Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

  ‘Come on,’ said Nordaine, helping her onto the bed. Janessa sat and looked up into Nordaine’s eyes; eyes filled with kindness. To see such compassion made Janessa feel guiltier than ever that she had spoken in such a scurrilous way about this woman.

  ‘What is wrong with me? I need to be strong.’

  ‘You are,’ Nordaine replied, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile. She reached around Janessa’s back and unlaced the bodice of her gown, loosening it and immediately allowing Janessa to breathe more easily. Over the past few days her gowns had seemed to grow tighter and tighter, despite the fact she was eating less and less.

  ‘I’m not. I’m weak and sickly. Perhaps we should summon an apothecary.’

  Nordaine’s smile widened. ‘No apothecary can help you, my dear.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Janessa.

  ‘I didn’t want to think it, but it’s obvious now.’ Nordaine said, laying a gentle hand on Janessa’s belly.

  ‘What’s obvious?’

  Nordaine gave her a look of sympathy. ‘Your Majesty is with child.’

  Janessa stared at Nordaine for what seemed an eternity.

  Then she doubled over and threw up on her skirts.

  FOUR

  The Skyhelm Sentinels were a martial order as old as the royal palace itself. Having studied their chequered history for long hours, Kaira knew well the tenets and traditions that made them such an honoured caste of knights. Established a mere forty years after the death of Arlor himself, they had been given stewardship of Skyhelm by King Burfain the Blue after his son attempted to usurp his crown. From that time, anyone wishing to depose a monarch of Steelhaven would have to take into account the unswerving loyalty of the Sentinels, and their capacity for retribution.

  Of course history had shown the Sentinels could not always guarantee a long and untroubled reign, though almost a thousand years passed before the Steel Crown was usurped again and King Conrik the Second found his reign coming to an abrupt end. His brother Cedrik had raised an order of his own – the Knights of the Blood – and they had attacked Skyhelm in the night, murdering Conrik and driving out the Sentinels. Bloody civil war ensued as Conrik’s son, Hadrik, led the Sentinels in a protracted siege. After much bloodshed, an accord was met, and both Cedrik and Hadrik ruled Steelhaven through an uneasy peace. When both kings were killed on the same day, it was Hadrik’s heir Conhor who reinstated the Sentinels as stewards of Skyhelm once more, but also took the Knights of the Blood as his personal honour guard – an accord to which both orders had been bound ever since.

  Kaira had found the Sentinels less pious in their worship of Arlor and Vorena, than the Shieldmaidens, but then for many days she had turned her back on piety and worship. She was a warrior-priestess no more. Now she was a servant to her queen and her city. Vorena would forever hold a place in her heart, would forever be her strength and her succour, but the Temple of Autumn was in her past. Though it pained her to have left her sisters behind, women she had grown up with, fought next to, she now had new warriors to stand by her side.

  At first it had been odd, coming from the temple where she had been surrounded only by her sisters, but it had not taken long for her to gain as much respect from the men around her as she had from the Shieldmaidens. But then the Sentinels were a proud order, tempered long and hard in the training yard, each man picked for his prowess with sword and shield, each one devoted to his task. It was only natural that they should admire her skill and place the highest value on it. Kaira admired the dedication of these men to the Steel Crown and its city, and aspired to the same degree of commitment.

  Despite being the only female in the barracks she was still housed with the men. Any doubts Captain Garret had harboured regarding the wisdom of this had soon been dispelled. Recognising her prowess, the other Sentinels quickly treated Kaira as one of their own.

  If only the same could have seen said of Merrick.

  Kaira glanced across the small chamber that passed for both refectory and lounge for the Sentinels. Merrick sat in his usual position, staring out of the small window, jaw clenching and unclenching, heel tapping out an incessant beat.

  ‘We should head to the yard,’ Kaira said, standing.

  He glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is that your answer to everything? More training?’

  ‘Strength in body, strength in mind,’ she replied.

  ‘You’d just like to try me out again. I think you get some kind of sadistic thrill from it.’

