Luke Scull - The Grim Company

Brodar Kayne stared at the man who had kept him locked in a cage like an animal for a year. The man who had had his wife burned alive while he watched on helplessly.

‘I ain’t the only one,’ he growled. He leaned on his greatsword, staring around at the chaos. The Sumnians were desperately trying to regroup, but they were fighting a losing battle. ‘You here for me?’ he asked.

The Shaman snorted. ‘Your question is telling. I see your imprisonment did not change you.’

‘I’m old and stubborn.’

The Magelord’s square jaw twitched. ‘I sent Borun to hunt you down.’

Kayne shrugged. ‘He found me.’

The Shaman scowled in response, and then stared up at the sky. ‘The ruler of this city came to me and requested my aid,’ he said eventually. ‘I could not refuse him. I owe him a great debt.’

Brodar Kayne fingered the hilt of his greatsword. ‘Know a bit about debts myself,’ he said, his breath coming harder as he readied himself for what was coming. ‘You and me, I reckon we’ve got one that needs settling just about now.’

He lifted his greatsword, turned it slightly so that the red sun behind him reflected off the blade and into the face of the Shaman. It was a small gesture, probably wouldn’t matter a damn to the eventual outcome, but he would take any advantage he could get.

He was down and rolling away before the Magelord had left the ground. A second later the Shaman landed in the precise spot he had been standing, his fists hammering down with enough force to send mud and turf exploding out in all directions. He rose, shaking dirt from his fists. ‘I gave you everything,’ he growled.

‘Got yourself a strange definition of everything,’ Kayne replied. He took a step towards the Shaman. ‘I was your tool, and that’s the truth of it. A tool you grew tired of.’

‘A tool that is no longer useful must be discarded. Or reforged.’

‘You destroyed my life.’

The Shaman’s eyes narrowed suddenly and Kayne heard someone approaching from behind.

It was the Wolf. He looked worse than hell, his face a bloody ruin and his breathing laboured. Still, he limped over to stand beside Kayne and faced the Shaman with no more fear than he had ever shown any man alive. ‘Need help with this prick?’ he growled, raising his axes.

Kayne could have embraced Jerek at that moment, or at least given him a manly pat on the shoulder. Instead he made do with a nod. ‘I reckon so,’ he said. With the Wolf beside him, he figured his chances had gone from near impossible to merely highly unlikely.

The Shaman’s teeth were grinding together. ‘This dog still follows you around? So be it. I will kill you both.’

Kayne gave Jerek another nod. His friend grunted, began circling to the Magelord’s left as he circled around to the right. The Shaman glared first at one man and then the other, his prodigious muscles bulging out like knotted steel.

‘ Come at me ,’ Kayne whispered. He fully expected to die, but he was done running. It ended now.

Suddenly the Shaman cocked his head to one side, his great shaggy mane tumbling over a shoulder as wide as a blacksmith’s anvil. He appeared to be listening to something only he could hear. Both Highlanders crouched low, weapons raised, expecting some terrible magic to be unleashed. Instead the hulking Magelord unleashed a roar of utter rage that seemed to shake the very earth around them. ‘I must return to the High Fangs,’ he growled savagely. ‘Heartstone is in grave peril.’

‘You ain’t going anywhere,’ Kayne replied.

The Shaman clenched his fists, his bare chest heaving. ‘You care not for the fate of your son?’

‘Magnar let his mother burn.’

The Magelord stared at him, his mouth working silently. ‘It was not Mhaira on the pyre,’ he said at last.

Brodar Kayne could not have been more shocked if the Shaman had struck him full in the face. ‘What did you say?’

‘Magnar bargained for his mother’s life. She was escorted to the furthest reaches of my domain and told never to return. Her cousin took her place on the pyre.’

‘I saw her die!’ His hands were shaking now.

‘Magic,’ the Shaman grunted in response. ‘It was my intention to deliver you a harsh lesson. Nothing more.’

‘You’re lying.’ Even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t true. The Shaman did not lie.

‘I was wroth. You betrayed me, Kayne. You knew the price of treason.’ The Shaman’s voice grew a fraction softer. There was something strange in his eyes, something he had never before seen in all the years he had served as the Sword of the North. ‘Despite your betrayal, I still held some measure of respect for you. You were to be given another chance. An allowance I have never afforded any other man.’

Kayne’s vision had begun to blur and he realized there were tears in his eyes. All the pain he’d kept locked away for the last two years threatened to burst out of him then and there. Mhaira’s alive. Mhaira’s alive .

The Shaman sighed heavily. The words seemed to crawl from him, as if he was unsure whether or not he wanted to speak them. ‘I once watched a woman I loved die on a pyre. I would not have let you suffer the same. Even after your betrayal.’

With a sudden grunt, the master of the High Fangs threw his arms into the air and then began to shimmer. The outline of his body flickered, and then he began to shrink, growing smaller and smaller until he was a dark speck at the centre of a ball of blinding energy. Kayne watched, unmoving, barely seeing. He had witnessed the Magelord shift many times before.

The magic finally dissipated to reveal a large black raven. The Shaman took off into the air and circled the battlefield a few times. With a final caw, he soared off towards the north, leaving the two Highlanders standing alone.

Brodar Kayne sunk to his knees, the greatsword slipping from his trembling palms. Jerek watched silently. A few moments passed. The numbness began to recede.

Mhaira’s alive .

Finally it sank in. He looked up to meet the Wolf’s eyes. ‘Mhaira’s alive!’ he croaked.

Jerek nodded in reply. ‘Aye,’ he said simply. ‘Mhaira’s alive.’

Before either man could say anything more, the ground beneath them began to vibrate. Kayne turned his head to see the Brethren thundering past, stampeding towards the Demonfire Hills in the direction their master had flown. Back towards the High Fangs, where ghosts he thought buried had just risen from the dead.

Sasha came stumbling over. She looked like a ghost herself, all covered in blood and ash, her pretty hair singed and blackened and her eyes telling the story of the horrors she’d witnessed. ‘Zolta’s men breached the east gate an hour ago,’ she said, in between gasps for breath. ‘They’ve taken the city. Someone gave the order for the militia to stand down. The Watch has surrendered.’

‘Salazar?’ Kayne managed to ask, though he reckoned he already knew the answer, and at that moment he wasn’t much for caring either way.

‘Dead,’ replied Sasha. ‘General Zolta confirmed it. He saw the body. What’s left of it.’

There was a short silence while the news sunk in. It was Jerek who eventually spoke.

‘Well, fuck me,’ he said. ‘The boy’s a hero after all.’

He dashed through the Obelisk, his heart racing, his mind focused on one thing only.

He had to find Garrett.

He slid down the sloping heap of debris on his arse, scraping his hands badly. He didn’t care. Taking the stairs leading down to the gallery three at a time, he leaped over the Augmentor’s butchered corpse and almost slipped on the slick marble. He regained his balance and ran on, praying that no guards appeared to disrupt his headlong flight from the tower.