‘Out of my way, damn you!’ the baron shouted.
‘Rally the troops – while you can!’ Orjin shouted back.
Ghenst attempted to yank his mount around him. ‘Word of this must reach the queen, dog!’
‘And what of the woods?’ Orjin demanded. ‘The Quon forces came out of the woods!’
For an instant their eyes met, and the baron glanced away, his face flushing. Stunned, Orjin let his arms fall. ‘You Hood-damned bastard …’
Ghenst took that moment to spur his mount past.
Orjin’s troops found him there, motionless, still peering after the diminishing figure of the fleeing nobleman. They surrounded him, using the flat of their blades to push back a rising tide of refugees from the front, all clamouring for protection among Orjin’s tight unit. The giant Orhan came wading through the press. ‘Orders?’ he rumbled.
Blinking, coming to himself, Orjin gestured to the east. ‘Make for cover in the woods – as a unit!’
Orhan inclined his bald scarred head. ‘Aye, aye.’ He waved his great halberd overhead in a circle, ending the arc to point east. As one, the chevron of mercenary heavies began marching, with Orjin at point.
As they pushed through the rout, Orjin spotted a staff messenger, bloodied from a head blow, staggering almost aimlessly. He broke ranks to take hold of the woman’s shoulder and give her a shake. ‘What happened, dammit to Hood!’
‘We held them,’ she murmured, dazed. ‘We held … but there were too many. Too many …’
‘And Elath? What word?’
‘Fallen.’ She wiped a wet, bloodied hand across her face. ‘We are lost.’
‘Only if you break,’ Samarr snarled, pushing her to the rear. ‘Never break.’
They marched onward. Quon Talian forces now appeared, harrying the broken Purge mediums. Among these came grim-faced heavies in long surcoats that bore a black field adorned by a simple silver crown. The famous sigil of the Talian Iron Legion.
These men and women simply struck a guard, allowing Orjin’s troops to pass; after all, the day was already theirs. Why pursue unnecessary hard knocks?
Orjin answered the salute and continued onward, flanked by Terath and Orhan. In this manner they made cover among the woods and here Orjin waved his lieutenants to him.
‘What now?’ Terath demanded. ‘Our contract was with Elath.’
Orjin shook his head. ‘Technically, our contract is with the queen.’
Orhan rubbed his wide jaw. ‘If Purage falls, we don’t get paid.’
Orjin sent him a glare. ‘I know! With Elath’s expeditionary force broken the passes are open to Tali.’
‘The old keep at Two-River could contain them,’ Yune supplied.
Terath laughed her scorn. ‘That pest-hole? A crumbling stone tower and a wooden palisade! Indefensible!’
Orjin looked to the distant north-east highlands. ‘That’s about two days’ march from here.’
‘Two good days,’ Terath appended.
Orjin gave a curt jerk of his head, pushed back his long grey hair. ‘We’ll march straight through. Beat them there. The Purge forces must be rallying somewhere – it’s the obvious strong point.’
‘A hundred years ago maybe,’ Terath grumbled, and she slammed home her blades.
‘None the less. We march.’ Orjin raised a hand and signed Move out.
* * *
Crouched on his haunches, Tayschrenn squinted into the dark gap that remained between the twin monoliths lying lengthways one above the other, and reflected that, as far as instruments of execution went, this was a most ingenious one. Crushing the condemned between two immense slabs of stone – elegant in its simplicity.
This victim, however, refused to cooperate. So far, at least.
Sighing his distaste, the mage sat and idly brushed the night’s flying insects from his face. Too bad; now he would actually have to talk to the fellow. He patted the top slab of granite. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Still with us?’
He waited patiently. The night wind rose, hissing through the tall grasses of the surrounding savanna foothills of these Itko Kan–Dal Hon borderlands. Eventually, a voice snapped from within the darkness of the gap – a space no wider than the outstretched fingers of one’s hand, thumb to pinky.
‘Fuck off. Kinda busy right now.’
‘I should say so,’ Tayschrenn agreed affably. ‘I can feel your Warren sizzling just from here. Weakening, though.’ He added, conversationally, ‘Not much longer, I should think.’
‘Listen.’ The man hidden within spoke again, his voice clipped and breathless. ‘Are you naturally this much of an asshole, or are you making an extra special effort?’
Tayschrenn patted the top granite slab once more. ‘Actually, I’m here to offer a deal.’
‘A deal? Really? Hardly fair, don’tcha think? I’m in a tight spot right now.’
Tayschrenn shrugged, then realized the fellow couldn’t see him. ‘Regardless. The deal should be obvious. Your life for your service.’
‘To you?’
Grimacing, Tayschrenn brushed the rock dust from his hands. ‘My employer, actually.’
‘Ah. And who is he or she?’
Tayschrenn raised his eyes to the starry night sky, twined his fingers together at a knee and rocked back and forth. ‘I really don’t think you’re in a position to ask any questions.’
‘How do you know?’ answered the hidden victim. ‘Maybe I always wanted to lose some weight.’
Tayschrenn made levelling motions with his hands, as if smoothing a cloth. ‘You wouldn’t lose it. It would just be more … spread out.’
‘Asshole!’
‘Regardless, time is running out. You are not the only minor talent I could approach.’
‘Minor!’ the fellow burst out – then gasped as the top granite block dropped a finger’s width. ‘Fucker! If I was out of here I’d tear you apart!’
‘Hardly. Your Warren’s flickering. You are almost spent. And in any case, if you were such a fearsome warlock how did the townsfolk get you in there?’
A sullen silence radiated from within the thin gap. ‘I have something of a weakness for the pleasures of the flesh – wine and women, as they say.’
‘So they drugged you.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well … let this be a warning.’
‘Won’t happen again.’
‘Do we have an accord then?’
‘Fine. Yes! An accord. I’d shake on it but I have my hands full right now.’
‘Very well.’ Tayschrenn gestured and the huge block flew off, spinning through the air to crash to the ground in a shuddering impact.
The little man revealed beneath peered in that direction. ‘Show-off.’ He rose, shakily, and brushed at his fine rich shirt and trousers. Tayschrenn merely gave him a nod in greeting.
‘So who’s our employer, then?’
‘A mage of Meanas, named Kellanved.’
The young man – though young in appearance only – raised a quizzical brow. ‘Not the mage who’s got all the talents up in arms as Shadow cards are jumping from their decks and doing jigs on the tables?’
Tayschrenn showed a pained expression. ‘The same.’
‘Hunh. And you are?’
‘Tayschrenn.’
The slim youth nodded. ‘Calot.’
* * *
Gregar Bluenth groaned and regained consciousness. He rubbed his head, only to wince at the numerous raised welts, and swallowed the taste of old blood. He pushed himself up from the pile of rotting damp straw he lay upon and surveyed his surroundings: the sight was not promising. The only light cascaded down from an opening hidden in the stone ceiling far above. The dim glow revealed that he’d been thrown into a prison cell.
He staggered to the stout iron-bound door and banged upon it. ‘Hello! Anyone there? Hello?’ He kept banging.
After a very long time – half a day, perhaps; he had no way of telling but for the gradual waning of the natural light filtering down into the cell – heavy footsteps sounded from the hall outside the door. ‘Hello?’ Gregar called once more. ‘Who’s there?’