Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (9 page)

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ asked Yarrick, also sensing something was amiss.

‘Wait here,’ Rag said, moving towards a derelict chapel building across the street from the tavern.

It was one of those old buildings, some place of worship for the Old Gods long since abandoned. They built them high back in those days, and Rag was hoping it would give her a decent enough vantage point to see what was going on.

The climb didn’t take long; the old stonework provided enough handholds for her to reach the top in no time. On the roof she could see out across most of the city, from the blackened seawall to the south all the way to the River Gate and beyond to the north.

Rag’s grip on the stonework tightened. At the curtain wall all along the northern battlements stood a mass of armoured men, all looking out to the plain beyond. Past them, filling the plain, was a massive horde moving towards the city. Torches shone in the night, showing their numbers, showing the mass of savages moving on Steelhaven. Amongst the horde were huge machines – catapults, siege towers, battering rams and things Rag didn’t even know the names for – all moving south like there weren’t nothing that could stop them.

She watched for as long as she dared before she realised her mouth was hanging open and her fingers were starting to hurt they were gripping the stone so tight. Almost as quick as she’d climbed she made it to the ground where Yarrick was waiting.

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What’s happening?’

She stared up at him, hands shaking from the climb and the fear.

‘We need to get a frigging move on, is what’s happening.’

F
orty thousand screaming, braying Khurtic bastards were massed outside the city, making all the noise in the hells. Merrick sat on his horse facing the deathly racket they were making, with nothing between him and them but a hundred yards of dark, grassy plain.

He had to admit, he’d spent better evenings having the shit kicked out of him in Dockside taverns.

The horse whickered beneath him, stamping its foot nervously. Merrick patted it reassuringly but it seemed to do little good.

You think you’re bloody nervous? I had plans – ambitions. What did you have other than a nosebag in front and a pile of shit behind?

Beside him, to the left, sat Tannick. They hadn’t spoken but it was obvious the old man wanted to keep him close, maybe to look after him and make sure he’d be able to take that bloody sword one day, or maybe just to make sure he didn’t bring shame on the Wyvern Guard and the family name. Either way, Merrick took some strange solace from the fact his father was nearby.

The Wyvern Guard had ridden out as the Khurtas arrived. A few hundred men on horseback trotting out to face a horde of forty thousand. The savages were arrayed against them now, just standing there screaming, four hundred yards from the city wall. Every now and again a Khurtic archer would take a pot shot at them, his arrow whistling overhead or clanging against a shield, but other than that they were happy just to stand and shout. Of the great Amon Tugha there was no sign, and Merrick took no small reassurance from that. Howling savages he could just about stomach – an immortal giant from the Riverlands might well have been a foe too far.

‘See them?’ Tannick yelled above the din. ‘They’ve come to take this city. Come to prove they’re the hardest, deadliest bastards in all the corners of the world. Look at them.’ He pointed, his arm sweeping from left to right as he took in the whole Khurtic front line. As he did so an arrow whistled past the winged helm on his head, but Tannick never flinched. ‘They’ve come south to prove their might. To prove they’re the greatest killers the Free States have ever seen. And we’re going to prove them wrong.’

This time it was the turn of the Wyvern Guard to howl. Merrick had to admit, his father’s words stirred him a bit, but he still couldn’t bring himself to join in with their cheering.

From within the mass of Khurtas a figure came forward holding aloft a banner. He pushed his way through and planted it in front of the Khurtic lines, as though taunting his enemies with his prize. Through the gloom, Merrick could see the banner bore a red dragon on a yellow field, despite how burned and grimy it was. The standard of Dreldun, there in the hands of the bastard enemy. Merrick had never considered himself a patriot; most of the time he couldn’t care less about loyalty to kings and countries, but seeing that standard in the hands of some foreign savage made him want to spit his ire. They’d come down from their steppes to the north and raped and murdered and burned their way south. That standard was a symbol of the carnage they’d left in their wake, of the innocents slaughtered needlessly. Even Merrick couldn’t let that stand.

Tannick spurred his horse, gripping his reins tight and riding forward a few yards. More arrows flew but missed their target.

