by Richard Ford
It was then Nobul recognised him. Recognised him from weeks ago in the Chapel of Ghouls, remembered it was that young face covered in dust he’d seen when Nobul had looked up from cradling Denny’s body.
Whoever the lad was, he certainly got himself about a bit.
‘Right, let’s clear a path,’ said Kilgar, who had followed Nobul down from the barbican. At that, the lads of Amber Watch began to press ahead through the gathered crowd. Old Hake wasn’t much use, but it was work for which Bilgot was uniquely suited as he barged his fat frame through the city folk, shouldering the gawking onlookers out of the way. Nobul, Anton and Kilgar did their best, but it was still slow going as word spread throughout Eastgate and people flocked to see the fabled Wyvern Guard who had returned to Steelhaven once more.
Amber Watch and the new arrivals had almost got through when there was a commotion coming the other way. The crowd was suddenly bundled from the path and Nobul could see Dustin and Edric alongside the High Constable. He had his own retinue of Greencoats and each of them looked on open-mouthed as they saw the parade of bronze-armoured knights working its way through the city streets.
‘You weren’t lying, were you lads?’ said the High Constable as he looked up at the rider leading the column.
The knight looked down from within his winged helm. Nobul could see his neatly trimmed beard and his intense eyes.
‘I am the Lord Marshal of the Wyvern Guard, here to see the queen,’ he said. And that was all. Again he just sat there looking on expectantly, like he was the Duke of bloody Valdor and they should know to give him the red-carpet treatment.
The High Constable looked up agog, clearly unsure of what to do. ‘Er … an audience with the queen might be difficult at short notice,’ he replied.
‘Trust me, she’ll make time for us,’ said the Lord Marshal, and Nobul had to agree; she just bloody might.
Before the High Constable could find any more excuses, other figures pushed their way through the crowd, this time Sentinels from the palace of Skyhelm. They looked up unsurprised, as though they had been expecting the Wyvern Guard all along.
‘You’ll follow us,’ said the first Sentinel. ‘The palace is—’
‘I know the way, son,’ said the Lord Marshal, touching his spurs to his horse once more.
Nobul stood back, allowing the knights to ride on past him. He didn’t get an accurate count, but there were at least a couple of hundred in the column. Not enough to hold back the Khurtas on their own, but a welcome addition to the city’s defences however you looked at it. He hoped he’d be there to see the looks on those savage bastards’ faces when they realised they were up against the greatest knights in all the known world.
‘Don’t see that every day, do you?’ said Hake, as they watched the last of the riders disappear towards the Crown District, followed by a gaggle of cheering city folk.
Nobul just shook his head.
Later, back at the barracks, having already put his weapon back in the store, Nobul was changing out of his green arming jacket. Kilgar stood there watching him with his one good eye. It was obvious he wanted to speak, maybe wanted Nobul to ask what he was standing there for, but then Nobul had never been one for starting up conversations.
They looked at one another for a moment and Kilgar took a deep breath.
‘Good that they’ve come … the Wyvern Guard, I mean.’
‘Aye, reckon it is,’ Nobul said.
Another pause. Kilgar took another breath.
‘It’s coming, you know. It’ll be like the Gate all over again. The piss and the blood. The crying and the screaming. You reckon you’re up for it?’
Nobul nodded, though he reckoned this time it might well be worse. At Bakhaus Gate they could have retreated, but here they only had the sea at their back. He could swim well enough, but doubted he’d make it to all the way Dravhistan in one go.
‘We’ll weather it,’ Nobul said. ‘We’ve done it before.’
‘Aye that we have. And lived to tell the tale.’
Another pause, but this time Kilgar walked forward, leaning in like he didn’t want no one else to hear, even though there was no one else there.
‘It wasn’t your fault you know,’ said Kilgar. ‘It could have happened to any one of us. Any one of us could have been there that night. Any one of us could have ended up dying in that place.’
