by Tom Lloyd
But she would not be. Forever a reminder he had been cuckolded, her husband would never suffer a girl to live. A son he could accept; an heir to carry his name on whether or not he chose to look the boy in the face, but never a girl.
‘Leave us,’ the doctor said to the midwife and wet-nurse.
The look on his face was empty, just another dull task to perform, but both women cringed away as he pointed towards the door. The wet-nurse scampered towards it and jerked the door open, then gave a small cry and fell back. Kine turned at the sound, the taller doctor did too, but neither saw in time what was in the darkened corridor beyond.
The doctor’s head snapped back, causing Kine to flinch and moan with pain at the movement. A gutteral ‘gah’ escaped the doctor’s lips as he staggered back then stood dumb and wavering as he faced the door.
In a blur of movement, someone entered and kicked the door shut with a flick of the heel. The other doctor shouted, the wet-nurse screamed, but Kine could make out nothing through the fog in her mind. Then the taller doctor crumpled unceremoniously, head flopping backwards with a short arrow protruding from one eye. Kine gasped as a dark figure stormed into the centre of the room, blue-braided hair flying, and her heart filled with relief and hope once more. The Gods had sent their emissary – a mortal Avatar of their mercy.
‘Myken,’ Kine said, delighting in the name though she barely had the strength to say it.
The woman’s stern brown face had been a rare sight here in recent weeks – invented tasks keeping her well clear of her sworn duty to be at Kine’s side.
Knight of the warrior caste and bodyguard to Lady Kine Vanden, Myken ignored her – if she even heard the feeble sound of Kine’s voice. Her attention was focused on the doctor, the man holding that precious bundle. A knife appeared in his hand from somewhere. He held it up for all to see, not quite at the baby’s throat but close enough that Kine softly wailed in new-found terror. Myken’s arm was levelled, a hand-bow discarded at her feet and one of her pistols now drawn.
‘Give her the child.’
‘Stand down, Siresse,’ the doctor said calmly, respectfully addressing her by her title as a female knight. ‘Our master is the same, as well you know.’
‘My master is duty,’ Myken replied, ‘my mistress the lady you stand over.’
‘Stand down or you will die,’ the man repeated. ‘Fire that gun and you’ll never make it out of the palazzo. You know this as well as you know why I’ve been ordered here today.’
‘None of that matters. I am warrior caste, my service is sworn.’
‘You will be shamed, your family ruined by this traitorous act – and if I fail, another will be sent. You know this. Don’t throw your life away.’
‘My life means nothing. Give her the baby.’
The doctor almost looked amused at that, pity and contempt sounding in his voice as he spoke. ‘Nothing will dissuade you? As you wish, but I am a man of my word too. Let us put this in the hands of the Gods.’
He moved the dagger further from the baby. ‘Lower your pistol, drop it on the floor and draw your knife – I will give her the baby and the Gods may choose which path is taken.’
Myken did not move at first. Kine wanted to cry out a warning. Every syllable of the doctor’s words declared him to be a skilled knife-fighter, but she was transfixed by the scene. Her bodyguard was warrior caste, trained to kill with every weapon, but guns were only permitted to those of the higher castes and it was there the power of the warrior caste lay. Long blades and guns were her trade, but some sort of street-fight with knives? She couldn’t win, but nor could a warrior back down.
‘Agreed,’ Myken said abruptly and lowered her pistol.
The doctor nodded and took a careful step back, a small smile of delight on his face. Kine had seen the look before, even in the course of her sheltered noble life. She’d seen the same from a merchant-prince whose wealth eclipsed every nobleman in the House Wyvern homeland, and in the eyes of a priest as he chastised a minor Imperial caste.
It was the look of a man who had the measure of his betters and intended to enjoy himself, humanity at its worst. But still she could do nothing, the strictures of her life and caste leaving her certain she would not sway Myken from whatever course she intended now.
With grateful hands Kine took her child from the doctor, once Myken had dropped her pistol and kicked it towards the desk. With her knife drawn, Myken did not advance on the doctor but he seemed not to care and made up the ground with a cruel slit of a smile parting his lips.
