Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘Anyway, have to run,’ Waylian said to Aldrich, who acknowledged him with an insincere smile that never reached his bespectacled eyes. As he hurried to the Magistra’s side Waylian could only hope their paths never crossed again.

The pair walked in silence through the gates of the courtyard and out into the city. There was a muted sense of urgency on the streets, the tension palpable amongst Steelhaven’s city folk. Gelredida ignored them, and Waylian did his best to avoid anyone’s gaze lest they look to him in hope — conveying a silent plea for him to use his magicks and save them from the horde that had come to smash down their walls.

He followed his mistress on her usual route. It was like a ritual she performed each morning since the Khurtas had arrived. Walk the streets to the wall at Eastgate and there mount the battlements. Then walk north to the Stone Gate, passing the archers posted there, the swordsmen and knights of every stripe, the auxiliaries and militia levies trading their banter, trying their hardest to take their minds from what was to come.

Again Waylian found himself avoiding the eyes of these men, not that any of them were interested in him. They were far too busy moving from the path of his mistress as she strode amongst them, her stern stare fixed far to the north, where the Khurtas were camped. When they reached the River Gate they would descend the stone steps down from the battlements and make their way back to the Tower of Magisters, but today was different. Today the Magistra stopped, placing her red-gloved hands gently on the merlon in front of her and letting out a long sigh.

Waylian watched her as she stared northward, starting to feel somewhat uncomfortable with the silence.

‘You have been a loyal apprentice, Waylian,’ she said suddenly.

‘Magistra?’ he replied, unsure of where this was going, or if he even wanted to know. Was she about to send him on another impossible mission? About to put his life in danger once more?

‘I should have spared you all this. I should have let you leave this place days ago. Weeks ago.’

‘But, Magistra, I-’

‘There’s no need to protest. I know you’ve hated your time here. Hated me. But you must know it was all for a reason.’

This wasn’t right. She was unburdening herself. Confiding in him. In all the time he had known her she had never once imparted her feelings. He could only think it was a side effect of the virulent canker that infected her hands and body.

‘Magistra, I will stay here as long as-’

She laughed. It lit up her face. Waylian was so taken aback he almost fell off the battlements.

‘Yes, you will, Waylian. You’ll stay as long as you’re needed, you brave young fool. That’s exactly the reason I should spare you the horror that’s coming. But it’s fools like you who may well save this city.’

He could only stare at her, wanting to tell her he wasn’t brave. He was terrified. Had been terrified from the first day he set foot in the Tower of Magisters, but something told him she already knew that.

‘I don’t see there’s anything I can do,’ he said.

She regarded him with a look of sympathy. ‘You might be surprised, Waylian. Courage isn’t something that can be conjured like the magicks. You either have it or you don’t. It’s what makes people like you face impossible odds, when there is little hope.’ She looked at him, gazing deep into his eyes. ‘You’ll fight here till the end. And chances are you’ll die here like all the rest.’

He had to admit; the prospect didn’t fill him with glee, but he knew she was right.

‘Then it’s settled,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

They stared at one another then, her eyes looking into him, assessing him. Whatever she saw deep inside was enough to satisfy her.

‘Come then,’ she said, continuing her route along the great curtain wall. ‘There is still much to do.’

Feeling no braver, Waylian followed.

Merrick glanced at his reflection on the shield as he polished it. His cheeks had hollowed out in the past week alone, and he was leaner, hungrier than ever. It wasn’t just the meagre rations that were turning him that way. He’d never experienced so much discipline, been trained so rigorously or punished so mercilessly, as he had since pledging himself to the Wyvern Guard.

At any other time in his life he was sure he’d have hated it; railed against it, run away or kicked up a storm. Now he had to admit he was thriving on every moment. That little sadistic imp that always sat on his shoulder was laughing its head off as he trained until he dripped with sweat, only to be rewarded with the soggiest gruel he’d ever had the misfortune to taste. It wasn’t like him to take so much shit without complaint, but all he could do was relish the change.

Change? You’ve been taking shit all your life, Ryder. Only difference is you now look better while you’re doing it.

That was true at least. He felt stronger and fitter than ever, and even in full armour he was fast as the wind. Whoever the forge master was back in the Wyvern Guard’s keep, he was a peerless craftsman. Merrick now possessed the best sword he’d ever owned, its balance perfect, its edge keener than a kestrel’s eye. Fully armed and armoured he felt all but invincible. Standing alongside his fellow knights it was as though nothing could match them.

Fellow knights . It almost made him laugh. Weeks ago he’d been scraping a living on the streets — no friends, no money, no luck. Now he was amongst the most dangerous bunch of fighters in all the continents of the world, if the legends were true. Strange how quickly fortune could spin you right round.

Looking across the courtyard he took in the scene of the Wyvern Guard in repose. They were polishing their armour, chatting idly or sparring on the square. Though they all looked relaxed Merrick could sense the tension. There’d be fighting soon. Vicious, dirty fighting that would see plenty of their number in the ground. A princely portion of these men would soon die in battle and each of them knew it. But if anyone could face death with a grin and a wink it was the Wyvern Guard. No one was ever eager to meet his end but Merrick could tell every man here was ready for it.

And are you ready for it, Ryder? Are you ready to rush into the fray with a grin and a fucking wink? Or will you do what you’ve always done and run for the hills when the blood starts to fly?

Despite the fact they were the roughest bunch of bastards Merrick had ever met, they were loyal to one another. Would die for one another. The Wyvern Guard was a true brotherhood; anyone with eyes in their head could see that. For his part, Merrick knew he was on the outside of that brotherhood. Some of the lads had taken to him, all right. He was liked well enough, even after such a short time amongst their number, but he knew he had a long way to go before they’d trust him like one of their own. It was no secret he was Tannick Ryder’s son, but there didn’t seem to be any antipathy because of it, but neither was he given any special treatment. Part of him was thankful for that. If he was ever going to gain the respect of these men he wanted to do it on his own terms, until they considered him an equal because of his deeds, not because he was son to their Lord Marshal.

Tannick had done a good enough job of treating him just like everyone else. The old man had shown him no favouritism, treated Merrick no different to the men he would soon be fighting alongside, and he could only be grateful for that. As a result no one showed him any ill will. Almost no one.

There was one among them that bore him no love. Cormach Whoreson was even now staring at him across the courtyard with a look like he wanted to stroll right over and smash Merrick’s teeth out. What he’d done to upset the mad bastard Merrick had no idea, but it was probably best to stay out of his way, at least until the fighting started. Then he’d want every one of these thugs watching his back. Whether Cormach would guard it or try to stick four feet of steel in it remained to be seen.