Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (43 page)

As for the city – where before had stood unparalleled magnificence, now stood a shell. Burned and crumbling edifices. Fallen monuments. This place was a giant cairn, silent and brooding in its victory. Regulus knew he had no place here, if he ever had in the first place.

There was only one thing he had to do before he left. A debt he was determined to pay.

He walked down from the battlements to the huge breach in the wall. The dead lay scattered all about here. Regulus wondered if anyone would even remember their names. There were names he would never forget – Kazul, Hagama, Leandran, Akkula. His warriors. Men he had lived beside, grown beside, and who had ultimately died for the glory of the Gor’tana.

Should it have been he who died in their place? Would it not have been more fitting for him to fall in battle alongside them? That shame would shape itself in its own way. Time would tell if the guilt of their deaths, and of his survival, would weigh on him. For now Regulus had to look to the living.

Beneath the rubble the soft earth was churned up all around. The rain the night before had made it all but impossible to discern any tracks in the mud. Still Regulus walked the battleground, his eyes scanning for a sign, his nose keen to the scent he was searching for. Before long he found it lying discarded; dented and useless in the dirt.

Regulus knelt and picked up the black helm, turning it over in his hands. He glanced about, scanning the bodies that lay fallen all around, but of Nobul Jacks’ corpse there was no trace. As he searched he saw there was something else, nearer to the breach in the wall. Regulus dropped the helmet and moved towards it. Half buried in the soft earth was the hammer, lying there like some ancient weapon lost for a hundred years. He grasped the handle and wrenched it from the ground, wiping away the dirt to reveal the intricate carving on shaft and head.

Nobul Jacks was not here. Perhaps he was dead … somewhere … but not on this field.

Regulus looked to the north. The life debt of the Zatani was a holy vow, an ancient pledge that could not be broken. Nobul Jacks may well have perished, but Regulus Gor’s debt to him would not be satisfied until he knew for sure.

Securing the hammer within his cloak, Regulus stepped through the breach, out onto the devastated plain north of Steelhaven, and began his search.

I
t was a big old fire, that was for sure. Merrick had never seen its like – the Wyvern Guard had given the old boy the best send-off they could have.

The Lord Marshal lay in full armour, but without his magnificent winged helm. Jared held onto that under one arm as he watched with tears in his eyes. He also held onto the
Bludsdottr
, the sword Merrick’s father had forced him to take during the last battle.

Most of the previous night had gone by in a haze. Merrick remembered taking up the weapon, remembered the Khurtas, remembered the ghouls. After that he had no idea what happened until they’d had to prise the sword from his hands while he screamed blue murder at the sky. His armour was still covered in gore, but cleaning it didn’t seem to matter right now.

When he’d heard about Janessa his heart had sunk. Merrick had almost died to save her once, but perhaps it had been destined to end this way from the start. The girl had been doomed, that much was clear now, but Merrick was determined not to cry about it.

Because you’re a changed man, Ryder. Made from mountain rock – all iron and blood and the rest of that shit your father spewed. You’re beginning to believe his lies almost as surely as you’ve grown to believe your own.

The stench from a hundred fires was beginning to turn Merrick’s stomach. Burning pork, though none of it he’d want to eat. Didn’t stop the gurgling inside, though. It reminded him he was hungry, though he had no intention of eating anything until he was bloody miles away from here.

Still, he supposed he’d have to stand and watch as they burned the rest of their dead. Of the three hundred men who’d come down from the Kriega Mountains, now remained only thirty-seven. They stood in silence, no more boisterous talk, all solemn observance as they watched their dead burn. It had been a hard-won victory, but a victory nonetheless, though none of them felt like celebrating, Merrick least of all.

As the day wore on and the fires died, Jared gathered them all in one of the Northgate squares. Earlier in the day it had been piled high with bodies but the burial teams had done their jobs efficiently enough that it was almost empty. The thirty-seven Wyvern Guard stood awaiting the word of the Lord Marshal’s second as he clutched that sword and that mighty helm.

‘Our day is won, boys,’ said Jared, with little joy in his voice. ‘It’s what we were born for, and there’s something to be proud of in what we’ve done. Might not feel like it now, but that’s the truth.’ Merrick could see some of the lads nodding their agreement, others just staring, faces still covered in blood and dirt. ‘We’ll be on our way back north soon enough to wait for the next call. Might not be for years, some of you might be old men by the time we’re needed again. But before we go there’s a decision to be made. One that can’t wait.’

