‘Aye, with Karalyn,’ said Killop, ‘and Bedig.’
‘Who the fuck’s Bedig?’ said Bridget.
‘Friend of Keira and Kylon,’ Killop said. ‘Met up with them after the invasion. He was part of their squad when they were fighting in Kell.’
‘Then why’s he with Daphne?’ Lilyann asked.
‘He’s been watching her back,’ Killop said. ‘I think Kylon asked him to.’
‘Then I’m glad he’s there,’ Bridget said. ‘I mean, if he was in Keira’s squad, he must be a good fighter. If any Old Free terrorists are out on the road, between him and Daphne they should be all right.’
She glanced at Killop.
‘You did warn her about the Old Free rebels, didn’t you?’
Killop shook his head. ‘I was awoken in the middle of a dream. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.’
‘She awoke you in the middle of the night?’ said Liam. ‘Why was she sending you a message at that time?’
Lilyann groaned.
‘If I’m going to have to hear about it again,’ she said. ‘I’ll need another gin.’
Killop slept in until midday, and arose with a crushing hangover.
He staggered to the window and threw open the shutters, letting a blast of cold air into his bedroom. He retched, his stomach cramping. He turned and gazed at the room. It was a mess, with clothes lying about in discarded piles, books and papers littering a table, and the unmade bed reeking of sweat from the previous night .
He would have to clean it up before Daphne arrived. Maybe after another sleep.
There was a knock at the door.
‘You up?’ Bridget’s voice yelled.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said, reaching on the floor for a pair of long shorts and pulling them on.
‘You ready?’ she shouted through the door.
‘Aye.’
Bridget came in and looked around the room. She was fully dressed, in leathers and warrior gear, her short hair tied back.
‘You call this fucking ready?’ she said. ‘We’re going to be late.’
Killop frowned. ‘Late for what?’
‘We arranged it all last night,’ she said. ‘Me and you are picking up a squad in town and going out on the road to escort Daphne into Slateford.’
‘We are?’
‘Aye, ya numpty,’ she said. ‘It’ll take us an hour to get to town, then another two to reach the alliance fort. Kalden’s getting our squad together now.’
‘Kalden?’ Killop said. ‘Was he there last night?’
‘Fucksake, Chief,’ she said. ‘Brodie’s gin really messed with your head. No, Kalden wasn’t there. I spoke to him this morning.’
Killop sat on the bed, his head swimming.
‘I’m going to need a couple of minutes.’
‘You’ve got ten,’ she said. ‘We’ll walk off your hangover.’
If anything, Killop’s headache was worse by the time they reached Slateford Town, and met the squad of militia that was going to accompany them north into Rahain proper.
Kalden had briefed them, and was there to see them off.
‘You look rough as fuck,’ he said to Killop.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking a skin of water and drinking it in one go .
They left the town by the northern road, and crossed over the invisible line that separated Slateford from the rest of Rahain. The estate had a thick forest to its north where the valley opened up, and Killop had ordered it cut back a hundred yards deep. The road went through the cleared area, thick with tree stumps, then disappeared into the forest.
By mid-afternoon they sighted the alliance fortress, on the far side of the treeline, where the hillside had been carved into long terraces. The fort sat on several levels piled up the flank of the hill, with stone walls and a tall tower that commanded the landscape.
The road continued to the side of the fort, running under its high walls, in range of the crossbows on the battlements. In front of the fort’s gates, a roadblock had been set up, guarded by numerous troops.
‘We’d better check in with them,’ Bridget said. ‘They’ll want to know what fourteen armed Kellach are doing roaming the roads.’
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘The truth should suffice.’
She nodded.
As they approached, the troopers on the roadblock raised a signal flag to their comrades on the fort wall, and within seconds the battlements were bristling with crossbows.
Bridget stepped forward as they drew near.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘I’m the Herald of the Severed Clan.’ She gestured to Killop. ‘This is the Chief.’
She held out a long silver key, a copy of the one given to them by Laodoc, and the agreed symbol of the clan’s authority.
A door set into the town gates opened, and several officers emerged.
The lead officer, a captain by his insignia, saw the key, and looked up at Killop.
‘What’s the Chief of the Severed Clan doing with armed warriors upon the road?’
‘We’re looking for friends travelling to Slateford,’ Bridget said. ‘The warriors are in case we bump into any Old Free along the way.’
The captain nodded, sizing up the Kellach standing on the highway. Killop noticed that the officer was one of only a few Holdings present. Most of the alliance soldiers were Rahain.
‘I’ll need to log it, of course, Chief,’ the captain said.
‘Aye,’ said Killop.
The captain nodded again. ‘On your way then, Chief. Safe journey.’
Killop gestured to his squad, and they moved past the roadblock and were soon out of range of the walls of the fortress.
‘Did you see?’ said Bridget as they walked. ‘Hardly any Holdings left. That explains the drop in tax revenue. The bars in town are not seeing anything like the trade they were getting before.’
‘I’m sure Slateford will cope without a few drunk alliance troopers.’