‘I know,’ said Nobul, not too sure this was a conversation he wanted to be having.
‘Denny thought a lot of you. He’d have been glad you were there … at the end.’
That one stung. Nobul didn’t believe Denny would have thanked him after leaving the lad to fall to his death. But what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to open his mouth to Kilgar and tell him the facts? That Denny had been the one who shot his boy? That he’d wanted to punish the little fucker, and when he got his opportunity he’d let him drop from that ledge on purpose?
They said unloading your sorrows on someone else was meant to help. Nobul wasn’t convinced. Either way, he had nothing to say he wanted Kilgar to hear. He felt guilty all right, but he reckoned it was his guilt to bear, and bear it he would.
Before he had to make up some reply, Anton walked in. Dolorous as always he regarded the pair of them for a moment then began pulling off his jacket and helm.
‘Just think on,’ said Kilgar, patting Nobul’s shoulder with his one remaining arm. ‘If you want to talk about it, you know where I am.’
Hells, if Kilgar still had both eyes he’d most likely have given a wink too. Nobul wasn’t too sure he liked this side of Kilgar. He’d preferred him when he was hard as stone, a serjeant to be feared. Not acting the priest and confessor.
Kilgar left, and Nobul hung back, giving the serjeant enough time to clear the barracks before he made to follow. By that time Anton had finished with his gear and was leaving too. They walked out side by side, and Anton looked up and smiled. Now that was new. Nobul had never seen so much as a twitch on the lad’s lips since the day he’d started with the Greencoats.
Was everybody going fucking mad?
‘Er … fancy a beer, Lincon?’ Anton said.
This was all he needed. It seemed half of Amber Watch was keen to sit down and have a long chat with him about the great cycle of life.
‘No thanks,’ he replied.
Anton looked downcast, became his usual miserable self. Which only made Nobul feel worse. This was supposed to be his mucker, his comrade-in-arms and he couldn’t even be bothered to go for a beer with the lad.
What a twat you are, Nobul Jacks.
‘Well, all right then. Maybe just the one.’ He’d said it before he could stop himself. But what was the harm? It had been months since he’d been for a drink. Months since he’d just sat back and relaxed. Maybe it was about time. Maybe he even deserved it. In a few days he wouldn’t have the chance to do much of anything but fight. Best grab the laughs while you could.
‘I know just the place,’ Anton said, brightening once more. It was a side of the lad Nobul hadn’t seen. It was certainly better than the side to Kilgar he hadn’t seen – all caring and touchy feely like.
They made their way up through Northgate, past the dilapidated houses, up through the cold streets, the muddy ground frozen almost to stone. It wasn’t a bad time of year to walk through Northgate, if any time could be considered good. At least the cold of winter hid the human stink.
The further they went the more Nobul began to wonder if Anton knew where in the hells he was going.
‘Sure this is the right way?’ he asked.
‘Oh, it’s not far, Nobul,’ he said. ‘Just down here.’
‘All right. If you say so.’
Anton led them down an alley but it didn’t look like a decent spot for no alehouse. In fact it didn’t look a decent spot for much of anything, but who was Nobul to complain. It wasn’t like Anton was one of the rougher lads. It wasn’t like he’d be leading them into some cut-throat shit hole.
As Nobul
thought that, he frowned, suddenly realising what had just been said between them. Anton had called him ‘Nobul’.
And he’d answered to it.
Before he could speak something hard hit him on the back of the head. It fuzzed his vision and dropped him to one knee, but it didn’t put him out.
‘Hit him again,’ someone said, panicked, desperate that they hadn’t knocked him unconscious.
Nobul spun around, dizzy, stumbling, seeing the club come down again. He just managed to raise an arm, felt an impact, grunted against the pain. More feet clattered towards him across the hard earth and he knew he didn’t have much time. He reared forward, butting the club wielder and knocking him back but that made Nobul stumble again and by the time he’d righted himself someone had shoved a sack over his head.