A sudden wind blew up around them, a cold gust rolling in off the sea, and Merrick felt it chill him to the bone. None of the other lads gave a sign it affected them, so he was damned if he’d do any different.

Jared passed the helm to one of the other lads and took the
Bludsdottr
in two hands.

‘You all know this blade,’ he said. ‘You all knew the man that wielded it. This sword was his by rights, passed down through his bloodline for over a thousand years. It’s the blade of our order, wielded by our Lord Marshal. And last night it showed us who would take Tannick’s place.’

Merrick swallowed hard. He could sense what was coming and it didn’t feel a bit bloody right.

‘No,’ said Cormach quietly, his word echoing Merrick’s thoughts.

‘Only one man can wield the blade,’ Jared continued. ‘Only one man has the right. That man stands right there.’ He pointed at Merrick, and the rest of the Wyvern Guard moved aside, giving him some space so they could all see.

‘This can’t be happening,’ said Cormach, though none of the other lads paid him any mind.

‘But we’ll do this by the old ways,’ said Jared. ‘It’s not just my word we’ll go by. All those in favour, say “aye”.’

The first three lads said it together, no hesitation. Then they went along the row of Wyvern Guard, one after the other, none of them showing any doubt, all of them looking straight at Merrick as they said ‘aye’.

Merrick wanted to tell them to wait. That maybe he wasn’t the right one for this. That he wasn’t worthy – all he could do was lift a sword, not lead a band of warriors – but none of them seemed to want to hear it.

They’d gone along the row now, and Jared walked up to him, eyes bright despite the filth that surrounded them.

‘Lord Marshal,’ he said, and took to his knee, holding up that huge sword and presenting it like Merrick was some kind of prince. Merrick took the blade, still barely able to believe something so big weighed so little.

As soon as Jared went down, the rest of the Wyvern Guard followed his lead, each one dropping to his knee, head bowed towards Merrick. All but one of them.

‘This is fucking bullshit!’ shouted Cormach Whoreson. ‘Not him. It can’t be fucking him.’

‘Mind your mouth, Whoreson. This is the new Lord Marshal,’ said Jared.

‘Fuck you, old cunt,’ Cormach spat. ‘He’s not my fucking Lord Marshal. I’ll not follow this prick anywhere.’

‘The decision’s been made.’

‘Not by me it fucking hasn’t.’

‘Makes no odds,’ said Jared, rising to his feet. ‘You’re a man of the Wyvern Guard. You’re bound to it.’

‘Like fuck I am,’ Cormach shouted, tearing off his helmet and flinging it to the ground, where it bounced with a hollow clang before rolling off across the square.

‘Whoreson—’

‘Fuck you and fuck this,’ said Cormach staring at Jared, not backing an inch. ‘I’ll not follow that arsehole anywhere.’ He jabbed a finger at Merrick. ‘I’ve had enough of all this shit anyway. I’m done.’

With that he turned, ripping the dishevelled white fur cloak from around his shoulders.

‘You’re going nowhere, lad,’ Jared shouted. ‘You don’t just walk away from the Wyvern Guard.’

Cormach stopped but didn’t turn around, gripping his fur cloak in one hand, the other hovering over the hilt of his sword.

‘And who the fuck’s going to stop me, old man?’

He waited for someone to tell him, but neither Jared nor the rest of the Wyvern Guard were about to tell Cormach Whoreson what to do. Merrick was damned sure he wouldn’t be the one, Lord Marshal or not.

When there was no reply, Cormach walked the rest of the way across the square, only pausing to fling his fur cloak into one of the waning funeral pyres before disappearing.

Once he’d gone, Jared turned back to Merrick expectantly.

They want you to make a speech. They want you to lead them. Good luck with that, Ryder.

Merrick glanced down at the
Bludsdottr
, as though it might fill him with inspiration. That he might open his mouth and give a rousing speech about the future of the Wyvern Guard and how this was only the first of many glorious victories. How word would spread of their legendary prowess in battle and how they would unite the Free States and make it a better place for all the little children.

‘Gather your equipment and prepare the horses for the journey,’ Merrick said.

