“Do you know why they tried it?” asked the beefy Seve named Khasse, a battered veteran. His arms were criss-crossed with faded scars and one of his ears was gone. A ragged notch of flesh was all that remained. His nose had been broken so many times it listed to one side, and his joints creaked when he moved. His hair was grey and his beard bore only a faint memory of being black. Like Vargus he was older than most, but there was a reason he was still alive and others were desperate to catch his every word. In part to hear the story, but also to find out how he’d managed to live for so long.
“Because they’ve only had one good day in this war,” said Orran.
Khasse smiled, showing a mouthful of battered and broken teeth. “Exactly. The Grey Bear’s a canny fighter, I saw it myself years ago, but he’s a better strategist. Him and the others turned what could’ve been routs into victory.”
“Stop teasing. You’re worse than my wife,” grumbled one of the men. “Who’d they send to kill him this time? Some masked Drassi mercenary?”
“Nah, that was the first one. Not even Taikon’s mad enough to try the same thing twice.”
The wine skin kept moving around the circle and Khasse took a long drink, stretching out the suspense. Everyone around the fire was hanging on his every word, but from the slight glaze in his eyes this wasn’t his first retelling.
“The assassin wasn’t anything to look at,” he said finally. “Anyone would walk past him and not remember his face. Like he was just some lad that wandered into the wrong place by mistake. Way I heard it, he tried that first, babbled and tried to back away, but old One Eye spotted something was wrong.”
“Graegor? Saw it with his magic eye, did he?” scoffed Orran.
“Magic eye or not, I wouldn’t bad mouth that black bastard,” said Hargo, looking deep into the fire. There was something in his voice that made Orran and the others look at him in surprise. There wasn’t much that scared the big man.
“He’s right,” said Khasse, reluctantly letting go of the wine skin and passing it on. “All of a sudden, Graegor starts shouting. Shoving the King back and calling for help. The assassin saw his game was up and went straight for the King. Dagger came out of nowhere. Graegor must have thirty years on the assassin, but he still cut that sneaky bastard in two. Left handed as well, ’cos of his missing fingers.”
“In two?” someone asked. “Down the middle, like?”
“Not the way I heard it,” said another man who’d wandered up at some point during the story. “It was the other General, Vannok. Took the killer’s head clean off his shoulders and Graegor took a shit in it.”
“I saw the body before they took it away,” said Khasse, swallowing hard. “It was split from collar down to stomach, ribs spread open like petals of a bloody flower.” He dared the other man to tell him different, but no one said anything. Everything they knew had come second-or third-hand, but Khasse had seen the body. There was no arguing with that.
The fire crackled loudly and when it snapped, more than a couple of men shifted uncomfortably. None of them actually jumped in fright of course.
“I heard Graegor tends to that axe every night, like it was his lover. Five hundred strokes on a whetstone,” someone whispered. “Only way it’s that sharp.”
“I heard he’s done it ever since he lost his wife and son. Someone butchered his whole family, so now he takes the axe to bed instead.”
“Either way, I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side. So keep stories like that to yourself, in case they find their way back to him,” suggested Hargo and others made noises of agreement.
There would be seeds of truth in the stories. Even though Vargus doubted some parts, he saw no reason to stir things up. Their leaders were tough men. Each one had risen up the ranks through hard work and sacrifice. Not one of them was noble born. Now they were becoming something else in the eyes of the men, and he wasn’t about to do anything to change that. The warriors around him needed to believe that the Generals knew better and could see them through this, because without saying it aloud, every man knew it was going to get worse before it got better, and that the war had only just begun.
CHAPTER 13
Gunder emptied a bucket of cold water over the High Priest. He came awake spluttering and gasping for air as the water ran down his face. He tried to move, and when that failed he looked at his surroundings, taking in the dirty warehouse, the stacks of old barrels and then the tray of steel implements beside his chair. In the background Gunder could hear the sound of the waves and the cry of seagulls, but they were never far from the ear in Perizzi. The High Priest would never know exactly where they were in the city.
