Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three)

  She knew she should have gone along, should have been at her queen’s side, but something kept her rooted. If Queen Janessa could not help the stricken defenders hold off the Khurtic horde at the wall, then it was Kaira’s duty to do it in her stead.

  She kicked her steed, feeling its eagerness as she rode towards the battlements and the Khurtas who flooded over the wall. She reined the horse in some feet from the foot of the stairway, hearing it snort in frustration when she leapt from the saddle. As she took the stairs three at a time Kaira pulled her sword from its sheath, feeling the ache in a wrist that hadn’t quite healed from the wound Azai Dravos had inflicted.

  It is nothing. A mere trifle. It will not stop you from carrying out Vorena’s will. You are an instrument of righteousness honed and tempered in the flames of battle, ready to strike down the enemies of your gods and your queen. Nothing can stop you.

  The first Khurta barely had time to acknowledge her before her sword cleaved his head from his shoulders. Kaira’s blade rang as it cut the air and her muscles protested slightly as she overexerted in her impatience for the first kill.

  Take control. This is not a game. This is not the practice yard. This is real.

  She gritted her teeth as another Khurta came running. Stooping in a low defensive stance and clearing her lungs with a single breath. All emotion was gone in an instant, to be replaced by everything she had ever learned, from being a child in the Temple of Autumn to a woman grown.

  You are Vorena’s will made manifest. A bright flame in the dark.

  The Khurta’s attack was savage, unfettered. His limbs powerful, his expression fierce. He never stood a chance as Kaira ducked low, reading his first clumsy swing before it ever came and skewering him below the ribs. She braced her shoulder as his dead weight hit her, then let him drop, levering her blade free with a foot planted on his chest.

  ‘On your feet,’ she bellowed at a young soldier cowering in the crenellated shadow of the battlements. ‘All of you. Fight!’

  Another Khurta ran at her. A swift hack of her sword and he fell screaming.

  Seeing her cutting down the enemy so easily seemed to instil some courage in the wall’s defenders. Two men stumbled hesitantly to her side. The boy cowering beside her slowly rose to his feet, the sword in his hand held limply, but at least he still held it.

  ‘Form rank,’ she ordered, and the men obeyed, making a line across the parapet that guarded the stairway.

  More Khurtas were already making their way over the wall. Kaira stooped to pick up a fallen shield, linking it with the three men that stood at her shoulders just as the first of the Khurtas came screaming at them. His attack was wild, flailing his axe against the shield wall. Kaira and the men beside her stood resolute as more Khurtas joined the fray. A break in the attack and Kaira struck out, the tip of her sword opening a throat. No sooner had one Khurta fallen than another took his place. Behind the attackers, yet more were making their way over the wall.

  ‘Stand fast,’ Kaira said through gritted teeth. The four of them were all that stood between these Khurtas and the city. They would not be allowed over the wall without a fight but, despite her courage, Kaira knew there was little she would be able to do to stop them. Eventually she and the rest of these men would fall under the Khurtas’ superior numbers.

  A sword hit the top of her shield, denting it. The man to her right suddenly screamed and went down. Kaira shouted at him to get back on his feet but her words were lost in the melee. Another blow struck her shield, knocking her back a step, and she had to fight the anger, not let it take control.

  All she could hear was screaming, rage spewed at her in the night, but it was not just rage – it was pain too, and fear.

  The assault on her shield abated. Someone called out from behind the attacking Khurtas but not in their foul northern tongue. The sound of battle drifted across the battlements from beyond the mass of Khurtas and one by one the savages disengaged to face this new threat.

  As Kaira took a moment to help the man to her right find his feet, she saw that more defenders had come across the battlements to repel the enemy. There was a flash of steel, a glint of bronze in the torchlight. Khurtas fell from the walkway and down into the city. Some leapt back over the parapet. Kaira could not help but allow herself a smile of relief as she recognised men of the Wyvern Guard, hacking and slaying with abandon. They were emotionless in their labours, every sword stroke measured, powerful, deadly. Among the relief she felt was also a pang of envy. These were peerless warriors, dedicated to their art, slaying the enemy with abandon. For a fleeting moment she thought back to the Temple of Autumn – to her sisters. How she yearned to be standing beside them now, Shieldmaidens all, fighting the enemy to the death.

