A single lantern burned low in the corridor, bringing more shadow than light. There were two doorways. The first with a rotted door lying open, was revealed by a quick glance to be a dingy storeroom bereft of stores. The second was clearly their goal. Better lit than the corridor, it spilled light through a door that was shut, but barely in better condition than that of the storeroom.
More important than the light coming out from it was the possibility it offered through it. If they did have to charge into a room filled with murderers and cut-throats, as Brann envisaged them, at least they would not be so blinded by ignorance and guesswork as to what awaited them.
Konall edged up to the door, the thick dust on the floor masking any scrape his boots may inadvertently have made. Conscious that old floorboards have a tendency to creak, he placed his feet slowly and carefully. Brann, however, was not so worried about noisy floorboards: a broken section of the planks as they had entered the corridor had revealed that it had been constructed cheaply, the wood having been laid directly upon the earthen floor beneath rather than suspended on joists above it. The point soon became immaterial in any case, as the volume of voices from the room increased as several men began talking over each other. Konall eased his head to look through a crack in the door, then hurriedly waved Brann past him to reach the other side of the doorway while the animation of the occupants distracted them from any possible movement in the corridor, however fleeting it may be. It would have only taken one man within the room to be looking in the direction of the rickety door to see a shape passing by, and their advantage of surprise would be lost.
Brann flattened himself against the wall, breathing hard from the tension more than any exertion, before following Konall’s lead and slowly rolling his head around to peer through the nearest crack. A group of men were gathered around a rough table that was only marginally in a better state than the door through which they were looking. Most of them were sitting but one was standing, a stool lying on its side behind him, his hands on the table as he leant forwards, red-faced and shouting. Two other men were bawling back at him, one of whom also rose to his feet as he found himself increasingly unable to contain his anger. As far as Brann could tell amid the raucous confusion, they were arguing over the apportioning of blame regarding plans having to be changed and brought forward. Brann counted quickly; the old beggar – his stomach lurched again at the thought of the old man’s demise – had not lied in that respect, anyway. Seven men were present, including Loku, who sat impassively watching the argument and waiting, presumably, for the best moment to intervene. Most of the men looked of similar build as the guard lying dead in the other room: bruisers, but quick enough of movement to give a heightened sense of danger and with a liberal enough collection of scars and inflicted deformities to suggest an ability to survive situations that those who had given them the wounds had not possessed.
The look of them and the manner of the arguing also conveyed an impression that these men were more than just common criminals, although they displayed none of the quality of clothing, jewels or weapons that would be expected of leaders of the underworld. That would probably suit Loku best, Brann guessed: they would be more reliable than the most basic level of street thugs in respect of both carrying out plans and keeping confidence, and would be less ambitious and cunning – and less liable to double-cross Loku to their own ends – than those at the top of the tree.
One man was different: a lean, hard and opulent man sat to one side of Loku, lounging back in his chair with an air of indifference betrayed by the disdain in his eyes for those before him. He could have been a leading underworld figure, but Brann had a strong feeling that he was a nobleman, and of high rank.
Konall glanced across and caught Brann’s attention. He gestured that they should listen and watch, then leave the way they had come. Brann acknowledged him. He liked the thought that, perhaps, it had been his influence that had curbed the more impetuous side of a future leader in this land. In any case, Konall’s decision made sense: they had more to gain in the long run by giving Sigurr the plotters’ precise plans and letting the lords decide how to use the information most effectively – the alternative (charging into the room, swords swinging) seemed, in light of the imbalance in numbers, to be one of suicidal folly.
He returned his attention to the room. The argument had heated more and the hand of one of the men strayed to the hilt of his knife. Loku noticed the movement and, judging that he could afford to wait no longer to intervene, stood in a measured movement that was enough in itself to prompt the raised voices to peter out abruptly.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said in a form of address that, given his audience, could not be further from appropriate. His deep, smooth tone contrasted sharply with the clamour it replaced. ‘We are wasting time debating fault. It matters not, now, who – if anyone – is to blame or if anyone has or has not done their job properly: it will have no effect on what we do next.’
The hulking man who had initiated the argument picked up his stool and sat down, prompting his opponent to follow suit. His face still flushed, he growled, ‘So what do we do next?’
‘That was what I was trying to tell you before you became a little over-excited,’ Loku purred. ‘As I said, the plans have changed. Why, is of no consequence. My master has decreed it and that is enough reason for me. If you are fond of life, it will be enough for you, also.’ The silence around the table was eloquent agreement. ‘Our new orders are simple: the lords must die. Both of them, and their sons, to prevent any accession. Their women, also, in case they are pregnant, and any female personal servants – I do not want any bastards appearing in years to come, just when we have got the population subdued.’
The three boys looked at one another in shock. They did not know what was worse – the horrific plan unfolding before them, or the calm way in which it was being accepted by those in the room, as if it were perfectly normal to discuss the imminent genocide of a land’s rulers. Brann made to move: they must warn the lords immediately. Konall’s raised hand and Loku’s voice stopped him, however. He took a breath and urged himself to calm down. They must glean as much of the plans as possible to give the nobles the best chance of thwarting the assassination attempt.
