Beltane, night, day forty-two of the siege
Fifth Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
Corvus pushed his way to the front of the crowd squeezed tight at the tunnel exit. The gate was shut and a man in armour stood on the other side, a long spear in his hands that he was using to poke away at the men crowding the gate. It stabbed for Corvus and he slipped sideways, let it slide past him into someone else – the Lady’s will – and then grabbed the haft in both hands. The man stiffened and yanked back on the spear, and Corvus resisted a second and then let go.
The man stumbled back three steps and Corvus slid his hand outside the bars of the gate and fiddled with the lock. It clicked open, but there was a bar, no a stick, jammed sideways between lock and frame. Corvus pulled the gate tighter shut, slid the stick out as the man lunged again, too late. There was a soft squeal of hinges, and it swung open.
‘Quiet.’
Mireces spilt out of the tunnel into Fifth Circle, into the very fucking heart of Rilporin, a small blue tide of righteous, silent fury. The soldier killed three before several weapons pressed against him. Valan pulled the spear from his hands, though he held on long enough that a blade had to part the skin of his neck in warning.
Corvus held up a hand and the weapons retreated. ‘I am King Corvus of the Mireces. You?’
The man hesitated, clearly torn between spitting at them and lengthening his life by a few more breaths. ‘Major Artem Renik of His Majesty’s Palace Rank. You can go no further, Sire.’ He drew a sword and a dagger and stood in front of Corvus, relaxed, coiled, and no doubt deadly.
‘On the contrary,’ Corvus said, flicking his fingers so that his men peeled away, blocking the roads to either side of the palace and cutting off Renik’s retreat, ‘I will go wherever I choose and the gods decree. Right now I want to go into the palace to find your Commander of the Ranks and kill him. Stand aside and be granted a quick death.’
‘I cannot allow you into the palace. Return through the tunnel and be granted the chance to see the dawn,’ Renik replied, his voice calm.
Corvus tutted. So keen to die for their country, their false gods. His legs were heavy from the swim across the Gil to reach the King Gate and then the charge along the tunnel, his clothing sodden and his chainmail beginning to chafe. None of it would stop him. The gods walked at his side. Mireces were still moving into position when Renik erupted and cut hard and low for Corvus’s knee, on his axe side.
Unexpected and very nearly effective, but Corvus danced sideways out of range. He slammed his elbow into a wall, caught a glint that was the knife coming up fast, under his sword arm, and twisted, pulling his shoulder back and away from danger, into the wall again, letting the momentum fling his axe hand forward. And the bastard’s sword was there, intercepting and flicking it away before a heavy boot slammed down on his foot with a sickening crunch.
Corvus grunted and the world split into colours and scents and the breath of wind and the stir of breath on his face. Everything slowed, torches swirling and smearing as the pain lanced up as far as his knee and Corvus saw his own death in Renik’s eyes. Inevitable. Unstoppable despite the promises of the Dark Lady Herself.
The sword arced upwards again and Corvus blocked with sword and hand axe. He squinted into Renik’s face. No triumph, no trickery, nothing to give away the fact that his knife was unaccounted for and hot in Corvus’s shoulder, stabbing deep into the flesh.
Corvus’s breath came out in a yelp that jolted him from the vision of his impending death and back into the real world. He was herded against the wall, his men waiting patiently, Renik a whirling mass of armour and edged steel blocking his every attack, stamping on his feet, squeezing him against the stone.
The city itself was fighting him, allying against its conquerors. Renik knew this city, he knew how to fight in these narrow streets, while Corvus’s shoulders and elbows and the back of his skull were raw from impacts with the wall as he moved instinctively into space that wasn’t there. And Renik pressed, and pressed, and pressed again, and now there was a flicker in his eyes, an acknowledgment that he too saw Corvus’s death looming at his shoulder.
‘Take him,’ Corvus roared and saw Renik’s face fall, saw a glimmer of betrayal in his eyes. Didn’t expect that, did you? You wanted an honourable death while buying your friends time to mount a counter-attack. But this is war, not the fencing yard.
But Renik surprised him again, fleeing as the others charged in, jumping backwards and giving Corvus room to chase him. So Corvus pressed, harrying him until his men crowded past, eager at the kill. Only Renik wasn’t quite ready to be killed, kept retreating, back to a little alcove in the wall of the palace with a door set in it. There was a handle in the wall and Renik grabbed it and pulled. Valan lunged for him, expecting him to vanish through an opening, but instead there was a thunk from deep inside the palace, the single deep toll of a bell, and the handle came off in Renik’s hand. He threw it and it hit a Mireces in the face.
‘What did you do?’ Corvus asked, stilling his men, curious and impressed despite himself.
‘Locked the door,’ Renik said. ‘Can’t be opened from this side. Only way you’re getting in now is through the main gates around the other side. Sorry.’ He grinned, not looking at all sorry, and Corvus felt a surge of admiration.
‘You’d have made a fine Raider, Major Renik,’ he said, and Renik laughed.
‘Not in this life, and not in death either,’ he replied, and readied himself in the alcove, his back and flanks protected by stone and wood. He exhaled, soft and slow through his nostrils. His shoulders dropped, fingers flexed on knife and sword hilt, and then he raised his knife hand and beckoned. ‘Come on then, you fuckers. Let’s dance.’
His voice echoed like the clattering of steel down the street. Come on then, you fuckers. Corvus bit the tip of his tongue and found himself smiling, dipped his head in a salute, and then watched as his men lunged forward, crowding the alcove, crowding each other, hurling blades and curses, jostling to be the one to bring him down.
Renik held out for longer than Corvus expected, attacking only as far as his flanks were protected, but still far enough to kill four. Seconds stretched into what felt like days and Corvus watched the backs of his men, the frenzied pumping of their sword arms, knowing it was inevitable but still a little voice in him wanting Renik to live. To win. To beat them all, despite the odds. What a fucking song that would be.
And then he went down, and he didn’t scream, and he didn’t beg. He just died, as all men must and a damn sight finer than many.
The men stepped back, panting and smeared with blood, theirs and Renik’s. Corvus peered into the alcove and grunted, grunted again as Valan secured a wad of linen over the hole in his shoulder. ‘Let’s find a way into the palace. We need to find this fucking Commander of theirs and kill or capture him. Right now I don’t care which. This ends – tonight.’
They turned right and trotted down the northern side of the palace, weapons bright and ready. Distantly, more bells began to clang. The city knew they were coming.