Talking surrounded them, a happy gabbling of steaming breath in the nascent moonlight. Rennic and Whisper engaged in one-sided conversation, the mute scout straining to slow her cheerful gestures to maintain their clarity in the low light. Lemon expressed joyous disgust for their collective state, accused Chel of both improper diet and hygiene, bobbed a quick bow to Tarfel then demanded introductions to the others. She was delighted to meet Sabina, doubly so when she learnt of Sab’s crucial role in their escape. Sab herself was particularly tickled to find that the mercenaries also called her brother ‘Bear’, or derivations thereof.
Chel was not tickled, and turned quickly to the Nort.
‘And I’m afraid I don’t know this young man’s name, but we busted him out of the cells when we bolted. Good thing we did – he knocked up a tasty bit of alchemy on the walls, might well have been responsible for that great bang back there.’
Lemon looked from one to the other, puzzled. ‘Young man?’
Chel blinked. ‘What?’
‘Your alchemist pal is a lady, wee bear.’
‘Come again?’
As one, they turned to the Nort. He—She bristled from the attention, shrinking away behind the heavy sack. Lemon put up her hands. ‘I may not know all things beneath the moon and stars, but I’m quite sure this is a Miss.’
Chel noted the Nort’s look of irritation at this. He peered closer.
‘Can you understand us?’
The look of irritation intensified.
‘Of course. I am not a farmyard animal.’ Her voice was sharp, of lower pitch than he’d expected. Far from the stripling boy he’d imagined, she could easily have been the same age as him. Her accent was utterly foreign, the consonants oddly shifted, the vowels sing-song, but the disdain beneath could be heard from a mountaintop.
Lemon’s eyebrow had rocketed. ‘Do you think maybe you could have mentioned being able to understand us a little earlier, perhaps?’
The Nort’s baleful glare settled on Lemon.
‘You are very rude. You are a stupid, rude person.’
‘Aye, right, cheers. Quite the grateful sort you are.’
The Nort only sniffed. ‘What have you done for me?’
Rennic interrupted, the glaive now little more than a walking-staff in his hand. ‘What’s the commotion?’
Lemon jerked her head at the Nort. ‘Your wee northern alchemist is a girl, can understand every word we say and has not a shred of gratitude in her.’
Rennic nodded slowly, rocking slightly on his heels. The Nort glared back at him, defiant. Chel tried to stop himself gawking at her too openly, but there was a fire in her eyes that he didn’t remember seeing before. Had he seen it in the cells, he might have thought twice of releasing her.
‘What’s your name?’ Rennic said.
‘Akoshtiranarayan,’ came the response, followed by a string of titles in a tongue Chel had no chance of following.
Rennic remained impassive.
‘Hello, Akoshtiranarayan,’ he said, and Chel saw the Nort stiffen at the competent pronunciation of her name. ‘I’m guessing you have a shorter name you use, eh? To save time, and all.’
‘By some, I am called—’
‘What do your friends call you?’
She paused, and Rennic tilted his head.
‘You do have friends, right?’
‘Of course, I have friends, imbecile! You are very stupid people, and I have no duty to answer to any of you!’
‘Uh-huh. Well, Akoshtiranarayan, you are a thousand or more miles from home, a wanted fugitive from the clutches of both crown and church, lost in hostile countryside without provisions or allies. If I were you, I’d be bending over backward to make some more friends, even with imbeciles.’
The Nort glared at him, her jaw working, before she sniffed again.
‘I have been called Kosh, in the past.’
Rennic nodded, a smile pulling at his mouth. ‘Honoured to meet you, Kosh. I’m Rennic. This is Whisper, that’s Lemon, these are Chels One and Two, and this is Tarfel, younger brother of our nemesis and prince of the realm.’
Kosh’s jaw dropped. She stared at the prince, who coughed and shifted in embarrassment.
Rennic’s smile widened. ‘It’s a long story, little alchemist. We’ll fill you in as we go, and you can tell us what you were doing in the citadel’s dungeon, and just what your part was in that whopping bang back in the courtyard.’
‘I will tell you nothing.’
The Nort was trembling, staring at Rennic with huge black eyes, and Chel found himself shaking in sympathy. Not just in sympathy – he was freezing. His jaw had begun to judder, clattering his teeth against each other.
‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘We need warmth, shelter, and food. Especially food. If we’re not camping here, let’s get where we’re going.’
