Lord Governor Argus of Coppergate stood wringing his hands. He’d already entreated for aid a dozen times, though it had become obvious the Khurtic horde was more interested in making its way south than besieging his city. It was a mystery why he was even here — he’d have been safer cosseted within the walls of his city rather than in Steelhaven. Maybe he was just lurking around for the entertainment. Or to see what fell into his grasping hands as the place crumbled around him.
General Hawke stood nearby. He’d spent the last few days in court, leaving his armies to the north under the command of Duke Bannon Logar. He claimed he was here to oversee the defence of the city walls in readiness for a coming siege, but Merrick could see the old man looked weary. He was most likely here for some respite from the constant fighting — unlike Marshal Farren, who looked as if he couldn’t wait to get back to the front quick enough. The leader of the Knights of the Blood was a fearsome individual, his armour proudly bearing the marks of battle. One heavily scarred eye twitched occasionally as if he had something in it. The man made no secret of his disdain for Skyhelm’s Sentinels, and he still upheld the old rivalry. Luckily Merrick hadn’t been on the receiving end of his notorious temper. Not so far, anyway.
Of course, Odaka Du’ur stood at the base of the stairs to the stone throne, presiding over all the courtly business. Merrick hadn’t quite worked him out yet; that ebon face was hard to read. And Merrick was usually a good judge of character. The advisor acted loyal enough, and seemed as intent on protecting the queen as her Sentinels. Whether it was ultimately for his own gain only time would tell.
One character who was easy to see through stood opposite Odaka at the foot of the stair. Seneschal Rogan cut quite a loathsome figure. Why they kept the bastard around was a mystery. If it had been up to Merrick he would have confined Rogan permanently in his torture dungeon well away from decent folk, or at least made him conduct his business from behind a wooden screen. The leader of the Inquisition smiled and made all the right noises, but his manner was too accommodating. Merrick had been on the streets long enough to see through it. No one was that gracious, that selfless — especially someone who tortured people for a living. Every time the slimy bastard opened his mouth it made Merrick’s skin crawl, and he found his hand straying to the sword at his side. Janessa often listened to Rogan intently, taking in what he said, but not always acting on his advice. Merrick could only hope it stayed that way.
The gathered courtiers turned their heads as a man walked into the throne room. He was a shaggy affair, furs piled up around his shoulders, bow at his back, axe and knife at his waist. It was difficult to tell his age, his face was weathered like a battered bit of old leather, his hair grey, but he walked with the sureness of a much younger man, despite a slight limp.
He kneeled before the throne and bowed his head as though he meant it.
‘Oban Halfwyrd, Warden of the North, Majesty,’ he said, his voice as grizzled as his face. ‘Come with words from the front, Majesty.’
‘Stand, Oban Halfwyrd, and tell us your news,’ Janessa replied.
The Warden rose gingerly, and Merrick saw then he showed his age, something cracking in his knee, his breath laboured as he gained his feet.
‘Well, it ain’t good, Majesty. Duke Logar has ordered a full retreat. It’s been three days since we tried to hold ’em at Deeprun Bridge, but we just lost too many men. Khurtic bastards don’t give in … er, pardon, Majesty.’ He paused, as though cursing in front of the queen was a hanging offence.
‘Continue,’ she said.
‘Ain’t much else to tell. Without the Free Companies to help us we’ve only got bannermen from Valdor, Dreldun and Steelhaven. Just ain’t enough. There’s the best part of forty thousand Khurtas headed this way and nothing to hold ’em off except prayers and bad language, Majesty. Only a few days till they come knocking at Steelhaven’s door.’
He was silent then, looking round as though someone might walk forwards and give him a slap for the bad tidings he’d brought. Instead, Queen Janessa rewarded him with a smile.
‘We appreciate your haste in bringing the news, Oban Halfwyrd.’
‘Weren’t nothing, Majesty,’ the Warden replied self-consciously.
He took a step back, readying himself to leave, but not everyone had heard enough.
‘Where is Logar now?’ demanded a voice. Merrick looked across to see Marshal Farren glaring at the Warden, his scarred left eye twitching of its own accord.
‘Er … not five days north, milord. The Khurtas stopped for a bit at Deeprun, doing their burning and pillage. Our army’s resting up thirty leagues south of ’em.’
‘What numbers are left?’ This was General Hawke. He tried to sound as commanding as Farren but failed dismally.
‘Might be eight thousand, maybe six. Difficult to say, we didn’t have time to count the dead and wounded, what with the Khurtas dogging our heels.’ Even Merrick could tell there was bitterness in Oban’s words. Whether it was for the loss of comrades at the front, or his disdain for a general who would leave his men behind for the safety of the city, he couldn’t tell.
Odaka Du’ur turned to the queen. ‘We need to send one of the Free Companies to escort the army back from the front. We cannot risk our bannermen being slaughtered before they have a chance to retreat.’
Seneschal Rogan raised a hand before the queen could reply. ‘Ah, that might be problematic.’ He spoke with a smile. Even when delivering bad news he had that same simpering smile on his face that made Merrick want to ram a gauntleted fist down his throat. ‘The Free Companies have yet to receive payment. The Brotherhood of the Sun and the Hallowed Shields will not raise so much as a finger until they have been paid in full. The Midnight Falcons are threatening to leave the city within the next two days if they are not paid a retainer.’
‘Then they must be paid,’ said Lord Governor Argus, though what it had to do with him, Merrick had no idea.
‘With what?’ said General Hawke. ‘The coffers are empty!’
This seemed to silence them all for a moment. If the coffers were empty they were all deep in the shit.
‘A meeting has been arranged,’ said Odaka, ‘that will see the Crown’s finances flourish. Do not worry on that score. Seneschal, you may inform the Free Companies that payment is guaranteed.’
The Seneschal flashed him that smile again. ‘These are mercenaries. They care little for guarantees, I’m afraid. Cold hard coin is all they believe in. It is the only thing that will ensure their loyalty.’
Merrick could see Janessa moving uncomfortably next to him. This was supposed to be her throne room, these were her decisions to make, helped by her reliable advisors, who at the moment were bickering like children.
‘If they won’t fight for the Crown voluntarily when in its direst need, they should be forced to fight,’ barked Marshal Farren. ‘We conscripted mercenaries before Bakhaus Gate. We can do it again.’
‘We conscripted former mercenaries who were citizens of the Free States, Marshal,’ Rogan replied. ‘The mercenary levies were still paid for by the Crown.’
General Hawke shook his head. ‘This is madness. If Cael were here he’d make them fight, whether they wanted to or not.’
Merrick heard Janessa let out a despondent breath at the mention of her father — at the suggestion of her inadequacy. He could see her fingers gripping the stone arms of the throne on which she sat as though she wanted to rise, to shout at them, but something was holding her back.
Merrick suddenly wanted to help her but guessed that if one of her personal guard drew his sword and threatened the room to silence she would not thank him.
‘Everything is in hand,’ said Odaka. ‘The queen is to meet with a financier very soon.’