A thick morning mist covered the North Coast plains at sunrise and the frost underfoot was crisp. The night had been icy and still, so quiet that River’s army witnessed the arrival of the mercenary force just before midnight, the distant clank of metal and orders being shouted, campfires blinking into being. ‘They will be tired and exhausted,’ River told his Hordemasters as he briefed them while they waited for the mist to dissolve. ‘The scouts report that there are two thousand to our five thousand, almost three to one odds in our favour. This will be a good day,’ he concluded.
With the Hordemasters dispersed to their assigned positions, River mounted his horse and sat patiently at the head of the Kerwyn cavalry. Overhead, attached to cables down which vital messages could be raised and lowered, the two airbirds floated above the mist, both glowing red in the bright sunlight. Three squads of thundermakers were squatting along the front-line, ready to fire consecutive volleys into the enemy’s front ranks to kill, maim and demoralise. A bank of ten giant thundermakers was ranged along the ridge, preparing to bombard the enemy’s rear ranks. The impending battle would be a useful exercise, River decided. I can try some interesting tactics. He eased a small hand-held thundermaker from its holster at his waist and checked that it was primed. As he sighted along the barrel, he saw the mist evaporating and the enemy marching towards his lines. Eager to die, he noted with a smirk. Then he heard a high-pitched whistling coming through the air and the earth erupted beneath his horse.
Hordemaster Fist smiled gleefully as he personally stuffed Prince River’s severed head into a hessian bag. He had nearly lost his prize to a direct hit from one of the peacemaker cannons, but a diligent search by his retainers after the battle unearthed the hapless prince’s corpse.
The battlefield was littered with bodies, mainly Kerwyn soldiers. Those who escaped the initial bombardment from the cannons had charged into a hail of bullets from the single and multi-muzzled peacemakers the Ranu supplied to the mercenaries. Where Kerwyn thundermakers could fire one round before reloading, the Ranu peacemakers held ten rounds and the multi-muzzled weapons fired ten bullets in a round for up to ten rounds. The battle had been woefully uneven and relatively brief, a slaughter on a scale that startled Fist as he watched it unfold from his command post. He remembered how his first battles as a youth had lasted up to a day before a result, men hacking and slashing at each other, dodging stray thundermaker shots, tiring long before they were cut down. The minor insurrections he quelled in the city quarters for Warlord Roughcut were quicker affairs because of the improved accuracy and availability of thundermakers to the soldiers, but the Ranu technology shifted the rate of mass killing to an unbelievable level of efficiency. He was glad he no longer had to fight in the common ranks if the future was going to be like the battle he’d witnessed this morning.
He had one disappointment. Warlord Roughcut’s body wasn’t among the dead. His mercenaries searched every corpse, killing every wounded Kerwyn soldier and prodding the dead to make certain they were dead, but no one located the Warlord. He’d looked forward to a personal confrontation with Roughcut to show his former leader that his time had come. Instead, it seemed Roughcut had chosen the soft option of sailing to Port of Joy with Prince Thirdson. Too bad, thought Fist, gazing across the battlefield where the crows were already feasting. The crows won’t get you, but the fish will.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The flight of three huge Ranu dragon eggs over Port of Joy on the day preceding the coronation drew everyone out of the factories, the shops, the inns and taverns, and the houses to watch in awe. Following hard on the astonishing news of the new king’s tragic assassination came the glorious defeat of the usurpers’ armies on the North Coast plains and the people were overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions, but the call to celebrate the coronation of Prince Shadow as Inheritor’s legitimate successor was received with universal joy, especially as the news was spread by Jarudhan acolytes distributing free bags of euphoria to everyone in the Quarter temples. Business owners complained bitterly at the disruption to their workplaces during the five days of preparation for Shadow’s coronation, but events were beyond their control and many grudgingly accepted the situation.
