Orb Sceptre Throne (32 page)

Jeshin waved this aside. ‘Hardly worth the name. Playgrounds for the city’s children. Neglected and pillaged for centuries. They must be rebuilt, strengthened.’

‘It’s not the
walls
of Darujhistan that must be strengthened, Legate … it is the will.’

Jeshin stilled, hands pressed to the cool marble surface of his desk. ‘The discussion is closed, Humble. I thank you for your concern. I know I can count on your cooperation in our efforts to bring prestige and influence to our city.’ And he stood, smiling once more. He motioned to the door.

Humble Measure levered his bulk from the chair. He glowered from under his thick brows. Without a word he turned and lumbered to the door.

Jeshin watched him go, stiff smile still fixed on his lips.
A guard. Guards, today. Unbribable guards. Am I not the damned Legate of this ridiculous city?

Humble’s closed carriage rocked as he settled his weight within. He sat hunched forward, elbows on knees, as if examining someone seated opposite. The carriage started its twisting way down Majesty Hill. The man’s heavy-lidded eyes were narrowed, almost closed, as he lolled back and forth. Indeed, another passenger might have thought him asleep.

But he was far from asleep. Like the ponderous presses of his foundry his mind was slowly working, inexorably turning, and with crushing irresistible weight. And the conclusion he reached was that he did not sacrifice so much to put a Legate in charge of this city in order that the holder of the position could cower behind walls.

Fortunately, however, ways exist to resolve this temporary hindrance
.

The Mengal mountains ran as a backbone along the west coast of the Genabackan continent. They were for the most part a dangerous unsettled wilderness. A trader mud track twisted along the skirts of their inland eastward slope, unkept, swept away in places by erosion, crossed by fallen trees. Mule trains, two-wheeled carts and backpacks were the only way to make the trip. And even then in places the track was practically impassable. Far quicker and easier to ship any goods, livestock or people up and down the coast by water. But there were always those for whom the up-front expense of such cargo space or berths was unaffordable. For these petty traders, tinkers, travelling smiths, would-be homesteaders, or plain adventurers off to find a new horizon there would always be the mud track through the tall evergreen forest, their breath pluming in the cold wet mist cascading down the slopes, and their own rag-swathed feet and bent, burdened backs.

And so, too, there were always those who preyed upon them.

Yusek’s people were out of the east, Bastion way. During the Troubles they’d packed up and headed west. By the time they crossed the Dwelling Plain the way of life had become habit and they just kept on moving. Eventually Yusek raised her head and looked around and realized that all her family’s starving and slogging hadn’t gotten them anywhere worth going. So she packed up everything useful and did the only thing she knew how to do: she moved on.

She’d fallen in with Orbern’s crew, or rather they’d taken everything she had and given her the choice to join them or starve in the cold. She being young and new, they’d tried using her, of course, but she’d grown up defending herself and had discovered early on that she didn’t mind the shedding of blood half as much as those around her. So they made her a scout, or a runner, or whatever you damned well wanted to call it, on account of the fact that she could walk all their fat drunken arses into the ground. And they had no armour worth the name to give her anyway.

Orbern claimed to be from Darujhistan. From one of the city’s noble families. Kept going on about being cheated of his position, unappreciated, or driven out by idiots, or some such. Not that anyone gave a damn. Fancied himself ‘Lord of the western mountains’. Even had a horse, a sickly lonely-looking thing that he insisted on riding through the dense brush. Stupidest spectacle Yusek had ever seen.

Noble-born or not, Orbern ran things because at least he had some kind of claim to an education. Knew how to build. He’d had them put up a palisade across the gorge they occupied. Raised log cabins that didn’t leak. Even got a crude sort of forge up and running for their metalworking needs. It used a big ol’ flat stone as an anvil.

And because of all this the man’s rule was tolerated, even if he was a pompous ass.

Today Yusek was ‘scouting’. Which consisted of crouching under the cover of a tall evergreen watching the rain misting down the mountainside. The Mengal mountains were tall enough to gather clouds to themselves, but here they were not tall enough to completely shadow the leeward slopes, and deep valleys cut through to the coast. As a result, a portion of the mist always reached inland – not that any ever touched the Dwelling Plain.

She was keeping an eye on the trader track where it came winding up from the south. And this day, sure enough with the damned cold rain and all, there came two figures tramping through the mud, stepping over the trunks of fallen trees, pushing through the channels of run-off that charged across the path.

Damned fools. Out in this weather. Now she had to get soaked too!

She went down to meet them.

They were a couple of the sorriest travellers she’d ever seen. Carried no goods or packs as far as she could make out; they wore big loose hooded cloaks pulled close against the rain. At least they were armed, as she could see the polished bronze heels of sheaths hanging down beneath their cloaks.

As she stepped out on to the track they stopped and exchanged looks with each other from under their deep hoods. ‘Where you headed?’ she asked.

One stepped forward. ‘North,’ he said in a strange accent.

‘I’m with a settlement just—’

‘Do you know of a monastery here in these mountains?’ the fellow demanded, cutting her off.

‘A what? Monastery? No. Like I said, I’m with—’

But the two had walked right past her. She watched them go, dumbfounded.
What in the name of Mowri
…

She caught up with them. ‘Listen. There’s a settlement near here. Orbern-town.’
Stupid damned name. Orbern-town! Damned ass. Ha! Ass-town!

The two stopped. Even this close Yusek couldn’t see into the deep hoods. One spoke again, the same one as before – the other had yet to say anything at all. ‘There are people there who would know these mountains well?’ he asked.

