Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘We are all slaves to the will of Vorena. Or have you already forgotten that?’

‘I still serve Vorena. And I serve this city. Just because I no longer do it as a Shieldmaiden does not mean I have forgotten the vows I made. The vows we made together.’

Samina shook her head. ‘You serve your queen, Sentinel. Not this city and not its people.’ Kaira shook her head to deny it, but perhaps there was a shred of truth there. Perhaps all the while she had thought she was serving the tenets of the Shieldmaidens in her own manner, in reality she had become preoccupied with defending the life of one girl.

‘Remember when we were children?’ Samina continued, before Kaira could think of what to say. ‘Remember it was always you who would do the right thing. Always you who would lead us in prayer. Always you who would push to serve our goddess. To serve the Temple of Autumn. And now you have betrayed all that. Left it behind like so much dust in your wake.’

‘No … I …’ Kaira wanted to deny it. Wanted to explain it had never been her intention to abandon her sisters, to abandon Vorena, but she never got the chance.

Rogan and the Matron Mother had finished their debate. As the Matron Mother turned to leave she saw Kaira standing there. The look she gave betrayed nothing. At that moment Kaira would have preferred her scorn, her rage, anything. All she received was a look of blank indifference that stung more than a blow to her cheek.

Samina walked silently to the old woman’s side, who in her turn never gave Kaira so much as a second glance as she turned and walked from the palace. Kaira stood at the edge of the hall for some time after they left. She didn’t even notice where Rogan had gone.

Had it truly been a betrayal? Had she really abandoned Vorena and her sisters?

Does it matter either way? In the coming days this city may well fall and then who will care? Do not dwell on it. There is still much to do before you must flog yourself over this.

Kaira moved to the huge doors of Skyhelm, determined to make herself of use, but before she could, Captain Garret entered, two Sentinels at his shoulder. His brow was furrowed, his face stern, and Kaira stopped before him.

‘Captain,’ she began, but Garret held up a hand to silence her.

‘Save it,’ he replied without breaking his stride. ‘Your place is beside the queen.’

‘But there is still much to do before the Khurtas make their advance.’

Garret stopped and turned to her. ‘If there’s anything we haven’t done by now, it’s too late. The Khurtas are on the move.’

It was busy as all the hells in the tavern. Rag stood to one side just watching as Bastian’s men went about their business. They cleaned and sharpened their weapons like they was some precious trinkets, or played their card games in silence, swapping coins around like the money didn’t matter a shit. Some made their food and drank their drink but didn’t seem to take no joy in it, as though they couldn’t taste a damn thing.

They’d come three days previous. Just walked in all bold as brass and not saying nothing to no one. Shirl, Yarrick and Essen hadn’t known what to do or say, and luckily they’d decided on nothing. Even Harkas moved out of their way and let them get on with their business. Not even the big fella was gonna mess with these bastards.

Understandable, really, since these were Bastian’s best men. He was head of the Guild; ruthless and deadly and only interested in what could make him some profit. You didn’t get to be that powerful without surrounding yourself with the dirtiest cutthroats in the game.

Bastian had told them to ‘be ready’. He’d told Rag there’d be a chance to prove herself, but so far all she’d done was stand here trying not to get in the way. Something was brewing, of that there was no doubt. Just a matter of what and whether she’d be stuck right at the heart of it. Way her luck had been going lately, chances were she’d definitely be right smack bang in the frigging middle.

‘What are we even still doing here?’ muttered Shirl from the shadows. ‘We should be long gone.’

‘Gone where?’ Essen hissed. His annoyance with Shirl’s constant griping had only grown more intense over the past days. ‘There ain’t nowhere we can go that Bastian won’t find us. And in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s around forty thousand Khurtas camped just north of the city. I reckon they’re hungry too, just waiting for some fat fuck to stumble past so they can have a good feed.’

Shirl shut his mouth, looking equal parts angry and fearful at Essen’s dressing down.

Rag couldn’t help but feel for Shirl. Couldn’t help but think he might be right. Who was to say if trying to escape was any less dangerous than sticking around? There was every chance one of Bastian’s men would stab them in the neck before any Khurta got the chance.

The back door to the tavern opened, not with a bang but a whisper of hinges. Still, everyone in the place went quiet. Rag saw some hands stray towards blades while others just froze. She half expected it to be the Greencoats come to arrest them all, but deep down she knew they were too busy with what waited outside the city’s walls to be bothered about what lurked inside some backstreet tavern.

What walked in was scarier than any Greencoat, though.

Bastian had given her a chill ever since the first time she’d laid eyes on him. It was a chill that never left her, a cold spike down her back that was always there, lurking like a stray cat. Seeing him just reminded her that it was still there, that she was living on borrowed time and it was this corpse-looking bastard she was borrowing it off.

He walked into the centre of the room and his men went about making themselves look busy. Bastian’s cold eyes scanned the tavern, and Rag felt her heart begin to sink as they passed over all those lean, deadly blokes until they finally rested on her. He stared at her for some moments, dead fish eyes glaring, and Rag knew it was her he’d come for.

Best not keep him waiting, Rag. You should know better than that.

She walked across the tavern so slow it almost hurt. Rag had watched a man hanged once. Watched him walk to those gallows at a snail’s pace like he wanted every last moment on earth to stretch out and give him as much life as possible. As she walked across the tavern towards Bastian, Rag began to realise how that poor fucker had felt.

He stared at her all the while until she came to stand in front of him, regarding her like some giant bird about to eat a worm. She just stared back, not wanting to speak but needing to know what in the hells he wanted with her.

Then he smiled.

It looked horrible on that skeletal face; cracking his pale flesh and showing a set of teeth yellow as old parchment.

‘I have a job for you,’ he said in a voice that creaked like a coffin lid. Then he let that hang there so long she almost had to ask him what it was. But Rag knew better than that. Don’t speak until spoken to if you want to keep that tongue in your head. ‘Someone is waiting,’ Bastian continued. ‘At the other side of the Rafts. It’s important they are relayed a message. I need someone sly. Someone no one’s going to notice. Someone insignificant. Naturally, I thought of you.’

Thanks a fucking bunch.

‘Yeah,’ Rag whispered. ‘No problem.’

‘That’s the right answer,’ said Bastian, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a roll of parchment, sealed with black wax. He held it out to her and she took it in her hand. As she tugged on the parchment she realised he still held it in a dead man’s grip. ‘Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.’ He spoke each word so sharp it was like being stabbed in the ear with them. Then he let go of the parchment and let her take it.