The Cold Commands alffh-2

by Richard Morgan

  Yes, I do.

  A pardon after the murder of an imperial knight in his own bedchamber and the rape of his wife, the death of three City Guardsmen last night, an imperial man-at-arms just this morning, and now six others I m told may never be sane again?

  Ringil shifted impatiently. Yes.

  Do you really think imperial justice can be bought and sold in this fashion?

  I think imperial justice will take it up the arse from Your Radiance for a clutched fistful of small change. Sharp, indrawn breaths from the courtiers in attendance. Ringil ignored them.

  I think imperial justice is exactly what you say it is on any given day of the week, and I think the court and wider nobility will get in line behind that like the whipped dogs they are.

  Outraged propriety held the company rigid. Taran Alman, King s Reach commander, fingered the pommel of his court sword. Noyal Rakan spotted the move and stiffened. The King s man who d brought Egar and Ringil in leaned to his commander s ear and whispered urgently. Alman seemed to shake his head fractionally, disbelieving, but he relinquished the grip on his weapon and folded his arms. His stare stayed hard on Ringil.

  Archeth put a weary hand across her eyes.

  The silk-tented coracle s rocking settled back toward stability.

  Oddly, the first person in the room to recover seemed to be the Emperor. Jhiral inclined his head gravely, as if told some interesting piece of court intelligence. He lowered himself back into his chair. Fixed Archeth with a look.

  So, he said, mock-genial. This is still the man you intend to entrust with diplomatic relations on your quest to the north. Is that correct?

  Archeth grimaced and bowed her head. Yes, my lord.

  Jhiral brooded on the figure in front of him. Black-cloaked, hollow-eyed, and not recently shaven, Ringil stood out in the colored silk surroundings like death in a harem.

  Somehow, the Emperor said finally, despite my lady Archeth s confidence, I don t imagine diplomacy as your principal skill.

  Ringil smiled thinly. No, my lord.

  But according to my inquiries, you re a very useful hand at butchery. You rallied the Throne Eternal at Beksanara, you turned back the dwenda advance. My witnesses all seem very definite on that point.

  Yes, my lord.

  And you say you can do the same here? Simply by murdering Pashla Menkarak?

  Ringil shook his head. I can t promise that killing the invigilator will drive the dwenda away. They are not a unified race; their incursions into our world seem to lack any overall campaign plan. And four thousand years in exile has rusted their facility in dealing with humans. They are uncertain, working from ancient memories, relearning what they need to know only as they encounter it. But this much I do know they depend upon human allies at every turn. Destroy those allies, and you cripple whatever plans they may have.

  His Imperial Radiance sat back in the sandalwood chair, rested his chin on one fist, and stared at Ringil some more. You do know that we ve already sent several highly skilled assassins into the Citadel after Menkarak. Not one of them came back.

  So I hear. Ringil gestured, as if Egar stood beside him in the company. And if evidence were needed to support the Dragonbane s word, then I submit that this is it.

  Yes, well. Be that as it may, the men we sent failed, and in the meantime Menkarak is still strutting around, making inflammatory speeches about the suffering faithful in Demlarashan. Jhiral leaned forward again, intent. Can you get this done for me, Eskiath?

  For the right price, I can.

  Which we ve already been over, yes, thank you. The Emperor s lip curled. I pay out a mercenary cutthroat by forgiving the murder of an imperial war hero at the hands of a steppe barbarian who can t keep his dick in his breeches. Hardly the stuff of heroic legend, is it?

  Ringil shrugged. I don t doubt the palace has poets on staff who could embellish the tale to suit, my lord. If a more inspiring account is ever required, for more public consumption.

  More silence.

  Then the Emperor laughed.

  Coughed it out at first, startled, disbelieving. Sat back again, laughed longer, louder. Gave himself over to it while those around him exchanged wary, mystified glances. Ringil watched him, impassive. A stiff pause hung over the rest of the company, until, finally, Jhiral s laughter slowed to a halt. He cleared his throat and shook his head, a man apparently bemused by what was before him.

  You know the real problem here? Hmm? Jhiral looked around at the assembly, inviting guesses no one was inclined to venture. I like this guy. That s the problem. I can t help it, Archeth, I like him. You chose well.

