Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

The Khurtas burst through the gate. All around them the Coldlanders were shouting to form up and defend the way , but Regulus only saw Janto.

The Sho’tana parried a swing of Regulus’ sword, locking the blade between his axes. They stared at one another as the Khurtas swarmed through the gate.

‘We will die here,’ said Regulus.

‘One of us will,’ Janto replied, shoving Regulus back and spinning to hack down a charging Khurta. Regulus’ sword spun twice in quick succession, eviscerating two of the savages, and he barely had time to turn and parry Janto’s axe as it struck in once more.

From the corner of his eye he could see the defenders were being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers in the Khurtic horde, but Regulus had more immediate dangers to consider.

‘This must wait,’ he said. ‘You’ll see us both dead.’

‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’ Janto said. ‘A glorious end? Like the one you gifted to each of the warriors who followed you from Equ’un?’

Regulus felt a shot of anger, growling as he pushed Janto back. They both stood and faced one another as the battle raged around them.

‘They each made their choice. They each died as a warrior of the Gor’tana should.’

‘And yet you still live,’ Janto’s voice sounded hollow and cold from within his helm, like a ghost’s. ‘But you will sacrifice no more to your cause.’

He made to race forward, but before he could even bring his axes to bear there was a howl from within the city, beyond what remained of the barricade. It was no human voice, no mortal could have made such a sound, and it almost turned the blood in Regulus’ veins to ice.

Janto seemed to forget his attack, staring to the south from where the noise had come. Likewise the battle around them froze in time when that first howl was followed by a second.

As the warring factions stood transfixed, the barricade burst apart. At first Regulus thought the animals of the Khurtas were attacking again, but these were no beasts of burden.

Though these things bore the bodies of men they were twisted and misshapen, their limbs elongated and ending in talons to rival any Aeslanti. Their heads were likewise huge, their lower jaws distended to house their massive fangs. Black eyes were sunken deep into each head, staring out balefully, full of hate and a thirst for slaughter.

The creatures fell upon the Khurtas with a ravenous hunger, though many of the defenders were likewise caught in the onslaught. They howled as they slew, tearing heads and arms from shoulders, rending with claws, biting the faces off their victims. Regulus stared in awe at the level of carnage until a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see one of the creatures bearing down, slaver and blood dripping from a black maw.

But Regulus did not falter. If this was to be his end he would meet it as a son of the Gor’tana.

With a roar he leapt forward, black blade sweeping in. The creature moved with preternatural speed, ducking his blade and batting him aside as though he were made of straw. Regulus landed hard, rolling with the impact and rising to his feet, just as the beast was on him. His sword came up ready, impaling the fiend’s chest. It screamed at him as black blood spewed from the wound. Regulus could not resist, bellowing back from the bottom of his lungs as the creature took hold of his wrist, pulling itself towards him along the blade, ready to take a bite with those infernal jaws.

In a plume of dark cruor its head spun from its body. Janto stood behind the beast, his twin axes still dripping. Regulus stumbled back as the beast fell, his sword still buried in its chest, and Janto came on, glaring down from behind his helm. It seemed Regulus’ saviour had only rescued him to satisfy his own need for blood.

Regulus stood tall, ready for the final blow that would end his life.

With a hellish scream, two more of the fiendish beasts bowled into Janto. He raised an axe, hacking into one of them as the second tore his breastplate asunder with its talons. The Sho’tana roared as he was dragged away into the melee, his axes rising and falling in a desperate flurry as the monsters ripped with their claws and bit into the black steel plate that encased him.

With Janto gone, Regulus stumbled away from the battle, looking around for his sword; though he knew that in the fray it was hopeless he would find it. The defenders of Steelhaven were in full rout now, and the hellish creatures that had attacked seemed to be concentrating their fury on the Khurtas.

As he moved away from the slaughter Regulus caught sight of red armour through the dark and rain. The knight who had stood so resolute beside him was prone, struggling to crawl away from the battle.

Without a word Regulus helped him up. If he were not to gain glory in battle this day, then he could at least help a fallen warrior. As the battle raged on, Regulus guided the knight to safety.

Arun was always a greedy boy. His mother had often chastised him for being so. As a child he always wanted more on his plate, always wanted to play with everyone else’s toys, always yearned for the things he couldn’t have. Arun had never been the sweetest or prettiest of boys, and so to get these things he’d had to think of ways that didn’t involve a pleasant smile or a kind word. He’d learned fast that sleight of hand and subterfuge were all well and good, until you were caught. And so it hadn’t taken him very many beatings with the birch branch to learn how not to get caught.

Never let anyone know what you’re thinking. That had always been his tenet. Keep your own counsel, don’t appear a threat, smile in all the right places no matter how ugly the smile. These simple rules had seen him go a long way. Had seen him rise from the son of a cooper to take his place in the palace of Skyhelm. To become one of King Cael’s most trusted aides. It had been a long road, but one he had committed to.

And if nothing else, Arun Durket was a committed man.

Commitment could only bring a man so far, though, and Chancellor Durket, as he had become, found himself presented with many fortunate opportunities. Indeed, fortune had smiled upon him with its bounteous offerings many times, but only a man of true vision would have the stomach to grasp those opportunities and make them blossom.

When he had been given the opportunity to seize yet more power by the agents of Amon Tugha he had grasped it like the neck of a viper and held on tight. He had stuck with it despite the considerable dangers to his wellbeing, because he realised if he was ever to rise from beneath the shadow of the Crown, of the rightful rulers of Steelhaven and the Free States, he could only do so through betrayal.

Betrayal . Such a nasty word. Durket had never been afraid of it, though, not as other men were. Braver men. No one survived a coup or an attempted murder by being courageous or loyal. And if Chancellor Durket knew one thing it was how to survive.

Not that survival had been easy or his plans and schemes run smooth. The passing weeks and months and years had seen his path strewn with cow shit from Arlor’s very own divine herd.

Recently, Kaira Stormfall had been the main thorn in his side, protecting the queen at every turn. Then the arrival of Azai Dravos with his offer of marriage. Durket had done his best to appease the man but he had been ever so persuasive. On that occasion Kaira had solved his problem for him, but not before Dravos had used his magicks.

Magicks that haunt you even now. Darkness that threatens to consume your every waking hour.

The aftermath of witnessing Azai Dravos and his fell sorcery had indeed taken its toll. When Kaira had confronted Durket outside the treasury his act at insanity had been no mere mummer’s play. Dravos had left an indelible mark — the nightmares, the voices — but Durket had faced adversity before and he was damned if he would give in to it now. Not when he was so close.