Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (44 page)

‘And yet I’m not sure why,’ Kaira replied. ‘Did you want the pleasure of killing me yourself?’

Samina smiled and shook her head. ‘Why would I want to kill you? We are sisters, after all.’

‘We are sisters no longer. You have betrayed our city. Our queen. You turned your back on everything we stood for …’

‘Everything we stood for was a lie. You know that, Kaira. Why else would you have walked away from this place when you were welcomed back so readily? The Temple of Autumn had to be born again. Raised anew. And it had to be done in the blood of those who allowed it to become so diseased. The Matron Mother. The Exarch.’

Kaira shook her head. ‘Whose words are these? Are they the words of Amon Tugha?’

Samina threw her head back and laughed. ‘You think this was all about him? You think we gave a damn about the Elharim and his crusade? This was about us. About our order. About making it pure once more. Amon Tugha was a means to an end. Had he not died at the queen’s hand then it would have been someone else’s.’

‘You’re a fool,’ said Kaira, rising unsteadily to her feet, feeling the hot sweat of fever sticking her shirt to her back.

‘Am I? Who stands victorious, sister? Who lives when so many are dead? The Khurtas are fled. The warlord is perished and our queen is no more. A new order beckons.’

Kaira felt her gut tighten at the words. Janessa was dead. She had failed.

‘Forgive me,’ Samina continued, taking a step forward. ‘I knew you were close. Her death was unfortunate … but necessary.’

Kaira held up a hand to stop Samina coming any closer. Her breath came quick between her gritted teeth as she bit back her anger.

‘Necessary? She was your queen.’

‘And she was weak. A child. She would never have held the Free States together.’

‘And who will do it now? You?’

‘I will be amongst those who will strive to keep the provinces united. You could be too, Kaira. You can still join us. You can still save the city, the kingdom.’

‘And if I refuse? I’ll be killed, executed as a traitor?’

Samina shook her head. ‘That was never the fate I would have chosen for you, sister, but there were those who would have forced the issue. It appears they have since had a change of heart, though. If you will not join us, you are free to leave.’ She stepped aside from the doorway.

Kaira limped forward, taking the pain in her thigh, feeling the freshly stitched wound protest with every step. As she reached the doorway she paused, offering Samina a sidelong glance. In that moment she would have given anything for her armour, for a weapon. Wounded as she was they would most likely have served her little, but at least she would have been able to make one last show of defiance.

As though she could sense it, Samina took a further step back out of Kaira’s reach, her hand never straying far from the hilt of the sword at her hip.

Without a word, Kaira limped through the doorway and out of the temple. Bodies lined the great courtyard, Daughters of Arlor kneeling beside them, whispering the last rites. Kaira couldn’t bring herself to look, knowing there were sisters she had known and loved amongst their number. There was nothing she could do now, unless she wanted to add herself to the list of dead.

The wound in her leg continued to burn as she made her way out of the main gates and proceeded north through the city. There was an eerie quiet cast over the streets now. Burned and smashed buildings sat in sorrowful silence as she walked past. Here and there dishevelled souls were scraping through the wreckage of their former homes in a vain attempt to reconstruct their lives. Kaira wished them well; though she was sure they would ultimately see the folly of it.

When she had limped halfway across the city she stopped. Ahead she could see a sorry procession making its way into the Crown District. Kaira could only guess what it was – the grieving masses come to bid goodbye to their queen. To see her lying in state for the last time. They filed in through the gates of the district, some weeping openly, others simply staring at the ground, all hope fled from them.

Kaira knew she should have joined them, should have said her goodbyes, should have begged Janessa’s forgiveness. But what good would it do? The girl was dead and no amount of mournful pleading would bring her back.

She moved on, feeling weariness piling onto her shoulders with every laboured step, but she could not stop. This place was cloying, strangling her, and she would only be free of that feeling once she was out of the city. There was nothing left for her here, no friends, no duty. It was clear now she had been abandoned, even by Vorena herself.

Kaira Stormfall owed nothing to this city, not any more. It had taken everything from her.

