The Spear of Malice (War of the Archons 3) Page 4

  ‘Stand to attention, Ctenka,’ she said in her best impression of Musir Dragosh.

  The young guardsman turned with a start, his face a picture of panic until he saw who had spoken to him.

  A smile of relief crossed Ctenka’s lips. ‘Princess, my apologies. I appear to have something on my uniform.’

  ‘Then it’s a good job you’re not on parade,’ she replied.

  ‘Indeed. I’d be in for it if I was.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered, ‘I won’t tell.’

  Ctenka flashed her a conspiratorial wink, before glancing around to see if there was anyone else watching.

  ‘I’m afraid I am on guard, princess,’ he said. ‘As much as I’d like to talk—’

  ‘You have your duty to perform,’ she interrupted. ‘I understand. More than you know.’

  ‘We all have to do what we are tasked with, princess. Even you.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But some of us have no choice in what that task is.’

  Ctenka shrugged. ‘Sometimes we discover our true calling. Sometimes that calling finds us.’

  ‘And you decided your true calling was to guard this corridor?’ she asked.

  ‘It is an honour,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘Given the choice I would be nowhere else.’

  Adaali glanced up and down the hallway. There was nothing to guard but the tapestries and a few ornamental urns. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘And I can understand why,’ Ctenka replied with a shrug. ‘I know you never chose to be a princess. I know you are destined to protect the prince until his dying day. Perhaps it is easier for me. One can easily dedicate oneself to a cause when you choose it yourself. But it does not lessen the honour I feel. Nor should it lessen the honour you have been gifted. You might be your brother’s keeper, but you are still a princess. I will always be a lowly servant.’

  Adaali suddenly felt a little guilty for questioning Ctenka’s choices, but she couldn’t let him off the hook that easily.

  ‘At least you get to leave this place, once in a while. At least you are free to go where you choose.’

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘You’re not missing much. You are far better off here than elsewhere in the city. If I had the choice, I would rather have my lodgings in the palace.’

  ‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ she replied, a wicked plan formulating in her mind. ‘I think that is something I would like to judge for myself.’

  ‘What?’ Ctenka asked, looking a little worried.

  ‘I know almost nothing of the city beyond these palace walls. I think you would be the perfect guide to show me something of Kantor.’

  Ctenka shook his head vigorously. ‘I think that would be more than my life is worth.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said, folding her arms in a determined manner. ‘You will show me the sights, Militiaman Ctenka.’

  He suddenly straightened, standing to full attention as Musir Dragosh appeared at the far end of the corridor leading three warriors of the Desert Blades. Adaali had enough time to offer Ctenka a sly wink, then scurried off before she was spotted.

  She gathered a cloak from her room before waiting near the main gate for the rest of the afternoon. As night fell, groups of palace guardsmen came and went, some heading out into the city and some arriving to perform their duties for the night. Ctenka eventually walked from the palace, laughing and joking with two maids as they ambled their way across the gardens towards the gate. Adaali picked her moment, walking out from behind the cover of a neatly trimmed hedgerow and joining close behind them. No one even gave her a second glance as the four of them made their way through the gate, acknowledging the guards with a cursory farewell.

  Adaali felt a sudden thrill, as though she had escaped a prison cell. She had never left the confines of the palace unattended and here she was, free as a desert bird to explore as she wanted.

  Ctenka led the way through the streets, bidding goodnight to the two maids at a crossroads by kissing them both on the cheek. Adaali would have been shocked at his lack of propriety, but she knew commoners were far less beholden to formality than the courtiers she was used to.

  The further they travelled through Kantor, the busier the streets got, and the grimier the buildings became. Adaali had only ever seen the tree-lined promenades and the spectacular avenues of Kantor’s main thoroughfares. She had never been through so many dingy back streets, and the change in environment was unnerving.

