Richard Ford - The Shattered Crown

He pulled his weapon clear, and saw that his men had made short work of the Kel’tana. A dozen of them lay dead, the handful of survivors fleeing back towards the treeline as the Gor’tana roared their victory. But it was a victory hard won.

On the ground, amongst the bodies of the Kel’tana were four of his own — Ortera, Felik, Churnik and Theoda. All had been brave and loyal warriors and many had fought alongside Regulus since they were boys. He hoped that they might reach the stars before the Dark Walker knew of their deaths.

Regulus could not bring himself to blame Janto for his rashness — he suspected the Kel’tana would not have spared his men, whatever the outcome of the duel.

Now there were only five left in his warparty, but he would be sure to celebrate his victory as though they were a thousand strong. Leandran was the first to cry out in triumph as their enemies fled into the forest. Regulus was quick to join him and soon all six Zatani were raising their voices in a terrible cacophony.

Later, after the sun had dropped below the horizon and they had lit four pyres for their fallen, Leandran observed the funeral rites. The bodies of the Kel’tana they left to the carrion eaters. Regulus had no desire to hamper their journey to the stars and so all were left with their teeth and claws. All except Gargara Kel.

The champion’s corpse was laid out in their midst and Regulus, alongside his remaining men, looked down on it with loathing. They had already stripped him of his fangs, already ripped the claws from his fingertips and cast them to the ground. As victor in their duel, Regulus would receive the honour of being the first among them to feast.

He held out his hand and Leandran placed a narrow blade in his palm. Regulus knelt, slicing Gargara from the ragged open wound at his neck to his navel. With a clawed hand Regulus reached into the chest cavity, rooting beneath the ribcage until his hand closed around his enemy’s heart. There was a sucking sound as he wrenched it free, then held it aloft, savouring his victory.

‘For the Gor’tana,’ he cried, then sank his teeth into the organ, causing the blood of Gargara Kel to stream down his chin. As he swallowed he savoured the taste — the taste of triumph.

As the funeral fires burned, his warriors began to feast on Gargara’s corpse. It was late into the night before their hunger was satisfied. In the morning they woke up beside the embers of the pyres, sluggish and still sated. Little was left of the corpse.

Leandran came to join Regulus where he stood, looking out to the east.

‘What now?’ said the old warrior. ‘We got rid of those behind us, but there might be more trouble ahead if we press on any further into the Coldlands.’

‘I’m counting on it,’ Regulus replied. ‘Trouble is exactly what we came here for. Trouble and glory. And I have a feeling we’ll find both in that direction.’ He gestured lazily towards the east.

‘There’s trouble enough where we came from. I guess trouble ahead’s no worse.’ With a wink Leandran went to raise the others from their slumber.

Regulus looked them over: Leandran, lean and old, alongside Janto, dark, brooding and fearsome. Then there was Hagama, Kazul and young Akkula. Five warriors left to stand beside him. Five warriors remaining to help him reclaim the glory of his tribe; to make the Gor’tana great again.

It was a start.

Regulus could only hope there was indeed trouble to the east.

And if not, he swore by the Dark Walker himself he’d be sure to cause some.

The Lych Gate stood in the far eastern side of Steelhaven’s curtain wall. It was housed in a barbican that rose up forty feet, with two figures carved from the stone that flanked it depicting hooded swordsmen. Who these men were supposed to be, Nobul had no idea, but they looked impressive all right, and none too welcoming.

Amber Watch had been posted to gate duty for two days now. It was an easy detail, and Nobul was getting pretty bored. Northgate was dangerous; no doubt about it, but at least there was something to do of an afternoon. Mind you, it beat getting shit and stones flung at you in the Warehouse District, so he couldn’t really complain.

The Lych Gate was open from sunrise to sunset, allowing traders to come along the Great East Road from Ankavern, bringing their wares for trade. Watching the sporadic procession go in and out of Eastgate market wasn’t Nobul’s idea of a good time. Still, there’d be action soon enough. In a few days it wouldn’t be farmers and fishermen trying to get through these gates, but a horde of angry Khurtas. Nobul was pretty sure he wouldn’t be bored then. He was pretty sure he’d have plenty of things to occupy him. Not getting his head cut off would be chief among them.

A horse and cart rolled up, stopping beneath the massive gate. Nobul stepped forward, nodding at the old geezer sat on its seat, gripping the reins in arthritic fingers. The man didn’t deign to nod back. Nobul took the horse by the bridle, placing a hand on its nose and whispering nothing in particular to keep it calm as Anton checked the cart, for what, Nobul didn’t quite know. Perhaps there could have been Khurtic infiltrators in there, waiting to leap out, all painted and scarred, weapons dripping venom, ready to murder the first person they saw. Maybe Amon Tugha himself was concealed in there, ready to take on the city single-handed.

Anton finished his check and gave Nobul the signal to let the cart through.

Obviously it was just full of turnips.

No sooner had the cart passed through the gate than Hake yelled from up on the barbican. The old man was pointing down the Great East Road.

‘Riders!’ he shouted ‘Bloody loads of ’em. And they look tooled up.’

Nobul stared down the road. He couldn’t see a thing at first, other than an endless roadway heading on down the coast. Perhaps Hake’s eyes weren’t all they should have been. Wouldn’t be the first time the old man had seen something that wasn’t there. But then something did come into view, something flapping on the sea breeze — a pennant.

He was about to grab Anton and rush inside, about to shout for the Lych Gate to be closed when Kilgar joined him, squinting into the distance from his one eye. The first rider was in full view, bronze armour glinting, pennant held high — though they couldn’t yet make out what was depicted on it.

‘What do you think, Lincon?’ said Kilgar still unaware of Nobul’s real name. ‘Trouble or not?’

Nobul couldn’t tell yet, but it was no use taking chances. ‘We should close the gate, ask questions from behind the wall. If they’re friendly they’ll understand. If not, then we won’t be caught with our arses hanging in the breeze.’

Kilgar seemed to agree. ‘Close the gate,’ he barked as they stepped inside. Nobul followed the serjeant up the stone stairs of the barbican to the rampart that looked out on the Great East Road. Hake was still standing there, staring out. Nobul was sure he saw a look of glee on the old man’s face.

‘Happy about something?’ asked Nobul.

Hake’s shoulders moved in a silent laugh and he pointed eastward with a bony finger. ‘Don’t you know who they are?’

Nobul looked out, shielding his eyes against the bright sunlight. Though it was cold, the wind whipping in from the Midral like a breath of ice, the sun was still beating down. From their high vantage point he could see the procession more clearly. The longer he looked, the more pennants came into view and it didn’t take too long before he could make out several hundred riders. He couldn’t count exactly how many, but they were all armoured, helms gleaming, pennants flapping in the breeze.

‘One of the Free Companies?’ Nobul asked.