‘It’s worse than that, but,’ she said. ‘If the Rahain are turning to the creator-faith, and that faith says you’re not allowed to drink, then we might have a problem selling our wine. And if no one buys it, we won’t be able to pay off our loans, and we’ll have to get another one to cover our costs, and by that point we’ll be snowed under in debt.’
‘But we’ll have a lot of wine to drink.’
‘Ha ha.’
‘One problem at a time,’ he said. ‘Brodie’s not finished making any wine yet, let’s get that done first.’
‘We need to think about these things now, Killop.’
He nodded.
The sun was falling behind the high ridge to the west, casting the long valley into shadow. Ahead, the road hugged the hillside, passing more patches of forest. A chill autumnal wind whistled down the slopes, reaching through their leathers and tunics.
Killop breathed in the mountain air, and realised his hangover had gone.
The sky was dimming after a further hour’s march up the road, when the squad leader raised her hand.
‘Chief,’ she said. ‘Did you hear that?’
Killop strained his ears, as the squad halted. Next to him Bridget was staring at the hillside.
‘What did you hear?’ he said to the squad leader .
‘Footsteps behind us, a clicking…’
‘Off the road,’ Killop said, his voice low. ‘Now.’
He jumped down the bank to their left, the squad following him. He crouched on the rocky hillside, and they waited. After a few minutes, the sound of approaching boots was unmistakable, their soles crunching on the road surface. The last light in the sky was fading when Killop saw them.
‘Old Free,’ he whispered to Bridget.
He watched as they passed. They were all Rahain, armed with crossbows and short swords, their uniforms the same as that worn by the old republic, brown rather than imperial grey.
‘Twice as many as us,’ Bridget whispered. ‘What’ll we do? They’re headed straight for Daphne.’
‘We’ll follow them,’ he said. ‘Hit them from behind.’
She nodded.
The last of the Old Free passed the squad, and disappeared into the gloom.
Killop waited a moment, then raised his hand. He crept back up onto the road, and waited until the others had joined him.
‘Quiet as possible,’ he said. ‘The moment they see us, we charge. No prisoners.’
The squad nodded, and readied their weapons.
Bridget gulped.
‘You all right?’ Killop said.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t exactly planning for this to happen.’ She drew her sword. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘I’ve seen you fight,’ he said. ‘You’ll be fine.’
Killop pulled his shield from over his shoulder and looked at his squad. After the alliance recruiters had finished their tour of the estate, there had been a stream of Kellach volunteers signing up, and many of the fittest and strongest had left. He knew that for some of the younger ones standing before him, this would be their first fight.
‘We’re faster than them,’ he said. ‘Stronger than them. And we see better in the dark. ’
He turned, drew his sword, and began running, his feet making almost no sound. The rest of the squad followed, Bridget to his left, the squad leader to his right, as they sprinted in silence towards the Rahain.
Before the Old Free were in sight, a wail shrieked up, followed by others, and the sound of steel. Killop picked up his pace, charging down the road as it turned in a gentle bend to the right. When the way straightened he saw the rebels ahead on the road, surrounding a wagon.
Killop bared his teeth, and raced towards them, his heart hammering.
He reached the rear of the Old Free lines, and swung his sword down at them, cleaving the backs of two before they knew he was there. He charged into the crowd of Old Free, his shield barging Rahain clear, his sword slashing out, his blood rising to a boil, hacking his way towards the wagon.
A figure leapt in front of him, holding a sword that arced through the air. He raised his own weapon, and was about to lash out when he caught a glimpse of a pair of green eyes that he recognised.
The figure swung her sword, cutting down an Old Free rebel to Killop’s right.
She smiled at him, then turned again, spinning on her feet and darting through the air, slicing down another pair of rebels who were trying to load their crossbows. Killop gripped his sword, and followed her through the carnage she unleashed, while his squad accounted for any not in the path of Daphne Holdfast.
Killop pushed his sword into the last rebel he could see alive. Around him, his squad were gazing at the fallen. Bridget’s sword was bloody, and she had a cut down her right arm.
He counted. No dead Kellach. He closed his eyes and breathed.
‘Hello.’
He opened his eyes.
Daphne stood before him, her forehead glistening, her sword notched and red. Her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and there was a splash of blood on her cheek. Her left arm wore the armour he had last seen in the dungeons under the Rahain Senate. He stared at her face. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and her emerald eyes pulled him in.
Without a word, he took her in his arms, and they kissed.
The sound of a baby crying filled the night.
Killop laughed.
‘Come on,’ Daphne smiled. ‘Time to meet your daughter.’
Chapter 13
Investiture
A rakhanah City – 10 th Day, Second Third Autumn 506
Shella stared at the crown, trying to ignore the fact that the thousands of people packing the great Parliament Hall of Arakhanah City were all looking at her.
She sat on a raised throne, in the centre of the hall, wrapped in rich robes, her mouth dry.
The crown lay on a soft velvet cushion, atop a pedestal a few paces in front of her. It had a single large diamond, formed by the city’s finest clay mages, that sparkled in rainbow hues, set in a slender white gold band. It was simple, she thought, unlike the ornate hunk of gold that weighed down Guilliam back in the imperial capital.