  But that can never be. Samina was right – you abandoned your sisters long ago.

  As the last of the Khurtas was defeated, Kaira took a moment to look along the wall. As far as she could see the Khurtas had been slain to a man. Parts of the wall were smashed to ruins and bodies lay all along the battlements. But they had won.

  Far below on the plain in front of the city, a horn blew loud and clear in the night. At the sound, the horde began to retreat back to the north, leaving their dead and dying behind on the field.

  Kaira stared out at the retreating mass as it moved out of bow range of the wall and realised her sword was held tight in her grip, her breath coming in short, laboured gasps. Loosening her grasp on the weapon she felt her hand begin to shake.

  ‘You all right?’

  Kaira looked up at the familiar voice, stifling a smile as she saw Merrick looking at her with concern.

  ‘I am,’ she replied. ‘Just …’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘It’s not what I was expecting either.’

  He grinned, but Kaira could see beyond the smile. Behind his eyes were fear and pain. Despite the fact he looked every inch the warrior in his armour, he was just as scared as she was, and she took a step towards him.

  ‘How have you been?’ she asked. ‘Since you joined your father?’

  Merrick shrugged. ‘I’ve been tattooed, shot at with arrows, chased by Khurtas, screamed at by sword-wielding maniacs and I think I just killed three men, maybe four. But there have been shit times as well.’

  He smiled again, showing his teeth, showing some of the carefree Merrick of old, and for the briefest of moments Kaira smiled too.

  Without another word he offered her a nod, and turned to join the rest of the Wyvern Guard.

  After watching him go, Kaira glanced north one last time towards the enemy. They had been beaten back but not defeated. They would return soon enough. And she could only hope she would get another opportunity to face them with her sword in hand.

  FOURTEEN

  Whenever she’d been able, Rag had avoided the Rafts like the plague. Calling it a shithole would have been generous to shit. Pinching from Eastgate, and even Dockside, was risky enough, but the Rafts was one place you never wanted to get caught with your hand in someone’s purse. Not that there was much worth pinching there.

  As she watched the last of the slum dwellers walking past, it reminded her what a good decision she’d always made in leaving this place well alone.

  The Greencoats were herding them out now, and being none too polite about it neither. Men, women and children, all looking like they’d not seen soap and a flannel for far too long, were being beasted like animals into the city. Every now and again some ugly-looking bastard would try and argue, try and make a fuss, but they were soon quieted with the prod of a baton or an angry shove. It didn’t look like the Greencoats were taking any shit, and Rag could hardly blame them. You didn’t fuck about with the residents of the Rafts – not if you knew what was good for you.

  As relieved as she was that there’d be no dodgy, robbing bastards waiting for her in the shadows of the Rafts, she knew it would be no easy job getting through now. For some reason the Greencoats were evacuating the whole district – if you could call i
t that – and she guessed they’d be none too happy with her just strolling on by.

  She knew she had to get through, though, weren’t no choice about that now. The rolled-up parchment with the black seal that pressed against her inside pocket was enough of a reminder of that. Bastian wanted his message delivered, and what Bastian wanted he’d bloody well get or someone would pay the price for it. Rag didn’t reckon she fancied paying what he’d charge if she fucked this up.

  ‘Need to keep our heads down,’ she said to Yarrick. He just nodded his reply, looking on at the scene. He was nervous, fearful, but Rag doubted he could be any more scared than she was. They were delivering that parchment to someone at the other side of the Rafts and she wasn’t looking forward to finding out who.