  Before panic could overcome her, Ctenka ducked into a side-street tavern. Outside a man was leaning against the wall, head down, desperately trying not to retch. A rat scurried in front of her feet, and Adaali began to think this was a bad idea. But she was here now. This was what she had wanted – a moment of freedom. If she lost her nerve now she would always be left wondering.

  Gritting her teeth she walked to the door of the tavern and pushed it open. Immediately she was assaulted by the sound of raucous laughter and the stench of pipe smoke. No sooner had the door swung shut behind her than her eyes began to well from the thick mist that filled the air.

  Thankfully, no one gave her a second glance as she made her way inside, looking for Ctenka amidst the throng. It was with some relief that she heard his laugh, loud and joyous, from one side of the room.

  Adaali moved closer, swerving lithely between the chairs and tables, managing to avoid the boisterous patrons until she reached Ctenka. There she stood for a moment, cloak still drawn about her head, until he noticed her.

  ‘Oh no,’ Ctenka said, as the look of mirth fell from his face.

  Adaali slipped into the chair beside him with a grin. He was with three other men she vaguely recognised from the palace. Each of them looked as startled and worried as Ctenka, one even rising from his seat and making for the door.

  ‘I told you,’ she said. ‘You would show me the sights.’

  Ctenka’s mouth hung open for a moment before he spread his arms wide. ‘Here are the sights, princess. Drink them in. I hope you like them?’

  She took in the revelry all about her before turning back to him. ‘I must admit – not so much.’

  ‘You cannot be here,’ he said leaning towards her. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘Life is danger,’ she replied. ‘I would have but one night of freedom. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘You’re not the only one at risk,’ he said. ‘I could be in serious trouble for this.’

  ‘Show some heart, Ctenka. Have you never been in trouble before?’

  A grave expression fell upon the young militiaman’s face. ‘Yes, I’ve been in trouble.’

  ‘And was it worse than this?’

  He fixed her with a serious look. ‘I was at Dunrun,’ he replied.

  Adaali did not need to know any more. She had heard tales of the siege, the sacrifice the men of the Cordral had made to hold the gates of the eastern bastion against the Iron Tusk. She could barely imagine what horrors Ctenka had experienced.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she replied.

  Before they could speak further, another off-duty militiaman sat with them, slamming a handful of glasses down on the table.

  ‘Get this shit down your necks, you bunch of ugly fuuuu—’

  He stopped when he saw their uninvited guest.

  Adaali gazed in amusement at the militiamen gawping at her, then down at the glasses on the table filled to the brim with some pale liquor. Carefully, she reached out and took a glass, before knocking the contents back in one. The liquor burned as it went down, and Adaali fought to keep a neutral expression, despite the instinct to gag.

  One of the militiamen smiled at her show of bravado, quickly followed by a second. Then one of them picked up his own glass and downed it before slamming it back on the table. The rest were quick to follow… all but Ctenka, who shook his head in dismay.

  With the ice broken, Adaali’s new companions began to relax, and she sat listening to them talk as the night wore on. It was a boorish and mundane discussion, but a welcome ch
ange from the usual stuffy conversation of the palace. One of them lit a pipe, and she was allowed to try it, despite Ctenka’s protestations.

  Music played well into the night, and Adaali found herself tapping her foot along to the rhythm. These were not the formal orchestrated songs performed in the palace, but tunes that were raw and played from the heart.

  The tavern grew more raucous, but she chose to stay no matter how many times Ctenka begged her to leave. She watched as men and women argued, only to grip one another moments later in an ardent embrace, and kiss their differences away.

  They laughed and loved despite the harshness of their existence, and Adaali realised she had never experienced such freedom within the confines of the palace. This was life, with all its cold reality and rare beauty, and it was doubtful she would ever get to experience it again.

  Eventually she stood, feeling a little sadness that she had to leave.

  ‘I have to go. I will tell no one of this, Ctenka. Do not worry yourself.’

  ‘I must insist I escort you back to the palace,’ he said, rising from his seat.