They were just paces apart and Myken had yet to even raise her knife, which still hung limp in her hands. Kine cast around desperately, hugging her daughter to her chest as she looked at the pistol on the floor, but it was hopelessly out of her reach. She would have to throw herself from the sofa to reach it and risk crushing her daughter in the process.
I will do it. If Myken buys me that chance, if the Gods offer this and this alone.
Kine looked down at the tiny face in her arms and felt a sudden intoxicating rush of love for her helpless, unnamed daughter.
‘Her name is Dov,’ she said in a croaking voice, just loud enough to make the pair hesitate.
Myken nodded briefly. ‘Lady Chance’s own name,’ she said. ‘It is fitting.’
Before the doctor could speak, Myken let the knife fall from her hands. In a practised movement she whipped her second pistol from its sheath across her belly and fired it at almost point-blank range. The bang was deafening in the small space as smoke erupted from the muzzle of the pistol and blood burst from the doctor’s back. The man crashed back, dead before he hit the ground, and Myken was already moving to the door.
As Kine watched she realised the Siresse wore dull, dark clothes except for her red caste collar and a shapeless pack sat high on her back. Hardly the formal wear she normally wore at Kine’s side, just enough to ensure she was not stopped re-entering the palazzo. Without a moment’s hesitation, Myken turned the key in the lock and dragged the table beside it across.
‘In,’ she ordered the aghast midwife and wet-nurse, pointing toward the dressing room that stood off to the left. They jumped to obey and she locked that behind them too before heading towards the window with brisk purpose. Kine could only feebly watch her go and admire the determination in everything she did. It occurred to her then she knew so little about her saviour, the years she had been her protector never eroding the boundaries of caste between them.
The woman stopped at the desk and bent down at the big lower drawer. The desk was an old one that had been in her family for generations – a solid block of dark polished wood from the homeland. Kine loved it for the family it reminded her of.
‘It’s no use, I’ve lost the key,’ Kine whispered, unheeded, just as Myken jerked it open and pulled out a velvet pouch that clinked with metal inside. She pocketed that and then withdrew a coiled rope, looping it around the foot of the heavy desk and tugging hard to ensure it was secure.
‘Come,’ Myken said, leaving the rope on the desk. ‘We must go. The guards will have heard that shot.’
‘I … I cannot,’ Kine protested as Myken scooped Dov from her arms. ‘What are you doing?’
Myken didn’t answer as she tugged her jacket open to reveal a sling bound around her chest. With as much care as she could manage Myken put the child into the sling and nestled her between her modest breasts, tugging the edge over Dov so she was securely held.
‘Come,’ Myken repeated and pulled on Kine’s arm. Ignoring Kine’s enfeebled protests and cries of pain she hauled her up and wrapped a long robe around Kine’s body. This she roughly pinned before pulling a plain cape around her mistress and bringing her towards the window. Pushing it open, she slipped the rope around Kine’s chest and pulled it tight. The cold, quiet city was unveiled in the light of the Gods, thin wisps of mist curling seductively round the great houses of Dragon District ahead of them.
‘No, I must fall,’ Kine mumbled, ‘I promised the God
dess …’
‘Damn the Goddess,’ Myken growled, hauling Kine up and over the windowsill, ‘no Goddess had a part in this plan so just do what you’re told, my Lady, and for Pity’s sake do it quietly. Bite your lip right through if you have to, but be quiet here until you’re on the ground.’
Even in her feverish and agonised state, Kine felt a flicker of astonishment at Myken’s brusque tone – so out of character from the model of restraint and respect.
‘Plan?’ she mumbled.
‘There’s a plan,’ Myken confirmed. ‘A slim chance, but better than none.’
She tipped Kine over the edge, one loop of the rope wrapped around her arm to take the strain, though the jolt itself was enough to make Kine draw blood from her tongue as she fought the urge to howl.
Myken began to play out the rope as soft cries began to emerge from the sling at her chest. Her grunts of effort swiftly became tinged with pain as she stood side on to the window and took Kine’s full weight. Kine began to descend in the dark night and the cold of winter surrounded her.
