by Richard Ford
Merrick struck out. He’d never hit a woman before, but then Kaira was hardly your typical woman. She was a warrior born. He’d already seen her cut through half a dozen men like wheat. Merrick was sure as shit she could take a punch.
Unfortunately she took it better than he expected.
The blow hit her cheek, turning her head for an instant. Then she hit back. This time when she struck him Merrick could feel the weight behind it, the intent. He’d rattled her and no mistake. So maybe she was human after all. And maybe she could even be beaten.
Merrick went for her. He’d had enough wine to make this seem almost sensible, but not too much to make him a stumbling fool.
He put his head down, bowling into her and knocking her back. There was a scrape of the table legs on wooden boards and a chair fell over. Then she grabbed him and flung him aside. He smashed into more furniture, its clatter echoing through the empty tavern as he went sprawling.
As he scrambled to his feet he saw her coming at him, eyes like a wolf after its prey. He picked up a chair and threw it at her head. She deflected it with her arm but it put her briefly off balance, and then Merrick struck.
What he lacked in brawn he more than made up for in cunning. He’d been in enough bar fights to know there was no place for honour. And if you couldn’t win by foul means, there was no one going to make it bloody fair.
He took her around the hips, powering through with his legs and lifting her off the ground. They both slammed to the floor with him on top and he immediately tried a punch to her face. Kaira’s arms came up quick to block the blow, then her legs. She wrapped them around his neck, impossibly fast. It was as if he was watching all this happen to someone else only he was the one taking the beating.
Merrick managed a pathetic throttled sound as she squeezed his throat shut with her powerful legs. Panic hit him then as he realised he’d lost his edge. This was all he needed – to be beaten up by a woman in a bar … again.
As she squeezed tighter, his vision closed in. He desperately patted her thigh in submission, and she loosened her grip, letting him free. He scrambled away, raising his arms. ‘All right! All right, I give in. You’re right; I’m stuck here feeling sorry for myself when I should be carrying out my … duty.’ The word almost stuck in his throat.
Kaira breathed hard as she stood staring at him. There was no less loathing in her expression but at least she wasn’t trying to pummel him into the floorboards anymore.
‘It’s as simple as that, is it?’ she said. ‘Just an apology and a smile and everything’s forgiven?’
Merrick rose to his feet, dusting off his britches. ‘What more do you want? That’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it.’
‘I want you to commit. Either that or leave – run away. You cannot go on giving yourself to this task half-heartedly. Sooner or later it will get someone killed.’
He wanted to argue that point, but part of him knew she was right. The longer he wallowed in self-pity, the more chance there was that the worst would happen. What was he even doing here drinking himself into a stupor, just when he thought he’d left all that behind him?
Maybe his father was right, after all. Maybe Merrick had spent his time hating the man for his scorn, when his father had been right about what Merrick was all along.
Take the offer and run away. Leave this place; run as far as you can.
And yet he couldn’t. The only thing keeping him alive was the Skyhelm Sentinels. There was no way he was about to throw that away.
Was this his one last chance to redeem himself … again? To get it right?
‘All right, you win,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
He turned to the barman, who was standing as far back in the corner as he could conceal himself. With an apologetic look Merrick fished in his coinpurse for a gold crown. He put it on the bar, hoping it would be enough to cover the damage he and Kaira had caused, then he quickly left the tavern without a word.
The street air made his head spin, but Merrick did his best to keep control of his faculties. As they made their way back to the palace he began to feel a strange sense of guilt and … was it shame? Maybe he was learning after all. He could only hope he’d have a chance to make amends, and in the meantime nothing would go wrong.
TWENTY-FOUR
The mural was hardly ancient, yet the paint was already crumbling and its image had faded in places. It had been rendered hastily over a decade earlier, and not by the most gifted of painters, but Janessa took solace in it, nonetheless.
The depiction of Bakhaus Gate took up an entire wall in one of Skyhelm’s many feasting rooms. To the left side of it the Aeslanti were depicted in all their ferocious glory, bedecked in slate grey armour, serrated weapons gleaming, teeth and fangs bared at the enemy. Janessa had to trust the artist’s impression that they were so frightening to behold. She had never seen one of the savage beast men of Equ’un and from their depiction on the wall she was sure she never wanted to.
On the right side was an image of her father leading the massed armies of the Free States. The nine flags flew high and proud, carried by heroic looking standard bearers. Beside the king’s destrier stood the noble form of the Black Helm, wielding his mighty hammer – the champion of Bakhaus Gate, warrior without peer, Arlor reborn.
If only he were here to aid her now.
Time would tell if Steelhaven was to have new heroes. Men and women of valour on whom she could rely to deliver the city from destruction. Should Arlor see her triumphant, Janessa would be sure to have a more robust depiction of that victory emblazoned on the wall.
‘We have one just like it at our keep in Touran.’
Janessa turned around at the voice. In the shadows of the room she could just make out a figure.
As he stepped into the light she let out a sigh of relief.
Leon Magrida smiled, then offered a sweeping bow.
