In that bared-tooth savage grin Suth read the message:… that you will kill each other off and save us the trouble.
Rillish offered a slight bow. ‘Our thanks, Baron. Until we meet again, then.’
The grin broadened. ‘Yes. Until then.’
Corlo lay against the cold dank wall of his pen, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight, not caring whether he lived or died. He’d done his shameful job — done what the Stormguard wanted of him — and now he lay cast aside, apparently forgotten. It was probable that the only reason he lived and was not chained along some frontier of the Stormwall was his prudent captors’ awareness that he may be needed again.
Gods, not again. Surely not. His lie would see Bars through this season. Of that he was sure. After that… all that was too far away to care any more. He had betrayed too egregiously. The lie burned too virulently in his chest. Yet surely some of them must still survive! Somewhere!
Now he lay jammed in with the worst of the Stormguard’s cullings. Dumped among those imprisoned within what was itself one immense prison. The murderers, the incurably rebellious, and the just plain mad. He was dying of starvation. Food came on plates shoved through a narrow slit. The strongest fell upon it and wolfed it down, leaving none for the rest. And since Corlo chose not to rouse himself he went without. Such was life without rules beyond individual gratification.
He set his head back. A cold breeze chilled him here below the single narrow chute that opened to the outside. No one spoke to him. Not only was he a foreigner; all here knew a hopeless case when they saw one. He had now what Hagen had identified as ‘the look of a jumper’. It was too late now. Even if he wanted to he hadn’t the strength to fight for his share. He would fade away. He rubbed at the metal torc round his neck alloyed with magic-deadening otataral. Too late. He’d planned to have Hagen wrench it from him when the time was right. So much for his grand plan for escape.
It was just too awful. All this effort to remain alive to help Bars — only to deceive him beyond all excuse. It was too much.
How many days had passed? He knew not. The glow from the deep chute that allowed light here far within the bowels of the Stormwall came and went. The engorged heartbeat of waves pounded ceaselessly through the stones.
Farewell, Halfpeck. I wish you better luck. May you see your way out. We made a good show of it. Almost made it, too. Crossed half the damned world only to fall short of Quon Tali, into the hands of these provincial, blinkered, ignorant religious fanatics.
Damn them to Hood’s deepest vault.
Some time later Corlo was roused by yells and blows in the cell. Guards had entered and were swinging truncheons right and left as they worked their way through the prisoners. They appeared to be searching for someone.
Oh, damn, no. Not again. No. Never. I’ll not…
Hands took hold of him, lifted him.
No! Damn you! I’d rather die!
He tried to fight but he was too weak. The effort blackened his vision and he knew nothing more.
He awoke lying on a pallet of straw. He no longer shuddered uncontrollably; warmth flowed over him from an iron brazier in the middle of what was a long hall where wounded lay on either side of the narrow walk between. Some sort of infirmary overflow. Gods, no. They couldn’t need him again so soon, could they? His heart clenched. Could there be trouble with Bars?
Someone sat next to his pallet. He smelled hot stew that sent his stomach churning.
‘Eat,’ the someone said.
‘Go away.’
The person leaned closer, said, lower, ‘You must eat, Corlo.’
Corlo turned his head and there sat Jemain, First Mate on board their ship, the Ardent, before the Marese sank it off the coast of Fist. ‘Queen’s mysteries, Jemain! What are you doing here?’
The skinny fellow shrugged, grinning. ‘I’m a trustee. Been keeping track of you. When I heard you were here I pulled a few favours.’
‘But they wanted to keep us separate…’
The man lost his grin. ‘Well, they seem to have forgotten who came with who. They have bigger worries, hey?’ He stirred the stew, offered a spoonful to Corlo, who ate it. ‘Anyway… I came because I have news. I met someone. A woman…’
‘Good for you.’
‘A sense of humour. A good sign. You’re recovering. No, this one fought like a demon on the wall and when I mentioned the name Bars she reacted like she knew him.’
Corlo’s stomach coiled, tensing. He tried to sit up. Hood no! Not someone else! ‘Who!’
‘Do you know the name Shell?’
Corlo stared. Surely not Shellarr? How could they have captured her? Unless… ‘Was she blonde?’
‘Yes.’
‘Attractive?’
The man almost blushed. ‘Yes.’
‘A mage?’
Jemain frowned. He stirred the stew, offered some more to Corlo, who ate absently. ‘She wore no neck tore…’
Corlo sat back. ‘The woman I know as Shell is a mage. She would’ve had a neck tore.’
‘Unless she’s hidden it from the Chosen.’
Suddenly tired, Corlo shut his eyes. ‘You say she fought well?’
‘Well enough to catch the attention of the Stormguard,’ Jemain said bitterly.
Shell was Avowed. Mage or not, that alone would place her among the most formidable here on the wall… ‘Who was with her? Do you know?’
‘She came with others. A few. I could dig around.’
Corlo nodded, eyes shut. ‘Yes. Find out who she came with. Names. Descriptions.’ Struck by a new thought, he opened his eyes. ‘Who else are you in contact with? Who do you know of?’ The man was quiet for a time; Corlo glanced over. Gaze lowered, he was stirring the stew. ‘Do you know who’s left, Jemain?’
Gathering himself, the man nodded. ‘Yes, Corlo. I know.’
‘Good. Who?’
The man pressed the wooden bowl into Corlo’s hands. ‘More of that later. That is enough for now. I have to go ask around, yes?’
Corlo grasped the man’s wrist as tightly as he could; which was hardly tight at all. ‘Who!’
Jemain pressed him back. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Corlo. Rest. That is enough for now. I’ll have more information in time.’
‘You’re coming back?’
‘Yes. Once I find out more.’ He stood. ‘This woman, Shell. She might be Avowed?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Good. I’ll ask around. Good to see you.’
‘And you.’
Jemain squeezed his shoulder then moved off. Corlo lay back, stared at the stone ceiling. Halfpeck, then. Maybe Meek, Dropper, Joden and Peel. The old Blade. Surely them. Surely of everyone they would have survived. And this woman, Avowed? Probably not. Why would they infiltrate the Stormwall? Bars was convinced that under Skinner the Guard had turned from its old mission. Were they here to finish him off? But why come at all? Surely Bars is contained where he is. Yet he remains among the Avowed; he’ll always be a threat to them.
Very well… He found the spoon and stuck it into his mouth to suck on it. He’d have to see. And if there were Avowed of the Guard here, then in a way he hadn’t really lied, had he?
The drain of requisitions for supplies, stores and men led Hiam to the length of Stormwall administered out of Ice Tower, north of Kor. It lay to the east beyond a tall headland and this Hiam climbed alone, cloak tight about him, spear held at an easy angle. Reaching the crest of the pass he was surprised to be challenged by sentries out beyond the obscuring snowfall.
‘Halt! Who is there!’
Irritated, Hiam called back: ‘By what authority do you challenge a Stormguard on the wall itself?’
‘Advance!’
The sentries were not Chosen Stormguard themselves, a fact that eased Hiam’s mind, for that would have been an egregious waste. The men were in fact two Theftian recruits carrying shields and swords. ‘You are?’ one demanded.