Gelredida stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him.
‘What did you say?’
She asked the question as though he’d just called her a wrinkled old prune. Waylian suddenly blanched. Perhaps he was being too familiar; perhaps he’d overstepped the mark.
‘Er … it was just something I heard …’
‘Say it again,’ she snarled, reaching forward to grasp his robe.
‘They took our words of power … with hearts of dark stone.’
‘Black stone! Hearts of black stone! Where did you read those words?’
‘I … I didn’t read them, someone told them to me.’
‘Who? Who told them to you?’
Waylian’s mind was reeling. Gelredida was furious, her ire aimed directly at him. The change from just moments ago was enough to almost loosen his bowels. He thought for a moment of lying to save his friend, but what in the hells did he owe Bram?
‘It was Rembram Thule. We were just talking about—’
‘Where is he? Where is he right now?’
‘I— I’m not sure … he could be in his chambers or the refectory …’
Gelredida grasped him firmly by the arm and led him down from the tower roof. He clattered after her down the stone staircase, at pains to keep up.
They sped to the apprentice chambers but Bram was not there. Neither was he in the refectory, and Waylian was beginning to worry for the lad’s safety, such was the Magistra’s growing ire. Other apprentices could only watch in surprise, moving out of their path as she dragged Waylian through the corridors. Clearly they thought he had done something to offend his mistress, but then they already considered him a moron, so it mattered little what they thought.
‘He’s not here, Waylian. Where is he? We must find him.’
She was holding both his arms now, staring into his eyes as if the roof might fall in and the tower collapse about their ears. Her nails dug into his flesh and Waylian began to get a dread sense of foreboding.
‘I don’t know where he is. I don’t understand. What could he have done?’
‘Those words. I know you didn’t read them in any book and I know you don’t speak the tongue they were originally uttered in. In every place we’ve found a body, a mutilated corpse, there have been sigils on the walls, signs and ciphers in ancient tongues long dead. And on the wall of each place we’ve been to was written “they took our words of power with hearts of black stone”. It’s an ancient curse, left by the shamans of the north. Part of a vow made after the War of the Red Snows. Only a few people know that language. Only a very few.’
‘But Bram’s just an apprentice.’
‘That’s why we have to find him. He has no idea what he might unleash. No idea what he might bring down on this city, so think, Waylian. Where could he be?’
It was impossible. Where could he be? There were very few places left to look. He definitely wouldn’t be in the library; that was a certainty. Perhaps …
‘Gerdy! He was … friendly with a girl called Gerdy.’
Gelredida pulled him back towards the apprentice chambers, scattering several students who dared get in her way. They eventually found Gerdy’s door nestled within the heart of the female chambers. Without knocking, the Magistra turned the handle and strode inside.
There was no Gerdy, but the room was in disarray, as though someone had fought hard against an intruder.
The Red Witch let go of him now. She moved with a speed that belied her years as she made her way up through the tower.
‘Where are we going, Magistra?’ Waylian asked. ‘How will we find them? If they’re not in the tower they could be anywhere in the city by now.’
‘There is only one way of finding them. And I will not be refused this time.’
She mumbled as much to herself as Waylian, as though asserting in her own mind what she would do before she did it.
They came to an opulent corridor, all polished wooden panelling and grim portraits of ancient magisters. Gelredida picked a door, again not pausing to knock. Waylian could do nothing but follow, even though he felt every inch the trespasser.
Despite her abrupt entrance, Gelredida was greeted with a smile from the room’s occupant. Waylian recognised Archmaster Nero Laius from their meeting in the Crucible Hall as he looked up from beneath his mop of curly grey hair.
‘Magistra. To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he said.
‘Let’s dispense with the pleasantries,’ Gelredida replied. She loomed over Nero, though he looked anything but intimidated. ‘I need you to find someone, and I’m not in the mood to be turned down.’