  The pair of them waited as long as they could until the crowd that was moving out of the shanty town thinned down to a trickle. For their part, the Greencoats seemed eager to have this business finished, and it was obvious there was something going down. Rag could only hope she had time to finish her own business before it all kicked off.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she whispered eventually, when it looked like there was enough of a gap in the bodies to make a move. The dark would give them cover enough to make it past the Greencoats but they’d still have to be careful. She didn’t fancy getting coshed over the head for her trouble. There was enough to worry about as it was.

  Yarrick followed close as she struck out from the wall they’d been squatting behind. None of the people being evacuated gave them a second glance. Luckily, none of the Greencoats seemed to take much notice of anyone trying to get back into the Rafts, so concerned were they with ushering people out.

  There were a few yards of open ground as Rag padded quietly over the rickety wooden platform that had been built across the river. Further on was a jumble of shacks to hide in if they weren’t quick enough to go unseen. Yarrick stayed with her every step, but he weren’t quite as light on his feet. In the quiet of night, if she’d been on the rob, that might have been a problem, but there was noise enough to cover their tracks from all the complaining and shouting going on.

  When they made it behind the first wooden hovel they stopped, breathing deep from the run and the fear. Rag peered round the corner, relieved that no one had seen them. She looked up at Yarrick to see he looked just as nervous as ever. This was work he was unused to, and Rag began to wonder exactly what Friedrik – poor, dead fucker that he was – had employed him for in the first place. He was too nervy for a pincher, too scared for a strongarm, and certainly weren’t quick enough with his wits to be kept round for the laughs. Took all sorts, she supposed.

  Patting him on the arm she moved further into the densely packed dwellings. The stink rose up and hit her nostrils – fishy and clammy and shitty all at once. Here and there the wood under her feet would creak and give a little, and more than once she thought she might go right through to the river below. Ignoring the fear rising in her heart with every step, they eventually made it to the midway point of the river.

  Voices rose up here and there from within some of the buildings. Folk who’d ignored the Greencoats, no doubt; deciding to fuck authority and stay despite what they’d been told. Part of her admired them for it; she’d never been a fan of the Greencoats, after all. Another part of her thought they were just bloody stupid. There must have been some reason for the evacuation, even if it was just the threat of the Khurtas coming screaming across from the Old City. Either way, that weren’t her concern right now.

  As she and Yarrick made their way further on, there was light up ahead. A lantern dangled there off a stanchion and for a moment, while she stared at that light just swinging in the breeze, she got a thought in her head.

  Don’t you do it, Rag. You know what tends to happen when you get those thoughts. They’ve got you in as much shit as they’ve got you out, and Bastian ain’t the kind of bloke to fuck about with. When he’s given an order and it’s been disobeyed it never ends well for whoever’s done the disobeying.

  Rag padded slowly towards the light until she was stood beneath it. She knew she was exposed here, but just couldn’t get that mischievous thought out of her head. Absently, her hand strayed to the inside pocket of her coat and she pulled out the letter Bastian had given her. She looked at Yarrick, who saw what she was doing. She reckoned he was too scared to care, because he said nothing as she broke the seal and took a look.

  Even as she read she knew it was wrong, and when she saw what was writ on that little bit of parchment she mouthed a silent curse. Cursed Friedrik for teaching her those letters. Cursed her curiosity. Cursed herself for getting mixed up in such a shit of a business.

  But she’d seen it now, and there weren’t nothing she could do about that. There just weren’t any unknowing something once you knew …

  They were going to open one of the gates. In her hand was a message to the Khurtas telling them when and where: the Lych Gate on the following night. Bastian and the rest of the Guild were going to open a gate and let the Khurtas wander right into the city.

  Rag stared at those words, reading them through a third time, just to make sure she understood right. There was no mistaking it. Surely this couldn’t be allowed to happen. Surely she couldn’t be the one to deliver a message to the Khurtas that would see gods knew how many innocent folk get slaughtered because of what she’d done.