Rennic grunted. ‘As you say, little man. Long journeys. Let’s get moving, by now the boys in red will have worked out we’re sprung and be on the hunt. If this alchemist is a curled hair as important to Corvel as she seems, they’ll be taking her loss with great offence.’
‘I was to be executed after you! I gave them nothing!’
‘Either way, we need to get gone and sharpish.’
‘About that—’ Lemon began, but Rennic kept talking.
‘We should head south and west, back toward the Sepulchre. The remains of the Rau Rel may still be in residence, and let’s not forget that that prick Torht owed us a shit-pile of silver. Someone’s going to pay. Lemon, how far off are the others? Are they meeting us here or do we need to signal?’
‘About that, boss—’
‘Which of you was watching the drop? Are you sure you were the only ones? How did you even know about the drop? We weren’t part of Torht’s little set-up …’
Around them, the woods rustled with more than just the passing breeze. Figures loomed from the darkness, separating from trees but never becoming distinct. Rennic whipped around, the glaive held in open challenge, but Lemon jumped in front of him.
‘Calm, calm, boss, we’re under control.’
‘Who the fuck is this?’
Whisper was at his shoulder now, a steady hand on his arm.
‘Like I was trying to say, boss, wasn’t us watching the drop. We’re here with them, not the other way around.’
‘And who the fuck are they?’
‘The Rau Rel, boss. What’s left of them.’
A gritty figure with an eyepatch loomed close enough to make out, a nocked longbow loose in her hands.
‘Spear of the South,’ she said. ‘You’re just in time for the conclave.’
‘Do I know you?’
She’d already turned away. ‘We’ll camp on the ridge. We’ll be there in good time yet.’
Rennic watched her recede into the darkness, then exchanged a look with Chel.
‘Now what shit-housery is this?’
They dragged their feet forward once more.
***
‘Five hells, where are we?’ Chel murmured as they watched the setting sun light the structure on the hilltop. It stood apart from the snowy forests that surrounded it, a three-storey pillar of wood and stone. The last rays of the weak winter sun cast it in a red the colour of blood and embers. It looked too fragile to be a fortress, too stark and windowless for a dwelling. And it was miles from anywhere.
Rennic shrugged. ‘I suppose we’ll find out.’
‘I am very tired of surprises.’
They trudged on. At last, a full day’s exhausting march from their camp on the ridge, their journey seemed to have reached its end.
The one-eyed woman – Eka, she’d said – led them on a winding path up the hillside, and a lone torch was lit at the tower’s base by the time they reached the summit. It was much bigger than it had seemed from distance, its base and foundation pale Taneru stone, some of the old engraving still visible despite the weathering. A single door stood open beside the torch, although evidence of encampments around the tower lingered at the torchlight’s edges. Shapes flitted in the wooded gloom around them, the same armed figures that had escorted them since the clearing outside Roniaman. Eka’s people, rarely seen, hard to count.
‘Four,’ Rennic said, as if reading Chel’s mind.
‘Huh?’
‘There are only four of them, plus her. Just seems more because they move around us so much.’ He chuckled. ‘Whisp and I could take these fuckers out in a heartbeat. Like a one-eyed archer can be any cop. No depth perception.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Sab seems rather friendly with them.’
A giant shape filled the doorway as they approached, arms held wide.
‘All right, Fossy!’ Lemon called from behind.
The big man grinned, bundled braids swaying as he shook his head. ‘I didn’t dare think it true, my friends. I didn’t dare. Welcome, welcome.’
He embraced Rennic, then wrapped Chel in a mighty hug that ground his bones against each other. His greeting came out as a gasp. Once the introductions were complete, Foss gestured to the structure behind.
‘Welcome, my friends, to the conclave.’
‘The conclave of what?’
‘The conclave of the Rau Rel. Loveless is inside, saving us a table. Our other friend is here.’ He nodded toward a nearby tree.
‘Other friend? Who—?’ Chel turned and came to a sudden halt. There, slumped against the trunk with her ruined arm now bound tight against her body, lay Brecki the Strangler. She looked cleaner than Chel had seen her, scrubbed of war-paint and decoration, but the pallor of her already milky skin was cadaverous, even in the warm torch-light from the building’s base.
‘She’s … here. Unchained.’ Chel swallowed. An odd mix of feelings welled within him at seeing the reaver, seething resentment at the woman for her killings, a hot flush of shame at the thought of his own negligence in her acts, and a sliver of something altogether lighter, something that might have been … relief? ‘Untied.’
‘She is, friend.’
‘Isn’t that … risky?’
