My eyes studied him in the flickering torchlight. Green as grass. Barely old enough to carry a weapon and certainly not old enough to shave. If I put a knife to his throat he'd probably piss himself. He couldn't have made up a story like that, he didn't have the knowledge.
My mind raced. If Farrowhale had really fallen, it would be a massacre. God only knew how much was left of the Army now. And the King...
“Never thought I'd live to see the day,” I said carefully. “What about prisoners? Anybody important?”
“Oh yes. Scuttlebutt is that we caught Lord Farrow and a bunch of the Eastern Barons. Even...” He dropped his voice and looked around to make sure he could speak privately. Tapped the side of his nose as a gesture of intense secrecy. “Folks are whispering the King himself may be in hand, but we're under orders not to breathe a word about it. It's a flogging matter.”
I nodded and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Your back's safe from me, lad.”
“Ta.” He grinned, stuck out his hand to shake. I took it. “Name's Bean.”
“Byren. Remind me to buy you a pint if I get the chance.” I glanced over my shoulder, down the gentle slope to the outer walls. “You know, you should tell your Sergeant to be careful. We spotted a few funny types roaming the area on our way down. I know it's late season, but it could've been a Harari raiding party.”
His brown face went a little pale at the word 'Harari.' “That... That's not good. We just put our herds back out to pasture. I'll run back to the gate as soon as you're settled.”
When we rounded the next corner, I knew we'd arrived. 'Stone Manor' was a good name for the sprawling, fortified villa in front of us. Bigger in surface area than any castle I'd ever seen, but short and squat, little more than two storeys high. Every low wall bristled with arrow slits and ballista towers. Almost like an invitation to come and get slaughtered, punctuated by a row of heavy bombards over the main gate. Despite its modest height, it was an intimidating fortress.
We crossed a huge swathe of open space between the city's houses and the outer wall, covered in delicately-tended gardens that offered no cover whatsoever. The barracks stood beside the villa, a big wooden complex which could be burnt to the ground at a moment's notice.
“My servants and I will enter,” the woman announced. She gestured at Aemedd, Yazizi and Adar. “The rest of you may bed down for the night. I'll send for you if there's a need.”
Each of us touched our helmets in the military salute ‒ Penn, Faro, myself, and Sir Erroll. Again, I had to choke down surprise. Dressed in Ducal colours, without his heraldry on display, he did look more like a simple cavalry commander than a highborn knight. To my amazement he took the demotion without complaint. Most nobles would kick off the moment they didn't get the treatment to which their birth supposedly entitled them.
No, this wasn't improvisation. They'd prepared for this, the lady and her knight. It only left me with more questions. What could compel Sir Erroll to swallow his pride this way? Why not use a fake name or title, but hide his nobility altogether?
I mulled it over while Bean showed us a row of empty bunks along the back wall. It preyed on me even after we stripped out of our armour and set about the daily spit and polish. It only made sense if... If somebody in that villa was liable to know his face. Maybe Erroll's story about defecting to the King hit closer to the truth than I thought.
Every time I learned something, another secret seemed to reveal itself. How much more wasn't I being told?
Maybe it fell under the Contractor's second rule, maybe I didn't need to know, but the second rule had started to ring a little hollow for me now. I'd already broken it in God only knew how many ways. A few quick sips from my flask helped silence the twangs of my guilty conscience.
Finished, I stowed my pack and kicked my feet up. The others did the same. I kept a close eye on Penn, subtly placed in the bunk above mine, but as usual he acted like a model prisoner.
We all said goodnight and went to sleep in our enemy's beds.
I awoke to thunder and rain battering against the shutters. It'd been so long, it took my sleep-fogged mind a minute to place the sound. The howl of the wind and the smell of damp earth were like long-lost friends who'd almost become strangers.
It would take me a little while to adjust back to the normal, green world I used to know. Sometimes I could still hear the Tzan ringing in my ears.
