‘Creeping like a thief through the night,’ Styrax commented abruptly, ‘in a city I control, hiding from troops from my own army. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy this.’ His words faded on the light breeze. A bat darted over their heads, startling Mikiss, who shrank down in his saddle.
Styrax clapped a hand on Kohrad’s armoured shoulder and smiled at the night.
Fifteen minutes later, General Dev’s family stonedun came into view. It was a tall, roughly cylindrical block of granite eighty feet high, pocked with squares that indicated window holes. Lights flickered in the windows on the upper levels, but the lowest two were dark. There was a blazing fire at the gate that illuminated the guards nicely.
‘Idiots,’ growled Gaur. ‘Weeks of trouble in the city and yet still they make themselves easy targets for anyone with a bow.’
‘Salen’s best troops are waiting for us at the Gate of the Three Suns. With so many troops scattered around the city, I guess they’ll have expected a quiet night here.’
Kohrad’s reply elicited only a curt nod; General Gaur was rigorous in his duty and would naturally expect every Menin soldier to follow the regulations, whether they were troops of the line or quartermaster clerks, on duty or off.
The gate, an oval aperture ten feet high, served as the mouth for the lion’s head carved into the rock. It stood half open. A few soldiers squatted by the fire, one slowly turning a spit with the carcass of a goat speared on it. As the horsemen approached, another soldier came through the open side of the gate. He paused and peered out into the gloom, then barked at the men around the fire. They jumped up, scrambling for their weapons. Sparks scattered as someone kicked one of the logs and spread a tongue of fiery shards over the stone steps. Styrax grimaced as he heard a sound escape Kohrad’s lips.
Mikiss responded by pulling back his sleeve once again and holding his arm up high. Whether they could see the brass vambrace glinting in the firelight was hard to judge, but they all recognised the gesture. None of the soldiers drew a bow or nocked an arrow, but they did shuffle into some semblance of order, in case Mikiss turned out to be someone important.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ called the man who’d spotted them first. His voice was rough, his accent Menin.
‘You have a message for General Dev,’ murmured Styrax. Mikiss repeated the words.
‘Piss on your message,’ the man shouted back, his hand creeping to his sword as the party continued closer. Styrax guessed he was the company lieutenant. ‘Lord Salen said we were to admit no one, not even Lord Styrax himself, without word from the Adepts of Larat in advance.’
They were less than forty yards away. The soldiers began to drift forward instinctively; one swung an axe up onto his shoulder. Styrax could make out their uniforms now; the white tunics with multi-coloured stripes on each sleeve identified them as Guards of the Hidden Tower, Salen’s personal legions. They were rightly feared: they were loyal enough to carry out any orders without question, and the Adepts of Larat put less value on human life than a troll would. Even if they were the dregs of the legion, trusted only to stand guard here while the rest fought elsewhere, they would be tough enough -for most soldiers, that was.
‘I have permission. Lord Salen himself sent me with a message. I have it here in my bag.’ Mikiss’ voice sounded uncertain, but as the horsemen closed, the guards could see clearly that he was a real army messenger.
‘Leave your guards and approach.’
‘Leave my guards?’
‘That’s what I said. Stop where you are and dismount. Approach on foot.’
‘That’s enough, I think,’ muttered Styrax. ‘Mikiss, break off.’
The messenger wheeled his horse sharply to the left. For a moment the soldiers followed him with their eyes. Styrax kicked his spurs into the flanks of his horse and as he drew Kobra, startled faces flashed back to him. He saw recognition blossom in the eyes of the lieutenant. Kohrad howled at his side as they raced together into the group of men. The first man to die didn’t even raise his weapon as Styrax’s wide fanged blade cut down. His men were the best of the Cheme Legion; they were close on his heels, their long-handled axes hacking down at the lightly armoured infantry, moving in perfect harmony as they had a hundred times in the past.
Those with more sense fled into the stonedun, desperately trying to pull the heavy door closed behind them, but Kohrad slipped from his saddle and ran for the entrance himself. He threw his sword at the man trying to pull it shut, spearing him in a burst of yellow light, then leapt into the gap to stop the massive door on its inward swing. One man, seeing the white-eye had no sword, turned back and attacked him, but Kohrad dodged out of the way of the falling axe, then twisted back to grab the weapon, pulling the soldier off-balance.
