Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (38 page)

There was noise to the east. Another attack. Merrick couldn’t see through the rain and the dark but he was sure he could hear the braying of animals. Every man looked across, wondering if this would be the time the Khurtas broke through. Even Tannick stopped his pacing, glaring over towards the Stone Gate, clearly desperate to be a part of the fight.

Then there came noise from the west, towards the River Gate. The Khurtas were attacking again, sending the last of their siege engines and ladders at the wall. Somewhere over there was the queen, come to the fore to marshal her bannermen. He could only hope she was up to the task.

Merrick looked back through the breach, into that black yawning gap, and knew the Khurtas were waiting for them. The tension across the line only grew as the noise of battle carried across the wall. It didn’t sound like things were going well for the city’s defenders as the roaring grew louder. Men all around were praying, knowing that whether they would live or not was in the hands of the gods, but Tannick Ryder was not a man to let the gods decide his fate.

The Lord Marshal stepped forward across the barricade, staring through the breach. Then he turned.

‘Wyvern Guard,’ Tannick shouted. ‘The enemy waits, picking their moment to attack. I will not allow them such a luxury.’ He drew his sword, the
Bludsdottr
, and held the massive blade easily in one hand. ‘We choose our own fate. We choose how we die – not cowering behind a barricade waiting to be overrun, but on the field, with steel in our hands and a curse on our lips.’ Some of the Wyvern Guard moved forward now, and Merrick couldn’t stop himself, caught up in the bloodlust that suddenly seemed to grip them. ‘Remember what I’ve taught you. Every last man here is a heartless bastard fed on blood and steel. My sons and brothers both.’ Some of the Wyvern Guard cheered, drawing their blades. Tannick was staring straight at Merrick now, a mad smile on the corner of his lips.

With that the old man turned and began to run. Without a word or an order the Wyvern Guard followed, Merrick running as fast as any of them straight at the breach. They charged over the rubble, leaping through to the other side of the broken wall. Merrick’s breath came in a flurry of mist as the rain continued to beat down. His feet churned up the soft earth and for a moment, with the light of the city behind, he was plunged into blackness. Then he saw them – the entire Khurtic army standing in the rain, waiting silently for their order to attack.

When he had charged them on horseback it had been suicidal. He had chased Cormach Whoreson into the enemy’s maw, but at least there had still been a chance he would survive, one glimmer of hope that he’d make it back alive.

Now he knew that chance was gone. And for the first time he didn’t care.

Every man died, he knew that now. All his life he’d been avoiding it, staying one step ahead of the Lord of Crows. Now he knew he was going to die, a horde of Khurtas would see to that, but all he wanted was to give them a taste of steel before he went.

Merrick felt his heart beating faster, a grin coming to his mouth as he ran alongside the rest of the Wyvern Guard. He flushed with pride at being beside these men – men who had become his brothers. At being beside his father, a man he had hated all his life but who he now followed to his death.

This was what it had all been for. This was where his life had led and he was glad of it.

Tannick hit the Khurtic line, his massive blade hacking the first of the enemy almost in two. Then, in a bronze wedge, what remained of the Wyvern Guard fell on the Khurtas. Shields rang discordantly as they caught the enemy blades, smashing into the line of invaders with unkempt fury.

Shouts went up from amidst the Khurtic ranks, their battle cries rising above the sound of clashing weapons. Merrick barely heard as he looked for his first foe. His blade came down, slicing through the rain, slicing through the top of a wooden shield, slicing into a Khurta’s neck. He screamed, unleashing his rage, every lesson he had learned in the Collegium of House Tarnath now gone, to be replaced with a savagery all his own. He heeded his father’s words well. He had not grown up in the harsh mountains but tonight he was every inch a heartless bastard like his brother knights.

After their initial rush the Wyvern Guard formed up a shield wall, locking together with unspoken discipline. The Khurtas battered at the circle of steel, moving to surround them, and in no time they were being assailed from all sides. Merrick desperately parried the flailing attacks, his blade swift to counter as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Cormach and his father. For his part, the Whoreson moved swifter and stronger than anything Merrick had ever seen, in his element, a true beast of war. Tannick swung the
Bludsdottr
with a fury, laying low any Khurtas that dared to attack.