Loku’s tone became intense, his eyes compelling as his words gripped everyone within and outwith the room. ‘You must remember, this is not a single act. This is the beginning of a new era, and the few of us in this room will play an important part in its formation over the years to come.’ Brann seriously doubted that this were true for anyone other than the well-dressed man and Loku himself, but the others in the room were rapt. The ambassador continued, ‘We are further ahead with the same process across the water,’ Brann caught his breath, ‘and we know from that experience that what we are about to do here is crucial. The existing regime must be wiped out in one swift act, and replaced with the new order,’ he slapped the man beside him on the shoulder, ‘before the people are aware of it. Then, we can tell them what we want to explain it, and they will have no option but to believe it. In any case, they will soon have too much to worry about in staying alive and with their families to cause any trouble – the most effective and efficient way of using people and keeping them where you want them is through fear, as I am sure you will all agree,’ there were nods around the table, and several dark smiles, ‘and if there is one thing we are good at, it is fear. If you doubt me, take a trip across the sea.
‘Once we have these lands under our control, the same tactics can be used in the next, and so on. As our power grows, it will move quicker – the need for subterfuge will grow less as our combined might becomes enough to persuade other warlords to accede to us, or enough to crush them if they do not agree. Eventually, this will become one country, as it should always have been, under one king, my master.
‘Once we combine it with the islands over the water, we have the beginnings of a very rapidly assembled empire. All from our actions that we start in this room tonight. Now. That
is the destiny, the history, that we are creating.’
He paused, letting the drama hang in the air. There was no dissent. Brann was eager to go, and knew Hakon and, particularly, Konall would be even more so. But they had to force themselves to wait to hear the actual plans for assassination. Fortunately, their impatience on that score was matched by one of the men at the table.
‘That’s all very well,’ he said, ‘but how is it to be done? With poison you might miss some of them and that stronghold is too tough to storm and, even if we slip a band of us in there, it is too well-filled with warriors to ensure that our knives would do the business in time before we are swamped by them.’
‘Very true, very true, my astute friend,’ Loku said smoothly. ‘But you are forgetting that I am privy to knowledge of the movements and actions of the esteemed nobles, as I am living among them – especially when those movements are suggested by myself. I have suggested to the nobles that they ease their current tension with a brief break for an outdoor banquet that I have prepared for them in gratitude for the hospitality they have shown me. As such efforts have been made by a guest as high ranking as an ambassador, it is impossible for them to refuse.
‘I have dictated the location for the pleasantries, so I know the route they will be taking. And I have nearly a hundred of my men from the hills who have been living in holes and bushes along that route for the last few days – do not worry about them, they are used to such conditions.’ None of those present looked concerned for them anyway.
Konall made to leave, but Brann frantically caught his attention. ‘When?’ he mouthed.
The tall boy nodded once, then turned his attention back to the room. Hakon stood, white-faced, behind him, listening but also watching the corridor to avoid being surprised by any late-comers or messengers.
‘But who are “your men from the hills”? How can we trust them?’ one man said in a hoarse voice that was explained, Brann concluded, by the wide scar across his throat.
‘You cannot trust them,’ Loku smiled, then held up a hand to hush the murmur that ran around the room, ‘but I can. They look on me as their master, their saviour, for I have given them a life, a community, an identity. They are wasters, the lowlifes, the scum of the streets, who have no respect for others and even less for themselves. Most importantly, they have one quality above all that I have sought in gathering them, and that is a quality that I have nurtured and developed into obsessive levels, for I have given them a religion based upon it. That quality is the enjoyment they find, for whatever reason, in the pain and suffering of others, and through the power of a religion that glorifies that enjoyment and indulges it, through blood-soaked ceremonies and a culture of torture and dismemberment as public entertainment, I have created an army of savages, capable of – even desiring – atrocities and horror beyond anything you or I could commit ourselves. Religion is a powerful tool. But especially so when enhanced with certain rather useful herbs found in certain regions in the Empire. Herbs that, once a person indulges, a craving is born. And, most usefully to us, herbs that if taken in a certain combination, creates an ever-increasing need to release energy, a frustration that produces a frenzied fury.’ The atmosphere in the room was still, heavy. Loku looked slowly around the men before him. ‘Well might you look uneasy. Well might you feel nervous. This combination of religion, the frenzy of the herbs and their natural cruelty means that these are not people you would want to be among. But,’ he shrugged, ‘as high priest of their religion and source of the herbs, I have absolute power over them. Which, for all your distaste, makes them highly effective shock troops. And they, above all, will be our tool of fear when we need it. Already we have been raiding villages, sowing the seeds. Once we have power, we will, as across the sea, use them very effectively to make sure the people live in the climate of obedience we would desire. We only have around one hundred of them here tonight, for it would have been hard to move and hide more than that, but that is enough to ensure there will be very little left of the aristocratic party. And I mean very little. But I have several communities, spread throughout the mountains. There are more than enough to maintain appropriate terror throughout the lands when our time comes.’
