The morning wore on, and the Coldlanders began to drink their infernal brew. Regulus understood little about this habit. He had learned their drink was potent, a poison of sorts that sometimes sent them into a rage. He could understand such a thing’s value in battle, but in times of repose? And what was its use when it often sent them into a stupor, or caused them to fight amongst themselves, and with no skill — only stubborn ferocity?
The day drew on, and Regulus felt his sense of unease growing.
‘Look to yourselves,’ he warned his men, as the Coldlanders became more raucous, some of them bursting into song.
His warriors focused on their surroundings. Though they had no weapons Regulus was sure they’d be a match for these men.
‘What is it?’ asked Leandran.
‘Just keep your eyes open,’ Regulus replied as the song became more noisy and aggressive.
Slowly he stood up. He knew they needed to get outside, even if just for a little while. They couldn’t be expected to remain inside here indefinitely. He had to find one of their guards, gaolers, whatever name they used, and take their leave of this place.
Before he had moved two paces, one of the mercenaries in the livery of the Scarlet Company staggered forward.
‘Where are you going?’ he shouted. Some of his fellows heard and stopped their bickering to look on with interest.
Regulus did not answer.
The man leaned forward with a smile. More of the Coldlanders were looking on now. Some had clearly been awaiting such a confrontation.
‘Come on,’ said the man. ‘I know you can understand me. I’ve seen you speaking our language.’
Regulus took a breath, trying to remain composed. He could sense his warriors stirring behind him.
‘I seek no trouble,’ he said. ‘I have come to serve your queen.’
‘My queen?’ said the Coldlander. ‘She’s not my queen — I’m from Stelmorn. I’m here for the money, but if you want to fall to your fucking knee in front of her, feel free.’ Some of the others laughed.
Regulus regarded the man, bottle in hand, staggering on his feet. How could he even call himself a warrior? What pride did he take in himself? Where was his honour? But then, he only fought for coin — something Regulus would never understand.
He took another step, but the man moved into his path.
‘What’s the obsession with the queen, then? Not got one of your own?’
There was no way Regulus was about to explain himself to such a cur. He could feel the claws at his fingertips begin to twitch, his jaw tightening. Behind this man, more red liveried warriors stepped forward.
‘They probably ate her,’ said a man at the back of the group.
‘Yeah, they’ll have fucked her first, though. That’s all those black bastards know about.’
Regulus knew he was being goaded. He must not bow to it. If he lost control, it could jeopardise everything.
‘You seen much battle then, darky?’ someone shouted suddenly.
Regulus felt his stomach tighten. He clenched his fists, letting his claws dig into his palms.
‘What are they saying?’ asked Kazul from behind him.
The tension was growing. Regulus knew he had to do something to take the fire out of these men’s bellies, but what?
Walk away?
No, Regulus Gor could not do that.
‘Yes, I have seen battle,’ Regulus said, raising his voice. ‘I came north to wield my blade on behalf of your king. The man who set my people free.’ The Coldlanders quieted at the mention of their late leader. ‘Even though he is dead, I will still fight beside you to defend his lands. For my father’s honour and for that of your queen.’
The Coldlanders looked at one another uncertainly.
Before he could think of more to say, the leader of the Hallowed Shields walked forward. He smiled at Regulus.
‘You see,’ he said, speaking to his men. ‘I told you there was nothing to fear from them. They are here as our allies.’
‘Like fuck they are,’ shouted someone from the crowd.
‘What are they saying?’ Kazul said again, more agitated.
The leader of the Hallowed Shields looked up at Regulus and winked. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘We’ll soon be fighting side by side. We should be friends.’
‘What’s he saying?’ Kazul stood up, and Janto rose to his feet beside him.
Regulus was about to tell them to sit down again, that this man just wanted peace, when the leader of the Hallowed Shields reached behind his back.
‘Let’s drink to our new-found friendship,’ he said.
‘Weapon!’ Kazul shouted, darting forward.
Regulus leapt in the way as the Coldlander pulled, not a weapon, but a tin flask from his belt. The man staggered back from Kazul’s attack, but Regulus was fast enough to stop his warrior as he leapt with teeth bared.
But he was not able to stop Janto.
At the first sign of trouble the warrior hurled himself at the nearest group of mercenaries. They staggered back under Janto’s onslaught as he tore with his claws. Blood flew as Regulus looked on, unable to rein back his warrior.
Before he could attempt to calm them, shouts of alarm and anger went up from the gathered mercenaries. Though unarmed, and facing the fearsome Zatani of the Gor’tana, it did not stop them. They surged forward. Regulus went down under a wave of bodies. Fists pummelled his face and he could hear yells of anger. In the background his warriors roared their defiance as they too joined the fray.
Regulus threw the first Coldlander aside, trying to gain his feet, but two more leapt at him. He was loath to strike them, one blow from his claws would tear out a throat and he was here as an ally, not an enemy. He tried to speak, to talk sense, but blows rained in at him. The Coldlander mercenaries were incensed, and elsewhere Regulus could hear his warriors were not fighting with restraint. Screams of pain echoed through the hall, joined by cries of unfettered rage.
He should not have allowed his warriors to spend so much time incarcerated in this place. They were men of the wild, hunters of the plains. It was only a matter of time before they would unleash their pent-up urges.
A Coldlander came at Regulus, screaming in fury. In his hand, there was a flash of steel. A weapon. They were all supposed to be unarmed but this man had smuggled a knife in with him.
The time for appeasement was over.
Regulus snarled, throwing off the men who were trying to hold him down. With a swipe of his arm he rent the flesh of the knifeman from jaw to eye. As his face came away, the man screamed, dropping his weapon and falling to the ground.
Seeing their fellow so savagely mutilated, some of the mercenaries dropped back. One was brave enough to rush forward but Regulus grasped him by the throat, raising him high, with his legs kicking helplessly for purchase.
‘Gor’tana!’ Regulus cried. ‘To me!’
Immediately his warriors disengaged from their enemy and came to stand beside him — Leandran was breathing heavily, Kazul, Hagama and Akkula all stared wide-eyed, and eager for more. Janto was the last to pull himself away, his mouth dripping with blood.
Regulus surveyed the carnage — men lay dead and dying, blood was strewn on the floor of the massive hall.
Before Regulus could order his men to retreat, there was a commotion in the entryway. More soldiers in the green livery of the city guard rushed in — Regulus counted thirty of them — all carrying polearms, all looking determined.
He could have ordered his men to fight, but to what end? Against unarmed mercenaries they were more than a match, but armed warriors were a different matter.
Janto moved to attack, but Regulus grasped his shoulder, digging his claws into the warrior’s flesh.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘We’ve done enough.’
He dropped the mercenary he held to the ground where the man lay gasping for air.