Herald of the Storm s-1

by Richard Ford

  Once inside, he realised there was nothing to fear, apart from rats and spiders. A clutter of broken furniture and a blackened hearth suggested someone might have tried to make a home of it — long years ago. It was like that with many of the hovels — despite the Town’s reputation as a hive of the lost and villainous, it was only sparsely populated. Whether it was the dangers of cutthroats and rapers, or of ghouls stalking the Town’s moonlit streets, people had kept away, and every empty building they came across gave Nobul some relief.

  ‘Who the fuck’s going to want to live in here?’ Denny demanded, his nose scrunched up in disgust, though the smell inside was nowhere near as bad as outside.

  ‘People will live anywhere if they’re desperate enough. Streets in the city are already filling up.’

  ‘You’d have to be pretty desperate to want to live here. Think I’d rather take my chances on the streets of the city than get a roof in the Town.’

  ‘It’s dangerous either way.’

  ‘I’ll say. Word is there’s refugees going missing. Dozens of them. People have been complaining to the Greencoats all week about it. They’ve disappeared just like that, grown men and all.’

  Nobul had heard the rumours but, with no reliable numbers of how many refugees were entering the city, it was hard to know the truth.

  ‘No point worrying about tales from the streets. Let’s just concentrate on what we can do something about.’

  ‘It’s all right saying that.’ Denny took on a grave look that didn’t suit his face. ‘What about the bloody murder up Northgate? That witch from the Tower said it was nothing, just some mad bastard, but Kilgar didn’t believe her. He says there’s something diabolical afoot, and I know who I believe.’

  ‘If there is a magicker on the loose, there’s not much wecan do about that, is there? Let’s concentrate on the job at hand. Worrying about shit elsewhere’s only going to distract from shit right here. And I need you focused.’

  Denny nodded. Though he was more experienced in the Greencoats, Nobul clearly had more experience in general. The boy was willing to accept his orders almost immediately, especially on these dangerous, shitty streets.

  Nobul wasn’t questioning Kilgar’s judgement either, though if one of the wizards from the Tower said there were no rogue casters who was he to argue? As for missing refugees … all sorts of rumours were rife at the moment, from tales of dragons or gremlins, to men taking on the shapes of beasts at the full moon. Nobul believed in the things he could see with his own eyes, and let everyone else worry about the rest. He’d seen enough of the horrors men could inflict on other men to worry about the horrors in other folks’ heads.

  Moving outside, they came on old Hake and the twins dragging someone into the open. The bloke was screaming insults to the sky and gave such a struggle that they lost their grip on him and he was off down the broken streets. Kilgar’s raised hand checked any pursuit

  ‘Let him be. There’ll be plenty more like that and if we chase every wretch we find we’ll be worn out by noon.’

  They worked their way up the street, but this particular part of the Town was mostly abandoned but for mangy dogs and mangier rats. Not until they reached what must once have been a main square were there any further signs of life.

  Once it might have been a hub of the Old City, where stallholders sold their wares and wealthy merchants came to trade. Now it was a wasteland, covered in detritus, with ragged sheets draped over large fallen statues pinned together to shelter the hunkering masses. So many men, women and children — just sitting there.

  Nobul’s heart dropped at the task ahead. They would have to be careful here. Though none of these wretches looked in a fit state to put up much of a fight, together, and provoked, they could turn into a dangerous mob.

  ‘All right,’ said Kilgar, careful not to raise his voice. ‘Stay within sight of one another and let’s take this steady. No need to rouse them if we don’t have to, but we’ve got a job to do and we’ll bloody well do it.’

  They moved forward, cautiously. Kilgar approached the first of the homeless rabble, nudged him with his foot and ordered him firmly but calmly to ‘move on’. The man didn’t put up much of a protest, gaining his feet unsteadily and moving off with nothing more than a scowl. The rest of the lads followed his lead, and began moving the loitering rabble on. At first it went well, and the square slowly began to clear. Nobul began to think they might well get away with this unscathed — until Bilgot homed in on an old woman sitting by a dead tree.

  ‘Come on, you old bitch,’ Bilgot said, quietly as he could, but still far too loud. ‘On your way, by order of the king.’

