The Grim Company (49 page)

As they drew nearer the harbour, Toram spoke. ‘We send foundlings to the quarries up in Malbrec. No one misses them if they have an accident. It must be a right bloody nuisance, having all those little bastards underfoot.’

Eremul said nothing. Instead he gripped the sides of his chair so hard he thought the wood might split beneath his fingers.

A few minutes passed, and then the depository was in sight. The sky had lightened slightly, indicating that dawn was finally on the way. Eremul searched the murk around the building for any sign of his contact. There was no one.

‘I thought a wizard might live in a grander place than this,’ observed Toram as he wheeled him to the door of the depository. The lieutenant’s moustache shifted slightly as he wrinkled his mouth. ‘It smells like shit.’

‘I appreciate the compliment.’ Eremul reached into his robes and withdrew a small bronze key, unlocked the door and pushed it open. He was growing increasingly concerned.
Where the hell is the White Lady’s agent? The letter said he would meet me here
. Perhaps his contact had been discovered. If that was the case he was sure to be tortured for further information – and that meant Eremul himself was royally screwed.

He wheeled himself into the depository. There was no light within, and it still smelled of damp from the recent flood. Toram followed him inside. ‘It’s as dark as a Sumnian’s arsehole in here. How about we get a flame going and see to that drink—’

The officer was cut off abruptly as a shadow detached itself from the wall behind the door and grabbed him around the throat. ‘Don’t say a word,’ the mysterious figure whispered, somewhat melodramatically.

Eremul squinted but was unable to make out the man’s features in the poor light. ‘I assume you are the agent sent by our mutual friend.’

Toram squirmed. The unexpected guest held a dagger at his throat. It seemed to emit a faint glow. ‘I am,’ the figure replied. He sounded young, Eremul thought. ‘My name is Davarus Cole.’

Davarus Cole
. Cole was a bastard’s name, a common enough appellation in Dorminia and the surrounding lands.

He had known another man named Cole once. A shiver passed through him.

Toram shifted again, pushing his captor’s arm away from his throat a fraction. He managed a muffled cry for help, but no one would hear him. The streets were empty this close to the harbour; everyone was taking shelter in their homes.

Eremul sighed. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake. Just kill him.’

Davarus Cole seemed to hesitate for a second. Then he brought his dagger across Toram’s neck in a jerking motion. The lieutenant gasped wetly and fell to his knees. A few seconds later he toppled over and lay still, to the obvious discomfort of his killer.

Eremul pushed his chair forwards an inch or two. Forcing out the last dregs of magic within him, he muttered a few words and evoked a glowing sphere of light around one trembling hand. Then he raised it, in order to better see the face of the city’s would-be saviour.

He gasped. The resemblance was undeniable. That nose, crooked yet still so similar; the grey eyes staring back at him. ‘Your father. Who was he?’

Davarus Cole looked proud. ‘Illarius Cole. He was a great hero. You might say I take after him in many respects.’

‘Illarius Cole. A great hero,’ Eremul stated flatly. He stared at young Cole’s face. The lad nodded solemnly in response.

The irony was too much. Eremul felt the muscles in his cheek twitch, and suddenly the mirth burst out of him. He sucked in air in great wheezing gasps, laughing so hard he almost shat himself.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Cole, sounding somewhat annoyed.

Eremul waved his hand, inadvertently sending the globe of light dancing over Lieutenant Toram. The man’s face was frozen in an expression of shock. Blood glistened on the carpet below his open neck. ‘I fear you have been… slightly misinformed.’

‘Misinformed?’ Cole repeated.

Eremul stared back at the lad and tried to gather himself.
Not misinformed, boy. Lied to. Fed a festering pile of bullshit that would choke the most dishonest magistrate. Your father, Illarius Cole, a hero? I could shatter your world, here and now, if I but told you the truth.

The youngster’s face was a picture of earnest confusion. Despite everything, Eremul found himself feeling sorry for the young fool. ‘Do you possess his dagger?’

