Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

The first Khurta barely had time to acknowledge her before her sword cleaved his head from his shoulders. Kaira’s blade rang as it cut the air and her muscles protested slightly as she overexerted in her impatience for the first kill.

Take control. This is not a game. This is not the practice yard. This is real.

She gritted her teeth as another Khurta came running. Stooping in a low defensive stance and clearing her lungs with a single breath. All emotion was gone in an instant, to be replaced by everything she had ever learned, from being a child in the Temple of Autumn to a woman grown.

You are Vorena’s will made manifest. A bright flame in the dark.

The Khurta’s attack was savage, unfettered. His limbs powerful, his expression fierce. He never stood a chance as Kaira ducked low, reading his first clumsy swing before it ever came and skewering him below the ribs. She braced her shoulder as his dead weight hit her, then let him drop, levering her blade free with a foot planted on his chest.

‘On your feet,’ she bellowed at a young soldier cowering in the crenellated shadow of the battlements. ‘All of you. Fight!’

Another Khurta ran at her. A swift hack of her sword and he fell screaming.

Seeing her cutting down the enemy so easily seemed to instil some courage in the wall’s defenders. Two men stumbled hesitantly to her side. The boy cowering beside her slowly rose to his feet, the sword in his hand held limply, but at least he still held it.

‘Form rank,’ she ordered, and the men obeyed, making a line across the parapet that guarded the stairway.

More Khurtas were already making their way over the wall. Kaira stooped to pick up a fallen shield, linking it with the three men that stood at her shoulders just as the first of the Khurtas came screaming at them. His attack was wild, flailing his axe against the shield wall. Kaira and the men beside her stood resolute as more Khurtas joined the fray. A break in the attack and Kaira struck out, the tip of her sword opening a throat. No sooner had one Khurta fallen than another took his place. Behind the attackers, yet more were making their way over the wall.

‘Stand fast,’ Kaira said through gritted teeth. The four of them were all that stood between these Khurtas and the city. They would not be allowed over the wall without a fight but, despite her courage, Kaira knew there was little she would be able to do to stop them. Eventually she and the rest of these men would fall under the Khurtas’ superior numbers.

A sword hit the top of her shield, denting it. The man to her right suddenly screamed and went down. Kaira shouted at him to get back on his feet but her words were lost in the melee. Another blow struck her shield, knocking her back a step, and she had to fight the anger, not let it take control.

All she could hear was screaming, rage spewed at her in the night, but it was not just rage — it was pain too, and fear.

The assault on her shield abated. Someone called out from behind the attacking Khurtas but not in their foul northern tongue. The sound of battle drifted across the battlements from beyond the mass of Khurtas and one by one the savages disengaged to face this new threat.

As Kaira took a moment to help the man to her right find his feet, she saw that more defenders had come across the battlements to repel the enemy. There was a flash of steel, a glint of bronze in the torchlight. Khurtas fell from the walkway and down into the city. Some leapt back over the parapet. Kaira could not help but allow herself a smile of relief as she recognised men of the Wyvern Guard, hacking and slaying with abandon. They were emotionless in their labours, every sword stroke measured, powerful, deadly. Among the relief she felt was also a pang of envy. These were peerless warriors, dedicated to their art, slaying the enemy with abandon. For a fleeting moment she thought back to the Temple of Autumn — to her sisters. How she yearned to be standing beside them now, Shieldmaidens all, fighting the enemy to the death.

But that can never be. Samina was right — you abandoned your sisters long ago.

As the last of the Khurtas was defeated, Kaira took a moment to look along the wall. As far as she could see the Khurtas had been slain to a man. Parts of the wall were smashed to ruins and bodies lay all along the battlements. But they had won.

Far below on the plain in front of the city, a horn blew loud and clear in the night. At the sound, the horde began to retreat back to the north, leaving their dead and dying behind on the field.

Kaira stared out at the retreating mass as it moved out of bow range of the wall and realised her sword was held tight in her grip, her breath coming in short, laboured gasps. Loosening her grasp on the weapon she felt her hand begin to shake.

‘You all right?’

Kaira looked up at the familiar voice, stifling a smile as she saw Merrick looking at her with concern.

‘I am,’ she replied. ‘Just …’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘It’s not what I was expecting either.’

He grinned, but Kaira could see beyond the smile. Behind his eyes were fear and pain. Despite the fact he looked every inch the warrior in his armour, he was just as scared as she was, and she took a step towards him.

‘How have you been?’ she asked. ‘Since you joined your father?’

Merrick shrugged. ‘I’ve been tattooed, shot at with arrows, chased by Khurtas, screamed at by sword-wielding maniacs and I think I just killed three men, maybe four. But there have been shit times as well.’

He smiled again, showing his teeth, showing some of the carefree Merrick of old, and for the briefest of moments Kaira smiled too.

Without another word he offered her a nod, and turned to join the rest of the Wyvern Guard.

After watching him go, Kaira glanced north one last time towards the enemy. They had been beaten back but not defeated. They would return soon enough. And she could only hope she would get another opportunity to face them with her sword in hand.

Whenever she’d been able, Rag had avoided the Rafts like the plague. Calling it a shithole would have been generous to shit. Pinching from Eastgate, and even Dockside, was risky enough, but the Rafts was one place you never wanted to get caught with your hand in someone’s purse. Not that there was much worth pinching there.

As she watched the last of the slum dwellers walking past, it reminded her what a good decision she’d always made in leaving this place well alone.

The Greencoats were herding them out now, and being none too polite about it neither. Men, women and children, all looking like they’d not seen soap and a flannel for far too long, were being beasted like animals into the city. Every now and again some ugly-looking bastard would try and argue, try and make a fuss, but they were soon quieted with the prod of a baton or an angry shove. It didn’t look like the Greencoats were taking any shit, and Rag could hardly blame them. You didn’t fuck about with the residents of the Rafts — not if you knew what was good for you.

As relieved as she was that there’d be no dodgy, robbing bastards waiting for her in the shadows of the Rafts, she knew it would be no easy job getting through now. For some reason the Greencoats were evacuating the whole district — if you could call it that — and she guessed they’d be none too happy with her just strolling on by.

She knew she had to get through, though, weren’t no choice about that now. The rolled-up parchment with the black seal that pressed against her inside pocket was enough of a reminder of that. Bastian wanted his message delivered, and what Bastian wanted he’d bloody well get or someone would pay the price for it. Rag didn’t reckon she fancied paying what he’d charge if she fucked this up.