  ‘No, you must stay,’ she replied. ‘Besides, you could never keep up with me.’

  She smiled at him as he wavered on drunken legs.

  ‘But it is my duty,’ Ctenka slurred.

  ‘Goodnight,’ was her curt reply, before she left him in the corner of the tavern, and ventured out into the night.

  Adaali hid in the shadows of a nearby alleyway and paused for a moment, watching the tavern entrance. When Ctenka stumbled out into the night glancing this way and that for her, she felt a flutter of admiration for him. Was he duty bound to protect her, or did he watch over her from genuine affection? Either way, she appreciated the gesture as she turned and made her way back to the confines of the palace.

  4

  THE sandstorm had subsided, but there were still ominous skies to the west. As they made their way back to the Shengen encampment, Josten allowed himself to relax, letting the relief wash over him, allowing the fatigue of the past few days to creep into his bones.

  On the edge of a huge canyon sat the camp of the Shengens. It had seemed a foolhardy place to set up, but Laigon had explained the sense in it. They could not be ambushed from the rear – no enemy could have scaled the sheer cliffs of the canyon. And should they come under attack, the Standings would have no way to flee. It would make them fight all the harder. Laigon had seemed to relish the idea, his eyes lighting up as he explained it. All it did was make Josten realise what a circus he had become part of. He was lost in a desert full of madmen – so mad they had made him one of their leaders. Josten would have laughed at the insanity of it, had he any strength left to laugh with.

  He hailed the sentries as they approached, and the legionaries greeted them like old friends. The Hierophant was bound at the hands, an old sack covering his head. Eyman had taken it upon himself to safeguard the prisoner, taking pleasure in dragging him along by a rope. It was a little sadistic, but Josten didn’t see the point in discouraging him.

  They led their prisoner through the camp. Few of the Shengen troops batted an eyelid. Most were busy sharpening their weapons and cleaning armour of the dust that infested everything. The recent sandstorm would have seen the entire encampment covered in a thick yellow layer, but credit to the men of the Standings, the place was already cleared and looking pristine. Josten felt a rumble in his stomach as they passed a fire with meat spitted above it. The desert creature slowly blackening above the fire might have appeared fearsome when it was alive, but right now it looked delicious.

  Dotted throughout the camp walked individuals who were clearly not Shengen. Men and women both, of all colours and creeds; slaves liberated from the numerous mines in the east of the Ramadi who had thrown their lot in with Silver and her growing army. They had made the progress of Silver’s forces that much easier, taking little persuasion to rise up against the cults who had enslaved them. Many of them were native to these lands and had taught the Shengens how to forage and hunt in the barren desert. Without them, they would never have advanced through the Ramadi so quickly.

  Silver led a seasoned army. After months of fighting in the desert they were yet to be defeated, even though they had faced a fanatic zeal from every cult on every battlefield. But each time the staunch discipline of the Shengen Standings had prevailed. Despite their devotion to Innellan, the armies of the cults were simply no match for Silver’s forces, and each one had been defeated and forced to flee into the desert. Now her army approached Mantioch, the huge fortress city barring the way to the west. They could not progress while it still stood defiant. It would be their most difficult test, and Silver was leaving nothing to chance.

  ‘Take him to the prisoners’ tent,’ Josten said to Retuchius. ‘I’ll tell the emperor we’re back.’

  The legionary nodded, and he and the others dragged the Hierophant across the encampment.

  Laigon stood at the edge of the canyon discussing manoeuvres with his centurions. They were gathered around a small table, analysing the rudimentary maps they had cobbled together. As Josten drew closer he heard them talking of the imminent assault on Mantioch. The desert city was a huge monolith, and they had no idea how many troops lurked within its walls. They could not simply bypass the place and leave untold numbers of Innellan’s faithful at their rear. It had to be taken before they could carry on their crusade against the White Widow.

  Laigon spotted Josten and a smile spread across his face. His centurions moved aside and the two men embraced.