They pulled on it, dragging him, tightening the sack round his neck.
‘Fucking hit him!’ screamed another voice more frantic than the first.
Nobul backed up, shoving against whoever held the sack, trying to smash him against a wall, but he lost his footing. Something hit him in the shoulder, a plank of wood, another club maybe. He growled, getting his mad up, ready for the next blow. When it came he lashed out, feeling his foot hit someone who squealed. He grabbed at the sack trying to get it off.
‘Fucking help me!’ someone cried from behind. ‘He’s strong as a fucking ox!’
Nobul’s hand grasped a wrist, dragging it forward. The sack loosened about his neck as he pulled someone in front of him, punching out twice, feeling the impact against his fist, hearing a pained wheeze from someone’s lungs.
Before he could finally drag the sack off something hit him again, bang across his skull, driving him to the ground.
Last thing he heard was the sound of blows smashing in, pummelling him to …
TEN
She was on her hands and knees, retching up a long string of bile that dangled from her mouth but stubbornly held on, as though it didn’t want to break off and fall into the bowl in front of her. Janessa’s long red curls hung in that bowl, the strands of her hair splaying in the fresh vomit, but she didn’t care.
All she wanted was for this to go away.
Her hand strayed down to her belly. She could feel it had grown, the swollen flesh seeming to have hardened around her middle. It wouldn’t be long now until people other than Nordaine started to notice … if they hadn’t already.
And what would happen when they did? How would she be greeted at court? Half of them already despised her, coveting her power, waiting for her to fail so they could grab some advantage for themselves. And would the other half remain loyal once they discovered the truth?
The Whore Queen, they would call her. Her courtiers would snigger and gossip behind her back. Who is the father? Could be anyone – I hear she’ll lie with any man who offers her a red rose and some honeyed words. Must be young Lord Raelan Logar’s, I heard he was quite the rogue. No, they say it’s Leon Magrida’s, though she refuses to marry him.
Yet it was not the courtiers who mattered to her. It was the people of Steelhaven, her people, she really cared about.
Would they see this as a betrayal of their trust? Would it make them lose faith in her?
Whore Queen or virgin, her desire to do her best for them remained the same. She must still lead Steelhaven against the tyrant who would see the city razed to the ground; fight for victory – no matter her condition.
Janessa rose gingerly from the floor, and sat back on her bed, relieved that the nausea had abated. What a state she must look – hair dishevelled, sweating like a fat drunkard. Her appearance was the least of her worries, however.
What was she to do?
Should she find a husband, and quickly? Janessa had been determined to rule on her own, but the child inside her put an entirely new complexion on things and now her options looked decidedly slim.
Should she marry Leon Magrida? Would he want her, now she was with child? Or could she attempt to deceive him? What was she even thinking? Leon’s views were immaterial – Baroness Magrida would seize any chance to share the Steel Crown, even if it meant her son marrying a three-copper whore.
No.
This was desperation. Why was she even considering marriage to a man she despised? The very thought of it made her skin crawl. She could never give herself to another man while River was still out there … somewhere.
She felt a moment of panic. Was he still faithfully waiting for her? Would he come back? Hold her in his arms once more? Take her away from this place?
Janessa shook her head against the thought.
That was all whimsy. Another life she had dreamed she could have. But it was impossible. Janessa Mastragall could run away neither from Steelhaven nor from her daunting responsibilities.
The worries of giving birth out of wedlock would have to wait. Her armies to the north had been defeated. The Khurtas would be at the gates of Steelhaven within a few short days. Amon Tugha was coming.
Word had reached her that the Wyvern Guard had arrived, though they alone could never be enough to hold off an army tens of thousands strong. The entire city had to fight – its people united against the merciless enemy. They needed a beacon to rally around, and Janessa was determined to be their light.
Wallowing in her woes would not see the city defended.
