With the familiar copper coin—the one emblazoned with the likeness of Jondralyn Bronachell—twining through her fingers, Spades strode toward the prisoners.
“Well,” she said, stopping before Ava Shay, running the fingers of her free hand through a lock of the girl’s blond hair as if inspecting a fine silk scarf. “Aeros will be pleased you are not among those who escaped.” Spades tugged at the girl’s hair and stroked the girl’s face, ending her caress with a sharp, friendly slap to the girl’s cheek.
Ava Shay looked right at him. Caught in her gaze, Gault found only further undoing of his thoughts. She was so frail, so deeply wounded. Looking at the girl made him sad. And he hadn’t felt sadness like this since leaving his stepdaughter Krista in Rokenwalder.
Spades marched down the line of prisoners, smiling broadly at the sight of Jenko. He slouched in his bloodied armor and matted hair, a sulking look on his face.
“And here I’d had you pegged as the brave one,” Spades said. “Yet somehow you’re still tied up. My, my, I reckon you’re stupider than I thought. How humiliated you must be. Your countrymen manage to escape, and here you remain, the trussed-up fool.”
Her words were finding a sore spot as Jenko’s posture was stiffening, and he no longer sulked. His eyes now smoldered.
“Have you no tongue, boy?” Spades flipped her coin up once and caught it casually. “Or was it removed by the one in your group brave enough to organize an escape?”
“Piss off,” Jenko fired.
“You do have a tongue.” Spades stepped back. “That’s what a girl wants to hear. A fellow without a tongue is of little use to a lady, if you take my meaning.”
“Piss off!”
“Keep spewing that kind of sweet talk, my love. I just may show you a tongue-lashing you won’t soon forget.”
Gault stole a glance at Ava Shay. The girl’s frightened eyes bounced between Spades and Jenko. From the look on her face, it was clear that it was not death this girl feared, but something worse. Gault figured Ava had every right to harbor that fear. Spades was never satisfied unless everyone around her was miserable. As if these few survivors of Gallows Haven didn’t have enough to contend with: the destruction of their town, the slaughter of their loved ones, slavery—and now Enna Spades.
Every prisoner recoiled in fear as the Angel Prince crested the grassy knoll. He was flanked by Hammerfiss and Spiderwood. Aeros’ spectral presence had a way of striking despair into even the most seasoned of warriors, and those less hardened stood no chance—especially with Hammerfiss and Spiderwood looming at his side. The feeling of utter dread was palpable among the prisoners as the Angel Prince, stark-white hair billowing out behind him in the breeze, stalked down the knoll toward them. He was wearing his customary white cloak, open in the front, revealing his blue sword, Sky Reaver, knee-high black boots with iron-studded toes, and tan woolen leggings over which lay the pearl-colored chain-mail tunic and black belt. When he came to a stop near Gault, his milky eyes bore down on the prisoners, black pupils narrow and focused.
“Bring that one to me,” Aeros said, pointing at Jenko.
Hammerfiss grabbed Jenko and yanked him from the line.
“Give me your name,” Aeros ordered.
Jenko remained silent, defiance in his eyes.
Hammerfiss slapped his face. “Name!”
“Jenko.”
Hammerfiss slapped the boy’s face again. “Do it proper,” he said coldly.
Jenko’s eyes now burned as hotly as the red mark on his cheek. Spades stepped up next to Hammerfiss. “What he means is you must bow before your lord when speaking to him. Now say your name again. Bow and say, ‘My name is Jenko, my lord.’ And give us your last name too while you’re at it.”
Jenko spat at the feet of Hammerfiss. With a meaty fist, the red-haired giant punched Jenko in the breastplate so hard it left a dent and knocked the young man to the ground. Hammerfiss kicked sand into his face before hauling him to his feet again.
“There, there.” Spades pocketed her copper coin, brushing the sand from Jenko’s shoulders and hair. “Things will only go bad for you until you do it our way. It’s not so hard. Now, go on, show the others how it’s done proper.”
Jenko looked at the ground, humiliation and anger in his very posture.
“We haven’t all day,” Spades added.
Jenko bowed, wincing as he did so, and said, “My name is Jenko Bruk, my lord.”
