Luke Scull - The Grim Company

‘General D’rak, what is going on? Call your men back!’ she demanded.

The southerner flashed that outstandingly white smile. He reached up a callused hand and began smoothing out his oiled braids. ‘They are not my men,’ he said. ‘They are Zolta’s. As always, the Fat General emerges with the lion’s share of the spoils.’

‘But you were paid!’ Sasha said angrily. ‘This is our city. The nobles may be rich and selfish but they don’t deserve to be murdered in their homes.’

D’rak shrugged. ‘Zolta was not paid. The White Lady’s purse did not stretch far enough for his services. The Fat General took the contract on the promise he would claim his share after. And that is what he is doing, yes?’

Sasha stared at the Noble Quarter again, her teeth grinding together as she watched the pillaging continue in the distance. Someone trundled by just behind her and she turned to see the Halfmage on his strange contraption wheeling away towards the south. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the stares that followed his passing.

She rubbed at her throbbing head. The bleeding in her side had finally stopped, but she felt as weak as a newborn baby and she knew she looked like an absolute mess.

The mercenaries were still grinning at her. She scowled back at them and turned away. She cursed herself for not stopping the Halfmage when she had the chance and asking him where Cole might be found. Much to her annoyance, she found herself worrying about him.

The temple of the Mother , she thought. Perhaps the Shards are gathered there now . She pushed her way through the ever-increasing crowd gathering in the plaza. Those who had not fought in the day’s battle were finally beginning to celebrate the news of the city’s liberation — if liberation was indeed what it was. She was beginning to feel uneasy that the White Lady’s intentions were not as altruistic as Brianna had believed.

Distracted by those troubling thoughts, she almost bumped into a woman going in the opposite direction, a hard-faced lady some years older than her with strawberry-blond hair caught up with a pretty hairpin. Their eyes met for a split second. There was something oddly familiar about the woman’s face, but by the time she thought to stop and question her they had passed each other.

The temple was just ahead. She hoped her instincts were right and that Cole, Garrett and the rest were there. Cole would probably be completely insufferable now. She would have to work extra hard to keep him in check.

She wondered if she would get the chance to see Brodar Kayne again before he departed. The old Highlander had been a rock over the last few weeks, and the news that his wife still lived had gone some way to lifting her spirits after the horrors of the fighting she had seen. As for his companion, Jerek was as much an enigma now as when he had first stomped into the Shard gathering all those weeks ago. She realized then that there was no one she would rather have watching her back than that grim-faced bastard. How had that happened? Men never ceased to surprise her.

She reached the hidden entrance and saw that someone had recently disturbed the vines and forgotten to replace them. She allowed herself a smile. Cole might now actually be the hero he had always thought he was, but some things would never change.

There was sudden movement behind her. Too late, she reached for her short sword. A filthy hand clamped around her mouth, stifling her cry, and a hairy arm seized her around the chest. She fought madly, but whoever had hold of her was much stronger than she was.

‘Don’t struggle,’ said a familiar voice behind her. She almost gagged at the sheer stench of the man. ‘You’ll only make it worse.’

Sudden, animal terror grabbed hold of her. She stared in horror at the fingers pressed over her mouth, counting them again and again as if by doing so she might arrive at a different result.

‘Knew from the moment I saw you that I had to have you,’ Three-Finger drawled. ‘For all his bullshit, the kid spoke true. You’re something, all right.’

He began dragging her backwards, away from the temple. She kicked out and threw her head back and tried to bite his hand, but the ex-convict was too big and powerful. ‘Easy now,’ he chuckled. ‘Once we’re safely out of sight I’ll take my hand away. Let you scream some. You got a dirty mouth. I like that.’

She was pulled through an open doorway into an empty warehouse. The outside world faded as she was dragged back into darkness.

‘I took an arrow in the shoulder thanks to you. Played dead for near four hours. You ever hid under a pile of stinking corpses? Ain’t much fun, I can tell you that.’

Three-Finger heaved her around to face the wall as he edged towards the open door. His voice dropped to a sinister whisper. She could feel his foul breath in her ear. ‘You might have heard I’ve only got half a cock. Don’t let that fool you. You won’t notice the difference.’

She heard the door creak as it began to slam shut. All hope faded with the sound and she sagged, giving into despair. Why didn’t I die on the battlefield?

There was a sudden thumping noise just behind her. Three-Finger’s grip loosened and then fell away completely. She turned.

Standing in the doorway, a blood-covered stone clenched in one hand, was the woman she had passed in the Hook. The light of the moon behind her faintly illuminated that severe face. A few moments passed. Her saviour took a few steps forwards.

Sasha gasped. Long-suppressed memories flooded back. Finally, she realized the identity of her rescuer.

Her older sister casually let the stone fall next to the prone form of Three-Finger and stared back at her with an unreadable expression.

‘You and I need to talk.’

Davarus Cole ran through the Noble Quarter, not caring a damn where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to get away from those jeering, laughing faces. His entire life was a lie, and it seemed he was the only person in the world who hadn’t known it.

Tears stung his eyes. All those men sacrificed to liberate Dorminia from Salazar’s rule, only to place the city in the hands of a snake like Timerus and his scheming mistress in Thelassa. The White Lady had used him just like everyone else.

Three-Finger had been right about him. He would have to apologize when he saw him again. And to Isaac. They were better men than him, and that was the truth. Me, a hero? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the notion now. His father had been a murderer and his mother a whore. He had no claim to heroism.

He was done pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Three mercenaries suddenly burst out from the mansion ahead of him. They wore big grins on their faces. Each carried a large canvas sack bursting with valuables. One of the southerners paused to wipe his feet on the mat in the porch, and Cole saw that his boots left dark red smears behind.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked. The nearest Sumnian frowned.

‘Taking what we’re owed. Who are you, anyway?’

The mercenary with blood on his boots raised his sword and shook it at Cole. ‘He’s no noble. Could be he’s trying to fill his own pockets.’

‘Get out of here, boy. Before we kill you.’

Cole stared at the three men, and then backed away. This wasn’t his business. He was done being a hero, whatever that word even meant. He ran down the street, towards the exit of the district. Other dark-skinned warriors were plundering homes to either side of him. He ignored them, carried on running.

A whooping chuckle rang out to his left, immediately grabbing his attention.

It was General Zolta, his gross profile resembling a miniature hill in the poor light. The obese mercenary captain and four of his men were standing in a small square dotted with a few cedars. They had a handful of nobles pinned against the trunks and were poking them with their spears, laughing uproariously. What was it Zolta had said? My soldiers have you to thank for the bounty that awaits us this night!