Speculation about the future under King Shadow was rife in the homes and the markets and inns as the people prepared for change. Rumours flew faster than the truth. Some believed that Shadow and the new Warlord, Fist, were the kingdom’s saviours. Others argued that Shadow had arranged the murder of Inheritor and curried the support of the Ranu. The faithful said it was Jarudha’s plan to bring peace. Many people simply didn’t care so long as the euphoria was freely given out.
‘He’s the darling of the Seers. We’re in for a new order. I wouldn’t want to be a sinner now.’
‘Too late for you.’
‘It was always going to happen. You can’t have that many princes and hope they’ll all happily accept not being king.’
‘It’s in their blood to kill each other off. Their great-grandfather did it.’
‘Who cares? What can we do about it? They make the rules. We just get on with it.’
‘Poor people just stay poor people. A king’s a king, nothing else to us.’
‘Shadow will be a good king. He’s got his father’s backbone. Inheritor was never going to last long.’
‘They didn’t find Inheritor’s body. Don’t you think that’s strange?’
‘I thought Inheritor and Thirdson were close. Why would Thirdson plot against him?’
‘Don’t you listen? Thirdson was lost at sea. He was coming to Inheritor’s rescue. It was River who had the rebel army.’
The conversations and conjectures, truth mixed with lies, ebbed and flowed according to the amount of ale and passion involved throughout the city and into the towns and villages. People took sides in the debate about who had done what to whom, but most believed the theory that Shadow somehow saved the kingdom from imploding just when the Ranu arrived and looked like becoming a threat to the future. ‘He’s shrewd and he’s a man of Jarudha. What more could we want in a king?’
Crystal Merchant made certain no one knew where she was going, not even her partner, Lin, before she descended into the tunnels beneath her house, carrying a bag of food and medicines. Waiting for her at the entrance to the old smuggler’s tunnel that led to a cave in the cliffs, Hunter took the bag and led her along the damp and long-abandoned route, his lantern dimmed to minimise the chance anyone might notice a light in the disused section. As the susurration of the waves reached Crystal’s ears, they diverted into a smaller, natural tunnel in the rock, bending low to navigate the narrow and winding passage for a dozen paces before reaching a cavern. Hunter placed the lantern on a rocky ledge, returned the bag to Crystal, drew his hand-held thundermaker and immediately retreated through the dark to take up silent watch at the tunnel entrance.
Alone, Crystal squatted and touched the brow of the injured man lying on the cavern floor. He was still running a temperature. She opened her bag and rummaged through the contents, finally tipping them onto the ground in frustration. She slid her arm under Inheritor’s head to lift it gently and his eyes flickered opened. ‘I’ve got some medicine for you,’ she told him. She selected a small jar from her collection on the floor, uncorked it with her teeth and tipped it towards Inheritor’s lips. As she poured a small measure into his mouth, Inheritor coughed and some green liquid dribbled onto his bearded chin. ‘Swallow,’ she coaxed. ‘You need this.’ Inheritor’s eyes closed, but he swallowed awkwardly. When he was finished, she lowered his head. ‘It will make you sleep more, but my surgeon assures me it will fight the poison in your system from your injuries.’ She figured he was too delirious to understand, but talking made her feel she was doing the right thing.
She’d been lucky to find the injured king in the catacombs beneath the palace, and then it was just as she conceded on her third attempt that searching for him was pointless. They encountered only the one group also looking for the king, but, the
reafter, they were more cautious. She knew others were searching for him, but they avoided further encounters more by luck than planning. Hunter stumbled upon the king when he lowered the lantern to illuminate a very small, lateral, floor-level opening. Inheritor had squeezed into the tight space and was waiting to die. She was grateful to Hunter for carrying the unconscious man the length of the tunnel and into the old smugglers’ caves, and she asked him to keep the knowledge of what they had done from everyone else, even Lin. ‘The less who know for now, the better,’ she advised. ‘Inheritor is a dead man, and I suspect if we are found with him we will wind up dead as well.’
