plaza, smashing or throwing anything that caught his eye. He passed close enough for Matt to feel the ground shake. A whiff of sulphur was carried on the air.
A last crash as a statue pounded the front of a building. A last scream cut short as a woman was ground beneath cloven hooves. As Matt had known he would, the demon had the feet of a goat. The stories had come from somewhere, after all.
The demon returned to the spot where he had first appeared. He slapped his chest in a final combative display and bellowed his challenge to the mortal world. And then, as implausibly as on his arrival, the demon folded in on himself and vanished.
Matt rose from behind the broken column. For a moment, the plaza was still deserted, then a few others emerged from hiding. The scattered figures stood in stunned, bewildered, horrified silence. The demon had gone, after destroying the dream of a new empire. It had not been a hoax.
“Well, bugger me.”
Matt shook her head in the hope it would clear her thoughts. It did not help. The sun had risen high enough so the light of a new day flowed over the carnage in the Plaza of the Emperors. The attempt to rebuild Cyningesburg was broken and undone. Hundreds littered the plaza—dead, dying, or wounded.
The golden hammer lay where it had fallen, close by Matt. The paint had scraped away down one side, revealing the common iron beneath. Matt crouched and scratched off a few more flecks with her nail. There had been some trickery. She had not been completely wrong. Matt knew she could not have been completely wrong. Yet still, she was lost in disbelief over what she had just witnessed.
An agonised sob roused Matt from her daze. She had to find Eawynn.
*
The roar faded away, leaving only agonised screams from the injured and the incessant muttering of the elderly priestess. “Blessed Bauthor save us. Hear our prayers. Mighty Liffrea aid us. Hear our prayers.” The gods were not listening, but at least she had lowered her voice. Iparikani had ears.
The first surge for the palace doors had barged Eawynn and six others off the side of the steps. The drop had been about fifteen feet, and Eawynn had fared better than those she landed on. She had twisted her knee and would have a black eye from somebody’s elbow. However, the priest at the bottom of the pile lay dead where he had fallen, and an elderly priestess had broken her leg. Eawynn and a junior priest had dragged her into the shelter of an alcove. The injured woman had screamed when moved, but then settled for her repetitive and unanswered appeals to the gods.
The others had staggered away. Two had escaped, including a woman with blood streaming down her face, but another had been caught by falling masonry.
Eawynn strained her ears. Was it safe to emerge? Had Iparikani gone? She stepped from the alcove.
“No. Stay here. It’ll get you. Don’t leave us.” The young priest was panic-struck.
“I have to find someone. Look after her.”
He made as if to pull her back, but Eawynn evaded his grasp and crept along the side of the palace. The priest took a half step after her, then stopped and retreated to the safety of the alcove.
His voice joined with that of the priestess. “Mighty Liffrea aid us. Hear our prayers.”
Eawynn reached a corner where she had a clear view across the devastated plaza. There was no sign of Iparikani. A sudden crash made her jump, but it was just a damaged wall, collapsing under its own weight. Around a dozen people were wandering aimlessly across the broken flagstones or standing in shocked stupor.
The nearest figure was one Eawynn recognised, even from the back. Her heart leapt. “Matt.”
Eawynn had no awareness of closing the distance between them. Suddenly, Matt’s arms were around her, holding her tight. One hand was a solid reassurance, firm on her back. The other hand cradled Eawynn’s head, fingers slipping through her hair. Matt’s breath was loud in her ear. Their bodies were pressed so hard together she could feel Matt’s heart beating.
Being held felt so good. Eawynn could almost block out the world—almost, but not quite. The edge of the iron collar dug into her neck, warm from Matt’s body, but still an awkward intrusion. Then a drawn-out scream made her flinch. Shouts on the other side of the plaza turned to yells. Eawynn wriggled free from Matt’s arms.
The ground around her was littered with smashed buildings and broken bodies. Blood smeared and splattered the stone. Lifeless faces stared, unseeing at the dawn sky, including one Eawynn knew, a library assistant who had recommended the poetry to her, just a few days ago.
“The demon was real.” Eawynn bit her lip. Why state the obvious?
“Yes. I was wrong.”
So many dead people, both men and women. Hardest of all, a few bodies were clearly children, the sons and daughters of the civilians. “We shouldn’t have―”
“What?”
Guilt clawed at Eawynn. “We did this. We killed these people.”
“No.”
“If we hadn’t swapped the stone, they’d still be alive.”
“If we hadn’t swapped the stone, they’d be on their way to crush the rest of the world. I―” Matt broke off, then started again. “I’ve spent the last month wishing something like this on the Rihtcynn.”
“Now you’ve got it, how does it feel?”
Matt gazed around at the death and devastation. “Different.”
“Better than you imagined? Worse?”
“Just different.” Matt’s tone was flat and cold.