High Priest Filbin, First Minister of the Church of the Holy Light of Zecorria and one of the most influential men in that country, tried to stand up, but the cloth restraints around his arms and legs kept him firmly in place. Gunder had taken great care when tying the knots so that they wouldn’t mark the priest’s flesh. The chair was nailed to the floor, and a gag sat around the priest’s throat in case he screamed. At the moment that seemed to be the last thing on his mind.
“You will burn for this,” Filbin spat and Gunder couldn’t help laughing. Even in the face of torture and death, dripping with water like a drowned cat, the man was defiant. “The Church and King Taikon will see you flayed to death!”
“You’re a funny man, Filbin.”
“You will address me as, Your Holiness,” he said, sounding deadly serious.
Gunder smiled and slapped him across the face. Filbin was so horrendously shocked Gunder had to slap him again on the other cheek. Even as the red marks began to rise, shock was replaced with outrage.
“You will be tied out in the sun,” he promised. “Burned at the stake. Gutted and fed to my dogs!”
Gunder let Filbin ramble on for a while and make threats while he checked his torture implements. Some he’d bought from a retiring butcher: the cleaver, the skinning knife, the knocking spike and heavy mallet to drive it home. Others had been specially crafted, but this was the first time in years they’d all been laid out together. It was easy to stab someone and pull out their innards. It took real skill to kill a man and leave no mark, so the authorities never knew how it was done. Those were the murders that took real talent.
But all of that was a long time ago. The tools were a reminder of another time in his life, another man with a different name, before he began his work in Yerskania.
“What are you going to do with those?” Filbin asked eventually. It always surprised him when they asked. Gunder simply raised an eyebrow. The priest’s anger drained away and was replaced with fear and dread.
“Please, please, I’ll pay you whatever you want, just don’t hurt me. I’m a good man. A pious man!”
Gunder turned away and took a deep breath to calm himself. His hands shook with rage as he struggled to control his temper. The urge to slash the priest’s throat was overwhelming. He’d found His Holiness at a brothel that specialised in young girls, and from the manner of the proprietor’s greeting, it was obvious Filbin was a regular customer. Officially he was visiting Yerskania, and the capital city, to pray at the local temple and offer spiritual guidance to the Queen, but no one actually believed it.
The number of rumours about the Queen and the Royal Family had increased dramatically over the last few days, and although no official declaration had been made, Gunder expected one any day. It would be something significant if Taikon had sent His Holiness to speak on his behalf to persuade the Queen it was in her best interests, and that of the people, to comply. Gunder suspected another slaughter of soldiers would follow if she refused.
More worrying for Gunder was that his agents in the palace had failed to send any information for five days. He suspected they had been compromised and were being tortured, or were already dead.
“What are you doing?” said Filbin, intruding on his thoughts.
“Deciding if I should cut off your hands or your feet first.”
; “Lord of Light protect me,” chanted the priest. “Lady of Light save me!”
“They’re not here,” said Gunder, turning back and picking up the bone saw. “But this is,” he said, tapping the blade. “Specially crafted, toughened Seve steel. Cuts through bones like warm butter. A lot of people used to die from shock when they sawed off limbs, because it took so long.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Then someone came up with blades like this one,” said Gunder, tipping the blade this way and that so it caught the light. “A very special alloy. Now it only takes seconds.”
“If you want money, that can be arranged,” promised Filbin. “The Church will pay a substantial ransom for my return. More money than you can imagine.”
“I’m sure,” mused Gunder, pretending to consider it. “But I’m more interested in what’s going on inside there,” he said, poking the side of Filbin’s oversized head with a finger.
