Merrick knew well how much Tannick Ryder loved his discipline, though he had always been spared any physical chastisement as a child. He guessed he had his mother to thank for that.
‘I’m Jared,’ said the warrior. ‘The Lord Marshal’s second.’
‘Merrick,’ he replied, thinking it best to leave it at that for now. No point admitting he was a Ryder — he was in no mood for the inevitable inquisition that would follow.
‘Merrick?’ Jared asked. ‘Funny — Lord Marshal used to have a goat called Merrick. We had to slaughter it for rations before leaving the Kriega Mountains. He was ever so upset about that.’
A goat?
A fucking goat?
‘Some people do get attached to their pets,’ Merrick replied through gritted teeth. Shame they don’t feel the same for their families.
Out on the rain-soaked courtyard the warriors of the Wyvern Guard had changed from press-ups to sprinting. Each man carried one of his fellows on his back and ran the thirty-yard length of the square before they swapped over.
‘Since there’s going to be a fight the likes of which no one’s seen in centuries,’ said Jared, ‘we have to be prepared. Strong. Fast. Or at least stronger and faster than the enemy.’
‘I see you’re taking no chances on that score.’ One of the cane wielders was thrashing a pair of sprinters who had fallen behind.
‘Aye. Those Khurtic bastards will take some beating, but we’ll be ready for them. Anyway, might soon come the day when we have to fight shoulder to shoulder. Hope you’re ready too.’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Merrick said, though he wondered if he really was ready. Defending the queen was one thing — standing on the wall of the city and waiting to be attacked by a horde of angry Khurtas was quite another. ‘But I certainly feel a lot safer knowing you’ll be by my side.’ He feigned a smile at Jared, who flushed with pride.
‘Ha,’ said the warrior, slapping a heavy hand on Merrick’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be an honour. The Wyvern Guard and the Sentinels, side by side once more. The tales will last long after we’re dead.’
‘I’m sure they will.’ And let’s hope that’s not for many, many years yet.
The warriors in the courtyard had finished their sprints and were standing to attention. One of them placed a finger to his nostril, snorting snot into the rain. As he did so one of the cane wielders slashed him across the back. Without flinching he spun round, snatching the cane from the man’s grip and snapping it across his knee.
Merrick recognised him from days earlier in the throne room. He’d been the one wearing the white animal pelt that had faced off against Marshal Farren of the Knights of the Blood.
‘Bloody hells,’ said Jared to himself, as things looked like they might escalate.
‘Seems some of your men haven’t quite got that message about discipline,’ said Merrick, suppressing a grin.
Jared took a step forward as the two Wyvern Guard looked like they might come to blows, but before he could speak a voice barked from the shadows at the edge of the courtyard.
‘Whoreson!’
The men froze where they stood, but the two warriors still glared at one another.
Merrick watched as a tall bearded figure walked into view. His stern visage was unmistakeable in the scant light. Tall and imperious in his armour, Tannick Ryder strode over to where the two men confronted each other.
‘It’s always you, Whoreson. If you weren’t so bloody good with a blade I’d have put you out in the snow years ago.’ Whoreson stood to attention. ‘All brawn and no brains. Well you’re lucky that’s what we need right now. Assume the position,’ Tannick ordered. ‘The rest of you watch, and watch closely. I’ll brook no dissent. No argument. No disobedience.’
Whoreson strolled to the centre of the courtyard and dropped to his knees. Merrick could see something in his face; something in his eyes … could he be looking forward to what was coming?
Merrick leaned in to whisper in Jared’s ear. ‘Interesting name, Whoreson.’
Jared grimaced. ‘His name’s Cormach. Whoreson’s just a nickname. Best swordsman we’ve got, but he bloody well knows it. This ain’t the first time he’s taken a caning and I doubt it’ll be the last.’
Tannick signalled to the other man who held a cane. The man walked forward and looked a little nervous. ‘Nothing personal,’ he said, before he raised the cane and struck. It made a wet slapping sound against Cormach’s soaked back.
‘Again,’ said Tannick.
The man began the flogging, whipping the cane through the drizzle-filled air and striking again. Merrick counted twenty strokes. Each time Tannick Ryder repeated, ‘Again,’ the cane struck hard and true.
Merrick was amazed at how Cormach took every blow, and with each strike the corner of his mouth turned up in a bigger grin.
‘Enough,’ said Tannick finally, reaching for the cane. ‘Remember this well; I don’t fuck around. You are all made of mountain rock. You’re all heartless bastards, fed on blood and steel. None can stand against you because I have made you invincible. You are mine alone, my sons and brothers both — the Wyvern Guard. Never forget that.’
Tannick looked down at Cormach Whoreson, still kneeling in the rain, then brought the cane down with a final mighty slash. It split in two against his back, one end flying off into the night. Cormach fell forward, then righted himself. As he did so he looked up at Merrick, catching his eye for the briefest of moments. Merrick didn’t know the man from a bag of nails yet he was sure he could see hatred in that look. What in the hells he’d done to offend this man he had no idea.
‘Get some sleep,’ Tannick shouted, flinging away the remains of the cane. ‘Be ready for training tomorrow.’
Obediently the warriors of the Wyvern Guard made their way into the barracks. One of them tried to help Cormach to his feet but the man shook off his hand and, after rising unsteadily, followed the rest inside.
‘See you later, friend,’ said Jared with a quick salute.
‘And you,’ Merrick replied with a casual salute. ‘If you need some stronger sticks I’ll have a look in the stores for you.’
Jared frowned at the joke, then followed his men. Tannick Ryder, however, remained standing in the middle of the courtyard.
Merrick watched from beneath the eaves, sure he was concealed, not daring to move lest he give his position away. But the longer he stood the more his unease grew.
‘Did you enjoy the show?’ Tannick asked.
Merrick looked to left and right. There was no one else in the courtyard besides Merrick and his father. Clearly not as concealed as I thought.
Tannick turned to look at Merrick. The rain beat down on his armoured shoulders, and his hair and beard were drenched. Merrick, for once, was speechless.
‘Cat got your tongue, boy? This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? The big reunion? Well, I’m here, so say what you’ve got to say and we can both be done with it.’
Memories from childhood came rushing back to him. All those days of admonishment and scornful glares. Of never being good enough. Of feeling useless. A disappointment.
At last he had the chance he had waited years for, and now it was in his grasp he had no idea what to do.
Almost involuntarily Merrick stepped forward and he was out in the light, feeling the rain tamp down against his head, feeling it wash down his face and the back of his neck and into his armour. All at once it was as though the rain had washed away any reluctance to speak up for himself.
‘It’s been a long time,’ he said.
As good a start as any.
‘Yes, it has,’ Tannick replied. There was no emotion in his voice, no notion of regret or paternal feeling, but what had Merrick expected?
‘Too long,’ ventured Merrick. This time Tannick gave no reply. Clearly he didn’t share the sentiment. ‘I assumed you didn’t want to see me.’