‘You mean Magebane? It’s right here.’ Davarus Cole patted the side of his waist, where he must have sheathed the glowing weapon beneath his dark cloak.

Eremul remembered the feel of that blade against his throat. The way it had leached his magic away and left him powerless before he was carried off to the Obelisk dungeons to be maimed and turned into a tool of Salazar’s. Bitterness filled him, and he almost blurted out the truth. Almost.

You too are a tool
, he realized, studying that familiar face.
There is no sense breaking you until you have served your purpose. That is, if you do not find out from Salazar before then.

‘What did you mean by misinformed?’ the boy asked again, this time sounding anxious.

Eremul shook his head. ‘Forget it. You are quite right – your father was one of the greatest men I ever had the fortune to meet. I am sure you will prove equal to his heroic legacy.’

Cole grinned happily, the doubt on his face instantly replaced by glowing pride. Eremul sighed. A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘I don’t suppose you were on the ship that rescued a band of rebels from Farrowgate?’

‘Yes. How did you guess?’

‘Brianna was aboard that vessel, was she not?’ Cole nodded in confirmation. ‘Tell me,’ he continued. ‘Did you happen to meet a fellow by the name of Isaac?’

‘I know him.’ The look on the young man’s face told its own story.

‘Did he say or do anything that struck you as… strange?’

‘Now that you mention it, there was something odd about him. I tried to raise my concerns to the group. No one wanted to listen.’

Isaac, Isaac… What game are you playing?
He glanced out of the window. The black sky had given way to a shade of grey.
How many will lose their lives this coming day? That all depends on the fate of one man. One Magelord. Salazar has to die or Dorminia will drown in blood.

He glanced back at Cole. ‘Morning is an hour away,’ he said. ‘The White Lady’s army will soon be at the walls. We will make our way to the Obelisk in the confusion.’

‘What if we’re seen?’

‘If anyone asks, we tell them Salazar summoned me. Important wizardly business of some kind. Arcane matters beyond the comprehension of regular folk. All that bullshit.’

‘What sort of trouble can I expect once I’m in the tower?’

Eremul shrugged. ‘Less than in normal circumstances. The Supreme Augmentor is busy leading the city’s defence. I suspect that, very soon, his magic-wielding heavies will be needed at the gates. The White Lady’s pale servants will not be easily turned aside by the Watch and the militia.’

‘You’ve seen them? What are those women?’

‘It’s probably best not to speculate. In any case, we still have some time before we leave. I will remind you of the Obelisk’s layout.’

‘That would be helpful. I just have one question before we start.’

Eremul narrowed his eyes. He had a terrible suspicion he knew what was coming. ‘Yes?’

‘I was just wondering… what happened to your legs?’

Fire And Blood

 

 

 

Dawn arrived on the second day. The air felt thick and still, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation.

Sasha wanted to vomit. She hadn’t slept a wink, but her nerves were afire and she felt more awake now than she had since she’d pushed those last dregs of precious powder up her nose back at Farrowgate. Ahead of her she could see the massive holes the great siege weapons had inflicted on Dorminia’s walls. The damage was far too severe to be repaired in the brief respite the trebuchet operators had afforded the city’s defenders.  The gate itself still stood, though that was no coincidence.

There had been a wizard on the wall last night. Two of the ballistae had been set aflame and one of the trebuchets had lost an arm. Brianna had concluded that the wizard could only be the Halfmage. Thereafter they had directed the bombardment away from the gatehouse. Apparently the strange crippled mage who had helped her small group depart the harbour unnoticed over a month ago was none other than Cole’s mysterious contact. The revelation hardly allayed her fears.

General Zolta’s men had circled around the hills north of the city under the cover of darkness. They had taken with them most of the undamaged catapults and ballistae. The trebuchets were too large and unwieldy to navigate the hilly ground. Zolta’s company would launch a salvo from the eastern side, splitting the attention of Dorminia’s defenders in half. General D’rak’s men would wait in reserve until the city had been breached.

‘You ready for this, lass?’

