‘It’s locked, of course,’ said Hordilo. ‘We must await the lord’s pleasure.’
But the huge man twisted until the iron bent, and then there was a muted snapping sound from the door’s other side, followed by something striking the floor. Korbal Broach pushed the door open and strode inside.
Appalled, Hordilo rushed after the man. They crossed the broad, shallow cloakroom and emerged into the main hall before Hordilo was able to interpose himself in the man’s path. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
Korbal Broach swung round to Bauchelain. ‘He is in my way,’ he said. ‘Why is he in my way?’
‘I would expect,’ Bauchelain replied, stepping past and adjusting his cloak momentarily, ‘that this constable serves his lord from a place of bone-deep fear. Terror, even. I for one find the relationship between a master and his or her minions to be ever problematical. Terror, after all, stultifies the higher processes of the intellect. Independent judgement suffers. As a consequence, our escort finds his position most awkward, and now fears his potential demise as a result.’
‘I have decided that I don’t like him, Bauchelain.’
‘I am reminded of Mister Reese, on his first day in our employ, as he stood belligerent against an intruder in defence of our privacy. See this man before you, Korbal, as a victim of panic. Of course you may kill him if you wish, but then, who would make introductions?’
Heavy footsteps were drawing nearer, each plod rumbling like thunder through the stone tiles of the floor.
‘A golem approaches!’ gasped Hordilo. ‘Now you’ve done it!’
‘Do step aside, sir,’ Bauchelain advised. ‘It may be that we are forced to defend ourselves.’
Eyes wide, Hordilo backed to the wall beside the entranceway. ‘This has nothing to do with me! Not anymore!’
‘Wise decision, sir,’ murmured Bauchelain, sweeping clear his cloak to reveal a heavy black chain surcoat and a longsword strapped to his belt, the bone handle vanishing inside a gauntleted grasp as the man readied to draw free the weapon.
His companion now faced towards the sound of the approaching footsteps.
They were all startled by a voice from the other side of the chamber. ‘Hordilo! What in Hood’s name is going on? Go close that damned door! It’s chilly enough in here without the added draught!’
‘Scribe Coingood!’ Hordilo gasped in relief. ‘I arrested these men – that one there killed Grimled! And then he broke the lock on the door and then he—’
‘Be quiet!’ Coingood snapped, setting down the bucket he carried and then leaning his mop against a wall. Brushing his hands, he strode forward. ‘Guests, is it?’
‘They killed Grimled!’
‘So you say, Hordilo, so you say. How unfortunate.’
‘I would certainly describe it in just that manner,’ Bauchelain said. ‘And I trust, good sir, that your master will not hold it against us.’
‘Well, as it took him five months to animate the thing, I expect he’ll be somewhat upset,’ Coingood replied.
At that moment the golem arrived. By the rust rimming its pail-shaped head Hordilo knew it to be Gorebelly. Hinges squealing, the abomination thumped to a halt and slowly raised its halberd.
Impossibly, Korbal Broach was suddenly standing in front of it, plucking the heavy weapon effortlessly from the golem’s iron hands and flinging it aside. He then reached up and twisted off Gorebelly’s head. Fluids gushed from the gaping throat. The headless apparition staggered back a step, and then toppled. Its impact on the floor shattered tiles.
Still clutching the dripping iron bucket, Korbal turned to face them, a deep frown lining his brow. ‘It broke,’ he said.
‘See!’ Hordilo shrieked, rushing towards Coingood. ‘That’s what he does!’
The scribe was very pale. Licking dry lips, he cleared his throat and said, ‘Ah, well. I had best summon my master, I think.’
‘Sound judgement,’ said Bauchelain.
‘I’ll go with you!’ Hordilo said.
‘No. Stay here, Sergeant. I won’t be but a moment, I assure you.’
‘You can’t leave me with them!’
Sighing, Coingood turned to Bauchelain. ‘I trust you can constrain your companion, sir, and so assure the sergeant here that no one will tear off his head or anything.’
‘Ah, we are ever eager for assurances, it’s true,’ Bauchelain replied. ‘Only to invariably discover that the world cares nothing for such things. That said, I am confident that the sergeant will get to keep his head for a while longer.’
Hordilo stepped close to Coingood. ‘Please, don’t leave me alone with them!’
‘We’ll be right back. Show some courage here, damn you!’
Hordilo watched the scribe hurry off. Although they were now inside the keep, still he shivered. Setting his back against a wall, he eyed the two men opposite. Korbal Broach had upended the golem’s iron head and was shaking out the last few rattling bits left inside it. Bauchelain was removing his gauntlets one finger at a time.
‘Dear sergeant,’ the tall man then said. ‘About your lord …’
Hordilo shook his head. ‘That won’t work.’
Brows rising, Bauchelain shrugged. ‘Simple curiosity on my part, nothing more.’
‘I’ve done my part and that’s all I’m doing.’
‘Of course. But now … do you regret it?’
‘The only one regretting anything will be you two. Lord Fangatooth Claw is also known as The Render, and it’s a title well earned!’
‘Surely it should be “The Renderer”?’
‘What?’
Sounds from the corridor drew their attention. Korbal Broach dropped the golem’s iron head and the clang echoed shrilly in the chamber.
Moments later Coingood appeared and a step behind him was Lord Fangatooth.
Hordilo saw his master’s eyes fix on the decapitated golem lying on the broken tiles. His expression revealed nothing.
‘Korbal, my friend,’ said Bauchelain, ‘I believe you owe the lord an apology for your mishandling of his golems.’
‘Sorry,’ Korbal said, his flabby lips strangely stained by the fluids from the golem, as if he had but moments earlier licked his fingers.
‘Yes, well,’ said Fangatooth. ‘Their sole purpose, of course, was to instil fear in the villagers. Now, as I understand it, but one remains. I see a busy winter ahead.’ He swept his black cloak back from his shoulders. ‘I am Lord Fangatooth Claw, Master of the Forgotten Holding, High Sorcerer of the Lost Gods of Ilfur, Seneschal of Grey Arts, High Mage of Elder Thelakan and last surviving member of the League of Eternal Allies.’ He paused, and then said, ‘I understand that you are survivors of an unfortunate shipwreck.’
‘We are,’ replied Bauchelain. ‘This is a fine keep, sir, in which every chill draught evokes nostalgia. As a child I once haunted an edifice quite similar to this one. This has the feel of a homecoming.’
‘I am pleased,’ Fangatooth replied with a tight smile. He then turned to Coingood. ‘Scribe, be sure the best rooms are prepared for our guests. Furthermore, you will attend our supper this evening with all the wax tablets at your disposal, for I anticipate a lively discourse.’
‘Our manservant,’ said Bauchelain, ‘is presently recovering from his ordeals at a tavern in the village.’
‘Sergeant Hordilo will collect him,’ Fangatooth said. ‘Although I assure you, my own staff can see to all of your needs.’
‘Of that I have no doubt, sir, but I am partial to Mister Reese.’
‘Understood. Now, by what titles are you two known?’
‘Such titles as we may have accrued in our travels,’ said Bauchelain, ‘are both crass and often the product of misunderstanding. Our names should suffice. I am Bauchelain and my companion is Korbal Broach.’