“I should be the one to go.”
“They won’t let you,” said Zannah, gesturing at the courtyard. A group of people had gathered in the doorway of the main building. Every face was staring at Alyssa and she could feel the immense weight of being responsible for all of them settling on her shoulders. “You give them hope.” The Morrin retrieved the knotted rope and threw it over the wall. Before Alyssa could wish her good luck or offer a prayer, Zannah went over, and a minute later was running down the street away from the winery.
So far the people in the courtyard had not followed her onto the wall. Alyssa wondered if part of their reluctance had been because of Zannah. Now that the Morrin had gone she feared they would swamp her.
“You can’t hide up here all night,” said Balfruss, scratching at his beard.
“Watch me.”
“I know it feels heavy, but it does get easier.”
“What’s that?”
“Being responsible for others.” The Battlemage sounded as if he were speaking from experience. “At one time we all felt it during the war. There were only six Battlemages and without us there would not have been a war between Seveldrom and the west. The Mad King and the Warlock would have marched in and slaughtered thousands. A great deal was expected of us.”
Alyssa knew some of what had happened, but this was the first time she’d spoken to someone who had been there on the Seve front line.
“What happened?”
The look of sorrow that settled on Balfruss’s face was so intense Alyssa reached out and laid a hand on his arm. He tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. Instead he turned his face away so she couldn’t see the old pain in his eyes.
“We did what was needed,” said Balfruss, his voice thick with emotion. “But the other Battlemages, my friends, they all died.”
“I didn’t mean to open old wounds,” said Alyssa, suddenly desperate for something to distract Balfruss. She brought up the first thing that came to mind, mostly because it had been niggling at her. “During the war, did you ever meet any plague priests?”
“No, none. I didn’t even know they existed until this year. I’ve heard stories of them curing illnesses since the war ended, but Kai is the first one I’ve met. Why do you ask?”
Alyssa bit her lip, wondering if she was overthinking things. “It’s probably nothing.”
Balfruss shook his head. “Your instincts are good. It’s one of the reasons people follow you. Tell me.”
“It’s Kai,” said Alyssa, glancing around to make sure he wasn’t standing below them in the courtyard. Even so she lowered her voice, slightly afraid for some reason that he might hear what was being said. “There’s something odd about him.”
“I know,” admitted Balfruss. “He’s a very strange man.”
“It’s not just that.” Alyssa was struggling to put into words what she felt but the feeling in her gut would not leave her. “He unsettles me, and a few others.”
“Has he hurt someone or said something?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s been kind with all the sick and injured. It’s something else. It’s hard to describe, but every time he’s in the room it’s like having an itch inside my head.”
“You have more experience of it than me. Do you think he’s been changed? Is he one of the Forsaken?”
Alyssa had considered it as a possibility, but he’d exhibited none of the usual behaviour. Also he spent more time alone than with other people, which again wasn’t like any of those who had been changed. They wanted to spread the word of their new gospel, not sit alone drinking wine.
“It’s not that, I’m certain of it,” said Alyssa. “He’s got a dark sense of humour and he’s a strange man, but there’s something more that’s out of place.”
“I’ll look into it,” he promised.
She had thought Balfruss might challenge her more and disregard her feeling as nothing more than paranoia. Alyssa had hoped that in some ways. Instead he was going to investigate, and that worried her. What if she was right?
“Where is she?” he muttered. Tammy had been gone for a long time now.
Alyssa joined Balfruss in his vigil and together they silently watched the darkening sky. The light was beginning to fade and no doubt more Forsaken would soon follow. After last night’s slaughter Alyssa wondered if they would return in even greater numbers seeking retribution for their dead.
As much as that worried her she couldn’t stop thinking about Zannah all alone out there in the darkness. She offered a brief prayer and watched with a growing sense of dread as the shadows lengthened and the sun drifted below the horizon.
When darkness fell they lit the torches on the gate, and others took their places on the wall, preparing themselves for another long night. Zannah still hadn’t returned. They were on their own.
CHAPTER 23
“What is your freedom worth?” asked Fenne. He was completely at ease inside his camp, flanked by a dozen mercenaries and with more dotted around the temple grounds.
“Stay calm,” muttered Kovac from the corner of his mouth. “Don’t let him rattle you.”
“You broke our deal,” said Tammy, her voice carrying around the courtyard.
“I’ve honoured it,” insisted Fenne. “No part of the deal mentioned you getting back out.”
“What do you want?”
Fenne spread his arms wide. “What do you have to offer?”
“Nothing of value besides my sword, and you can’t have that.”
Fenne waved that away as if it were nothing, for which Tammy was glad. During their voyage Balfruss had told her how the sword had been forged and who by. It was one of a kind and priceless. Perhaps if Fenne had looked at the blade closely he might have noticed something unusual about it, but he hadn’t bothered.
“Swords don’t interest me.”
“Then what does?”
“There’s so little to do around here,” he said, idly walking towards her. “So few distractions in this dying city. Every day and night is the same, scrambling around for food. It becomes tedious very quickly. People need entertainment, otherwise they might go mad.”
