Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (54 page)

Slowly Lynx began to make out details of the dark room. A high ceiling, pitch-coated timbers and filthy stone walls. Somewhere at the back of his mind an animal stirred then jolted awake as Lynx’s heart began to hammer in his chest. Not the bunkhouse at the inn they had hired out when they arrived in Su Dregir, the city of Toil’s employment. This was somewhere a whole lot worse.

Fuck’s sake, not again.

It was a cell. An involuntary croak escaped Lynx’s lips and seemed to startle other occupants in the room. Moans rose from either side of him as bone-deep fear started to judder through his body. He hauled his head and shoulders up off whatever he was using for a bed and tried to reach for a blanket. His head rang like a temple bell and the flesh of his back prickled fiercely in the cold. It took a moment of flailing to discover there was no blanket – worse, no clothes.

Lynx slipped one hand behind his head as he felt himself lurching back. All around him figures appeared, groaning like the risen dead. His head spun as he tried to make sense of everything, but the panic welling up from inside overrode his thoughts. His hands tightened into fists as growls of confused anger came from the other beds.

‘The fuck ’m I naked?’ muttered a figure. It turned, thin arms and pale flesh marked with scars. A dark scrappy beard and tangled hair, laced with white. Narrowed eyes lifted to stare at Lynx. ‘Why the fuck are
you
naked?’

Lynx didn’t reply, every muscle in his body tightening with cold and alarm. Nearby a massive lump of white flesh rolled over, moving groggily. Lynx sensed a building anger in the air and his heart started to pound so hard he could hardly hear anything as more voices spoke up from around the room.

‘What happened?’

‘Shitting prison? Again?’

The big man rolled back on to his bed and there was a squawk. ‘Move you bastard lump! Reft – ah fuck! Hey, elbows!’

Lynx took a deep breath and prised his fists open, blinking several times before he could focus on the man in front of him. It was Anatin, the mercenary commander looking old and tired without his clothes on. The bandage on his stump hand and a leather cord bearing a grubby ring was all he wore.

‘What’re you lookin’ at?’ The less-than-princely commander glared at Lynx with bloodshot eyes.

‘Ulfer’s shitter,’ croaked the figure behind Reft, ‘what happened to my head?’

Deern sat up and scratched his head as he looked around the room. The latest set of bruises on the man’s face were yellowed shadows, making his pale skin look even more sickly. ‘Bugger me, it’s too early for this many cocks in one room.’ With that he crashed back down again.

‘Too early for your noisy shite,’ muttered another figure. Lynx blinked at the dark-skinned back until the man rolled over and Himbel’s face became visible. The ageing battlefield surgeon was also completely naked. He swung himself around and sat up, idly scratching his balls.

‘Gods, count ’em on your own time, Himbel,’ Lynx grunted. ‘Is this all your fault, Deern?’

‘Me?’ Deern spluttered. ‘Fucking fuck you, gobshite son of a Wisp whore!’

‘Hangovers bring out the poet in you, eh?’

‘Enough,’ hissed Anatin. ‘Any more shouting and I’ll dock all your pay. Or kill you. One or the other. Coldest black, my head feels like someone shoved an icer into each ear.’

Lynx looked around to see who else was there. Safir was propped against a back wall, his arm bound to his chest to support his injured shoulder despite the fact he was also naked. The wincing easterner gave him a mock salute, somehow contriving to still look mostly elegant and composed. Teshen was in the furthest corner, beyond Anatin, while Lynx realised with a horrible certainty he couldn’t explain that the bony white arse beside Anatin was Llaith’s.

Is that everyone we were drinking with last night? The men anyway?

‘What happened last night?’

‘We were celebrating, weren’t we?’

Anatin sat up. ‘Yeah, we got paid. Ah, shattered gods, what did I do with the money? Has it been stolen?’

‘No one’s stole from us,’ Safir contributed. ‘No matter how drunk we were.’

‘How do you know?’ Lynx asked.

‘Look around,’ he said. ‘No one’s burned. Our illustrious commander has a sixth sense for anyone about to try and roll us for our pay. He might be so drunk he can’t see, but you touch his purse and that pistol is drawn as fast as Kas can loose an arrow.’

‘Man’s got a point,’ Deern said, sounding slightly muffled from behind Reft. ‘We’d all be crispy an’ dead if someone tried it inside the pub.’