Before long Kine found her feet touching the ground. Only when she was half-lying on the icy gravel path did she take in her surroundings and recognise the jungle-like garden to the rear of the palazzo. She stifled a cry as a guard, musket slung over one shoulder, hurried over and without speaking untied the rope from around Kine’s shoulders.
She let it happen as though this was all a dream, the absence of respect and genuflection from the liveried man just another aspect of this surreal night. The garden was dark and still, the light of the Gods casting deep shadows as they edged the tallest trees in silver. At this time of year the garden was barely used and no lanterns were lit there, as the palazzo’s windows were shut up against the cold. She lay in the dark, dazed and shivering, for less than a minute before Myken scampered down the rope and stood over her.
‘Thank you,’ she said to the guard, who ducked his head in response.
Kine saw he was a young man when he tilted his head back up and caught the starlight. A lover, or a love-struck youth? Is that the turn of a coin which decides whether I live or die?
‘Myken, go,’ Kine whispered. ‘I don’t have the strength. Take Dov and leave me here.’
‘My oath is to you,’ Myken said with a shake of the head. ‘If I have to carry you, you are coming.’ She slipped a pistol from its sheath and spun it in her hand. ‘Ready?’ she asked the young guard.
He nodded and Myken wasted no time. She struck him a crisp blow on the side of the head and he staggered. Against his dark skin, Kine just made out a thin trail of blood running down his cheek as the guard sank to his hands and knees. Myken helped him to the floor but didn’t stop to check his wound, slipping an arm under Kine’s shoulder and helping her up.
‘My baby?’ Kine gasped.
Myken opened the fold of the sling enough to expose Dov’s tiny wrinkled face to the cold night air. She opened her mouth to bawl and Myken quickly slipped a finger in to try and stave off the cry. It worked well enough and the two women stumbled together towards the street door, finding it unlocked. The cobbled street beyond was empty and only a cold wind howled up to greet them.
Myken hissed with irritation, but didn’t speak as she helped Kine across and into the shadows of a neighbouring building. From there they cut through to another shadow and crossed a small square. On the far side of that was an archway decorated with snarling wyverns, the extent of House Wyvern’s nominal corner of Dragon District. Beyond that was a bigger street and a handful of people walking hunched and hurried through the chilly night air. Just as Kine’s legs were ready to fold beneath her, Myken brought her to a handcart station where two carts stood waiting under a sloped roof.
A pair of men broke away from the fire burning to one side and hurried to help them into a cart, the sight of Myken’s ornate pistol-sheath enough demonstration of her rank that they complied without question. Kine was gently lifted up into the seat and Myken squeezed in beside her, peeking at Dov while the labourers, both black-skinned Dragons, were occupied with manoeuvring the handcart out into the street.
‘Coldcliffs,’ Myken ordered, picking a location that took them in the right direction without announcing the destination. ‘Go fast and I’ll pay double.’
This time she did get a raised eyebrow, Coldcliffs being no fitting destination for a high caste, even if it had been summer, but Myken’s expression showed she wasn’t to be questioned. After that moment’s hesitation they set off down the empty street and the night swallowed them. When shouts rang out around the palazzo and lantern-wielding guards raced out into the street beyond, they were clear of it all.
CHAPTER 4
‘Lawbringer Narin. Just the man I was looking for.’
Narin didn’t move, lost in his own thoughts as he stared out across the rooftops. Ahead of him the morning mist slowly faded to reveal the southern districts of the Imperial City, but there was only one small part he noticed. East of the sharp towers in Dragon District lay the streets given over to House Wyvern.
Caught in that nest of vipers were the woman he loved and the child she carried. So close to term now. He would not have dared leave her there for so long, were it not for her husband’s warrior retinue, which had only recently left with him for the Wyvern homeland.
‘Lawbringer,’ repeated the voice, right in his ear.