He smiled, coldly. ‘So, my friends, you will not be called upon to do the dirty work: my savages will take care of that for you. I will ensure our next warlord,’ he gripped the man beside him by the shoulder, ‘is in place in the seat of power to quell the panic that will ensue as news filters in of the tragic demise of Lord Sigurr and his family at the hands of a raiding party of wildmen. And your job is to pass among the common people, spreading the news through your own men to the masses that Lord Balki, here, has stepped into the breach to fill the gap and has vowed to hunt down the marauders and ensure the attacks on this town never return – a brave and commendable gesture by a minor noble, I’m sure we all agree.’ He laughed. ‘I, will, of course, ensure that the attacks do stop to entrench his position and ensure the trust of the people until our regime can begin in earnest.
‘But we must move urgently, for…’ The boys made ready to leave quickly – here, surely, was the crucial detail of the timing of the attack. Brann was already thinking that they should arrange the two bodies in the other room to make it look as if they had fought, and killed, each other – however unlikely that outcome may seem, the men in the room before them would probably have so much of greater importance on their minds that they would not care or wonder too much about the exact circumstances of the pair’s deaths.
Loku was continuing, ‘…for we strike tonight.’ The trio looked at each other. Tonight! They must reach Sigurr at once. But Loku was not finished. ‘You must go now to organise your own men. I have a man on the roof, ready to give a signal. The banqueting party will be leaving any time now, expecting to meet me at the destination they will never reach. At my man’s signal, the mountain men will move to the ambush site in time for the warlord’s passing.’ He laughed, a chilling sound. ‘My only regret is that I will not be there to see it.’
The men stood, but looked hesitant to leave. One of them growled, ‘What about our pay? You said you would have it tonight, and it looks as if things will get very confused and busy from now on. I want my money now, so I know I’ve got it.’
‘Oh, I am disappointed,’ Loku said grandly. ‘I had thought that helping to create history and receiving a place in the new order would have been reward enough for you.’ Before they could react, he continued smoothly, ‘Panic not. I merely jest.’ He produced a small, but apparently heavy, sack from beneath the table. ‘I will divide this, then you can be on your way and I will see my man on the roof.’
Brann glanced across at his companions. They nodded – they all knew that they had no option, that they must reach Loku before he could reach the roof. The clinking of coins revealed that the disbursement of the payment was beginning. Konall attracted Brann’s attention. He was proffering a sword – Brann realised he had taken it from the guard they had killed.
He shook his head and indicated Hakon. He felt that the page, with his weapons training, would find it far more useful. Hakon, however, peered around Konall and, grinning, showed him that he had brought a sword with him – in his misery earlier, and with the rapid progression of events, Brann had not noticed that Hakon was armed. It was unusual for a page to walk around town with a sword on his belt – except, he mused, after dark when it was probably more prudent.
He held out his hand for the weapon. Konall started to toss it over to him, then, remembering Brann’s dismal catching ability, changed his mind. His eyes narrowing in brief amusement, he held the sword by the blade and reached it across to the waiting boy. Brann took hold of the hilt – it was a short sword, probably the weapon of choice of many criminal figures because it could be hidden more easily and was more practical in confined spaces, a factor that could prove helpful very soon. He hefted it experimentally, finding it, to his untrained eye, to appear of fairly good quality and well maintained – certain
ly far better than the decrepit weapons found on the bandits on the mountains.
Further examination was not possible. Catching him by surprise with the suddenness of his move, Konall took one step back and slammed his boot sole in the door. Amazingly, the wood held, but the latch did not, and the door crashed back against the wall. Konall threw himself into the room with Hakon close behind and bellowed, ‘In the name of the warlord, throw down your weapons! Two men, follow me – the rest wait in the corridor and watch the exits.’
Caught by surprise, Brann had been left momentarily outside the room. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself after the other two, remembering just in time to avoid careering into the back of them. But there was little chance of that happening. Years of warrior training kicked in and the two boys in front of him barely paused before falling into a routine that was born of countless hours of practice. They split right and left to pick their targets, but stayed close enough together to avoid becoming isolated. The men they faced may have been common criminals, but they were hardened enough to react almost instantly to the sudden invasion of their room. They did not, as Konall had optimistically ordered, give up their weapons – rather they drew them and, with a growl of rage at being threatened in their own environment, turned upon the intruders. Whether or not they believed Konall’s orders to his imaginary squad of men was irrelevant: their sole intent was to swat away the immediate threat in front of them in the form of three young boys. One of them up-ended the table and, as it fell, it pushed across the room, forming a low barrier that split the area in two; on the nearside, four of the men faced the boys, while the other half of the room held Loku, Balki and a wiry man with a dark moustache and a calculating darkness in his eyes.
Without a pause, Konall and Hakon fell upon the men in front of them. Konall, to Brann’s right, faced two, each of whom seemed twice his width without a trace of fat in sight, while Hakon, to his left, was engaging a man with more scars than skin on his twisted face. In the centre, the fourth man – the hulk who had initiated the earlier argument – either did not notice Brann or rated him inconsequential. He directed his attention, and a heavy murderous cudgel, at the side of Hakon’s head in a killing blow that would have mashed his skull into pulp.
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