Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

  Of course preparations had been made. Garret and Odaka had done much, their military experience invaluable to the city’s defence. They had tried to recruit fighting men from the teeming mass of refugees, but seemed to find only frail old men or keen but inexperienced boys. Odaka himself had told her that these would be the first to die once the Khurtas laid siege to the city walls. Janessa wanted to tell these inadequate recruits that they should return to their families, but how could she? The city needed all the defenders it could get. It would be lost without sacrifice.

  Fodder, Marshal Farren had called them. Janessa could not bring herself to think of them like that. She could only think of them as old men and boys who were marked to die. Die because she had failed to make a deal with Azai Dravos to save her city.

  Lamenting on it would do her little good, though, Janessa knew that. She had to move on. It was what her father would have done. In fact, King Cael would have proudly mounted Dravos’ head on a pike for all to see – a warning to any others who might try to betray the Mastragalls. Janessa would never have gone so far, but after what Dravos had done she was sorely tempted.

  But Dravos was gone and the business of state demanded her full energy.

  Despite the vital importance of most of her business in court, the throne room was largely vacant. Chancellor Durket and her Sentinels stood close by, but most of her court had taken their leave. Marshal Farren and General Hawke had made their way back to the front, and Hawke had only gone reluctantly. Baroness Isabelle Magrida and her son still lurked within the palace but rarely deigned to come to the throne room. The lack of attendance was something of a relief.

  It was with some regret then, that after all her business was done, she saw Seneschal Rogan make his way to the throne. The man moved like a snake, seeming to slide across the floor, his feet hidden beneath the hem of his drab robe.

  ‘Majesty,’ he said, dropping to his knees. ‘I have come with matters that require your attention. It concerns an execution.’

  Janessa felt the weight on her shoulders increase. With all she had to deal with and the threat to the lives of her people, were they now killing their own?

  ‘Traitors to the Crown, Seneschal?’ she replied. ‘Has your Inquisition uncovered some plot?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, Majesty. And I thought the guilty parties in this case would interest you.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  Rogan smiled. ‘Because they are foreign spies, Majesty. They are enemies of the Free States. Zatani from the southern continent of Equ’un.’

  Janessa thought back to the awkward dinner in which Rogan and Odaka had quarrelled. The last she had heard the Zatani were being held in cells.

  ‘These men have been condemned to death?’

  ‘Regrettably so, Majesty. It became obvious these savages had only mayhem in mind. They are most likely agents of the Elharim warlord.’

  ‘Most likely, Seneschal? You mean you’re not sure? You mean these Zatani have been condemned on a guess?’

  ‘Absolutely not, Majesty.’ Rogan held up his hands, and Janessa was surprised at just how sincere he looked. ‘Their guilt is beyond doubt. Three mercenary companies have had to bury their brothers as testament to the fact.’

  ‘So they are condemned, Seneschal. How does this concern me?’

  ‘The Zatani were in thrall to the Aeslanti, back when your father fought those beasts at Bakhaus Gate. Many say these savage tribesmen bear the blood of the Aeslanti in their veins. Bakhaus Gate was King Cael’s last great victory. Surely this could be seen as a sign – that the execution of the Zatani is an omen of your victory to come.’

  This was tenuous at best. Janessa could hardly see the relevance.

  ‘Omens are no use to me, Seneschal. It’s men and resources I need.’

  ‘Of course. But morale on the streets is low. A public display, a reminder of old victories, might be just what the citizenry needs before it faces the Khurtas.’

  Janessa had not even thought of such a thing. That her people might need to have their morale bolstered in such a way. But then who would think an execution might raise the spirits? That people could watch gleefully as someone was killed before their eyes – even if it were an enemy of the city?

  What was it Odaka once said? That as the queen of this realm you must weigh every outcome, consider every option.

  If this was what it would take to give her people the strength to defeat their enemy then she would sanction it. If these foreigners had come here to do harm to her city and its people, they had to die.