Janessa had wanted to be alone for a while, wanted to take some solace in her father’s glorious victories of old, and had told her guard to wait outside. How Leon had slipped past them she had no idea.
Despite his presence being a gross infringement on her security, she returned his bow.
‘My lord, you startled me.’
‘Apologies, Majesty. I was already in the room when you arrived. I too like to gaze upon our nation’s history. It stirs the heart, does it not?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It certainly does that.’
‘Your father was truly an inspiration. As I am sure you will be in the coming days of battle.’
‘Your words are kind, Lord Magrida. I can only hope to muster a scrap of my father’s strength and loyalty he commanded in the hard times ahead.’
Leon took a step forwards, looking closer at the mural as though examining it for imperfections, of which there were clearly many.
‘He had the foresight to gather about him men of power and wisdom. I imagine you will do the same.’ He turned to her and smiled.
Janessa smiled back. Surely he couldn’t be suggesting that she choose …
‘Fear not, Lord Magrida. I already have wise counsel at my disposal. Loyal men who have the city’s best interests at heart.’
‘Of that I am sure. But you can never have too many loyal servants at your side.’
Or, apparently, too many preening fops.
‘Indeed,’ she replied, and took a step away from him before she had realised what she was doing.
‘I would be only too happy to put my experience at your disposal,’ he said, taking a step towards her and closing the gap she had placed between them.
‘Your experience?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Majesty. I have been trained in lordly manners and the arts of war and culture from an early age.’
Not if your mother’s to be believed. She thinks you’re a dullard.
‘I am sure, Lord Magrida. And should I require your … expertise, I’ll be sure to call upon it.’ She took another step back.
‘Please do.’
He smiled, moving forward once more.
She considered him then, standing before her, offering himself in so gracious a manner. He looked almost presentable, his black doublet fastened tight to the throat, his trews tucked into a pair of shiny boots.
Had she somehow underestimated him? Had she judged the man from his poor reputation without giving him the chance to show his true self?
If his mother was to be believed Leon Magrida was a pup not yet fully trained. ‘Not a perfect choice,’ she had said. But it had turned out that no one was. Not Raelan. Not even River.
Leon would one day be a powerful man, Baron of all Dreldun and Steward of the High Forest. She couldn’t go on simply ignoring him. One day, when all this was over, she would have to govern the Free States and repair the damage done by the Khurtas, and she would need every ally she could get. She might not be prepared to marry him, but there was no point in rebuffing the man simply for the sake of it.
‘Lord Magrida,’ she bowed. ‘I thank you for your pledge. I’ll be sure to call upon you in the future. Perhaps sooner than you think.’
He smiled his thanks. She had expected a final bow, but instead he took yet another step towards her.
Was he about to try to kiss her? Had she given him the wrong impression?
The door to the feast hall opened, and framed in the light from the room beyond, Janessa could see one of her Sentinels.
‘Majesty, your presence is required,’ Waldin announced.
Janessa turned to Leon, who, she was relieved to see, had now decided to keep his hands to himself. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Lord Magrida.’
‘Of course, Majesty,’ he replied with a bow.
As Janessa left the room she thought she saw something in Leon’s eyes – was it disappointment? Regret at a missed opportunity? Did he really want to aid her? Or had he merely wanted to press for her hand in marriage?
Janessa dismissed the thought and followed her Sentinels. There was enough to burden her already without letting Leon Magrida add to those woes.
As they made their way through Skyhelm they were joined by Chancellor Durket, who had been lurking in the corridor like some worrisome troll.
‘He says he won’t wait any longer,’ said Durket, eyes wide with panic.
His distress did nothing to put Janessa at her ease but she hid her discomfort.
‘I assume, Chancellor, we’re talking about the representative from the Bankers League?’
‘Erm … yes, Majesty. Apologies, Majesty, but he is most insistent. Azai Dravos says he wants your answer today or he is leaving the city. I don’t even know what the question is, but he seems most keen to have it answered.’
‘Very good, Chancellor. Then an answer we will give him.’
But what could she possibly tell him? That yes, she would marry some merchant prince? Or no, she could never offer her hand to such a man? She needed Odaka by her side, now more than ever. Though had he not already told her this was a decision she alone could make?
From Durket’s discomfort she had expected Azai Dravos to be in a frothing fit of rage, but instead he stood in the hallway, calmly awaiting her arrival. He even managed a smile as he saw her.
She remembered the last time they had met, and how uncomfortable she had felt under his gaze. This time she would ensure her Sentinels remained close. For his part, Azai Dravos kept a respectable distance, though his own bodyguard, in their tunics of red, stood not far from him.
‘Azai Dravos,’ she said. ‘I understand you are eager for your answer?’
The man bowed. ‘My apologies, Majesty, but my master, Kalhim, is an impatient man. And perhaps you are not in a position to tarry either?’
‘You’re right, of course. It seems time is a commodity neither of us can spare.’
She felt Durket squirming beside her, wringing his sweaty hands and moving from foot to foot. It made her want to slap him.
‘May I assume your answer is “Yes”?’