Foss released a heavy breath and ran a hand over his braids. ‘Shepherd guard my words, but she seems no threat to any. She long since ceased to bite anyone, eats little, moves less.’
Lemon came up beside them. ‘Aye, right. Guess she rather lost her motivation along with the use of the arm.’
‘But why is she here?’
‘Our partisan colleagues maintained talk of a citizens’ trial for her, once matters in the capital were settled,’ Foss said. ‘Such talk has faded in light of recent developments.’
‘She’s no longer a prisoner?’
‘Not of the Rau Rel. Do you believe we should restrain her, friend?’
Chel rolled his bad shoulder in its socket. It wasn’t so long ago he himself had been chained, one arm damaged, and locked in a cell. ‘I … uh …’
‘Are we going in, or what? It’s cold out – who is that?’ Sabina had approached, along with the Nort, who was gazing at the slumped reaver with detached curiosity.
‘That,’ said Lemon, ‘is Brecki, a visitor from our southern shores, who was foolish enough to tangle with your brother and his pals at Talis.’
‘You broke her arm?’ The disapproval in Sab’s voice was unmistakable.
Chel felt the back of his neck growing hot. ‘She started it! She’s a bloodthirsty reaver!’
Sab’s eyebrows lowered as she looked back at the pale, lethargic woman, one thumb resting against her teeth. ‘What in God’s name was a reaver doing that far north?’
‘Not just her,’ Lemon said brightly. ‘Whole fucken war-band, came steaming up to attack the King’s Hunt right when wee bear here was trying to arrange a princes’ parley. They’d have slaughtered everyone if our boys hadn’t stepped in.’
Sab’s thumbnail tapped her front tooth. ‘Is that so?’
‘Aye, boss-man and your wee bear took this one prisoner.’
‘I thought you lot just killed everyone who crossed you?’ Her tone was sharp, accusatory. ‘That one,’ she said, indicating Rennic who was a few paces away, ‘killed three people in the hour after I met him.’
‘Hey!’ Rennic, bristling, held up one hand. ‘It was five. You missed the two in the armoury.’
‘You must be very proud of the life you’ve lived,’ she shot back, which seemed to give Rennic pause.
Eka, their one-eyed guide, cleared her throat. ‘The conclave is beginning. You should go below. We can keep watch over your friend.’
Chel and the others turned for the door. ‘You’re not joining us?’
She shook her head. ‘We are patriots, not politicians. We will watch from the gallery.’
Rennic scooped him along with a wide arm as he passed. ‘Come on, little man. Wouldn’t want them deciding anything without us.’ He had Tarfel marching before him, encircled by his other arm. The prince turned as he saw Chel, eyes wide and watery.
‘Listen, Vedren, I really don’t think this is any place for me,’ he began as Rennic pushed him on. ‘I think perhaps I should be moving off elsewhere, and I was wondering if—’
‘Keep moving, princeling, you’re holding everyone up.’
‘My brother will be looking for me, Vedren, he has plans – such plans! We should—’
‘You’re not staying out there. Now button your flap and keep your head down,’ Rennic growled as they followed Foss into the dark of the tower. ‘If there’s anyone who can marshal against that bastard in the citadel, they’re within these walls.’
***
Stairs led both up and down, to galleries above and a stone-cut pit below. Sab and the Nort had stayed with Eka at Foss’s suggestion – just political wrangling to come, very dull for outsiders, he assured them. Whisper went with them. Foss chattered as he led Chel, Tarfel, Rennic, and Lemon down the wooden stairs, which creaked beneath his feet. ‘This place was once a grain-store, during Taneru days, or so I’m told. There was a settlement at the bottom of the hill. It was a temple after that, old gods …’ He shuddered and made the sign of the crook. ‘I think it was a mill after that, but now it’s our watchtower. Everyone’s here.’
Rennic’s mouth twitched. ‘Everyone?’ He nudged Chel. ‘This is how we get back on the horse, little man, here’s how we turn the battle-tide. First, they’re going to pay us, then we’re going to join hands across the kingdom and deliver a steel-capped kicking to Golden King Shit-Grin, our boots front and centre. He’s out in the open now, him and his red-cloth fuckers.’
Chel offered a weak grin. ‘It’ll be nice to hear what our rebellion is up to, I suppose.’
Bright fires burned at the base of the pit, a central blaze and braziers spaced evenly between the long tables that circled it. Figures milled around them, some sitting, some talking in small groups. Despite the cold beyond the walls, the atmosphere in the pit was sweaty and fevered. A palpable anxiety filled the crackling air.
