Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (4 page)

‘Magistra?’ he replied, unsure of where this was going, or if he even wanted to know. Was she about to send him on another impossible mission? About to put his life in danger once more?

‘I should have spared you all this. I should have let you leave this place days ago. Weeks ago.’

‘But, Magistra, I—’

‘There’s no need to protest. I know you’ve hated your time here. Hated me. But you must know it was all for a reason.’

This wasn’t right. She was unburdening herself. Confiding in him. In all the time he had known her she had never once imparted her feelings. He could only think it was a side effect of the virulent canker that infected her hands and body.

‘Magistra, I will stay here as long as—’

She laughed. It lit up her face. Waylian was so taken aback he almost fell off the battlements.

‘Yes, you will, Waylian. You’ll stay as long as you’re needed, you brave young fool. That’s exactly the reason I should spare you the horror that’s coming. But it’s fools like you who may well save this city.’

He could only stare at her, wanting to tell her he wasn’t brave. He was terrified. Had been terrified from the first day he set foot in the Tower of Magisters, but something told him she already knew that.

‘I don’t see there’s anything I can do,’ he said.

She regarded him with a look of sympathy. ‘You might be surprised, Waylian. Courage isn’t something that can be conjured like the magicks. You either have it or you don’t. It’s what makes people like you face impossible odds, when there is little hope.’ She looked at him, gazing deep into his eyes. ‘You’ll fight here till the end. And chances are you’ll die here like all the rest.’

He had to admit; the prospect didn’t fill him with glee, but he knew she was right.

‘Then it’s settled,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

They stared at one another then, her eyes looking into him, assessing him. Whatever she saw deep inside was enough to satisfy her.

‘Come then,’ she said, continuing her route along the great curtain wall. ‘There is still much to do.’

Feeling no braver, Waylian followed.

M
errick glanced at his reflection on the shield as he polished it. His cheeks had hollowed out in the past week alone, and he was leaner, hungrier than ever. It wasn’t just the meagre rations that were turning him that way. He’d never experienced so much discipline, been trained so rigorously or punished so mercilessly, as he had since pledging himself to the Wyvern Guard.

At any other time in his life he was sure he’d have hated it; railed against it, run away or kicked up a storm. Now he had to admit he was thriving on every moment. That little sadistic imp that always sat on his shoulder was laughing its head off as he trained until he dripped with sweat, only to be rewarded with the soggiest gruel he’d ever had the misfortune to taste. It wasn’t like him to take so much shit without complaint, but all he could do was relish the change.

Change? You’ve been taking shit all your life, Ryder. Only difference is you now look better while you’re doing it.

That was true at least. He felt stronger and fitter than ever, and even in full armour he was fast as the wind. Whoever the forge master was back in the Wyvern Guard’s keep, he was a peerless craftsman. Merrick now possessed the best sword he’d ever owned, its balance perfect, its edge keener than a kestrel’s eye. Fully armed and armoured he felt all but invincible. Standing alongside his fellow knights it was as though nothing could match them.

Fellow knights
. It almost made him laugh. Weeks ago he’d been scraping a living on the streets – no friends, no money, no luck. Now he was amongst the most dangerous bunch of fighters in all the continents of the world, if the legends were true. Strange how quickly fortune could spin you right round.

Looking across the courtyard he took in the scene of the Wyvern Guard in repose. They were polishing their armour, chatting idly or sparring on the square. Though they all looked relaxed Merrick could sense the tension. There’d be fighting soon. Vicious, dirty fighting that would see plenty of their number in the ground. A princely portion of these men would soon die in battle and each of them knew it. But if anyone could face death with a grin and a wink it was the Wyvern Guard. No one was ever eager to meet his end but Merrick could tell every man here was ready for it.

And are you ready for it, Ryder? Are you ready to rush into the fray with a grin and a fucking wink? Or will you do what you’ve always done and run for the hills when the blood starts to fly?