“Excellent,” Aeros said. “Son of Baron Bruk, I presume?”
Spades smiled wickedly. “A man who would slice up his own father to save a girl. I like it. Very delicious.”
Aeros said, “You will have the pleasure of accompanying me on a short journey, Jenko Bruk. But first, I insist that you tell me the names and ages of every person who escaped two nights ago. Start with the four dead on the ground, then name the girl up there.” Aeros’ long finger pointed languidly up to the mole-faced girl’s head.
Jenko’s gaze went from the dead townsfolk to the head on the stake. “Why should I answer to you?”
Hammerfiss slapped him across the face again. Aeros said coldly, “I will have Hammerfiss kill you if you do not answer me.”
“I’m already dead.” Jenko’s dark eyes traveled from Hammerfiss out to the bay, where the masts of a grayken-hunting ship stuck up out of the dark water of the sea like skeletal fingers clawing from a grave.
“I too feel remorse.” The Angel Prince followed his gaze. “Truly, that ship could have been put to a much better use. Some soldiers don’t think before they act. Battle lust hits them and they just pillage and burn. I could have used that ship to ferry more Sør Sevier soldiers onto Gul Kana soil. Many thousands more of us still wait in Wyn Darrè.”
Aeros studied the masts of the sunken ship. “To take back the lands of Adin Wyte and Wyn Darrè that were stolen from us ages ago is one thing, but to bring about the utter ruin of the nation of Gul Kana and the Church of Laijon, who orchestrated the stealing, is quite another. At the same time, to destroy such a fine ship is a waste.” He then nodded to the Bloodwood.
Spiderwood stalked forward and snatched the girl Ava Shay from the line and marched her toward Aeros, a black dagger at her throat.
A hollow feeling crept into Gault’s gut.
The Angel Prince’s gaze sharpened as he leaned closer to Jenko, voice now laced with menace. “Answer my question. Who are they?”
Jenko remained silent. Hammerfiss slapped him again, saying, “Torching the chapel after taking a shit on your bishop’s holy book gave me great pleasure.” He looked at Ava Shay. “As will watching ten of my lord’s largest warriors rape your pretty little girlfriend right here, right now, right in front of you. And afterward I will order Bloodwood to split her open.”
At Hammerfiss’ words, the hollow feeling in Gault’s gut grew. He realized that he did not want to see the girl hurt any more than Jenko did.
“We already know you love the girl. We know you would maim and torture your own kin for her. So do as my lord has asked,” Hammerfiss continued in a tone low and deadly. “Now, who are they?”
Jenko looked to the bodies on the ground, swallowed hard, and quickly rattled off the names of the dead. “Simon Maclean. Livingstone Parry. Gabby Wiffel. And the last one is some old mud farmer from around Bedford, and I don’t know his name.”
Aeros pointed up to the head on the stake.
“Polly Mott.”
“And who escaped and how did they escape?”
Jenko swallowed again, brow furrowed. “Stefan Wayland escaped,” he said, eyes on Ava Shay. She trembled as the Bloodwood’s dagger tightened against her throat. “And Gisela,” Jenko said. “But I don’t recall her last name. Beyond that . . .” He stopped, frustration on his face.
“You must remember all,” Aeros said. “There are two others unaccounted for.”
“Liz Hen Neville,” Ava Shay blurted. “Plus Nail. That’s all of them. Now I beg you, leave him alone.” Spiderwood tightened his
grip on her.
Aeros’ eyebrows rose, his gaze traveling up and down the length of the girl. “You must really love Jenko Bruk to speak without my leave,” he said.
Ava’s simple woolen shift clung damply to the front of her body. Gault found it hard not to look at her.
“How did they escape?” Aeros drew close to Ava. “Who was it that killed my guards behind the tent? Was it the man Shawcroft as the Bloodwood claims? Who is Nail?”
Ava’s nervous eyes found Jenko. Her mouth moved, yet no words issued forth.
Aeros reached out, the backs of his pale fingers touching her cheek. “It seems you know more about this town than Jenko.” His fingers then gently pushed Spiderwood’s black blade into her flesh, breaking the skin; blood trickled.