Loveless met them at the foot of the steps. In spite of her attempts to remain aloof, she radiated visible joy at their arrival. The Black Hawk Company were reunited.
‘You’re just in time,’ she said. Her hair was flame red now, trimmed back, shorn almost flat at the sides. ‘They’re about to start. You’ll make for a nice surprise.’
Rennic’s frown deepened. ‘Who’s running the show? We need words about our contract. Although everyone who signed it is dead.’
She ignored him. ‘Come on, I’ve got us seats at the back.’
Loveless had commandeered a small table behind the outer circle, one of a handful dotted around the pit’s perimeter. A clay jug of spiced wine and a collection of cups stood waiting. When Chel hesitated, Loveless clapped him on the shoulder and sat down. ‘Come on, my hussies, take a seat and have a drink before this bunch of old women bore the arses off us.’ She gestured with one of the wine cups toward the pit’s centre, where some of the greyest heads were gathered.
Chel did as he was told. ‘Who are they all?’
Loveless poured wine, pointing without looking. ‘That scruffy bunch are what remains of the western leadership, brotherhood of something, small-time but vocal. That fellow behind them you may recognize, he’s speaking for the lady of Wavecrest, and those dour types are some of the last Merciful Sisters.’ She paused. ‘Did you hear about that? The Sepulchre?’
Chel shook his head. Despite the warmth from the braziers, he could feel his skin prickling.
‘We weren’t exactly drowning in gossip in the cells,’ Rennic growled.
Foss was looking deep into the darkness of his wine cup. ‘Evil days, friends,’ he said without looking up, his sonorous voice reflected from the cup.
Loveless nodded at Tarfel, who was keeping a low profile behind the table, hood pulled low. Self-concealment seemed almost habit for him now. ‘Rest assured, princeling’s big brother has racked up a few more stains on his soul since last we chatted.’
Chel’s head was spinning, the heat of the chamber and the first gulps of wine sending his thoughts swirling. Corvel’s various crimes dimmed in his resumed proximity to Loveless, her hair glowing in the light, and he felt a dull ache return, a memory of his captive dreams. Thoughts of captivity made him think of the Nort, the young woman with a bag of alchemy and the ability to make fire on command. It was hard to shake the feeling there was a lot she wasn’t telling them—
‘Aaaanyway, the rest of them are much of a muchness: they’re the peasants’ collective from somewhere southern, that bunch snarling at them is the collective from down the valley. Not much in the way of Free Company representation, I have to say, bar those tedious haircuts from the Indigo Company, nor anyone I can see from the hill tribes of the Territories or the eastern marches. But we’ve a handful who claim to represent various free cities – or at least their earthier trades – a couple of banking house stooges and a few proxies for the Names who weren’t already purged and are still inclined toward fomentation …’
Chel looked at her blankly.
Lemon rolled her eyes. ‘Fighting back, wee bear.’
‘And “earthier trades”?’
Loveless grinned, sharp and pearly in the torchlight. ‘Purveyors of the necessities of quotidian alteration.’
‘Eh?’
Lemon waved an expansive hand. ‘What my impenetrable colleague is failing to express is that the rich and varied wealth of humanity within these walls is a fair representation of what remains of the resistance.’ She paused, chuckled. ‘Impenetrable, ha!’
Chel ignored it, directing his attention to Loveless. ‘How can you know all that?’
Her smile twinkled. ‘Didn’t have much to do while I was waiting for you lot, did I? I’m a good listener.’
Before Lemon could get another word in, someone banged on the central table and a hush descended in the pit. Chel saw faces in the gantries above, pressing over the old railings like the audience of a mummers’ play. Sabina was among them, and she gave him a big wave. She looked to be deep in jolly conversation with Eka the one-eyed hunter. They’d had plenty to talk about on the march to the tower, it seemed, and were not done yet. Chel found himself unnerved to see his little sister so … so … independent.
‘Sisters and brothers,’ said a gruff voice from somewhere near the main fire. A woman stood, middle-aged, soft-eyed. ‘We are joined for the conclave of the free peoples.’
Various noises of agreement echoed around the pit.
‘For those who don’t know me, I’m Gurgen of Koronur. Thank you for coming. It’s no secret that things are bleak. Since Raeden Torht launched his doomed infiltration of the citadel, we have seen systematic purges of our allies, and countless innocents, at all levels. All of us here have lost friends and family.’
Murmurs rose around the pit, loudest from the Merciful Sisters.