  ‘Fuck off, you fat bastard,’ she replied, spitting the words from a toothless mouth.

  ‘I said, fucking move.’ Bilgot punctuated his words with a harsh kick. The old woman barely registered he’d even struck her.

  ‘Take it easy, Bil,’ said Denny, moving closer. ‘She’s an old woman.’

  Nobul looked across the square, seeing other squatters taking an interest. Bilgot needed to calm down.

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do, you little arsehole,’ Bilgot responded. Denny backed off, anxious not to provoke his hulking comrade. ‘I told you to move, you old cow. Do it!’

  Bilgot reached forward but Denny stopped him. The big Greencoat rounded on Denny, and Nobul was pleased to see the youngster stand his ground.

  ‘She’s an old woman, Bil. Just take it steady.’

  Bilgot puffed himself up, readying for a fight.

  Nobul had seen enough. If Bilgot wanted a fight it was time he bloody well got one, but before he could intervene, the old woman struck.

  Where she’d pulled the blade from Nobul could only guess, but, despite her years, she moved with frightening speed. Denny screamed and clutched his arm, his cry attracting the attention of everyone in the square.

  Before Nobul could stop him Bilgot was kicking the old woman in the head. ‘Fucking bitch,’ he snarled, stamping down with his massive boots.

  Nobul pulled Bilgot away. Kilgar was shouting something from behind them but it was too late. A piece of masonry flew right at Denny, as he clutched his arm, blood running red and free through his fist.

  ‘Enough,’ Nobul growled. The old woman lay still on the ground, her matted grey hair partially covering the mangled mess Bilgot had made of her face. ‘We need to get the fuck out of here,’ he urged Denny as another jagged piece of rock from somewhere in the crowd clanged off Denny’s halfhelm.

  ‘Fucking hells!’ said the lad, staggering back from the escalating barrage.

  With sudden jeering the vagabond mob seemed to mobilise. Seeing one of their own, an old woman, being kicked worse than a dog had sent them into an instant frenzy.

  ‘With me,’ shouted Kilgar, moving back to the south of the square from where they’d come. Nobul grabbed Denny, who was staring vacantly, and dragged him along.

  ‘Bastards!’ someone yelled, as a hail of rocks pelted them from all sides. ‘Kill the fuckers!’ yelled someone else.

  This was turning from bad to worse.

  Anton, Dustin and Edric led the way and Nobul shoved Denny after them. ‘Keep moving,’ he barked, waiting only for Hake as the old man limped along behind. Bilgot could look after his fucking self.

  Before they were clear, a scream alerted Nobul to a wild-eyed man leaping at him, wielding a blunt shank. He spun away as the shank tore a strip out of his jerkin. Nobul knew he had to put the fella down fast. He grabbed his attacker’s knife hand at the wrist and stabbed viciously with the fingers of his other hand, deep into the desperate bastard’s throat — once, twice. The man went down choking, dropping his shank and lifting his hands to his shattered throat, for all the good it would do him.

  ‘Come on,’ shouted Kilgar, as though Nobul was hanging around for the laughs. He didn’t need encouragement. As the mob began to charge forward he turned tail and ran.

  They raced back down the overgrown thoroughfare. Ahead, Nobul could
see Kilgar and Bilgot, that fat bastard, huffing as he was forced to heave his bulk down the street, jumping over fallen masonry and squelching through the dog shit.

  They were quickly hemmed in by the incensed mass of wild squatters at their heels and there was trouble ahead.

  Dustin and Edric were rolling around on the ground, trying to fend off some red-haired youth with a knife. Hake and Anton were nowhere to be seen. Kilgar and Bilgot waded into the fight. Denny screamed as he struggled with some wild-haired ruffian and Nobul could see he was going to lose: his slashed arm was useless, and his free arm only just warding off a vicious piece of sharpened slate from his throat.

  Forgetting the others, Nobul shot forward, pulled out his short sword and stabbed in, taking the guy below the ribs before he could stick his own makeshift blade in Denny. The man squealed, falling back a pace. He glowered hatred at Nobul, standing there with dripping blade, then staggered off trying to cover the bloody gash in his side.