Despite the fact they were the roughest bunch of bastards Merrick had ever met, they were loyal to one another. Would die for one another. The Wyvern Guard was a true brotherhood; anyone with eyes in their head could see that. For his part, Merrick knew he was on the outside of that brotherhood. Some of the lads had taken to him, all right. He was liked well enough, even after such a short time amongst their number, but he knew he had a long way to go before they’d trust him like one of their own. It was no secret he was Tannick Ryder’s son, but there didn’t seem to be any antipathy because of it, but neither was he given any special treatment. Part of him was thankful for that. If he was ever going to gain the respect of these men he wanted to do it on his own terms, until they considered him an equal because of his deeds, not because he was son to their Lord Marshal.

Tannick had done a good enough job of treating him just like everyone else. The old man had shown him no favouritism, treated Merrick no different to the men he would soon be fighting alongside, and he could only be grateful for that. As a result no one showed him any ill will. Almost no one.

There was one among them that bore him no love. Cormach Whoreson was even now staring at him across the courtyard with a look like he wanted to stroll right over and smash Merrick’s teeth out. What he’d done to upset the mad bastard Merrick had no idea, but it was probably best to stay out of his way, at least until the fighting started. Then he’d want every one of these thugs watching his back. Whether Cormach would guard it or try to stick four feet of steel in it remained to be seen.

‘Merrick,’ said a deep voice. ‘Horses need mucking out. Your turn.’

He looked up to see Jared motioning with his thumb. As the newest recruit it was only natural he’d get the shittiest jobs, even he knew that. It didn’t make him like them any better, but it did make him stand without complaint and make his way towards Skyhelm’s stables.

Merrick walked across the courtyard, giving a nod here and there to the lads he’d got to know. There was a nod in return from Lannar, the big shaven headed one, a quick wink from Stross as he polished a plate of his bronze armour. Their gestures were genuine enough but Merrick still felt on the outside. He liked to think he could talk to anyone, fit into any kind of company, but he had to admit the Wyvern Guard had been a struggle. Not that he was surprised at that. They’d been raised in the mountains and fed nothing but pain and hardship. He’d come from privilege, and although he’d fallen on hard times it was nothing in comparison to that of the men he now found himself among. Merrick had done his best to breach the gap. They had little in common on the surface, but every man was the same when you got down to it. Everyone wanted a laugh and a joke. All fighting men took the piss out of one another and the best piss takers often got the most respect.

If Merrick was good at one thing it was taking the piss.

It hadn’t taken him long to work out who were the easy targets and who to avoid. Who he could push the furthest and who could take the harshest ribbing. Within a day he’d had some of these lads falling about laughing. He was just lucky that a man who could raise the spirits in a time of war was as valuable as the hardiest warrior.

When Merrick reached the stables he picked up the pitchfork leaning against one wall and got to work. Wasn’t long before he’d stripped down to his shirt, even in the cool morning air, and he’d got so used to the ripe stench of dung he could hardly smell it any more.

He had never been particularly fond of horses, and the troop brought down by the Wyvern Guard seemed an ill-tempered bunch. Still, he managed to do his job without one of them giving him a kick or biting at him, which was something to be thankful for at least. Within an hour he was sweating through his shirt. Within two he was feeling the ache of it in his shoulders and back. As he took a rest, letting his body cool a touch, Jared came with a cup of water.

Though Merrick wasn’t especially fond of water – wine always taking preference to anything else wet – he took it gratefully and downed half the cup in one go.

‘You’ve done a good job,’ said Jared, glancing at the pile of steaming shit, oblivious to how condescending he sounded.

‘Everyone has their particular skills,’ Merrick replied.

Jared didn’t seem to take up on his sarcasm. ‘We’ll need these destriers in tip-top condition for what’s to come.’

Way back in the dim and distant, in the Collegium of House Tarnath, Merrick had studied the rudiments of siege warfare, and he was pretty sure cavalry wasn’t a part of it.

‘If we’re defending a city what do we need horses for?’

Jared smiled knowingly. ‘Not too familiar with the Lord Marshal’s methods, are you, lad?’

‘I suppose not,’ Merrick replied, swallowing a comment about the fact his father had abandoned him years ago, so it was unlikely he’d be familiar with any such
methods
. ‘Please enlighten me.’

