‘I don’t need to prove shit to him,’ Merrick replied.
Really? Don’t you need to prove you’re a fighter, a warrior deserving of the Ryder name?
‘We all have to prove ourselves worthy, every day of our lives,’ Kaira said. ‘The hard part is picking what or whom you want to be worthy of.’
This was starting to get a bit deep, but perhaps she was right. Was Tannick Ryder worth all the bother? Would he even be able to make the old man proud? Did he really care?
He stood up. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go … polish something.’
Kaira gave him a nod and went back to her work.
As Merrick moved through the barracks his hand strayed to the wound at his chest. Was it all the proof he needed of his bravery? Or was it just a reminder that he wasn’t quite as good with a blade as he’d have liked?
Who really gave a fuck? He was Merrick Ryder — he didn’t owe anything to anyone. He’d done his part, saved the bloody queen, for Arlor’s sake. What more could anyone want of him? What more could he give?
He guessed in the days to come he’d be likely to find out.
FORTY-NINE
They sat around the fire, all five of them just watching the flames, listening to the wood crackling in the hearth. None of them knew what to do. There was no one to order them around now that Friedrik had gone, so they just sat and waited.
You should be running, not waiting. You should be on your way and not bothering to look back. You’ve ridden your luck enough for a hundred lifetimes and you’re not yet thirteen winters.
Rag didn’t run, though.
‘Do you think they’re gonna kill us?’ Shirl asked in a little voice, saying what they were all thinking.
Rag shook her head. ‘Don’t be soft,’ she replied. ‘If Bastian wanted us dead we’d be corpses already.
That seemed to calm Shirl a bit, and she saw Yarrick glance at Essen looking a bit relieved. Of course she had no idea whether it was true or not. It would be just like Bastian to let them stew in their own fear for a bit, heating up their terror until it reached boiling, and then kill them anyway. She had no idea if they were going to die tonight or not. No point sharing that though, was there. The lads were already in a hole — no point digging them deeper into it.
Rag glanced over at Harkas, sitting instead of standing like he usually did, hardly visible, in the shadows. She could feel him watching though, staring from the dark, his eyes always on her.
He knows. He’s worked out who it was that betrayed Friedrik, and when Bastian comes to kill us all, that’s what he’ll use to bargain for his life.
But did he know? If he knew, why hadn’t he said anything when Palien was having his throat slit? Why didn’t he speak up and tell Bastian then?
Rag sat back in her chair, trying to stay out of his eyeline. She guessed she might never know; Harkas wasn’t much for sharing. Whatever his intentions, she kept her eye on the door that led out of the place, just in case. First sign of trouble she’d be through it and away.
But you won’t, will you? Even if you had the chance you ain’t got nowhere to go.
After Palien had bled out through his neck and his body’d been left to drop to the floor she’d still thought they were all done for. Rag wouldn’t have put it past Bastian to rid himself of all five of them without giving it a second thought, but he hadn’t. He’d just told them all to be on their way.
So here they were, with nowhere else to go. They sat in the tavern, waiting for gods knew what, while the wood pile slowly went down.
Rag had no idea how long they’d been sitting there. Shirl’s head kept nodding as he fought off sleep. Essen had wrapped himself in a blanket as the chill of the night crept into the bar and filled the shadows with cold.
None of them heard Bastian’s lads enter.
They were the same lean bastards as had killed Palien and they filled the little bar in silence, standing in the shadows, lurking like ghouls waiting to reach out from the dark and take a victim. When Rag saw them her eyes went wide with the fear. None of the other lads noticed until the door swung wide, banging against the wall, and Bastian himself walked in.
Rag stared at his face. At those gaunt, skeletal features. The Lord of Crows himself, come to take them to the hells.
Bastian just stood there and all five of them stared back, not sure what to do. It would have been a fucking stupid thing to speak — no one was going to risk interrupting Bastian.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said finally, like he was carrying on a conversation from a moment before. ‘It did cross my mind to have you all offed. You’re not the best bunch the Guild has got, after all. But then Friedrik must have kept you around for something: perhaps your loyalty. Loyalty’s worth a lot in these trying times. You did let him get captured, but then that was down to Palien, so I can’t really blame any of you.’
He looked straight at Rag then, those eyes boring into her like a weevil in her flesh. Then he smiled slightly. It looked odd on his cruel face and it made Rag’s skin go all tingly with the creeps.
‘About Friedrik, by the way,’ he said, the fire dancing off his sharp features giving him a daemonic look. ‘Apparently he’s been executed. So we won’t be seeing him again. Consequently, all responsibilities for running this outfit pass to me. I’ve asked around and no one has a problem with that. I assume none of you do?’ Rag didn’t move, but she could see Shirl, Yarrick and Essen shaking their heads in the dark. ‘Good. Then we can move on.’
One of those lean shadowy bastards brought a chair forward and Bastian sat in it, crossing his legs and straightening his black undertaker’s jacket.
‘War is coming.’
Bastian let his words hang in the air.
‘We … we know, Mister Bastian,’ said Shirl.
Typical Shirl — never could keep his bloody mouth shut.
‘You’ve probably been wondering what your contribution will be to the war effort,’ said Bastian.
Shirl glanced at the other lads. ‘Actually … erm … no.’
‘No,’ said Bastian mirthlessly. ‘Of course you fucking haven’t. You were more than likely wondering how you’re going to avoid the fighting and survive when the Khurtas come knocking.’ The lads nodded. ‘Well, I’m here to tell you. The Guild has been made an offer. One that will see us survive this whole shitty mess. Obviously there will be things to do in the coming days, but I won’t entrust the important work to a bunch of useless fuckers like you. However, I’ll need all the men I can get, so be ready. I’ll have word sent to you when the time is right, so don’t go far.’
His last three words were spoken like they were all a bunch of halfwits.
‘No, Mister Bastian,’ said Shirl, Essen and Yarrick in unison.
‘Good.’ Bastian stood up, his men already moving towards the door. ‘You.’ He pointed at Rag. ‘Show me out.’
Show him out? Did he not know where the bloody door was?
She stood and walked beside him. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps she was the one would be getting it. The one with her throat slit as an example to the other lads not to fuck about. But as they went into the little back room that led out on the street, Bastian stopped beside her.
He looked down and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know the rest of your crew hasn’t got the brains of a dray horse between them. That’s why I’ll be relying on you to hold them together.’
‘Yes, Mister Bastian,’ she said without thinking, just grateful he wasn’t going to kill her.
‘There’ll be a chance for you to prove yourself in the coming days. Friedrik always surrounded himself with fucking idiots — that was his way. He was arrogant you see, thought he was untouchable, that his reputation would protect him, but it’s clear he was wrong about that. Still, he seemed to think you were different.’ He gestured to the men around him. ‘Now, as you can see — I don’t surround myself with idiots. And after this whole Palien business I’m beginning to see what it was Friedrik saw in you. You’re clever. There’s potential in you, girl. You could go far.’