Fourth moon, night, day forty of the siege
King Gate, eastern wall, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘Need any help?’
Galtas leapt to his feet and spun, drawing his sword as he did. It wasn’t one of the Personals, wasn’t anyone he recognised. His heart pounded; he’d been in this city far too fucking long. He was losing his nerve.
Just a couple more days.
‘Whoa, whoa, not a threat.’ The stranger laughed, his hands up away from his weapons. ‘Gods, you jumped like I was a bloody Mireces.’
Galtas slid his blade away and eyed the otherwise empty courtyard. The East Tower defenders were locked up tight at the top, keeping a watch for flankers trying for the King Gate.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked and the man’s smile faltered.
‘I’m manning the south wall in a few hours, but for now I’m just trying to work the stiffness out of my legs. I could barely fucking move when I woke up.’ He glanced past Galtas at the locked gate securing the mouth of a tunnel. ‘Where’s that go?’
‘All the way under the walls to the palace. Royal family’s emergency escape.’ The man whistled. ‘Look, I really have to get on,’ Galtas added, praying the idiot in front of him didn’t pay too much attention to the gate itself.
‘Oh, sure, sure. Mind if I walk with you? Name’s Ash, by the way. Like I said, I’ll be on the wall later, so anything to take my mind off that is perfect. I was here once before, you know, start of the year, with a Rank officer. Didn’t get much time for sightseeing then.’
‘Now isn’t time for it, either,’ Galtas said, frustrated, as he hurried through the livestock district. Lorca had sent word the Mireces were through the southern stump wall and massing for an assault on the gate; if he could get a message to them, his half-formed plan would fall into place.
‘Suppose not,’ Ash said, though he craned his neck and peered into every alley and shop front they passed, long legs easily keeping pace. ‘So how long have you served the king? Ah, sorry, didn’t catch your name.’
‘Didn’t give it,’ Galtas grunted. ‘Simon. Name’s Simon. And three years.’
‘Bet you’ve seen more action in the last weeks than all those three years, eh? Same for me, for all of us. Mace called and we answered, but we didn’t expect … this. Few border skirmishes, few dead on each side, that we know, we understand, but this? This is like nothing I’ve ever seen.’
‘You’re a Wolf,’ Galtas said and the man nodded. ‘Only heard rumours what happened to you and the West. Hasn’t really been much time for swapping news, if you know what I mean.’ They reached the district gate and Galtas’s uniform got them through into the temple district.
‘Well, we won at the Blood Pass Valley, that much you must know,’ Ash said, his voice low as the sound of chanted prayers rose from the holy places around them, ‘but the fuckers had a second army – the one outside – and they used it to slaughter everyone in Watchtown, everyone in Pine Lock, everyone in Shingle. The people of Yew Cove survived by betraying us, tricking us down into their smugglers’ tunnels. Then the Mireces in charge of the townsfolk smashed the dam and did their best to drown us all. Those that made it out, well, let’s just say it’s personal now. We spent a couple of weeks resting, healing as best we could, then made our way here. We came as soon as we could, whatever you might have heard to the contrary.’
Galtas nodded. ‘Sounds bad.’
Ash snorted. ‘Understatement.’
‘And the last time you were here?’ he asked. Not that he cared, but the Wolf gave a little more credence to his disguise as a Personal.
Ash grinned and Galtas saw something else, something more than respect, light his face for a second. ‘Came in with a Ranker named Crys Tailorson. He’d seen what that traitorous bastard Rivil had done to his brother. He faked his own death and came here to warn Durdil and Rastoth. Turns out Rivil and his man Galtas were here, and we got in and out under their very noses.’
Galtas halted, and Ash stopped and turned as well. ‘Crys Tailorson was here?’
‘Aye, and he’s here again now. Promoted to major too, by Durdil himself no less.’
Galtas grunted and raised one hand to stroke the hole where his eye used to be. Crys would recognise him in an instant if they met, eye patch or no.
Good. About fucking time I ended that cunt.
‘Oh,’ Ash suddenly breathed, and Galtas saw the precise moment when it clicked, when he made the connection between the name and the man standing before him. They were in the middle of the temple quarter, far from either district gate and their attendant guards.
Ash slid his left foot back a little, casual but only a breath away from a fighting stance. He glanced back up the street. ‘Why did you say you were checking that gate to the palace … Simon?’
Galtas shrugged, his own left foot moving. ‘I didn’t. Something on your mind?’
