THERE was weeping. But then there was always weeping afterwards. Josten remembered when he’d first seen battle. When he sat there in the long aftermath, thinking about what he’d witnessed. About what he’d done. He didn’t remember crying though.
As he’d expected, this ramshackle mob hadn’t put up much of a fight. He could tell they were runners as soon as he laid eyes on them. Old men put out to pasture and young boys just finished sucking on their mother’s tit. They weren’t going to do anything but flee in the face of a trained and disciplined army. The Shengen Empire wasn’t renowned the world over for nothing.
Over a score of militia had already fled this place. Josten had half a mind to join them, but he’d had enough of stumbling through the desert. At least here he’d get to go down with a sword in his hand, not dying of thirst under the relentless sun.
So rather than flee he sat in the coolest corner he could find and watched proceedings.
It didn’t take long for the reprisals to start. The shouting and the arguments. Whose fault was it they lost and what were they going to do now? Josten could have answered both those questions for them – because they were a useless bunch of fuckwits and they should do themselves a favour and surrender. As it was, no one wanted to say the obvious.
‘We need to retreat immediately,’ said Aykan Cem. That wasn’t surprising though. The man was clearly a weakling. He’d managed to get from the front of the battle to the rear without anyone noticing. In fact he was most likely the one that ordered the gate shut when there were still men out fighting.
‘Go then, if you must,’ said Vallion. ‘But your men stay.’
Josten quite liked the stoic Shengen, not least because he clearly took no shit.
‘You are not in command here,’ Cem snapped back. ‘I hold seniority.’
‘You are a coward who flees at the first sign of danger. You should be flogged to death, not left in charge of fighting men.’
‘And who will do the flogging? You?’
Both men were on their feet now, nose to nose. The legionaries of the Red Standing and the men of the royal militia were gathered behind their respective leaders as the tension brewed. If they’d all been as keen to fight the Shengens as they were to fight each other then maybe they wouldn’t be licking their wounds right now.
‘Enough. This is the last thing we need,’ said Ermund, stepping forward.
What a surprise, great Duke Harlaw of Ravensbrooke. Everyone relax, Ermund was here to save the day.
To his credit, his appearance did calm the men down, but then Harlaw had always had a talent for conciliation. Perhaps he should have tried it with his wife once in a while, then maybe she wouldn’t have betrayed him and he wouldn’t be stuck in this dump.
‘We cannot just abandon Dunrun. We must hold it,’ he continued.
‘We need reinforcements,’ said Cem. ‘This place is doomed.’
Ermund nodded in agreement. ‘It is,’ he said. ‘So you must inform the queen. When I visited Kantor to tell her of the threat there was no way of knowing what kind of force we would face and I didn’t have the authority to demand more troops. Now you’ve seen first hand, Marshal. You must go to her. Tell her what we are up against. But we will need your men to hold this fortress until you can return with the army we need.’
Vallion made to protest, but Ermund silenced him with nothing more than a hand on his shoulder.
‘Very well,’ said Cem, feigning reluctance. ‘I will ride to Kantor immediately and take word of your plight.’
Josten couldn’t help but admire Harlaw. He’d got rid of the incompetent Aykan Cem but managed to keep his men. Quite the diplomat.
He had seen enough now. Josten was hungry and thirsty and needed some sleep before the next wave of Shengens came knocking. He stood, leaving Aykan Cem to stammer his false regrets to his men before fleeing like someone had set his arse on fire. Harlaw and Vallion were more than capable of concocting the next battle plan. Not that they had many options beyond standing and fighting until everyone here was dead.
As Josten made his way to the main courtyard he could see two men arguing over a piece of dried beef. It was obvious there wasn’t enough food to go around for the militia, let alone a prisoner brought all the way from the Suderfeld to die. His stomach was rumbling and he started to wonder whether it was worth joining in the fight for scraps when he spotted the boy Ctenka sitting with those two children.
Ctenka was genuinely caring for the pair of waifs and had managed to find them food from somewhere. He certainly made a better nursemaid than a fighter, that was for sure.
The rest of the men gave those children a wide berth, but that was only to be expected. They had conjured enough magic to decimate an entire unit of legionaries. Two little children. The fact they were dangerous was plain for all to see, but Josten didn’t share their apprehension. He had seen magic manifested as pure evil. He had faced the witch Innellan and lived, so he was hardly going to be frightened of two little children.
He walked to where Ctenka was trying to get the girl to eat some rancid-looking jerky, and sat down with them.
‘Keeping our secret weapons well fed?’ he said.
Ctenka looked up at him, not seeing the funny side. ‘They’re not weapons. They’re children. Or can’t you see that?’