By the time she reached the Lych Gate she could hardly walk, but Kaira would not be stopped. Horses milled around the courtyard before the gate and a group of men looked set to leave. As she reached them she recognised a number of faces – the Wyvern Guard – unarmoured, swords and shields tied to their saddles, making ready to return to the Kriega Mountains. They looked odd without their battledress; like any normal band of travellers, if a little broader in the shoulder and arm. When her eye fell on the welcome face of Merrick Ryder, Kaira could barely hold back her tears.

He saw her watching him, offering a smile before walking towards her.

‘You are wounded?’ he asked.

‘I’ll live,’ she replied.

He nodded, a regretful look falling over him. ‘Look, I’m sorry about—’

‘Don’t,’ she said, fighting to stay in control. Her pain and grief were threatening to spill over and were she shown sympathy, especially from Merrick, she thought she might break.

‘Come to see us off then?’ Merrick said, and Kaira was thankful for him changing the subject.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘I am leaving. There is nothing for me here now.’

‘I can understand that,’ he said, glancing up at the ruins that used to be Steelhaven. ‘You could always come with us. We could use a good sword.’

Kaira smiled but shook her head. ‘No. I have served enough for one lifetime. It has brought me only sorrow.’

‘Of course,’ said Merrick. Behind him the rest of the men were mounting up. ‘If you change your mind, go to Silverwall. I’m told if you find a man called Crozius Bowe he’ll be able to put you in contact with us. He’s been our agent in the city for decades, so you know you can trust him.’

Kaira gave him a nod of thanks, offering her hand. Merrick took it in both of his, squeezing it warmly. Without another word he turned and mounted his horse.

‘All right,’ he shouted, his voice echoing around the courtyard. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

With that the Wyvern Guard filed out of the Lych Gate as Kaira stood and watched them go. Merrick was at the rear and he turned for one last glance, a last smile from the corner of his handsome mouth, before disappearing through the gate.

When they had gone, Kaira limped towards the gate herself, pausing at it, staring out east onto the long road that led from it. There was emptiness out in the Free States. No one she knew or cared about. Without turning to look she knew there was even less behind her.

She had nothing and no one. No duty, no monarch. Perhaps even her goddess had abandoned her. What would she do if she left the city but wander?

Perhaps she should remain here. Perhaps Samina’s offer was her only remaining option. If she stayed at least she could serve. At least she could try and do some good for the city and the kingdom.

Or perhaps Kaira Stormfall had done enough.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she walked through the gate and took the road eastward.

W
aylian stood amidst the ruins. The top half of the Tower of Magisters was still mostly intact, laid out across Northgate like the head of some vast wyrm. Entire streets had been crushed beneath its fall. The base was only rubble; a mess of immense stones and timber. The symbolism was not lost on Waylian – along with the death of the tower had also come the death of the Caste. The magisters of Steelhaven were no more. All that remained was a disparate group of casters with scarcely the strength or resources to rebuild a shed.

Drennan Folds had died on the final night, a single arrow piercing his eye – whether the blue or the white Waylian had no idea. Likewise Crannock Marghil had fallen during the night, though details of his demise were not forthcoming. The Raven Knights had been all but wiped out; a handful even now searched through the wreckage of the tower, for what Waylian had no clue. He almost smiled as he watched them – ravens picking through the detritus of battle.

Waylian moved away from the dead tower. All he could wonder was, what next? The queen was dead, the city wounded, perhaps beyond recovery. Where was his place now?

You could always go back to Groffham. Back to your mother and father. Back to the safety of anonymity. Back to the quiet security of an ordinary life. You are beholden to no one now. There is no Red Witch to taunt you any more.

He felt the sudden wrench of his gut at the thought of her. Gelredida had been a constant bane, and treated him no better than a dog. And in the end she had sacrificed herself to rescue the city, putting ultimate trust in him to save Steelhaven if her gamble turned out to be folly.

And you did not let her down, Grimm. You lived up to every task. You made her proud.

