Rob Scott - The Larion Senators

Gilmour changed the subject. ‘Regardless, we have a few days, and I need to look for something the Larion Brotherhood misplaced long ago.’

‘Why don’t I like the sound of that?’

‘Oh, this doesn’t concern you. Just think of it as a learning experience.’

‘That’s what my stats professor called the two-by-three-way analysis of covariance; we all called it “that fucking nightmare”.’

‘Nonsense,’ Gilmour said, ‘an aven or two – in and out. We’ll be back on the road before nightfall.’

‘Where are we?’ Stephen asked as they crested the highest point in the meadow. He looked across a patchwork of fields at a jumble of dilapidated buildings marring the pastoral landscape.

‘At school.’

‘So you were with him; he made it here to Orindale?’ Garec sipped his tecan, considered it with a frown and motioned to the barman. ‘A beer, please, a big one.’

Brexan waved at him too. ‘Make that two, please.’

Kellin raised a hand. ‘Three.’

It was still an aven early for the dinner crowds, so the front room of the alehouse they’d found was almost empty. Scarred wooden tables crowded the floor between the bar and the fireplace. Brexan drank what was left of her tecan, then turned to the beer before she replied, ‘No, Versen never made it to Orindale. I lost him… we lost him in a meadow near a stream south of the city. From what Gabriel told me, it was some time after you and Steven had battled the wraiths in the trapper’s cabin.’

‘Rutters,’ Garec said, ‘he lived that long? We were sure he had been killed at the base of Seer’s Peak. When we came down from the heights, the camp had been torn to shreds by grettans and the Seron.’

Brexan grimaced. ‘We were unfortunate enough to meet the Seron, and if I ever find their leader, a big horsecock named Lahp, I’m going to gut him and fry his heart.’

‘Lahp?’ Garec said, visibly surprised. ‘You knew Lahp?’

‘The whoring rutter broke my cheek. I’m looking forward to killing him.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Good.’

‘Not really,’ Garec said, ‘although I can see how you would think that. But shortly after you left Seer’s Peak, Lahp and the rest of his platoon were attacked by a pack of grettans sent by Prince Malagon to finish us off. Lahp was badly injured; Steven saved him, touched him somehow, and he helped us cross the Blackstones. He saved Steven’s life more than once and died protecting us as well as he could from the wraiths.’

‘That’s- well, surprising,’ Brexan admitted. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he had anything good in him at all.’

‘It surprised all of us,’ Garec said. ‘So tell us what happened to Versen.’

‘He died because I passed out. We were fighting a Seron, another ruthless big bastard called Haden. I left myself exposed and he shattered my cheek again. Versen had broken Haden’s leg; he was twisting and punching it when I lost consciousness.’ Brexan paused to take a breath; she didn’t want to break down in front of Garec. She had no idea what he thought of her, a deserter-turned-partisan who failed to save either of his childhood friends; she wasn’t about to cry in front of him.

Instead, it was Garec who started to cry, as tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He sniffed loudly, then wiped his face. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. ‘What happened to Haden?’

‘I cut him.’

‘Cut him?’

‘Two hundred and thirty-six times, give or take. I wanted to remember the number exactly, but after a while they ran together.’

Garec nodded grimly. ‘Good.’

Kellin, looking tired and wan, ran an ashen hand between Garec’s shoulders. She let her fingers rest on his neck, toying with a lock of his hair. ‘So you came into the city on your own?’ she asked.

‘I can’t remember how long it took me to get here,’ Brexan said, ‘things were pretty blurry. They still are, when I think back on it. It’s almost as though it happened Twinmoons and Twinmoons ago. But I made it here, and I was in the city less than an aven before I ran into Sallax.’

Garec said, ‘We looked for him when we were here, but never found him.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Brexan said. ‘He was a mess, living like an animal behind and between the warehouses on the southern wharf. He was struggling badly with guilt and regret.’

‘He had a painful realisation the day he left us,’ Garec said softly.

‘I know, and he wanted me to find you. It was the last thing he asked me, actually. He specifically mentioned you, Garec. He wanted me to find you and to tell you the truth about what had happened.’

Garec raised his eyebrows. ‘Me? Not Gilmour?’

‘Gilmour’s dead.’

‘No he isn’t, Brexan, Gilmour’s fine – well, he was the last time we saw him, anyway. We’re on our way to meet him now.’ The irony wasn’t lost on any of them, and Garec spat a string of curses into his beer. ‘If only Sallax had known.’

Brexan repeated, ‘He wanted me to tell you the truth about him.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Garec was crying again. ‘I know the truth about him.’

Kellin pulled him to her and Garec buried his face in the nape of her neck.

Brexan felt horribly uncomfortable, an interloper with nothing but depressing news. She went across to the huge fireplace and threw a log onto the fire, giving them a moment alone together.

‘How was he?’ Garec finally asked.

Brexan took her seat. ‘He struggled for a long time. He was sick with guilt, wild, almost out of his mind. I never knew for certain, but I think the wraiths in the Blackstones did something to him, forced him somehow to consider what he had done to Gilmour… or at least think on what he believed he had done. It took a long time to get him back.’

‘But you did?’

‘For a while, yes,’ Brexan said, then hesitated before adding, ‘until he made another tragic discovery.’

‘Brynne.’ It wasn’t a question.

Brexan held up her wrist; her tunic sleeve fell to reveal Mark Jenkins’ old watch, still hanging where Sallax had strapped it while the fugitives huddled together in the empty barrel behind the seedy riverfront alehouse.

‘And afterwards?’ Garec asked, ‘did he run off on you again?’

‘No, but he did get cold, ruthless and deadly. We interrogated and killed – well, sort of killed – a merchant, Carpello Jax, who was shipping something nefarious from southern Rona to Welstar Palace through Pellia.’

‘Why? Who cares what some merchant is shipping north?’ Kellin asked. The beer had brought some colour back to her cheeks.

‘It’s something ugly, I don’t know what, but Prince Malagon is willing to pay almost anything to get it by the shipload, some kind of tree bark or leaves.’

Garec and Kellin shared a knowing glance.

‘What?’ Brexan asked, ‘you know something about it?’

Garec shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. Gilmour detected a shipment moving north along the Ravenian Sea a few days ago. Maybe there’s a connection, but either way, you don’t have to worry about Prince Malagon any longer. He’s dead; he’s been dead for over a Twinmoon now.’

‘And Nerak?’

‘Dead, lost, cast away; I don’t know how to describe it, but Steven did it, opened the Fold and tossed him in like a rubbish sack.’

‘It was actually pretty cathartic to watch,’ Kellin said, smiling. ‘I’m sorry you weren’t there. It sounds like you’ve had a difficult time.’

‘Well, Sallax and I had a catharsis of our own.’

‘This Carpello?’

‘He was essentially responsible for Versen’s death.’ Brexan took a long draught of beer and motioned for another round.

‘Then I’m glad you killed him,’ Garec said, ‘or sort of killed him