Return of the Crimson Guard

‘What next?’ Hurl asked.

Silk waved to the darkness. ‘This way.’ An object ahead dimly separated itself from the surrounding shadow. It resolved into a circular ledge, then finally into the raised border of what appeared to be a common well. A chain of black iron descended from the darkness above, and on down into the well. It was constructed of enormous square links each as thick as Hurl's forearm. But of all these wonders what caught Hurl's eye were the two bright objects thrust through the opening of the link level with the top of the mortared stones of the well: two longswords, their blades spanning the diameter of the opening. It seemed to Hurl that to pull the swords would free the chain to continue its descent.

‘The last barrier,’ Silk said into the silence of them all gathered around studying the amazing arrangement. Or last link. Pull these and he is released.’

‘Where?’ Storo asked. ‘Released where? Into this room?’

‘Gods no!’ Silk laughed — more than a touch feverishly, Hurl thought. ‘Far below. He will be released to make his escape to the plains, north.’

‘Who can do it?’ Storo asked.

Silk waved a hand. ‘Oh, anyone strong enough, I imagine. But I wonder if you, Rell, might…’

The engraved visor turned to Storo who waved for him to do so if he wished. Rell stepped forward, studied the arrangement. Hurl looked to Silk — it seemed to her that there was more going on here than the mage was letting on. And Silk was now more animated than he'd been so far the entire evening; watching the Genabackan swordsman the mage's eyes glowed, his hands were fists at his sides. The three brothers, Hurl also noted, appeared uniformly sour, almost uncomfortable. She took a strange sort of reassurance from this.

Rell took firm hold of the grips, set one booted foot against the side of the well, and yanked. The first time nothing happened. Sunny snorted. Rell adjusted his grip, hunched his back. He yanked again. The screeching of iron on stone pierced Hurl's ears; she flinched, covering them. Finger's breadth by finger's breadth, the blades scraped towards Rell. Ominous rattling ran up and down the length of the chain above. Finally, with an explosive shattering of the stone, the tips fell. Rell was yanked forward, disappearing, and only the quick hands of Storo and Jalor at his thighs saved him. He straightened with the swords still in his hands, blades intact. The enormous length of chain, each link as large as a child's head, jangled and knocked, descending. Hurl felt the movement of something distant shuddering the ground beneath her feet. Dust sifted down around them. She brushed it from her hair and shoulders.

‘It is done,’ Silk exhaled into the dark. ‘He will have to dig a long distance but that won't stop him.’

No one spoke. The chamber was quiet but for the distant rumbling. Storo rubbed a hand down his stubbled jowls. ‘Let's go, then. We've been away for damn long enough.’

‘Aye,’ Sunny ground out, and he spat into the well.

Walking away, Rell admired the blades still in his hands. ‘You should use them,’ Silk said. ‘I think you'll find them…’ his voice trailed off into silence.

Hurl turned to the mage. ‘What is it?’

Silk raised a pale hand for silence. Hurl listened, straining.

Something… sounds from behind them, from the well. Words? The hair at her neck and forearms stirred as Hurl recognized the sounds for hoarse, growled Talian, distorted, but understandable, echoing up the pit of the well:

‘Those who free me,

be my enemies.

Those who enslave me,

kneel to me.

When the end of all things comes,

as surely it does,

on which scale stand you?

In the final balance

And the accounting?’

A long low chuckle, more a panting than a laugh, followed. Hurl sought out Silk's gaze but the mage's eyes were resolutely downcast. The three brothers, however, grinned insanely at everyone.

‘Let's get out of here,’ Storo rumbled.

CHAPTER V

Only the dead should be certain of anything.

A scholar's ancient warning, Jacuruku

‘Ships, uncle! A convoy of ships!’ Nevall Od’ Orr's nephew called from outside the tent. Nevall Od’ Orr, once Chief Factor of Cawn, gagged on the mouthful of chewed charcoal he used for ink as he sat attempting to bring his books up to date. In a fit of coughing he clutched the edges of his high table.

‘Ships, uncle!’ his nephew shouted again.

The factor took a drink from a cup, rinsed and spat on to the bare dirt floor. ‘What of it?’ He drew his blankets tighter about himself.

‘They fly the Imperial sceptre!’

‘Wonderful. Yet another fleet to sack us. Will they take our hoard of turnips, I wonder?’

‘You have turnips?’

Nevall slammed shut his scorched book. Sighing, he rubbed his blackened hands across the back of his neck. ‘I suppose I should go down and grovel picturesquely. Perhaps she'll toss me a copper moon. I wonder if I am attired appropriately to receive an Empress?’

Nevall listened, arms open. Silence. He hung his head, ‘Lout.’

He stepped down gingerly on to the damp dirt ground, crossed to the front flaps and peeked out. Downhill, over the blackened ribs of burnt Cawn, a rag-tag flotilla of ships of all sizes and ages was filling the harbour. Now she comes. Still, better than if she had come before the mercenaries. They had at least a small chance to recoup their losses. He sniffed the air and wondered if any of the day's catch was left. He should send his other nephew for a fish.

‘Nevall Od’ Orr.’

He stiffened then, slowly turned. A man occupied the rear of the tent, nondescript in a loose dark shirt and trousers. Nevall inclined his chin in greeting, shuffled back to his table. He tore a pinch from a dark loaf and popped it into his mouth. ‘Ranath. It's been a while. The Claw, now, is it? I've lost track of all the changes.’

A shrug. ‘It's all the same shell game.’ Ranath straightened the front fold of his shirt. ‘Listen, Nevall. She's here. She means to wipe this League and the Guard from the face of the continent, but…’ and he opened his hands, ‘… she needs the funds to do it. Lots of funds.’

A burst of cackled laughter. Nevall opened his arms wide to gesture all around. ‘She's welcome to all of it — even the blanket from my back.’

Ranath's lazy gaze did not waver. ‘Come, come, Nevall. The spies you have placed everywhere report to us as well. The Guard took everything not nailed down. Horses, oxen, cattle, goats, wagons, carts, preserves, flour, rice, pots, timber, rope, nails. Everything. Everything, that is, except…’ he raised a hand and turned it over to reveal a gold coin. ‘Except cash.’ He tossed the coin from hand to hand, his eyes on Nevall. ‘They didn't find the vaults of the trading houses, did they?’ He snapped the coin from the air, opened the hand to show its empty palm. ‘You know, I wonder if they even knew to ask for them? Now there's an irony — charitable mercenaries.’

The pointed tip of Nevall's tongue edged out to wet his lips. ‘Now, Ranath. Let's not be hasty here. We back the Empress, of course. The Empire was ever superb for business. But,’ he shrugged his bony shoulders beneath the thin blanket, ‘our hands are tied — it's all spoken for. You know that.’

Ranath sighed. He raised his gaze to the tent ceiling while he searched for words. ‘Nevall… how shall I put