Richard Ford - The Shattered Crown

Kilgar nodded, though he obviously wasn’t sure. ‘It’s the least we can do. See to it.’

The least they could do.

Was it the least they could do? Could they do more?

It didn’t look like it. A sacrifice was a demand too far. Not that Nobul would have minded. There was one candidate in particular he would have loved to offer up, but he’d never get away with it.

Would he?

The lads built a pyre by torchlight; there was plenty of wood in the store. Then they all stood back and watched the Zatani perform their ritual, growling in their alien tongue. Roaring and raking at their flesh with those claws. When that was all done, Regulus took a torch and lit the pyre. They were silent for that, just watching the sky.

Nobul had no idea what they thought was up there but it seemed pretty important to them. He found himself admiring the Zatani — their nobility, their loyalty. They’d fight for each other till death, and that was a rare thing.

In another few days he’d be atop the wall, facing the savages that were coming to destroy the city. How many lads would give their lives to watch his back? These Zatani knew a thing or two about courage, about brotherhood. It was madness to let them walk away when they could be fighting by his side.

As the fire burned in the courtyard, Nobul made his way down to the cells. The prisoner had been all but forgotten, and when Nobul turned the key and opened the door he half expected him to have escaped.

‘Ah, Nobul,’ said Friedrik with a smile. ‘It’s been too long. I’ve missed you.’

Nobul unlocked the manacles that secured the prisoner to the wall.

‘Where are we going?’ Friedrik asked. He sounded jolly, like they were going for a jaunt around the marketplace. ‘I don’t think I look my best. I hope it’s nowhere important.’

Friedrik winced as Nobul grabbed him and dragged him out of the cell.

‘You know my offer’s still open,’ said Friedrik. ‘Let me go and you can have anything you want.’ When Nobul didn’t respond, Friedrik affected a solemn look even Nobul could see through. ‘Look, I’m sorry about your boy, I truly am. If I could give him back to you, I would. But there must be something else you want.’

Nobul stopped in the corridor.

Friedrik wasn’t sorry one bit. He didn’t regret a thing.

Nobul looked Friedrik in the eye. ‘Tell me where the Guild are, where your partners are, and you’ll live.’

Friedrik looked back at him. He was clearly attempting to remain grave, but his frown turned to a smile and then to a laugh.

‘That’ll never happen,’ said Friedrik. ‘But I’ll tell you what will — if you don’t get me the fuck out of here, you’re going to end up with a sack over your head again. You’re going to end up worse than last time. We gave you a fighting chance then. Next time you’ll be fed to the animals piece by fucking piece.’

‘You first,’ Nobul said, before dragging Friedrik up the stairs and out into the courtyard.

The funeral pyre was burning high now, almost level with the roof of the barracks. The Zatani still looked on in silence, and Kilgar and the lads kept a distance away from them.

Nobul paused for a moment, staring into those flames. He could feel Friedrik clawing at him, asking what the fuck was going on, but he ignored him. This was it. This was where everything would change. This was where he’d leave the last of his humanity behind.

For what you’re going to have to do, that’s the best place for it. Humanity is only there to burden lesser men.

Friedrik struggled as Nobul dragged him across the courtyard. Probably fear of the flames or maybe he’d guessed what was in store.

‘Wait,’ he shouted. ‘Just fucking wait.’

Nobul dumped him on the ground before the Zatani.

‘There’s your fucking sacrifice. You’ll get the rest of what you need as soon as I’m able.’

Regulus nodded his thanks and Nobul stepped back, away from the fierce-looking warriors who now surrounded Friedrik.

‘What’s going on?’ shouted Kilgar.

Nobul held out his arm, pushing the serjeant back. ‘I’ve made a choice,’ he said. ‘They can have their sacrifice. Feel free to try to stop them.’

Kilgar looked on, but made no attempt to intervene.

Friedrik was on his knees, staring out from between the huge killers. All his arrogance, all his confidence, was gone now.

‘Nobul,’ he shouted, his voice breaking as the fear gripped him. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll talk. All right? You fucking win, call them off.’

Too late. Far too late.

Regulus lifted his head and roared to the gathered stars. It was joined by a chorus as the other Zatani let rip. Friedrik began to scream.

He screamed for as long as he was able.

Merrick stared up at the ceiling, his finger tracing the two-inch scar just below his left nipple. When the witch had laid her hands on him and he’d felt life flooding back into his body it had been the worst thing he’d ever experienced. It was as if his soul was being twisted and torn, dragged back from somewhere dark and cold. Now, as he lay there thinking about it, his mind was plagued by the memory.

He should have died in that arena. Then he’d have been a hero, lauded as the queen’s saviour, celebrated across the land. They might even have built a statue in his honour.

Not now, though. Now he was just another casualty. Just another nameless servant of the Crown, wounded in the line of duty.

Still, it beat the shit out of being dead, so he reckoned he shouldn’t complain.

The door to the chamber opened. Merrick assumed it would be someone come to check on him, perhaps bring him food or water. So far he’d been treated like an invalid, even though the wound barely troubled him. It wouldn’t do to let on though; he could easily get used to this treatment; being waited on hand and foot. Someone even came to clear his bedpan for him which was a privilege he was in no hurry to forego.

As he glanced across the room though, he realised the last thing his visitor would be doing was getting rid of his shit and piss.

Tannick Ryder closed the door behind him. He regarded Merrick, judging him, finding him wanting, as always. This time though there was something else in that glare. Was it compassion? Was it concern?

Don’t be fucking stupid. Tannick Ryder doesn’t know what compassion means. And he’s likely more concerned about his horse than about you.

Despite his loathing for this man, Merrick still struggled to sit up, still slid his legs over the side of the bed. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want his father to see him lying there weak and vulnerable, he still felt the need to stand and show the man some respect. Merrick hated himself for that.

‘Don’t get up,’ Tannick said. ‘You need to let yourself recover.’

‘I’m fine,’ Merrick replied, rising to his feet. He was surprised at how easy it was. His wound merely felt tight, as if it had only recently knitted back together.

They stood there for a moment, and for the first time Merrick thought his father looked awkward, lost for words even. The old man just sighed, looking his son up and down.

For his part, Merrick didn’t know what to say. The last time they spoke Merrick was made to feel a fool. Then his father had set one of his attack dogs on him. This relationship was anything but healthy.

‘They say you showed great bravery,’ said Tannick finally. ‘They say you saved the queen’s life. Some even say you should be granted lands and title for your courage.’

‘They say a lot, don’t they?’ Merrick replied, though he had to admit, he quite liked the idea of lands and title.