Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

  Hagama and Kazul growled their assent, but Leandran’s words did nothing to spur Akkula’s spirits. He pulled his hide cloak about him all the tighter and took on a sullen expression.

  ‘There,’ said Janto suddenly, dropping into a crouch and pulling one of the axes free from his belt.

  Regulus and the rest of the warriors fell in beside him, keeping low and scanning the valley ahead. In the distance they could just make out a procession of Coldlanders moving towards the west. They looked a sorry band, labouring under their packs and pulling carts behind them, their young at their heels as they trudged along the road.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Leandran, glaring down. ‘Do we avoid them?’

  Regulus shook his head. ‘No. We will greet them. We need to know if we are heading in the right direction to reach their capital and their king. It will not serve us well if we have to wander this frigid land for many more days.’

  ‘And if they won’t speak to us? If they flee?’

  ‘They will speak to me,’ Regulus said. ‘I know their language. I will go alone.’

  ‘No,’ said Janto. ‘I will go with you … just in case.’

  ‘In case what?’ Regulus gestured to the pitiful line of figures. ‘They look about ready to drop. I am hardly in any danger.’

  Regulus could see Janto wanted to say more but thought better of it. Yes, Janto wanted to accompany him, wanted to watch his back, but simply to serve his own ends and free himself of his obligation.

  ‘The rest of you should hide yourselves. We don’t want to alarm these people.’

  His warriors understood. Regulus skewered his sword in the ground and made his way down into the valley, briefly losing sight of the travellers behind a copse of trees.

  When he reached the bottom he stood to the side of the road, his hood drawn up to cover his dark features. As he waited, Regulus thought hard about the best way to approach these people without alarming them. He was a foreigner after all; his appearance alien in this land of pale diminutive folk, their teeth and claws only good for chewing grass. It was understandable that they should fear him. But he had come to serve their king, to offer his sword in their defence. Surely they would understand that.

  And if not, he would make them understand.

  The procession came into view along the path at the side of the trees. At the front was a man pulling a small cart. He looked sorrowful, the child at his side looking sorrier still. Regulus took a step forward, his palms showing in the sign of peace.

  The man screamed.

  He backed away, almost falling over his cart as he pulled his child close to him – Regulus couldn’t tell whether it was son or daughter; the Coldlanders mostly looked alike to him – but it too began screaming. At first the sound was annoying, then alarming as it spread down the sorry row of travellers. Panic gripped them as they saw him standing there blocking their path. Regulus tried to calm them, tried to explain, but his words were lost in the din as they ran shrieking into the trees or back down the path.

  To pursue would only have distressed them further. Perhaps this would be more difficult than he thought. If the sight of a lone Zatani was enough to send a dozen of them fleeing in terror, what fear would he and his warparty inspire when they arrived at the capital?

  Before he made his way back up the hill Regulus heard a quiet voice from down the path. He slowly made his way along the trail of abandoned carts and packs until he found an old man, kneeling on the cold earth. His eyes were tight shut and he was mumbling a hasty prayer to the heathen gods of the north.

  ‘Do not be afraid, old one,’ Regulus said in the Coldlander tongue. He tried to make his voice as soft as he could, but it seemed to make the old man say his prayer that much faster, as though the speed of his words might deliver him from his doom.

  ‘I am not here to do you harm, old one. I carry no weapon.’

  The old man opened one eye, looking up as though a weapon was the last thing he feared, tears streaking his face. Regulus tried a smile, but it only made the old man’s eyes open the wider.

  Gently, Regulus reached down and raised the old man to his feet.

  ‘I would talk with you, old one. Nothing more.’

  The man shook at the knee, but he held Regulus’ gaze. ‘I’m an old man and in no mood for tricks, lord of devils. If you aim to kill me do it quick.’

  Regulus almost laughed. If he’d wanted the old man dead he would certainly not have toyed with him first.

  ‘You have nothing to fear. I come to your lands to help. Not to hunt.’

  The man’s brow creased in confusion, his patchy flesh wrinkling about his face.

  ‘You aren’t gonna eat me?’