‘So, I say again: thank you for coming. I know you do not come lightly. And unity of purpose, of belief, is now more crucial than ever. Torht failed not because his planning was poor or his preparation lacking, but because he underestimated our enemy. We shall not do so again.’
More agreement, some growling, echoed around them.
‘We must agree this evening, sisters and brothers, we must reach common understanding. Tonight, we are gathered to select a new watcher, a new strategist, a new spymaster. A new leader. I know that we all have our preferred candidates, but again I stress what matters most is the survival and regrowth of our movement, that we can bring others to our cause, unite the lands, and throw off once and for all the yoke of subjugation!’
This got cheers, although they seemed guarded. Chel wondered if everyone was thinking of their preferred candidates. He glanced at Tarfel to see how he was taking the talk of subjugation, but the prince remained hidden beneath his hood.
‘First, a moment’s silence for our fallen comrades.’
The pit fell silent, its congregation bowing heads and making the sign of the crook.
‘Fuck ’em!’
The voice came from above, somewhere on the upper gantry, and shattered the silence like a hammer.
‘They were twats, they fucked up, and they died.’ The voice was descending, coming down the stairs into the firelight. ‘We shouldn’t be celebrating them, we should be spitting on their fucking names.’
A gobbet of something green arced from the stairs into a nearby brazier, hissing in the coals.
‘They could have taken care of that fuck-stick prince, carved through those royal bastards and their lapdog clergy, emptied that fucking citadel in rivers of blood. They failed. And we all suffered as a result. If they’d done what they should’ve, there would have been no purge. Nobody would have died. Nobody who didn’t fucking deserve it!’
The figure neared the bottom of the stairs, others following behind. Armed men and women. Murmurs of agreement sounded again, the growl returning.
‘I should know. I saw it. I was there. And I won’t make the same mistake.’
Spider stepped into the light.
Rennic was halfway to his feet when Chel’s arm hauled him back. The big man rounded on him, eyes boiling with rage. ‘What the f—’
‘The prince!’ Chel snarled, his voice a hoarse whisper against the hubbub. ‘Who knows what Spider will do if he sees him?’
Rennic matched his whisper. Chel had never been more conscious of the vivid blood vessels at the fringes of the man’s eyeballs. ‘That fucker left us to die.’
‘I remember! Just keep a lid on yourself until he’s said his piece and buggered off, then you can take it up with him at your leisure. For both of us.’
Behind Spider, his followers had moved into the light, slack-faced and pale, from leaf or poppy Chel couldn’t tell. They carried axes.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Loveless hissed across the table. ‘He told us you got separated inside the citadel, that he couldn’t fight his way back to you!’
‘And that,’ Rennic murmured, eyes still fixed on Spider, ‘would be bollocks.’
Spider was moving away from the stairs, striding toward the centre. He steered Gurgen aside, taking the floor.
‘Brothers and sisters,’ Spider said in mocking imitation, ‘the old girl is right, we need unity. Torht played power games and lost, and took the rest of those sorry fuckers with him. I can make you a promise: the Spider will never seek the throne, nor political favour.’
Rennic was snarling. ‘Because the Spider seeks only bloodshed,’ he growled. Chel jerked a curt hand to shush him.
Spider circled around again. His followers, half a dozen by Chel’s count, were spreading around the base of the pit, axes heavy in their hands.
‘Let me make this clear to you all. We can sit here and drink wine and spout platitudes about unity and common understanding, but there is no common fucking understanding. Not between this jostling bunch I see before me. So listen carefully, because there is yet one thing we can agree on: death to the royals. Death to the church.’
The muttering fell away, and Spider repeated himself.
‘Death to the royals. Death to the church.’
He said it again, and this time others picked up the refrain. He chanted with the bulk of the crowd, while those who kept their silence looked around nervously.
Death to the royals! Death to the church!
Spider continued the chant, moving between the tables, reaching out a hand. One of his people handed him the haft of an axe. Chel looked back at Tarfel. The young prince was pressed back against the wall, shaking beneath his cloak. Chel grabbed Rennic’s arm. ‘We need to get out of here. They’ll kill him!’
Rennic shook him off. ‘Not before I kill that fucking rat.’
Loveless was on her feet before them. ‘Fuck’s sake, don’t draw any more attention. We can probably sneak him out if we go now.’
‘Brothers and sisters! There will be no election, no selection! I will be direct, because these times call for directness, and the Spider is nothing but direct. I will make you this vow: pledge to me, and I will bleed the church, and murder every crown-wearing bastard in this land. The Spider vows it! Death to the royals!’
