Maquin looked away, feeling his stomach buck. Then he looked back, ashamed of himself. This was his sword-brother, the closest thing to a friend that he had left. As if feeling his eyes, Orgull stirred. A groan, then a shifting of his weight, taking the strain on his wrists bound above his head, a ripple in his thighs, a tension in his neck.
Sleep longer, brother.
‘Welcome,’ a voice said, drawing his attention.
It was Lykos, leaning casually against a desk. Five chests were placed on the ground before him. Deinon hovered in the shadows.
‘My apologies for neglecting you all, the past ten-night,’ Lykos said. ‘There have been distractions.’
‘What distractions?’ Javed asked.
One day your questions are going to get you a knife in the belly, Maquin thought.
‘That’s none of your concern,’ Lykos said. ‘They’re dealt with now, anyway. What does concern you is what I have to say.’ He paused, one hand reaching inside the recesses of his cloak. Maquin saw the outline of his hand close about something. Lykos didn’t seem to be aware that he was doing anything; something about the whole gesture seemed habitual.
‘You’ve done well,’ Lykos continued. ‘More than well, living this long, surviving the pits. You’re close to earning your freedom, all of you. See these chests.’ Lykos walked to each one, kicking them open. They were stuffed to brimming with gold coins. ‘Each one is what we’ve earned from you. You’ve made us rich.’
He walked back to the desk and poured himself a cup of wine, taking a long drink.
Freedom. The word hit Maquin like a blow, making his dizzy. Jael’s face floated into his mind, sneering at him, as always.
‘One more fight you all have. Win and you’ve earned your freedom. Win and I’ll give you a pouch of gold each from these chests. And I’ll make you an offer to think on, too. I want you to join me — join my crew. Sail with me. Swear a blood-oath to me. What you see in these chests is nothing to what’s in my future. Those who stay close to me are going to be rich men, and I don’t mean just gold: land, men, women, respect.’
‘One more fight,’ Maquin said.
‘Aye, that’s right. So let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?’
‘When?’ asked Javed.
‘A ten-night, maybe a little longer. You’ll go back to your training from the morrow.’
‘Who are we fighting?’ Maquin asked.
‘Whoever I put in front of you,’ Lykos said. ‘Just remember: obey me and you may end up with this.’ He nudged one of the open chests with a toe. ‘Cross me and you’ll likely end up like him.’ He pointed at Orgull. ‘That’s all I have to say.’
Herak opened the door and waved them out. Maquin looked back as he reached the door. Orgull was looking at him with his one good eye. His lips moved, only a sigh coming out.
‘Get on,’ Herak ordered, pushing Maquin into the corridor. The door slammed shut.
Maquin lay back on his cot, hands laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Orgull’s ruined face. Saw his lips moving, a silent plea. He hadn’t heard the words, but he was sure what Orgull had mouthed to him across the room.
Kill me.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ONE
VERADIS
Veradis stood beside Rhin and Conall. Behind them stood the combined warbands of Cambren and Tenebral, waiting. Amongst them were also two dozen wains, on open display and filled to overflowing with bread.
Smoke billowed from a dozen points within the walls of Dun Taras. Throughout the night rioting had been heard, even the clash of arms close to the gate, so a watch had been set, warriors put on alert to storm the gates at the first hint of them opening.
‘It will not be long,’ Rhin said to Veradis. ‘Conall was the nudge that they needed.’
I think she’s right. Shrewd and sharp; a good ally, a fearful enemy.
The sounds grew as the day lengthened, the roar of rioting drifting closer, then ebbing away. Eventually, around highsun, the noise reached a crescendo, the screams of pitched battle drifting over the walls. Then a shiver ran through the gates and they swung open.
A roar went up from the warriors behind Veradis.
‘Slowly,’ Rhin called. ‘We are their deliverers, not their conquerors.’
Riders pulled in close about Rhin and then she moved off, entering through Dun Taras’ gates to shouting and cheering. The wains followed in a line behind; Conall and a handful of other warriors leaned to grab loaves of bread and throw them into the crowd.
Veradis marched behind the wains, three hundred of his men massed behind him. All of them were alert, tense. Behind them came more of Rhin’s warband, spreading into the crowds, searching the side streets, up stairwells and onto the walls. The wains stopped at points along the way, quickly emptying to pushing and shoving crowds, then reversed slowly out of the fortress to be refilled. The crowds thinned about Rhin and Veradis as they pushed deeper into Dun Taras, aiming for the keep.
We are being greeted with open arms right now, but I don’t think all feel the same way in this fortress.
As if Veradis’ thoughts willed them out of the shadows, a band of warriors appeared from a side street and hurled themselves at Rhin’s shieldmen. There was a brief clash, a few of Rhin’s men were dragged from saddles, but the attackers were quickly repulsed. Veradis and his men drew closer together, not yet a shield wall, but ready.
Then they were at the keep.
There was a stillness, an emptiness that set Veradis’ skin prickling. That moment when the wind dies, just before a storm breaks.
‘Be ready,’ he said to Bos.
Rhin stopped in the courtyard, her men fanning out before her. The keep doors were shut, but when warriors pushed on them they swung open freely. A score of Rhin’s men entered, more, then like a wave. Then there was a concussive bang, air blasting from the open doors, followed by an explosion of heat and flames. A handful of men staggered out, human torches, the stench of seared flesh filling the courtyard. Veradis felt his stomach lurch.
‘No one’s going in that way for a while,’ Bos said beside him.
Geraint appeared with more men in his wake. He sent scouts around the keep, searching out other entrances. They soon returned with more reports of ambushes and traps, barricaded corridors, more fires. Conall forged ahead anyway, leading a few score warriors into one of the entrances. Veradis settled his men in the courtyard. While he was proud to be involved in any battle, to represent Nathair and honour the alliance, he was not about to lead his men into a potential fiery death. So he waited.
The fires in the keep’s feast-hall guttered out a little before sunset. Other reports came back that pitched fighting was occurring as Geraint’s men moved deeper into the building.
‘Time to go in,’ Veradis said and marched into the keep, shield held high, his short sword drawn, his men following suit.
In the feast-hall timbers still smoked, amongst them the blackened remains of Rhin’s warriors. Veradis found an arched doorway and led his men out of the hall into a wide, high corridor. Archways branched off it, entrances to other corridors, the sounds of battle drifting out to them. Veradis kept going. Every closed doorway was tried, opened, rooms searched. Nothing. As they progressed deeper into the keep a thought hit him.
This corridor isn’t barricaded or defended because of the fire in the feast-hall. That was barrier enough. But whoever set it must have known it would burn out, eventually. Then he understood.
These are not the efforts of a last defence; they’re delaying tactics.