The High Priest had seen at least fifty summers and was shaped like a barrel. His exquisite gold and maroon silk robe was stretched tight over his fat belly. His black hair was balding on top, and to compensate he’d grown a beard. Normally it looked impressive, but at the moment it was a soggy mess dripping with water. Despite his indulgences and unsavoury appetites, Filbin’s mind was as sharp as his jet-black eyes.
“How much do you want?” he asked, sounding more like a Yerskani merchant bartering over the price of grain than someone begging for his life. Making deals with people in difficult situations was something he understood.
“It’s not about money,” said Gunder, moving to stand directly in front of Filbin. He bent down until they were at eye level. There was a subtle shift behind the priest’s eyes.
“Who do you work for? Is it that bitch, Robella?” he asked, and Gunder shook his head. “Who then?”
Gunder maintained eye contact, but he lowered his voice slightly so that the priest was forced to lean closer. “I’m not going to tell you, Filbin.”
“Stop saying my name!”
“What I want,” said Gunder, ignoring the outburst, “is to know about your childhood.”
His words gave Filbin pause, as again he had to reassess why he was tied to a chair. This wasn’t what he expected from this kind of situation. His looked calm, but Gunder could read the slight twitches around the corners of his mouth, the brief tilt of his eyebrows, the shifting muscles of his jaw.
“It was an unhappy time.”
“You have an old Talent,” said Filbin. It was a logical assumption, but wrong. “Some weak magic that’s letting you know what I’m thinking on the surface.”
Gunder wrongfooted himself on purpose. “Your mother was a drunk.”
“You’re just guessing,” scoffed Filbin, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes. A glance into the past for a moment.
“Your father was a miner. He often spent weeks away from home in the pit. Working hard to provide for you and your mother.”
“That is a matter of public record. So far you’ve said nothing that’s impressed me. What do you want?”
“Your mother would go out at night, and sometimes she’d come home with other men.”
“How dare you!” Filbin strained against his restraints and the chair creaked.
“You spent long hours alone in the house with nothing to do. But then you found the Book,” said Gunder, offering a friendly smile as he softened his voice. “The glorious Book and the Way.”
“You’re not a believer,” spat Filbin.
“I find it ironic that you’re devoted to a religion steeped in the ideals of purity, when your own mother was a cheap whore.”
“I’ll fucking kill you!” screamed Filbin, writhing and thrashing about in his chair. It creaked again, but thankfully didn’t break. Given Filbin’s weight, maybe he should have used more nails. “You will be tortured for days! Weeks! You will beg for death!”
“You knew what was happening in your parents’ bed, and yet you never told your father. He knew something was wrong, didn’t he?”
“No, no,” sobbed Filbin, shaking his head. Gunder never moved a muscle and yet his blows kept hitting the priest, affecting him far worse than if he’d used the steel on Filbin’s flesh.
“Your mother pretended that everything was normal when he came home, but it wasn’t. Sometimes you’d wake up in the night and see your father stood at your bedroom door. You both knew he’d been crying, but he’d never admit it. A big man like him? Crying?”
Filbin’s eyes were wide with horror and his mouth gaped like a fish. “How? How are you doing this?”
“He wondered, and when you were older, so did you. Was he really your father?” Filbin had run out of words. The wound was old, but still very raw. The priest was staring at something, but it wasn’t anything in the warehouse. Perhaps it was a shade of his father, standing in the shadows. “He asked you once about your mother, didn’t he?”
“Stop,” choked Filbin, moments away from tears or another threat. “Just, stop.”
“And you lied,” whispered Gunder.
Filbin stopped begging and just stared into the past.
Gunder let him stew for a while. All of his information on Filbin had come from Talandra and her little black book of secrets. It wasn’t one book any more, although that was how it had started years ago with a few secrets dug up by her network. Somewhere in the palace was a secret room, the walls lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and inside each black notebook were secrets about all of the most important and powerful people in the world. Together with the facts, she had added notes on each person, their strengths and weaknesses, vices and family, all leading to how they could be manipulated. The Black Library, as it was known by some, was Talandra’s most powerful weapon.