Tammy studied the Morrin more closely, noting the many faded scars on his face and arms. There was a hint of grey in the hair over his ears and one of his horns was slightly crooked. He could be mistaken for a normal middle-aged Morrin, if it were not for his terrible yellow eyes. They held no trace of empathy or compassion. An intense fire burned behind them. A seething rage tempered by something Tammy couldn’t identify, but she thought there was a hint of madness. Reading people was normally easy for her, but Morrin were not human.
Instead she switched her attention to the other mercenaries around Fenne. They were scared, terrified in fact, and after only hearing a little of what he’d done Tammy guessed they’d seen a lot worse. She was only a temporary visitor but they had to live with the insane Morrin every day. It would be the same as living with a rabid dog and wondering every morning if today would be the day it finally ripped out your throat in a frenzy.
“What kind of entertainment do you have in mind?” she asked.
Fenne’s grin was more than a little unnerving but she tried not to show that it bothered her. “Bring your sword and you’ll get a chance to find out.” He turned and gestured for Tammy to follow.
“What’s the deal?” asked Tammy.
“You’ll find out,” said Fenne, calling back over one shoulder.
With Kovac walking beside her they headed towards the domed temple at the rear of the compound. Three mercenaries fell in beside Kovac, two feral-looking women dressed in hunting leathers and a tall pale-skinned Yerskani man with a shaven head. Kovac nodded amicably at them but he said nothing. Tammy wasn’t sure if they were there as Kovac’s back-up, or to make sure she followed Fenne to the temple.
“How good are you with a sword?” asked Kovac in a whisper. His lips were barely moving and he kept staring straight ahead.
“Better than average.”
“I hope you’re a lot better than that. He’ll offer you a new deal. Beat one of his men in return for your freedom.”
“Sounds fair, if he honours it.”
Kovac frowned but didn’t look at her. “It’s rigged. His champion is lethal with a blade. Best I’ve ever seen. He’ll also stretch it out, make it entertaining and bloody. Fenne always wants a show.”
Tammy wasn’t sure why Kovac was helping her, and putting himself at risk in the process, but she was grateful. In this sort of situation where she was the outsider, she needed a guide.
As they approached the temple more people joined the party in front of them, streaming out of the long buildings. Some were locals being herded along by mercenaries until Tammy was following a crowd of at least sixty people.
“Anything else I should know?” she asked.
“The best way to get out of this alive is to make Fenne happy. Even if you’re winning, make it look good.”
The temple had been devoted to the Blessed Mother and once it had been beautiful. Now the doors had been ripped off and probably burned for fuel. The walls were painted with colourful frescos but were now covered with layers of grime, soot and dust, blown in from outside until they were no longer recognisable. All she could see was a face here or pair of hands there amid the muck.
Inside there were no chairs or benches, and half of the floor had been converted into a shanty town of tents where a crowd of smelly, dirty people slept in cramped and unhygienic conditions. The smell of so many unwashed bodies crammed into such a tight space made her gag. Every face was thin and their bodies bordered on the skeletal. Many just lay on pallets or directly on the tiled floor, staring at her with huge eyes. Tammy knew that disease would come hand in hand with famine in such a desperate place.
The other half of the temple was completely clear except for a large circle that had been marked on the floor. At first Tammy thought it was ash or paint, but when she got closer it became clear the substance was dried blood.
The assembled onlookers began to file around the edges of the circle. All of them were careful not to step too close to the line. There was only one chair, a wicker monstrosity filled with cushions, which Fenne sat down in, surrounded by his group of flunkies. The crowd fell silent and the Morrin gestured for her to step into the circle.
“To earn your freedom, all you have to do is beat someone of my choosing. That’s the deal.” Fenne made it sound so easy.
“I have a counter offer, since you broke our first deal,” said Tammy.
The silence in the temple grew oppressive, but she’d waited until this moment to pursue her grievance. Even though he ruled by fear it would become more difficult to maintain control if they knew he couldn’t keep his word.
“Pick whoever you want and I’ll fight them,” said Tammy. “But in return I want my freedom and I want a servant of my own. You have plenty to spare.”
Fenne threw back his head and laughed. Those around him smiled as well, easing their hands away from weapons.
“Of course,” insisted Fenne. “One less mouth to feed would be a blessing, yes? It’s a deal. So, do you want your sword back, or will it be knives?”
Tammy’s grin made a few mercenaries twitch. “Neither. Let’s make this interesting. How about a fist fight?”
Fenne cackled and rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful. Someone go and fetch Grennig.”
Tammy moved to one side of the circle nearest Kovac. “Give me a hand with this,” she said, gesturing at her leather armour. He helped her out of her leather vest and unbuckled her bracers, keeping his face bent to the task. She noticed those stood closest to Kovac were the two feral women and the Yerskani with an almost regal bearing. A small pool of space remained around them.
“Are you sure about this?” muttered Kovac.
“It’s a little too late for that. Tell me about Grennig.”
“He’s vicious and I’d say he fights dirty, except there are no rules. He’ll try to gouge your eyes, fishhook your mouth, bite you, anything to make you scream.”
