Richard Ford - The Shattered Crown

Rag could barely hide her discomfort as Palien and Bastian made their way nearer. She put down her fork and sat back in her chair, trying to look as insignificant as she could. Friedrik carried on eating as though they weren’t even there.

As Bastian pulled up a chair and sat with them, Palien stood to one side, looking on hungrily. It took Rag a moment to realise he was staring at the food on the table as though he wanted to dive right in and devour the lot.

Bastian looked on, watching Friedrik eating with an expression of distaste, though from what Rag had seen of him before now, distaste was just about the nicest of his expressions. When Friedrik gave no sign of finishing his meal anytime soon, Bastian leaned forward just a touch.

‘We’ve found him,’ he said.

Rag had no idea who he was on about, but whoever it was they were important enough to stop Friedrik cold. His mouth was open, fork stuck into a slice of quivering lamb. Then he gently placed his fork down and sat back in his chair.

‘Where?’ Friedrik asked.

‘Now that’s the problem,’ said Bastian. ‘Word is he’s joined the Sentinels. It appears Garret’s taken the boy under his wing — they go back a long way by all accounts. He trusts him.’

‘Trusts Ryder? That drunken whoremonger? The man must be a moron.’

‘Whatever he is, he’s taken that bastard into his employ and granted him all the protections that entails.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘The problem is we can’t breach the walls of Skyhelm, and the loyalty of the Sentinels is legend. Even if we get access to Garret, to make him an offer, they would never betray one of their own.’

‘That is a quandary.’ Friedrik sat back, deep in thought.

Whoever this Ryder was the Guild wanted him bad. Rag was glad she wasn’t in his shoes. She was sure he wasn’t going to last long, no matter where he was holed up.

‘We need a spy,’ said Palien. Rag turned to see him staring down with those hungry eyes. ‘Someone good at slipping in and out of places unseen. Someone who could track his movements, maybe even lure him out in the open.’

‘Yes, and I think we know just the person.’ Bastian glanced towards Rag and she suddenly felt more uncomfortable than ever.

Friedrik asked the question for her. ‘Where would we find someone …?’

He stopped when he saw Bastian leering at Rag.

She looked pleadingly at Friedrik and he began to shake his head. ‘No. Out of the question. She’s my … my …’

‘Your what?’ said Bastian through sneering lips. ‘Your new plaything? A doll for you to dress up? Well, it’s about time she made herself useful. Everyone has to pull their weight, Friedrik, in your crew as well as mine.’

‘I said no .’ Friedrik’s expression hardened. It was a look Rag had seen a hundred times before. A look that had made so many men almost shit.

It had no effect on Bastian.

‘Well, I say yes . She’s already proved herself capable. Brought you a severed head, as I remember, and right out of a Greencoat barracks. No small feat for such a little dolly.’

Friedrik continued his glare, but he had no answer for Bastian. He looked at her, then back at his partner, then back to her again.

Rag wanted to speak up for herself, to say something on her own behalf, but these two were the men that controlled the Guild. What in the hells was she supposed to say?

‘All right,’ said Friedrik finally. ‘I’m sure it’s well within her capabilities. She can get in, track his movements and lead him into any trap we choose to set. What do you say, Rag?’

All eyes were on her now — the weight of expectation hanging over her like an anvil on a piece of thread.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Rag replied, before she’d even had time to think.

Friedrik smiled and sat back in his chair. ‘See,’ he said. ‘Problem solved. Merrick Ryder is as good as fucked.’

The mountains were far behind them, their peaks visible above the endless forest that spread out to the south. For five days Regulus had pushed them on through the densely packed trees expecting the enemy to fall upon them at any moment, but they had made it through and out onto the Coldlands of the Clawless Tribes.

This land of rolling hills was strange to them. They saw low stone walls and hedgerows and streams flowing strongly. It was in stark contrast to the endless flat plains of Equ’un, where one might travel for days without sign of water.

Leandran moved up beside Regulus as he stood surveying the land before them.

‘We have to keep moving,’ said the old warrior with a shiver. Regulus knew the chill air was creeping into his old bones. None of them were used to cold like this, and the venerable Leandran was suffering most.

‘I know,’ said Regulus, looking back at his warriors. They were all weary. All tired of this ceaseless flight. ‘Have we perhaps done enough running, old friend?’

A snaggletooth smile crossed Leandran’s lips. ‘I’ll stand beside you, whatever you decide. You know that.’

‘I know.’ Regulus patted Leandran firmly on the arm.

With a sigh, he scanned the terrain for a defensible position. There was nothing that might afford them an ambush, no construction that they might barricade. Only hills on whose upper slopes they could sit and await their enemy.

Regulus glanced back towards the forest. It would not be long before their pursuers burst out of those trees. Was there any chance his small band could find the Steel King of the Clawless Tribes before they were hunted down?

Regulus doubted it.

And if they must fight, far better to die making a stand than to be cut down in ignominious flight. As much as he had wanted to escape to the north and restore his reputation, that opportunity had passed.

With a bitter smile he thought of what he might have achieved. The victories he could have won in honour of his father and the Gor’tana. But best not to dwell on that, it would only fill him with sorrow.

‘There,’ he said abruptly to his warriors, pointing to a hill that looked down towards the forest. ‘We’ll rest there.’

‘Even though they must be right behind us?’ said Hagama.

Regulus glared at him with determination. ‘Yes. And with luck they will be.’

As they wearily made their way up the hill, Regulus felt Janto Sho’s presence at his shoulder.

‘We run all this way just to make a stand here, in the cold, in this land far from home?’

‘Would you rather we keep running? That we die from exhaustion? Besides, this is as good a place to die as any,’ Regulus replied.

Janto barked a laugh at that. ‘Aye, you might be right. But what about those tales?’

Regulus shrugged ruefully. How he had wanted to create a legend, to have stories told of him from one side of Equ’un to the other. Then again, perhaps they set too much store by such things.

‘They’ll just have to tell their tales about someone else,’ he replied, without looking around.

No one else spoke as they waited. The day wore on, and while his men rested Regulus kept his eyes fixed on the trees below. Not until the sun had crested the sky, even then bringing little warmth to the day, did their pursuers come into view.

At first there was a single scout, his eyes scanning the ground, searching for tracks. He stopped, tipping his nose to the air to catch their scent, and at that point he saw them waiting. Regulus savoured the scout’s look of panic, visible only for a moment before he fled back into the safety of the trees.

‘On your feet,’ Regulus said, rising and unsheathing his black blade. His warriors did likewise, some of them looking resigned to their fate, though none of them baulked at what was asked of them. Regulus felt a smack of pride at that — though his warriors were few they were loyal to the end. He was reassured by the keen glint in Janto’s eye. The Sho’tana was obviously eager for this to get underway, relishing the prospect of violence.