  ‘It’s good to see you still alive,’ said Laigon.

  ‘I’m not gonna lie, it’s getting harder to stay that way,’ Josten replied.

  The two had fought side by side in more battles than they could count. As Emperor of the Shengen, Laigon had his praetorians to protect him, but still he chose to fight in the vanguard of every conflict they faced, and Josten had chosen to fight right alongside him.

  ‘Did you find what we were looking for?’ Laigon asked.

  ‘Kyon came through. The Hierophant is here, in one piece.’

  ‘Good work. Though how much we will get out of him remains to be seen.’

  ‘He’ll talk. They all do.’

  Laigon took Josten by the shoulder. ‘Come. You must be thirsty after so long in the desert. Let’s have a drink.’

  He led Josten back to his tent as the centurions continued to discuss their plans. Josten was looking forward to a drink, he was parched, but these Shengens didn’t quite know how to slake a thirst like they did back in the Suderfeld. Josten followed Laigon to the command tent and watched as the emperor made tea in a battered pot. Wine would have done the trick far better, but if tea was all there was, that’s what he’d have to drink.

  ‘How long before we attack Mantioch?’ Josten asked, taking the chipped porcelain cup Laigon offered.

  ‘Not long, I hope. Our stores are dwindling, the supply route along the Skull Road has become more difficult to traverse with these storms. If we don’t launch our assault soon, morale will dwindle.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe. These men would follow you with empty bellies into the depths of hell.’

  Laigon didn’t seem so convinced. ‘They are only human, my friend. Even their loyalty will wane when hunger gets the best of them.’

  The flap to the tent opened. Silver entered, those cold blue eyes regarding them both. She looked tired, but still resplendent in the armour forged for her by the Shengen smiths.

  ‘I heard you were back,’ she said. ‘Success?’

  Josten shrugged. ‘Was it ever in doubt?’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she replied.

  Over the past months of fighting Silver had become even more humourless, if that were possible. Though their victories had been numerous their casualties were high, and Silver seemed to feel every one physically. Her own wounds, inflicted by the Iron Tusk so long ago, had been slow to heal and every battle took more of a toll on her. Josten knew she
was more than human, more powerful than any of them, but no amount of attention from the apothecaries and field surgeons seemed to remedy her ills.

  ‘I’ll take you to him,’ Josten said.

  They made their way across camp to where a lone tent stood away from the rest. As they did, every legionary showed his fealty not only to Laigon but also to Silver, bowing before her, some even making religious signs, as though worshipping her like a saint. She ignored them all, unwilling to acknowledge the gestures.

  Inside the tent the Hierophant was still bound, though the sack had been removed from his head. He sat impassively, sweat running in rivulets through the filth that caked his bald pate. Kyon, Retuchius and Eyman stood around him, waiting patiently.

  ‘He won’t speak,’ said Kyon as they entered. ‘Won’t even take a drink of water.’

  Josten looked at the priest who stared back defiantly. His skin was tanned but for the pale band across his brow where he had worn an iron circlet. That was now lost to the desert after his struggle with Eyman.

  ‘Not talking?’ Josten said, crouching beside the prisoner. ‘You can save yourself a lot of pain if you just tell us what we want to know. How many defenders do you have in Mantioch? Are reinforcements on the way? Give us something and we can get you fed and watered.’

  The Hierophant stared back at him. Josten got the impression the man would have spat in his face if he’d had any spit left.

  ‘Looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way,’ said Retuchius. He seemed to be looking forward to a bit of torture. ‘This fanatic will be a tough nut to crack.’

  Josten looked to Silver. ‘Maybe you should talk to him?’

  Josten knew she would rather have done this her way than see a man, even one of the enemy, brutalised for information.

  As she took a step forward, the Hierophant seemed suddenly fearful. He shook his head, still not willing to speak, but it was clear just the sight of Silver made him terrified.