“Nail is just a bastard,” Jenko said with a sudden, strained eagerness in his voice. “His master cut the tent open. It was he who killed the guards. His name is Shawcroft.”
“Thank you.” Aeros’ eyes were now darting between Ava and Jenko. “Now if you will both kindly come with me?”
As if guarding the dead, the two lichen-covered boulders rose over the path like unmovable sentinels. The trail beyond the two rocks was littered with about twenty-five dead Knights of the Blue Sword, one horse, and a lone Gallows Haven man—a stout fellow with short-cropped dark hair. He lay in the center of the carnage. A longsword bearing a black opal hilt was in the dirt at his side. A Dayknight blade. Gault had seen their like before—King Borden Bronachell had borne one similar. So had Jubal Bruk.
Many of the Sør Sevier dead were familiar to Gault. Some had arrows protruding in sharp angles from their breastplates and the tops of their shoulders, others with deep, bloody gashes from a powerful edged weapon of some kind. Gault gazed up at the steep, winding trail ahead, locating an overhanging pine some distance above. Whoever had fired the arrows had fired them from up there. It would take skill to shoot so many from so high. Beyond the pine, storm clouds gathered at the mountain peaks higher above. At the sight of the boiling gray clouds, Gault was glad it was Stabler searching for the escaped prisoners and not he.
“Recognize him?” Aeros kicked the corpse of the Gallows Haven man. He looked at Jenko and Ava, both of whom Hammerfiss now untied. Ava held her hand over her mouth as her gaze ranged over the bloody scene. By the frenetic movements of her eyes, Gault figured she was searching for someone familiar among the dead. But it seemed the stout fellow with the Dayknight sword was the only Gallows Haven casualty here.
“Well?” Aeros continued, eyes on Jenko. “What do you make of this?”
Jenko knelt, examining the corpse. “This is Shawcroft. He was the one who slit open the tent and rescued the others.”
“As I said.” Spiderwood seemed to be looking straight through Aeros. “I’ve met the man before. It was Ser Roderic. I killed him. A death long overdue. A death your father has long sought, a man your father ordered me to kill.”
“I would have preferred him taken alive,” Aeros said.
“Taking Ser Roderic alive was never an option.”
“Who do you wager fired these arrows into my men?” Aeros asked Jenko, turning form the Bloodwood.
Jenko stood, eyes on the arrows bristling from the dead Sør Sevier knights. “Stefan Wayland was good with a bow. He bested me in the archery competition. Stefan could’ve easily shot these men.”
“What a load of hog shit!” Spades grunted. “There is no way one village boy shot down nearly ten of our knights.”
“He could if he were perched somewhere up on that trail.” Beneath Hammerfiss’ beard was a wide, mocking smile. “I doubt even a Bloodwood could cause so much havoc with just one bow.”
Spiderwood, still near Aeros, pretended not to hear, though Gault detected a further tightening around his eyes. “There were four people up there, actually,” the Bloodwood remarked to no one in particular. “A young bowman was with them. He nicked my armor with one of these scattered arrows. A good shot, to that I can attest.”
Aeros pointed up the trail. “Where does it lead?”
“Most trails around here lead to the Roahm Mines,” Jenko answered.
Aeros squinted. “None of my archers or soldiers or even their squires were killed during the siege of this town. Now this one man, Shawcroft, has killed near a dozen guardsmen near the tent, twenty more in town before that, and with the help of a lone bowman, these twenty-five at our feet. That’s a lot. Killed as silent as you please—that’s before my Bloodwood finally took him out. What say you to that, Jenko Bruk?”
Gault noticed a small transformation on the young man’s face. Gone was the boorish defiance. Grit and moxie and pride now showed in him. He was a stout lad; dangerous, too. After all, here was a fellow who had dismembered his own father.
There was something new and calculating lurking behind Jenko’s eyes now, and the words came spitting from his mouth in a rush. “I say it’s a fucking wondrous thing that Stefan Wayland and Shawcroft killed so many of you bloodsucking oghuls.”
Aeros did not react to the outburst. Instead he looked up at the steep winding trail and the billowing clouds casting dark shadows over the rugged terrain higher up.