Nero’s smile wavered. He glanced to Waylian, who could only look back with equal helplessness. ‘Since you’ve asked so nicely, how could I possibly refuse?’
FORTY-THREE
They were in rows, mouths gagged, hands bound with rope rather than chain lest they make a clangour in the night as they were herded aboard ship. Women and their children were kept together; it made them panic less. Men were kept where the slavers could concentrate their best guards to quell any sign of dissent, should someone be stupid enough to try to make a break for it. Merrick had already watched them beat one man almost to death. He still lay in one corner of the room, not moving. Maybe he was dead already, maybe he would live. It was hard to tell.
What do you care; you’re the wolf, remember? The wolf gets paid, the shepherd gets to sleep at night. You can’t have both.
He looked up to a gantry that ran the length of one wall. Bolo was there watching, surrounded by his men. It was clear he was enjoying himself, sipping wine, eating grapes and laughing hard.
‘How much longer?’ asked Kaira. She’d stood beside him in silence most of the evening, watching, waiting. Her eyes were fixed on the piteous crowd, starved and beaten and waiting for the inevitable. Merrick had thought she might burst into tears at one point, but the implacable warrior had defied his expectations. Now she just looked furious. He could only hope he didn’t end up the target of her ire.
‘Won’t be long now,’ he said. ‘We have a short window of opportunity on the dock at ten bells. Then they’ll take these people across and load them aboard.’
‘And we have to stay and watch?’ She looked at him, anger in her eyes, her jaw locked. It was clear she was struggling to hold it in. Merrick had to admit, that scared him a bit.
‘I suppose we could ask for payment now. Then we can be on our way.’
‘And then we hand the money over? Will we be rewarded by the men who run the Guild?’
‘There’s every chance of that, I guess. But I wouldn’t be so eager to meet them if I were you. It’s not always a good sign.’ Sometimes it’s a sign you’re about to have something chopped off.
‘I’m not. I’m just eager for this business to be over.’
Her fists were clenched, the muscles in her arms and shoulders bunched.
‘All right.’ Merrick held up his hands, trying his best to calm her. He wasn’t about to touch her, though. He’d learned his lesson there all right. ‘We’ll go ask Bolo for the payment. Then we can get the fuck out of here.’
As they made their way up to the gantry, Kaira didn’t take her eyes off the crowd as they were being prepared for their journey. Merrick could see them being poked and prodded as if they were being got ready for market, and he knew that he had done this. He had made this possible; this whole affair was on his shoulders.
It wasn’t him though; it was those he worked for. He was just an employee. And whether you work for tyrant or saint, it matters not. And if not Merrick then some other poor bastard forced to do the work of the Guild.
It wasn’t his fault.
Better the wolf than the shepherd.
Bolo’s guards moved to block the pair as they neared the top of the gantry, but with a gesture of his arm the pirate lord waved them aside. He smiled as Merrick drew closer, as if they were old friends, business partners meeting to chat about old times.
Merrick could
only smile back. Better the wolf.
‘My friend,’ said Bolo. ‘It is pleasing to see you, but alas our business is almost concluded.’
‘And everything’s on track?’ asked Merrick, keen to have this finished with.
‘Of course. Everything is moving as planned. But you look agitated. Does something trouble you?’
‘Me?’ Better the wolf, don’t forget that. ‘I’m fine. Not too sure about this lot.’ He gestured to the rows of bedraggled slaves.
‘Please, do not concern yourself. They are on their way to a better place. A better future. Were they to remain here they would only be condemned to a life of poverty, and possibly be slaughtered at the hands of the Elharim warlord. It is better this way. Better for them, anyway.’
And better for your coffers, no doubt. ‘Is that how you persuaded them all to come so quietly? Persuaded them they were off to a better life?’
Bolo’s smile spread across his face. ‘Food and shelter where there is none is a temptation most cannot resist. When a man’s family is starving and you offer him bread he will follow you anywhere.’
‘Even into slavery?’ Careful, Ryder.
