Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

His hair covered much of his beaten face but Endellion could still see him watching, staring as his city burned. Perhaps as his one love died.

But more likely the queen yet lived. Endellion could only envy him that, and in another time, another place, that envy would have seen him skewered on the end of her blade. But not tonight. Not in this place.

She stood beside him as he stared, watching his eyes, unblinking as they were, light dancing from them in the firelight. She could sense his hate, masking his despair. He would have done anything to be released. Anything to be allowed a chance at freedom, a chance to save his queen.

‘I know your pain,’ she said. ‘I have felt it too. The loss. The helplessness.’ He gave no answer, merely continued to glare at the city beyond. ‘To know that there is nothing you can do to save her.’

He glanced at her then, a fleeting look of sorrow before he turned back to the city with hate. ‘You know nothing,’ he said from his split lips.

‘Oh but I do.’ Endellion leaned in close, her words little more than a whisper. ‘I know how torn you are. How conflicted with love and hate. You would give everything to save her. And failing that, you would give everything to kill him .’

He looked at her then, his eyes burning through the darkness. ‘Have you just come here to mock me?’

She smiled back at him. ‘Perhaps I have. Or perhaps I have come here to end your misery.’

‘Then get on with it,’ he said.

Endellion smiled at that. It was much more entertaining when they resisted. That little spark of defiance in the face of despair.

She ran her finger down one side of his face, collecting a clump of congealed blood.

‘What reason would I have to kill you? When I would much rather use you.’

River looked back to the city. ‘I will not be used as your toy, Elharim.’

‘No? Not even if it meant saving her?’

He looked at her suspiciously. ‘You would never-’

‘The temple,’ Endellion said, pointing towards Steelhaven. ‘That will be your city’s last defensible position. That is where he will find her, and that is where he will take her head.’ She stared deep into his eyes. ‘Unless you can stop him.’

His look of suspicion drained to be replaced by disbelief. ‘Why? Why would you …’

Endellion stepped back and drew her blade in one swift motion. Four deft cuts and he was freed from his bonds. He dropped to the ground and she wondered if he would even be able to stand, let alone fight. As he rose to his feet, eyes glaring with hate, she had her answer.

The sword in her hand was lowered at her side. Endellion hoped he would have the sense not to attack. What a waste that would have been.

‘You can avenge yourself on me … or you can save her.’

No sooner had the words come from her lips than he ran. Endellion was impressed by his vigour — an energy born of urgency … of love.

She watched him disappear in the shadows to the south, wondering if he would reach his queen in time. Wondering if Amon Tugha would kill her first. She didn’t wonder for long before realising she didn’t really care.

Without a second glance back, Endellion turned to the north and started to walk.

The Khurtas were flinging themselves against the wooden barricade but the defences had held so far. Regulus roared his defiance as another wave came charging through the open gateway. Janto stood silent by his side, armour drenched in blood, axes dripping gore despite the rain washing them all from head to toe. Steam plumed with every breath in the cold night, but Regulus could not feel the chill. His labours kept him hot, as though he were standing on the plain, the sun high above him, warming him to the quick.

As the Khurtas charged towards them the sound was deafening. Every wave came as though it were the first, as though thousands before them hadn’t already come rushing to be slain. With every attack, though, the defenders dwindled — Janto and Regulus were resolute but around them the Coldlander numbers had grown fewer and fewer. To Regulus’ right stood a red warrior, the plates of his armour intertwined with a pattern of thorns. Regulus did not know his name, had not even spoken a word to him, but already he admired the man’s fury in battle. The rest he did not remember, so enrapt was he in his work. And it was bloody work indeed. Work he was born for.

His black blade struck down as a Khurta raced up the bodies of his kinsmen piled against the barricade. The head split, the body fell but there were more behind. There were always more. Janto took a head, then another, silent in his black armour. Regulus had long since lost his helm, but part of him was glad of it. Let the Khurtas come, let them see his face, let them watch his fury as he slaughtered them by the dozen.

This time the Khurtic attack seemed to end as quickly as it had begun. Regulus watched, staying on his guard, as the survivors of the assault retreated.

Someone laughed further along the barricade as the defenders started to relax, thinking they had won yet another victory. Janto and the red-clad knight to either side of Regulus still stood vigilant. It was obvious the Khurtas were far from beaten.

There was fire from beyond the gate. Regulus could see it through the rain, bright burning brands raised high. A bellow rang out in the night, deep and resonant from the belly of a beast. The sound of stampeding hooves built to a rumble before the barricade beneath began to shake.

‘Steel yourselves!’ yelled the red knight.

Janto roared. His cry was met with another bellow as a herd of massive creatures rushed through the open gateway. They resembled huge beasts from the plains of Equ’un, but these were no docile grazing animals — they had tusks, curved and sharpened to points, their hide furred, their hooves clawed and churning up the soft ground beneath their feet.

There was a cry of woe as someone fled in the face of such terror, but Regulus stepped forward, eyes fixed on the charging herd.

The beasts trampled the bodies of the Khurtas strewn about the entranceway, their eyes wide in anger and terror as they were driven on by the fires behind them. The first one smashed into the barricade, throwing wood and stone and men all about.

Archers ran to the fore, firing randomly at the beasts, but the arrows barely seemed to slow them. Regulus stood firm as one of the monsters charged his way. It snorted its anger, vapour shooting from its wide nostrils as Regulus and Janto crouched low, bracing themselves against the impact. The beast hit the barricade, rocking it back but not splitting it apart. With a growl of rage the creature backed away, shaking its head before rushing in again.

Janto roared, leaping from the top of the barricade and plunging an axe into its hide. Regulus was not to be outdone, bounding forward, his sword skewering the beast’s neck.

As it fell, both Zatani rolled clear. Regulus barely had time to dodge the charge of another creature before it bowled into the barricade, smashing its way through. When he found his feet, Janto was standing beside him, breath still coming in deep pants from behind his helmet, rain tamping off his armour.

The sound of the Khurtas rushing towards the gate in the wake of their beasts was like the distant drum of a waterfall crashing down. Regulus ignored it; he was too intent on Janto’s blue eyes regarding him from within that dark helm.

Regulus nodded. He knew the Sho’tana warrior had made his decision. There was no loyalty left between them. Despite the enemies that would pour through the undefended gate, Janto was to have his day.

‘Now?’ Regulus said.

‘What better time?’ Janto replied.

Regulus roared, leaping forward, his black blade slashing left to right. Janto was forced to back away, his axes barely coming up in time to block the onslaught.