The Wyvern Guard were in a tight circle now, surrounded by deafening screams and wicked blades. It was hopeless, they would never survive this, but Merrick Ryder felt a joy he had never known. At the point of his death, for the first time, he was truly alive.

Something hissed past Merrick’s head, and with a grunt his father fell to one knee. A Khurta ran from the horde and, before Merrick could intercept, his sword struck forward. Half the blade sank between Tannick’s spaulder and breastplate. No sooner was the blow struck than the old man roared, his mighty sword coming up to impale his attacker.

‘The Lord Marshal,’ someone shouted, as Tannick foundered, all vigour gone from his body.

Merrick grabbed one of his father’s arms, Cormach the other, and they dragged him away from the Khurtic onslaught. The shield wall was hastily re-formed around them, the fight raging on as Merrick cradled the old man in his arms.

He removed his father’s helm, confused to see Tannick smiling through a blood-rimmed mouth. They looked at each other, the sound of the battle seeming to fade in Merrick’s head. He opened his mouth to speak but had no idea what to say.

‘Do you see now, boy?’ said Tannick. Merrick had no idea if he did see or not. ‘It’s your turn now.’ Tannick thrust the
Bludsdottr
towards him. ‘Take it. It’s yours.’

Merrick looked down at the blade and shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can. It’s yours. It was always meant to be yours. These men were always meant to be yours.’

Merrick looked up at Cormach. The Whoreson simply stared back, offering no words of advice, though Merrick knew he’d never get any from this bastard.

The blade looked big and heavy but it wasn’t its unwieldiness that filled Merrick with doubt. It symbolised the heart of the Wyvern Guard, only to be wielded by the Lord Marshal. Merrick was no leader of men; he had no right to it. The Wyvern Guard would never follow him. Not these warriors, tempered in battle and hate. Who was he but a drunken fop? How could he ever hope to lead knights?

‘I can’t,’ Merrick said again. ‘I’m not the man you want me to be. I never will be.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Cormach said, wresting the sword from Tannick’s weak grip. ‘I’ll fucking do it.’

Merrick looked up just as the shield wall broke. Three Khurtas burst through the defence, leaping over the corpses of fallen Wyvern Guard.

Cormach lifted the sword but stumbled as he did so. All his prowess seemed to leave him as he tried to swing the huge blade and he missed the first Khurta. The second hacked in as Cormach almost fell, the sword seeming to weigh him down as though he was lifting a tree trunk. An axe glanced off his arm and he dodged back, dropping the
Bludsdottr
to the ground. Jared rushed forward, doing his best to divert the assault, but he was outmatched by the three assailants and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

Merrick stared down at the sword. His father was unable to speak now, his eyes staring, imploring. The
Bludsdottr
lay there, huge and cumbersome.

He could hear screaming. The last stand of the Wyvern Guard failing fast now its Lord Marshal was mortally wounded. Merrick stood amidst the confusion. Stepping towards the sword as the battle raged. Men fought and died, the rain pounding down all around them as he stopped and knelt, his hand closing around the handle …

The grip is bigger than any sword you have held but fits in your palm like it was made for you … because it
was
made for you. When the
Bludsdottr
was forged by Arlor himself it was gifted to a line of heroes – a line of kings – and now, after the centuries have passed and it has served men in battle for all that time, it is finally yours to wield.

Merrick lifted the blade as though it weighed nothing. Battle went on all around him but he was calm within the seething tempest.

Your blood, and the blood of your ancestors has been spilled in defence of this realm for more than a thousand years and this sword has served them all. It is yours and yours alone. It is part of you; your heart and your soul.

A body came screaming through the rain, an axe raised high. Merrick barely noticed it, but the
Bludsdottr
spun in his one hand, twisting through the rain as drops bounced off the blade. It cut the Khurta in half, his blood spattering Merrick’s bronze-armoured body.

It will serve you unto death, and afterwards it will serve the blood of your blood until the end of time.

