carrying something wrapped in a black winding cloth not unlike a shroud. They dumped their bundle at Jennesta's feet and looked up to her as though they were faithful curs bringing their mistress an outsized bone.
'Ah,' she said, 'the first fruit of my reforms.'
Rather than assign the task to her clumsy servers, she knelt and began to undo the sheet herself. What she revealed when she threw it open shocked Hacher to the core.
'Brother… Grentor?' he murmured, not entirely sure his identification was correct.
His uncertainty arose from the state of the cleric's corpse. It had been horribly mutilated, and to Hacher's disgust some parts of the body bore signs of having been gnawed upon. A perk allowed Jennesta's zombies, he suspected.
'You appear taken aback, General.'
'Of… of course I'm shaken. How did he come to this? Was he a victim of the rebels?' He added the latter in desperate hope that it was the explanation, as opposed to the only other alternative.
'No, he fell victim to me,' she informed him evenly, confirming his fear. 'The leadership of the Order has fallen into as parlous a state as the military. It was time for a change.'
'But this is surely too harsh a way to bring it about?'
'It's the only way.' She was talking through gritted teeth. 'I keep telling you: a demonstration of ruthlessness is the best remedy for keeping underlings in check. Why should I stand by and watch the Helix squabble and deliberate endlessly before they throw up another Grentor to take this weakling's place? Better that I decide the matter swiftly, with a lesson for them as part of the bargain.'
There was another rap at the door. But this was a proper knock, brisk and crisp.
'Come!' she called.
Hacher's aide, Frynt, entered, giving Jennesta a slight bow of his head as he came in.
The general was confounded to see him. 'Frynt? I thought you were occupied on the west side today.' There was no reply. Hacher's gaze flicked to Grentor's remains. 'I'm afraid the good brother has met a rather unfortunate — '
'Don't bother,' Jennesta said. 'He knows.'
'I… I don't understand, my lady.'
'Meet the new governor of the province of Acurial, and commander-in-chief of its army.'
'Am I to understand — '
'You are hereby relieved of all your duties and titles, Hacher. Frynt steps into your clumping boots.'
He turned to his erstwhile aide. 'Frynt? Is this so?'
'Sorry, sir.' He didn't look it. 'But a servant of the empire has a patriotic duty to stand up when called.'
'Or to further their own selfish interests. I thought you were loyal.'
'I am, sir. To the emp — ' Jennesta caught his eye. 'To our lady Jennesta and the empire. There is no personal dimension involved.'
'How could you condone this?' Hacher indicated Grentor's body. 'In what warped view can it be considered a positive act?'
'The lady Jennesta has convinced me of the need for change, and for that change to be instigated with a certain… vigour.'
'I thought better of you, Frynt. You disappoint me.'
'Then you know how I feel about you,' Jennesta told him. 'There's no point in arguing. Let's save your breath, shall we?'
'Argue I most certainly will, my lady. I'll take this high-handed deed to the ears of the highest in Peczan. If I'm to be sent home in disgrace — '
'Oh no, General; you're not going home. I have a much more useful role for you.'
Her zombie slaves had positioned themselves as the living spoke. Now at her signal they moved in with surprising speed and seized the deposed general. He cried out, protested and cursed, but they held him fast.
Jennesta approached the struggling figure, her hands raised preparatory to casting a glamour. 'As I said,' she intoned, 'let's save your breath.'
Frynt watched, stunned. He hadn't known this was going to happen, let alone that he would be obliged to witness the general's fate.
The horror of it gave him an inkling of what it would be like serving his new mistress.
When Hacher started screaming, Frynt closed his eyes.
11
By the end of the third week of the uprising proper, with the ranks of the resistance growing still further, the balance of power started to radically shift. As the Peczan military suffered daily trouncings by armed insurgents, and civil disobedience became widespread, a tipping point was reached. The invaders, until so recently masters of a conquered land, were on the back foot.
Although it was a change the rebels had worked, hoped and died for, even the most optimistic of them were stunned by the speed with which it came about. Ever-larger sections of the population shed their former meekness to reveal the inherent fighting spirit that had lain buried for so long. Their pent-up grievance drove a thirst for freedom, and, inspired by the radiant presence of Grilan-Zeat, they unleashed a savagery unlike any the humans had faced before.
It was around this time, when fighting was at its most intense, that Wheam took the first small step towards redeeming himself.
He had performed competently in the clashes he was allowed to take part in. Or at least he hadn't brought a major disaster down on the warband's heads or got himself killed. Though nor had he managed to slay, wound or greatly inconvenience any of the enemy. Nevertheless it became almost a matter of routine to include him in missions, under the watchful eye of Dallog and other more experienced band members.
The Wolverines had been allotted a role in a raid on a house where army officers were billeted. It didn't go to plan. Due to foresight on the part of the authorities, or possibly because of an informant, a company of soldiers had been concealed nearby. What should have been a clean hit-and-run attack turned into a pitched battle in one of the few street markets still functioning in the capital. In the process the band was scattered, and Coilla, Haskeer and Wheam found themselves sheltering in a narrow, foul-smelling alley off the main highway.
Haskeer was less than pleased to be stuck with the novice. 'Get in here!' he growled, pulling Wheam back from the alley's mouth. 'You wanna lose your fucking head to an arrow? Not that I should care.'
'Sorry,' the young one replied tremulously.
'Go easy on him,' Coilla said. 'He's still cutting his teeth, remember.'
'Wish he was cutting his damn throat. And what's with this?' He slapped at the lute Wheam had strapped to his back. 'What the hell you doing bringing a thing like that to a fight?'
'It's the only way I can be sure not to lose it,' Wheam explained, 'what with us always moving safe houses and — '
'Yeah, yeah. Should have known you'd have some bullshit reason. Just keep it out of my face.'
'Is it clearing out there?' Coilla asked.
Haskeer poked his head round the corner. 'Looks like it.'
'Shall we make a break?'
'Yeah. Our lot are somewhere down on the right.' He turned to Wheam. 'That's that way.' He jabbed his thumb rightward. ''Case it's too hard for you to work out.'
'Soon as we're out of here, Wheam, just run,' Coilla told him. 'Fast.'
He nodded.
'Ready?' Haskeer said. 'Right. Three… two… go!'
They came out of the alley at a dash, swerved right and started racing through the debris of the ruined market. There were overturned stalls and fallen orcs and humans among the trampled fruit and vegetables, broken pottery and strewn clothing.
Coilla looked back. 'We've company!'