‘Also we took it to the bank, remember?’

‘Ah, yeah. That too.’

‘So what?’ Lynx said, struggling to string two thoughts together. ‘We were celebrating, Toil took you to get our money right?’

‘Oh, aye, there’s a story for you later,’ Anatin added. ‘Made the deposit, noted the ledgers straight after ’cos your girl, Sitain, wouldn’t leave me alone until she’d seen her money. Then what? We started drinking?’

‘Celebrating, aye that’s where I get fuzzy.’

‘Lynx was going on about some roasted pig.’

‘Damn good pig too,’ Lynx added. Despite everything the memory of that spice-stuffed piglet made him smile. ‘Even you admitted it was worth the walk.’

Anatin nodded. ‘There was wine too. Then that whorehouse.’

‘We got rolled by whores again?’ Deern moaned.

‘Nah, you picked a fight with Toil. Or Kas or someone.’

‘The dockside bar,’ Teshen said suddenly, ‘that stuff made from apples.’

There was a collective groan.

‘Then we left?’

‘Barracks bar,’ Lynx contributed. ‘Some place Toil suggested.’

‘Was that where you tried to get their champion to box Reft, Deern?’

‘He tries that everywhere,’ Anatin said dismissively. ‘Never fucking works, but for the exact same reason it never gets us in much trouble either.’

‘Then what? We drank more beer there, but I can’t remember anything after Toil bought that round.’

Something clicked into place in Lynx’s mind. For a moment he forgot the cold, the pain of his hangover and the discomfort of a rough pallet for a bed. The panic receded and in its place laughter bubbled up. He tried to contain it for the sake of his aching body but soon was shaking uncontrollably, choked laughter spilling out to the bemusement of his companions.

‘Payback,’ Lynx wheezed between laughs, ‘oh, she’s nasty.’

‘What the fuck’s happened to him?’

Lynx took a few heaving gulps of air and tried to dampen his slightly hysterical laughter. ‘Shattered gods, that’s a scheming mind she’s got!’

‘Who?’ Deern said. ‘He talking about that bloody woman he’s been mooning over?’

Lynx was still laughing too hard to mind Deern’s comment, but with an effort he swung his feet onto the ground and started trying to find his balance. ‘Look lively, boys,’ he spluttered. ‘We’re about to be on display. Guard!’

‘Someone care to explain?’ Himbel asked, standing and stretching his back.

‘Don’t worry, old man,’ Lynx said, ‘you don’t seem to be the shy type anyway.’

‘Eh? What are you on about?’

Lynx looked around the room. By the expressions on Teshen and Safir’s faces, they had worked it out, but the others were all bemused. All except for Reft that was, but the giant had the physique of some hero’s statue so, like Himbel, was perfectly comfortable being on display.

‘Reckon that door’s about to open.’

Lynx levered himself to his feet and swayed for a moment while his head lurched. Once it subsided he glanced down at his left hand, suddenly remembering the last time he’d been in a prison cell. His silver ring was still there so he kissed it in a fit of whimsy. That done he stretched his aching back, scratched his round, still-bruised belly and made a pantomime of flexing the muscles in his thick arms.

As he was done there came a deep clunk from the door as bolts were drawn back. Lynx shook his head and marched forward, Safir and Himbel following along behind.

The door opened to reveal beaming faces. Toil stood beside Sitain, one arm draped over the young woman’s shoulders. The newly confirmed Jester of Sun looked little better than Lynx felt but there was still a smile on her face to go with the badge on her jacket. Behind them were more faces, Payl and Kas closest with the rest of the women of the company lining the corridor, waiting for their comrades to run the gauntlet past them.

Toil looked as stunning as ever, Lynx couldn’t help but note, and wore the sort of wicked smile most men dreamed of waking up to. As the men of Anatin’s mercenary company marched forward for their inspection, the women’s eyebrows raised and their grins widened.

‘Hello, boys,’ Toil purred. She carefully looked each man up and down. ‘We’ve come to rescue you.’

As always my thanks must go first and foremost to my wonderful wife, Fi, who’s cheerfully weathered the eccentricities of being married to a writer and kept me on an even keel, in addition to more specific help reading and commenting as
Stranger
developed. Thanks to Ailsa too, for being a near-constant delight and unwittingly providing the odd line of dialogue.

