Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (10 page)

Tannick shook his head. ‘The Whoreson’s not brave, boy. Bravery is born of fear. You have to overcome that fear to show courage. Cormach Whoreson fears nothing. And he obeys without question – something you could learn from him.’

Merrick nodded his assent, though how much he took his father at his word would remain to be seen.

Before they could dismount, Marshal Farren approached, flanked by several Knights of the Blood.

‘You’re a fool, Ryder,’ Farren barked. ‘Risking your men like that. And what have you done other than stir the Khurtas up into a frenzy?’

‘They’re not the only ones I’ve stirred up,’ Tannick replied, flinging the Dreldunese banner at Farren, who snatched it from the air. ‘Look around you. These men are now eager for the fight and that means this city has a glimmer of hope. I’ve proven there’s nothing the Khurtas have we can’t take away from them.’ He gestured at the cheering men surrounding them. ‘These men think they just might win. So make sure you mount that where everyone can see it. The day’s first victory is ours.’

‘You’re insane. Endangering your men for a standard.’

‘Only two men,’ Tannick replied. ‘Both of them unhurt. And one of them my own son.’ Marshal Farren glanced across at Merrick, who tried his best to look impressive under that twitching glare.

‘Then you’re a family of madmen,’ Farren replied before stalking away. As he did so he thrust the banner into the hands of one of his knights, mumbling curses to himself.

With nothing further to say, Tannick dismounted, a steward coming to take his stallion’s reins. Merrick sat for a moment, relieved that the shaking in his hands had subsided. For now he was safe, and a veritable bloody hero, but he was sure there’d be plenty more opportunities to show he was an idiot or a coward over the coming nights. Maybe even tonight.

Merrick swung his leg over the side of his mount and climbed down to find someone was already holding the reins of his horse for him. Cormach Whoreson glared, as though Merrick had just smeared shit all over his shiny breastplate.

‘Don’t think this makes us fucking friends,’ he said, still staring deep into Merrick’s eyes as though daring him to take the piss.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t,’ Merrick replied.

Without another word, Cormach turned and left.

‘And there’s really no need to thank me,’ Merrick said quietly towards Cormach’s back.

Oh so quietly.

H
e could see the city burning from beyond the distant horizon before the ship’s lookout ever spotted land. A black cloud rose up in the clear, crisp sky, a beacon to be seen from miles across the flat ocean. It had been a tortuous journey, but he now felt some relief that it was almost over.

River should have never left Steelhaven in the first place. He had lost count of the number of times he had cursed himself for his folly. But he had been tricked. His brother Forest had lied to him; told him their Father would hold to his bargain and spare Jay’s life. And so, like a fool, he had gone along with their plan; slaying more men than he could count to ensure Amon Tugha’s artillery ships were sent north to the city of Steelhaven. But Forest and the Father of Killers had not held to their side of the bargain and his own brother had come to kill him once River had played his part.

When River had learned of their betrayal at Aluk Vadir pretending to be a mariner aboard this ship had seemed the fastest way to return to her side. Now as he neared his goal they seemed to be travelling slower than ever.

For every hour they’d spent at sea, River felt his heart sink further and further into his chest. What if he was too late? What if the Father of Killers had already slain his love? What if Amon Tugha had already sacked the city and cut out her heart in front of his baying hordes?

River gripped the prow, staring intently, almost willing the wind into the sails of the ship. It had only been a few days since he’d set off to sea but it seemed like months. Since he had infiltrated the supply ship at the harbour of Aluk Vadir, desperate to return to Steelhaven, every day stretched out longer than the last, and with each passing hour River felt more helpless. Aboard the ship he had busied himself with the work of a sailor. It had not been difficult to pick up, and no one seemed to realise or care that he was an unfamiliar face with little experience as a mariner. Not one of them had questioned him, and River could only assume that many of the men aboard were unacquainted with one another, having been hired en masse as part of this fleet.

‘Don’t worry,’ said a voice behind him, and River turned to see the first mate staring out towards the city as well. ‘We won’t get close enough to be in danger.’

River had hardly spoken to a soul since boarding, considering it best to keep his own counsel rather than risk giving himself away, and he was instantly wary at the man’s familiar tone. He had become acquainted with every face aboard ship but these men were not his friends. They had come to aid in the sacking of Steelhaven. Whether they knew it or not, they were still his enemies.

