“Careful!” Estrada hurried to bar their way, and when they looked confused, tried to indicate through gentle sweeping motions that Saltlick couldn’t just be hoisted like a sack of potatoes.
Alvantes and Mounteban, meanwhile, had managed to not only drive out the Pasaedans but to slam the damaged gates upon their backs. While Mounteban coordinated the effort there, Alvantes turned to haranguing the remaining giants: “Damn you,” he bellowed, “do something useful! Barricade those gates!”
They surely didn’t understand his words, but the accompanying gesticulations were easy enough to follow. There were supplies close at hand, heaps of sturdy wood piled not far from the gatehouse, no doubt intended for just such a purpose. The giants began to prop beams in place, to pile timber haphazardly against the weakened sections. If it was clear that they didn’t quite grasp the sense of what they did, still they managed in mere minutes what would have taken men the rest of the day.
By the time they’d finished a rudimentary barricade, the other two giants had Saltlick into the back of the cart. A slug trail of crimson led from where he’d fallen, and the cart’s inside was slicked with blood. I still couldn’t tell if he was moving.
Finally, I managed to shift my legs. Maybe there was nothing I could do, but I could only bear being useless for so long. Close up, Saltlick looked even worse, like a slab of well-worked meat on a butcher’s stall. As I watched, though, one eyelid – the one not caked shut with gore – fluttered ever so slightly.
“He’s alive,” confirmed Estrada. “But barely. Easie, I don’t know if even Saltlick can–”
I didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. “He has to,” I said.
“If we can stop the bleeding–”
“We’ve a hospital set up in the Market District,” put in Alvantes, marching towards us. “You two,” he summoned the giants waiting patiently nearby, and pointed back the way we’d come. “Carry him that way.” Then, waving over a guardsman I recognised as Gueverro, he added, “Sub-Captain, accompany them. Find a good surgeon and make certain they do whatever’s needed.”
But all of that I saw and heard as though through a haze. For the instant Alvantes had begun to speak, memories cold and clear as ice water had spilled into my mind – recollections of a conversation we’d had not so very long ago. With hardly a thought and for the second time that day, I grabbed Alvantes by the throat. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” I screamed. “You vicious bastard! You’ve been planning for weeks to drag the giants into your stupid wars. Are you happy now?”
I realised what would feel even better than shaking Alvantes – and almost before I knew it, my fist was crunching into his nose. It mightn’t have been much of a punch, but it was more satisfying than anything I’d ever done – and the second was better. There was a roaring in my ears and my sight was a tunnel edged with red; but I could hear the smack of my knuckles against Alvantes’s face well enough, I could see each blow landing, and it was easy as anything to just keep going.
I noted with distant satisfaction when scarlet spattered from his nostrils. Alone, however, that probably wouldn’t have been enough to stop me – but at that point someone caught and gripped my wrist, and as I span around I was puzzled to see Mounteban, watching me from his one good eye.
Mounteban let go of my arm. “If you must know,” he said, “it had nothing to do with Alvantes. I talked the giants into helping. And if it saved Altapasaeda, I’d do the same again. So if you want to hit someone, Damasco, you’re welcome to try and hit me.”
I was furious. I wasn’t suicidal. If I threw a punch at Castilio Mounteban, it would be the last thing I ever threw at anyone.
Still, that didn’t mean I had to let it go. I fixed him with my best stare, poured every drop of hatred I felt into it, and said, “I might not have lived a blameless life, Mounteban, but I’m no killer. If Saltlick dies, that’s something I’ll be looking to change.”
Mounteban held my gaze – and I realised then how hopeless it was to try and intimidate him. You didn’t lead the life Castilio Mounteban had lived and let yourself be afraid, of anyone or anything. “One of these days,” he said, “we’ll have to have a talk about what happened to my man Synza.”
Synza... the lunatic assassin Mounteban had sent after me during our recent conflict, and a subject I’d hoped might have slipped his mind. I really hadn’t killed Synza, a misjudged step from a high cliff had taken care of that, but nor had I been entirely blameless in his death.
Then it occurred to me that Mounteban had played right into my hands. “All you need to know,” I said, “is that it was messy, and that it could easily happen again.”
However, I had to abandon our glaring contest then, for, with a grunt more of irritation than pain, Alvantes had climbed to his feet – and I could hardly keep looking at Mounteban when I was about to have my face pounded into blood porridge.
When Alvantes took a step towards me, Estrada put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, brushing her fingers off with his own and then dabbing a smear of crimson from his nostrils. “I’m not going to hurt him. Anyway, he was right; I did want to make the giants fight for us.” His eyes brushed across Mounteban. “And I see now that it’s something only a monster would have done.”
With my anger and excitement rapidly abating, I felt none too good about attacking Alvantes. We might be far from friends, but it was also true that a good part of our mutual animosity had dissolved in recent days – and now here I was, pummelling his face for no reason, after he’d just fought not one but two desperate battles. “Alvantes...” I began.
He looked at me for the first time. “Still,” he said, “you might want to keep out of my way for a day or two, Damasco.”