Janessa looked at him, at those green eyes and that white smile. What was her answer? Choose yes, and she would have mercenaries to help defend the city, but ultimately it would be a city influenced by a foreign hand. Refuse, and there might indeed be no city to rule.
‘I am sorry, Azai Dravos, but the answer is no.’
But then it had to be. Her father had fought to unite the Free States and she was his only heir. She could not betray his legacy by gifting the kingdom he had fought so hard for to a merchant from the Eastern Lands. Had she said yes she may well have gained ten thousand swords but the trust and love of her people would have been washed away into the sea. It wouldn’t matter whether Steelhaven was razed or not – she would have given away a kingdom to save a city.
Azai Dravos took a step forward. His smile was gone now. Durket shrank from the man, but Janessa stood her ground, taking strength from the warriors that stood at her shoulders.
‘My master will be most disappointed. And he is not a man used to being spurned.’
‘I am sure he will accept my decision,’ Janessa said. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me …’
Before she could withdraw Dravos was right in front of her. How he had moved so fast she couldn’t tell, almost as though he was possessed of some preternatural speed. Durket and her Sentinels took a step back, taken by surprise, but Janessa was held by that green gaze.
‘No!’ Dravos demanded. ‘You will listen, girl. My master has made an offer you cannot refuse. Without his aid you are damned. This city is damned. The unborn child that grows within you is damned.’
How could he know? What witchcraft was this?
Janessa tried to step away but she was locked in place, held by Dravos’ piercing eyes.
‘I … I cannot …’
But he is a man of wealth and power. A man used to governing a kingdom of his own, if the reputation of the White Moon Trading Company was to be believed. Would it not be a strategic match?
‘You will say yes,’ demanded Dravos, staring intently into her eyes.
Something shifted inside her, and she again placed a protective hand on her belly.
Janessa knew that she was being manipulated. It was obvious Dravos’ charm was not all in his smile. Was he some kind of sorcerer? Was he even now casting some glamour on her?
‘No,’ Janessa barked, pulling her gaze away and stumbling back.
The spell broken, her Sentinels rushed forward, Janessa watched as they drew their swords and Durket scrambled desperately out of the way of any possible violence.
Azai Dravos did not move as the Sentinels drew on him. Did not move as they advanced. Did not move as one of them raised his sword to strike.
He didn’t need to.
There was a flash of red as one of Dravos’ bodyguards moved in. He was unarmed and clad in only a simple cloth tunic, but there was no fear in him as he faced the armoured knight. As the sword came down the bodyguard caught the knight’s arm, twisting his body and sending the Sentinel crashing to the ground. His fist came down again and again, a bare fist that pummelled the faceplate of the knight’s helm, denting it more and more with each swift blow, only stopping when the knight was no longer moving.
By now the second Sentinel had charged in, but two more of Dravos’ men had moved to intercept. One swept his leg low, smashing it into the knight’s knee and knocking him to the floor. The second kicked out, his heel thudding into the Sentinel’s helm and sending him sprawling.
Janessa staggered back, staring at the downed knights. She could hear Durket whimpering somewhere in the shadows, mumbling to himself in fear. Before she could flee, Dravos was in front of her again. He took her arms in his powerful hands and shook her.
‘There is no one here to protect you, girl. You have only one option.’
Janessa, desperate to avoid that gaze, turned away from the green eyes, but Dravos slapped her across the face. It was an open-handed blow, strong enough to send her reeling to the ground.
She could taste blood on her lips. The room spun ar
ound her and for a moment she was fearful, not for herself but for the life inside her.
What was she to do now? Who would come to her aid?
No one. No one is coming. You have to get out of this yourself, stupid girl. Did you think you would be protected forever? Did you think every knight of legend would come running at your beck and call?
Janessa looked up, seeing a door in front of her and she realised where she was. This was the reliquary chamber, where the Helsbayn was kept on its plinth. If only she could reach that sword she would give good account of herself.
She tried to stand, stumbling towards the door behind which her sword stood. From the corner of her eye she could see Azai Dravos following her.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, seeming amused by her defiance. ‘There is nowhere to run. You cannot escape me, child.’
Janessa reached the door, pushed it open and fell into the small chamber. On its plinth stood the Helsbayn, the fabled sword that had been wielded by her ancestors in so many victories. Janessa reached out, but before she could grab the blade Dravos had her by the wrist and forced her to look at him.
His touch burned and she refused to cry out in pain but as she was caught in Azai Dravos’ baleful gaze she could not turn away.
‘Your persistence is admirable, but futile. You will promise yourself and your throne to my master whether you want to or not. You cannot resist. You must yield to my will.’
His hand seemed to be searing into Janessa’s flesh. His eyes bored into her soul. She wanted to scream but no words would come. The urge to beg for respite was almost overwhelming, but even as the sorcerer’s powers tore into her she somehow found the strength to resist.
I will not beg. I will not yield. I would rather die.
Her defiance suddenly seemed to frustrate Dravos, and he frowned in consternation. ‘You cannot disobey me. I am an acolyte of the Sha’kadi. A priest of the Black Light of Horas. You will submit to my will.’
‘The hells I will!’ Janessa screamed, spitting in Dravos’ face.