Death to the church!
Spider’s minders were shuffling closer, their slack gazes falling on any failing to chant.
Chel reached back and grabbed the prince’s cloak. ‘We’re leaving, highness. Keep your head down.’
They began to shuffle around the pit’s edge, ducking away from the lights of the braziers, heading for the stairs. Chel kept the prince’s hand in his, gripping against the fearful grease of his palm. His gaze rested on the bottom of the wooden staircase, counting the steps in his head. Thirty paces would do it. They were past one of Spider’s men already. Twenty-nine. They were past another. Twenty-eight.
Spider was walking back to the pit’s centre, almost crowing with triumph. ‘No more failures, no more pitiful gambits. The Spider will deliver action!’
‘The Spider’s a fucking coward!’
The pit fell abruptly silent as Rennic’s cry echoed from its stone walls. Chel froze, his hand gripped around the prince’s. Fu. King. Hells.
Spider’s head tilted, a quick, reptilian motion. ‘Is that you, Beaky? Funny seeing you here, what with you being dead. Still, least said, soonest mended.’
Rennic’s teeth were bared, but it was nothing like a smile.
‘And how are you, Spider? Looking pretty perky for someone who jumped off a tower-top. They do say insects can survive long falls.’
‘The Spider is not an insect, maggot-dick,’ Spider replied with a glittering grin of pointed teeth. This, too, was devoid of mirth. ‘Which of the gobshites did you drag down here with you? Could it be …?’
He turned instantly on Chel, pinning him where he hunched against the wall with his pointed gaze. ‘Leaving already, rat-bear?’ Then his eyes glimmered wide, and a grin of malicious delight split his face. He jumped onto the nearest table and bellowed for quiet.
‘Brothers and sisters! The Shepherd has shown us her favour tonight! We have uncovered a spy in our midst, a traitor to land and people! That cloaked coward with the sand-crab is none other than Tarfel Merimonsun, the runt prince!’
Chel jerked on the prince’s hand, but he was immobile, his eyes locked on Spider. Before them, a man rose from his chair; a mercenary with an ornate hairstyle, a muscular pile almost a head taller than Chel. He regarded Chel and the prince with a deep frown. His armour creaked and rippled as he stood.
‘Whoever brings me his head shall be my first sworn!’ Spider bellowed.
Chel gritted his teeth.
‘Fuck.’
The mercenary lunged.
Something flowed in front of him, a blur of cloth and flame-red hair. The mercenary grunted as the pommel of Loveless’ short blade rammed into his groin, and as he doubled forward her upward-facing palm smashed into the soft tissue of his nose. His backward stagger became a tumble as she kicked his trailing ankle from under him, and he crashed to the stone floor, lowing like a bleeding heifer.
The pit fell quiet.
‘Next man crosses me,’ Loveless said, voice carrying clear across the pit as she raised the blade, ‘loses his bollocks. That’s my fucking vow.’ She gestured behind her back, urging Chel and the prince to move again. Chel grabbed Tarfel’s arm with both hands and yanked.
Spider bounced on his table.
‘She’s full of shit! Traitors! Kill them all! Any who hesitates dies as well! Death to the royals! Death to tyrants!’
The pit erupted. The other mercenaries leapt over their fallen comrade, drawing long knives from their belts. Spider’s axe-toting men were closing, as were the nameless brotherhood. Already the peasants’ collectives were wrestling with each other, fists and spittle flying.
Loveless circled around, keeping her elevated blade between Chel and the prince and the oncoming mercenaries. She matched them feint for feint, and Chel dragged the prince around the pit and away. He looked up at the gantry above, making out both Whisper and Eka, arrows nocked, looking down on the tumult below. His sister was up there too, along with the Nort. He waved up, shouting over at the chaos.
‘Get them out of here! We’ll be right behind you!’
Whisper nodded and ducked out of sight as Chel and Tarfel raced for the stairs. Someone had knocked over a brazier, perhaps two. Already black smoke billowed from where the coals had caught on a long table, flames flickering on the pit’s far side.
The western brotherhood caught them at the foot of the steps, a quartet of burly men with rough clothing and wild beards, their weapons improvised and brutal. They were already bloodied and ragged.
‘Give us the prince! Death to traitors!’