No sooner had the first Khurta fallen than a second came, then a third. Merrick grasped the sword with two hands, feeling his blood course, pumping in his chest, thrumming in his ears. The blade spun again, arcing through the air, severing a head, then a leg.

The Wyvern Guard rallied, falling back to stand beside Merrick who stared out from a bloody face. The Khurtas stood aghast, wary now as Merrick looked back at them with clarity. His fugue was over, the sword in his hand having cast its spell. He knew its worth … he knew
his
worth.

But no number of magick swords would save what remained of the Wyvern Guard from the thousands arrayed against them.

Merrick smiled as they stood before the enemy. He wanted to speak, to spout some litany worthy of a hero, but for once he had no words. There was no way even he would fuck up this moment by opening his mouth. This time was sacred, he knew that now. To die with these men was an honour even he could not spurn.

Before Merrick could lead their final charge a howl cut the air. A cry of death that froze every man to the spot.

From the city came a swarm of daemons, spewing through the breach, out of the city like all the hells had just been opened.

As it came for them, Merrick Ryder raised his father’s blade and laughed.

F
rom her vantage point on the bastion of the River Gate, Janessa watched again as the Khurtas attacked. She’d lost count of the number of men she’d seen slaughtered, the number of Khurtas cut down by volley fire. And still she watched.

Through the rain she watched as brave men died. She watched as the Khurtas attacked again and again. She watched as they flung themselves at the Steelhaven phalanx. Janessa Mastragall watched until she could watch no longer.

Now was the time to act. Now was the time to fight. All else had to be forgotten – all her pain and grief. All her past doubts. Even River, who she had last seen held prisoner by her most hated enemy. It all had to be forgotten as she led Steelhaven against its unstoppable foe.

A siege tower moved inexorably into view, peppered with arrows, looking like it had been hacked from a mountain of steel. There were barely half a dozen men to stand against it, but still they stood, ready to die to defend the city. Her city.

Janessa’s heels kicked her horse’s flanks as she loosed the reins. The Helsbayn rang from its scabbard as she galloped along the wall. Kaira cried something in her wake but Janessa paid it no mind. Men moved from her path in panic and arrows hissed past her bare head as she made her way towards the siege tower. The ramp fell with a metallic clank just as she reached it and the Khurtas within were unleashed, howling at the night.

The Helsbayn sang its reply.

Janessa felt the excitement of her first kill as the blade took a head from its shoulders. The thrill of that one small victory. A hunger began to burn as she swung again, taking another Khurtic life. Her steed bucked and snorted, its bulk knocking three of the enemy from the ramp. Janessa was screaming now, adding her own battle cry to the dirge. Blood splashed her armour and chin, matting the curls of her hair. She had no idea if any of it was hers but it mattered little to her now.

She turned to see Kaira watching from the saddle of her own horse, the sword in her hand slick with blood. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, but there was also pride. She said nothing, she didn’t need to. Janessa merely gave her a nod, which Kaira returned, and that one gesture meant everything; more than any words could ever convey.

You are a warrior queen now.

Janessa turned her attention back to the battle. All along the wall she could see the Khurtas swarming to attack. Even she knew that every man who stood against them would be slain if she did nothing.

She spurred her horse, riding it along the walkway, shouting at the top of her voice for her men to rally, to hearken to her call. Janessa held the Helsbayn aloft as she rode and saw every eye turn to her. As she rode past one of the wall’s bastions she plucked a flag bearing the Steelhaven coat of arms and raised it up. The flag was drenched from the rain and heavy in her grip but she held it out for all to see the crossed sword and crown emblazoned upon it.

‘Rally to the square,’ she cried. ‘Follow me.’

Janessa rode back down the stairway, her fleet horse managing to stay sure of foot on the slick surface. The open space had few defensible positions but at least her soldiers could form ranks. The Khurtas would be channelled, their numbers less overwhelming in the confines of the square.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs Kaira and Captain Garret were by her side. Kaira’s destrier snorted, sensing battle was coming.

‘This is madness,’ said Garret. ‘We have to get you away from here. You have to retreat to—’