  If only Odaka were with her now, he would know what to do. He had been a warrior of Equ’un after all, though obviously not a Zatani. They were of a rival tribe, savages, barely human if rumours were true. But was it not time for Janessa to make her own choices? She could not rely on Odaka to provide solutions to every difficult decision.

  ‘Very well, Seneschal,’ said Janessa, though the words almost stuck in her throat. ‘You may have your execution.’

  ‘Thank you, Majesty. You will of course be attending?’

  Attend a public execution? The thought turned Janessa’s stomach.

  ‘I will not, Seneschal. I have more pressing matters.’

  ‘But there are considerations of protocol. And it would do the city good to see you there … for morale, of course.’

  In the absence of Odaka, only Chancellor Durket was by her side. As much as she was loath to do so, Janessa now turned to him.

  ‘Considerations of protocol?’

  Durket looked at her, blankly at first. Ever since she had been attacked by Azai Dravos, Durket had wandered the corridors of Skyhelm in a daze.

  ‘Er … yes, Majesty. Monarchs are obliged to attend the executions of traitors and rival heads of state.’

  ‘Then it seems I have little choice,’ she said, taking no relish in the prospect. ‘I trust you can make the arrangements, Seneschal?’

  Rogan bowed and gave her a look that suggested the arrangements were more than likely already made.

  Before he could make his fawning pleasantries and leave, marching figures entered the throne room. They were surrounded by four Sentinels, but this wasn’t a close guard keeping a vigilant watch lest they try to harm the queen. This was a loose honour guard – one reserved for visiting dignitaries.

  The Sentinels stopped, allowing the two figures to approach the throne. Kaira took a protective step forward, but Janessa held up a hand to stop her drawing her weapon.

  An old woman halted in front of the throne. Though it was obvious she was well past her middle years, her age was impossible to guess. While her topknot of hair was silver, her eyes were sharply piercing. Her robe hung from her thin frame like a cloak from a hook and Janessa could see it was badly stained.

  Next to her was a youth, who shuffled up beside the woman as though she might protect him from the gathered knights.

  The old woman carefully took to her knee, the boy quickly doing the same.

  ‘Majesty,’ she said. ‘I am Magistra Gelredida. I bring warning of a plot against your life.’

  Seneschal Rogan took a step forward. ‘Come now, Magistra. We all know the queen’s life is in constant danger. I can assure you she is quite safe under our care.’

  Janessa was about to tell Rogan to be silent – who was he to make such a presumption? – but it seemed the Magistra had even less time for his interruptions.

  She stood up, regarding Rogan with a withering look. To Janessa’s surprise, the Seneschal of the Inquisition took a step back and held his peace.

  ‘This is no ordinary plot,’ the woman continued. ‘It is one that goes to the very bowels of the Tower of Magisters. One that your personal guard may not be able to protect you from.’

  Kaira moved in close to Janessa. ‘If this is true, then attending a public execution would be madness, Majesty.’

  Janessa nodded, a little relieved that she had a legitimate excuse to not attend.

  ‘Public or not,’ said G
elredida. ‘Something dark is coming and there’s every chance sorcery will be involved. Something only I will be able to protect you from.’

  ‘If I may,’ ventured Rogan. ‘If something is coming, perhaps we should try to draw it out – rather than just delay the threat. A public execution it is known you will attend would be the perfect trap. We could make it a smaller affair than normal, set it within an environment we could control. The Magistra here could be in attendance to protect you.’

  This was madness. Her life had already been threatened more than once in the palace. To now expose herself and her unborn child to catch some secret killer was the height of folly.

  ‘Seneschal Rogan,’ she said. ‘I think it’s clear—’

  ‘No, he might be right,’ said the Magistra. Even though Janessa had become unaccustomed to being interrupted these last weeks, she still thought little of the breach in manners. It was clear this woman was not to be silenced by anyone. ‘A small public venue would provide the perfect opportunity for us to catch the assassin in the act.’

