The soldiers surrounded them. As Regulus showed his palms in sign of peace, he glanced at the dead and dying that lay all around them.
This would take some explaining.
THIRTY-ONE
Merrick had fucked up. Again. It was something he’d grown used to over the years — making a mess and living with the consequences, over and over — but this time he felt an unusual compulsion to make amends.
The queen had almost been murdered, one of his fellow Sentinels had been killed, another gravely wounded.
He should have been there. Should have protected her from Dravos and his bodyguards. Should have drawn his sword and cut that bastard’s heart out the minute he laid eyes on him.
But then it would be you lying dead. It would be you cold in the dirt. You’d be a hero all right, but not doing too much bragging — so count your lucky stars and stop fucking moping about it.
Merrick glanced up from beneath his helmet. Kaira and Janessa stood in the centre of the small courtyard. It was a quiet spot, away from the main quarters of the palace; somewhere they wouldn’t be disturbed. The queen held her ancient sword in two hands and Kaira was coaching her. Apparently Janessa had lopped Dravos’ head off with it, and Merrick had to admit she was rapidly growing proficient with the weapon, despite how huge and unwieldy it looked.
But she’ll have to grow proficient with it, won’t she, Ryder, because you’re about as useful a bodyguard as a shaved fucking monkey.
His hand tightened on the sword at his belt and his eyes flicked to the two entrances to the courtyard. He’d found himself acting more vigilantly since the attack, even though he knew it was too little too late. Waldin lay dying and the other one — damn, what was his bloody name? — was already in the dirt. Merrick knew the blame for that lay squarely on his shoulders.
He watched as Kaira demonstrated a sequence of strikes with a stick. Her wrist was heavily bandaged and she moved stiffly. But then she had reason to — she’d been grievously wounded defending the life of the queen. Yet she was still here on duty.
Not like you — always pissing and moaning about one thing or another: ‘Father doesn’t love me’, ‘Mother’s dead and I’ve spent the family fortune on whores and booze’, ‘All my friends want to kill me’, ‘This jacket doesn’t match these frigging britches’.
Little wonder she hadn’t spoken to him since.
What had he expected? Kaira had given him enough chances. Offered him opportunity after opportunity to prove he’d changed. In the end it was easier to prove that Merrick Ryder wasn’t the changing kind.
A door opened onto the courtyard. Merrick’s hand went to his sword and he took a step forward. When Garret appeared he let out a sigh of relief, but was on his guard again when he saw the captain was not alone.
Behind him strode Tannick Ryder, flanked by several of his Wyvern Guard. They marched forward to stand before the queen, who lowered her blade as they approached.
‘Majesty,’ said Tannick, dropping to his knee. His men did likewise.
‘Lord Marshal,’ Janessa replied. ‘To what do I owe this intrusion?’
Garret stepped forward as Tannick and his men rose to their feet. ‘Apologies, Majesty. This is my doing. I informed the Lord Marshal of the attempt on your life. He demanded to see you.’
Janessa looked over at Tannick. ‘I appreciate your … concern, Lord Ryder, but as you can see, I am quite well.’
‘Yes, Majesty, but for how long?’ Tannick replied. ‘It is clear your bodyguard are not up to their task.’ He punctuated that with a glance in Merrick’s direction. ‘I must insist you allow my men to watch over you.’
‘I have every confidence in my Sentinels, Lord Marshal. They have guarded Skyhelm and its occupants for centuries.’
‘But Majesty, with many of their number away from the city, this castle is not as well protected as it should be. Especially now, when a thousand enemies would gladly see you dead. I must insist.’
‘My bodyguard is more than sufficient, Lord Ryder.’
‘But your most senior knight is wounded.’ He gestured to Kaira who, though she stood proudly, was obviously not at her best. ‘The rest are untried.’ He didn’t gesture in Merrick’s direction, but the insinuation was obvious.
‘I have every faith in them,’ Janessa replied.
‘Then, if it please your Majesty, let me put that faith to the test.’
Garret moved forward. ‘Tannick, this isn’t what we discussed.’
The Lord Marshal ignored him. ‘Let me show you how easy it would be for a skilled assassin to cut through your men.’
Queen Janessa glanced over at Merrick.
This was like all his worst nightmares come at once; his father judging him wanting, the queen defending him when she had no reason to.
‘Lord Ryder, I can assure you-’
‘If you please, Majesty. I can prove him wrong,’ said Merrick.
The words had slipped out. Something in the back of Merrick’s mind had crept forward and taken control. Something that wanted to prove to his bastard of a father that he was worthy of the family name.
Janessa looked at him, then the Lord Marshal. ‘Very well. If you deem it necessary, then my man will fight you.’
Tannick nodded. ‘Thank you, Majesty. Though it won’t be me he’s fighting.’ He turned to his men. ‘Cormach, strip down.’
Merrick looked on as one of the knights shrugged off the animal pelt on his shoulders and began to take off his armour. Jared, the man whom Merrick had spoken to a few nights before, moved forward to help.
Garret walked up beside Merrick, shaking his head. ‘This is bloody ridiculous.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Merrick replied, handing over his helmet. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘Have you?’ Garret asked as he began to unbuckle the vambrace at Merrick’s forearm. ‘That’s Cormach Whoreson. Tannick’s best sword.’
‘I know who he is; I’ve already seen what he can do to a stick.’ For the briefest moment Merrick heard that stick break over Cormach’s back again, and almost winced at the memory. ‘But how good is he against a sword, and a man who knows how to use it? These Wyvern Guard have been living in the mountains for years with nothing to fight but goats and hill men. I’ve trained in the blade yards of House Tarnath. I’ve-’
‘Don’t underestimate him,’ said Garret, before Merrick could go through his full list of achievements. ‘The Wyvern Guard are legendary swordsmen. If your father’s trained them, they’ll be the best.’
Merrick looked over at Cormach Whoreson, now stripped to the waist. His body was covered in scars; he looked as if he’d been chiselled from stone and he was giving Merrick the hard stare. Merrick had spent enough time on the streets to know the difference between someone feigning toughness and a genuine hard bastard.
Cormach was most definitely the latter.
A flash of doubt suddenly clouded his confidence but Merrick pushed it away. He’d been trained by Lord Macharias himself, he knew the sixty-six Principiums Martial … well, maybe now wasn’t the time to go over all that again. Fact was he had something to prove here, and he was damn sure he’d do it.
Garret took the rest of Merrick’s armour off before announcing, ‘I’ll send for practice swords.’
‘No need,’ Tannick replied. ‘Real ones will do the job just as well.’ He looked over at Merrick. ‘Unless your man objects.’
Garret was about to speak when Merrick stepped forward. ‘He doesn’t.’
He unbuckled the sword belt at his waist and drew his weapon from its sheath. The blade felt good in his hand. For a moment he was invincible, like a hero of legend, baring his chest to the enemy, blade in hand, with nothing but his skill to keep him alive.
Then Cormach drew his own sword.
He held it with a confidence Merrick could never have matched. Hells, it almost looked a part of his body. Merrick was keenly aware that his own bare torso, though not in bad shape, was nowhere near as taut and honed as his opponent’s. The open air of the courtyard suddenly began to feel chill, as though it were seeping through his flesh and into his bones. Could Cormach actually be the better swordsman?