David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

An army of people waited outside Port Lancaster’s walls, milling about as if they had nothing better to do. Behind was a line of wagons that stretched for nearly a half mile, with smaller groups of people congregating around each wagon. The vast majority were women. Catherine Brennan shook her head as she stared down at them from atop the wall tower that loomed over the city’s main portcullis. The door to the elegant carriage at the front of the procession opened, and out stepped a white-haired woman and two bald men dressed in draping crimson frocks, their powdered noggins dull in the twilight gloom. Catherine groaned. The brothers had written her requesting a meeting to discuss a thin stretch of land that resided between Riverrun and Thettletown, which Matthew had laid claim to for years. The two families had often battled over that parcel of land, where there was a convenient fjord in the Queln River and an impressive number of massive trees. Catherine now knew for certain, with the amount of people in the Connington’s party, that the meeting was a ruse. She’d expected as much.

One of the brothers-it was difficult to tell which one-lifted his head to her and waved. Catherine let out a disgusted grunt and waved back.

“You want me to get rid of them, boss?” asked Bren Torrant.

“No,” Catherine said. “Allow those three in.”

“Just the brothers and the woman?”

“For now.”

“What about the rest?”

“They can wait outside. Now let’s go down there and welcome our guests.”

After descending the wall tower, Bren spoke through the bars to the Conningtons before organizing those under his command, lining up his sellswords on either side of the entrance. Their eyes were locked on the gate as it slowly lifted. “Swords and spears resting on shoulders,” Bren told his charges, pacing up and down the line. “Let them be wary.”

Catherine smiled as Bren took his place by her side. She fluffed out the long, frilly skirt she wore, trying to further hide the swell of the baby growing inside her. Some things they mustn’t know about, she thought.

When the gate was all the way up, Romeo and Cleo Connington strolled inside, portly as ever, joined by the white-haired woman. It was the woman on whom Catherine focused. She was quite tall and had a stately manner, and despite her age, she walked upright as if a rod had been shoved up her ass. Catherine recognized her immediately; even if she had not met her a few times before, the resemblance to her sons, with her circular and hefty nose, low cheekbones, and squinting eyes, was obvious.

Catherine furrowed her brow. Lady Meredith Connington almost never left Riverrun: She was the village steward during her sons’ frequent periods traipsing throughout Neldar on business ventures. Her presence validated Catherine’s fears.

The Conningtons wanted Port Lancaster.

“Ah, my dear Catherine,” said Cleo Connington in his high-pitched voice. “So good to see you.” The fat man approached her with his hands clenched over his heart and his head tilted to the side. He then bowed before her and took her hand in his, kissing the back of it. His fingers felt soft as a baby’s bottom; his lips, like a pair of worms after a rainstorm.

Cleo stepped aside, and Romeo, the elder and gruffer of the two brothers, took his place.

“It is kind of you to allow us entrance into your city,” he said, though his frown and tone belied the sincerity of his words. Regardless, he echoed his brother’s actions, bowing, grabbing her hand, and kissing it. Thankfully, Romeo’s hands felt rough, like a man’s should be. His lips, however, were just as moist and disgusting.

Lady Connington didn’t approach her; instead, she curtseyed from a distance. Catherine nodded to her before turning back to the brothers.

“Your letter said nothing of bringing such a large entourage.”

“My, my, Catherine, how blunt you’ve become,” said Cleo with a snigger.

“One must be blunt when a rival arrives at your doorstep and expects you to feed a thousand new mouths.”

“One thousand two hundred and thirty-eight to be exact,” Romeo said. “And who said anything about you feeding them?”

Catherine chuckled. “I’m the regent of this city in the absence of my husband, and if I allow them to enter, they will be guests within my walls. Who else would it fall on to feed them if not me, you halfwit?” She almost said more, but doing so would betray her suspicions. So she kept quiet.

Romeo scowled and sucked on his upper lip.

“Now, now, Brother,” Cleo sang out, prancing between them. He was light on his feet for a fat man. “There is no need to be unpleasant. You are speaking with a widow.” He then turned to Catherine, bowing once more. “You have our condolences, milady Brennan. Matthew was a splendid man, and shrewd. You must tell us how he perished. And also you must please forgive us for our presumption. Rest assured, you will not need to feed those we brought with us. There is enough grain and vegetables and salted meats in our wagons to feed three times that many for a month.”

“I don’t need your pity, Cleo. And I assume this bounty of food you’ve brought is also a bribe to let your people through our gate?”

Cleo clapped his hands together. “Such splendid frankness! Do you see this, Brother? Whatever happened to the demure Catherine we’ve always known?”

“She became the leader of a city, with real problems to worry over,” Catherine replied. Though Meredith Connington had yet to speak, she glanced at her anyway. The left corner of the older woman’s lip twitched for a moment, then fell still. Catherine knew that was the closest thing to a smile she could hope to get from the woman.

“Ah, yes,” said Romeo with a nod. “The housewife is now the grand ruler of Port Lancaster. How lovely.”

“I think it splendid!” squealed Cleo.

Bren fidgeted beside her, and all it took was a quick glimpse to see that the sellsword was wringing his fist around the hilt of his sheathed sword. Catherine knew he wanted to hack the fat brothers to bits. She couldn’t blame him.

“Enough of this foolishness,” said Lady Connington. Her voice was cold, her words like tiny shards of ice. “You have business to attend to, and I have many people to get situated.”

Romeo glowered while Cleo grinned. Neither acknowledged that their mother had spoken. The older woman frowned, the lines in her face deepening. A long pause followed, until finally Romeo said, “We came here to meet, so we should meet. There is much we have to discuss.”

“Yes, yes, that we should do,” said Cleo.

“Will you accept the people of Riverrun into your city?” asked Romeo. The question clearly pained him when it left his lips, and he seemed to realize this, adding, “You certainly have the room to spare,” in his offhand, insulting way.

“We do, and we will,” Catherine told him. She turned to her sellsword captain. “Bren, have your men escort the train to Rat Harbor. And make sure the contents of the carriages are counted and marked. I wish to know the extent our new bounty by the morrow.”

“Okay, boss,” said Bren.

“Rat Harbor?” said Romeo, aghast. “You’re settling our people in the slum?”

“It’s the best I can offer right now,” Catherine purred. “You said you would only be here for a short while to discuss your rights to Matthew’s land holdings. Rat Harbor has been abandoned; it is the easiest place to set up temporary residences for your lot.”

Romeo opened his mouth, but it was Cleo who spoke. “It is understood, milady. Truly it is.” Cleo gently touched both Catherine’s arm and his brother’s shoulder. Romeo glared at her while he straightened out the wrinkled top of his frock. He then spun around and faced his mother.