‘Whoreson!’ Tannick bellowed above the din. Merrick saw Cormach look up, staring eagerly from beneath his helm as the Lord Marshal pointed at the Khurtic horde. ‘Bring me that flag.’

Cormach said something as he drew his sword, along the lines of
about fucking time
, but Merrick couldn’t make it out exactly. Then he spurred his horse. The steed reared then set off at a gallop, clear of the Wyvern Guard line and headed straight towards forty thousand Khurtas.

Merrick watched wide eyed. It was either the bravest thing he’d ever seen or the most insane.

Never get you doing anything like that, would they, Ryder? You stay in the crowd; you watch your own back. Don’t bother risking your life for anyone.

Cormach galloped at the enemy, arrows peppering the ground at his horse’s feet. The front line of Khurtas began yelling in a frenzy, as though they were shouting encouragement, waiting for the moment they could kill one of these defiant, arrogant Wyvern Guard.

He’s going to die. He’ll be cut down in a hail of arrows or a storm of blades and you get to sit here and watch. But then, you never liked that fucker anyway.

Merrick found himself gripping his reins the tighter, felt his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. Found his stomach begin to tighten with excitement as he watched Cormach Whoreson riding to the most glorious death he would ever witness.

Don’t even think about it, Ryder. You’re not cut out for any of that bravery shit. You’re a self-serving coward and everyone knows it. What do you think you’ll prove by getting yourself killed?

His sword rang from its sheath. It felt good in his hand. Felt hungry.
He
felt hungry. Before he knew what he was doing, Merrick had put spurs to his steed’s flanks and was yelling at the top of his voice. What he said he had no idea, it could have been something about the glory of the Wyvern Guard, could have been unintelligible nonsense. Either way it pushed the fear aside as his horse hit a gallop and he pressed his heels down so as not to be bucked from the saddle.

Someone shouted behind him. Was it Tannick? Were they words of encouragement? More likely words of admonishment for being such an idiot. Whatever they were, Merrick ignored them as he galloped across that empty plain, riding after a madman and into the face of countless savage killers intent on mounting his head on a spear.

What the fuck are you doing, Ryder? You’re going to die!

Merrick gritted his teeth, the shield on his arm slapping against his thigh, the sword in his hand pointed forward at the enemy.

Up ahead he could see Cormach had almost reached the line. The Khurta standing at the forefront with the flag of Dreldun was beckoning him forward, screaming from the bottom of his lungs. Cormach flung his shield over his shoulder, and Merrick could see the mass of arrows protruding from it. As he got within ten yards of the Khurtic line, a group of savages ran forward, spears at the ready. Cormach tore at his reins, turning his steed and halting its gallop right in front of the standard bearer. A swipe of his sword silenced the screaming Khurta, who dropped to the ground in silence. Before the standard of Dreldun could fall, Cormach snatched it up with his free hand.

Spears thrust up at him, but Cormach’s sword arm seemed to predict every wayward strike, slapping them aside with a chorus of metallic rings. He kicked his horse and it backed away, seeming to obey its rider’s commands instinctually.

Merrick continued his gallop. He’d stopped screaming now, his voice gone hoarse. It would have done him no good anyway; the noise echoing from the massed ranks of Khurtas had drowned him out several yards back.

The sword still felt eager in his hand. His need to strike – to prove himself to his father, the Wyvern Guard and most of all to this mad bastard Cormach – had overcome him completely.

Before Merrick could reach the enemy, though, Cormach had put spurs to his horse once more. It bucked, leaping away from the Khurtic spears, and raced back towards the city.

By now the Khurtas had bellowed for more archers to the front, and a hail of arrows followed in Cormach’s wake. Merrick slowed his mount, raising his shield, as black shafts slammed down all around him. Two pierced the shield, another sliding off his horse’s barding. When he looked up from behind the shield, he saw Cormach was almost upon him.

‘Wrong way, you fucking idiot,’ Cormach shouted as he galloped past.

Merrick reined his horse around and followed as best he could.

Well done, Ryder. You’ve just made yourself look a complete prat. But don’t worry, it’s doubtful anyone has noticed.

