Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘I won’t,’ she said, sounding all small and mousey, but then what in the hells was she supposed to sound like? ‘But how do I know who I’m looking for?’

Fuck, Rag, don’t ask questions. Are you trying to get yourself offed?

Bastian regarding her with those blank eyes, as though mulling over whether her question was important enough to answer. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They’ll find you. Just make sure you get to the other side of the Rafts and don’t lose that message.’

‘I won’t,’ Rag replied, and she bloody meant it. Right now she would rather have lost her own head, though if she fucked this up that’s exactly what might happen.

Bastian didn’t say nothing else. Didn’t acknowledge her or wish her luck or none of that shit. He just turned and made his way out of there, with the hardest men Rag had ever seen moving out of his way like he was ten foot tall and covered in spikes.

Once he’d gone, Rag went back to the corner of the room, in no mood to get in anyone’s way. She looked down at the roll of parchment still held in her hand. The black seal was blank, the paper crisp. For a moment Rag had a suicidal thought and almost considered breaking the seal and having a look. Who would know, anyway? When she eventually delivered it on the other side of the Rafts she could just say it happened by accident.

But what if Bastian found out? And she knew he would, he had his ways. Her life wouldn’t be worth living.

‘What’s that?’

Rag turned to see Yarrick looking down at the parchment in her hand.

‘Message,’ she replied. ‘Bastian gave it me to deliver over the Rafts.’

Yarrick raised an eyebrow, half impressed, but clearly half glad it wasn’t him had been given the job.

‘What’s in it?’ he asked.

‘Dunno.’ She held out the parchment to him. ‘But you’re free to open it and have a look.’

Yarrick held up his hands like he was surrendering. ‘Not a fucking chance,’ he said. ‘Who’s it for?’

‘Dunno that neither,’ said Rag. ‘But Bastian reckons there’s someone waiting over the other side of the Rafts and he’ll know me when he sees me.’

‘Sounds fucking dodgy to me,’ said Yarrick, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

‘Is there anything round here that ain’t dodgy?’ Rag gestured around the tavern, at the gathered crowd of maniacs sharpening their weapons and waiting for trouble.

Yarrick nodded his agreement at that. ‘When you off?’

‘Soon as, I reckon. No point hanging around.’

‘Suppose I’d better come with you then.’ Though even as he said it Rag could sense the doubt in his voice.

‘Bastian gave this job to me. No need for you to take the risk as well.’

Yarrick shrugged. ‘Looks just as risky hanging round here.’ He looked fearfully at the tavern full of cutthroats.

Rag couldn’t argue with that logic. Neither would she say no to the company. Maybe she’d be better suited to this alone, better able to move unseen and get the job done, but deep down she knew she’d feel better with someone watching her back, even if it was only Yarrick.

‘All right then. Let’s go.’

With that they made their way out of the tavern, neither of them daring to look any of Bastian’s men in the eye, just in case. Shirl looked at her, opening his mouth with a question on his lips, but Rag shook her head and he took the hint, sitting back in his chair and keeping it shut.

Out on the street the sun was just setting and the smell of smoke and fire drifted up on the sea breeze from the south. It was eerily quiet, as if all the folk off the street were hidden and just waiting for the chance to jump out on her and yell ‘Surprise’ like they was throwing her a bloody party.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ asked Yarrick, also sensing something was amiss.

‘Wait here,’ Rag said, moving towards a derelict chapel building across the street from the tavern.

It was one of those old buildings, some place of worship for the Old Gods long since abandoned. They built them high back in those days, and Rag was hoping it would give her a decent enough vantage point to see what was going on.

The climb didn’t take long; the old stonework provided enough handholds for her to reach the top in no time. On the roof she could see out across most of the city, from the blackened seawall to the south all the way to the River Gate and beyond to the north.

Rag’s grip on the stonework tightened. At the curtain wall all along the northern battlements stood a mass of armoured men, all looking out to the plain beyond. Past them, filling the plain, was a massive horde moving towards the city. Torches shone in the night, showing their numbers, showing the mass of savages moving on Steelhaven. Amongst the horde were huge machines — catapults, siege towers, battering rams and things Rag didn’t even know the names for — all moving south like there weren’t nothing that could stop them.

She watched for as long as she dared before she realised her mouth was hanging open and her fingers were starting to hurt they were gripping the stone so tight. Almost as quick as she’d climbed she made it to the ground where Yarrick was waiting.

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What’s happening?’

She stared up at him, hands shaking from the climb and the fear.

‘We need to get a frigging move on, is what’s happening.’

Forty thousand screaming, braying Khurtic bastards were massed outside the city, making all the noise in the hells. Merrick sat on his horse facing the deathly racket they were making, with nothing between him and them but a hundred yards of dark, grassy plain.

He had to admit, he’d spent better evenings having the shit kicked out of him in Dockside taverns.

The horse whickered beneath him, stamping its foot nervously. Merrick patted it reassuringly but it seemed to do little good.

You think you’re bloody nervous? I had plans — ambitions. What did you have other than a nosebag in front and a pile of shit behind?

Beside him, to the left, sat Tannick. They hadn’t spoken but it was obvious the old man wanted to keep him close, maybe to look after him and make sure he’d be able to take that bloody sword one day, or maybe just to make sure he didn’t bring shame on the Wyvern Guard and the family name. Either way, Merrick took some strange solace from the fact his father was nearby.

The Wyvern Guard had ridden out as the Khurtas arrived. A few hundred men on horseback trotting out to face a horde of forty thousand. The savages were arrayed against them now, just standing there screaming, four hundred yards from the city wall. Every now and again a Khurtic archer would take a pot shot at them, his arrow whistling overhead or clanging against a shield, but other than that they were happy just to stand and shout. Of the great Amon Tugha there was no sign, and Merrick took no small reassurance from that. Howling savages he could just about stomach — an immortal giant from the Riverlands might well have been a foe too far.

‘See them?’ Tannick yelled above the din. ‘They’ve come to take this city. Come to prove they’re the hardest, deadliest bastards in all the corners of the world. Look at them.’ He pointed, his arm sweeping from left to right as he took in the whole Khurtic front line. As he did so an arrow whistled past the winged helm on his head, but Tannick never flinched. ‘They’ve come south to prove their might. To prove they’re the greatest killers the Free States have ever seen. And we’re going to prove them wrong.’

This time it was the turn of the Wyvern Guard to howl. Merrick had to admit, his father’s words stirred him a bit, but he still couldn’t bring himself to join in with their cheering.