  She smiled at that. ‘Can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind. Though I am getting bored of beating you.’ Kaira had found in recent days her attempts at levity were becoming more successful. Outside the cloistered environs of the temple she was gaining new talents all the time, but for Merrick the comparatively lenient regime of Skyhelm’s barracks seemed like a prison.

  Of course it had been difficult for him in those early days but, with a lot to prove to himself as much as anyone, he had actually thrown himself into his training as hard as she had. More recently though, she had seen him growing anxious, she suspected, for his old life, for the freedom it gave him, for the women … for the drink. Merrick had persevered, and she admired him for that. Every day he seemed to improve physically, his skills with a blade almost unparalleled, but his mind seemed elsewhere.

  He returned her a smile, but Kaira could see through it. The easy confidence, the arrogance he had borne when they first met was gone now. She sensed the vulnerable, lonely child, abandoned by his father, who had watched his mother die from the plague, and eventually squandered his family’s fortune.

  Sometimes it seemed his only solace was in the training yard.

  ‘Well, let’s get to it then,’ he said, apparently invigorated by the prospect.

  She followed him out to the training yard where several others were already sparring under Captain Garret’s watchful eye.

  Garret’s burden was taking its toll on him. Kaira did not envy his lot. He was tasked with protecting the palace of Skyhelm and their queen, and would be called on soon to defend the city against an invading army. The Sentinels would be at the forefront of the defence. All the more reason to spend as much time as they could practising their craft.

  As they walked out into the yard, Kaira recognised the two Sentinels fighting in front of their fellows. Statton was young, handsome and probably the best sword in the order after Merrick and herself. When Merrick had first brought her here she had fought Statton and another warrior named Waldin. She had managed to best them both, but not easily.

  Statton fought against Leofric, a promising recruit who had started soon after she and Merrick had joined. Though clearly a gifted swordsman, he was no match for the more experienced Statton.

  As she and Merrick watched, Statton easily broke Leofric’s defence again and again, choosing to toy with him rather than issuing a finishing blow. Kaira didn’t consider it fair; Leofric would gain little unless instructed in how to remedy his weaknesses, but she never deigned to question Garret’s way of teaching.

  ‘Enough,’ called Garret, after Statton easily parried Leofric’s thrust for the umpteenth time. ‘I see our sword masters have decided to join us.’ He gestured to where she was standing.

  The rest of the Sentinels turned to regard Merrick and Kaira. They had taken to calling the pair ‘sword masters’ some time ago and it made Kaira cringe every time it was uttered. Merrick, however, was unperturbed.

  ‘It’s clear our brother Sentinels are in need of further instruction,’ he said to her with a grin, taking one of the wooden practice swords from its rack and deftly spinning it in his hand. ‘We shouldn’t disappoint them.’

  Garret smiled and gestured him towards the practice square as though conceding to Merrick’s suggestion. It never failed to surprise Kaira how much Merrick could get away with – Garret would never have tolerated such arrogance from any of the other Sentinels. Their captain was a stern taskmaster, but he seemed to hold Merrick in particular regard
for some reason. She could only guess Garret felt somehow responsible for Merrick’s fallow years after his father left.

  Merrick strode to the centre of the square, glancing around as though goading someone, anyone, to challenge him. For Kaira this was becoming something of a tiresome charade. She looked at Leofric, who handed her his practice sword with the twitch of a smile. Having been humiliated by Merrick several times, the young novice was keen to see himself avenged.

  Kaira walked forwards to face Merrick, whose face wore a confident grin. But Kaira had known him long enough now to see past his egotism, to see behind his mask of self-assurance. There was little that was self-assured about Merrick Ryder. Yes he was a skilled swordsman, yes he had the gift of charm and a handsome face some might have found alluring, but to Kaira he was just a lonely boy in the body of a man. Not that she would let that hold her back.

  ‘When you’re ready,’ said Garret as they faced one another.

  Kaira merely stood there, waiting. Merrick, with his guard lowered, was goading her to attack but she had been here enough times to know it would not be long before Merrick’s impatience forced him to act first. She didn’t have to wait long.