Some of the lads looked at each other for a moment, wondering if that was it, before moving to obey. Merrick was relieved at that. He’d half expected to start giving orders and be told to fuck right off, but it looked like they were taking notice of him … at least for now.

As the remaining Wyvern Guard went about their preparations, Merrick noted a figure approaching from across the square. He recognised the man even from a distance, his walk so slippery Merrick expected him to leave a trail.

Seneschal Rogan came to stand beside Merrick as he buckled on his sword.

‘Congratulations on your appointment, Lord Marshal,’ said Rogan, with a smile dripping with insincerity. There was a fresh cut on his neck that had barely begun to heal over, though how he had managed to see any action was a mystery.

‘What do you want, Rogan?’ asked Merrick, in no mood for the Seneschal’s veiled compliments.

Rogan let out a sigh, as though even he were bored of the pretence. ‘I merely wondered when you and your men were leaving and whether there was anything I could do to make your journey more … fleet.’

‘We’ll be going as soon as we’re ready. Before sundown, I would imagine.’

‘And the queen? You will be paying your respects before you leave?’

Merrick shook his head. ‘Our respects will do her no good now.’

‘Indeed,’ said Rogan, and for the queerest of moments Merrick thought he heard a hint of sorrow in the man’s voice. ‘Rest assured, in your absence the city will be in safe hands.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Merrick. ‘With the end of the Mastragall line I guess that makes you regent, doesn’t it?’

‘Quite,’ said Rogan, his eyes twitching as he said so. ‘A duty you can be sure I will fulfil with the utmost thoroughness.’

‘I bet you will,’ Merrick replied, fast losing patience. ‘What of the Sentinels? What of the Knights of the Blood? Do you still control them?’

‘The Knights of the Blood have refused to show fealty to a regent in the absence of a monarch. They served the Mastragalls, not Steelhaven. As a consequence they are now little more than just another Free Company.’

‘And the Sentinels?’

‘Alas, no more. Wiped out in defence of the queen and the city.’ Merrick felt his heart grow heavy. ‘But there was one survivor. Your former colleague Kaira Stormfall yet lives … for now.’

‘For now?’

‘She may well have proven troublesome in the last day’s fighting. There are rumours she turned traitor. Led the queen into the ambush that saw her murdered at the hands of Amon Tugha. When she is well enough she will stand trial for treason.’

‘No,’ said Merrick, fighting to control his emotions. ‘She couldn’t have. She loved Janessa like a sister. She would never have betrayed her.’

‘That is not for me to determine, I’m afraid,’ said Rogan.

Merrick turned on the man, staring deep into his eyes. He found himself gripping the hilt of the
Bludsdottr
, drawing strength from it, even though the weapon remained sheathed. For all Rogan’s arrogance, for all his self-assuredness, Merrick saw doubt cloud his usually confident expression.

‘No,’ he said. ‘There will be no trial. Let me tell you what’s going to happen …’

S
omething cold touched her forehead, moisture dripping down her temple and into her hair. Kaira’s hand flashed out, grasping a wrist. She heard a gasp of pain before she opened her eyes and squinted in the daylight that glared through an open window.

As her eyes adjusted to the light she saw the sparse details of a room, more a cell than a bedchamber. She was holding tight to a thin arm, squeezing hard, and when she could finally see she realised it was one of the Daughters, her hand still grasping the damp cloth she had used to dab at Kaira’s brow.

She let go and the girl stumbled back. The Daughter of Arlor’s face was veiled but her fear was obvious. Kaira opened her mouth to speak, to tell the girl she was in no danger, but her throat was so parched no words would come. By the time she had cleared her throat enough to speak, the Daughter of Arlor had fled into the corridor.

As she tried to slide her legs over the edge of the bed Kaira winced. She saw her left thigh was heavily bandaged, the pain of it stinging intensely. Memories of battle flooded her mind. Of Amon Tugha, of Janessa … cradling a head of red curls until the welcome dark of unconsciousness took her.

Gritting her teeth, Kaira forced herself to sit. She gripped the edge of the bed as tightly as she was able, taking the pain, swallowing it up along with her grief.

‘You live.’

Kaira looked up at the voice, feeling something burning inside. Samina stood watching from the doorway, her expression giving away nothing of her emotions.