She shivered, her nerves frayed. Her carriage had arrived late with no days to spare, and Shella had been thrown into the ceremony almost as soon as she had stepped down onto the streets of Arakhanah, the first time she had done so in two years. She had been escorted to Parliament Hall, the centre of Rakanese government, where she had met a line of ministers and commissioners, none of whom she remembered.
Her stomach grumbled, though through fear or hunger she was unable to tell. She had been sitting still for nearly an hour, and the crowds were still pouring in, covering every available inch of the massive hall, the largest indoor space in the entire city. All those people, come to watch a crown get put on her head. Had they come to mock her, to make fun of her ridiculous royal pretensions?
She stole a glance at the massed citizens. None of them seemed to be laughing.
They were angry, then. They were going to kill her.
She took a breath, and told herself to calm.
Around her on a circular podium were gathered the highest officials of the Rakanese government, waiting for the last citizens to cram into the hall. Shella noticed several Holdings men and women mixed in with them, some in the black robes of the church and the One True Path.
Shella suppressed a frown. Of course they would be there, spying and conspiring, just like that bastard Rijon had done when he had advised the Migration to march on Rahain, because the Plateau was supposedly already settled. Everything the priests witnessed would be reported back to Arnault, and through him to Guilliam, of that she had no doubt.
How had the Holdings ended up with a stranglehold on the world? The Migration, she thought, that was where it all began.
The clerk of parliament raised her long metal-tipped staff and banged it on the ground, sending a sharp peal through the hall, just as the entrance doors were closed.
The crowd hushed.
Shella’s heart was beating so loud she was sure everyone on the podium could hear it.
‘People of Arakhanah,’ the clerk said, her powerful voice filling the hall, ‘today, the parliament of our nation, representing the sovereign Rakanese people, shall bestow the title and honours of Princess upon Shellakanawara, as decreed by Emperor Guilliam, Holder of the World.’
Shella closed her eyes at the clerk’s last words, unable to watch the reaction in people’s eyes.
The clerk approached her, flanked by numerous officials.
A young girl, dressed in a simple white robe, and with a garland of flowers on her hair, picked up the crown from its cushion, and held it out.
Shella stared at it.
‘Shellakanawara,’ the clerk said, ‘do you pledge to serve the people of Arakhanah in your position as princess?’
‘I do,’ Shella said.
‘Do you pledge to hold the best interests of the people of Arakhanah closest to your heart?’
‘I do.’
‘Do you pledge to take no heirs, nor pass on the crown to another?’
‘I do.’
‘Do you pledge never to interfere with the democratic governance of the Rakanese people, nor attempt to usurp their authority?’
‘I most certainly do.’
A smile threatened to crack the clerk’s lips. She took the crown from the young girl’s hands.
‘Then, Shellakanawara,’ she said, ‘I declare you our Princess.’
The clerk reached up and placed the crown on Shella’s head.
Silence filled the hall.
Some of the officials on the podium began to clap, then a slow wave of polite applause rippled through the crowd.
The clerk banged her staff on the ground again, then bowed. ‘Your Highness.’
Rakanese government officials gave each other awkward looks, and started to follow the clerk’s lead, lowering their heads towards Shella.
She stood.
‘We’re Rakanese,’ sh
e said, her voice drawing everyone’s attention. ‘We don’t bow to each other.’
She waited for the officials to straighten up, aware that everyone in the hall was staring at her in silence. She scanned the crowd, not recognising a single face.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for making me a princess. I never asked for this, or wanted it. I was more surprised than anyone when I was told that the Holdings saw me as royal because of Obli, my sister. I know that Arakhanah has never had a monarch, or needed one, and I also know that there probably won’t be another one after me.’
She took a breath. The crowd remained hushed; most faces a mixture of bemusement and curiosity.
‘Therefore,’ she went on, ‘when I get back to Plateau City I intend to use my position to do everything I can to argue on behalf of the Rakanese people. On my way here I saw the terrible conditions at the frontier, where a huge wall keeps our people from moving freely about the world. This injustice will be the first thing I bring up with the Emperor.
‘The Plateau is full of Holdings, and Rahain, and Kellach Brigdomin, and even a few Sanang now call it their home. A mere thousand Rakanese have been allowed permits to work in the imperial capital, in the docks, building and handling the great fleet that the Emperor has ordered. The Rakanese people should be allowed to travel freely, and seek new lives and opportunities. The wall must be opened.’
A smattering of applause turned into a cheer, as the crowd in the hall responded to her words. A thrill surged through her, and she smiled.
‘I will use the honour that you have bestowed on me,’ she said, ‘and will never forget to whom I owe my title. I won’t let you down.’
She walked to the front of the podium and raised her hand to wave at the cheering crowd. It occurred to her that any one of them might have brought a knife or a bow into the hall, and there was nothing separating her from the vast throng of people, but didn’t care.
The clerk banged her staff.
‘This session is ended,’ she cried. ‘Princess Shellakanawara will be in audience with the government of Arakhanah for the remainder of the day, and will appear in public at the great banquet scheduled for this evening in Democracy Square, to which all citizens are invited.’
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