‘I think we have very different definitions of slavery. These people will be cared for by the rich and privileged of four continents … most of them, anyway.’
What about the ones that end up in the whorehouses and fighting pits?
‘I’m sure they’ll thank you when they get to wherever they’re going.’ He looked to the guards surrounding them, then at Kaira, whose hate-filled eyes were fixed on Bolo – giving her the look of a rabid dog.
Perhaps it was time to go.
‘If we’re concluded here, we’ll take the final payment and be on our way. If it please you?’
Bolo leaned against the railing and smiled. ‘Yes. It pleases me, my friend.’ With his foot he flipped open the lid of a casket that sat next to him. ‘You will find this concludes our business.’
Merrick looked down at all that money glimmering in its box. What he could do with all that. The places he could go. The things he could buy.
Then he looked to the crowd below.
Better the wolf. Better the fucking wolf. Don’t even think about it!
He took a step forward, a step towards the money, but then stopped.
But you’re no wolf. You never were. Not that you’re a shepherd either, Merrick Ryder. You’re nothing but a coward. You were a coward when you squandered your parents’ fortune. You were a coward when you got in hock to the Guild.
You’re a fucking coward now!
A face glanced up from the crowd, young, innocent. Well, not for long.
Take the money, coward!
‘Is something amiss?’ Bolo asked.
Take the money and leave! Leave all this shit behind like you’ve left everything else, every other responsibility you ever had.
‘I’m no coward,’ whispered Merrick.
Bolo frowned. ‘What ails you, my friend? Here is the payment you have asked for. Now take it and go about your business.’
Merrick looked at Bolo, then over the gantry to the scores of men, women and children awaiting their fate.
‘I … I can’t …’ he whispered.
Coward!
‘You can’t what?’ asked Bolo, clearly growing impatient. ‘The money is here. Take it now or leave empty handed. This is your choice.’
‘I … I’m …’ I’m the shepherd … please tell me I’m the shepherd.
‘What?’ Bolo was getting agitated, his fingers drumming against the jewelled hilt of his cutlass. ‘What is wrong with you?’
He stared, his handsome brow furrowing. Merrick could see it now, see the man standing before him, the man he could one day become. All he had to do was take the money and be on his way to a new life with limitless potential. All he had to do was abandon the innocents who stood below, silently awaiting their fate.
‘I am the shepherd,’ said Merrick, spitting the words through gritted teeth as his hand moved to his hip. ‘And you’re the wolf.’ Fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, pulling it free of its sheath faster than Bolo’s guards could move, faster than Bolo’s hand could grasp his jewelled cutlass.
The slaver’s eyes went wide as he realised what was happening, that he would never unsheathe his weapon in time. Bolo opened his mouth to speak, but the sword pierced his throat before any words could reach it.
Two guards stepped forward, too late to save their paymaster but more than willing to avenge him. Merrick spun, his blade flashing through the air with a hum, opening the neck of one. He managed to duck the clumsy blow of the second bodyguard, thrusting his sword without thought into the man’s chest.
As the pair fell to the ground, Merrick took a step back, glancing at Bolo who desperately clawed at his throat, trying in vain to stem the blood that flowed free from his wound. He was trying to speak, but Merrick had heard enough words from him. He watched while Bolo slowly drowned in his own blood, drinking in the sight, feeding on it, savouring it like a fine wine.
There were five men left, along with Kaira, all standing staring at him in disbelief, but in a moment they had gathered their wits, reaching for their weapons. Down below, over the gantry, Merrick could hear someone shout a warning cry as they saw what was happening up above them.
Merrick looked to Bolo’s five bodyguards and smiled.
‘You’ve all got one chance to live,’ he said, flicking blood from the end of his sword, revelling in its balance and the feel of the grip in his palm. It had been so long, so many years since he’d felt such a thrill. He had missed it. ‘I was taught in the Collegium of House Tarnath, trained in the sixty-six Principiums Martial by Lord Macharias himself. I’ve killed twelve men … er …’ He looked down at the three corpses before him. ‘Actually, that’s fifteen men in single combat, and I’m in just the mood to add some more. You can run and live, or stay and die. What’s it to be?’
