Herald of the Storm s-1

by Richard Ford

  ‘Was that a good enough performance for you, regent?’

  A pause. She could almost hear him calculating the proper response.

  ‘I do not understand, my lady.’

  ‘I’ve played my part. I’ve met your preferred suitor and made all the right noises. I even danced with him. Is the deal done? Is the covenant sealed?’

  Odaka conjured up a smile. Even in the dark she was aware of it.

  ‘My lady, apologies if I have led you to believe otherwise, but the choice to marry is yours. Your father has made that most explicit. Should you find Lord Raelan wanting we will find another, more suitable, match.’

  Janessa stared in disbelief as his words sank in. She had flogged herself over this for days, weeks, and now it seemed as though she had done all that for nothing.

  ‘You mean I have the choice to marry whom I wish?’

  ‘Of course. Your father and I discussed this at length. He knows how … wilful you are. He realises there could never be a match with anyone you yourself had not approved.’

  Janessa felt foolish. Of course she should have trusted her father — he would never have condemned her to a loveless marriage.

  ‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, Odaka.’ And she meant those words of thanks. Odaka was showing a side she had never seen before. Perhaps that deep, powerful chest of his housed a heart after all.

  ‘Your majesty.’ He bowed. ‘I am here to serve.’

  ‘Really?’ A wicked thought began to form in her mind. ‘You could start by ridding the palace of a few gossiping courtiers. How about the Magridas, for a start?’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my lady. Your father has offered them refuge within the palace until his return. With the loss of Dreldun to the Khurtas they have nowhere else to go.’

  Oh well — you can’t have everything.

  ‘Very well, Odaka. I will retire now. Could you make my excuses to our guests?’

  ‘Of course.’ And with a bow he was gone.

  She looked out again into the night, knowing that far to the north her father might be fighting for his very survival as well as that of the Free States. But here she had to face battles of her own, though from what Odaka had told her, she knew her father was doing his utmost to help her fight those too. For that she could only thank him.

  And, despite the chance he had given her — to choose her own suitor — she knew there would never be one suitable, not even the handsome Raelan Logar. There would never be one who could capture her heart … because her heart already belonged to someone else.

  SIXTEEN

  It had been years since Nobul had experienced the discipline of the drill yard. Even after all that time the memory of it still left a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Waiting for the serjeant-at-arms, standing alongside your fellows, unsure of what was to come while fully expecting pain and humiliation. And the times when you were forced to march and run for hours, when the serjeant would single someone out for ‘special treatment’ and all you could do was pray it wouldn’t be you …

  Now though, he stood in the courtyard, feeling the chill of the coming winter creeping into his old bones, and all he felt was boredom.

  He stood there alone, surrounded on all sides by barrack buildings. The insistent tweeting of a single bird from a rooftop behind him was the only sound. Had any other men come forward to volunteer? Most likely no one wanted to join up. With the possibility of war and maybe even siege, the city’s last line of defence would be the Greencoats. They were the ones best trained for the job. King Cael had already taken northwards half the standing Greencoats, Knights of the Blood and Sentinel Guard, leaving a skeleton crew to safeguard the city.

  Nobul wasn’t sure why he’d decided to join up with the Greencoats, especially when it was one of them who had been responsible for Markus being laid in the ground. Was it the possibility of being sent to the front? Was he so eager for death? Or maybe he was just eager for a purpose, just eager for something to fill his days, and what better way than this? He had been a fighting man before, and he guessed a fighting man was what he would always be.

  But no matter how he tried to tell himself this was his calling, he also knew that alone, on the streets, with no one to watch his back, it wouldn’t be long before the Guild caught up with him. It wasn’t as if they were going to forget about the two enforcers he’d killed.

  Did that make all his bravado so much horseshit? Was he really scared? Was he just telling himself he was tough? Just telling himself he was iron and steel, and doing this because he was a breaker of heads?