  Nobul spun to face the oncoming crowd, pulling Denny behind him. The lads had subdued the red-headed fella and also turned to face the mob.

  The crowd closed in slowly on Amber Watch, hungrily baying for blood, keen to vent their anger.

  ‘Steady, lads,’ Kilgar said, gripping a sword in his one remaining hand. ‘Looks like we’re scrapping after all.’

  ‘There’s too fucking many of them,’ said Denny, fear in his voice.

  ‘Then we’ll go down fighting,’ Kilgar replied.

  Nobul nearly laughed.

  He’d survived Bakhaus Gate. Survived the Guild. Now he was going to die at the hands of a load of homeless bastards from the Town.

  Then again, he reckoned one death was just as good as another.

  As the first murderous bastard made ready to charge, he suddenly screamed, hand shooting to his chest to grip the quarrel shaft that had appeared there. As he fell, a volley of bolts flew overhead, some hitting their targets, others bouncing off the surrounding ruins. That was all it took to send the mob scuttling away through the foliage, only too keen to escape before a second volley was fired at them.

  Nobul turned to see half a dozen crossbowmen on a crumbling rooftop — Greencoats!

  ‘That you, Kilgar?’ one of them shouted.

  ‘Aye. Just in bloody time, Serjeant Bodlin. We were about to dispense the King’s Justice on those bastards.’

  ‘Course you were, Kilgar,’ replied Bodlin. ‘Even so, I reckon that’s still one Amber Watch owes us.’

  ‘If you like, Bodlin,’ said Kilgar, his face almost cracking a smile. ‘Right, I think we’ve had enough for one day, lads. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

  None of the lads complained.

  TWENTY-TWO

  In days long gone she and Graye had played in this garden, giggling as little girls, laughing raucously as young ladies. Now Janessa was a woman grown it seemed all the mirth had been stripped from the place. Autumn was setting in, and the leaves had faded through yellow to brown and fallen to the damp grass, leaving the trees bare and forlorn. The ornamental statues of frolicking maids and their handsome suitors seemed as cold as the stone they were hewn from, in stark contrast to the spirited quality they seemed to take on in the long, bright days of summer.

  ‘I hear renovation of the Old City is well under way,’ Graye said as they strolled along a gravelled path between two hedgerows of lavender.

  ‘Yes,’ Janessa answered, rebuffing another attempt by Graye to strike up conversation. She knew she was being impolite. She didn’t mean to be, but she couldn’t seem to shake off her bad humour. Her responsibilities weighed on her now more than ever. She simply couldn’t dislodge Odaka’s words from her mind; for every decision you make there will be consequences.

  For all her attempts to lighten the mood Graye knew her friend was troubled, and she did not impose. If Janessa had wanted to unburden herself she knew Graye would listen.

  The smell of the lavender was faint but still there, clinging to the faded flowers. Behind them, Governess Nordaine hummed a tuneless dirge, clearly bored with her duties — not that she would ever have complained.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not much company today,’ Janessa said. She mustn’t wallow in self-pity, especially when others had situations so much worse than hers.

  ‘You never have to say sorry to me.’ Graye smiled, linking arms with Janessa and giving her hand a squeeze.

  It was a simple gesture but meant the world.

  ‘No, I rarely ever do, do I?’ said Janessa. ‘Remember when I found that frog?’

  ‘Yes, I do: you chased me around the garden from noon till sunset with it. When your mother told you to apologise you blankly refused.’

  ‘It was only a frog.’

  ‘They’re slimy disgusting creatures that should be killed on sight.’

  ‘Not like hedgehogs then?’

  They both laughed. Graye had found a hedgehog in the gardens when they’d been no more than nine winters. She’d been determined to keep it as a pet, right up until the creature’s fleas infested her hair and attacked her so mercilessly that she’d begged the Governess to hack her waist-length locks off. Janessa hadn’t remembered laughing at the time, but the memory was funnier than anything she could recall.

  Their laughing stopped when they saw Odaka approaching.

  ‘Here he comes,’ said Graye. ‘Happy as ever. I think if that one ever smiled his teeth would fall out from the shock of exposure.’