  He turned his attention back to Gil.

  I like you, Ringil Eskiath, Prophet take me up the arse if I don t. You re an arrogant little northern thug, you re trading on not much more than old war stories, a belly for violence, and a few family connections. Thin, grim slice of a smile on his lips now. And from what I hear, your bedroom practices wouldn t bear much scrutiny, either. But there it is I like you. What am I to do?

  Ringil inclined his head gravely. Hid his own smile in the corner of his mouth. Jhiral looked around at the others again, humor fading out to something colder.

  Give me a hundred men like this one, he said, slow-gathering weight on the words. And we could crush Demlarashan overnight just the way my father crushed Vanbyr. If ever I saw a tool suited to purpose, it stands before me now. Very well. Nodding grimly. Yes. I will meet these terms. Prophet knows it s going to cost me the Ashant clan s allegiance, but if it rids me of Menkarak, I ll count that a minor inconvenience. Archeth, you will need to make arrangements for the Dragonbane s discreet disappearance from the city.

  Immediately, my lord.

  No, not immediately. The Emperor s gaze settled speculatively on Ringil s face. The Dragonbane will remain a guest of the palace until such time as our new royal assassin here returns victorious. Payment upon completion of contract, I think we d all agree, is the best way forward.

  They all agreed, in silence.

  Ringil nodded. And if I don t make it back?

  Well, that would be a shame. But if news of Pashla Menkarak s demise reaches our ears and is confirmed by other sources, say within three days, then I will likewise judge our pact completed. Your terms will be honored, posthumously. You have my word.

  Three days.

  Yes. It s a holy number among the horse tribes down here. Jhiral smiled bleakly. Appropriate, wouldn t you say.

  There s a certain resonance. Ringil examined the nails of his right hand. And just to be clear if at the end of these three days, no news of myself or Menkarak s demise is forthcoming?

  The Emperor lost his smile.

  Well, then matters will become very simple indeed. I ll assume you to have failed as the others all did. And I will not, after all, need to forgo the good offices of clan Ashant.

  He leaned forward, eyes locked with Gil s.

  Is that clear enough for you, my cutthroat northern friend?

  They put him back in the cell with egar after that.

  He didn t much mind. In Yhelteth, as in Trelayne, nobility sat in prisons a lot classier than those built for commoners, at least until their longer-term fate was decided. They had tower views of the estuary, albeit through solid bars, regular meals from the palace kitchen, albeit cold by the time they arrived, and well-made room fittings, albeit somewhat worn with use. The purges had seen a steady stream of high-born offenders and their families brought through since the accession, and the traffic was beginning to take its toll on the soft furnishings.

  So the mattresses on the two narrow cots were rather lumpy, the plush on the desk chair was threadbare in places, and the once softly pristine desk leather was specked and stained with ink from myriad appeals, confessions, and lawyers instructions written out upon it.

  You re sure you can trust them on this, Gil?

  Yeah, I told you. Ringil sat slumped in the chair, staring at the spills and stains as if at some obscure map of where he was going
next. He likes me.

  Egar grunted. Neat trick. How d you pull that off?

  I don t know.

  The Dragonbane shifted his back against the lumps in the mattress. Watched the bars of orange evening light retreating inch by inch across the ceiling over his head. He hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the stiff pain in his wounded leg, and limped to the window. If you leaned hard against the bars and peered left, you could just make out the rise of the Citadel, like a jagged canine tooth against the southside sky. He stared at it for a while.

  Can t believe they re not going to let me go with you.

  I can t believe you ever thought they would.

  What? Egar left the window and came and stood over him. I found the fucking dwenda, didn t I? Weren t for me, no one in this city would be any the wiser, we d all just be sitting on our hands and looking the wrong fucking way when Menkarak rolls out his angel horde.

  If that s what he plans to do.

  Well The Dragonbane, momentarily taken aback. What else would it be?

  I don t know. Ringil heaved himself to his feet and squeezed past on his way to the other bed. His boot caught on a small child s rag doll dropped at the desk by some previous occupant sent it skidding across the cold stone floor. The dwenda aren t human, Eg. It probably doesn t pay to reason as if they were. And whatever they want, they re the ones using Menkarak, not the other way around.