Her surgeon supplied her with medicines and she ensured his silence with the promise of a significant ongoing supply of free euphoria. She felt terrible for not sharing her secret with Lin, but instinctively she knew the unique situation demanded an absolutely rigid level of confidentiality because of the danger to Inheritor’s life, and when she heard the official story being spread throughout the city—that he had been murdered as part of an attempted usurpation by his brothers—she knew that her decision was the right one. Shadow’s eagerness to pronounce his brother’s death without a body to bury confirmed her misgivings. She picked up a cloth from the jumble and mopped Inheritor’s brow. Now, what do I do with you? she pondered.
Warlord Fist was justifiably proud of his new status. His triumphant return to Port of Joy coincided with Shadow’s coronation and he was feted in the city as the hero and saviour of the kingdom and he relished the praise. When the celebrations were over and he’d drunk his full measure of ale and wine, he spent the next day recuperating, wishing to be alone and undisturbed in his new quarters at the barracks. So the sharp knocking at his door in the early afternoon was like having his head galloped over by a squad of cavalry and he promised himself that he would send the perpetrator straight to the basement of the Bog Pit. ‘Yes?’ he slurred as he swung open his door. Two soldiers saluted. ‘What?’ he demanded, blinking in the sunlight, oblivious to his state of undress and the stench of stale alcohol wafting from his room.
‘Warlord, there is a prisoner you might want to see,’ a soldier informed him.
‘There were no prisoners, you idiot,’ Fist retorted. ‘We killed them all.’
‘Warlord, it’s not a soldier.’
‘Then who the hell is it?’ he demanded.
‘The sister of the thief, Warlord. She was located in a village.’
Fist blinked and swallowed. I’m dry as a bleached bone, he complained silently. ‘What thief are you talking about?’
‘The one you gave orders to catch, Warlord,’ the soldier explained. ‘And the assassin.’
‘When you were still a Hordemaster, Warlord,’ his companion added.
The information crystallised in Fist’s befuddled head. His eyes widened and he straightened his posture. ‘Bring her to me,’ he ordered. As the soldiers departed to fetch the prisoner, he felt a surge of elation. One battle won: another challenge close to resolution. King Shadow couldn’t help but be impressed with his Warlord. He was almost willing to believe in Jarudha if his fortune continued to grow so strongly.
Shadow sat on the throne in the octagonal chamber with the Seers and his two younger brothers assembled before him on chairs placed on the floor space at the base of the throne steps. He liked the sensation of being elevated above them, even though the meeting was called to determine what needed yet to be done to consolidate his position as the newly crowned Kerwyn king. His Eminence, Seer Scripture, in his elaborately embroidered blue robe, sat in the middle of his colleagues to emphasise his position, and Shadow knew the old man was bristling with irritation.
The Seers had promoted him to his father and supported his ascension to the throne. No doubt, they expected to rule the kingdom through him and he would ensure that the principles of Jarudha were enacted faithfully under his reign, but he was not going to bow to Scripture. Now that he was king, he commanded and expected mutual respect.
Word, as always, spoke first when the formalities of greeting were completed. ‘There is the matter of burying the former king,’ he began.
‘Your Highness,’ Shadow reminded him.
Word bowed his head and added, ‘Your Highness.’
‘Thank you,’ Shadow acknowledged. ‘It seems that my brother’s body has already been taken to the hells,’ he said, smiling sardonically. ‘However, my good brother, Lastchild, has found a replacement corpse for the official ceremony tomorrow. Should my errant brother’s body turn up after tomorrow, it will be disposed of surreptitiously.’
‘Is there any possibility of him returning?’ Word inquired.
Shadow smiled. ‘If he survives to escape from the catacombs—and he won’t—there’ll be no wisdom in him trying to return. Within a short while, it will be widely believed that my father’s death was orchestrated cleverly by his eldest son and that Inheritor’s murder, arranged by my unfortunately absent brothers, was in part motivated by the anger at his cruel act of patricide. If Inheritor survives, he will be an outlaw, a man with the death penalty firmly fixed on his head, and anyone offering him support will also attract the death penalty.’ Shadow noted a subtle nod of approval from Seer Scripture. I am much cleverer than you imagine, he thought with satisfaction.
