All in all, Brodar Kayne looked exactly as Cole imagined the stereotypical Highlander barbarian would look — albeit one who was a score of years past his prime. Cole suspected that women would still consider him handsome, in a fatherly kind of way.
The same couldn’t be said of the silent figure stalking alongside him. Cole judged Jerek to be somewhat younger than Brodar Kayne, perhaps in his early forties. Shorter than his compatriot yet still a few inches taller than Cole, he was a burly man with the kind of countenance that gave children nightmares. His dark eyes stared out from a scowling face horribly burned on the right side. His head was hairless save for a short beard.
Jerek’s eyes met Cole’s own and bore into them. ‘Problem?’ the Highlander growled at him. His hands shifted slightly towards the twin axes on his back.
Cole cleared his throat. They had arrived at the Hook. ‘We’re nearly there. You see the crumbling building on the other side of the plaza?’
Brodar Kayne squinted as if it were an effort to make out the old belfry a hundred yards ahead of them. ‘I see it. Seems a risky place for a secret hideout.’ His expression turned grim. ‘Are those gibbets?’ He nodded at the cages hanging from the large wooden frame on a raised platform in the centre of the plaza. The wind had picked up with the onset of dusk, causing the swaying cages to clank together in a grisly rhythm.
‘Salazar keeps them well stocked,’ Cole replied. He was taken aback at the look on Brodar Kayne’s face. The man’s expression had turned to stone. ‘The tower is part of an old abandoned temple to the Mother. The Shards meet there once a month. The vestibule collapsed long ago, but there’s a secret entrance at the back.’
‘The Mother,’ Jerek rasped. ‘Ha. Ain’t no goddess looking out for us now.’ He spat on the ground.
Cole decided to move the conversation along. ‘We’ll go around the outside of the Hook. I might get recognized if we try and cut through.’ He suddenly remembered the old man whose skull had been split by the Watchman’s sword. He thought he could see a dark smear of blood on the Tyrant’s Road. It appeared the body had already been hauled away and likely divested of any valuables it had possessed. Such was life in Dorminia.
Cole gestured to the Highlanders and they set off around the edge of the Hook. His keen ears picked up fragments of conversation from passers-by as they made their way along the perimeter of the large plaza. Talk seemed to focus on the lockdown and what it meant for the city. Cole could only vaguely recall the last lockdown, which had occurred when he was a young child. A massive abomination had besieged Dorminia’s walls and a squad of Augmentors had been dispatched to nullify the threat. Not all of them had returned.
He overheard a pair of old women chattering about the weather. They were pointing at the horizon. They quieted as Cole and his companions strolled past, and he felt their curious eyes tracking them as they made their way to the opposite side of the Hook.
Highlanders were exceptionally rare in the Trine. Their homeland bordered the very edge of the world far to the north, beyond the tortured Badlands that were once the vast steppes of the nomadic Yahan horse-tribes.
Cole glanced at the grim figures following behind him. The mere fact they had survived the epic journey this far south was telling enough. These were hard men.
Perhaps almost as hard as he was.
They were nearing the ruined tower. The first droplets of rain began to fall. Cole could see a dark blanket of cloud rolling in from the south-west. He paused for a moment and tilted his head back, intending to wet his face and wipe away some of the blood from his chin. Jerek barged him in the back and he stumbled, hot pain shooting through his ribs.
‘Keep out my fucking way,’ the Highlander snarled. Cole’s mouth dropped open. He had half expected an apology, or at least some acknowledgement that the collision had been accidental. He wanted to call the man to task for his rudeness, but the Highlander’s tone unsettled him. Instead, he gave a sickly smile.
‘Jerek doesn’t like the rain,’ Brodar Kayne said, almost kindly. ‘Causes his scars to itch something rotten. Don’t take it personally.’
‘No offence taken,’ Cole replied casually, though in his mind his fists had already made a bloody mess of the bastard’s face. ‘Almost there.’
They skirted around the side of the ruined tower and the crumbling walls of the western court and vestibule. The skeleton of the building was snaked with ivy. Cole led them around to the rear of the temple where the walls had subsided and the cracked pediment leaned out at a dangerous angle. Warehouses had sprung up near to the rear of the temple. The close proximity of the buildings created a mostly enclosed space hidden from prying eyes.
With a quick look around to ensure no one was watching, Davarus Cole bent down and pulled aside a large patch of ivy. Behind the vegetation was a gap just small enough to squeeze through. He pushed himself through it and gestured at the Highlanders to follow him. Brodar Kayne made it inside with surprising ease, his long limbs negotiating the aperture with impressive flexibility. Jerek proved less supple. A torrent of foul curses accompanied his grunts of exertion as he finally forced himself through the opening.
‘We’re here,’ Cole said. He stared down the stone passage to the steps leading up to the sanctuary. The Shards were doubtless even now fretting about his absence. He felt a shiver of anticipation. He had sustained wounds that would have surely incapacitated a lesser man, and yet here he was, the stoic hero breezing in, doughty new companions in tow. He could hardly wait to see the look on Sasha’s face…
‘Something the matter?’ Brodar Kayne enquired, jolting him out of his reverie. Cole shook his head in response.
‘The door ahead leads to the sanctuary. The Shards will be up there. Let me do the talking and everything will be fine.’ Cole strolled to the end of the corridor and climbed the handful of steps, then rapped out a complex sequence on the door at the top. He waited for a few moments, hearing muffled whispers from just beyond. Finally a bolt was released and the door swung open.
‘Cole!’ exclaimed Sasha. Her eyes assessed his battered face without a hint of compassion. ‘You’d better get up here.’
The Shards were gathered around the remains of the large altar that had, at one time, sat proudly at the heart of the Mother’s sanctuary. When, centuries ago, the goddess’s last few worshippers finally accepted her demise and abandoned the temple, they had stripped away the gold statues of the Mother in her various aspects, along with everything else of value. Now the place was bereft of adornment. Rainwater pooled near the base of the altar from a large crack in the temple ceiling above. It proceeded to trickle down into the nave, collecting dust, rat droppings and other assorted filth as it went.
To add final insult to the Mother’s memory, Garrett had his considerable arse propped up against the altar as he watched Cole approach. Ten other pairs of eyes turned to regard the young Shard. It was hard for Cole to be certain in the dim light, but they didn’t seem to contain the expressions of sheer relief he had been expecting.
‘You’re late,’ said Garrett. He tapped the pocket watch in his hand. It was a lavish device, a new invention from the City of Shades. Garrett had purchased it from a Shadowport trader at extravagant cost just before the conflict with Dorminia had exploded.
‘Better late than never, eh?’ Cole replied, giving his best rueful smile. ‘I was sidetracked by an incident with our friends in the Crimson Watch. No harm done.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Except to the nose. Don’t worry, Sash, it will heal.’
Someone coughed. Sasha shook her head and looked at the floor.
‘No such luck for the Watchmen, though,’ Cole continued. He paused dramatically, and then gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘They’re dead.’