Something roared to Chel’s left, and a table arced through the air and smashed down into the men of the brotherhood, scattering them like straw in the wind. Foss strode into view from the smoking chaos, a vengeful old god. He grabbed the nearest brother by his smock, lifting him clean from the ground and hurling him over onto his companions. The next he grabbed by the skull, flinging him firmly, head-first, against the wall of the pit.
‘You all right, my friends?’
Chel nodded. Tarfel murmured something indistinct.
Loveless ducked out of the turmoil, one arm over her face from the growing smoke, which had already choked the upper gantries. She had a small scratch on one cheek but seemed otherwise whole.
‘Keep moving, nitwits!’
Lemon appeared from the other side of the stairs, looking sooty.
‘Problem, folks! The boss is back there, can’t get him to fucken bail!’
Loveless growled and went to duck back, but Chel found himself stepping in front. ‘Get his highness out. I’ll get Rennic.’
She frowned but made no argument. A heartbeat later, they were pounding up the stairs and out of sight.
Chel turned back to the pit. The scene had shifted now, as more of the furniture and furnishings caught in the roaring flames. The world glowed bright and angry, dozens of plumes of frantic smoke surging upwards into the suffocated structure above, lambent with the fire’s rage. Bodies littered the floor of the pit, some dead or injured, others overcome from heat, smoke or exhaustion. The pit’s pale stone glowed in reflected fury. It was a vision of hell.
Sleeve pressed over his face, he crept around the pit’s edge, trying to keep low and out of sight should anyone still be standing. Somewhere beyond, the peasants’ collectives still battled, their shouts and insults now punctuated by coughs and wheezing. He thought he saw Rennic through the flames, heard him roar over the fire’s crackle and hiss.
‘Spider! Spider you prick, time to repay the ferryman!’
Rennic was there. He was nearby. Chel tried to call out but his voice was cracked, smoke filling his lungs. He bent to cough, then hurled himself aside as a great dark figure loomed out of the flames, sweeping a bladed spear before it.
‘Rennic! It’s me!’
The big man swung around, then cocked his head. His hair hung in sweaty clumps before his eyes, the panels of his armour gleamed glossy with firelight and blood. He looked both elated and very, very angry.
‘Little man, what the fuck are you doing down there?’
Chel pushed himself upright, staying hunched against the pressing fumes. ‘Looking for you! We need to get out of here, this whole place is going up!’
Rennic began to shake his head, but Chel stabbed a finger back toward the stairs.
‘Forget that fucker, if the stairs go, we’re all dying down here. We get out, you can always finish him later.’ Chel paused to hack out a ragged cough. ‘You’ll do no good by dying.’
The big man snarled, the glaive twitching in his hands, but nodded.
‘Lead the way.’
The stairway was already thick with smoke. The fire had reached the upper gantry, and was eating its way along toward the top stair. Rennic still paused at the foot, swinging around to scream one final insult at Spider, but Chel dragged him onward. The stairs smouldered beneath their feet, steam rising as they cracked and blistered in the heat, the lowest steps already blackening.
They made it to the top before the stairway burst into flames behind them, a rushing whoosh that sent the smoking air into ripples. Chel kept his streaming eyes fixed on the oval of dark night ahead, of fresh starlit sky, impossibly black in the midst of the blazing light on all sides.
Rennic stopped again. He returned to the smoking railing and leant over into the conflagration below.
‘Spider!’ he called, his voice carrying over the roaring mass. ‘Hey, Spider, you ghastly fuck!’
Impossibly, a figure was down there, still standing in the midst of the inferno. Spider stood in a pocket of baking stone, knives in his hands, corpses at his feet, dark eyes darting around the gantries, looking for escape.
‘Fuck you, Beaky! I’ll see you in hells!’
‘Not if I see you first.’
Chel screamed for Rennic to follow, and at last he turned from the blaze and they fled into the cool embrace of night.
***
A hoot from the tree-line drew Rennic and Chel out of the open, into the cool darkness of the woods. Behind them, the tower consumed itself, the fire’s mad light bathing the hilltop and those around it. Those of the resistance who had made it out stood scattered, shocked and sooty.
‘For once,’ Chel snapped at Rennic as branches closed over them and the night wind sapped the heat from their skin, ‘can you let go of your pride just long enough to do what’s necessary?’
Flames lit one side of the big man’s face. ‘Look who’s talking.’ Behind them, a flaming roof timber crashed down into the structure. Chel flinched away, but Rennic did not. ‘If our pal Corvel didn’t know where they were before, he will now.’
Chel looked back, worry tightening his chest in tandem with the smoke.