‘There is the matter of the artefact,’ Word said.
‘You know that it is safe,’ Shadow curtly replied.
‘But His Eminence believes that it is more appropriate for it to be returned to where it belongs.’
Shadow smiled. ‘If that was the case, then perhaps I should put it back in the old Royal museum. That is where it was found, isn’t it?’
‘It was found by Seer Sunlight,’ Word argued. ‘It belongs to Jarudha.’
‘And I told you that Jarudha has it,’ Shadow replied.
‘You have no right!’ Scripture yelled. ‘I order you, as Jarudha’s disciple, to return what does not belong to you!’
‘I am Jarudha’s disciple, Your Eminence,’ Shadow calmly agreed. ‘This will become Jarudha’s kingdom, now that I am king, and everything Your Eminence has taught me through Seer Word will come to fruition. But I am king, and I reserve my right as king to protect Jarudha’s kingdom from any threat. The artefact, this bag, is a threat so I have ensured that it will not be used against us. From now on, I would appreciate being considered the artefact’s custodian.’ He waited for Scripture or Word to respond, but to his surprise neither pursued the argument, although he could see they were both clearly fuming. ‘The matter is settled then,’ he announced. ‘What else?’
‘The individuals who know about the bag,’ said Word. ‘What is their fate?’
Shadow smiled smugly. ‘My loyal Warlord has found out where the thief and the assassin are going.’
‘You said they were heading east,’ Word reminded him.
Shadow nodded. ‘They still are. But we’ve caught the thief’s whoring sister hiding in a village and, after some not-so-subtle persuasion from Fist, she confessed that they were going to the old Ashuak capital city.’
Word looked to Scripture, who looked at Seer Law, before saying to Shadow, ‘It’s a ruin. Did she say why?’
‘It seems they’re being led there by an old woman.’
Again Word glanced at Scripture, before repeating, ‘But why? To what end?’
Shadow shrugged. ‘The girl apparently doesn’t know.’
‘Who is this old woman?’ Seer Law asked.
‘A bookshop owner in the River Quarter.’
‘Why would she get involved?’ Law murmured, as much to himself as to the assembly.
‘There’s also a Shesskar with them. He was the bouncer at the brothel where the girl worked,’ Shadow told them.
‘And they’ve all headed for the Chuekwer ruins,’ said Word, puzzled.
‘As will a small force of soldiers,’ Shadow announced.
‘I thought the Shesskar routed your Warlord’s hunting squad?’
‘They did. But they won’t
interfere with the new force Fist is sending. The Ranu have sold us one of their dragon eggs. This time the hunters will fly like eagles after our quarry.’ Shadow waited for approval from the assembled Seers for his plan. Again, he was showing them that he was a more than competent king and one they would need to respect.
Instead, Word asked, ‘And what of our mutual friend, the Joker?’
PART SEVEN
‘History is the combined result of those who acted successfully, those who failed in their actions, and those who didn’t act at all. In fact, the success and failure of the first two are always predicated by the third. Remember that rule whenever you’re analysing why certain historical events had their particular outcomes.’
FROM THE OUTGOING ADDRESS BY THE FORMER PRESIDENT OF THE RANU PEOPLE’S DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC, SHEI ALUK AHBRIM, TO THE RANU PEOPLE IN 5055
CHAPTER FIFTY
The Ashuak guide paused at the crest of the hill beneath a broad tree, his cream robes glowing amber in the sunset light, and he waited for Meg and her party to reach him before he pointed north-east. ‘Chuekwer,’ he announced, and added more in his Ashuak tongue, which Meg translated with her hand clutching the amber beneath her brown smock. ‘City of the Old People,’ she repeated to Chase, Swift and Wahim. ‘Bad spirits rule there. No one lives in the ruins anymore.’ She gazed past the guide who had stopped talking to stare at the scene.
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