The others got up one by one. Faro was the first, jumping to his daily chores with the annoying energy of youth. The rest of us grumbled more than we moved until the squire got a kettle brewing. One hot mug of beef tea later, we mustered into a rough state of readiness and took a look outside. We gathered under an awning and watched the sky fall in front of us.
“Listen,” said Sir Erroll. He had to shout to be heard over the downpour. “I will go dockside to look for a barge. Faro, you and Penn head to market and resupply.” He threw the squire a tiny coinpurse which jangled with silver. “Make it quick, because we're not staying another day. Byren, I want you watching the gate. Take your horse. If our friends should appear, fetch my Lady and meet me at the docks as fast as you can. We'll slip out in the confusion.”
We saluted, clamped our cloaks tight around us, and went our separate ways.
I collected my mare from the stables. I saddled her the way Yazizi had showed me, and draped a blanket over her to keep her from catching a chill. Then we started our sodden march to the gatehouse.
It was a lonely trip. Everything had washed out to a bleak, leaden grey; I could see maybe thirty yards in front of me before the world became a wet blur. The streets were empty, and the houses shuttered up tight. I didn't see another soul until I reached the gatehouse.
A few other horses were hitched under a rough lean-to in the shadow of the city wall. I left my mount there as I went to look for the one person in Dunoghan who I knew by name.
Thankfully, everybody knew everybody else in this little garrison. I only had to ask, and someone led me up the wall to Bean's watch inside the gatehouse.
The post turned out to be a cold, wet cubbyhole over the main gate. Rain gathered in puddles on the slippery floor, blown in through the arrow slits and every other gap or hole. Moss grew all over the poorly-scrubbed stone. The wooden benches stood rotting from a combination of damp and worms. It was a miserable place inside a miserable place, and the men seemed grateful for any relief, anything to get their minds off the watch.
Bean greeted me with a ready handshake. “Hello again! Lovely morning, eh? You can't beat the autumns here, exactly like winter, spring and summer.”
“Breathtaking,” I quipped. “How's the horizon?”
“See for yourself.”
Bean gestured at the dreary, monochrome vista outside the wall. There was no real horizon, only an indistinct area where the land vanished behind a curtain of falling water. If this weather kept up, we wouldn't see any Dargha until the buggers came knocking on the gate.
“We brought the herds in overnight for safekeeping,” Bean added. “They'll be alright if any Harari show up.”
“Best not to take any chances. You never know what the sneaky devils will try next.”
I fished my flask out of a pocket and offered him a sip. He took it, gratefully, hands trembling in the early chill. Clearly he'd been out here a while already.
“Rough morning?” I asked.
“Haven't slept. I traded shifts with a mate. Not the worst mistake I've ever made, but close.” He laughed and rubbed his pink, faintly bloodshot eyes. “So what brings you to the wall?”
“As good a place as any, eh? Got no duties today, and this town isn't exactly jumping.”
Bean nodded ruefully. “I barely remember a time when it wasn't like this. Who knows, maybe the war will be over soon, and things can get better.” He shook it off with a certain youthful optimism. “It's not all drudgery, though. Old Ferdinand downstairs is our supplies man. Brandy, snuff, girls, lucky dice ‒ anything you want.”
&
nbsp; “Anything?” I asked, my interest suddenly piqued.
“Heh, I thought you might say that! I'll show you there. One of the lads can watch my post for a few minutes.”
A few muttered words to his companions later, he led the way down the outside stairs, through the freezing rain. Across the main road into a deep cellar built to supply the defenders on the wall. I liked it more with every step. It was the warmest, driest place I'd been all day.
Ferdinand's table was an island of order in the midst of organised chaos. Sacks, boxes and ceramics were heaped on top of each other seemingly at random. Any bookkeeping clearly operated according to the quartermaster's own system, one which made sense to no one else but him; that's how he made himself irreplaceable, and in a position to make the books say whatever he wanted.
Yes, the quartermaster's position was one of great trust. That was probably why I'd never met an honest one.
“Make it quick,” the old whitebeard grumbled. He never looked up from the ledger in front of him, and his quill pen scratched softly against parchment.
