The Spear of Malice (War of the Archons 3) Read online

  ‘You know who I am?’ she asked.

  The Hierophant nodded. ‘I know who you are,’ he said, voice croaky and dry.

  ‘You are afraid?’ she said.

  ‘I am more afraid of Her,’ the Hierophant replied.

  ‘But Innellan is not here. There is just us.’

  ‘She will come. She will kill all of you. There is nothing—’

  Silver reached out a hand, placing the tips of her fingers against the side of the Hierophant’s head.

  ‘The Stone,’ he screamed suddenly. ‘We are moving the Stone. The Set of Katamaru hid it from the Widow, but she knows. She covets it. If you take it first it will grant you great power.’

  Silver took a step back. ‘The Stone of Katamaru?’

  The Hierophant nodded feverishly. ‘It will be transported from Mantioch to Kragenskûl when the storms have abated. One day, maybe two. If you are swift you could take it for yourself. It will grant you great power, no?’

  Silver didn’t answer. She stood, considering the Hierophant’s words before turning and leaving the tent. Josten and Laigon followed.

  ‘Didn’t take long for him to start singing,’ Josten said. ‘Just how important is this stone?’

  ‘It is a powerful artefact,’ Silver replied, brow furrowed in thought. ‘It is a beacon between worlds.’

  ‘So what’s it for?’ Josten asked, in no mood for her riddles.

  She shook her head. ‘That is not important. All that matters is that it does not fall into Innellan’s hands.’

  ‘Then I will take one of the Standings,’ Laigon said. ‘We will claim this artefact and bring it to you.’

  Silver shook her head. ‘No. The warriors of Mantioch will spot your men from miles away. This must be done with stealth.’

  She paused, still deep in thought. Josten could see where this was going. ‘All right. I’ll do it,’ he said.

  ‘I am grateful,’ said Silver.

  She didn’t sound it. To Josten it sounded as though she had fully expected him to do it out of duty. When she turned without another word and walked away, he knew her gratitude was only offered begrudgingly. He had followed her in this crusade north because he believed in her, but even his loyalty was starting to be tested.

  ‘She is exhausted,’ Laigon said, as though reading his thoughts.

  ‘I know. We all are.’

  ‘No one is forcing you to do this,’ Laigon said. ‘I have other men, just as capable.’

  Josten raised an eyebrow. ‘Just as capable?’

  Laigon offered a rare smile. ‘They would not perform the task with your natural charm and grace, but they would see it done.’

  Josten laughed. ‘No. I can handle it. I’m just keen for all this to be over.’

  ‘Once Mantioch has fallen, the way to Kragenskûl will be open. Then we can face Innellan.’

  ‘That’ll do us no good if Silver’s dead on her feet.’

  ‘I will see to it that she rests. Don’t worry. Just make sure you are safe, my friend. This could be a dangerous mission.’

  Josten clapped Laigon on the shoulder. ‘I’ve got the easy job. Robbing some travellers on the road? How hard can that be?’

  ‘Somehow I feel it will not be so simple.’

  ‘I used to be a pirate,’ Josten said with a wink. ‘I robbed people for a living.’

  ‘Just come back alive,’ said Laigon, grasping his forearm in the warrior’s way. ‘We need you. May the trickster god protect you.’

  Josten appreciated the sentiment. But no amount of well-wishing and relying on gods was going to get the job done. After they had embraced once more he left Laigon to the business of besieging Mantioch.

  Later, as night drew in, he sat by a fire with his men. They’d eaten well and rested after days in the desert. It never ceased to amaze Josten how they managed to stay so resilient, even out here in the wilds of the Ramadi, surrounded by thousands of fanatics whose only wish was to slaughter them all.

  ‘This could be a tough one,’ he told them as the fire crackled away. ‘If anyone wants to stay behind I won’t think any less of you.’

  ‘They’re all tough,’ said Kyon. ‘Tough or easy doesn’t matter as long as you don’t get killed.’

  ‘Then you’re in?’

  Kyon nodded.

  ‘I’m in too,’ said Retuchius.

  The other men around the fire all gave their assent. The legionaries of the Fourth Standing were a brave bunch and Josten had known deep down none of them would say no.

  ‘And you won’t be going without me.’

  The last one was Eyman. Despite his words, Josten could hear the trepidation in his voice. Part of him thought he should have let the young militiaman sit this one out, but the lad was as brave as the rest, perhaps braver. Josten would never have embarrassed him by making him stay.

  Their loyalty hit him hard. He’d led men before, but most of the time they’d fought for the money. This bunch did it for loyalty. Not that loyalty would keep them safe. If they ended up dead that loyalty would have all been for shit.