  He strode forward, his guard down, but she still didn’t move, her wooden sword held loosely at waist height.

  As predicted he struck out, feigning low then thrusting high. It was a speculative strike, which she easily parried, but with Merrick she knew to be on her guard. For all his predictability in approach, once engaged he could change his attack in an instant and she knew better than to take him lightly.

  Merrick backed away, still smiling. Kaira’s feet were firmly planted to the spot, not taking a step back, even when he came in again, this time scything in four swift blows from left and right. Kaira’s sword parried each in turn, though she almost misjudged the last one. Could it be that Merrick’s skill was improving while hers was not? She dismissed that thought immediately. It would not do to harbour doubt, not in combat. That way only lay defeat.

  The rest of the Sentinels were muttering their support now, some for her, some for her opponent. Despite his haughtiness Merrick was popular with his fellows, always ready with a joke, always able to raise a smile. Kaira couldn’t help envying that. Though more comfortable now with casual mirth, she was much more guarded about her thoughts and feelings. Still, she had her own supporters. The older Sentinels respected her skill and her discipline, but she knew respect was all she’d get. Merrick was well liked, despite himself.

  He moved in again, this time determined to force her on the back foot. She parried his first set of blows easily, then spun, ducking a swing and bringing her own sword in to take him in the ribs. Merrick managed to dance away just in time, much to the delight of the other Sentinels. They were laughing now, excited by the display.

  As Merrick skipped away, Kaira took the initiative, following him and unleashing a volley of swings and cuts. Now it was Merrick’s turn to parry and dodge, and the sound of their wasters clacking together filled the practice square with a staccato beat.

  On they went, trading blows; ducking, swinging, spinning. The click-clack of their wooden swords grew faster. They were both sweating, the chill of the afternoon air doing nothing to cool their flesh. Merrick’s arrogant smile was gone, his brow was furrowed, his jaw set. Kaira in her turn glared at him with a steely determination, willing him to make that one mistake that would seal her victory.

  They paused a moment to get their breath, eyeing one another with a hunger, comfortable with their game. It was these moments she cherished, seeing Merrick fully alive, sharing the thrill of combat with a true exemplar.

  Then they were at it again. This time, as they went through their swift routine of thrust and parry, she saw a gap, the smallest chink in his defence and went for it. It was a reckless move, one that left her own defence open, but with luck he would spot it too late. Her wooden sword cut in, sweeping over his arm, to press against his throat. Had it been a keen blade it would have opened his neck and spilled his lifeblood to the ground. She allowed herself a smile, but Kaira’s brief elation disappeared as at the same instant she felt the press of his blade against her stomach. For all she had slit his throat, he had opened her guts. They were both dead.

  Merrick grinned as the Sentinels began to laugh, making noises of approval, some even clapping the display.

  ‘Just can’t separate you two, can we?’ said Garret.

  Merrick raised a suggestive eyebrow at that but Kaira shook her head.

  They stayed to watch the sparring continue, Merrick chatting easily with the other Sentinels while Kaira stood quietly to one side. Leofric was beside her, seeming to prefer her stern silence over the brash camaraderie of Merrick and some of the others. It wasn’t the first time, and she felt some pride that he so obviously respected her skill and wanted to follow her example. He still had a long way to go, but his attitude was promising.

  When they were done, Garret gathered them all round.

  ‘A good showing today – I’m seeing improvement. Take a rest, then I want everyone out here at eight bells in full dress.’

  Normally by eight bells they would be patrolling the halls and grounds of Skyhelm, but they nodded their assent and went about their business.

  Kaira took the time to wash and pray as she always did. Not many of the other Sentinels staunchly observed the faith of Arlor, but she was meticulous in her adherence. She may no longer have been a Shieldmaiden, but she was still the spear hand of Vorena; still a protector of the weak and a tool for her divine vengeance.

  Later, the Sentinels gathered in the training square well before eight bells. Garret was already waiting for them.