  So what you gonna do, Rag? You gonna lose that there message? You gonna pretend you delivered it and try to con Bastian into thinking the Khurtas are on the way? He’ll cut your throat if he finds out. Hells, he’ll most likely cut your throat just for the laughs, but if he gets a sniff you’ve gone against him he’ll kill you surer than shit, and it won’t be quick.

  Rag rolled the letter back up and tucked it in her shirt. ‘Let’s go then,’ she said to Yarrick, before moving back off through the shacks.

  The further they went through the Rafts the deader and darker the place got. There was no more chatting in houses, no more torches to light the way, and the wooden platform underfoot got slicker and more rickety with every careful step across the river they made. More than once Yarrick slipped on the greasy planks but to his credit he didn’t cry out and give them away.

  Before long they’d almost made it to the other side of the river. There the Rafts petered out, joining the Old City, and Rag slowed up, peering through the dark for any sign of their contact.

  ‘What now?’ Yarrick asked, breathing hard. Despite the lack of light she could see his head glistening with sweat, even in the cold of the night.

  ‘How the fucking fuck do I know, what now?’ Rag answered, her own fear coming out as annoyance, not that she felt even a bit guilty for it.

  The pair of them stood in the dark, just listening. From the north they could hear the sounds of battle. The night sky was lit up with fire and alive with screaming and shouting. As scared as she was, Rag was not a little relieved she weren’t stuck in the middle of that.

  There was sudden movement from the Old City. Though they could hardly see in the black, it was obvious someone was coming. Rag froze, feeling Yarrick do the same as the figure walked close, not making a sound. She peered through the night but couldn’t make out any features. It could have been anyone, maybe someone from the Rafts or the Town, desperate and alone. Maybe they’d come tooled up and on the rob.

  As the night was suddenly lit by a mass of burning arrows, Rag saw it weren’t no desperate robber.

  The face was painted in a mask of black and white stripes, the eyes were deader than a fish’s, hair all shaved and tied back in a knot. He was naked from the waist up, body lean and painted just like his face, and in the brief flash of light Rag was sure she saw the glint of a blade.

  She held her breath as the night darkened again. Yarrick was next to her; she could hear him breathing hard and it was obvious he’d seen the Khurta too. She only hoped he didn’t do or say anything stupid enough to get them killed.

  Another flash of light, and this time
Rag saw the Khurta had moved. He was standing right in front of her now, same blank expression but this time palm held out like he wanted her to pay some kind of toll.

  With a shaking hand, Rag reached in her pocket and took out the rolled-up message. There was no doubt in her mind that handing it over was the wrong thing to do, but she’d be fucked if she was gonna try and double-cross Bastian now – not with this evil-looking bastard standing right next to her.

  She pressed the paper into the Khurta’s hand and felt him take it from her. Another shot of fire brightened the night, and in that light Rag saw the Khurta had disappeared, leaving her and Yarrick wheezing and trying not to shit themselves.

  ‘Can we get the fuck out of here now?’ said Yarrick, not even trying to hide the fact he was almost crying like a baby.

  ‘Shit right we can,’ Rag replied, turning back towards the city and padding off as fast as her feet and the slick wooden boards would allow.

  The pair of them made good time back through the Rafts. Rag didn’t give a damn about stealth now, she just wanted to be away from this place as fast as she could, and Yarrick certainly weren’t complaining neither.

  They’d made it to about halfway back when Yarrick grabbed her shoulder.

  ‘What the fuck’s that?’ he asked, pointing up towards the wall that ran northwards.

  Rag squinted through the gloom, seeing something glowing atop the battlements in the distance.

  ‘Fucked if I kn—’

  A bright ball of flame catapulted from behind the wall before she could finish her sentence. It soared towards the Rafts, and was swiftly followed by a second and a third. Rag could only stand and watch in awe as the first ball of flame went over their heads, smashing into the shacks behind them and exploding in an inferno of light and heat.

  It reminded her of the mess those ships had made of the southern half of the city, but this time it weren’t the enemy doing the burning.