Kohrad shoved the door open again to disentangle his foot, then snapped a kick into the man’s ribs, knocking him over. A second soldier ran forward as Kohrad tugged the axe blade free and spun it upwards with a flourish to catch his attacker under the chin.
In a matter of seconds it was over and stillness returned. Styrax surveyed his troops and gave an approving nod. The Reavers were unparalleled throughout the Land, but most of them were white-eyes and they were actively encouraged to be wild. These Cheme troops were normal men -albeit many were far from
normal
-but discipline was as valuable as strength. He could trust these men to be swift and neat. Without an order spoken, they had dropped from their horses and started to drag the bodies inside. Styrax looked around and realised that Kohrad had disappeared. He opened his mouth to ask Gaur to fetch the unpredictable youth when the boy appeared again, sword drawn and dripping with blood.
‘The guardroom is clear,’ Kohrad announced in a low, level tone. Styrax nodded briskly. His son was making a great effort to remain in control, and he wouldn’t insult him by remarking on it.
‘Good. Major, stay here with the men. I doubt anyone will come; if they do, deal with the matter or pull back. Gaur, Kohrad, with me.’
The major nodded and unsheathed his dagger to cut the colourful robes from one of the dead men: they might as well look the part. Styrax left the man to it and swept through the door. Speed was of the essence now. The Third Army was waiting outside the city for the signal to attack. The longer they waited, the greater the likelihood that Salen’s troops would discover them, losing them the element of surprise. As he moved silently up the stone steps, he heard frightened whispers. Ahead of him was a sharp turn - anyone hearing the fight outside would no doubt be waiting there to see who came up the stairs. They would be expecting an assassination, a quick death in the night for the talismanic general instead of an execution that would likely spark a riot.
Styrax checked his pace as he reached the corner, in case an axe was going to be swung blind, then shot round it. A grunt of surprise preceded a heavy spear being thrust forward. Styrax, ready, grabbed the shaft and tugged hard, pulling the youth from the shadows. Gaur, close behind as always, slammed a hairy fist into the unprotected forearm holding the spear. The youth yelped and dropped the weapon, trying to scramble back until he realised the bestial general had him by the scruff of the neck.
‘You’ll do,’ muttered Styrax. He took the boy from Gaur and gave him a shake. Startled, fearful eyes stared up at the huge white-eye as the boy froze. ‘You understand me?’ Styrax demanded in Chetse.
The youth flinched then opened his mouth to speak. Unable to find words, he nodded hurriedly.
‘That was a foolish thing to do. Lord Salen would have used it as an excuse. Lucky for you that you just tried to run me through instead of one of his men, wouldn’t you say?’ Styrax smelled an acrid smell rise up from the boy, who looked to be less than thirteen summers -too young to join the army, too young to have developed the muscle a Chetse warrior needed. He smiled and put the boy down, then removed his helm and let the boy see his face, instead of the unnervingly angelic aspect of Karkarn etched into the face-plate.
‘I want you to do something for me, boy,’ he said. ‘Did you hear what happened at the gate?’
The boy managed a nod.
‘That was us killing the men who’ve been guarding you. They were going to wait until dawn, and then kill the general. Are you related to General Dev?’
Again, he got a nod. In a dry rasp, the boy said, ‘He’s my great-uncle, sir.’
Styrax thought it sounded strange to hear the Chetse tongue in a high girlish voice. It sounded lighter, more poetic than he’d suspected -until now, he’d only heard it spoken by soldiers. ‘I thought as much. What’s your name, boy?’
‘Esech, sir.’
‘And you know who I am?’
The boy nodded, unable to say the words.
‘Esech, I gave no orders for the general to be killed, nor for many of the other things Lord Salen has done in the city since I’ve been gone. Do you know what I do to men who don’t follow orders?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now tell me whether there are any more Menin in the stonedun.’
‘Only four, sir; two in Uncl—in the general’s chamber and two at the door.’
‘Thank you, Esech. We’re going to go and free your great-uncle now. I want to talk to him a while.’