  ‘Right,’ he said, standing in their midst. ‘We all know how this works – no hanging around on ceremony. No endless prattling oaths. Kaira, Merrick, step forward.’

  Kaira moved up with Merrick at her shoulder. As Garret produced two medallions, gleaming in the torchlight, she knew what this was about.

  ‘Kneel then,’ said Garret. ‘We haven’t got all night.’

  Kaira dropped to her knee in an instant, but Merrick was slower about it. More measured. She wondered briefly if he might be having doubts, but when she glanced across she saw he was grinning.

  Can’t help drawing it out for the crowd. Typical.

  Garret crossed to Merrick first; if he was annoyed at the show of reticence he didn’t show it. ‘Merrick Ryder, do you swear to defend the bearer of the Steel Crown unto death?’ He recited the words as though he had done it a thousand times and was bored to the hells with them.

  ‘Aye,’ said Merrick, the grin still on his face.

  Though Kaira knew that was not the proper response, Garret placed the medallion around Merrick’s neck anyway.

  ‘Kaira Stormfall, do you swear to defend the bearer of the Steel Crown unto death?’

  She paused for a moment before answering.

  Stormfall? Could she accept entry to the Sentinels under that name? Had she the right to be known by it any more?

  Garret shifted uncomfortably. Kaira knew she must give an answer and now was not the time to agonise over a name.

  ‘I do,’ she replied, head still bowed.

  As the medallion was placed over her head the rest of the Sentinels said, ‘Skyhelm, and the queen,’ in unison, their voices echoing around the square.

  And with that simple ceremony, Merrick and Kaira were full members of the Sentinels.

  There was no celebration afterwards, no words of congratulation, no further rites to observe. Kaira found the simplicity of it strangely comforting. Coming from a life of cloistered ceremony and religious fervour it was liberating to be amongst a group of warriors as dedicated to their credo as the Shieldmaidens, but without the constant burden of dogma.

  She collected her sword and shield and, with Merrick at her side, took to the wall of Skyhelm to patrol its outer boundary. Merrick was strangely silent as they went about their task, causing Kaira to wonder what he w
as thinking. Despite his aloofness she sensed he took some pride in the honour that had been bestowed on him. For her own part, Kaira felt relieved to be part of something again.

  Yet when she looked south over the city to the statues of Vorena and Arlor, she felt a pang of regret. A tiny part of her still yearned to be over there, training with her sisters as they prepared themselves to face Amon Tugha, now that it seemed he could not be stopped.

  And when he finally reached the walls, would they be enough to stand in his way?

  Kaira Stormfall guessed they would all find out soon enough.

  FIVE

  They were exhausted to a man, each face dour, brows furrowed, jaws set. None of them had signed up to put down their own people like this, to purge an uprising with shield and baton like they were facing a foreign horde. Might not have been so bad if it was only men who were coming at them, but it was women and children too, wild and starving. It was plain to anyone with eyes in their head these people were desperate, that they needed help, but there weren’t no help to give. The grain stores needed to be protected and it was down to the Greencoats to do it.

  Nobul Jacks had no complaints about that part – he’d put his mark on the contract and had his duty to carry out. He’d done dog-work before; grim and bloody work in the name of the king and the Free States. There’d been no glory in it back then and there weren’t none now. Best just get on with the job and hope it didn’t haunt you in your sleep.

  Rest of the lads weren’t handling it so good, though. As they sat beside the huge warehouse amongst dozens of other Greencoats, Nobul could see they were nervous. Hake’s eye twitched so hard it was like the whole side of his face had a mind of its own. The old man had seemed to deteriorate in the last few days of scrapping, showing his age more than ever, and Nobul guessed the business at hand certainly weren’t helping with that.

  Bilgot might try to hide it, but the fat bastard was as scared as anyone. Probably more so. With his darting eyes it looked as though he expected trouble at any minute – and trouble he couldn’t handle. For all his bluster and lip he was a bloody coward, but then hadn’t Nobul spotted that from the start? The ones as made the biggest noise usually had the smallest stones.