Whisper lurked in the trees, ever watchful, bow drawn. Blinking in the shifting, tree-split light, Chel picked out the others further back, making out Sab, his chest easing a little. He ran to her first, checking her for damage as she did likewise. The small Nort, Kosh, watched them with quiet, angry eyes, while Tarfel sat beneath a tree, huddled beneath his cloak and shaking. Eka was there too, along with two of her people. She was kneeling by the prone form of another, a young man, still and bloodied. Her lone eye wept.
‘She saved me,’ Sabina said softly, her eyes on the weeping archer. ‘Then Whisper saved her.’
‘You made it, then? We were beginning to worry.’ Lemon was soot-streaked but cheerful. Whisper signalled something beside her, something Chel recognized as a question. An angry one.
Rennic wiped his hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of bloodied charcoal. His hair and beard were singed, small, truncated hairs curling away at odd angles here and there.
‘Had to make sure Spider wasn’t coming after us.’
‘And did you?’ Lemon asked.
Behind them, the rest of the tower’s roof collapsed, dropping in on itself in a gout of rolling fire.
‘He’s not coming back,’ Chel said, eyes shielded against the glare.
‘That right? Saw him die, saw the body, did you?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘Then you can’t be certain. You don’t see a body, you can’t be certain. Ever. Remember that, wee bear.’
Whisper motioned again, softer this time, just at Rennic. He grunted.
‘I’m all right. Not the man he was. Will someone just give me some thrice-damned food and a bed?’ In the cold night air, his rage had faded, evaporating on the breeze. The need to organize returned. He turned to address the group. ‘We can’t stay here. Whisp says that most who made it out have scattered, but this hill’s a fucking beacon and there are a lot of interested parties on the hunt for us. Hanging around here is going to get us involved in some uncomfortable conversations. We go into the forest tonight.’
Nobody disagreed. Lemon cleared her throat. ‘What about her?’ she said, with a nod to Brecki. The reaver was still sitting against her tree, watching the tower burn itself to ash with slack eyes.
Chel felt his sister’s gaze on him, felt the weight of responsibility return to his shoulders like a stone collar. ‘We can’t … we can’t leave her. This place could be crawling with confessors by morning.’
Lemon’s eyebrow was a perfect sooty arch. ‘You want to invite her along, wee bear? She may not eat much, but she’s a nasty fucken sort deep-down. I seem to remember her trying to kill you at least twice. Your choice if you want her as a travel-pal.’
Chel worked to avoid acknowledging Sabina’s stare. ‘I’ll … talk to her. Wait. We’re a little short on language overlap, remember? Not even you could get through to her.’
Kosh raised her head. ‘The white ghost can understand what you’re saying.’
‘You what?’ Lemon spluttered.
‘She smirked when you mentioned how terrible she is.’
‘Aye, you’re joking!’
Kosh frowned at this. ‘No. No, I am not. Only a very stupid person would find amusement in such a bland statement.’
Chel rubbed at his eyes. They still stung from smoke. ‘Everyone’s so full of surprises.’ He approached the reaver, who rolled her head just a fraction, her eyes pale and distant. ‘Brecki. We’re leaving here. You should, too.’ He scratched at his neck, which still felt too hot after the fire. ‘You can come with us. If you like.’
She gave no indication of hearing him, let alone understanding. Shaking his head, Chel returned to the group. He’d done the right thing, at least. He’d done the right thing.
The hunter Eka had remained on her knees, head bowed with one hand on the dead young man’s chest. Rennic stood over her.
‘You coming with us? No harm either way, but if so, we’re leaving now, and we can’t take him with us.’
She nodded, folded the young man’s arms across his chest, then placed a small coin over each eye. She wiped her eye as she stood.
‘Let’s go.’
As the group moved away, Chel walked beside Sab, who seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn. ‘Who was it,’ he said, ‘the dead guy back there? Do you know?’
She gave him the briefest look, her own eyes tearful.
‘Her little brother.’ She wiped an eye. ‘What in hells happened back there?’
Chel shook his head. ‘I think we made things worse.’
Sab looked over her shoulder. ‘Your friend the reaver is following us.’
He looked back. Brecki was slouching along behind, pale and lean, eyes fixed on nothing. Chel tried to force a carefree smile, but inside he felt only regret, and dread.
They walked on in silence. From somewhere behind them came Lemon’s voice, muttering away to Foss as they trudged.
‘I’m just saying, maybe no weapons in meetings from now on, and more than one emergency exit, eh?’