  It didn’t matter any. There was nowhere else for him to go. Nothing else for him to do. He could have joined a mercenary company, but those days were over for him. He was too old for the sleeping rough, the shitty food and the constant fight against illness, thieves and the biting cold.

  Besides, if it didn’t go well in the north they would soon have a howling, savage bunch of barbarians battering down the gates of this city.

  That would certainly solve all his problems.

  Nobul had enquired about recruitment two days before and been told by some mustachioed Greencoat to come back later; there was no one to help him. When he’d come back a day later, the same uninterested face greeted him, telling him come back tomorrow, and wait in the drill yardfor the serjeant. When he’d come back a third time there had been no one to greet him, but as the door was open he’d just walked in. And so here he was, dutifully waiting in the drill yard, even though he was starting to think no one was coming.

  Before he could decide to jack in the whole thing, he heard a wooden door slamming somewhere in the distance. More recruits? Would it be raw young meat or some gnarled and bearded veteran — an old man just like he was?

  Someone was whistling tunelessly.

  Into the courtyard strode a young lad looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His green arming jacket was slung over one shoulder, his halfhelm clasped casually by his side. He had no weapons.

  When he saw Nobul standing there he smiled and nodded, like they were old mates. He seemed unconcerned that a man he’d never seen before was standing in the middle of the courtyard where only Greencoats were supposed to be allowed. So much for the vigilant city militia.

  Before the youth passed Nobul he stopped, frowning slightly, as though it was suddenly dawning that something was awry.

  ‘You the new recruit?’ he said, pointing his finger. As if Nobul would be standing there waiting if he wasn’t.

  ‘I suppose I’m one of them,’ Nobul replied, unsure of whether to show some kind of respect. This boy could be one of the serjeants for all Nobul knew, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to piss him off before he’d even started.

  ‘One of them? There’s no one else coming. You’re it, mate,’ said the boy with a smile. ‘I’m Denny.’ He held out a hand to shake.

  It seemed a bit inappropriate, but Nobul shook it anyway.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ he asked.

  ‘Ah.’ Denny looked round as though his fellow Greencoats were hiding and might jump out at any minute. ‘It’s shift changeover. Last watch probably fucked off ages ago. They’re supposed to wait for relief before they do, but to be fair, we’re usually late anyway, so they don’t hang around.’

  Nobul glanced around in disbelief. ‘So the place is just abandoned?’

  ‘Yeah. But not to worry, they lock the weapons store after them. Not that any of the shit in there’s worth pinching anyway.’

  Maybe this had been a mistake. He should have seen the signs two days ago when he’d first tried to show interest and been welcomed with a total lack of enthusiasm. The Greencoats were clearly an ill-disciplined rabble. But hadn’t he known that anyway? No wonder the Guild ran rampant throughout the city. No wonder he’d been preyed upon for so long by scumbag enforcers demanding his hard-earned coin in return for ‘protection’.

  Nobul suddenly felt angry. These men were supposed to be the city’s guar
dians. They were no more than a bunch of boys playing at soldiers.

  ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ said Nobul, turning to leave.

  ‘Denny! Why the fuck are you standing around like a limp cock? Get your uniform on and empty the slops from last night’s shift — they won’t have cleared up after themselves, will they?’

  Nobul was stopped by the authority in the voice. He stood to attention, feeling slightly intimidated and not a little relieved that there was at least someone with a bit of clout around.

  A tall grizzled figure stepped out onto the drill yard as Denny ran off to carry out his duties. He wore an eye-patch over his right eye, and his left arm was missing at the elbow. From his weathered face and the easy confidence with which he walked, Nobul could see he was seasoned. At last, a veteran.

  The Greencoat walked up to Nobul, standing close. Scrutinising. Assessing. Their noses almost touching. Nobul had been here many times before, many years ago. The memories came flooding back of the mud and pain and shouting. He had to admit: part of him liked it.

  ‘You must be the new recruit. They told me someone had shown an interest. Name?’

  Name? Now there was a quandary. Most likely the Guild were still wondering what happened to their two collectors and Nobul was top of the list for knowing where to find them. Probably best not to go around shouting his whereabouts from the rooftops.