Who am I to judge? Eawynn hung her head. I’m not the one who’s spent a month with an iron collar around my neck.
“We need to go. It isn’t safe here,” Matt said.
“The demon’s gone.”
“It’s not him.” Matt pointed to a group of slaves who were scrabbling in a far corner.
“What’s happening?”
“Looting. There’s no shortage of stuff to take, but we don’t want to become a target. Your hair isn’t going to make you popular. We need to leave, now.” Matt started walking.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“There’s someone hurt. We can’t leave her.”
“Rihtcynn?”
“An old woman with a broken leg.”
For the space of four breaths, Matt stood still while a succession of emotions chased across her face. She shrugged, took one further step, then stopped and turned back. “All right.”
She followed Eawynn around the ruins of the palace to the alcove. The young man was gone, but the old priestess still huddled in a corner, although her prayers had stopped. As Eawynn reached the alcove, she saw why. Blood was spreading down the front of the elderly woman’s robe. Matt crouched and lifted her chin. More blood dripped from a raw gash across her throat. No living soul was in sight. Whoever slaughtered the old woman had fled.
Matt stood, staring at the blood on her fingertips. “Worse.” She whispered the word.
Without more said, they returned to the plaza. Matt stopped by the bodies of two soldiers and pulled
their swords free. She passed one to Eawynn.
“I don’t know how to use it.”
“You poke people with the pointy end.”
“I’ve never stabbed anyone before.”
“You won’t do it now. We just make ourselves look like more trouble to rob than it’s worth.”
Again, Matt set off in the direction of their rooms, but something caught her attention and she turned aside. The charred remains of Steward Ceolwulf Husa Elbacnola lay, still clasping his book. His clothes and skin were blackened, but recognisable. A couple of yards away, Oswald’s body was in a similar condition. Smoke wafted from his ceremonial robes.
Matt stood over Oswald’s body, her face unreadable. “If you want someone to take responsibility, blame him. If he hadn’t murdered Edmund, we’d still be in Fortaine, the river would be flowing, and the world would be in for a shitload of grief.”
“You’ve had your revenge.”
“Sort of.” Matt pressed the point of the sword to his chest.
“He’s dead.”
“I know. But I promised to put a blade in his heart.” Matt raised her eyes. “Edmund always kept his word. Every threat made good. Every promise honoured. That’s what he taught me. He said I should always be very careful about giving my word on anything.” Matt’s expression started to break up. Her mouth worked, like somebody trying not to be sick. With a convulsive twist, she drove the sword into Oswald’s body. Tears glinted in her eyes. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Eawynn hesitated, then pulled the book from Ceolwulf’s hands. The cover was charred by the blue fire, but the pages remained intact. The library of Cyningesburg had been a wonder. She would keep one reminder of its glory.
They passed several looters on the way to the apartment, but nobody tried to intercept them. A man threw a stone that hit the wall above Eawynn’s head, missing her by inches. In response, Matt scooped up a similar sized rock and her aim was on target. The stone thrower yelped, scrambling away, and no further missiles followed. Columns of smoke rose above the ruins, either from Iparikani’s fireballs, or from looters wanting to complete the demon’s work. So far though, their rooms were untouched.
“What do we do now?” Eawynn asked.
“Grab our stuff and get the hell out.”
“Can’t we barricade ourselves in?” The mood in the city reminded Eawynn of her first days after being expelled from the temple.
“And get roasted when they set fire to downstairs?”
“Some of the army’s left. Won’t an officer pull the troops together?”
“Probably. Doesn’t mean he’ll try to retake the city today, or tomorrow, or even this month. The soldiers are outnumbered. With their training and weapons, I’d still give them the edge, but it doesn’t matter who wins. If it’s the army it won’t be good for me, and if it’s slaves it’ll be worse for you.” Matt was stuffing clothes and food into backpacks.
Eawynn plucked at her robes. “What about this?”
“Keep it on. You’ll get more respect from soldiers and less trouble from slaves if they don’t think you’re an overseer.”
They were soon ready to leave. Matt led the way. A few courtyards over, she stopped and passed her pack to Eawynn. “Here. Hold this a moment.”
Matt burrowed into the bushes surrounding an ancient tree, then after a bit of scrabbling, backed out, holding the Shewstone. She offered it to Eawynn. “As promised.” Her expression was a strange mixture of resolve and something much harder to categorise.
Matt had indeed promised the Shewstone. How many times had Eawynn doubted that promise? Matt might be a thief, but she still had her own code of ethics. Could you respect a moral standpoint you did not share? For what it was worth, Eawynn was not sure if she still respected her own. I’m sorry I challenged you about the destruction in the plaza. Now was not the time, but Eawynn would say it sometime and try to explain the confusion she was feeling about so many things.
