Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (8 page)

It struck something deep within her. That voice had been a constant presence from Kaira’s past and for all the years she had trained in the temple to become a Shieldmaiden. Even now, when she was Shieldmaiden no longer, she still felt the respect due to the old woman.

As Kaira made her way down to the main entrance hall of Skyhelm she saw it was empty but for the two figures. Rogan, though only diminutive in stature, still dwarfed the old woman. The Matron Mother glared up at the Seneschal, her eyes fixed on the taller man. Kaira stood back in the shadows and listened, feeling somewhat ashamed that she lurked like some footpad in the dark, but she had to know what was being said.

‘No,’ said Rogan, for once some emotion in his usually insipid voice. ‘The Shieldmaidens must stay within the Temple of Autumn.’

‘Madness,’ the Matron Mother replied. Her own voice was raised in anger, and it brought back fearful memories for Kaira. Rogan seemed to be somewhat less impressed as she railed at him. ‘Any day now tens of thousands of Khurtas will throw themselves against the walls of this city. And you expect its best fighters to cower behind the walls of a temple?’

‘The Temple of Autumn will be this city’s last line of defence. If the curtain wall is breached where will we defend the queen? Skyhelm stands tall in the midst of the city, but it is not a fortress. The last of the city’s defenders, the queen herself, must have somewhere to rally to.’

Despite her disdain for the man, Kaira could see the sense in his words.

‘The Shieldmaidens are better suited to battle on the frontline, not as a reserve force. Put them on the wall and we will not need anywhere to rally to. The Khurtas will wish they had never ventured from their northern wastes when faced with Vorena’s chosen.’

Rogan continued to argue, but Kaira’s attention was diverted as she heard someone come to stand at her shoulder. She gave the briefest of glances, feeling a pull at her heart as she realised it was Samina Coldeye, her sister, standing there in silence.

When last they had met, Kaira had abandoned the temple and her sister Shieldmaidens. Had turned her back on everyone and everything she had ever known. The shame of it stung her now more than ever, though she still knew it had been the right choice.

As the Coldeye watched with her silently, Kaira barely registered what was said between the Matron Mother and Seneschal Rogan. All the while she was thinking about her closest friend standing there. The friend she had not spoken to for weeks since she had left the Temple of Autumn to make her own way in the city.

‘It’s been a while,’ Samina said eventually.

‘Too long, sister,’ Kaira replied.

She heard Samina’s whispered breath, a smirk perhaps? A snort of derision?

‘Sister? You would still call me sister? After what you did? After your betrayal?’

Kaira turned, feeling the hurt of Samina’s words like a knife to her belly.

‘I betrayed no one. I was the one betrayed.’ She kept her voice low as Rogan and the Matron Mother continued their argument. ‘I was used as a tool, as a weapon. I served with honour and was treated no better than a chattel. A slave.’

‘We are all slaves to the will of Vorena. Or have you already forgotten that?’

‘I still serve Vorena. And I serve this city. Just because I no longer do it as a Shieldmaiden does not mean I have forgotten the vows I made. The vows we made together.’

Samina shook her head. ‘You serve your queen, Sentinel. Not this city and not its people.’ Kaira shook her head to deny it, but perhaps there was a shred of truth there. Perhaps all the while she had thought she was serving the tenets of the Shieldmaidens in her own manner, in reality she had become preoccupied with defending the life of one girl.

‘Remember when we were children?’ Samina continued, before Kaira could think of what to say. ‘Remember it was always you who would do the right thing. Always you who would lead us in prayer. Always you who would push to serve our goddess. To serve the Temple of Autumn. And now you have betrayed all that. Left it behind like so much dust in your wake.’

‘No … I …’ Kaira wanted to deny it. Wanted to explain it had never been her intention to abandon her sisters, to abandon Vorena, but she never got the chance.

Rogan and the Matron Mother had finished their debate. As the Matron Mother turned to leave she saw Kaira standing there. The look she gave betrayed nothing. At that moment Kaira would have preferred her scorn, her rage, anything. All she received was a look of blank indifference that stung more than a blow to her cheek.

Samina walked silently to the old woman’s side, who in her turn never gave Kaira so much as a second glance as she turned and walked from the palace. Kaira stood at the edge of the hall for some time after they left. She didn’t even notice where Rogan had gone.