‘I heard a lot about Rivil and his assassin from Crys,’ Ash said, hand drifting to the axe on his belt. ‘Crys was pissed, see, about what they’d done to Janis. I got more detail than I cared for, every encounter, every moment of their time together. Of course, in all that, I got a good impression of what they looked like as well.’
The axe came out of his belt and Galtas’s sword slid free of its scabbard. ‘You thought taking off your eye patch would be enough, Lord Morellis?’ Ash asked, a long knife in his other hand. His knees flexed and he dropped into stance, moonlight limning the wicked head of the axe.
Galtas laughed. ‘I’ve been in this city nearly three weeks and no one’s recognised me. You’ve never even met me. How did you do it?’
‘Arrogant, missing one eye, other one green, black hair, breath stinks like shit. But mostly, it was the look of absolute hate that crossed your face when I mentioned Crys, and the anger that he’d been here and you missed him. You shouldn’t let your emotions get the better of you, Milord Galtas. Dangerous in a fight.’
‘I shall have to learn to mask my feelings better,’ Galtas said, and lunged. Ash blocked with the haft of his axe and thrust with the knife, aiming for the armpit. He was tall, his reach long, and the point was raking cloth before Galtas slid away. He didn’t have a shield, so he pulled out one of his knives to even the odds.
They circled in the temple square, the night silent but for the prayers drifting on the wind and the clash of steel, stamp and slide of feet, grunts of effort. The Wolf was good, using the axe head to hook Galtas’s knife when it came for him and jerking it wide, slipping by the sword so close it skirled across the back of his armoured shoulder. His knife punched into Galtas’s gut, was turned by the stolen breastplate, and slid off. Before he could recover, Galtas flicked his wrist and the sword sliced into Ash’s left elbow. Ash grunted and skipped back on his left foot, axe and knife both chopping down, knife to deflect the sword, axe to take Galtas’s hand off at the wrist.
It was faster than he could blink, but Galtas moved without thought, dropping his right hand to avoid the axe, the left curving up and then down, punching the knife in the man’s back just above his shoulder. He caught the edge of the chainmail, but then the tip bit deep. Very deep.
Ash roared, but the axe was still moving. Having met no resistance when Galtas lowered his hand, the arc continued through until the blade slammed home. Galtas screamed as white-hot lightning earthed itself in his right knee. Ash ripped the axe free as Galtas pulled his knife from the Wolf’s back and they separated, staggering, bleeding, spitting curses. In a city constant with the sounds of battle, no one marked their duel among the temples.
‘You cunt-fuck little bastard!’ Galtas howled, his right leg shuddering beneath him, threatening to dump him in the street. Pain pulsed, sending waves of nausea through his gut and chest. ‘I’ll suck your fucking eyes out for that.’
Ash grinned, but it was a rictus of agony and his right arm hung by his side, the axe slack in his fingers from whatever damage Galtas’s knife in his back had dealt. He beckoned with a bloody hand. ‘Come on, then.’
He held his ground, and Galtas knew he’d have to go to him if he wanted to end it. He’d never outrun him, not with a shattered kneecap. Part of him was surprised he was even still standing. ‘My feet are on the Path,’ he muttered, and hobbled forward, gasping each time his right foot took his weight.
Ash tapped his fingertips to his heart and readied his knife. The axe came up slow, the head wobbling about in a trembling hand, and the old scar on his face stood out purple against the pallor of pain and blood loss.
Galtas lunged on the cross-step, when his weight was on his strong left leg. The Wolf batted it down with the axe and then jabbed the flat of the head into Galtas’s face; his knife deflected it and even as Ash’s own knife clattered into the sword and knocked it down again, Galtas stepped through, screaming, on his right leg and brought the knife around back-handed to shear into his jaw.
Ash’s weapons fell from nerveless fingers and he went over backwards, making no effort to save himself as he crumpled, head bouncing from the road, blood spurting from the ruin of his face. He bubbled something that sounded like ‘Crys’, jerked a couple of times, and then his eyes rolled back and he stilled.
‘Cunt,’ Galtas muttered again. He spat on the body and poked at it, checking for life. ‘Think Crys will avenge you? Let’s see, shall we? It’s about time he got what he deserves.’
Using his sword as a crutch, he grabbed Ash by the back of his collar and began to drag him, a wide smear of blood stretching out from the body. South. Towards Crys’s command.