  Yeah, but

  Menkarak may think he s assembling an angelic guard to storm the palace and take back the Empire for God and the Revelation. Gil seated himself on the edge of the bed, stared at the discarded doll for a moment. He rolled his neck, trying to work out a crick. Or whatever. But that doesn t necessarily make it so.

  Well, if that s the case, I mean Egar gestured helplessly. Is killing Menkarak going to do any good?

  Ringil looked up and flashed him a smile. I have no idea.

  Egar stared at him. Went and sat opposite on the other bed, shoulders slumped. I thought you d know what to do.

  I do know what to do. Gil swiveled and swung his legs onto the bed, lay full-length, and studied the ceiling. I m going to get into the Citadel, open Menkarak s throat, and get you pardoned. The rest of it, I ll make up as I go along.

  But the dwenda have to be protecting him.

  Gil yawned. Judging by the dismal failure of Jhiral s other assassins, yeah, I d say so.

  Then you can t go in there alone!

  Why not? He turned his head on the pillow and looked across at the Dragonbane. They fall down just like men, remember. I ve killed dwenda before.

  Not alone!

  Eg, look. Ringil sighed. Propped himself up on his elbows. Be reasonable. Even if they would let you out of here, there s a hole in your leg the size of a tent flap, the rest of you looks like it got chewed up and spat out by steppe ghouls. You re in no condition to get in a fight with anyone right now.

  I was managing pretty fucking well before you came along.

  Yeah, I noticed that.

  Nearly took two of those fuckers at the same time up at Afa marag.

  So you said.

  Killed one with my bare hands at Ennishmin.

  Eg! He propped himself up farther, met the Dragonbane s eyes. Held his gaze. I ll be fine. All right? Appreciate the sentiment, but I ll be fine.

  They lay there, together, apart. The bars of warm orange light over their heads went on retreating, sliding away. The breeze coming in through the window turned cool.

  And if you don t make it back?

  Hoiran s fucking balls, Eg! I ll be fine! You just sit tight. Couple of days at worst. I ll be back before you know it.

  He heard how the Dragonbane wrestled with what he wanted to say, could almost hear it caught in his throat. He sighed. Closed his eyes.

  What is it, Eg?

  He heard the long breath come out of the other man. I ve seen my death, Gil. Ringil s eyes snapped open. You ve seen what?

  You heard me. The hand of the Dwellers is on me. Death is coming for me, I ve seen it.

  Oh, give me a fucking break! Ringil gestured helplessly at the cell wall. That s that s a bunch of superstitious Majak horseshit. Seen your death. Take another fucking dragon to kill you, Dragonbane.

  Egar chuckled, but there wasn t much humor in it. That d be nice.

  Not as I recall.

  I mean it, Gil. I saw my death. I stood on the Black Folk Span and watched it rumble past me. Ast naha, carting my ale to Urann s feast.

  Ringil said nothing.

  Thing is that s fine. Dying s fine. Got to do it sooner or later, and I ve lived longer than most Majak do. Seen more than I ever dreamed I would. Egar sat up and faced him. But I don t want a shit death, Gil. I don t want to go murdered by inches by these southern assholes, cabled into the chair in some dungeon, or strapped out for torturers and fucking squid. I got to die, I want to die with steel in my fist, with the sun and wind on my face.

  You get killed going after Menkarak with me, it ll be at night, Ringil pointed out.

  You know what I fucking mean.

  Yeah. And you re not going to fucking die. Ringil rolled to face him. All right? I don t know what you saw on the Span, but it means nothing. I m going out to slit Menkarak s throat and I ll be right back. After that, we re both getting out of this fucking city. Soon. All right?

  But the Dragonbane made no reply, and Ringil s words sank into the gathering evening gloom like stones into dark water.

  Over their heads, the last of the sunset s rays slipped away.