  ‘Lincon.’ He’d known a lad from the Free Companies called Lincon. It was as good a name as any, and the lad who used to own it wouldn’t be needing it any more since he was twenty years in the ground.

  ‘Any experience?’

  ‘Some.’ Nobul knew better than to be too elaborate, and definitely not to overstate where you’d been and what you’d done. That was a sure way to mark yourself out as an arsehole.

  ‘Some?’ The veteran looked Nobul up and down again. ‘You certainly look the part, if nothing else.’ Because he was iron. Because he was steel. ‘Most of the lads we’ve got left are too young to wipe up their own shit or too old to piss without it stinging. I suppose you’re heading towards the old side. Why should we take you on?’

  ‘Because from what I’ve seen so far you’re desperate for men.’

  That one eye regarded him for some moments. All Nobul could hear was a single bird singing. He wondered whether he’d said the right thing or just fucked his chances.

  ‘You’re right there, Lincon. Desperate for men is something we definitely are. But despite what you might think, we also don’t just take on any old shit.’ That was good to know. Now all he could hope was this bloke didn’t consider him shit. ‘So, what exactly is your experience, son?’

  Nobul thought about it. He tried not to think about it too long but this was an important question. Did he give him the whole chat or try to underplay it? There was no point fucking about — this guy didn’t seem like he suffered any fools.

  ‘Bakhaus Gate,’ Nobul replied, trying not to think too much on the memories that saying those words inspired.

  The Greencoat raised the one eyebrow that wasn’t hidden under a patch.

  ‘Bakhaus Gate, no less? I was at Bakhaus, in the First Battalion. What about you?’

  ‘I was in the levies,’ he replied. ‘Under Captain Graig.’

  ‘I remember him. He was a good man. It was a shit way for him to go.’

  Nobul agreed with that all right, the memory of it almost made him chill, but there was no point dwelling on it now. The way Graig had been torn to pieces by tooth and claw had given him nightmares enough.

  The man regarded him again — weighing him up as though for the last time.

  ‘If you served in the levies then you’re good enough for the Greencoats. You’ll call me Serjeant Kilgar, or just Serjeant, if it please you.’

  ‘Yes, Serjeant.’

  ‘Before you start, you should know that the wages are poor — two crowns a week. And you’ll get no thanks from the heaving masses we’re obliged to protect. They’ll smile at your face then gob on your back, if they don’t stab you in it first.’

  Nobul had lived amongst the filth and scum of this city all his life and the fact the Greencoats took the brunt of their ire was no surprise to him. And two crowns a week was more than he had a chance of earning now his forge was ashes.

  ‘Sounds fair,’ he replied.

  Kilgar nodded sagely. ‘Easily pleased. You’ll fit right in. Go see Denny. He’ll sort you with a uniform, give you the proper papers to put your mark on and introduce you to the rest of the lads. They should be here soon, or I’ll know the fucking reason why not.’

  ‘Yes, Serjeant,’ Nobul said, feeling the old memories flooding back. The ‘yes sirs, no sirs’ of military life. The running around, being told what to do, what to eat, when to shit.

  He had to admit, he was starting to like it. It was clear Kilgar was right — he would fit right in.

  Denny did as Kilgar had said and found a uniform: green leather jerk with the crossed swords symbol below the king’s crown emblazoned on the back. He gave Nobul an open-faced helm: a bit too big, but it would do, especially if someone tried to rap a cosh over his head. It might make a dull tune but at least it would stop his skull cracking open.

  When that was done he went to a tiny chamber, fished around in a desk drawer and got the recruitment papers out. Nobul didn’t even bother reading them — he could have been signing on for life for all he knew, but he didn’t care. He just made his mark and left it at that.