Rising with new purpose, Janessa heard a knock at the door. She knew it was Nordaine. Her governess had been more attentive than ever these past few days, but there had been no prattled advice. The older woman knew Janessa had to find her own way.
Janessa allowed Nordaine in. Silently, the governess placed a little food down next to Janessa and began clearing away the bowl of vomit. Every day she brought food, even though Janessa usually refused it.
With fresh water she washed Janessa, wiping away the sheen of sweat on her body. Then she rinsed the vomit from Janessa’s hair, before dressing it formally. Finally, Nordaine helped Janessa into the gown she wore for court. It was a plain dress, austere as the room and throne from which she governed.
When ready, Janessa stepped out of her chamber and waiting, as ever, were her Sentinels. Kaira looked stern; always ready to carry out her duty. Merrick was more casual, but he snapped to attention on seeing her.
These two warriors, still new to Janessa, instantly made her feel safe. However the city and her court might judge her, she feared no harm as long as these two were by her side.
They led the way through Skyhelm’s corridors and into the main hall where Janessa saw Odaka waiting for her. The throne room had been cleared, not a soul in sight, and Odaka looked troubled.
‘What matters of court today?’ she asked. ‘Where is our usual audience?’
Odaka took a step forward. ‘Before any matters of court, Majesty, there is something that requires your immediate attention. To have the customary audience would be inadvisable. The matter is most sensitive.’
Janessa was confused. All matters of state, other than those of the War Chamber, were conducted in public. What could warrant such privacy?
Odaka continued. ‘An envoy has arrived from the White Moon Trading Company. I cannot overstress the importance of his visit.’
The importance was certainly not lost on Janessa. The company was affiliated to the Bankers League – a powerful organisation with members from a number of nations across the Midral Sea, which might hold the key to her city’s survival. If she could persuade them to back her with their money the Free Companies would fall over one another to flock to her banner.
‘I am to deal with him now?’ Janessa didn’t relish the idea of bargaining over the future of her city, her country, but knew she must. This man would negotiate only with her, would accept no intermediary. This was a duty for her alone.
‘He arrived unexpectedly, Majesty, and he has demanded an audience with you immediately.’
This envoy was no king, perhaps not even a noble, but if Odaka was willing to acquiesce to him, he must be powerful indeed.
‘Very well,’ said Janessa. ‘We will speak with him.’
‘I will bring him, Majesty. But remember, he will not offer his coin lightly. This could be a long and difficult dance. A game of strategy, so to speak. Accept nothing until we are sure what he wants in return.’
Janessa nodded.
As Odaka left to fetch the envoy, Janessa took to her throne, flanked by Merrick and Kaira. She suddenly felt sick again, but this was nothing to do with the child growing inside her. Janessa knew the man she was about to meet might hold the key to her city’s survival. She hoped the price for his aid would not be too high.
Odaka soon returned leading a small procession. Beside him was Chancellor Durket babbling on about the history of Skyhelm and the reason for the throne room’s austerity. Janessa hardly noticed either of her advisors though, her attention focused fully on the man they led into the chamber.
He looked harmless enough. Just below average height, with olive skin. He had a headscarf wrapped tight around his head. His robes were black and plain, his hands hidden in their sleeves. As he drew closer, Janessa could see he wore kohl around his eyes giving him a feminine look, though the thin moustache and beard that joined around his mouth showed he was every inch a man.
Behind him walked four men, whom Janessa guessed were his personal bodyguard. They all had identical shaven heads, with matching red tunics and pantaloons that were striking against their dark skins. None of them carried a weapon.
They stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne and Odaka announced, ‘Azai Dravos of the White Moon Trading Company.’
Dravos inclined his head, but kept his painted eyes fixed firmly on Janessa.
‘Greetings, your illustrious Majesty.’ His thick accent dripped with charm. ‘Might I say your splendour was much understated. I have met the queens of every nation in the East, but your beauty surpasses that of them all.’
Janessa somehow doubted that, but she smiled nonetheless.