I nodded weakly. “I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do for Saltlick,” I mumbled, to no one in particular.
“I’ll come with you,” said Estrada. “Unless you need me here, Lunto?”
Alvantes looked once more to Mounteban, and this time there was nothing in his eyes; he spoke with the frank civility of one commander communing with another. “What’s the situation, Mounteban? Is Altapasaeda falling?”
“I think not,” replied Mounteban, in the same tone. “Not today. They played us well... made it look as though they were throwing their weight at the northeastern gate and then hit this one twice as hard. But we routed them on the other side of the city, and thanks to the giants, here too.” He paused, looked thoughtful. “There are plenty in the city who didn’t quite believe their noble king would really attack his own city. Now that he has, I suspect we’ll have a few new recruits on our hands.”
“Panchessa’s tested our strength,” Alvantes agreed. “I think he’ll wait before trying anything else. Do whatever you need to do, Marina, and we’ll reconvene this evening to discuss what happens next.”
What happens next. Alvantes said it so calmly. Only listening to his conversation with Mounteban had it really sunk in that outside those walls, Panchessa and an army of Pasaedan soldiers had made their camp; that unless these two men found a way to keep them out, something uniquely terrible in Castovalian history was about to happen.
I shuddered. Every muscle in my body itched to be out of there, free of Altapasaeda once and for all. But damn him, there was no way I could go anywhere until I knew what was to become of Saltlick. Why had he put me in such a position? Why thrust himself into harm’s way and then not even have the basic sense to defend himself? What creature could be so wilfully stupid?
A sob rose in my throat, and I had to cough hard to choke it down. I couldn’t talk myself out of this one with anger. It had taken me long enough to distinguish Saltlick’s unbending decency from a lack of sense, but now that I had, there was no going back. Nor was it so easy to return to being the self-serving thief who’d willingly put his own interests before those of others, whatever the cost.
No, that person had been dying slowly since the moment I’d met Saltlick, dissolving
day on day. And maybe that was the one thing I had a real right to be angry with him for, but I couldn’t find that in myself either. Perhaps there was nothing to keep me in Altapasaeda, no good I could do; yet there was no way I could leave either, not until I knew whether Saltlick would live.
“Hurry up if you’re coming, will you?” I told Estrada, speaking as sharply as I could to hide how my voice was shaking.
I set a fast pace, for the cart and its giant attendants were long gone, I didn’t know where they were headed and I could hardly ask Alvantes, leaving my only option to catch them before they left the main road. Then I remembered that our mounts were tied just around the first bend; on horseback, I’d be able to close the distance in no time. Rounding the turn, I saw the horses just as we’d left them, though a touch calmer now that the tumult had passed. There was no sign of the cart, however – and even if there had been, no possibility I’d be riding after it.
After everything I’d seen that day, after everything that had happened, I should have been past the point where anything could surprise me. Yet it still came as a shock to see Kalyxis and her barbarians stalking towards us, claiming the centre of the street as if they owned it.
“That’s her?” Estrada asked. “That’s...”
“Kalyxis,” I said.
“What do you think she’s...?”
“Keep quiet and I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
It took me a moment to notice that Navare was with them, hurrying just behind Kalyxis herself. As they drew close, he picked up his pace so as to meet us first. “She called for a truce,” he explained quickly, “and said she wants to parley with our leaders. Ludovoco had crawled back into the palace by then; I could hardly say no.”
Then Kalyxis had caught up, leaving Navare no choice but to sidestep quickly out of her way. I was astonished by how undaunted she seemed to be there, in the heart of what could only be considered enemy territory. Indeed, her bearing was just as when I’d first met her; haughty and aloof, as though her status was something that travelled miasma-like about her.
Kalyxis’s eyes roved over me, with first recognition and then distaste. “Dinascus, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“Damasco,” I corrected – and never had I found it so difficult to pronounce that beloved name.
“Ah. Yes. Damasco.” Kalyxis nodded thoughtfully, as though this information were the last piece in a conundrum she’d been pondering. “Damasco,” she said, “you have as long as it takes me to count to five to tell me where my grandson is, or else my men will flay you to death right here in the street.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“One,” Kalyxis began.
A thousand thoughts coursed through my head, and nine in every ten involved running... run left, run right, hurl myself through the nearest open window, dash at Kalyxis screaming and hope she was too surprised to have her men slice me to ribbons.
“Two.”
No, fleeing would only get me cut down in the street like a mad dog. So could I bluff? Should I plead innocence? Perhaps blame someone else? Hadn’t I once pretended to be my own brother, and now that I considered it, hadn’t it worked?
“Three...”
Of course, had I really been thinking, I’d have realised there was no way I’d get to do or say anything before the situation was taken from my hands. “My name is Marina Estrada,” said Estrada, stepping forward, “Mayor elect of the town of Muena Palaiya. On behalf of myself and my associates, I welcome you to Altapasaeda.”
If Estrada was staring down a force of heavily armed savages, if she had nothing except audacity and the shirt on her back to bargain with, if her eyes were locked with those of the most singularly dangerous woman she was ever likely to meet, you would never have guessed it from her tone. And if nothing else, she seemed to have Kalyxis’s attention. As long as it was off me, I was willing to count that a success.