  CHAPTER 40

  Half a mile south and east of the Boulevard of the Ineffable Divine, the Citadel s nighttime influence was a palpable thing, falling over the dourly named streets as solidly as the sweep of its sundial shadow did by day. There were no brothels, taverns, or pipe houses advertising themselves as such, and carvings of opened scriptural tomes stood in every public space, lit by guttering torches bracketed in black iron. Those few women you saw out of doors were wrapped in muddy, monochrome robes that draped them like tents and covered their faces as if they were corpses. The mood in the street was somber and watchful; you didn t see much violence or laughter. Surly-looking bearded men went about in pairs with Revelation insignia pinned on their tunics and short wooden clubs swinging from their belts, making sure no one was having a good time.

  All since the war, Taran Alman muttered, apparently feeling the need to apologize. Ten years back, you didn t have any of this.

  He might well have been telling the truth Noyal Rakan certainly nodded agreement, but then again, ten years ago Rakan would scarcely have been shaving. Ringil really couldn t say either way, nor did he much care. He d passed through the southside a few times during the war, on the way back and forth from one deployment or another, or out to visit the Kiriath at An-Monal; but he d always ridden, had never had occasion to dismount. And on broader furlough in the city, he d never strayed farther south than Archeth s place on the Boulevard.

  It didn t look as if he d missed much.

  Up ahead. The other King s man, the local expert, nodded forward to where a pair of Citadel enforcers swaggered in the splashes of light from torches and shop frontages. Alley on the right, after the chandler s. Let the prick patrol get well ahead first.

  They dawdled about, affecting interest in an ironmonger s wares spread out on blankets in the street. Four men in dark, unremarkable garb, faces grimed and stubbled, not rich, not poor, not anything you d think out of the ordinary unless you were looking for it closely. They d been on foot since the river a King s Reach agent there had taken their horses, provided them with nondescript cloaks, and advised Ringil to wear his over the jut of the Ravensfriend. It gave him the look of an unusually tall hunchback, and if anyone stopped to actually think about it, they d know well enough what was shrouded under the garment Rakan, Alman, and the other King s man all wore visible swords at their hip anyway but chances were no one would bother. The main thing was to cover the gleaming iridescent Kiriath alloys worked into the Rave
nsfriend s scabbard and hilt.

  The Citadel men forged ahead of them, glowering about and occasionally accosting startled citizens. They stopped to upbraid a woman carrying water canisters with naked hands and the cuffs of her robe rolled up. Rakan crouched to examine a pair of ornate battle-axes laid out separately from the pots and pans and yard tools that made up most of the ironmonger s display.

  Blessed weapons, my lord. The ironmonger moved in, sensing a sale. Consecrated for the war against the Scaled Folk by Grand Invigilator Envar Menkarak himself. See his sigil, carved here upon the shafts. It gives protection to the wielder against dragon venom, the plague, and arrow shafts dipped in filth. Sold me by a veteran of Shenshenath and Rajal Beach fallen on hard times. And if he survived Rajal, what must that say?

  Ringil, who d survived Rajal Beach himself, rolled his eyes and touched Rakan lightly on the shoulder. Up the street, the Citadel men had tired of barracking the woman and were making their way into a press of street sellers farther along. Time to move.

  Rakan straightened up and murmured some demurral about price.

  But you have yet to make me a price, my lord, the ironmonger yelped, offended. What is fair and just? What is the holy shield of the Revelation worth to you?

  Ringil leaned in. I was at Rajal, my friend. I was there. I saw Akal s Ninth Holy Scourge meet the dragons at the end breakwater. He smiled unpleasantly at the man. They melted. All of them, blessed or not.

  The ironmonger wet his lips, preparing some reply. His eyes darted to the scar on Ringil s face, the hump of the sword pommel under his cloak.

  I don t want any trouble, my lord, he decided.

  No, you don t.

  I honor the service you gave to Revelation and Empire. I repeat only what the weapons owner told me. And the sigil is genuine, vouched for.

  Yeah.

  Ringil turned away and followed his companions up the street to the mouth of the alley. The King s man shot him an irritated glance as they turned the corner.

  Not smart, that. He ll remember.

  Remember what? A harsh sneering in Ringil s voice the memories of Rajal Beach had stirred him up more than he realized. A pissed-off war veteran in a cheap cloak? I doubt that s much of a freak occurrence around here.