  Regulus looked down at the emaciated figure, wondering if there was any meat on his bones at all.

  ‘No, old one. I am not going to eat you.’

  At that the old man seemed to calm a little, leaning back against one of the carts. Regulus briefly wondered why these people lugged their own belongings and did not use slaves or beasts of burden, but he had more important questions to ask.

  ‘Is this the road to the capital?’

  ‘Aye,’ said the man. ‘About thirty, forty miles that way – to the east – lies Steelhaven. That’s where we’ve come from. Soon be flooded with Khurtic bastards and we didn’t wanna be there when it was.’

  ‘Your chieftain, your king. He lies within?’

  The old man looked up with sadness in his eyes. Then slowly shook his head. ‘King Cael’s been dead these past two months. Since before winter set in. Murdered by that bastard Amon Tugha and his Khurtic scum.’

  Regulus felt his heart drop. This was grave news indeed. He had wanted to offer his blade to the Steel King, the victor of Bakhaus Gate. Such a man might have appreciated the gesture, but now that all seemed lost on the winds.

  ‘Who has his seat now?’ asked Regulus. ‘Does a son take his place?’

  The old man shook his head. ‘He had one daughter. She sits on the throne now.’

  ‘A daughter?’ Regulus could barely take in the words. ‘A woman sits upon your throne? Wears your crown?’

  The old man nodded. ‘The queen, yes.’

  This was impossible. Regulus could hardly kneel before a female, less still offer his fealty and his blade. His warriors would never follow him, even if he could bring himself to stoop so low.

  ‘You all right?’ asked the man.

  ‘I am, old one.’ But he knew he wasn’t.

  Everything he had hoped for had suddenly crumbled to so much dust. Every reason for him fleeing north, coming to this cold, frigid place, had been blown away in a breath.

  ‘C … can I go now?’

  Regulus barely heard the old man’s words as he turned and made his way back up the hill to where his warriors waited.

  ‘Well?’ asked Leandran.

  ‘Make camp,’ was all Regulus could say.

  ‘Why here?’

  ‘Because I order it. And build a fire. I am getting sick of this cold.’

  ‘We’ll be seen for miles,’ said Janto.

  ‘By who?’ Regulus replied, spreading his arms and gesturing to the four horizons. ‘More peasants? They’re hardly going to put up a fight – they can barely raise their chins.’

  There was no more argument. As night fell they built their fire from what wood they could find and hunkered around it, wrapped in their furs.

  The news that King Cael had been killed was not taken well, especially when they discovered who was his heir.

  ‘We must turn back,’ said Janto, almost enraged. ‘We cannot serve some … chieftainess.’

  ‘They call them “queens” in the Clawless Tribes,’ Regulus replied. ‘And we would be warriors, fighting for her and our honour. We would not be serving her.’

  ‘Even so,’ said Leandran. ‘We have come north to build a fearsome and glorious reputation. What will our enemies in Equ’un say when they learn we act at the behest of a female?’

  If Reg
ulus had been hoping for support from the oldest and wisest of their number he was sorely disappointed.

  ‘When they hear of our victories in battle, of the deeds we have done, it will not matter in whose name we have done them. We are here to fight for the Coldlanders. If this Amon Tugha is mighty enough to defeat the Steel King, then slaying him would be a deed of legend.’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ said Janto, staring into the flames of the campfire. It gave a daemonic look to his dark features – all blue eyes and fangs. ‘We bend the knee to this Amon Tugha instead. We fight for him against the Coldlanders and their queen. Surely that would bring us the most honour? Not to bow to some woman who wears her father’s crown?’

  ‘No!’ said Regulus, rising to his feet. ‘I came north for glory. To fight for the man who freed us from bondage, not start a war with his spawn. Battling women is the way of the Kel’tana, of the Vir’tana. That is not my way. I will offer my blade to the daughter of the Steel King. You must each decide now whether or not to follow me. There will be no shame in a refusal.’ Regulus stared at them each in turn. ‘What say you?’

  There was a pause as they all thought on it.

