Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

  ‘Protect you?’ he replied. ‘From what?’

  She smiled at that. ‘We’ll see. Keep your wits about you. And don’t hold back.’

  Don’t hold back? What did that bloody mean?

  But before Waylian had a chance to ask, the vast doors were pulled aside, and the way in to the Crucible Chamber opened.

  Gelredida raised her chin and walked forward. Waylian shuffled along beside her, smiling meekly at the Raven Knights as he passed them. Inside the huge chamber was an all too familiar sight: stone pulpits, stern faces. The air was tense, and as the doors were slammed shut behind him Waylian’s heart almost jumped from his chest.

  They were all here, stern Hoylen Crabbe, ancient Crannock Marghil, imposing Drennan Folds, young Lucen Kalvor and the amiable Nero Laius, though Waylian now knew that the latter was not quite as affable as he made out. But the presence of Nero bothered him less than that of a sixth figure in the Crucible Chamber.

  Marshal Ferenz stood to the far right of the Archmasters’ pulpits, and as Waylian and Gelredida entered he took his beaked helm from under the crook of his arm and placed it on his head. What that symbolised, Waylian had no idea, but he was sure he didn’t like it one bit.

  ‘I see we have a guest,’ said Gelredida, before any of the Archmasters could acknowledge her. She gestured to Ferenz who stood like a statue at the end of the row. ‘This is an unexpected breach in protocol. Is he here for my protection … or yours?’

  ‘We were merely discussing some matters of security with Marshal Ferenz before you arrived,’ said Nero with a smile. ‘The matters we are about to discuss will be important to him and everyone who resides in the Tower of Magisters. It’s only proper that he should be here. Do you object?’

  Gelredida shrugged. ‘Of course not. The more the merrier.’

  Drennan Folds noisily cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable, as if someone had put ground glass on his chair. ‘Shall we proceed?’ he said.

  ‘We all know why we’re here,’ said Gelredida. ‘I asked you to reconsider intervening in the coming invasion. Amon Tugha is almost at our gate. Without support from the Archmasters, and those that serve them, I believe this city will fall. You have had time to deliberate on this – what say you?’

  Despite how uncomfortable she had seemed before coming here, Waylian could detect a note of expectation in her voice, as though she knew the outcome of today would favour her. The subsequent silence from the raised pulpits only served to confirm the notion, as the Archmasters held their peace, none of them wanting be the first to speak his mind on the matter.

  ‘Come now,’ said Gelredida. ‘You were all very vocal a few days ago when I came to ask your aid. You’ve had time enough to think, what say you?’ She glanced at each of them in turn, seeming to relish their discomfort. ‘Lucen? Shall we begin with you?’

  Lucen Kalvor looked up suddenly and regarded Gelredida with disdain, but as he realised his fellow Archmasters had all turned to him expectantly he slowly nodded.

  ‘I have thought on this deep and long,’ he said. ‘It is clear Magistra Gelredida is right. We should support the armies of the Free States. The Elharim cannot be trusted. Steelhaven must not fall.’

  ‘What?’ said Nero suddenly, his amiable expression now gone. ‘Preposterous, Kalvor. We were all agreed. For the good of this city we must remain neutral.’ He glanced along the row of his fellows. ‘Surely none of you can agree? Kalvor’s just lost his nerve. The rest of us are still of one mind on this, surely?’

  At first, silence. Then Drennan Folds looked up, and took a long and measured inhalation of breath before speaking. ‘I too have reconsidered my position,’ he said. Waylian could see that though he was talking to his fellow Archmasters, Folds was staring intently at Gelredida. ‘And have decided to place my full support behind the Crown.’

  ‘No!’ said Nero. ‘No, that’s not what we agreed.’

  ‘What say the rest of you?’ asked Gelredida, ignoring Nero’s cries of protest.

  Hoylen Crabbe and Crannock Marghil glanced at one another, conveying some silent accord.