  There was silence. Kaira was shaking her head, and it was clear she thought this madness, but something about the Magistra elicited Janessa’s absolute trust.

  ‘Very well,’ Janessa agreed. ‘We should endeavour to capture this assassin. With members of the Caste attending, I assume there can be little danger?’

  She asked that question not just for her. In recent days she had endangered the life of her child, and there was no way she wanted to repeat that. If, as was rumoured, assassins were even now plotting her death she had to face them on her own terms, it was the only way.

  Magistra Gelredida cocked her head. ‘There is always danger, Majesty. But your safety will be paramount. Trust me on that.’

  Without asking permission, the old woman turned and made her way from the throne room.

  As she watched the old woman leave, Janessa wondered just how much trust she had left.

  FORTY-TWO

  From the shadows of an alleyway, Rag stared at the entrance to the little tavern. It seemed to be taunting her, like it knew she was scared.

  Come on then. What you waiting for?

  Rag just sat in the dark, watching. She was good at that; had made a skill of it over the years. On the streets where she’d learned her trade it was almost as important as being a fast picker. Sometimes she’d sit for hours just watching – sizing up the best punters for the pinch. There was no point just rushing into it like a bulldog, risking getting caught for a few measly coppers. Having a keen eye for a fat purse could save you a lot of time and effort. Hells, it could save your life too. In such a tricky business as hers, brains beat speed and brawn every day of the week.

  But is it gonna help you now, Rag? Is it gonna save your neck this time or have you just been a bit too bloody clever for your own good?

  Kaira had given her the chance to avoid all this. Right at the start she had said she’d take care of Rag, and she was true to her word. It wasn’t enough for Rag, though, was it? Nothing was ever enough.

  What would she do anyway, living in a barracks with a bunch of knights? Weren’t no kind of life she wanted. Rag had always wanted to make something of herself. That was never gonna happen being lackey to some warrior woman.

  Now though, as she sat staring at that door, it didn’t seem like a half-bad option.

  At least you’d be alive, Rag. You’d get to survive. If that’s enough?

  Survival had never been enough for Rag. That was why she’d joined the Guild in the first place. That was why she’d risked her neck to come this far. Weren’t no point turning back now.

  You never did make things easy for yourself, did you, Rag?

  She moved quick across the empty street and tried the door, half expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t, and the handle turned easy as ever. The door gave a little creak as she opened it, but there was nothing she could do about that now. The raised voices from inside told her it didn’t matter, anyhow. No one would hear.

  Rag crept inside and shut the door behind her. She recognised the voices arguing in the bar and before she got round the corner she stopped to listen.

  ‘We shouldn’t fucking be here.’ That was Shirl, all shrill and scared like a little girl.

  ‘Where the fuck we gonna go?’ said Yarrick, annoyed, like he’d heard Shirl’s moaning one too many times.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Essen, his voice sounding strange after having his nose flattened in that dark alleyway the night before. ‘We stay here we’re fugging dead for sure. Bastian’s gonna come in and he’s gonna have some questions we just can’t fugging answer.’

  ‘There ain’t nowhere we can run to they won’t find us,’ said Yarrick. ‘Runnin’s only gonna make us look guilty.’

  ‘We are fucking guilty,’ said Shirl. ‘We let them take him like we was nothing.’

  ‘They were trained,’ Essen replied. ‘Weren’t nothing we could do. You saw what that woman did to Harkas.’

  Rag peered round the corner and saw the lads were crouched around the embers of the fire, Harkas standing back a ways staring into the flames.

  ‘So what the fuck are we gonna do?’ asked Shirl like he was almost in tears.

  None of them seemed to have any answer. None of them had a clue what to do now Friedrik was gone and they were the ones that had lost him.

  ‘We do nothing,’ said Rag, walking into the room as confident as she could.

  The lads all stood up at her arrival. Harkas just looked around all slow like he’d known she was there all along.

  ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ asked Shirl.

