The Grim Company (47 page)

‘You will continue as before. The army is yours to lead now, Supreme Augmentor.’

Barandas blinked and cleared his throat. ‘But, my lord… what about my other duties? I am sworn to protect you.’

Salazar pursed his lips. Grand Magistrate Timerus watched on, the only other man in the room. They were in the Magelord’s private chamber on the Obelisk’s sixth floor. The chair to Salazar’s right was empty – the chair normally occupied by Halendorf’s fleshy arse when the Tyrant of Dorminia demanded an audience. Barandas recalled the Marshal’s look of satisfaction when he had been summoned following Shadowport’s destruction. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

‘I am quite capable of protecting myself,’ the Magelord said. ‘You and your Augmentors will be needed to defend the gates. Dorminia’s walls might halt the Sumnian mercenaries for a time. They will pose little obstacle to the White Lady’s servants.’

‘As you command, my lord.’ Barandas hesitated. ‘I would have Thurbal posted here, just as a precaution. With your permission, of course.’

Salazar narrowed his eyes. ‘You are persistent, Supreme Augmentor.’

‘I care only for your safety, my lord.’

The Tyrant of Dorminia sat back in his throne and sighed. ‘Very well. Now, you must take your leave. The Sumnians will arrive before the moon is in the sky. You have much to do.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Barandas hesitated again. ‘Do we know what befell Marshal Halendorf? He is not the first man to meet such an end these last couple of months.’

This time it was Timerus who answered. ‘I had the corpse delivered to one of the finest physicians in the city. It will be examined for signs of anything unusual. It is not a matter with which to concern yourself, Supreme Augmentor.’

‘As you say.’ With a final bow to Salazar, Barandas departed the chamber. There was something odd about Halendorf’s untimely death, but for now he had too many things demanding his attention. He wondered if he had time to pay Lena a brief visit before departing the Noble Quarter for the western gate.

With a great sense of regret, he decided he did not.

The grey granite wall of Dorminia rose to three times the height of a man, surrounding the city on all sides save for the south, where the harbour formed a natural barrier. The wall was three feet thick at its weakest point and could withstand all but the heaviest assault from ballista or trebuchet.

Barandas climbed the rough stone steps leading up to the gatehouse that overlooked the city’s western entrance. Battlements ran down the length of the wall on both sides, with a narrow walkway providing just enough room for an archer to snipe at enemies from behind the relative safety of the merlons. The militia’s training had mostly centred on the longbow. Barandas was confident he had enough men to drown their assailants in a storm of arrows if they were foolish enough to launch a head-on assault.

They won’t be
, he realized grimly.
These Sumnians are expert soldiers, veterans at laying siege to towns and cities. They will have a great many tricks up their sleeves.

Fortunately, he too had a secret weapon.

The Halfmage was on the gatehouse’s parapet, staring out through the crenellated wall at the western horizon. The sun was already beginning to sink, and though the approaching army was not yet within sight it was only a matter of time before their aggressors arrived and the siege would begin in earnest.

The man seated on the strange contraption looked up, a troubled expression on his face. ‘Supreme Augmentor,’ he said with a smile that appeared not the least bit genuine. ‘Or rather, should that be Marshal? I believe congratulations are in order.’

‘Supreme Augmentor will suffice,’ Barandas replied. ‘Do you have everything you require?’

‘I could use a bottle or two of his lordship’s best wine and a whore to keep me entertained while we wait. No? In that case I am as content as a pig in shit.’

Barandas moved to stand beside the wizard. He was a somewhat bizarre sight, in truth: a scholarly-looking man of a similar age to him, dressed in outlandish green robes that seemed to accentuate his missing legs. Barandas had felt sorry for the wizard, at least at first, but the man’s sarcastic manner and constant barbs made him unpleasant to be around.

‘You do realize I am to magic as a eunuch is to an orgy, or dear Chancellor Ardling is to the art of witty banter. If you’re expecting me to eviscerate our enemies in clouds of spattering gore, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’

‘I am aware of your limitations. You are to concentrate on destroying any siege weapon that gets close enough to launch an attack. In this weather they will spark like kindling.’

‘It might have escaped your attention, but there is only one of me…’ The mage paused for a moment. ‘That is to say, there is only
half
of me, and yet there are two gates to defend. And what if they attack from the north?’

‘They will not,’ Barandas replied. He had discussed this with the four captains. The Redbelly River flowed into the city on the northern side from where it wound down from the Demonfire Hills. The only way the invading force could enter Dorminia from that direction was by scaling the walls or sailing down the waterway. The Sumnians had no boats. Several of Dorminia’s surviving warships now patrolled the spot where the river entered the city, their artillery ready to blast apart anyone foolish enough to get close and attempt a breach.

‘Lord Salazar will support the eastern wall,’ Barandas added. ‘The Obelisk provides the ideal vantage point from which to observe an approach on that side of the city. Our master may be weakened, but he remains formidable.’

‘Yes. I am aware.’

The two men said nothing for a time. Barandas could hear the Crimson Watch trying to maintain order on the streets below. The bellmen were already doing the rounds, informing the citizenry that a hostile force was approaching and advising those not involved in the fighting to remain indoors.

He glanced down at the wizard. ‘My wife is pregnant,’ he said. He had no idea where the words came from or why he decided to break the news to this strange fellow of all people, but they tumbled out before he could stop them.

The Halfmage looked at him with a blank expression. Then he laughed. It was a horrible sound, like a dying man gasping for breath. Finally he quietened, wiping tears from his eyes and snot from his chin. ‘First Supreme Augmentor. Then Marshal. Now soon to be a
father
? Do you want me to shake your hand? Give you a manly embrace? I would offer you a gift as is the custom, but I am certain there is nothing one so blessed as you does not already possess.’