“You’d better help me with this as well then,” said Tammy, taking off her padded vest leaving only a thin shirt. “Cut off the sleeves.”
Using a dagger from his belt Kovac cut the sleeves off at the shoulders, giving her plenty of room to move without leaving anything to grab. His eyes widened slightly as he saw the thickness of her arms and shoulders, but he didn’t say anything.
“Pull my shirt tight,” said Tammy, turning around.
Kovac pulled the material until it was stretched tight across her breasts. He then knotted the remaining fabric on her back, giving her opponent nothing to hold. If Grennig managed to get behind her then it wouldn’t matter, but at least this way she wasn’t giving him anything, besides the obvious, to grip for leverage.
With a small strip of leather Tammy bound her hair up at the back of her head. The wise decision would be to cut it all off or even shave it, but she didn’t think Fenne would wait. It would have to do.
A rumble among the crowd announced the arrival of Grennig and people quickly created room for him to enter the circle. Now that she was practically stripped to the waist Tammy saw a few people glancing at her physique. A few were eyeing her up appreciatively, Kovac among them, who was trying his best not to stare.
A few others around the circle were looking at her speculatively. Some of the mercenaries kept glancing at her hands, noticing the old scars, and then furiously whispering to their neighbours. They were beginning to wonder why she’d asked for this type of fight. There was a flurry of activity in the crowd as people started making bets on the outcome. Just like old times.
Grennig stepped into the circle and Tammy felt the years slip away, back to when she’d worked for one of the crime Families of Perizzi. Don Lowell had looked like everyone’s favourite grandfather, but was in fact a ruthless, clever old bastard. She’d collected overdue debts and brawled in the pit fights for money because she’d enjoyed it. The cheering of the crowd and the sound of breaking bones. The domination of another human in the most primal fight for survival. No weapons, not even a sharpened stone, just a closed fist.
It had been a dark and dangerous time in her life and now she was taking herself back there. Voechenka dragged old feelings that were deeply buried back to the surface. It felt as if an old version of herself was trying to re-emerge. For now she let it happen, but also tried to temper the fury of that younger woman with her wisdom and experience.
Grennig was about six foot, which made him shorter than her, but not by much. Even so, his reach would be shorter, which gave her at least one advantage. With him stripped to the waist and with a shaven head, there was nothing for her to grab onto either. He had dusty brown skin and nearly jet-black eyes, indicating a descendant from somewhere in the desert kingdoms.
Grennig’s body had few scars, but his knuckles were battered and his nose had been broken several times in the past. The skin around his eyes and mouth looked wrinkled, but as he came closer she could see lots of scar tissue. A veteran. Tammy expected he was doing the same kind of assessment of her and she felt an eager smile from her old self make its way onto her face.
“You know the rule,” said Fenne. “Only one of you can step out of the circle. Apart from that there are no rules.”
Tammy ignored the Morrin and kept her eyes on Grennig, watching how he moved, looking for weaknesses.
“Begin,” someone said, but she didn’t rush to attack and neither did Grennig. They started circling each other and although the temple and the crowd were still there on the periphery of her senses, she let them drift away into the background.
Tammy finally raised her hands and Grennig did the same. He met her in the middle of the circle and went on the offensive, jabbing and testing her. Tammy dodged and bobbed from side to side, barely moving her feet, before retaliating with a fast right towards Grennig’s face. It slipped past his guard and caught him on the chin, snapping his head down. She followe
d up with a flurry of left and rights towards his face before stepping in close, grabbing him around the head with her arms and kneeing him in the chest.
Grennig went down backwards but turned it into a roll. He came up onto his haunches breathing hard but wasn’t winded as she’d hoped. When he came forward again it was more cautiously, but Tammy didn’t give him time to recover. Kovac had told her Grennig was cruel and Fenne had probably thought to make this fight another bout of sport. He was in for a rude awakening.
Keeping him at the edge of her reach Tammy hounded her opponent, going after him with vicious blows and occasionally catching him. One hard left split Grennig’s bottom lip, another crunched into his left cheek and a third bruised his right eye. When he tried to pull back and take a breather she followed up, stepped inside his reach and hammered her forehead into his face.
A spray of blood landed on the ground and the first dull crack of broken bone rang out. Grennig’s nose was now askew but it didn’t slow him down much because he’d broken it before. If anything it made him angry, as Tammy had hoped. She took a few blows to the stomach and ribs then caught Grennig on the left temple with an elbow, which sent him reeling.
He quickly recovered and came at her hard, his fists a blur, which caught her by surprise. The punches were badly timed but remembering what Kovac said, Tammy pretended they had hurt her. Fenne wanted a show, so she would give him one.
Grennig followed up, going after her ribs, then switching to her head as she tried to hunch over her body. The volume of noise from the crowd was so loud it began to penetrate her bubble of concentration. After taking a nasty left hook on the side of her face Tammy blocked the next blow and retaliated with two hard jabs that surprised Grennig, stunning him and stopping him cold.
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