by Richard Ford
‘I am sure you flatter me, Azai Dravos. Welcome to my city. I hope your stay will be a pleasant one.’
‘What a magnificent city it is. Would that I could stay longer and sample its many wonders.’
Yes, I’m sure you’d love to stay while my city is besieged. It will be most stimulating.
‘But at least you will be able to enjoy the palace? Chancellor Durket will see you and your men accommodated in our finest rooms.’
Azai Dravos smiled, but a look of discomfort flashed across his face.
‘I regret that I am unable to stay, Majesty. Now, if we might move on to the purpose of my visit …’
Janessa felt her stomach lurch. He was steering this away from her and she needed to be in control. She certainly wanted his coin, and fast, but she couldn’t allow him to dictate proceedings.
‘Nonsense,’ she said quickly, ‘I will not hear of it. Durket, see that our guests are offered all the luxuries the palace can provide.’
‘But—’
‘I will not hear of it.’ Janessa tried to inject an element of command into her words and was pleasantly surprised at the result. ‘You have come far. It would reflect poorly on me were you to leave without experiencing our hospitality.’
At first Azai Dravos looked annoyed, but he held Janessa’s gaze and smiled his reply. He had played this game many times before.
‘On behalf of the White Moon Trading Company, I thank your Majesty for her generosity, and look forward to speaking with her at length … very soon.’
Without waiting for dismissal he backed away with a bow, as did his men. They left with Durket, who continued his prattling as they retreated down the corridor. Odaka moved forwards, nodding his approval.
‘That was well done, Majesty. But Dravos will not be put off indefinitely, and neither do we have the time to allow it. I would suggest a private audience when he is more comfortable. The deck is stacked heavily in his favour; he knows we are desperate and he could demand almost anything.’
‘Which could be what?’
Odaka shook his head. ‘It could be many things: crippling interest on the loan, or maybe future trade deals heavily weighted in his paymasters’ favour. He might even insist on a permanent envoy in your court. Until you can meet with him alone and appeal to his better nature, there is little doubt he will not budge on anything.’
‘But what can we afford to give? You’re right; we have little bargaining room and no time to manoeuvre him into a reasonable deal.’ Things were deteriorating by the moment. Must she act the gambler, with the future of her city the stake?
‘Ultimately we must be prepared to pledge almost anything to save the city. Any bargain struck with a member of the Bankers League will come with a heavy price. But pay it we must, Majesty.’
‘Then there is no choice, is there? A poor hand indeed.’
She spoke to no one in particular.
ELEVEN
He stood at her shoulder, to the left hand of that big stone throne. Merrick had almost laughed the first time he’d done it, the first time he’d stood in that huge throne room protecting their queen. A couple of months back he’d been chancing his arm on the streets: whoring, drinking, gambling. Everywhere he turned people wanted him dead, and he’d been lucky to survive.
Now he was in the great palace of Skyhelm, armoured and armed, a chosen lifeguard of the most powerful woman in the Free States.
Even he had to admit he’d done pretty bloody well for himself.
Kaira stood to the queen’s right – stern, implacable almost. It was a duty to which she was wholly suited. Merrick knew that were Kaira called upon to lay down her life for the young girl that sat between them she would have done it without question.
Well, at least that made one of them.
In the past few days he had seen Queen Janessa preside over her court assuredly. This had surprised Merrick at first, but then he hadn’t really known what to expect. When he first encountered her she had looked like a naive child thrown in with the sharks, but he had come to admire how she handled things – always calm and diplomatic, always taking a measured approach. Had he been forced to deal with half these greedy, clamouring bastards Merrick was pretty certain he’d have told most to go fuck themselves.
He’d definitely got a bad feeling about the foreigner they’d just seen. There was something about Azai Dravos that Merrick didn’t like, and it wasn’t just the perfumed stink. He’d been relieved when the bastard left.
With Dravos gone the Sentinels at the entrance to the throne room had allowed in the usual collection of simpering prigs. Merrick hadn’t quite worked out which one of them he loathed the most yet, but he was getting there.
