Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘Merrick,’ said a deep voice. ‘Horses need mucking out. Your turn.’

He looked up to see Jared motioning with his thumb. As the newest recruit it was only natural he’d get the shittiest jobs, even he knew that. It didn’t make him like them any better, but it did make him stand without complaint and make his way towards Skyhelm’s stables.

Merrick walked across the courtyard, giving a nod here and there to the lads he’d got to know. There was a nod in return from Lannar, the big shaven headed one, a quick wink from Stross as he polished a plate of his bronze armour. Their gestures were genuine enough but Merrick still felt on the outside. He liked to think he could talk to anyone, fit into any kind of company, but he had to admit the Wyvern Guard had been a struggle. Not that he was surprised at that. They’d been raised in the mountains and fed nothing but pain and hardship. He’d come from privilege, and although he’d fallen on hard times it was nothing in comparison to that of the men he now found himself among. Merrick had done his best to breach the gap. They had little in common on the surface, but every man was the same when you got down to it. Everyone wanted a laugh and a joke. All fighting men took the piss out of one another and the best piss takers often got the most respect.

If Merrick was good at one thing it was taking the piss.

It hadn’t taken him long to work out who were the easy targets and who to avoid. Who he could push the furthest and who could take the harshest ribbing. Within a day he’d had some of these lads falling about laughing. He was just lucky that a man who could raise the spirits in a time of war was as valuable as the hardiest warrior.

When Merrick reached the stables he picked up the pitchfork leaning against one wall and got to work. Wasn’t long before he’d stripped down to his shirt, even in the cool morning air, and he’d got so used to the ripe stench of dung he could hardly smell it any more.

He had never been particularly fond of horses, and the troop brought down by the Wyvern Guard seemed an ill-tempered bunch. Still, he managed to do his job without one of them giving him a kick or biting at him, which was something to be thankful for at least. Within an hour he was sweating through his shirt. Within two he was feeling the ache of it in his shoulders and back. As he took a rest, letting his body cool a touch, Jared came with a cup of water.

Though Merrick wasn’t especially fond of water — wine always taking preference to anything else wet — he took it gratefully and downed half the cup in one go.

‘You’ve done a good job,’ said Jared, glancing at the pile of steaming shit, oblivious to how condescending he sounded.

‘Everyone has their particular skills,’ Merrick replied.

Jared didn’t seem to take up on his sarcasm. ‘We’ll need these destriers in tip-top condition for what’s to come.’

Way back in the dim and distant, in the Collegium of House Tarnath, Merrick had studied the rudiments of siege warfare, and he was pretty sure cavalry wasn’t a part of it.

‘If we’re defending a city what do we need horses for?’

Jared smiled knowingly. ‘Not too familiar with the Lord Marshal’s methods, are you, lad?’

‘I suppose not,’ Merrick replied, swallowing a comment about the fact his father had abandoned him years ago, so it was unlikely he’d be familiar with any such methods . ‘Please enlighten me.’

‘It’s not likely the Lord Marshal’s going to sit behind the wall and wait for the enemy to come to him. He’ll want to use his advantage. Take his horse and run the bastards down.’ Jared patted the rear of a destrier, whose flanks shuddered in response before it gave a whicker of annoyance. ‘The Wyvern Guard have no match with sword and shield. But behind the wall we’ll be as much use as any other man. On horseback, out on the field, we’ll be bloody invincible.’ He flashed Merrick a mad grin. ‘Sounds glorious, doesn’t it?’

No, it sounds fucking insane.

‘Glorious indeed,’ Merrick replied, imagining himself at the head of the column as they charged towards forty thousand Khurtas. How glorious it would be as he was hacked into tiny pieces. How proud he’d be of himself as his severed head stared gloriously from the top of a Khurtic spear.

Jared barked a laugh in his usual gruff tone. ‘That’s the spirit, lad,’ he said, before slapping Merrick on the arm and walking back towards the barracks.

Merrick barely felt the sting of that slap as he stared at the row of stabled horses, wondering which one he’d have the pleasure of being killed on.

The afternoon seemed to pass a little slower after that as he began to picture all the ways he could die. By the time he’d finished mucking the horses and someone had arrived with their feed he could hardly feel the cold sweat on his skin or hear the laughter of the other men.

What was wrong with them? Didn’t they realise what was in store? Did they really want to die that badly?

Of course they do. They’re looking forward to it. Haven’t you worked it out yet that every single one of them wants to die in battle, serving the Wyvern Guard faithfully, obeying your father’s every word?

But that couldn’t be true. Could it? Surely Tannick wouldn’t have asked Merrick to join this mob if all that was in store for him was a certain death.

Slowly he made his way back towards the courtyard, looking for some water to wash in. The prospect of a cold bath wasn’t a welcome one but it was preferable to stinking like a horse’s arse.

When he made it back, the courtyard was clear but for a single figure sitting beneath the eaves to one side. Tannick Ryder rested his huge sword on one knee, rubbing oil into the blade with reverent care, his arm moving in long, careful strokes.

For an instant Merrick felt out of place. Over the past few days since he’d joined the Wyvern Guard he had spoken little with his father. He wasn’t sure if now was the best time.

Nevertheless, he made his way across the courtyard, hoping Tannick wouldn’t notice him, but deep down he knew that was futile.

‘Been keeping busy, boy?’ said Tannick without looking up from his labours.

‘Er … yes,’ Merrick replied, without wanting to go into too much detail about what he’d been busy with, though from the smell of him it was pretty obvious.

There was silence then, but Merrick couldn’t just wander off. Part of him had to know.

‘I hear we’re to ride out and face the horde head on,’ he said.

‘That we are,’ replied Tannick, still rubbing at that blade. ‘We’re the Wyvern Guard. We don’t hide ourselves away behind walls. Besides, most of these lads have waited an age for a good fight. Wouldn’t be fair to keep them from it.’

It’s so nice of you to take their feelings into consideration like that.

‘Won’t it be a slaughter?’

Tannick stopped wiping at the blade and looked up, a wicked glint in his eye. ‘That’s what I’m counting on, boy.’

This did little to fill Merrick with any confidence. A mad charge into a mad enemy led by his mad father was nothing to look forward to.

‘I can’t wait,’ he said, not wanting to show any reluctance, any weakness.

As Tannick looked at Merrick his mad-eyed stare softened and a smile crept up one side of his face. ‘This must seem like lunacy to you. I can understand that, and I don’t think any less of you for it.’ Oh, how good of you . ‘That’s why I want you close. By my side, where I can keep an eye on you.’

‘There’s no need-’

‘There’s every need, boy. No harm must come to you. There’ll be chance enough to prove your worth, but no need to risk yourself needlessly.’