A couple of the rioters jumped forward, brandishing their makeshift weapons and snarling like dogs before scurrying back amongst their fellows. Still the Greencoats held fast and Nobul admired their discipline. They were a solid bunch of lads, but this hadn’t even started to get nasty yet.
Someone darted forward, pickaxe handle raised high, and tried to smash it over a helmeted head further down the line. Before he could reach his target, one of the Greencoats had stabbed out with a spear, the point impaling the attacker in the shoulder. He squealed and staggered back clutching the wound. Nobul knew it could go one of two ways now — the crowd would get scared and run, or enraged and attack.
Just his bloody luck — they picked the latter.
More missiles rained in, much less shitty and much more solid, and as they came more of the mob lurched to attack. They were battered back by the Greencoats, but suddenly the mob, spurred on by the rush, swept forwards like a tide.
Nobul had a cudgel, old and weathered and held together with steel bands he’d twisted round it himself. It wasn’t meant as a lethal weapon but it could be if he chose. As the crowd surged forward all wide eyes and rotten teeth, Nobul picked his target out. It was no use waving your weapon at a bunch of enemies and hoping for the best — chances were you wouldn’t hit a bloody thing. You had to choose your target, wait for him to come within reach, then give him the business end of whatever was in your hand.
To his left and right, Anton and Kilgar were hacking at the angry mob. Nobul did the same as three faces leered at him. He swung his arm, fast and heavy, and those faces fell back bloodied and broken. Then, after that initial rush of bodies, they were locked together, all crushed in tight. Nobul had the good sense to keep his weapon arm high above the crowd so at least he could still use it. Most of the other lads were just trapped in the crush, backs to the warehouse with no place to retreat.
With no room to use their fists the throng took to spitting insults, screaming that they were hungry and needed food and the Greencoats should have been ashamed for letting them starve. They pushed forward in a mass of stinking bodies, but with the Greencoats in the way they were going nowhere. In the end they were just a load of bodies squashed together, heaving and shouting.
After a while, after mad moments of crushing bodies and yelled hysteria, the crowd eased off, realising they weren’t getting anywhere. Some of the lads put in some half-hearted blows and Nobul could hear screaming from down the line. As they backed off, a pack of rioters managed to grab Serjeant Bodlin and drag him with them.
Nobul sprinted forward, Serjeant Kilgar at his shoulder. One of the mob was kicking Bodlin in the head and Nobul went at him first, rapping the club across his shoulders and putting him down. It didn’t deter the rest of the crowd, who were now intent on claiming their prize. If they couldn’t have grain they’d take a Greencoat scalp instead. Nobul wasn’t having that.
Bodlin reached out, his face a mess, blood covering his mouth and spewing between those teeth which hadn’t been knocked loose. Nobul grabbed his arm as he himself came under attack. He could see the man’s stick coming at him, but before it ploughed into his head, Kilgar had smashed the man back. The serjeant waded in, cudgel swinging, while Nobul grabbed Bodlin with two hands and pulled him away to safety. More of the lads joined them then. Seeing the mob on the back foot they wanted to give them a little more encouragement to fuck off.
By the time Nobul had dragged Bodlin back to the warehouse doors, the mob was fleeing back towards the Old City.
The Greencoats collapsed on their arses and sat for some time then, just breathing in the air. A couple of the lads down the line had cuts and bruises, one of them sported a bloody gash to the front of his scalp, but head wounds always looked the worst. Despite losing some teeth, Bodlin didn’t look much worse for wear apart from the blood down his front. He was back to ordering his men in no time. It almost made Nobul smile.
‘Looks like we’ve paid back that one we owed you, Serjeant Bodlin,’ Kilgar said.
‘And then some,’ replied Bodlin, winking at Nobul. It had been Bodlin and his crossbowmen who’d got them out of the shit when they were clearing out the Town a few weeks back. Seemed a bit ironic that the folks they’d been clearing it for were most likely the ones who’d just tried to kill them.
There were a couple of rioters lying on the ground, and the lads cleared them to one side, not really caring if they were alive or not. Nobul couldn’t bring himself to feel any ill towards them. They were starving after all, only wanted to feed their families, most like. Who was to say whether Nobul would have been amongst their number if the boots were on the other feet? Only difference was he’d have done a damn sight better job.
As he sat, he saw one of the lads peering in through a crack in the warehouse doors, a hungry look on his face.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Bodlin and the lad turned round, all guilty like.
‘Wasn’t gonna, Serjeant,’ said the lad, though it seemed obvious he was. Then, after he’d thought on it for a bit. ‘But who’d notice if we took just a bit for ourselves? For our hard work, like?’
Bodlin shook his head, but then, with a bloody grin he said, ‘Open her up then, lad. Feel free.’
At that, the rest of the Greencoats started showing some interest, moving quick to the warehouse as the young lad pulled up the crossbeam and wrenched open the door. The lads were whooping in delight as they stormed in, but when the dim light of the afternoon illuminated the inside of the building, they soon changed their tune.
The place was empty.
‘You didn’t think we was guarding the actual stores did you?’ Bodlin asked. ‘This is just a decoy.’ Then he walked off with a smirk, leaving them staring and hungry.
Nobul might have grinned with him. Might have. Instead he just stood there, wondering whether this was the only thing he’d be defending in the days to come. Wondering if he’d be risking his life for some other worthless, empty hole.
As he looked, the rain began to patter down on his head.
‘See,’ shouted Anton. ‘I told you it looked like rain.’
It was the happiest Nobul had ever seen him.
SIX
A knight in the Skyhelm Sentinels. It almost made Merrick Ryder laugh.
Honour. Duty. A uniform.
What in the hells was he thinking?
And now he had a little medallion about his neck, with the crown and crossed swords — just like his father had worn. What more could a boy want?
Kaira, of course, was over the moon about it. On the surface she was her usual quiet and brooding self, but he could still tell she was filled to bursting with pride. And why shouldn’t she be happy? She’d been brought up in the Temple of Autumn. Being locked in a citadel, with no company but other brooding knights, surely made this a home from home for her.
He looked over to her sitting atop her bunk, staring at that medallion about her neck.
‘Pleased with yourself?’ he asked.
She looked up as though she’d vaguely heard him. ‘What?’
‘Now that we’ve been inducted? Happy now?’
‘Happy doesn’t come into it.’
‘Proud then? Ready to do your duty?’
Kaira frowned. ‘I am ready to serve my queen and my city. To act as the hand of-’
‘Oh, this is such horseshit,’ he said. ‘We’re fucking trapped. We’re prisoners in a gaol of our own making. This was a shit idea.’
She got up then, staring at him as though she wanted to reach out and grasp him by the throat. But she restrained herself and said calmly, ‘It is what it is, Merrick. Live with it.’ She turned to leave, then thought better of it. ‘Remember, this was your idea. We did this to survive as much as to serve.’