“One day you will meet the Lord of Light, and all of your sins will be laid bare before him,” said Gunder, bringing Filbin back to the present. “You will confess all your sins or be turned away. Is that not what the Book promises?”
“Do not quote scripture to me,” said Filbin. His voice was thin and hoarse.
“You will be judged. But do you really believe? In your deepest heart, in the darkest corners of your mind, where no one can ever see, do you really believe?” Gunder asked gently, as if they were two old friends. “I keep using your name because here, in this place, you are not the High Priest. You are not a spiritual leader, or head of the church. You are not even a priest. You are just a man and if I kill you, He is who you will see next. He will judge you. You cannot hide anything from Him. So, I’ll ask you one last time, Filbin. Do you believe?”
Talandra’s information had revealed that in Filbin’s mind, lying to his father was the worst sin he’d ever committed. It was the one that could never be forgiven as both of his parents were now dead. The wound was buried deep inside and every action, every word, every thought since that moment rested on top of it. Decades of memory tried to press it down, flatten it out and smother it with triumphs and sins, big and small. But no matter what Filbin did, the sharp edges had not softened over time, and as Gunder forced him to turn it over in his mind, it cut him anew.
“I believe.” The words were spoken so softly that Gunder thought he’d imagined it at first. “I believe,” said Filbin, as tears ran down his cheeks from the memory of what he’d done.
Gunder smiled and with careful and precise gestures he swirled his fingers in front of the priest’s face and then snapped his fingers. Filbin’s eyes glazed over and he sat perfectly still.
Gunder spoke quietly and calmly, laying out the truth. Stripped of all pretence and pride, rank and status, Filbin responded without hesitation, speaking from his subconscious. There was no need to plant a suggestion. Filbin already knew what needed to be done when he got home, and how he should respond. All he needed was a little nudge to remind him of how far he and his people had drifted from their true faith. Filbin would become their ally in Zecorria against Taikon and his new cult, and best of all, he wouldn
’t even know he was working for Talandra.
Gunder watched as the hooded figure of the High Priest left the seedy establishment, flanked by two bodyguards. A short time later a girl came out of the building, padded across the street and casually leaned against the corner with her back towards him. She was small for her age and looked much younger.
“Well?”
“It happened just like you said. He woke up and was confused, then he just sat there, staring at nothing.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No, he just looked really sad,” said the girl. She was dressed in an ankle-length dress, but he knew inside the brothel all the girls wore next to nothing.
“And then?”
“Nothing. He got dressed and left. Never said a word, didn’t touch me, barely even looked at me.”
Gunder produced a heavy pouch, which he held out towards the girl. She quickly pocketed the money and risked a look over her shoulder at him.
“Is that it?”
“You’re done. Never go back there. If they ask, tell them you couldn’t stand it, not even for one night. They won’t argue, or try to stop you.”
The girl was young, but not stupid. “All this money, for nothing?”
“No. It’s to make sure you forget everything you saw today,” said Gunder, moving out of the shadows until she could see his eyes and murderous expression. With a flourish he produced a dagger in both hands from the sleeves of his expansive robe. “Because if you don’t, I’ll cut your fucking heart out.”
The girl’s eyes widened in terror and her throat tightened with fear. She tried to speak, to make a promise, but couldn’t manage it. Instead she turned and ran, never once looking back.
CHAPTER 14
Balfruss felt exhausted after another long day on the battlefield. He and the other Battlemages were kept on constant alert, unable to properly rest in case they were needed. He managed a few naps, but afterwards felt just as tired and sandy-eyed.
Today had been the first day of the war on which King Matthias had been unable to use the mountain passes against the enemy. Today had been devoted to tactics and quickly responding to an ever-changing situation. Not being privy to the same level of news as the Generals, Balfruss only knew what he heard from others. By all accounts, today had been another victory.
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