Yusek wiped the cold mist from her face, shrugged. ‘Yeah. Sure. You bet.’

‘Very well. You may lead us there.’

She snorted, waved for them to follow.
Listen to that! ‘You may lead us there …’ Who do these two think they are?

Yusek wouldn’t have denied she’d grown up in the middle of nowhere and knew next to nothing, but even she would’ve run off when the sharpened logs of the palisade hove into view. She especially would’ve panicked when the heavy log door was pushed shut behind them and the great cross-piece was set into place and all the hairy unwashed mountain men of Orbern’s crew came shambling out to see what was up.

But not these two. They followed her right in, meek as lambs to the axe. Some people, she reflected, didn’t have the sense to be allowed to live.

She led them straight up to the main log ‘Hall’ as Orbern called it, pushed open the door. The two followed her in. A bunch of the crew pushed in behind.

Orbern was eating; he spent a lot of time doing that, hanging around the table. Yusek guessed this was his way of playing ‘Lord of the Manor’. He looked up as if surprised, set down his knife and wiped his hands on the layered robes he wore to demonstrate his ‘Office’. He had a great head of straggly hair and beard that Yusek figured he cultivated, again as part of his image as some kind of great master of the wilderness, like those of the ex-free cities of the north.

‘And who do we have here?’ he asked, all arch and loud.

‘Travellers, sir,’ she answered, addressing him as he kept telling them to.

Orbern pulled on his beard, nodding. ‘Excellent! Greetings, sirs! Welcome to Orbern-town – such as it is at this time. Admittedly no Mengal yet. But we are growing. Soon we hope to become a regular waystop on the trader road. What may we do for you? Beds for the night, perhaps?’

Some of the boys behind the travellers chuckled at that. The two didn’t even turn round.

‘Do you know of a monastery in these mountains, north of here?’

Orbern made a great show of stroking his beard and studying the cross-beams above. ‘A monastery, you say? Are you on a devotional pilgrimage? Are they expecting you?’

‘If none here knows it then we will move on.’

A lot more of the men laughed at that. Yusek couldn’t hide her disbelief.
How dense can you be?

Orbern merely raised a hand for silence. ‘There’s no hurry. Perhaps we
do
know of such a place. Perhaps—’

‘Do
you
know?’ the traveller asked, interrupting.

Orbern was thrown for a moment but recovered smoothly. ‘I? No. But for a contribution to Orbern-town’s—’

‘Then who?’

Orbern glared from beneath his tangled brows. Yusek laughed, and none too gently.
Now this was funny … this was a good show
. ‘A contribution to Orbern-town’s future will gain you our good will,’ Orbern ground out, sounding far from friendly.

As if by way of answer, the spokesman of the two pushed back his heavy hood.

Yusek heard gasps of hissed breaths. Almost as one the crowd of outlaws and murderers, hunted men all, flinched several steps backwards, clearing a circle round the two. She stared surprised: the man wore a mask, a painted oval, all complex swirls and bands. Oddest thing, she thought. Then she glanced to Orbern.

The man was frozen, eyes huge. He appeared to be struggling to take a breath to speak but failing. Yusek made a disgusted face.
What’s this? So the fellow’s wearing a mask? So what?

No one moved or spoke; it was as if all were too terrified. A few like Yusek were peering about, confused; mostly men from the north. Since no one was saying anything she stepped forward, hands on the knives at her belt. ‘Hand over everything you have,’ she demanded.

A strangled high-pitched laugh burst from Orbern. He waved his hands frantically. ‘Don’t listen to her!’ he spluttered, almost squeaking. ‘You are free to go, of course!’

‘What’s this?’ called out Waynar, a great hairy fellow from the north who claimed Barghast blood. He uncrossed his thick arms and stepped forward. ‘Free to go?’

‘Would you shut up!’ Orbern snarled at him, then offered the two guests a nervous laugh.

‘You ain’t our king or anything,’ Waynar countered. He loomed up so close to the visitors that his out-thrust chin almost touched the masked forehead of the much shorter and slighter of the two. ‘Who in Hood’re you? An’ why’re you wearin’ that stupid mask?’

Damned straight!
Yusek added silently.
’Bout time someone took charge. Looks like Orbern might be on the outs
.

The spokesman tilted his head to peer past Waynar’s shaggy bulk. ‘Is this one in defiance of your orders?’

Orbern’s shoulders fell. He clasped his head in his hands and let out a long shuddering breath. ‘I am very sorry, Waynar,’ he said. ‘But … yes. He is.’

The spokesman shrugged. Or appeared to shrug.
Something
happened. Yusek wasn’t sure; she didn’t quite catch it. His cloak moved, anyway. Waynar’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened but nothing came out. Then a great torrent of blood and fluids came gushing down from the man’s waist, down over his legs, splattering amid falling wet glistening coils and viscera. The man almost split in half.

Yusek screamed, jumping backwards. Even the strangers stepped away from the spreading pool of gore.

Some went for their swords but others in the crowd stopped them, grabbing their arms. Orbern threw up his hands for calm. ‘Do not move!’ he called. To the travellers he offered a small bow of his head. ‘There will be no further challenges. Your demonstration is most … pointed. North of here you will find a handful of small settlements, homesteads and such. And I
have
heard rumours of a temple of some sort.’

‘Who knows this region best?’ the spokesman asked, his voice still mild and uninflected.

Orbern’s brows drew down once more. ‘Well, Yusek here has covered most of the slopes.’