William King - Shadowblood

Rik paused for a moment and gathered his thoughts. “I came to warn you. If I disappear into the dungeons, be ready to run. You might not get much warning so keep an ear open and an eye out.”

“You wouldn’t tell on us, would you?” The Barbarian sounded almost childishly disappointed by the thought.

“He might not have a choice if they are applying red hot pliers to his nadgers,” said Weasel thoughtfully. Rik studied them carefully, measuring their response. They would tell no tales and they did not move in circles where the Inquisitors were likely to find them, but you never knew. He had done what he could by letting them know. He had no plans to be taken by the Inquisition but if it happened at least he had warned them.

“Have you heard we’re moving out?” Weasel asked. Another question hung in the air unasked, and Rik thought he’d better give them an answer.

“Yes. I suspect Asea and I will be going with you. The army will need all the sorcerers it can get if it’s going against the Sardeans, and she’s the best we’ve got.”

“Will give me something nice to think about while we’re on the march,” said the Barbarian. “Any chance of fixing us up?”

Rik shook his head. In any other man, the Barbarian’s lust for Asea would be a joke, but as far as Rik could tell, the northerner was too stupid for that.

“Want to keep her all to yourself, eh? Can’t say I blame you.”

The beer arrived and Rik took a swallow. It was not as good as he remembered, perhaps because he had become more accustomed to the fine wines available at the Palace.

“Anything else to report?” Weasel asked. “Being pursued by the hounds of Shadow? Got on the wrong side of the Old Gods? Been found in bed with the Arch-Templar’s pet goat?”

“So far I have avoided all of those things.”

“Probably just as well. A man should only bite off as much trouble as he can chew.”

“I never went looking for trouble. It just seems to find me.”

“Everybody has a gift, so they say. That seems to be yours. Fancy a game of cards?”

“With you? That’s one sort of trouble I have sense enough to avoid.”

“Some good girls in here,” suggested the Barbarian helpfully.

Rik shook his head. “I’d best be heading back.”

“Well, good to see you, and thanks.” There was a sincerity in Weasel’s voice that surprised Rik. “Watch your back.”

“You too,” he said, and headed for the door.

As he stepped into the muddy street, Rik bumped into somebody. Instinctively his hand went to his purse. When he found it was still present, he stepped back.

“Sorry,” he said, surprised to find himself face to face with a crying woman, and even more surprised to find that he recognised her. “Rena?”

“Rik,” she said, wiping her eyes, and setting her face to hardness. They had been lovers once, briefly, before she had taken up with Sardec, and he had become an agent of Asea. He found the sight of her still made his stomach clench. He was not a man who took betrayal well. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, almost managing to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I had heard you were living with Sardec.”

“And I had thought you risen too far in the world to be hanging out in soldier’s taverns.” There was a touch of acid in her manner that he did not like.

“I see you have not,” he said. “Trying to earn a little on the side, are we?”

To his surprise she started to cry again. It was not something he was prepared to deal with. She reached out and clutched his arm. He took a step back.

“I have left him,” she said.

“You have left him?” He had to try hard to keep the note of incredulity from his voice. Girls like Rena did not leave rich Terrarchs like Sardec. That was a given in the world they had both lived in. “Why?”

“He did not want me to come with him on campaign.”

“So he was trying to get rid of you?” It was not the most tactful thing he could have said, but somehow the words came out anyway. He was a little ashamed of their gloating tone.

“He said he might not come back,” she said. “He said it would be dangerous.”

Her tone was so pitiful that Rik found himself forced, almost against his will, to say something comforting. “He was not wrong there. The Sardeans are cruel and there are new plagues in the East. The dead are on the march as well, or so folk say.”

“But it’s just as dangerous here, with the walking dead, and the famine and the way the Kharadreans hate us because of the Queen.” She seemed just then to realise exactly who she was talking to. “I don’t believe you killed her. I never did. No matter what people said.”

“I am touched by your faith in me.”

“They would blame somebody like you,” she said. “You’re not one of them. You’re a human.”

There was no arguing with the truth of that statement either but this did not seem like the time or place to be discussing it. He glanced around to see if they had been overheard. No one appeared to be paying the slightest attention, which was just as well. He had no desire to be lynched by an angry mob.

“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked.

“I was going to look for room with some girls I know. They can usually be found in the Nag’s Head.”

“You have enough money?

“Yes.”

“I don’t know about any girls but Weasel and the Barbarian are in there. They should be able to point you in the right direction.”

“What about you? Where are you going?”

“I need to get back, to the Palace.”

“I heard they were keeping you a prisoner there.”

“Not quite. But it might be better if you kept quiet about that, right here, right now.”

She looked abashed, as if she suddenly realised that there might be danger in what she was saying. Her hand went to her mouth. “I am sorry, Rik,” she said.

He pulled her hand down, and said, “Don’t be. Just be a little more discreet, and don’t tell anybody you’ve seen me. I might not be the safest person to know.”

“You were never that anyway.”

“Bear that in mind,” he said. “And take care.”

He let go of her arm and strode off into the night, doing his best not to look back. He wondered what would happen to her now. He felt a certain sympathy. She was just another lost soul far from home. He hoped that things would work out for her, but he knew they most likely would not.

Standing on the city walls, watching the seemingly endless ranks of the regiments form up and march out, Rik saw the bat-winged, scythe-wielding angel banners of the Seventh hang over the companies of his old comrades, and the great interlocking dragon pennons of the Ninth Heavy Cavalry fluttering above the howdahs of that regiment’s wyrms. Carts carried the components of the great siege guns. Horse teams pulled the wheeled light cannons behind them along the muddy roads.

Lord General Azaar watched the regiments stream by from a small rise overlooking the city, the same place where Rik had fought a dragon when Halim had been besieged. His general staff were with him, reviewing the troops as they passed.

Fife and drum hammered out a tune to which the units marched with impressive discipline. Along the walls the citizens of Halim lined up to watch their conquerors go. How many spies were among them, counting troops, Rik wondered?

He reckoned Azaar had ten thousand men at best, perhaps a score of siege guns, a hundred cannons. There were sorcerers too, and later there would be dragons dug out from the barrows in which they slept away the winter. Were the spies as impressed as he was, or did they think that ten thousand was a pitiful amount to muster against the Eastern hordes?