The five men looked uncertain at first, and Merrick wasn’t sure what they’d do. Kaira just stood and watched. Whether she would help him or throw in her lot with the slavers, he didn’t know.
He’d find out soon enough.
The giant took a step forward. Merrick remembered his name was Lago, Bolo’s scarred and fearsome second in command. He stared down mournfully at his dead master, now crumpled with a gorget of his own blood. When he looked up at Merrick, his face contorted in rage. ‘You have murdered Bolo Pavitas, Slavelord of the Four Seas, and Prince of Keidro Bay. High Admiral of the Silken Fleet and—’
‘Fucking hells!’ Merrick shouted. ‘Can we just get on with it?’
Lago bellowed, raising his falchion high. He was ferocious, a hulking mound of muscle, bearing down with his huge, razor-sharp blade. Merrick could only imagine the fear he instilled in his slaves, the terror they must have felt when caught in the eye of his furious storm.
It meant nothing.
He moved in, offering himself as an easy target before stepping swiftly to one side. Lago’s blade came crashing down, smashing into the gantry and sending splinters flying just as Merrick’s sword pierced below his armpit, driving in almost to the hilt. The massive slaver didn’t even have a chance to cry out before he collapsed in a vast heap.
There was no time to gloat, though. On seeing Lago charge in, the other four steeled themselves, racing forward as one.
But Merrick had trained in the blade yards of the Collegium, facing half a dozen swordsmen at once, taking beating after beating with their training swords. The Principiums Martial were hard learned and long remembered, but Merrick had mastered them all before he was fourteen.
His blade moved as though it were possessed, seeking its targets with a hunger, showing no mercy as it pierced flesh, sending gouts of blood and severed limbs flying. Within three breaths Merrick was standing amidst nothing but corpses.
He breathed hard. Though he moved with grace and speed as he slew, it had been a long time since he’d drilled his body, and it wasn’t
used to such exertion.
Kaira looked at him as he leaned back, stretching the crick from his spine. More slavers were running up the stairs to the gantry, and it wouldn’t be long before he was facing a dozen bloodthirsty thugs.
‘Are you with me?’ he asked.
Because if you’re not there’s every chance I’m a fucking dead man.
Kaira looked at him for endless moments as the screaming horde drew closer. Then, just as he thought he might have to flee, she smiled. Like a lioness on the hunt she stooped with elegant grace, picked up a sword dropped by one of the dead slavers and turned to face the mass of ruffians charging up the stairs.
The first of them came up screaming from below. Whether he was confident of victory when he saw he was facing a woman Merrick couldn’t tell, but he certainly looked as if he regretted his actions as Kaira spun her weapon with practised ease and hacked off his arm at the shoulder.
‘Vorena!’ she screamed, leaping high and landing among the rest of the charging mob. Two were knocked back down the stairs by the strength of her attack, others taken off guard, doing their best to avoid this mad woman who had jumped into their midst.
Merrick moved forward to lend his own blade to the fray, but he was suddenly struck with awe as he watched Kaira’s display of power. Her blade was undaunted by the flesh it carved, her face a mask of steely concentration, showing no anger, only studied and disciplined focus.
Within moments men were screaming for mercy, others fleeing for their lives in the face of the onslaught, but Kaira was not to be thwarted. She leapt over the rail of the stairway, her sword slashing through the bonds that held the first batch of slaves.
‘Run,’ she yelled at them; a group of men whose sudden freedom seemed to instil strength in their limbs. ‘Or take your vengeance.’ Kaira lifted her blade, pointing to the remaining slavers who were now desperate to escape this place.
Merrick allowed himself a smile as he saw them choose vengeance.
It was the choice he’d have made had he been in their place.