Lord Governor Argus of Coppergate stood wringing his hands. He’d already entreated for aid a dozen times, though it had become obvious the Khurtic horde was more interested in making its way south than besieging his city. It was a mystery why he was even here – he’d have been safer cosseted within the walls of his city rather than in Steelhaven. Maybe he was just lurking around for the entertainment. Or to see what fell into his grasping hands as the place crumbled around him.
General Hawke stood nearby. He’d spent the last few days in court, leaving his armies to the north under the command of Duke Bannon Logar. He claimed he was here to oversee the defence of the city walls in readiness for a coming siege, but Merrick could see the old man looked weary. He was most likely here for some respite from the constant fighting – unlike Marshal Farren, who looked as if he couldn’t wait to get back to the front quick enough. The leader of the Knights of the Blood was a fearsome individual, his armour proudly bearing the marks of battle. One heavily scarred eye twitched occasionally as if he had something in it. The man made no secret of his disdain for Skyhelm’s Sentinels, and he still upheld the old rivalry. Luckily Merrick hadn’t been on the receiving end of his notorious temper. Not so far, anyway.
Of course, Odaka Du’ur stood at the base of the stairs to the stone throne, presiding over all the courtly business. Merrick hadn’t quite worked him out yet; that ebon face was hard to read. And Merrick was usually a good judge of character. The advisor acted loyal enough, and seemed as intent on protecting the queen as her Sentinels. Whether it was ultimately for his own gain only time would tell.
One character who was easy to see through stood opposite Odaka at the foot of the stair. Seneschal Rogan cut quite a loathsome figure. Why they kept the bastard around was a mystery. If it had been up to Merrick he would have confined Rogan permanently in his torture dungeon well away from decent folk, or at least made him conduct his business from behind a wooden screen. The leader of the Inquisition smiled and made all the right noises, but his manner was too accommodating. Merrick had been on the streets long enough to see through it. No one was that gracious, that selfless – especially someone who tortured people for a living. Every time the slimy bastard opened his mouth it made Merrick’s skin crawl, and he found his hand straying to the sword at his side. Janessa often listened to Rogan intently, taking in what he said, but not always acting on his advice. Merrick could only hope it stayed that way.
The gathered courtiers turned their heads as a man walked into the throne room. He was a shaggy affair, furs piled up around his shoulders, bow at his back, axe and knife at his waist. It was difficult to tell his age, his face was weathered like a battered bit of old leather, his hair grey, but he walked with the sureness of a much younger man, despite a slight limp.
He kneeled before the throne and bowed his head as though he meant it.
‘Oban Halfwyrd, Warden of the North, Majesty,’ he said, his voice as grizzled as his face. ‘Come with words from the front, Majesty.’
‘Stand, Oban Halfwyrd, and tell us your news,’ Janessa replied.
The Warden rose gingerly, and Merrick saw then he showed his age, something cracking in his knee, his breath laboured as he gained his feet.
‘Well, it ain’t good, Majesty. Duke Logar has ordered a full retreat
. It’s been three days since we tried to hold ’em at Deeprun Bridge, but we just lost too many men. Khurtic bastards don’t give in … er, pardon, Majesty.’ He paused, as though cursing in front of the queen was a hanging offence.
‘Continue,’ she said.
‘Ain’t much else to tell. Without the Free Companies to help us we’ve only got bannermen from Valdor, Dreldun and Steelhaven. Just ain’t enough. There’s the best part of forty thousand Khurtas headed this way and nothing to hold ’em off except prayers and bad language, Majesty. Only a few days till they come knocking at Steelhaven’s door.’
He was silent then, looking round as though someone might walk forwards and give him a slap for the bad tidings he’d brought. Instead, Queen Janessa rewarded him with a smile.
‘We appreciate your haste in bringing the news, Oban Halfwyrd.’
‘Weren’t nothing, Majesty,’ the Warden replied self-consciously.
He took a step back, readying himself to leave, but not everyone had heard enough.
‘Where is Logar now?’ demanded a voice. Merrick looked across to see Marshal Farren glaring at the Warden, his scarred left eye twitching of its own accord.
