Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (31 page)

River simply stared. He cared little for the hopes or dreams of the Father of Killers. Neither did he think much of Amon Tugha’s nostalgia.

The Elharim looked back at River, fixing him in those golden eyes. ‘But of course you also know of redemption. You seek it even now. A man born and bred to kill, brought low for the love of a woman.’ A grin crossed Amon Tugha’s lips. ‘How many have you killed, assassin? How many innocents alongside the guilty? There will be no redemption for you. The only mercy I offer is for you to live long enough to see this city fall. I will rule these lands for a hundred years, long after you are dead. And then, when I have raised an army strong enough, I will return to the Riverlands and claim what is mine by right.’

River stared into Amon Tugha’s face, straining against the ropes that held him tight. There was nothing he could do; no way he could stop this immortal warrior even if he was free. But perhaps one last show of defiance.

‘Good luck,’ River said.

Amon Tugha’s grin widened before he turned away.

River could hear his laugh for a long time before it faded into the distance.

‘S
o … that’s it, yeah?’

Shirl had asked the question a half-dozen times now and it was starting to get right on Rag’s nerves.

‘Yes it is,’ she replied. ‘Now stop going on about it.’

‘But—’

‘Will you shut the fuck up!?’

She could understand he had questions. She got the fact that he was most probably shitting himself, but there was nothing she could say to put him at ease. Shirl’s peace of mind was the least of her troubles. Fact was, this probably wasn’t the end. Fact was, Bastian was going to find out it had all gone wrong. He’d already know that the gate wasn’t open and the Khurtas hadn’t come running in. He’d know that his men never returned with the happy news they’d succeeded in their mission. He knew right now, and was most likely trying to find out what had gone wrong.

Rag should have been hiding. She should have taken her boys and run off to some corner of the city and waited out the siege, for good or bad. But that would have given the game away sure as shit. Bastian would then have known beyond any doubt they were involved. No – she’d just have to blag it, like she blagged every other thing.

How long she could keep that up only the gods knew – and they weren’t telling.

Best just to sit tight and pretend like you don’t know nothing. There’s nothing to connect you to what happened. Bastian will think the Greencoats found out and killed all his men. There ain’t nothing to worry about.

But Rag knew there was plenty to worry about. She’d been in the shit before, though, and she weren’t dead yet. She could always keep her mouth shut. It was just a matter of what the other boys had to say.

Harkas and Essen were sat playing a card game. The big fella didn’t look particularly bothered about what he’d done, which was all of the killing. Rag and Shirl and her boys had helped well enough, causing distractions in the dark so Bastian’s men had walked right onto the end of Harkas’ blade, but it was him done the murders. Eleven men he’d slain in the night. Eleven corpses he’d left lying there for someone to find in the morning light. Rag had always been afraid of the big fucker but she’d never thought him capable of that. And now he sat there all normal, like it didn’t mean a shit.

Essen hadn’t been involved but he wasn’t about to say nothing. If Bastian found out he’d known about their plan to stop the gate being opened he’d be just as dead as the rest of them. She was sure she could rely on them both to keep quiet; they were solid, she’d learned that well enough. In fact she’d have been playing cards right along with them if she had any idea what the rules were.

Chirpy, Migs and Tidge were in the corner, eating themselves stupid. Rag knew she should have sent them away to hide but they’d begged to stay with her. She’d abandoned them once before and she’d be fucked if she was gonna do it again. Besides, they’d been her crew for years. She knew she could rely on them to keep it shut. They might be little boys but they were tough as boot leather and loyal as hunting dogs. She’d take them over a grown man any day.

Then there was Shirl.

Rag knew he’d never be able to keep his mouth shut about anything. He was a coward and a dullard but at the end of the day he was part of her crew. As much as she wanted to get rid of him she knew she just didn’t have it in her. Only time would tell if that was a stupid mistake.

As the back door to the tavern opened, Rag realised that time might come sooner rather than later.

Two men entered. They weren’t in dark clothes but Rag knew they were part of Bastian’s crew just from looking at them. They were lean, eyes moving constantly, either looking out for danger or trying to find their quarry. When those eyes fell on Rag she realised which.