  ‘I reckon we’ve come this far,’ said Leandran. ‘No use in turning back now. One chief’s as good as another.’

  Akkula nodded beside him. ‘I’m with you.’

  Hagama and Kazul added their voices in support.

  Regulus turned to Janto who still stared into the fire. ‘If you wish to turn back south I release you from your life-debt,’ he said.

  Janto looked up slowly, glaring from where he sat, his blue eyes blazing in the firelight. ‘Whether I’m released from my debt is not up to you. I’m released when the debt is paid. Where you lead, I must follow.’

  Regulus nodded. He had known this all along, but thought it best to give Janto the illusion of choice.

  ‘Settled then. We go east and offer our spears to the queen of the Coldlanders.’

  Janto suddenly reached for his axes. Regulus laid a hand to the hilt of his blade, thinking the warrior had decided to abandon his debt and attack after all. Then he caught a scent on the cold night breeze. It was a raw scent, almost imperceptible, but it was no animal.

  The rest of his warriors rose, facing outwards from the fire and brandishing their weapons. Then slowly, almost casually, a figure strode into the light.

  He was a Coldlander, a beard about his face, dark hair running down and into the furs he wore on back and shoulders. His hands were held down by his side, palms flat, facing out in the Zatani display of peace. He carried no weapons, yet did not seem to fear Regulus and his warriors.

  Janto made to move forward but Regulus laid a hand on his arm, feeling him tense at the touch.

  ‘Lower your weapons,’ Regulus commanded. ‘This man comes in peace.’

  The Coldlander stepped to within a yard of Regulus, then stopped.

  ‘I speak your language not well,’ he said in broken Equ’un.

  ‘Then it is fortunate I speak yours,’ Regulus replied in the Coldlander tongue.

  The man smiled, relieved that he had been understood rather than attacked. ‘That’s a rare skill for your kind. The name’s Tom. Some call me the Blackfoot, Warden of the South and servant to the Free States and its ruler.’

  ‘I am Regulus of the Gor’tana.’

  ‘You are far from home,’ said the Blackfoot.

  ‘And you are a brave man to enter our camp without weapons.’

  The man smiled. ‘Oh, I have weapons, back there somewhere.’ He nodded back into the darkness. ‘Don’t reckon they’d have done me much good against the six of you though, so I thought it best to leave them behind and show I intend no harm.’

  Regulus placed his black steel sword down by his side and his warriors seemed to relax.

  ‘Come, Tom the Blackfoot. Share our fire.’

  With that the warriors squatted by the fire, continuing to rub the warmth into their limbs. The Coldlander sat with them, his small frame dwarfed by those of the Zatani.

  ‘Tell me,’ asked Regulus. ‘What makes a lone man of the north walk into a camp of Zatani warriors?’

  Tom glanced around at the six massive figures. ‘I’m a Warden of the Free States. It’s my job to make sure no one’s up to mischief on our lands. When there’s a dozen terrified peasants running through the wilds with tales of black devils abroad, it’s my job to look into it.’

  ‘Do you think we are “up to mischief”, Tom the Blackfoot?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘You boys are miles from home. Miles inside Teutonian lands. I reckon if you were gonna cause mischief it would have happened already, but there’s been no word of any killing. Does lead to the question though – if you’re not here for a raid, what are you doing here?’

  Regulus smiled. ‘We are outcasts looking for a new liege lord. Now that your king is dead we will make for your greatest city and offer ourselves to your queen.’

  If Tom was surprised at such a bold statement of intent he did not show it.

  ‘Steelhaven will welcome all the mercenaries it can get right now. But you should watch yourselves, if that’s your intention. That city’s dangerous enough, but I imagine when you turn up it’ll get a sight more dangerous. Foreigners are treated with suspicion, especially now. The place takes no prisoners, and there’s a trick or trap waiting around every corner to snare the unwary. You might find you don’t exactly get the welcome you were hoping for.’

  ‘Then we will face it as warriors, Tom the Blackfoot. And show how strong the Zatani are in battle.’