  Crannock peered over his eyeglasses and said, ‘I always doubted the wisdom of just standing by and doing nothing. An old man and his selfishness have no right to condemn this city. If the Archmasters must sacrifice themselves for the good of Steelhaven, then so be it.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Hoylen Crabbe, his brow furrowed into a severe V-shape. ‘The time for deliberation is over. Amon Tugha is at our door and has even been so bold as to threaten us. That cannot be tolerated. The Tower of Magisters will stand shoulder to shoulder with the defenders of the Free States. You have your victory, Gelredida. Be grateful for it.’

  ‘No!’ screamed Nero, almost leaping from his pulpit. ‘This is not what you all said!’

  ‘Calm yourself, Nero,’ Crannock said, raising a withered hand.

  ‘I will not fucking calm myself, you old goat,’ Nero replied, stepping down from his stone seat and moving beside Ferenz. ‘You’re all blind. You’ve been blinded by that woman.’ He thrust an accusing finger towards Gelredida. ‘I don’t know what she’s got on you, but it can’t be enough that you would see this tower reduced to rubble beneath our feet. Amon Tugha has offered us clemency. It is madness not to take it.’

  ‘The decision has been made,’ said Drennan Folds. ‘A majority decision has been reached. That is our way, Nero. You know that.’

  Nero glared at them, then at Gelredida. ‘Betrayers!’ he said. ‘Fools and cowards! You have condemned us all. I will not stand by and watch as this tower’s guardians and magisters and apprentices are slaughtered because you are all too weak. It is time for a new order.’

  ‘Stop being so dramatic,’ said Hoylen Crabbe, climbing down from his pulpit and smoothing out his dark robe, the sigils embroidered there shifting into ordered rows. ‘The decision has been made. Live with it. Now, if that’s all, I have preparations to make.’

  With an imperious gait he strode from his pulpit as though to leave.

  ‘That’s not all,’ said Nero. ‘Marshal Ferenz. Show them how serious we are.’

  The huge Raven Knight took a step forward. From behind him he pulled a black-bladed dagger which he thrust into Hoylen’s belly. The Archmaster gasped, his piercing eyes staring up at the beaked helm in accusation and disbelief before he collapsed to the floor.

  Waylian almost fell over as he took an involuntary step back.

  The Crucible Chamber was in uproar as Drennan, Crannock and Lucen all began bellowing in panic. With the manacles that bound their wrists there was nothing any of them could do against the colossal Raven Knight.

  Ferenz took a threatening step towards the pulpits, but Nero held up a hand.

  ‘No! Her next.’ He gestured towards Gelredida. ‘I’ve wanted to see that bitch dead for decades.’

  Ferenz turned his helmed head. Waylian almost grabbed his mistress, almost screamed at her to run, but something in her defiant stance made him stop. Even as the Raven Knight strode towards her she didn’t take a backward step.

  Marshal Ferenz loomed towards them. Waylian stood there agog, fear striking into his gut like a hot iron. The dagger in Ferenz’s hand dripped blood onto the granite floor and his footfalls echoed ominously.

  ‘Waylian,’ said Gelredida conversationally. He turned his head to look at her as she watched Ferenz bearing down. ‘Now might be an excellent opportunity for you to demonstrate what you’ve learned these past weeks.’

  What I’ve learned? Like what? How to summon lightning from the sky? Because I’m pretty sure I must have been elsewhere for that lesson.

  Ferenz was less than half a dozen strides from Gelredida now.

  ‘Any time now would be good,’ she said, the slightest note of tension creeping into her voice.

  So what are you going to do? There was a time you’d have loved the Red Witch to be gutted in front of you, but you’re warming to the old dear, aren’t you. Better bloody do something then!

 
Ferenz lifted his arm, raising the dagger high. Gelredida just stood there, waiting without a word of protest.

  It’s now or never.

  The past few weeks ran through Waylian’s head like a flood. The pages of books fluttered like sparrows’ wings, inky words dripped from a thousand parchments. Things he’d heard, things he’d seen, things he’d barely understood, all coming and going in a flash of nebulous memory until only one word was left in his head.

  ‘Avaggdu!’ he screamed.

  The vast beaked helm that encased Ferenz’s head crumpled inwards as though crushed in the hands of an invisible giant. Blood spurted from the helm’s twisted eyeholes and sprayed down on the gorget of the knight’s armour.

