Waylian stood there in the silence, eyes wide and staring. Then he clamped a hand to his mouth, too late to stop the fountain of vomit that spewed from his roiling guts.
Whether it was a consequence of using the magick or seeing Ferenz dispatched in such a gruesome manner he had no idea, but neither did he care as the contents of his stomach sprayed out between his fingers.
There was a gentle pat on his back as he crouched forward, sobbing the snot and puke from his nose and mouth. ‘Well done, Waylian,’ said Gelredida, as though he’d just solved some tricky equation rather than crushed a man’s head with a word.
Nero let out an animal shriek.
Before any of the remaining Archmasters could restrain him he rushed to the marshal’s armoured body. Too late, Waylian realised he was going for the dagger that Ferenz had wielded. Nero’s eyes were wide with fury, his deadly intent obvious, but Gelredida was unable to act against him with the iron bracelets binding her power.
Ignoring the rancid puke running down his chin, Waylian dashed forward. He had no time to think, just bowled into Nero and they both went down. The Archmaster fought like an animal, snarling his fury. Waylian desperately grabbed Nero’s wrist and focused on not being sliced by the dagger. If help was coming, it was slow in arriving; the other Archmasters just stood and watched. Even Gelredida did nothing, not even uttering a word of encouragement as Waylian fought for his life.
What did you expect, Grimmy? That she’d jump in to help you? That she’d risk having her throat opened when she’s got dumb, obedient Waylian Grimm to do her dirty work for her?
He gritted his teeth as he rolled on the hard floor, wrestling with Nero. The Archmaster was a man grown but seemed no stronger than Waylian. As they struggled, Waylian could not take his eyes from the blade of that dagger, shining bright and moist in the torchlight.
Why is no one helping me? Why are they all just watching?
The unfairness of all this began to build in him like a pot of boiling broth. For every squeal and grunt Nero made, Waylian felt fury increase within him. As they grappled Waylian could not only smell the sweat and breath of the man trying to kill him, but sense his anger and frustration that he couldn’t finish this meddling apprentice.
With a bark of fury, Nero managed to roll on top of Waylian. The dagger was between them now, the blade pointing downwards. Nero stared, his eyes wide with triumph as he pushed down with all his weight and Waylian got a familiar feeling he’d been here before. But as he stared into Nero’s eyes he saw something in them, something dark, something forbidden.
It was as though he could read the secrets in those eyes, as though they showed him Nero’s soul, and what Waylian saw there was black. This man was a traitor. This man had plotted against the Crown, plotted with its enemies, plotted to see this city fall that he might reap the rewards from its ashes.
But his plots were not over yet.
Nero was party to further dire schemes — a conspiracy that would see the death of … the queen.
Before the dagger could touch Waylian, something hit Nero hard across his head. He toppled to one side without a sound, leaving Waylian holding the black and bloody dagger in his hand. He stared at it, at the razor-sharp blade, then at Nero, lying prone beside him.
‘Do get up, Waylian. You’re making the place look untidy.’
He looked up to see Gelredida standing beside him. In her hand she held a stone urn. It didn’t even bear a crack after rendering the Archmaster unconscious.
Waylian stood, dropping the dagger to the floor. The other Archmasters had chosen to move forward now there was no danger of them being harmed.
‘He’s a traitor,’ Waylian said, pointing a finger.
‘That much is bloody clear,’ said Drennan Folds.
‘No. I mean, yes, but … he’s plotting to kill the queen.
‘How do you know?’ Drennan stared accusingly.
‘I … I saw it …’
The Archmasters looked at one another, almost more perturbed by Waylian showing talent with magick than by a member of their order being slain by one of their own.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ Gelredida said. ‘It’s clear Nero has been playing us all for fools. He and Ferenz are in league with Amon Tugha. How deep that betrayal goes remains to be seen.’
‘Indeed,’ said Crannock. ‘He should be handed over to the Inquisition immediately. They’ll get to the bottom of this conspiracy.’
Gelredida shook her head. ‘We have no time for that, but never fear. I am more than willing to put Nero to the question myself. I’m sure my methods will be most efficient.’
Waylian had little doubt she was right.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Regulus had always known that coming north might be perilous, that he was most likely risking his life and that of his warriors. But back then the worst he could have imagined was an ignoble death, with no one to sing the tales of his passing — a quiet death in a far-off land where he might never find his way to the stars.
He was forced to admit, his current fate was far worse.
They were locked in a dank and cavernous chamber, chained and humiliated. Rage burned inside him, fuelling the need to rend and tear his way out, to restore his honour in a swathe of blood and corpses. How he would make these Coldlanders pay for such an insult — how they would suffer.
He knew such thoughts were useless though; a waste of his waning energy. There was nothing he could do but wait while his fate was decided for him. No matter how much the fire inside demanded a blood reckoning there was little he could do to quench it.
His warriors shared his desire for vengeance, that much was clear. They wanted nothing more than to join him in the righteous destruction of their captors. Each one would gladly have given his life in pursuit of such retribution.
All but Janto Sho.
Regulus could see him staring from the shadows, what little light that encroached on the dungeon cell illuminating his eyes like baleful blue stars in the black night. Though he was silent, it was obvious he hated Regulus for bringing them so low, for leading them to this ignoble end. Janto had pledged himself to Regulus, fully expecting to die in the repayment of his life-debt, but now he was to die chained and dishonoured. Regulus could hardly blame Janto for his ire.
‘How long have we been here?’ asked Akkula, staring up at the barred window high above them.
‘What does it matter?’ Hagama replied. Regulus was sure the warrior would have displayed more annoyance had he the vigour to do so.
Akkula clearly did not sense the anger in his fellow warrior’s voice.
‘I’m starving,’ he said.
‘We’re all starving,’ growled Hagama. ‘Now be silent.’
‘Both of you be silent,’ said Leandran. ‘We have to save our strength. The opportunity for escape will arrive soon enough. If the Coldlanders wanted to kill us we’d be dead already.’
‘Escape?’ said Hagama, leaning towards Leandran, the chain that tethered him to the wall pulling tight. ‘We are in chains. How will we escape? As for the intentions of the Coldlanders, none of us can guess what that scum has in mind. Perhaps they are gathering the people of the city that they might kill us in front of a baying crowd.’
‘If you think like that, you’re already beaten,’ said Leandran. ‘An opportunity will present itself in the fullness of time. Just wait and see.’
‘You’re an old fool!’ Hagama snarled, baring his teeth.
‘Leandran is right,’ Regulus said, staring down the warrior. ‘We must stay alert. Fighting amongst ourselves will only serve us ill. There will be time for fighting soon enough.’
Regulus hoped that was true. If his warriors did not find something to kill soon, they could end up turning on one another.
And why? Why would that be? Because you have brought them to this. You dragged them from their homeland to this place of weaklings and cowards, and now they are to be punished for it. You have brought them low — the punishment should be yours alone.