“This is one of the blokes who arrived last night,” explained Bean. It seemed to catch Ferdinand's attention as much as anything ever did.
“Anything to trade?”
I reached under my tunic and took out the hidden pouch. Dropped it on the table with a clunk, spilling some of the contents. Bits of jewellery, most of it silver and bone, a poor gemstone or two. Looking at it, I remembered every piece and where I got it. We'd left quite a trail of bodies behind us on this trip. All of them had had some precious thing they held dear.
Ferdinand sneered and started to sift through the lot one-handed. “What poor beggar did you steal this from?”
“No one,” I said sharply. “It's plunder, taken only in battle, and only from the enemy. If you're not willing to make an offer then I can find someone who will.”
The pen stopped abruptly. Ferdinand looked up, beady eyes blinking against the light. His leather face went through a variety of unkind expressions as he studied me. “It's worth less than I'd spend getting rid of it. Take it away. I don't do charity.”
“If you think that, you're even more blind than you look.”
“Show some respect for your elders, you pig-witted young miscreant.” He bared his teeth ‒ what was left of them, stained yellow and brown. “Six ladies. My first and final offer.”
“It's worth twenty,” I countered, “but I find myself utterly bewitched by your charm and demeanour. I'll accept twelve, and a bottle of that bathtub brew you've got on the shelf there.”
“That would be one of the best years of the Duke's own vineyard, worth more than all your parlour baubles put together. Ten ladies.”
“Twelve, or I could leave and make room for all your other flush and excited customers.”
The hate in Ferdinand's eyes was the pure, black loathing of every out-bargained merchant in the world. His fingers trembled as he reluctantly swept my loot back into its pouch and vanished it under the table. He counted out twelve silver coins like a mother forced to give up her children. The ladies were bigger and more ostentatious than the Royal falcons, but then, that was true of all the Duke's coinage.
“Don't forget the wine,” I said once the last lady was safe in my purse. The old man stared daggers at me as he snatched a bottle and shoved it into my hands.
Rather than thank him out loud, I decided to make a quick and graceful exit. Bean's expression told me I shouldn't push my luck any further. I had enough enemies in the world.
We put our hoods up and trudged back into the wet. This downpour never seemed to let up. But, I reminded myself, it wasn't flood season yet. This would look like a mere spring shower when the real autumn rains started up.
“That was amazing,” said Bean. “I've never seen anyone talk to Ferdinand like that.”
I chuckled, holding my new bottle like a trophy. “You're a soldier. That makes you the easiest money in the world to a man like Ferdinand, except for sailors. You either learn how to haggle or get used to being ridden roughshod all your life.”
“I‒ I'll keep that in mind.”
Suddenly, Bean's head snapped up as if listening to some distant sound. I was going to say something, but his attention had moved away.
“There's a call,” he whispered. “They spotted something.”
He barely finished speaking before the low moan of a horn echoed down from the wall. I marvelled at the boy's hearing, and raced him back to the gatehouse watch-post. I had to make sure. If it was really Arravis and his Dargha...
Well, we'd just have to make do with the time we'd had.
The bad news was plain to see when Bean and I reached the upper level. Out past the fog and the rain, a ragged formation of riders approached the city wall. The ones at the front rode like Ducal lancers, sitting high in the saddle with wet pennons hanging limply from their weapon-points. The others were bent over, squatting in their stirrups, wrapped in animal skins to ward against the rain.
“What in Saint Ella's knickers is going on?” Bean asked the other guardsmen. They seemed as clueless as he was. “Look, I think that one's carrying a white flag. Have you ever heard of Harari calling for a parley?”
“No, but I've heard of a ruse de guerre,” I replied. If I needed one more piece of confirmation that our enemy was at the gates, I'd just had it. “I suggest you don't let them anywhere near the gate.”
Bean smirked. “Aye. Let Lord Hough sort it out, he'll send someone to talk to them sooner or later.”