Brodar Kayne had insisted on staying close to her. Sasha would be lying if she pretended she didn’t appreciate the gesture. She could feel dozens of eyes on her, crawling all over her skin. It wasn’t just the mercenaries, whose attentions could at least be explained by the fact that her mere presence in the army was a bizarre sight. Three-Finger leered at her whenever the opportunity arose, stripping her naked with his dark, feral eyes. Jerek stared too – though his gaze held only honest hatred. There was almost a strange comfort in that.

‘I’m ready,’ she replied, gripping her crossbow tightly in her left hand. She’d strapped a short sword to the belt at her waist, for all the good it would do. She hardly knew one end of a blade from the other, and had no intention of getting involved in any kind of mêlée if she could help it.

Sasha had read unlikely tales about women who had never lifted a sword in their lives leading armies and chopping down soldiers like firewood. That was the stuff of fantasy, the delusions of cosseted fools who had never felt the terrible strength of a man pinning them to the ground.

She was no fool. She was a survivor.

Dark-skinned men jostled her on every side. The company would advance on the gate ten abreast. She found herself alongside Brodar Kayne, Jerek and several mercenaries she didn’t know. Three-Finger was nearby. The Shamaathan assassin had departed with General Zolta’s force.

‘Still no sign of Isaac,’ she whispered to the old Highlander beside her. ‘It’s like he disappeared.’

Brodar Kayne frowned. He was already perspiring profusely. It was shaping up to be the hottest day of the year so far. ‘Isaac’s a weird ’un. I expect he’ll turn up somewhere.’

‘This is doing my fucking head in,’ Jerek grumbled. ‘All this bullshit. You see the enemy, you charge in and you fuck him up. Not stand around with your cocks out.’

‘Aye,’ said Kayne. ‘Seems these Sumnians do things a bit different. Hang in there, Wolf. We’ll get to the fighting before you know it.’

Jerek spat. Sasha looked away to hide her disgust. Unfortunately her eyes met Three-Finger’s, who gave her an obscene wink. She stared back at him unflinchingly, fingering the trigger in her hand, but someone buffeted her in the back and before she knew it they were advancing on the city.

The army halted again just out of bowshot range. Sasha could see tiny faces peering at them from behind the battlements. Her palms were sweating, the handle of the crossbow so slick it felt as though it would slip from her hand. The sun was a red furnace right overhead.

Brianna’s voice suddenly resounded from the very front of the column, so loud it hurt Sasha’s ears from where she was positioned halfway down the line fifty yards back. From their reactions, it was evident the defenders on the wall could also hear the wizard’s magically amplified words.

‘Fellow Dorminians! I ask you to lay down your weapons. We come not to seize the city but to liberate it. To rid you of a dictator. Put down your bows and swords and you will not be harmed.’ Silence followed as they waited to see what effect Brianna’s plea would have. Sasha swatted a fly away from her face and stared up at the clouds. A mindhawk circled high above.

The archers on the walls were not soldiers, she knew. They were farmers and tradesmen, forced into service by Salazar and the Watch. Most of them probably loathed the city’s Magelord, but it was a sorry truth that the familiar oppression of a despot was often preferable to the unknown.

Now they had a singular opportunity to change things for the better: to replace a ruthless tyrant with a benevolent patron who would offer Dorminia liberty as well as protection. Sasha didn’t know much about Thelassa, but the wizard Brianna – whom she had so grown to respect over the last couple of weeks – gave her ample reason to trust the enigmatic White Lady.

She held her breath. The defenders were visibly agitated. For a moment she thought they were going to down arms and surrender – but then, all of a sudden, order was apparently restored. There was a pause, and the White Lady’s adviser received her answer.

The volley of arrows landed just short of the mage. Brianna shook her head and turned to General Zahn beside her. She uttered a few words. The bald-headed behemoth, who still hadn’t bothered to don any armour, crossed his arms in front of his scarred chest and faced his men. ‘We charge!’ he bellowed. The general needed no magic to carry his cavernous voice down the column.