‘Er … not five days north, milord. The Khurtas stopped for a bit at Deeprun, doing their burning and pillage. Our army’s resting up thirty leagues south of ’em.’
‘What numbers are left?’ This was General Hawke. He tried to sound as commanding as Farren but failed dismally.
‘Might be eight thousand, maybe six. Difficult to say, we didn’t have time to count the dead and wounded, what with the Khurtas dogging our heels.’ Even Merrick could tell there was bitterness in Oban’s words. Whether it was for the loss of comrades at the front, or his disdain for a general who would leave his men behind for the safety of the city, he couldn’t tell.
Odaka Du’ur turned to the queen. ‘We need to send one of the Free Companies to escort the army back from the front. We cannot risk our bannermen being slaughtered before they have a chance to retreat.’
Seneschal Rogan raised a hand before the queen could reply. ‘Ah, that might be problematic.’ He spoke with a smile. Even when delivering bad news he had that same simpering smile on his face that made Merrick want to ram a gauntleted fist down his throat. ‘The Free Companies have yet to receive payment. The Brotherhood of the Sun and the Hallowed Shields will not raise so much as a finger until they have been paid in full. The Midnight Falcons are threatening to leave the city within the next two days if they are not paid a retainer.’
‘Then they must be paid,’ said Lord Governor Argus, though what it had to do with him, Merrick had no idea.
‘With what?’ said General Hawke. ‘The coffers are empty!’
This seemed to silence them all for a moment. If the coffers were empty they were all deep in the shit.
‘A meeting has been arranged,’ said Odaka, ‘that will see the Crown’s finances flourish. Do not worry on that score. Seneschal, you may inform the Free Companies that payment is guaranteed.’
The Seneschal flashed him that smile again. ‘These are mercenaries. They care little for guarantees, I’m afraid. Cold hard coin is all they believe in. It is the only thing that will ensure their loyalty.’
Merrick could see Janessa moving uncomfortably next to him. This was supposed to be her throne room, these were her decisions to make, helped by her reliable advisors, who at the moment were bickering like children.
‘If they won’t fight for the Crown voluntarily when in its direst need, they should be forced to fight,’ barked Marshal Farren. ‘We conscripted mercenaries before Bakhaus Gate. We can do it again.’
‘We conscripted former mercenaries who were citizens of the Free States, Marshal,’ Rogan replied. ‘The mercenary levies were still paid for by the Crown.’
General Hawke shook his head. ‘This is madness. If Cael were here he’d make them fight, whether they wanted to or not.’
Merrick heard Janessa let out a despondent breath at the mention of her father – at the suggestion of her inadequacy. He could see her fingers gripping the stone arms of the throne on which she sat as though she wanted to rise, to shout at them, but something was holding her back.
Merrick suddenly wanted to help her but guessed that if one of her personal guard drew his sword and threatened the room to silence she would not thank him.
‘Everything is in hand,’ said Odaka. ‘The queen is to meet with a financier very soon.’
‘Is she?’ said Argus. ‘How reassuring. And what will she bargain with? What assurances can she give them that their investment will be well placed? This city may well be ash in a few days. Who’s going to lend her money? Perhaps we should ask her?’
Argus turned expectantly, and Merrick found his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. It looked like he bore more allegiance to Janessa than he’d thought. Or maybe he just wanted to draw on this pompous arse and teach him some manners.
Luckily, Merrick wasn’t the only one.
‘Watch your fucking mouth, bastard.’ It was Oban Halfwyrd, who’d gone so far as to draw the knife at his belt.
Argus took a step back, looking for support from the Sentinels who were present. None of them offered any help.
Merrick saw Janessa move forward in her seat, perhaps to demand Argus be punished or that Halfwyrd stand down. He never got to find out which.
Captain Garret entered the throne room briskly, fully armoured, helmet held under his arm. The throne room hushed as all eyes fixed on him. Courtiers scurried out of the way to allow the imposing figure a clear path to the throne. From outside came the sound of marching feet.
Then they entered.