‘You Rag?’ one of them said.

‘Yeah, what about it?’ Rag answered, even though she had a pretty good idea what.

‘Someone wants to see you.’

‘Well maybe I’m fucking busy.’ It wouldn’t do to go along too eager. She didn’t want to look like a pussy and all frightened like a child. That might give the game away before Bastian had even had a chance to question her.

‘I’m not fucking asking,’ he said, taking a step forward all threatening like.

From the corner of her eye Rag saw Harkas move one hand down to the knife at his belt, even though he kept his eyes on the cards fanned out in his other. Almost without moving she splayed out her fingers for him to relax. She’d got this – no need for it to turn nasty.

‘So who’s fucking telling?’ she said, giving it the tough talk. Wouldn’t do to back down so easy.

‘Bastian, you stupid bitch. Who do you think it is?’

Rag smiled. ‘Well, why didn’t you say so? Lead the fuck on.’

Both men seemed to relax a bit, though they didn’t take their eyes off the other lads. Rag saw one of them give a lingering look over Chirpy, Migs and Tidge, who’d stopped eating now and were just looking on warily. Then they led her towards the door.

‘Where you taking her?’ Shirl blurted as they walked outside.

Rag didn’t answer and neither did Bastian’s men, though she had a pretty good idea where they were bound.

Night was drawing in out on the street. There was a chill in the air but that wasn’t all. Sure as shit the Khurtas were coming again, and when the sun had dropped they’d be throwing themselves at the city like madmen. She could almost taste the fear along with the cold. Then again, Rag had her own problems. As she was led through the streets she almost envied those lads up on the wall. At least they knew what was coming and had a chance to defend themselves. She might get a shiv to the neck at any second and not even have the chance to run.

Before long, Rag realised where they were. She could see the Chapel of Ghouls on its distant hill, sitting behind its brass fence. The entrance to Bastian’s lair weren’t guarded quite as well as the last time she’d been here, but then what was the point? Greencoats had a bit more on their plate than chasing after the Guild right now. If only they knew how much Bastian was in the Khurtas’ pockets they might have taken a different view.

They walked down through the tunnels beneath the city streets, followed by the constant dripping from the damp ceiling, and into that central chamber. Rag stared at the floor right where Palien had been killed. If she’d expected to feel anything about seeing that spot again she was disappointed – that place where he’d had his throat cut made her feel pretty much nothing at all.

As her eyes adjusted to the light she realised Bastian wasn’t gonna make no kind of dramatic entrance like he had before. He was already sitting in the shadows waiting for her. From what she could see he looked tired – like someone had just dug the bastard up and dipped him in skin … not that she’d have mentioned it.

Rag just stood there. Wouldn’t do to speak unless spoken to – that kind of shit might get her killed – so she just waited while he sat and stared.

‘How are you?’ he said finally. ‘Well rested after delivering my message? I see you’re looking much less singed than when I last saw you.’

What was this, some kind of trick? Since when did Bastian give a fuck about anyone’s welfare?

‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking a quick glance around for the punchline. No one was laughing, though.

‘Good.’ Bastian stood up, walking a little ways into the light. His dark eyes shone a bit in the torchlight like ink floating on water. She’d seen a dead shark once on the docks and it reminded her of that a bit too much. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’

This was getting weird. Surely he must have known. Surely he was making her feel at ease so it would be that much worse when he stuck something sharp in her.

‘It was okay,’ she replied, wondering which direction the pointy metal was going to come from.

‘That’s good. Now ask me.’

‘What?’

He turned to her, his voice lowering. ‘I said ask me about my evening.’

Rag braced herself. ‘How was your evening?’

She knew exactly how his evening must have been and she knew what was coming. Her shoulders tensed as she waited for his tirade, but it never came.

‘Let me tell you,’ he continued matter-of-factly. ‘It was something of a disappointment. A disaster, you might say. It seems the Greencoats were a little more vigilant than I’d have liked, and my plans to open the Lych Gate came to nothing. As you can imagine, this has vexed me slightly.’

‘I can imagine,’ Rag said. The words just came out, she hadn’t meant them to. He was just making her so bloody nervous.