“Good man. I should report this to my Lady.” I slapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave, but something compelled me to wait a moment longer. “Take care of yourself, Bean. Stay alive.”
So I ran. My feet pounded down the stairs, nearly slipped on the wet stone, splashed through puddles and thick mud. The stables provided only a few moments of blessed dryness. I untied my mare and all but killed myself trying to leap into the saddle. Drenched and aching, I kicked her in the sides and rode like mad for the castle. As fast as I dared.
Despite my inexperience, I managed to wrestle the horse into the courtyard of Stone Manor. Impenetrable walls of dark granite closed in around me. One of the watchmen called out a challenge, and I shouted something back about a situation at the gate and looking for Lady Silbane. He pointed me to the sprawling, elegantly-decorated compound towards the back of the Manor. The Lord's personal chambers. I dismounted and asked the man to hold my horse for me. I needed to get the woman out of here right now without offending anyone.
I went inside without asking permission. Neither of the guards said anything. I stalked through the elegant, well-appointed halls and emerged dripping into Lord Hough's study.
It was warm and smelled of polished wood and old paper. Wherever the walls weren't covered in shelves upon shelves of books, they were lined with patriotic tapestries in the colours of the houses of Hough and Selcourt. She sat in front of the fireplace opposite a short, fat old man with too many rings on his fingers. He wore an expensive, loose-fitting robe in a vain attempt to downplay the size of his belly, and hid his baldness under a red silk cap.
“Byren?” the woman inquired. Her eyes followed the way my chest rose and fell, and I realised I was panting like a dog.
“Milady. I...” I dropped to one knee and lowered my gaze. “The Commander begs your presence at the docks. With respect, he recommends that we set sail urgently.”
The old man made a noise of aristocratic displeasure. “I ought to have you flogged for barging in like that on a private dialogue, you ruffian.”
Before my numb mind could begin to think of a suitable apology, she rose to her feet, the very picture of kindness and delicacy. “You judge too harshly, my Lord. The man is only doing his duty, in the manner of the common soldier. This we must forgive them from time to time.” She turned back to me. “Much as it pains me, it seems I must cut my visit short. Byren, gather my servants and get the horses saddled. I wish to say a proper goodbye to my Lord. G
o, hurry.”
I saluted and made my way out of there as quickly as possible. Begging excuses and rendering apologies with every backward step. I was glad to march back out into the rain, trying to calm myself. Cold anger and fear churned in the pit of my stomach at the threat of another flogging. The scars on my back ached as if they were on fire.
Nothing good ever came from me crossing paths with nobility. Nothing.
It didn't take me long to round up Yazizi. The girl was in a corner of her mistress's chambers, repairing her travel-worn dress with needle and thread. She said nothing but gave me a little smile and readied herself in a bare minute.
Adar hadn't even unpacked his bag. He sat on a stool in the servants' quarters with his scabbard draped across his lap, in the same clothes in which he'd arrived, staring a million miles into space. He didn't respond to my voice. Didn't even blink when I addressed him face-to-face. So I kicked the stool out from under him, knocking him across the floor, then dragged him to his feet and shoved him outside. I was in no mood to play mother hen.
I found Aemedd in his own little room, squinting at maps of the local area. Saltring and the shires north of it. I explained the situation in a few terse words. He sat for longer than I would've liked, weighing his options. He lacked a certain eagerness to go back to the road and the weather. At least until I pointed out that anyone who didn't show up at the docks would get left behind for the Dargha and the Duke's Listeners.
Finally we gathered in the courtyard, where Yazizi and I prepared our horses in a hurry, watching the rain batter and sweep across the courtyard's heavy stones. Thick cloaks and hoods were the order of the day. Even the woman wrapped herself up in a waterfall of red velvet, more feminine and alluring in three or four layers than most women were wearing nothing at all.
“They're at the wall?” she asked, riding beside me through the gatehouse.
“Yes, Milady.”
“How long do we have?”
“I couldn't say. The guards are suspicious, but Arravis will have signed orders. We don't.”
Written in Blood Page 20