Narin jumped and whirled around to see the stern face of the Lawbringer Rhe – his mentor and now his colleague. They both wore the white trousers and jacket of the Lawbringers, the Emperor’s sun and sword device on their breasts currently hidden by heavy white coats that reached their knees. They would have matched perfectly but for the fact that Narin wore a sword on his hip and Rhe had a nobleman’s pistol-sheath across his stomach. The black leather was subtly stitched to combine the emblems of House Brightlance and Rhe’s noble family – a forest eagle grasping a leaf-blade spear.
‘Lawbringer Rhe, my apologies,’ Narin exclaimed, awkwardly bowing. ‘I was miles away.’
The renowned Lawbringer was a tall man who stood a good few inches above Narin. More heavily built than most of the pale rangy warriors of Brightlance, the characteristic blue-grey tint to his pale complexion gave him a cold air that was enhanced by his high-born reserve. Compared to Narin’s tanned skin and dark hair Rhe would have looked permanently ill, but for the calm strength he exuded. Narin had often wondered if, in return, he looked oddly twitchy and nervous to everyone he met in Rhe’s company.
‘I noticed as much. It seems to happen more and more these days – has the Emperor’s blessing gone to your head so much?’
Narin blinked. Please let that be a joke. ‘No, I … I’m sorry – I’m just tired and distracted.’
It was true he had been mentioned at court after the goshe scandal and rewarded with elevation to the rank of Lawbringer, but these days Narin was more wary than most about any sort of patronage. The day he’d earned the favour of a certain House Wyvern nobleman had been the turning point in his life, but the price attached had thrown his life into turmoil.
Narin had spent roughly a decade as an Investigator now, apprenticed to various Lawbringers as was custom. Rhe had been the last of those; just a few years older than Narin but the shining star of the Lawbringers, and as much a final test as teacher for the sheltered local boy.
‘Distracted and anxious, I would say,’ Rhe said after a moment’s scrutiny of his protégé. ‘But still you will not tell me why.’
Narin ducked his head. ‘It would be a burden on your honour,’ he said honestly, ‘and you already keep enough secrets on my behalf.’
‘The secrets I keep are not yours,’ Rhe pointed out. ‘Yet I would have thought doing so had earned me a little more trust from you.’
‘This is, ah, different. I … I’ve done something I think’ll soon come back to haunt me. I wouldn’t want you tainted by scandal any more than I’d want to put you in a difficult position.’
‘You believe I would condemn
you?’
Narin winced and his eyes lowered to the pistol-sheath at Rhe’s stomach. He carried only a sword himself because he was craftsman caste, and gunpowder was prohibited to the lower castes – landowner, merchant, craftsman, servant and peasant. Ownership of a gun would mean a death sentence for Narin, Lawbringer or not, but for Rhe it was also a symbol of a specific code instilled into every high caste. Would I trust our half-friendship over your sense of honour?
‘You’d disapprove of my foolishness. I prefer not to test how greatly.’
Rhe’s expression was typically inscrutable, but at last the taller man nodded. ‘As you wish – come, there is a crime we’ve been called to.’
Without realising it, Narin grimaced. His reputation within the Lawbringers was a strange one after the goshe affair and apparently everything unnatural was his purview now. Thus far that mostly amounted to inspecting the chewed-on corpses of drunks to verify if demons had killed them or if there had been a murder committed by a human.
‘No need for that face,’ Rhe said, ‘you will not be fishing the Crescent for human remains today. There is something else requiring your expertise.’
‘Expertise?’ Narin sighed, instinctively checking around to ensure there was no one to overhear them. The room was busy enough, being a large communal office used by two-dozen Lawbringers. No one paid them any attention, but still he lowered his voice.
‘You know I’ve no real expertise. Unless you can persuade Enchei or Irato to become an Investigator, I know as little as any novice. If it’s a real crime, we’re doing the victim a disservice by claiming otherwise.’
‘You have greater experience of the unnatural than any other Lawbringer I know,’ Rhe countered. ‘Any scrap of familiarity means you will see past any horror better than the rest – and you have your friends as a resource. That is as good as the Lawbringers currently have and so the crimes are ours to investigate. This is your calling; accept it and serve the Emperor to the best of your ability.’