  ‘Never mind where the fuck I’ve been,’ Rag said. ‘Start thinking about our story and how we’re gonna stick to it.’ The fat man looked at her like she’d slapped him but said nothing. ‘If Bastian finds out we’ve lost Friedrik every one of us is gonna end up in the Storway with a rock round his neck. So we just don’t tell him. Friedrik’s fucked off before without telling anyone. No one knows where he goes or who he’s with, so that’s what’s happened this time. He left last night; no one’s seen him since. All right?’

  Yarrick, Shirl and Essen all looked at her from beneath creased brows. Harkas watched her, his expression blank. It was clear they’d need a moment or two to think on it, and Rag just glared back, looking like she knew what she was on about. Like she’d tried to dupe the leader of the Guild before, and come out on top.

  ‘This’ll get us all killed,’ said Shirl.

  ‘No it won’t.’ Yarrick replied. ‘She’s right – no one knows we were with him when he got nabbed. We should just sit tight and wait for someone to come looking for him.’

  Yarrick glanced over at Essen who said, ‘Yeah. You’re right.’

  ‘Are you fucking barmy?’ wailed Shirl. ‘We’re just gonna sit here and wait for them to come for us because she fucking says so?’ He pointed an accusing finger at Rag.

  Yarrick looked at Shirl like he’d just done a shit on his chair. ‘She’s the reason you’re still breathing, lad. Wasn’t for her we’d have had to leave you in a ditch to die somewhere.’

  That was enough to shut Shirl’s mouth for a while.

  Essen went and got some more logs for the fire, and the five of them sat there waiting for morning. Rag’s heart was thumping all the while, wondering what was gonna happen. Wondering if she’d done the right thing. This crew weren’t the cleverest, or even the friendliest, but she didn’t want to see them hurt on her account. Well, not all of them. Every now and again, as the night drew on, she’d see Harkas watching her from the corner of the room. She had no idea what was going on in that head of his, but then she wasn’t too sure she wanted to know neither.

  It was close to morning when the door burst open.

  Palien wasn’t the first one to walk in. He had men of his own – men who looked a damn sight more frightening than Shirl, Essen and Yarrick. Every one of them looked more like Harkas, though maybe not quite as brutal. They came in, taking their places
around the edge of the bar like they already knew where to stand; where the best place was to look all intimidating. Rag counted six of them before Palien walked in, a wolf smile on his face, his hawk eyes glaring straight at her. He pulled a chair across the floor, like he was relishing the scraping noise it made. When he’d slid it as close to Rag as it would go he plonked down on it, his elbows resting on the chair’s backrest.

  ‘Where is he?’ said Palien, staring straight at her.

  ‘Who?’ she replied.

  Who? Don’t be an idiot, Rag. It’s obvious who he means.

  ‘Don’t play me for a fool, little girl,’ Palien said. As she looked at him she noticed he never seemed to blink. That wasn’t right, surely. ‘We both know you’re his little pet. He doesn’t go anywhere without you knowing.’

  ‘I don’t know where he is. He left last night, went off on his own like he does sometimes. We ain’t seen him since, have we?’

  She glanced around, relieved when the lads all backed her up with their nodding heads, but it was obvious Palien weren’t interested in their opinion.

  ‘You expect me to believe that, do you, girl? You think he’d go somewhere without taking his little dolly with him?’

  ‘He goes off on his own all the ti—’

  ‘Don’t fucking lie to me!’ Palien stood up, flinging his chair out from under him. ‘Where the fuck is he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Rag, pressing herself back in her chair but Palien reached forward, grabbed her shirt and pulled her up onto her feet.

  ‘Tell me where he is or I’ll gut you right here, I swear.’

  Rag saw Palien’s eyes glaring down from that face, saw his stupid moustache twitching with anger. Her hands were up as she tried to push him away and he shook her. It was then her hand slipped down to his belt and she could feel the coinpurse at his waist. It was full, secured with a single buckle, and it would be nothing to just open it and take his coin.