“Well,” he said, eyes falling again on Jenko. “Shawcroft rots at your feet. And Stabler will have Stefan Wayland back here soon. Or he’ll have him dead. Either way, I care not. It is Shawcroft’s young ward, Nail, that I want brought back alive.”
* * *
And it came to pass that at the time of final Dissolution, he died upon the tree, nailed thusly, purging all man’s Abomination, the sword of Affliction piercing his side. Thus all was sanctified. Upon the altar they laid his body in the shape of the Cross Archaic. And as prophesied in all Doctrine, Mia took up the angel stones. And it came to pass, the five stones of Final Atonement she placed into the wound manifest.
—THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NAIL
5TH DAY OF THE MOURNING MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
AUTUMN RANGE, GUL KANA
They’d spent most of the night in the mines with no sleep. Nobody complained, though, so scared of the pursuing knights, they just kept plodding along. Now they were out and still hiking. Morning had come. The bowels of the mountain had been chilly, but this stream-carved gorge was a dauntingly frigid place. Its rock walls were sheer in spots, jagged in others, but constantly looming black and oppressive. Roiling crisp waters crashed and thundered over stone and boulder beside their path. Soot-gray clouds were billowing in overhead.
Once out of the mines, Nail had removed the scarf from Lilly’s eyes. This led to a renewed vigor in the pony’s step. The click and clack of Lilly’s hooves now echoed behind him, Liz Hen leading her, Zane and Gisela following. The huge battle-ax was strapped to the pony’s back along with what little remained of their gear.
Ever since Nail had first touched the ax, it seemed almost a breathing, living thing. He could not stop thinking of it, or the stone.
He held no illusions that they had lost the Sør Sevier knights in the mines. He knew men as determined as those would find a way over the chasm. He just hoped they had put enough space between them and the knights to reach the abbey safely.
“This old armor has rubbed me raw in more places than I can count,” Stefan said from the back of the line.
“See,” Dokie muttered, elbowing Liz Hen. “Exactly how my bum feels too.”
“Shut your yapper.” Liz Hen shoved the smaller boy up the trail.
Nail also felt his chest plate rubbing him raw, though he scarcely noticed anymore unless he specifically dwelled on it. And even though the air around him was colder than a witch’s knucklebone, the bulky armor was making him sweat. But there was naught he could do. It was the only thing keeping him somewhat warm.
They traveled in silence, traipsing up the trail, following the roiling stream to the top of the gorge and out onto a flat bit of terrain that led them into a thick forest. Up so high, t
he air held a trace of pale crispness, but the fast-rolling clouds above would soon make things colder come nightfall. Shawcroft had warned of being caught high in the mountains at night. The spring temperatures in Gallows Haven far below might be comfortable, while the high places of the mountains could freeze a man dead in hours.
Aspens flanked their path. In some stretches, the trail was lined with columns of cone-shaped pine with low-swooping boughs. Through breaks in the trees, Nail saw the vaulting terrain high above. They were probably no more than halfway up the Autumn Range, perhaps five thousand feet above sea level. On all sides reared steep mountains, and at over ten thousand feet, their snow-crusted peaks were cloaked in shades of deep purple and blue.
They broke from the forest into a clearing pocked with standing-stones. Their meandering path, bounded by reeds and thickets of undergrowth, led them around a deep mountain lake that Nail knew was teeming with fish. But without a way to catch them, or to cook them properly, there was little reason to stop. That savage black bears and saber-toothed mountain lions haunted the Autumn Range was not lost on Nail’s imagination. He missed Shawcroft’s calm, steady presence in the mountains. He had never worried when traveling these paths with his master.
Zane’s breathing had been fading in and out ever since exiting the mines, eventually settling into a long, rattling wheeze. The boy soon toppled over on the trail, landing flat on his face, moaning in pain. Beer Mug barked, scampering in circles around Zane, then stopped and howled mournfully. Liz Hen dragged her injured brother to his feet. Zane’s freckled face was gray and drooping in pain.
“Let’s divide the gear. Zane can ride on Lilly,” Nail suggested, though he knew the pony was too small an animal to sustain Zane’s weight for long. Still, he untied the ax and sackcloth packs. They slid from the pony’s drooping back to the ground.
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