Cormach was yards ahead as more arrows rained around them. Over the bellowing of the Khurtas, Merrick suddenly heard an inhuman squeal as Cormach’s steed went down, a black arrow protruding from its flank. Cormach fell rolling with his horse, the standard of Dreldun spilling from his grip.

Merrick pulled hard on his reins, halting his mount as Cormach stood groggily, his helmet lost as he looked around desperately for the standard.

‘Come on,’ yelled Merrick, holding his hand out.

Cormach ignored him, retrieving the standard from where it lay and glancing back to the Khurtic line. Two more arrows hissed into the dirt at his feet and he held the standard out to Merrick.

‘Take it,’ he said. There was no fear there, no doubt; as if he was ready to stand and die. As if a flag was more important than his life.

‘Get on the horse,’ Merrick yelled, unable to quell the panic in his voice. ‘Before we’re fucking shot!’

Cormach stared back at him as more arrows flew overhead. He looked up with contempt, like he realised Merrick was saving his life and would rather have let the Khurtas gut him than suffer that indignity.

Just as Merrick was about to kick his horse and leave the mad bastard, Cormach grasped his outstretched hand and vaulted up behind him.

The screams of the Khurtas grew louder as they saw their quarry riding away. More arrows slammed into the earth all around but it was clear they didn’t have a decent archer among them. Merrick kicked his horse harder, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the Khurtas as he could until eventually he made it back to the row of Wyvern Guard, his breath coming as fast as his steed’s.

He reined his horse in before Tannick, staring at his father who glared from beneath his winged helm. Up on the wall he could see men cheering, raising their swords and bows in victory, as if they’d just hacked the head from Amon Tugha himself. Merrick paid them little attention, too intent on his father’s reaction. ‘I want you close,’ he’d said. ‘No harm must come to you,’ he’d said. Well, Merrick had certainly done a shit job of paying attention to that.

Cormach jumped down from the horse and presented the Dreldunese banner to the Lord Marshal, who took it in his hand and regarded it reverently for a moment, before thrusting it above his head.

‘Right, lads,’ he shouted. ‘I think that’s proved our point.’

With that he swung his horse around and headed back towards the Stone Gate.

Merrick could feel his heart almost beating out of his chest, the blood pumping in his ears. As he followed his father he realised his hands were shaking and he tightened his grip on the reins of his horse to try and stop them.

Pleased with yourself, Ryder? Now that you’ve proven you’re as crazy as the rest of them?

Despite feeling elated at what he’d just done, he was still relieved they were entering the city once more. Having almost come face to face with the entire Khurtic horde, he was glad there was ten foot thick of curtain wall holding them back. He might have proven his worth to the Wyvern Guard, might have risked his life for a flag on a stick, but he still didn’t want to die just yet.

As he rode through the gate the cheers were almost deafening. Men chanted the name of the Wyvern Guard and for the first time Merrick could see the method behind his father’s madness. News of their deed would spread across the wall and through the city. The Khurtas had been robbed of their prize. They could be beaten. And the Wyvern Guard hadn’t had to charge valiantly into their ranks to prove it.

Before he’d realised it, Merrick had pulled his horse up to a halt beside his father’s. Tannick glanced across at him, and Merrick saw that the old man looked none too pleased.

But what were you expecting, Ryder? Hug and a kiss? For him to ask you if everything was all right? If those nasty Khurtas nicked you with their horrible arrows?

‘I told you to stay beside me, boy,’ said Tannick. ‘You just risked your life needlessly.’

‘Yes, Lord Marshal, but—’

‘But nothing. Defy me again and I’ll have you flogged. No matter how short of men we are.’

‘Yes, Lord Marshal.’

‘Other than that, good work.’

Merrick let that hang there for a moment, almost failing to recognise his father’s acknowledgement. ‘Good work?’

Tannick barked a laugh. ‘Of course, good work. Cormach would be dead if not for you. The banner of Dreldun lost. I’d have had to send more men if he’d fallen. You showed bravery. Initiative. You did well, boy.’ Tannick leaned over on his saddle, his warm look disappeared. ‘But never disobey me again.’

‘I won’t,’ Merrick replied. ‘But it was Cormach who rode to the Khurtic line. He won the banner. If anyone should be commended for his bravery it’s him.’