Had it truly been a betrayal? Had she really abandoned Vorena and her sisters?

Does it matter either way? In the coming days this city may well fall and then who will care? Do not dwell on it. There is still much to do before you must flog yourself over this.

Kaira moved to the huge doors of Skyhelm, determined to make herself of use, but before she could, Captain Garret entered, two Sentinels at his shoulder. His brow was furrowed, his face stern, and Kaira stopped before him.

‘Captain,’ she began, but Garret held up a hand to silence her.

‘Save it,’ he replied without breaking his stride. ‘Your place is beside the queen.’

‘But there is still much to do before the Khurtas make their advance.’

Garret stopped and turned to her. ‘If there’s anything we haven’t done by now, it’s too late. The Khurtas are on the move.’

I
t was busy as all the hells in the tavern. Rag stood to one side just watching as Bastian’s men went about their business. They cleaned and sharpened their weapons like they was some precious trinkets, or played their card games in silence, swapping coins around like the money didn’t matter a shit. Some made their food and drank their drink but didn’t seem to take no joy in it, as though they couldn’t taste a damn thing.

They’d come three days previous. Just walked in all bold as brass and not saying nothing to no one. Shirl, Yarrick and Essen hadn’t known what to do or say, and luckily they’d decided on nothing. Even Harkas moved out of their way and let them get on with their business. Not even the big fella was gonna mess with these bastards.

Understandable, really, since these were Bastian’s best men. He was head of the Guild; ruthless and deadly and only interested in what could make him some profit. You didn’t get to be that powerful without surrounding yourself with the dirtiest cutthroats in the game.

Bastian had told them to ‘be ready’. He’d told Rag there’d be a chance to prove herself, but so far all she’d done was stand here trying not to get in the way. Something was brewing, of that there was no doubt. Just a matter of what and whether she’d be stuck right at the heart of it. Way her luck had been going lately, chances were she’d definitely be right smack bang in the frigging middle.

‘What are we even still doing here?’ muttered Shirl from the shadows. ‘We should be long gone.’

‘Gone where?’ Essen hissed. His annoyance with Shirl’s constant griping had only grown more intense over the past days. ‘There ain’t nowhere we can go that Bastian won’t find us. And in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s around forty thousand Khurtas camped just north of the city. I reckon they’re hungry too, just waiting for some fat fuck to stumble past so they can have a good feed.’

Shirl shut his mouth, looking equal parts angry and fearful at Essen’s dressing down.

Rag couldn’t help but feel for Shirl. Couldn’t help but think he might be right. Who was to say if trying to escape was any less dangerous than sticking around? There was every chance one of Bastian’s men would stab them in the neck before any Khurta got the chance.

The back door to the tavern opened, not with a bang but a whisper of hinges. Still, everyone in the place went quiet. Rag saw some hands stray towards blades while others just froze. She half expected it to be the Greencoats come to arrest them all, but deep down she knew they were too busy with what waited outside the city’s walls to be bothered about what lurked inside some backstreet tavern.

What walked in was scarier than any Greencoat, though.

Bastian had given her a chill ever since the first time she’d laid eyes on him. It was a chill that never left her, a cold spike down her back that was always there, lurking like a stray cat. Seeing him just reminded her that it was still there, that she was living on borrowed time and it was this corpse-looking bastard she was borrowing it off.

He walked into the centre of the room and his men went about making themselves look busy. Bastian’s cold eyes scanned the tavern, and Rag felt her heart begin to sink as they passed over all those lean, deadly blokes until they finally rested on her. He stared at her for some moments, dead fish eyes glaring, and Rag knew it was her he’d come for.

Best not keep him waiting, Rag. You should know better than that.

She walked across the tavern so slow it almost hurt. Rag had watched a man hanged once. Watched him walk to those gallows at a snail’s pace like he wanted every last moment on earth to stretch out and give him as much life as possible. As she walked across the tavern towards Bastian, Rag began to realise how that poor fucker had felt.

He stared at her all the while until she came to stand in front of him, regarding her like some giant bird about to eat a worm. She just stared back, not wanting to speak but needing to know what in the hells he wanted with her.

Then he smiled.