  ‘I bet you will. But it’s not always what you’re facing that’s the problem. Oftentimes you’d be better served watching your back.’

  ‘Sound advice much welcomed. I hope that you have countrymen in Steelhaven as willing to show us such kindness.’

  ‘I hope so, too,’ Tom replied with a wink. He rubbed some warmth into his hands. ‘Well, good luck to you, Regulus of the Gor’tana.’

  He stood up, and when Regulus stood up beside him, he towered over the small man. With a nod to the rest of the warriors sat by the fire, Tom the Blackfoot was gone into the night.

  ‘So, what did he have to say?’ asked Leandran.

  Regulus stared into the dark after the man for a moment before answering.

  ‘He said there is glory to be had in Steelhaven. He said we will be welcomed as brothers and celebrated as the noble warriors we are. He said we should not tarry, for our destiny awaits.’ With that Regulus took up his sword. His warriors took it as their cue and they all got up, ready to move on into the night.

  He could see the fire in their eyes now – their need to fight, to find glory, to wade in victory. It made Regulus proud and eager for battle.

  As the sun rose they could not move fast enough towards the east.

  FIFTEEN

  This was ridiculous. And dangerous.

  Rag could’ve lived with the ridiculous bit – she’d seen plenty of that in her time – it was the dangerous part she weren’t too keen on.

  It seemed easy on the face of it: walk into the barracks, find a bloke called Merrick Ryder, report back to Friedrik for further instructions. What could be simpler?

  As she stared up at the palace of Skyhelm, soaring upwards like some fairy castle, Rag decided there were lots of things could have been bloody simpler.

  It had been easy enough getting into the Crown District this time around. The last time she’d seen Krupps bribing one of the Greencoats at the gate to get in. This time there weren’t even any bribes to pay. She was in the Guild now – they practically owned the Greencoats, and all she’d had to do was stroll up, plain as day. The guards at the entrance didn’t so much as look at her, opening the gate and letting her in as though she’d been expected. They didn’t even check the wooden tray she was carrying, didn’t pull back the muslin sheet draped over the top to take a look at what lay underneath. Rag had almost burst out laughing at that – Greencoats letting her stroll right i
nto the Crown like she was some la-de-da lady of leisure.

  Once inside it weren’t hard to find the palace – it stood taller than any other building, but once she made it to the wall that ran around its edge she began to have doubts. The barracks of the Skyhelm Sentinels stood to one side of the palace, guarded by two knights in silver, their faces hidden behind full helms, nasty looking swords in their hands. Weren’t no way this was gonna be easy.

  But Rag had a job to do, and do it she would. She was in the Guild now, just like she’d wanted. It was time to prove to Friedrik she weren’t just there for window dressing, weren’t just his doll to dress up and play with.

  The thought of Friedrik made her stop in her tracks. Did she even want to please him? Over the past weeks she’d realised what a mad bastard he was. How cruel and mean, just for the sake of it. If she’d known what she was getting herself into, would she have tried so hard to join the Guild in the first place?

  Who are you kidding? Course you would. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed of, and it’s a damn sight better than pinching for coppers and sleeping on the roof of an alehouse.

  Just thinking about those days, those long gone days of cold and hunger, made Rag strangely homesick. She tried to put the thought away, tried to tell herself it weren’t her home anymore, yet somehow she was missing it. Missing her boys most of all, even Fender, though she knew that were stupid. She had a place with regular grub and a roof over her head, she was looked after, she belonged to a proper crew. It was her new family now, the family of the Guild. But then, it weren’t exactly the kind of family she’d wanted. At least on that roof with Chirpy, Migs and Tidge she’d never had to watch someone having their fingernails pulled out.

  Bollocks! That was the past. This is the present. Pull yourself together, Rag, and do what you’ve been fucking told.

  Even if she did have to stand witness to some horrible shit, it was better than acting mother to a bunch of street rats. It was her what got looked after nowadays. She got cared for like she’d always wanted. Had people watching her back. Now was the time to earn her keep and all she had to do was get herself into that barracks and find some bloke called Ryder.