‘It’s not likely the Lord Marshal’s going to sit behind the wall and wait for the enemy to come to him. He’ll want to use his advantage. Take his horse and run the bastards down.’ Jared patted the rear of a destrier, whose flanks shuddered in response before it gave a whicker of annoyance. ‘The Wyvern Guard have no match with sword and shield. But behind the wall we’ll be as much use as any other man. On horseback, out on the field, we’ll be bloody invincible.’ He flashed Merrick a mad grin. ‘Sounds glorious, doesn’t it?’

No, it sounds fucking insane.

‘Glorious indeed,’ Merrick replied, imagining himself at the head of the column as they charged towards forty thousand Khurtas. How glorious it would be as he was hacked into tiny pieces. How proud he’d be of himself as his severed head stared gloriously from the top of a Khurtic spear.

Jared barked a laugh in his usual gruff tone. ‘That’s the spirit, lad,’ he said, before slapping Merrick on the arm and walking back towards the barracks.

Merrick barely felt the sting of that slap as he stared at the row of stabled horses, wondering which one he’d have the pleasure of being killed on.

The afternoon seemed to pass a little slower after that as he began to picture all the ways he could die. By the time he’d finished mucking the horses and someone had arrived with their feed he could hardly feel the cold sweat on his skin or hear the laughter of the other men.

What was wrong with them? Didn’t they realise what was in store? Did they really want to die that badly?

Of course they do. They’re looking forward to it. Haven’t you worked it out yet that every single one of them wants to die in battle, serving the Wyvern Guard faithfully, obeying your father’s every word?

But that couldn’t be true. Could it? Surely Tannick wouldn’t have asked Merrick to join this mob if all that was in store for him was a certain death.

Slowly he made his way back towards the courtyard, looking for some water to wash in. The prospect of a cold bath wasn’t a welcome one but it was preferable to stinking like a horse’s arse.

When he made it back, the courtyard was clear but for a single figure sitting beneath the eaves to one side. Tannick Ryder rested his huge sword on one knee, rubbing oil into the blade with reverent care, his arm moving in long, careful strokes.

For an instant Merrick felt out of place. Over the past few days since he’d joined the Wyvern Guard he had spoken little with his father. He wasn’t sure if now was the best time.

Nevertheless, he made his way across the courtyard, hoping Tannick wouldn’t notice him, but deep down he knew that was futile.

‘Been keeping busy, boy?’ said Tannick without looking up from his labours.

‘Er … yes,’ Merrick replied, without wanting to go into too much detail about what he’d been busy with, though from the smell of him it was pretty obvious.

There was silence then, but Merrick couldn’t just wander off. Part of him had to know.

‘I hear we’re to ride out and face the horde head on,’ he said.

‘That we are,’ replied Tannick, still rubbing at that blade. ‘We’re the Wyvern Guard. We don’t hide ourselves away behind walls. Besides, most of these lads have waited an age for a good fight. Wouldn’t be fair to keep them from it.’

It’s so nice of you to take their feelings into consideration like that.

‘Won’t it be a slaughter?’

Tannick stopped wiping at the blade and looked up, a wicked glint in his eye. ‘That’s what I’m counting on, boy.’

This did little to fill Merrick with any confidence. A mad charge into a mad enemy led by his mad father was nothing to look forward to.

‘I can’t wait,’ he said, not wanting to show any reluctance, any weakness.

As Tannick looked at Merrick his mad-eyed stare softened and a smile crept up one side of his face. ‘This must seem like lunacy to you. I can understand that, and I don’t think any less of you for it.’
Oh, how good of you
. ‘That’s why I want you close. By my side, where I can keep an eye on you.’

‘There’s no need—’

‘There’s every need, boy. No harm must come to you. There’ll be chance enough to prove your worth, but no need to risk yourself needlessly.’

‘Then why ride out at all? Why risk everything for one strike at the Khurtas?’

Tannick went back to polishing his blade. ‘We need to send a message – to the defenders of this city as much as the enemy. We need to show they can be beaten. That they’re human. General Hawke and Farren and the bannermen of this city think the Khurtas are invincible. That Amon Tugha’s already got them beat. I aim to prove them wrong.’