It looked horrible on that skeletal face; cracking his pale flesh and showing a set of teeth yellow as old parchment.

‘I have a job for you,’ he said in a voice that creaked like a coffin lid. Then he let that hang there so long she almost had to ask him what it was. But Rag knew better than that. Don’t speak until spoken to if you want to keep that tongue in your head. ‘Someone is waiting,’ Bastian continued. ‘At the other side of the Rafts. It’s important they are relayed a message. I need someone sly. Someone no one’s going to notice. Someone insignificant. Naturally, I thought of you.’

Thanks a fucking bunch.

‘Yeah,’ Rag whispered. ‘No problem.’

‘That’s the right answer,’ said Bastian, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a roll of parchment, sealed with black wax. He held it out to her and she took it in her hand. As she tugged on the parchment she realised he still held it in a dead man’s grip. ‘Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.’ He spoke each word so sharp it was like being stabbed in the ear with them. Then he let go of the parchment and let her take it.

‘I won’t,’ she said, sounding all small and mousey, but then what in the hells was she supposed to sound like? ‘But how do I know who I’m looking for?’

Fuck, Rag, don’t ask questions. Are you trying to get yourself offed?

Bastian regarding her with those blank eyes, as though mulling over whether her question was important enough to answer. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They’ll find you. Just make sure you get to the other side of the Rafts and don’t lose that message.’

‘I won’t,’ Rag replied, and she bloody meant it. Right now she would rather have lost her own head, though if she fucked this up that’s exactly what might happen.

Bastian didn’t say nothing else. Didn’t acknowledge her or wish her luck or none of that shit. He just turned and made his way out of there, with the hardest men Rag had ever seen moving out of his way like he was ten foot tall and covered in spikes.

Once he’d gone, Rag went back to the corner of the room, in no mood to get in anyone’s way. She looked down at the roll of parchment still held in her hand. The black seal was blank, the paper crisp. For a moment Rag had a suicidal thought and almost considered breaking the seal and having a look. Who would know, anyway? When she eventually delivered it on the other side of the Rafts she could just say it happened by accident.

But what if Bastian found out? And she knew he would, he had his ways. Her life wouldn’t be worth living.

‘What’s that?’

Rag turned to see Yarrick looking down at the parchment in her hand.

‘Message,’ she replied. ‘Bastian gave it me to deliver over the Rafts.’

Yarrick raised an eyebrow, half impressed, but clearly half glad it wasn’t him had been given the job.

‘What’s in it?’ he asked.

‘Dunno.’ She held out the parchment to him. ‘But you’re free to open it and have a look.’

Yarrick held up his hands like he was surrendering. ‘Not a fucking chance,’ he said. ‘Who’s it for?’

‘Dunno that neither,’ said Rag. ‘But Bastian reckons there’s someone waiting over the other side of the Rafts and he’ll know me when he sees me.’

‘Sounds fucking dodgy to me,’ said Yarrick, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

‘Is there anything round here that ain’t dodgy?’ Rag gestured around the tavern, at the gathered crowd of maniacs sharpening their weapons and waiting for trouble.

Yarrick nodded his agreement at that. ‘When you off?’

‘Soon as, I reckon. No point hanging around.’

‘Suppose I’d better come with you then.’ Though even as he said it Rag could sense the doubt in his voice.

‘Bastian gave this job to me. No need for you to take the risk as well.’

Yarrick shrugged. ‘Looks just as risky hanging round here.’ He looked fearfully at the tavern full of cutthroats.

Rag couldn’t argue with that logic. Neither would she say no to the company. Maybe she’d be better suited to this alone, better able to move unseen and get the job done, but deep down she knew she’d feel better with someone watching her back, even if it was only Yarrick.

‘All right then. Let’s go.’

With that they made their way out of the tavern, neither of them daring to look any of Bastian’s men in the eye, just in case. Shirl looked at her, opening his mouth with a question on his lips, but Rag shook her head and he took the hint, sitting back in his chair and keeping it shut.

Out on the street the sun was just setting and the smell of smoke and fire drifted up on the sea breeze from the south. It was eerily quiet, as if all the folk off the street were hidden and just waiting for the chance to jump out on her and yell ‘Surprise’ like they was throwing her a bloody party.