  Denny also did the introductions as more of the watch — Amber Watch as they were known — sloped into the barracks one by one. There were eight in the watch in all, including Denny, Nobul and Serjeant Kilgar, and they were tasked with watching Northgate, closest to the outer wall. They patrolled in twos, which wasn’t the safest thing to do in Northgate, especially at night, but each man had a tin whistle in case he got into strife he couldn’t get out of and needed someone to help.

  The rest of the watch consisted of Dustin and Edric, the twins. Each had a gawping expression about him, and Nobul couldn’t work out which looked the stupider. It wouldn’t do to underestimate them, mind. Nobul had fought alongside dumber-looking fellas and they’d turned out to be brave and loyal all the same.

  Anton was a fairly good-looking lad, but young and with a dolorous expression about him like he’d lost his pecker end and had no clue where to find it. He gave up a half smile when Denny introduced him, meek and limp like an old man, and Nobul could only wonder how the lad would react if he got himself in real trouble on the street — most likely run like the Lord of Crows was after him.

  Old Hake was next to arrive. Nobul didn’t know if that was his real name or if he was named for the fish, but it suited him anyway, and not least because of the smell he gave off. He was amiable, giving a smile and a nod as he chewed on some pipeweed. The old man looked fit enough, but not much use in a fight.

  Last to arrive was Bilgot. Denny introduced him, a big lad with a mop of red hair and a burgeoning beer gut beneath his jerk. Nobul could tell he was trouble even before he opened his mouth. He’d seen it a thousand times before — young fella, grows up big, takes advantage of the smaller lads and no one’s got the stones to stand up to him. Big fish in a little pond. Nobul wasn’t here to put any backs up, so when big Bilgot said ‘Who’s the new fucking meat?’ he didn’t say anything; just let Denny do the explaining.

  ‘New recruit,’ said Denny. ‘His name’s Lincon-’

  ‘Lincon?’ Bilgot walked up, facing off, a good inch or two above Nobul. ‘You look like a tough one. You a tough one?’

  Nobul had been in this situation very recently, and two men were dead and floating down the Storway and into the sea for their trouble. It wouldn’t do to fly off on one and fuck this up too, so he just stood and said nothing, not looking away but not doing any provoking.

  ‘Let me tell you, I’m top dog round here. What I say fucking go-’

  ‘Right, you set of lazy bastards!’

  There was a sudd
en commotion at the sound of Kilgar’s voice.

  Bilgot shut his mouth, turning to stand to attention along with the rest of the lads. Nobul was beside them, not needing anyone to tell him what to do — he’d been here enough times before.

  ‘As you can see,’ said Kilgar as he walked into the barrack room, ‘we have a new body with us today. Denny, you’ll show him the ropes. Shouldn’t be too hard for you, he’s a veteran — Bakhaus Gate no less, served under the king, so he’s no stranger to being in a fix and living through it.’

  Nobul could feel the atmosphere change at the mention of Bakhaus Gate. Some of the lads would instantly respect him for it, others would think it was horseshit. They could think what they wanted; it didn’t change a thing.

  ‘Right! On your ways.’

  At that Amber Watch filed out of the barrack room.

  On their way out onto the streets they stopped at the armoury, though calling it that was a bit like calling a turd a tiara. Denny explained later that due to lack of funds and the fact most of the lads sent to the front had taken the good stuff with them, they had to share weapons between the watches, and after your shift you had to put them back, safe and sound, in the small locked room they called the armoury. The pickings were slim, and Nobul chose a short sword for himself since it looked the weapon least likely to break after a hefty swing. The other lads went for the stuff more intimidating — Bilgot going for a massive banded cudgel. It only showed what little these lads knew, going for weapons that looked the business despite being useless for the job at hand, but then they didn’t have much to choose from.

  When they got out on the streets of Northgate, Denny was quiet. At first Nobul took it for vigilance; he was feeling the pressure himself after all. In their helms and green jackets they stood out as easy targets for anyone wanting to cause a bit of bother.

  Denny pointed out the dodgy alleys to avoid and the faces that might cause the most trouble, but he seemed unconcerned about investigating them, so Nobul just followed his lead.