Most activity in the citadel was centred around the Plaza of the Emperors. As they got farther away, they saw fewer slaves in smaller groups. The Lion Gates were unmanned when they passed. Outside the citadel, the streets were more exposed. They moved cautiously from cover to cover, alert for trouble ahead. Something alarming was going on a quarter mile downhill to the north. A clamour of shouts and screams resounded over the ruins.
“What’s down there?” Eawynn asked.
“The pens where slaves got to live if they weren’t lucky enough to be owned by someone with a nice house. Sounds like payback time. We probably don’t want to go that way.”
“So where do we go?”
“We need horses and an escort. Slaves who’re looking for trouble will stick near the city. Those who aren’t will run away. But just because they’re running doesn’t mean they’ll turn down the chance for revenge on anyone with red hair. If we run into a group, I’d like some muscle in support.”
“How do we get an escort?”
“We need to find a confused bunch of soldiers with horses—low rank legionnaires, who’ve got no idea what to do next, other than they’d like an excuse to get away.”
“Is that likely?”
“I’m betting there’s dozens who fit the bill. We just need to get to them before a senior officer does.”
They crept through the lower town ruins avoiding gangs of slaves and one disciplined column of soldiers, a hundred strong, marching down to the valley encampment. Before long they were in a quieter region. No rebuilding work had taken place here. The ancient walls were crumbling. Grass and shrubs grew unchecked between the brickwork.
Matt pointed. “There.”
One building was still intact and clearly occupied. The roof and door had been replaced and plants cleared from the front. Three soldiers stood, arguing among themselves. A string of horses were tethered nearby.
“Is it a sentry post?”
“Either that or a messenger relay station. Either way, it’s our best bet. Leave the swords here.” She smiled at Eawynn. “Just be bold. You’ve got the acting skills. I’ll be right behind you.”
Despite the reassurance, Eawynn’s heart was pounding as she strode toward the building. The soldiers were locked in argument. “Well, I say we don’t.”
“You don’t have a fucking—”
“You,” Eawynn called when still some way off.
The three turned around sharply.
“Ma’am?” the oldest, a woman with a scarred face, answered uncertainly.
“I’ll need a guard. I have to get to Sideamuda as quickly as possible. They must be told what’s happened. We need reinforcements here.”
“Uh.” She looked left and right at her comrades for support. “Has the heretoga given permission?”
“No. Empress Aedilhild herself has. So don’t waste time.” Name-dropping could not hurt. They would be long gone before it was known for certain whether she had survived.
“The empress is alive?”
Eawynn glared at the speaker, putting as much condescension into her expression as she could. “Do I need to answer that?”
“No, ma’am.” The decision was made. Eawynn could see it in the woman’s eyes. “How many do you need?”
“You three will suffice. I’ll need horses for myself and my handmaiden, but I see you have plenty.”
For the first time, the soldiers looked at Matt. “You want her to come as well?”
“Unless one of you wants to do the cooking.”
There were no volunteers. The rising sun cast long shadows as Eawynn, Matt, and their acquired bodyguard rode away from Cyningesburg.
Chapter Eleven
Matt needed two attempts before she managed to sit upright. Her back and legs did not want to move and let her know by launching stabs of pain when she forced them.
The kick from the soldier did not make her feel any better. “Hrere, wealh.”
Matt rolled onto her knees. Dawn was an hour off. Even in summer, the night wind was freezing over the scrubland. D
ry thornbushes rattled in the darkness. The campfire was cold, but all she needed was to hand. Thankfully, she had thought to gather brush the night before. The idea of scouring for firewood in her current state was not pleasant. How was she going to take another day on horseback?
There was little call for riding in Fortaine. Even visits to surrounding villages would take no more than a few hours at a relaxed pace. She had never covered anything close to the distance of the previous day, and her whole body was objecting.
“Cleace.” Hurry. That was one word she knew.
By the time flames were snapping in the campfire, Matt’s muscles were moving more freely, but she still did not think she would be able to ride. Eawynn was also moving slowly, and clearly in discomfort. Matt positioned a pot of spiced wine over the fire.
“Idelgeorne bicce.” Which was something unflattering and accompanied by a cuff. The soldiers had not got over their terror from the day before, and were trying to cover it by being even more surly than normal.
Once the wine was steaming, Matt carried a mug to Eawynn. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was dragged all the way here from Cyningesburg.”
“Will you be able to ride today?”
Eawynn’s expression was the answer.
“You should tell the soldiers to go on without us.”
“Will it be safe?”
“Given a choice between having my throat slit and getting on a horse, I’ll pick the cut throat.”
“Yes. Me too.” Eawynn gave a weak grin.
“Anyhow, we’re far enough from Cyningesburg. There won’t be any gangs of runaway ex-slaves.”
“I’ll be sure to tell our brave escort that.”
“You think you can send them off without making them suspicious?”
The Shewstone Page 26