‘I am not worried,’ River replied.
At least not for myself.

‘Once we’ve delivered the barrels of pitch and fresh supplies we’ll be on our way back,’ continued the sailor, as though River hadn’t spoken. ‘Shame, too. It might be quite a show watching this city fall.’

River tightened his grip on the gunwale at the comment, but said nothing. He was not close enough yet to the city. He could not risk everything now on a simple pique of anger.

‘How do you know it will fall?’ he asked. ‘Steelhaven is well defended. It will take more than fire from the sea to break its walls.’

‘Yes, it will.’ The man gestured casually with his hand towards the city. ‘Amon Tugha attacks from the north. Even now he will be mustering his Khurtas for an attack, if he isn’t already assaulting the front gate. I imagine that’s quite something to see.’

River watched as they approached, saw another ball of fire light the darkening sky. It seemed the city was to be assailed from all sides and there was but one man responsible.

Amon Tugha. The warlord who held so much sway over the Father of Killers. The one who had ordered Queen Janessa’s death.
Jay. Her name is Jay.
He wanted to raze this city and slaughter every soul within it. While River had breath he could never allow the Elharim to succeed. He had to focus, had to prepare himself. If he was ever going to save Jay it would take all his wits and skill.

Night fell as they made their way closer to the city. By the time they were in sight of the artillery ships, all that could be seen of Steelhaven was a dark silhouette against the skyline. Aboard each of the waiting vessels fire burned in iron braziers, each one stoked high so that they might set light to their pitch-soaked missiles.

Every supply ship made its way towards a waiting artillery boat and River stood his ground patiently,
as the fisherman at shore
. Hidden beneath his tunic were his blades, which he had taken such great pains to conceal these past days. He watched while on deck sailors went about their business, furling the sails and uncoiling ropes to secure to the artillery ships. This was the closest they would come to the city.

Now was the time.

The first rope was thrown and deftly caught by a mariner aboard an adjacent artillery ship, then another, which was swiftly tied to one of the vessel’s cleats. River was already standing behind the pilot at his own ship’s wheel. Some days ago River had been told his name, had watched as he laughed and gambled with his fellow mariners. The man had seemed harmless enough and River had even heard him tell tales of a family back to the south. Something in his head told him this was unfair, that he had done nothing to deserve what was to come. But River could have no mercy now.

Silently his blade slid across the pilot’s throat and River pushed him aside to gurgle his last onto the deck. Grabbing the wheel firmly he spun it hard, directing the ship straight into the artillery boat it had come to supply.

Men shouted in panic as the ship veered sharply, but in the dark no one could see what had happened to the pilot at his wheel. A barrel rolled across the deck as the ship listed violently in the water. More shouting pealed out in the night as the crew of the artillery vessel realised they were about to be rammed.

‘What’s going on?’ shouted a voice close by, and River saw it was the first mate he had spoken to so recently. A blade slipped between the man’s ribs and River grasped him as he fell, lowering his body to the deck as he gasped blood into punctured lungs. Looking up he saw the prow of the ship had almost met its target, moving closer in what would be the most brutal of kisses.

‘Brace yourselves!’ someone yelled in the dark, but River ignored him, moving towards the prow.

The ship lurched as it smashed into the artillery vessel. Men cried out as they were thrown across the deck. River moved fast, feeling himself propelled forward, but his footsteps were sure as he broke into a run. Aboard the artillery ship men began shouting in panic as the braziers they had stoked so high spilled hot coals at their feet and the trebuchet on deck lurched violently, though it did not spill its already burning missile.

River leapt from the crumpled prow and onto the artillery ship’s deck. A mariner glared at him as he landed and made to speak, but River silenced him with a deft cut to the throat.

As River surveyed the scene of panic and confusion, the artillery ship slewed in the water, turning on its axis to face along the row of other ships which had been bombarding the city these past days. He darted to the trebuchet and sliced the rope securing the twenty-foot throwing-arm to its frame. The counterweight swung down with a creak of wood, sending its flaming load soaring along the row of ships. River barely noticed as the missile smashed into one of the artillery vessels further down the row, exploding in a shower of burning debris.