‘I want nothing from you. It was foolish of me to expect any empathy from a hateful—’

The Halfmage held up a hand, shocking him into silence. The wizard squinted into the distance, raising his other hand to shield his eyes from the dying sun. ‘Hold onto that anger, Supreme Augmentor. It will come in handy. The Sumnians are here.’

Summer Time

 

 

 

The sound of drums dragged her awake.

Yllandris had been dreaming of a morning long ago, when she had been a girl not yet blossomed to womanhood and the arrival of summer had been one of the highlights of her year. Her mother had been tending the hearth, a broad smile on her kindly face. Her father was nearby. The promise of the new season appeared to have softened even his dark mood, and he gave her an affectionate grunt as he passed her a warm bowl of last night’s stew and a hard heel of bread.

She sat up, wiping sleep from her eyes. Had she imagined the sound?

No. There it was again.
Boom. Boom. Boom.

She thrust the fur blanket away from her, jumped up from the pallet and pulled on some clothes: a pair of deerskin trousers, her purple shawl and some boots. The beating of the drum was growing louder. She quickly washed her face, not bothering to apply any paints, and then hurried outside.

Has the King finally returned?
A full three days had passed and still no word from Magnar or his huge entourage had reached Heartstone. Additional riders had been sent to investigate. They had not returned either. With the Shaman still absent, an undercurrent of panic was beginning to pervade the town.

The sun was up already and the skies were clear. The snow had melted, revealing soggy green grass and mud underneath. As she joined the townsfolk making their way towards the northern gate, she could hear the trickle of the last of the snow melting on the roofs of the huts and longhouses that lined the thoroughfare. Soon Lake Dragur would thaw, if it had not already, and the boats would be out on the water bringing in trout and perch and anything else the fishermen could catch. All in all it was set to be a beautiful day.

‘Sister,’ called a slightly shrill voice somewhere to her right. It was Thurva. The young sorceress scurried through the crowd to intercept her.

Yllandris suppressed a sigh. ‘Greetings, sister,’ she said with forced pleasantness. ‘It appears our king returns to us.’

‘With the head of the demon, I hope,’ replied Thurva. She made a face. ‘I don’t enjoy burying the dead. It’s a grisly business.’

Yllandris stared at Thurva’s mismatched eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
You barely lifted a finger to help
, she thought.
I did most of the hard work
.

One of the circle’s duties in Heartstone was to perform last rites for the dead. Though the gods were gone, there were other, even more ancient forces in the world – the many spirits of land and sea and sky – that demanded supplication. In return for worship the spirits were said to bestow the gifts of foresight to the wise men and women and magic to the sorceresses. Males who possessed the spark underwent the Shaman’s ritual and transcended, becoming one with the animal that best represented their nature.

The spirits were also said to shelter the souls of the dead once they departed their mortal shells, until it was time to be reborn in a new form. It always amazed Yllandris that the men and women of the Lowlands held no such beliefs. She didn’t know how a people could survive without faith. Perhaps that was the secret of the Lowlanders’ love of gold – it was their religion, one they could see and feel and spend and pretend mattered. Until, inevitably, the moment arrived when it no longer did.

She and Thurva finally reached the crowd gathered around the gates and pushed their way through to the front. The huge wooden structures were flung wide.

A loud cheer erupted as King Magnar melted out of the early-morning mist, high and proud on his stallion. He had his war helm on and his visor pulled down to shield his eyes from the sun. He saw the gathered townsfolk and raised a hand in salute, provoking a fresh round of cheers. Yllandris felt her heart flutter.
He is a king, truly
.

Behind Magnar rode the Six, his elite bodyguards. Their helms, too, covered their faces. As they emerged out of the mist she saw that their horses dragged an immense wooden sledge behind them. It was covered in a tarpaulin, pulled tight over a huge form. Another cheer went up as the sledge trundled into view.

Following the Six were the drummers, who marched on foot, beating out that same relentless rhythm.
Boom. Boom. Boom
.

‘Move aside!’ commanded a haughty voice that could only belong to Shranree. The senior sister waddled up to Yllandris, her cheeks flushed and her oversized chest heaving from exertion. The other three members of the circle scurried along behind her. Shranree stared out at the approaching horsemen and clapped her hands together happily. ‘Finally! I was beginning to grow concerned. And it would seem our king has brought the body of the demon back with him.’

Yllandris frowned. There was something bothering her, a sense that everything was not quite as it seemed. She had grown up learning to read her father’s face. The way he breathed. The way the muscles around his jaw twitched. The moment of discord – that one dreaded sign was all she had needed to seek refuge in her small room. To pull the blanket over her head and wait for the inevitable to pass.

Was it the way the King sat his horse that troubled her? She narrowed her eyes against the sun’s glare.

The first of Heartstone’s warriors trotted into view. He halted just as he emerged from the mist, while ahead the King and his small retinue of guards and drummers continued on towards the gate, towing the sledge behind them.

Shranree suddenly leaned in close. ‘I expect our young king will desire some company shortly,’ she whispered. ‘Remember what we discussed. I would see our circle expanded. The damage wrought by that fiend would have been considerably less had I more sorceresses at my disposal.’

‘Yes, sister,’ replied Yllandris, still distracted.
The shoulders are a shade too narrow
, she thought. Perhaps the light was playing tricks on her eyes.

The King cantered through the open gates and tugged on the reins, bringing his mount to a halt. The Six did the same and drew up beside him. The drummers stopped just outside the town, but the relentless throb of their beats continued unabated.