Waylian smiled. He knew it was odd, standing amidst the dust and rubble of a city destroyed, smiling to himself like a bloody loon. But there was still victory in this devastation. They had won. They had defeated their enemy despite the cost and the Free States would endure. The people of this city would rise again, no matter what they had suffered. The only question was whether Waylian would stay here to help.

The remnants of the city’s Caste sat in what used to be the gardens that surrounded the base of the Tower of Magisters. Waylian walked past an old man mumbling to himself, his robe burned and tattered, though the flesh beneath seemed undamaged. He ignored Waylian as he chuntered to himself, seemingly trying to solve a flood of equations as they ran through his head. Whether he’d been of sound mind before the siege, or if his efforts in repelling the Khurtas had driven him insane, was impossible to tell.

A group of apprentices sat on a stone bench some yards away. A young boy gently wept on the lap of the girl next to him. Both were flanked by older, yet no less traumatised youths, who sat staring blankly at the crushed and singed foliage that lay strewn around them. Waylian was sure he recognised them, but not well enough to strike up a conversation. Besides, they looked as though they were best left to their own devices.

Here and there magisters tended to one another, rubbing salves into wounds or bandaging limbs. None of them used any magick, as though the efforts of the last days had expended all their energies. More likely the consequences of tapping the Veil so rigorously over the past days were yet to manifest. Any further use of the Art would likely have dire effects. Everyone was fearful of what the ultimate consequences might be and Waylian could hardly blame them. After what he had felt and experienced on the roof of the Chapel of Ghouls he doubted he would ever want to dabble in the Arts again. Only time would test his courage.

A figure came to stand beside Waylian as he watched the sad scene, heralded by the crunch of gravel beneath shoes. Aldrich Mundy adjusted his spectacles, one lens cracked, the frame bent awkwardly. Waylian expected him to speak in his usual babble of verbosity, but Mundy didn’t say a word, as though even he recognised the need for solemn silence. It wasn’t long before Waylian could stand the discomfort no longer.

‘What now, do you think?’ he asked, preferring Aldrich’s doubtlessly obtuse opinion to his silence.

‘Now we rebuild,’ Mundy replied.

Waylian waited for more, but there was nothing. Aldrich just stared at the gathered magisters with an expression Waylian couldn’t read.

Perhaps Aldrich was right. Perhaps this was a time to rebuild. To make the tower anew, to forge the Caste in a fresh image. Waylian began to believe that was something he might be able to stay and help with, but when he saw who was approaching down a gravel path to the east, he suddenly changed his mind.

Lucen Kalvor walked towards the clearing flanked by two Raven Knights. As the last surviving Archmaster he was the surrogate head of the magisters. It was still unclear whether he knew about Waylian’s part in his blackmail. Perhaps he had no idea. Perhaps he was biding his time before he sought vengeance. As the Archmaster approached, Waylian knew he’d be a fool to stay and find out.

Kalvor stood amidst the burned topiary, flanked by his honour guard, and considered the sorry collection of magisters surrounding him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Friends.’ At that word his eyes locked on Waylian. It was obvious from that look he was not, nor ever would be, a friend to Waylian Grimm. Perhaps, despite all the work there was to do, this was the time for Waylian to bow out gracefully.

As Kalvor addressed his remaining magisters, telling them what the future had in store, Waylian slipped from the gardens, making his way north through the city.

It was obvious there was little here for him now, but was he ready to return to the relative safety of Groffham?

Don’t be ridiculous, Grimm. You were never going to do that in a million years. Gelredida saw something in you; it would be an insult to her memory for you to waste it.

Waylian smiled as he made his way north. There was a world out there, a kingdom that might be about to sink into turmoil. The Free States would need all the heroes it could get.

Besides, Rembram Thule might be out there somewhere, scheming his schemes of domination. There had been no body, smashed and broken, at the base of the Chapel of Ghouls. It was more likely he had escaped death once again and now roamed free, ready to bring about the end of days.

And who else would stop him if not Waylian Grimm?

T
he city had burned for almost a week. Seth watched the smoke rising beyond the eastern horizon, slowly fading as the days went by until there was nothing left but a clear blue winter sky. No one would ever have known the siege of Steelhaven had even happened.