  Ferenz’s arm slumped to his side, the dagger falling from his grip as he toppled to one side, crashing to the granite floor in an armoured heap.

  Waylian stood there in the silence, eyes wide and staring. Then he clamped a hand to his mouth, too late to stop the fountain of vomit that spewed from his roiling guts.

  Whether it was a consequence of using the magick or seeing Ferenz dispatched in such a gruesome manner he had no idea, but neither did he care as the contents of his stomach sprayed out between his fingers.

  There was a gentle pat on his back as he crouched forward, sobbing the snot and puke from his nose and mouth. ‘Well done, Waylian,’ said Gelredida, as though he’d just solved some tricky equation rather than crushed a man’s head with a word.

  Nero let out an animal shriek.

  Before any of the remaining Archmasters could restrain him he rushed to the marshal’s armoured body. Too late, Waylian realised he was going for the dagger that Ferenz had wielded. Nero’s eyes were wide with fury, his deadly intent obvious, but Gelredida was unable to act against him with the iron bracelets binding her power.

  Ignoring the rancid puke running down his chin, Waylian dashed forward. He had no time to think, just bowled into Nero and they both went down. The Archmaster fought like an animal, snarling his fury. Waylian desperately grabbed Nero’s wrist and focused on not being sliced by the dagger. If help was coming, it was slow in arriving; the other Archmasters just stood and watched. Even Gelredida did nothing, not even uttering a word of encouragement as Waylian fought for his life.

  What did you expect, Grimmy? That she’d jump in to help you? That she’d risk having her throat opened when she’s got dumb, obedient Waylian Grimm to do her dirty work for her?

  He gritted his teeth as he rolled on the hard floor, wrestling with Nero. The Archmaster was a man grown but seemed no stronger than Waylian. As they struggled, Waylian could not take his eyes from the blade of that dagger, shining bright and moist in the torchlight.

  Why is no one helping me? Why are they all just watching?

  The unfairness of all this began to build in him like a pot of boiling broth. For every squeal and grunt Nero made, Waylian felt fury increase within him. As they grappled Waylian could not only smell the sweat and breath of the man trying to kill him, but sense his anger and frustration that he couldn’t finish this meddling apprentice.

  With a bark of fury, Nero managed to roll on top of Waylian. The dagger was between them now, the blade pointing downwards. Nero stared, his eyes wide with triumph as he pushed down with all his weight and Waylian got a familiar feeling he’d been here before. But as he stared into Nero’s eyes he saw something in them, something dark, something forbidden.

  It was as though he could read the secrets in those eyes, as though they showed him Nero’s soul, and what Waylian saw there was black. This man was a traitor. This man had plotted against the Crown, plotted with its enemies, plotted to see this city fall that he might reap the rewards from its ashes.

  But his plots were not over yet.

  Nero was party to further dire schemes – a conspiracy that would see the death of … the queen.

  Before the dagger could touch Waylian, something hit Nero hard across his head. He toppled to one side without a sound, leaving Waylian holding the black and bloody dagger in his hand. He stared at it, at the razor-sharp blade, then at Nero, lying prone beside him.

  ‘Do get up, Waylian. You’re making the place look untidy.’

  He looked up to see Gelredida standing beside him. In her hand she held a stone urn. It didn’t even bear a crack after rendering the Archmaster unconscious.

  Waylian stood, dropping the dagger to the floor. The other Archmasters had chosen to move forward now there was no danger of them being harmed.

  ‘He’s a traitor,’ Waylian said, pointing a finger.

  ‘That much is bloody clear,’ said Drennan Folds.

  ‘No. I mean, yes, but … he’s plotting to kill the queen.

  ‘How do you know?’ Drennan stared accusingly.

  ‘I … I saw it …’

  The Archmasters looked at one another, almost more perturbed by Waylian showing talent with magick than by a member of their order being slain by one of their own.

  ‘We don’t have time for this,’ Gelredida said. ‘It’s clear Nero has been playing us all for fools. He and Ferenz are in league with Amon Tugha. How deep that betrayal goes remains to be seen.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Crannock. ‘He should be handed over to the Inquisition immediately. They’ll get to the bottom of this conspiracy.’