Secondly, to my other beta-readers: my father and my big brother who have both been a huge support in so many ways over the years – the least of which being their willingness to read outside their preferred genres at the drop of a hat – and non-relation Rob who stepped up either because he’s a great guy or can’t pass up the opportunity to strenuously complain about a split infinitive. The collective effort at Gollancz remains a valuable constant for me too; I can’t believe they’ve been putting up with me for more than ten years now and are still, astonishingly, listening to my opinion.

Finally, particular thanks to the two men who’ve worked so hard on this book and my continuing career. First of all a big manly hug goes to Simon Kavanagh for fighting my corner, and for his unfailing belief and encouragement. Secondly, a very British grunt and nod over a pint to Marcus Gipps, both for his work at Gollancz and efforts to point out all the times I’ve made myself look stupid so no one else got to see them.

Turn the page for a preview of Tom’s exciting eBook only novella set in the weeks following
Stranger of Tempest

Honour Under Moonlight

Lynx opened the door and hope died at his feet.

‘Ah, shit.’

The gentle white glow of moonlight slipped past him into the room beyond. It was dark inside, but he could make enough out that he didn’t want to see more. A sickle-shaped pool of blood gleamed blackly just past the door. Across it was an arm, outstretched towards him, fingers slightly curled. It looked to be both an invitation inside and a plea for help.

Lynx looked back down the steps to the cobbled courtyard, through an open archway to the street. The sky was clear and the moon sat behind the gauzy veil of the Skyriver. Tonight was the midwinter solstice, one of two nights in the year when the moon followed the Skyriver’s path all night and had its light amplified by that great ring of dust and rock. There were plenty of people passing, most costumed and walking in pairs towards wherever they planned on enjoying the night’s revelries. No one seemed to be paying him any attention so Lynx gingerly stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him.

Without the moonlight it was hard to see, but the strip of light sliding through a pair of window drapes was enough to guide him towards them. He flicked the drapes open and skirted another corpse to reach a balcony door of paned glass, which he also uncovered. That done, there was more than enough light to see by. For half a minute he just stood amid a scene of bloody destruction, wondering what in the deepest black had happened.

The surprise was distant and fleeting. While a corpse or two was hardly a welcome sight, Lynx had encountered enough death to move rapidly on to how much trouble he was in. His fingers twitched towards his hip before he remembered he was also in festival garb – it was the reason he was here in the first place – so no sword hung there.

‘Guess this costume wasn’t such a stupid idea as it first sounded,’ he muttered, looking down at himself.

Granted the red and white tunic was on the ridiculous side – and a white, wide-brimmed hat pinned with a long red feather skated close to daft if he was honest – but there were upsides. Traditionally the Knight of the Blood sported four diagonal slots for weapons on his chest – a pair of daggers on the left-hand side, a pair of pistols on the right. His hand went to his chest and thumbed open the clasp around the handle of one short-barrelled mage-pistol. Lynx flicked open the breech of the gun to be sure he’d loaded it before heading out, then closed it again and moved to inspect the room.

He twitched open a cupboard door that was ajar to check it wasn’t actually another room, then stepped into the kitchen to confirm it was empty of assassins, living or otherwise. There was a narrow stairway that led up to a bedroom where the bed was neatly made and no one was hiding underneath, after which he returned to the scene of the crime.

He’d not been here before, had hardly spoken to the room’s owner in over a week, but there were little touches in the room that spoke of her all the same. Her brass-bound, black-glass Duegar lantern sat on a shelf in the far corner, and a red and white costume that matched his own hung from a peg nearby.

Lynx looked again. It had to be said that the bloodied dagger rammed into the breast of the costume wasn’t entirely part of the traditional get-up, but it still suited the room’s owner. And he would be forced to admit the two dead assassins on the floor weren’t beyond the bounds of things to expect around Toil either. Perhaps not on a daily basis, true, but death was more than just a passing acquaintance of hers. More of a close neighbour who often popped in for a glass of wine and a joke.

The costume on the peg was that of the Princess of Blood – whether it was a joke with herself or not, Toil was a cheerfully violent woman in some sort of clandestine employ of the Archelect of Su Dregir. She might not be an enthusiast of Tashot, the game that was a favourite among Lynx’s mercenary company, but the Princess of Blood card was a widely known and powerful image nonetheless.