‘Can you?’ he asked. ‘Can you imagine how vexed I am?’

Rag stared up at him, trying to give him her best ‘lost puppy’ face. She knew it was pointless. He didn’t give a shit about her and especially not about puppies. She tried shaking her head instead.

‘No, you have no idea.’ His face turned stern and he locked her in those shark eyes. ‘I lost a lot of men. I didn’t open the gate either, so essentially I’ve betrayed the man who’s coming to level this city and everyone in it. Which is why that gate is going to be opened no matter what.’ He looked down at her as though she were some kind of tasty morsel. ‘And you’re going to do the opening.’

That took a bit to sink in.

‘I’m what?’ asked Rag.

‘You’re clever. Resourceful. You don’t have the muscle but I don’t think you’ll need it.’

‘But how am I supposed to—’

Bastian leaned in close. ‘You’ll think of something, won’t you?’

Rag looked back. For a moment she wanted to burst into tears. Instead she cracked the biggest smile she could muster.

‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘You just leave it to me.’

W
aylian stood in silence behind his mistress as she stared from the window of the Tower of Magisters. The mosaic glass was cracked where a missile flung from a Khurtic trebuchet had managed to strike the tower lower down. The pattern was still held in place by its lead frame but the picture itself, an Archmaster of old Waylian couldn’t name, was skewed awkwardly, making it look as though he had been sliced in half.

Magistra Gelredida stood and watched as the skies darkened. It was some way off nightfall but a veil of black cloud had cast its shadow over the city, rolling in from the Midral Sea like a tide covering the sky.

Waylian dared not interrupt as she stood there, as though keeping vigil. He had so many questions, wanted to know what he could do to help, but couldn’t find any way to ask. If she had one last task for him she’d have given it. It seemed as though all hope had fled.

Drennan’s apprentices were beaten – half of them dead. Crannock’s veterans had fared worse, only a handful remaining. Lucen Kalvor’s Raven Knights had taken a beating but many still stood resolute, ready to protect their wards until the end, for all the good it would do them.

‘The city is all but lost,’ said Gelredida, putting voice to Waylian’s thoughts. ‘Things are going to get much worse. The next attack will most likely see the Khurtas breach the wall. If not this night then the next.’

She had never sounded so defeatist before, and Waylian had to admit it worried him.

‘But, Magistra, there must be something we can do. There must be some task you could give me?’

Gelredida turned to him and Waylian saw she was smiling. That was almost enough to put him on his arse.

‘I could ask you anything, couldn’t I? Loyal Waylian Grimm. That’s one of your virtues. You’ve always been dependable and I would rely on no one else.’ She walked closer to him and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. She’d never touched him before and he found it strangely reassuring … until her face turned stern. ‘Be careful who you give your loyalty to, Waylian. If you survive this, by some miracle, you must trust no one. There will likely be no members of the Caste left to offer you safety or advice. If these walls fall, if Amon Tugha has his way, you will be alone. Your power will be sought after. Perhaps your very soul. Look to yourself, Waylian Grimm, and be the man you were always meant to be.’

She was talking now as though she wouldn’t be there. As though he would no longer be her apprentice. It scared him a little, sparking yet more unanswered questions, but all he could do was nod in agreement.

Her stare lingered for a moment, and Waylian struggled to read what was going through her mind. Was she concerned for him? Was that compassion? She’d certainly never shown anything like it before. All she’d ever done was put him in harm’s way. It was a bit late to be worried about him now, when the city was about to fall and they were all going to be slaughtered.

‘What now, Magistra?’ he asked, desperate to divert her attention.

‘Now we do what has to be done,’ she replied. ‘The only option left open to us.’

Gelredida turned and headed for the door. Waylian didn’t have to be asked – he knew he should follow wherever she led.

They made their way down through the tower, down below the entrance hall to the dungeons that lay beneath the tower’s foundations. They passed the cells where Waylian had witnessed a man being tortured to death by Gelredida’s own hand. The cold of the place suddenly made him shudder, or was it the memory? Either way he gripped the sleeves of his robe, pulling it about him tighter like a cloak.