“You’ve arrived in the middle of a conflict between the King of Ans Pasaeda and the people of this city,” continued Estrada, “here representing the rights of the Castoval entire. The events of today will have immeasurable consequences for both nations... and, as I’m sure you must realise, for your own land of Shoan as well.”
Kalyxis had been watching her all the while – and just as when I’d first met her, her stare brought to mind images of a raptor scrutinising some distant prey. Might it be too big to carry off? Might it have teeth? Might it have claws? And I supposed that for Kalyxis there was one question that no eagle had ever had to worry about: might it be an ally, now that I’ve found myself far from home and in the middle of someone else’s war?
However, if the possibility had so much as crossed her mind, the toneless chill of her voice hinted none of it. “My name is Kalyxis of Shoan. My grandson has been kidnapped and this degenerate knows where he is. The time he has left to convey that information to me is dwindling rapidly.”
“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding,” replied Estrada, calm as ever. “I swear to you, if it’s within my power, I’ll make certain it’s resolved to your satisfaction.”
“Your word means nothing to me,” said Kalyxis. “And neither do you. I’ve made my terms abundantly clear.”
“You and your men must be tired and hungry. Come with us now, and we’ll discuss this in more comfortable surroundings.”
Estrada’s poise in the face of provocation was astonishing; almost as remarkable was the fact that it seemed to be having no effect on Kalyxis whatsoever. “My men are warriors of Shoan,” she said. “They’ve endured far worse with far less cause. We’ll rest when we’ve left this barbarous land behind with my grandson in tow.”
Had she really just called us barbarous? I was surprised by how much my blood rose at that, when all I’d felt until that point was fear.
Even Estrada seemed finally to be losing a little of her patience. “Kalyxis,” she said, “through no misdoing of your own, you’ve placed yourself and your men in grave danger. I know you’re no friend of the King, and he may well be marching through these streets before the day is out. When circumstances have made us allies, what can you hope to gain with threats?”
The way Estrada talked, you’d think she actually had something to bargain with; that it was she who had the entourage of armed men and not Kalyxis. More than anything she’d said, it was that inexplicable bravado that made me open my mouth when every shred of sense told me to keep it shut.
“The fact is,” I said, before Kalyxis could deliver whatever scathing rebuttal was working towards her tongue, “that you asked Navare here for a truce. Well I’ll tell you now, here in Altapasaeda, truces don’t involve threatening to have people flayed. Like Estrada said, the best course of action here is that we get together, without quite so many swords on display, and have a civilised discussion about how we find your missing grandson.”
Kalyxis turned her aquiline glare on me. “Missing?”
The way she pronounced that one word made my heart want to stop for sheer terror. Yet I knew that if I didn’t press on now, I was done for, and Estrada and Navare too. “Exactly, missing. And not likely to get any less so unless we all calm down.”
By we I’d meant you, but I assumed that years of politicking would have prepared her for such linguistic niceties. Which meant I’d effectively just told a terrifying barbarian queen to get a hold of herself; suddenly, keeping quiet seemed as if it would have been by far the better option.
Then again, wasn’t reason on my side? However limited Kalyxis’s knowledge of the Castoval might be, she had to realise that the chances of finding one wayward youth, in the middle of a war no less, were just below the odds of finding one lost eyelash in a brothel.
Still, the woman had failed to show much in the way of common sense so far. Her approach had been more along the lines of execute now and work out what the question was later. It would be a mistake to expect her to reach the same inescapably rational conclusion I had.
Thus, I was as surprised as I expected Kalyx
is herself was when she said, “You have until sunset. Tell me by then how my grandson will be returned to me or, so help me, this city will find itself losing a war on two fronts.”
Estrada had failed to take into account one thing: organising meetings, food, shelter or anything else in a city that had suddenly – and for the majority of its self-absorbed citizenry, unexpectedly – found itself under attack was a lot like trying to organise an archery contest aboard a sinking ship. No one was interested in the tasks Estrada wanted to set them; for some reason, they were far more eager to get distracted or fly into panics instead.
Estrada had decided to commandeer the Dancing Cat, the inn that had served as Mounteban’s headquarters and afterwards his prison. Her reasoning was sound: there was food and drink there, ample space even for a force of irate Shoanish, and since the Cat had gained such significance lately in the city’s affairs, it had become an unofficial meeting point for the remains of the guard and other factions in the defence effort.
As it turned out, however, it was for exactly that last reason that no one was willing to do what Estrada wanted them to. I watched and tried to find some amusement in the sight of her commandeering passing guardsmen and members of Mounteban’s hotchpotch army, who feigned attention only to rush off on their original errands the moment she let them out of her sight.
Throughout, I kept expecting Kalyxis to run out of whatever passed in the far north for patience. Yet as minutes turned to hours, she only waited with her rough companions, sometimes speaking in muted tones to them, more often observing the commotion unfolding around her as if it were the sort of entertainment always put on for visiting dignitaries. Innumerable as her other flaws of character might be, it appeared that once given, she kept her word.
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