  Gelredida shook her head. ‘We have no time for that, but never fear. I am more than willing to put Nero to the question myself. I’m sure my methods will be most efficient.’

  Waylian had little doubt she was right.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Regulus had always known that coming north might be perilous, that he was most likely risking his life and that of his warriors. But back then the worst he could have imagined was an ignoble death, with no one to sing the tales of his passing – a quiet death in a far-off land where he might never find his way to the stars.

  He was forced to admit, his current fate was far worse.

  They were locked in a dank and cavernous chamber, chained and humiliated. Rage burned inside him, fuelling the need to rend and tear his way out, to restore his honour in a swathe of blood and corpses. How he would make these Coldlanders pay for such an insult – how they would suffer.

  He knew such thoughts were useless though; a waste of his waning energy. There was nothing he could do but wait while his fate was decided for him. No matter how much the fire inside demanded a blood reckoning there was little he could do to quench it.

  His warriors shared his desire for vengeance, that much was clear. They wanted nothing more than to join him in the righteous destruction of their captors. Each one would gladly have given his life in pursuit of such retribution.

  All but Janto Sho.

  Regulus could see him staring from the shadows, what little light that encroached on the dungeon cell illuminating his eyes like baleful blue stars in the black night. Though he was silent, it was obvious he hated Regulus for bringing them so low, for leading them to this ignoble end. Janto had pledged himself to Regulus, fully expecting to die in the repayment of his life-debt, but now he was to die chained and dishonoured. Regulus could hardly blame Janto for his ire.

  ‘How long have we been here?’ asked Akkula, staring up at the barred window high above them.

  ‘What does it matter?’ Hagama replied. Regulus was sure the warrior would have displayed more annoyance had he the vigour to do so.

  Akkula clearly did not sense the anger in his fellow warrior’s voice.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he said.

  ‘We’re all starving,’ growled Hagama. ‘Now be silent.’

  ‘Both of you be silent,’ said Leandran. ‘We have to save our strength. The opportunity for escape will arrive soon enough. If the Coldlanders wanted to kill us we’d be dead already.’

  ‘Escape?’ said Hagama, leaning towards Leandran, the chain that tethered him to the wall pulling tight. ‘We are in chains. How will we escape? As for the intentions of the Coldlanders, none of us can guess what that scum has in mind.
Perhaps they are gathering the people of the city that they might kill us in front of a baying crowd.’

  ‘If you think like that, you’re already beaten,’ said Leandran. ‘An opportunity will present itself in the fullness of time. Just wait and see.’

  ‘You’re an old fool!’ Hagama snarled, baring his teeth.

  ‘Leandran is right,’ Regulus said, staring down the warrior. ‘We must stay alert. Fighting amongst ourselves will only serve us ill. There will be time for fighting soon enough.’

  Regulus hoped that was true. If his warriors did not find something to kill soon, they could end up turning on one another.

  And why? Why would that be? Because you have brought them to this. You dragged them from their homeland to this place of weaklings and cowards, and now they are to be punished for it. You have brought them low – the punishment should be yours alone.

  He felt his shame keenly. How Regulus missed the open plains of Equ’un. Things were much simpler there – fight or die. Had he been wrong to flee? Should he have stayed and died with the rest of the Gor’tana faithful to his father?

  There was no use lamenting on what could have been. The decision had been made. Regulus took the blame, he hid from nothing. It was small consolation for his warriors though, forced as they were to share his fate.

  Janto was still watching him from the dark and Regulus began to wonder what went on in that head. He must have loathed Regulus, and most likely wanted him dead. If they did manage to escape this place would Janto still be loyal? Would he still honour his debt?

  He and Janto glared at one another for some time, ignoring the cold wind howling past the window and the damp rhythmic dripping of moisture from the ceiling, until finally Janto lowered his eyes and moved further into the shadow. A small victory at least.

  A noise outside the cell roused the Zatani as they sat in chains. Bolts slid back, the sound of a key in a lock and the door was thrust open. Regulus squinted in the light of torches as several figures entered the cell.