‘You’re—Are you going to kill him?’
‘No, I’m not. You believe me, don’t you?’
The boy froze, unsure, incapable of saying to this huge white-eye’s face that he disbelieved the Menin lord. After a moment he lowered his eyes and nodded.
‘Good. Now go back to your family’s rooms and tell your family that in a few minutes the stonedun won’t have any guards. That means you will be able to do what you like, but it’s not going to be much fun on the streets tonight. I suggest you all stay quiet and safe. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then nod once more if I just keep on going up this main stair to reach the general’s chambers, and go back to your rooms.’ Styrax watched the boy bob quickly and scramble away. He straightened and replaced his helm.
‘Right, no unnecessary commotion here. Kohrad, take Gaur’s crossbows and go ahead. You can see well enough to get both guards?’
Kohrad nodded and sheathed his own sword, the flames from the blade licking at the gold band on the scabbard for another heartbeat before dissipating. He accepted one of Gaur’s crossbows, loaded it with ease as the general did the other, then turned and began padding softly up the steps, both crossbows levelled and ready. Styrax followed close behind, weaving a simple spell to bind the tunnel’s shadows around his son.
The darkly flickering armour melted into the murky surrounds and Kohrad turned up the last corridor without hesitation. Styrax caught sight of the two drowsy, bored guards over his son’s shoulder only just before Kohrad shot them, one following the other so swiftly that the second man didn’t even have time to see why his companion had grunted before a bolt hit him in the throat. Styrax stepped over the corpses to the closed iron-bound door.
More sloppiness
, he thought to himself as he realised the door was too thick to allow the sound to travel.
I would hope for better from my own army than this. Don’t tell me they let the old man claim he’d catch a chill and allowed their numbers to be divided the night before he was damn well scheduled for execution? Haven’t they even contemplated someone attempting a rescue?
He drew a breath and hefted Kobra. The strange, fanged blade was pitch-black colour - except after it had killed, when it took on a deep red sheen. Styrax had always considered it a hateful weapon, too eager to drink the blood of those he killed. Unfortunately, that also made it the most powerful sword he’d come across, with the exception of that wielded by Koezh Vukotic, the last weapon forged by the Elf king Aryn Bwr, which was filled with the last king’s grief at the assassination of his son.
Styrax could have taken that sword as he watched Koezh Vukotic’s corpse putrefy and disintegrate, but it had rejected him. There was not enough loss in his soul, he suspected. After he’d touched the blade with his scarred hand, Styrax hadn’t wanted it either -so much pain would eat its way into a man, and that power was not worth the high price demanded. A long time ago he had been told that he would have to take everything he had, that nothing would be given freely to the Saviour he was to become. That suited Styrax, even after he’d rejected the dubious honour. He had earned his ‘gifts’, and bore no debt to the Gods because of them.
Kicking the door off its hinges, Styrax stormed dramatically into the room, almost colliding with the guard who had jumped up from his chair and was still fumbling for his sword. Styrax scanned the room quickly, then swung Kobra up to meet the second soldier’s axe which was crashing down towards his hip. The force of his blow drove the man back and Styrax stepped away to give himself space to swing his broadsword properly, removing the man’s head in a shower of blood and shattered bone. The other guard had regained his feet, but he barely had time to raise his own weapon before he found himself spitted on Styrax’s sword. The magical blade pierced the centre of his cuirass and pinned him, whimpering, to the wall. Stepping close, Styrax snapped the man’s neck to finish him off quickly, and left the sword jammed in the stone, feeding greedily.
He took stock of the living: two women cowered near the bed, obviously terrified, while a young unarmed Chetse soldier by the window looked almost frozen on the point of running forward. Styrax ignored them all and walked to the bedside, where an elderly man had raised himself up on his elbows. His only reaction was to raise an eyebrow at the newcomer, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the thick grey bandage wrapped around his head.
‘Ah, General Dev,’ Styrax said graciously. ‘I hear you’re scheduled for execution in the morning.’
‘Lord Styrax.’ Chote Dev acknowledged his fellow soldier. ‘I had suspected as much -but it appears that is no longer the case.’