‘I saw them slaughter about fifty men with a gesture. They looked like weapons to me.’ Ctenka ignored him. ‘You know when this is over you won’t be able to keep them.’ Josten remembered how Livia had been relentlessly pursued across three nations. He knew full well these children would be coveted for their power much the same.
‘They’re not mine to keep,’ Ctenka replied. ‘But someone will have to take care of them.’
‘So you’re just going to take them back to where you found them?’
‘I—’ Ctenka clearly hadn’t thought it through.
‘Best thing you can do when this is all over, is take them far away from here. Far from anyone who knows what they can do. It’s the only chance they’ve got for a life.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ said Ctenka.
‘Let’s say I’ve seen this kind of thing before. And it won’t end well for anyone if people know what they’re capable of. If you want to keep them safe, keep them hidden.’
‘Why do you care?’ Ctenka asked.
Josten remembered a conversation he’d had not too long ago with a lad called Lonik the Fidget. He’d tried his best to help that boy. To keep him alive. He remembered how that had turned out.
‘I don’t.’
Ctenka shook his head. ‘Even I can see through that lie. You care more than you’re willing to say. You saved me out there. Stood by me, ready to die. That’s not a man who doesn’t care.’
‘Maybe I’m just not choosy about where I die… or who with,’ was all Josten could think to say.
He stood, the conversation leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
Aykan Cem was mounting his horse, spewing platitudes to the men he was leaving behind. Assuring them that he would return swiftly at the head of an army. Josten couldn’t help but grin at the prig as he rode off. He doubted he would ever see Aykan Cem again.
As he watched the man ride away, his horse galloped past a figure approaching down the Skull Road. Perhaps a deserter who had changed their mind about running away, returning to die by the sword rather than be taken by the desert. Perhaps a lone traveller lost on the road. Well, they’d be in for a surprise if they thought they’d gain any succour here.
Before long he could discern it was a woman. A few moments more and he realised it was a woman he recognised. But it couldn’t be. She had been killed at Kessel. Slaughtered in a battle between fanatics, or so Josten had assumed.
Silver walked into the fortress of Dunrun and the courtyard went silent.
‘Fuck me, what’s this?’ said one of the militia.
‘What’s a woman doing here?’ said another.
Josten walked forward, standing in front of her. She glanced back at him, as though not recognising the man she had travelled through the desert with not more than a year ago.
‘Silver?’ he said.
She frowned at him, as though searching her memory for any sign of familiarity.
‘I know you,’ she said. ‘Yes, I remember you.’
‘It’s Josten,’ he said. ‘Josten Cade. We travelled through the Ramadi together. We fought together at—’
‘Yes,’ she said. Then walked past him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked as she walked away.
Before she could answer, the two children Ctenka had been looking after appeared at Silver’s side. She looked down at them as they stared up adoringly.
‘We knew you would come,’ said the little girl.
Silver knelt down beside them. ‘Sweet child,’ she said, running a weathered hand across the girl’s head. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘None of us should,’ said Ctenka, rushing over. ‘Come away, children.’
They both ignored him, continuing to stare at Silver. ‘Will you stop him?’ the girl asked.
Silver nodded. ‘That is why I have come,’ she replied.
‘Stop who?’ asked Josten. ‘What are you doing here?’
Again she ignored him, rising to her feet and making her way through the fort. He followed her beneath the Hangman’s Gate, the two children running after her like she was leading them by an invisible rope.
As they made their way through to the next courtyard every eye turned towards them. Josten had to admit they struck an odd group, a woman fresh from the desert followed by two children. This was a fortress besieged. It was no place for any of them. But then, Josten had seen what Silver could do. Had seen what these children were capable of. They had more right to be here than anyone.
When she reached the Chapel Gate, Vallion and Ermund were discussing tactics. They had put the remaining militia to task shoring up the wood-and-iron gate. It already looked sturdier than the last one. Only time would tell how long it kept the enemy out.
Silver stopped before the gate, as though waiting for someone to knock.
Vallion and Ermund stopped their conversation, noticing Silver standing there, the two children waiting behind, watching her every move.
Ermund looked at Josten with a quizzical expression. ‘Who is this?’
‘This is Silver,’ Josten said. ‘She’s…’
‘I am here to kill your enemy and send him back to where he crawled from,’ Silver said, still staring at that gate.
Vallion walked forward, sizing Silver up. ‘You are here to kill the Iron Tusk?’ he asked.
She turned to look at him, and Josten was surprised to see this implacable warrior unable to hold her gaze.
‘Whatever you choose to call him,’ she said gently, ‘I am here to stop him, before he can do any more damage to this place.’
There was silence, until Josten could stand it no more.
‘Well I for one am glad of the help,’ he said to her. ‘You’re very welcome to stay and die with the rest of us.’
No one seemed to want to argue with that. Least of all Silver.