Fiery embers still glowed on the deck of the ship and River raced to an open barrel of pitch, kicking it over and spilling it onto the waiting coals. Flames took immediately, spreading across the deck in a pool of molten fire, and he heard men crying out in panic all around him.

‘What are you doing, you fu—?’ River spun and silenced his would-be assailant with two swift slashes of his blades.

By now the two ships were in disarray, locked together and burning in the night as men rushed around in panic. River went unseen as he made his way to the gunwale, sheathed his weapons and dived into the black waters.

The cold engulfed him, but River fought against the shock of it as it threatened to freeze his extremities. He swam further into the dark, every powerful stroke pulling him towards the city. As the ships burned behind him all he focused on was the distant shore, moving through the water
like a fish against the current
. By the time he reached the quayside that ran in a great arc around the bay, the conflagration on the far-off ships had risen into a pyre.

River pulled himself from the water and breathed deep. The swim had been hard, he was already shivering and could barely feel the tips of his fingers. As he glanced up to the burned walls of Steelhaven, he knew the climb would be harder. Steam drifted from the charred walls – the result of days of bombardment. At least now, as the artillery ships recovered from the damage he had inflicted, their attack would abate … for a while.

Still feeling the cold numbing his limbs, River found a handhold in the blackened wall of the city and began his climb.

T
he sun had gone down leaving a blank, starless sky, but there was so much light from both within and without the city that Waylian could see almost clear as day. On the flat plain the Khurtas waited, torches burning bright as they bayed to the hidden moon in their grim foreign tongue.

Waylian had to admit, it scared the shit out of him.

The scores of magisters that surrounded him did nothing to ease his rising panic. They were the most powerful magickers in all the Free States, gathered in one place to do battle, but Waylian could not see how they would ever defeat the overwhelming number of savages waiting to swarm over the curtain wall.

The Wyvern Guard had gone out to greet them. Waylian didn’t really know what he’d been expecting – for them all to get slaughtered, more than likely. They’d trotted forward in a row, defiantly facing the thousands, just sitting there until the Lord Marshal had given his order to attack. Only two riders galloped forward to face the horde, though, and they’d both come back alive and with a standard of the Free States as their prize. It looked impressive enough, and had shown the Khurtas weren’t the indomitable force everyone thought.

Yet Waylian knew they were still the deadliest of killers, intent on bringing this city to its knees. No number of captured flags would ever settle the fear in his guts.

‘Hold your nerve, boy.’

He didn’t need to look to know it was Gelredida, standing beside him. As much as he wanted to heed her words, holding his nerve was easier said than done. Even with his redoubtable mistress by his side, Waylian felt like a rabbit in its hutch waiting for the foxes to arrive. Easy for her to say
hold your nerve
; she was a master of the Art, feared and respected and deadly as a viper. He was Waylian Grimm; a nobody, a neophyte, and he was just as likely to manifest shit from his arse as magick from his fingertips. Mind you, Marshal Ferenz would probably have disagreed about that. Not that Waylian had any idea how he’d managed to crush a man’s head with a word. Hopefully he’d work it out, and soon.

‘Stay behind me,’ Gelredida said. ‘And try not to get in the way.’

No need to worry about that! When the Khurtas came flocking over the wall the last thing Waylian Grimm would do was throw himself into the fray.

The Khurtas were beginning to get restless now, winding themselves up into a frenzy. Their siege engines were being rolled implacably towards the city walls and soon enough they’d be in range. In response, Waylian could sense the unease all around him.

Drennan spoke constantly to the apprentices in his charge, his voice a low grumble, but Waylian could tell his words were more of encouragement than rebuke. The youngsters in his care seemed focused; under the tutelage of the Archmaster they looked strong, mature and more than ready to face the advancing enemy. Waylian could only envy them for that. Though Gelredida had stopped treating him like shit on her shoe, he knew she still considered him beneath her – he still felt like a child in her presence and could only dream of sharing the autonomy the rest of these apprentices had been granted. Perhaps there was more to it, though; maybe it was her way of protecting him. Maybe she did have a beating heart beneath that frosty exterior. Or maybe she just had her own motives for keeping him on such a tight leash.