  Janessa shushed her friend, but had to fight back a giggle.

  ‘My lady,’ said Odaka, with his customary bow. He was dressed in a red robe, lined with black silk, and wore a matching hat. ‘I trust you are well. It is cooler today, but still pleasant, do you not think?’

  Janessa couldn’t think how to reply. It wasn’t like Odaka to make idle conversation about the weather. Immediately she was on her guard.

  ‘Yes, very pleasant,’ she said, though she really wanted to ask what in the hells he wanted.

  ‘Lady Daldarrion, Governess Nordaine, I trust you too are well?’

  For Odaka to even acknowledge the existence of Janessa’s companions was unusual, but to ask them how they were … Consequently, both women merely mumbled their reply, as surprised as Janessa at the regent’s behaviour.

  Janessa was impatient and about to ask what was wrong when Odaka announced, ‘One of your guests awaits in the vestibule, my lady.’

  He extended an arm, signifying she shouldn’t keep the guest waiting — whoever it was.

  ‘Thank you, Odaka,’ Janessa said, moving towards the palace. ‘Come along,’ she encouraged her entourage, but Odaka had other ideas.

  ‘Er, I think your majesty may want this to be a private audience.’

  ‘But I am her majesty’s chaperone,’ Nordaine replied. ‘I should be by her side at all times. Especially when she speaks with her guests.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary on this occasion,’ said Janessa, not entirely sure. One of her guests could mean anything. Might she risk being alone with Baroness Isabelle or her foul son Leon?

  She followed Odaka into Skyhelm, only a little reassured by the heavy presence of the Sentinels. Before she reached the vestibule, she could not stop herself from asking, ‘Who is this guest, Odaka?’

  ‘Someone who has requested an audience, my lady.’

  ‘I might have assumed that,’ she said, on the edge of irritation. ‘Which of our guests?’

  Odaka stopped before her, bowed and ushered her forward. To her surprise she realised they had already reached the vestibule, and within, waiting for her, was Raelan Logar.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she said quietly, hoping Odaka would answer before Raelan even noticed she had arrived.

  ‘Lord Raelan wishes to speak with you, my lady. I am merely carrying out the wishes of our guest.’

  ‘I don’t understand. At the Feast the man was gruff and rude, and you said I could choose my own suitor.’

  ‘And nothing has changed. But if you d
o not speak to him, you will never know why he has requested to see you.’

  All this Odaka said while still locked in a bow, his arm still gesturing into the vestibule. By now Raelan had turned and could see them both standing there. Janessa could only imagine how ridiculous they looked — her whispering from the side of her mouth and Odaka bent at the waist like a cripple.

  ‘My lord,’ she said, greeting Raelan with a smile. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

  Raelan’s mouth twitched at one side, into a half smile. ‘My lady, the pleasure is all mine.’

  I’m sure it is. ‘I understand you have been with us since the Feast, but I have had little time to spend with guests of the palace.’ Because I’ve been avoiding you like scurvy. ‘Please accept my apologies.’

  ‘None are necessary, my lady.’

  ‘How are you enjoying your stay at Skyhelm?’ Would you rather be having your legs sawn off, perhaps?

  ‘The rooms are adequate. Though in Valdor we prefer a little less ostentation.’

  I’m sure you flog yourselves to sleep at night too, after washing in snow. ‘I find them somewhat gaudy myself. Not to everyone’s taste.’

  Raelan nodded, his mouth twitching once more. Janessa noticed his fists were clenched, his knuckles white.

  He smiled faintly, as did she.

  What was she supposed to say now? She looked to Odaka, but he had moved from sight, leaving her alone with Raelan. Her sense of unease increased as the silence wore on. Surely it was time for him to say what was on his mind. Why had he requested an audience if he wasn’t going to speak?

  She glanced to left and right, desperate for something else to say. It was clear Raelan had something he wanted to get out but was tongue-tied. Janessa felt her heart thumping as the awkwardness of the moment dragged on.

  She looked at him, and he at her. His eyes were doleful, as though at any moment he might burst into tears.

  ‘You know our houses have been allied for many years?’ he said, finally.