They advanced in ranks of two, bronze armour gleaming, faces hidden behind intricate helms. At their head two knights carried pennants which, on reaching the front of the throne room, they displayed so the red wyvern on a green field was visible to all. Behind them the bronze-armoured knights marched in strict unison, over a hundred in all. The knights at the front dropped to one knee, quickly followed by those behind, one by one, like a row of toppled books. Merrick marvelled at their practised discipline.
Three more bronze-armoured knights strode into the great hall. The first wore a massive winged helm and a broadsword strapped to his back. Behind him were two more bronze-clad warriors, one of them wearing the white pelt of some enormous snow beast around his armoured shoulders.
Garret looked on as the warriors stopped in front of the queen, then knelt before her, heads bowed. ‘Majesty,’ Garret said. ‘May I present the Wyvern Guard and their Lord Marshal.’
‘Your servants unto death, Majesty,’ announced the warrior with the winged helm.
There was something about that voice. Something about its commanding tone that Merrick recognised. But surely it couldn’t be …
‘We were told of your arrival and we are grateful for your aid, Lord Marshal,’ Janessa replied. ‘I am sure Captain Garret will see to your needs and those of your men.’
‘I will, Majesty,’ said Garret with a bow. ‘They will be housed in the Skyhelm barracks with all the privileges bestowed on my own Sentinels.’
Merrick saw a flash of pride in Garret’s features. It was true that everyone knew the legends of the Wyvern Guard – their deeds during the Dragon Wars, their banishment of the ghouls, the Harrowing of the Blood Isles – but Garret seemed to regard these men as old friends.
‘That’s it?’ said Marshal Farren suddenly, taking a step forward. ‘We are to invite these … men to dine at our table without so much as a by your leave? They could be spies of the Elharim for all we know. Who will vouch for them?’
‘I will,’ said Garret, his words snarled angrily, his disdain for Farren and his Knights of the Blood clear for all to see. But the Lord Marshal of the Wyvern Guard had already walked forward.
‘We are here at the behest of the city,’ he said. ‘Here to defend its people and its queen. Had we wanted to do it harm don’t you think you’d already know about it?’<
br />
Farren turned impatiently to the queen. ‘House them in the city gaols with the rest of the mercenaries. Not in Skyhelm. What have they done to deserve that honour?’
‘Indeed,’ said General Hawke, a little uncertainly. ‘We know nothing of these men.’
‘Oh but we know of you,’ said the Lord Marshal. ‘We know you let your king be murdered. We know you’ve both left your armies to the north and come here to hide like rats. Don’t talk to me of “honour” when you have none.’
‘Watch your mouth, dog!’ said Farren, taking a threatening step forward.
The Lord Marshal didn’t move but the warrior to his right, the one with the fur cloak, moved into Farren’s path, his sword ringing halfway from its sheath.
‘One more step and I’ll cut that winking fucking eye from your head,’ he said. Despite his choice of language in front of the queen, Merrick kind of liked him already.
Farren stared, his eye twitching frantically, but he went no further.
The Lord Marshal stepped towards the queen, and removed the helmet from his head.
On seeing the man’s face Merrick felt sick. Felt small. Wanted to piss. Wanted to run. A host of childhood memories flooded back. Of castigation. Of punishment. Of training … endless training … and never getting a fucking thing right.
‘Majesty,’ said the Lord Marshal. ‘My name is Tannick Ryder. Former Captain in the Skyhelm Sentinels. Sent forth almost twenty years since to restore the Wyvern Guard to its former glory. And now I have returned to defend your city and your life. Accept not just my words of loyalty. Accept my sword.’
With that he pulled the massive blade from his back with a metallic ring. Merrick saw Kaira tense across the throne from him, her hand straying to the hilt of her sword as this man drew his blade in front of the queen. But the Lord Marshal only knelt and offered up the magnificent weapon.
Odaka glanced up to Janessa but Merrick couldn’t read his expression. Not that he gave a shit what Odaka thought; he was battling his own daemons. Daemons from the past that couldn’t be fought with any weapons. Daemons of regret. Daemons of anger. Of sadness and loss.