  Josten would just have to make sure they lived. Keeping himself alive would only be a bonus.

  5

  ANOTHER night plagued by nightmares, only to wake and have Dragosh push her harder than ever on the training yard. He seemed to take great relish in demonstrating her weaknesses. Despite the hardship, Adaali had done her best, quelling her frustrations and fighting until she was exhausted. When it was over, Dragosh had dismissed her without comment, and she had no idea whether he had been pleased with her tenacity or merely disappointed at her lack of progress.

  Now she was in her room, resisting the desire to rest. Dragosh had made it clear she was weak, her scrawny frame far from what was needed if she was to carry the mantle of her brother’s protector. He had taught her many ways to improve, how to build her muscles using her own meagre bodyweight. A hundred push-ups to strengthen chest and arms, two hundred squats until her legs ached, three hundred sit-ups so her stomach was like iron. Then the exercises to keep herself supple, stretching until it felt like every muscle and tendon might snap.

  As Adaali stood, heels planted firmly, bending at the waist until she could lay her palms flat on the floor, she heard a commotion from the courtyard below her room. She moved to the window, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked down. Through the palace gates rode a procession of warriors and Adaali felt her heart flutter with excitement. Their steeds were huge beasts, larger than any horse Adaali had ever seen. Atop each one sat a southern soldier, a knight of the Suderfeld, encased in plates of steel armour. Across their chests were tabards of bright crimson, each one emblazoned with a rearing lion of gold.

  This was the foreign delegation they had been expecting. In all her wildest dreams Adaali had not expected them to make such an impressive and fearsome sight. They must have been baking inside their armour, but not one of them showed any sign of fatigue as they trotted into the courtyard carrying their banners.

  Her door suddenly burst open. Rahuul raced up beside her, almost toppling through the window in his eagerness to view the newcomers.

  ‘Have you seen them? Look at them down there. Are they giants?’ He jumped from one foot to the other in his excitement.

  ‘No, they are not giants,’ Adaali replied. ‘They are just men. Knights, they call them. Warriors just like ours.’

  But Adaali knew these were knights cut from a different cloth to the Kantor militia. The martial reputation of the Suderfeld was one to be respected. It was a land that had been stricken by war for decades. She knew every one of these visitors was a veteran who had survived a dozen battles. These were men to be feared, not that she would have told Rahuul as much.

  ‘Can we go down and see? I want to meet these knights.’

  Adaali laid a hand on his shoulder in the vain hope it would stop him hopping about. ‘All in good time,’ she said.

  They watched as one of the riders dismounted. He was different to the rest, wearing
opulent yellow silks instead of armour. His hair was the colour of straw and he might have been handsome but for the jewelled patch he wore over one eye. Behind him was another southerner who was also without armour, but this one looked fearsome. His body was heavily muscled, more so than even Musir Dragosh, and his face was covered in a fiery red beard. Where his arms weren’t covered by thick iron bands they were adorned with swirling tattoos and he held on tight to the broadsword at his side as he climbed down from his horse.

  No sooner had the men taken in the sight of the courtyard than they were greeted by the rake-thin figure of Egil Sun. Adaali watched as he greeted the men like old friends, the one with the eye patch smiling widely as he took Egil’s claw-like hand in his own.

  ‘Why have they come?’ Rahuul asked her.

  Adaali shook her head. ‘I don’t know for certain. But I think Egil would like there to be an alliance between the Suderfeld kingdoms and Kantor.’

  ‘What does Mother say?’

  It was good that he realised who was really in charge. From the way Egil acted it was he who was regent of Kantor and not Queen Suraan. Adaali was thankful her brother had not fallen under the vizier’s spell.

  ‘She is not so sure.’

  ‘When will I get to meet them? I should meet them, shouldn’t I?’

  She looked down at her little brother. So young and yet so much weight on those narrow shoulders. Adaali had never wanted to protect him from the world as much as she did now.

  ‘You will,’ she replied. ‘Later. For now, see to your breakfast. A king cannot meet his guests on an empty stomach.’

  At the mention of breakfast, Rahuul rushed off towards the dining room. Adaali turned back to the courtyard, seeing Egil standing close to the hulking warrior. They spoke in hushed tones as the man with the eye patch gazed around the courtyard once more. As he looked up he caught Adaali’s eye. She looked back at him, and when he raised his hand and smiled at her, she waved back, before catching herself and taking a step away from the window. It would not do to be so informal with a guest of the palace, but there was something disarming in that smile.

  She put the visitors to the back of her mind, and returned to her exercises.

  Later she had dressed in her plain tunic once again, ready to continue her training, but Dragosh was not awaiting her in the yard. It did not take Adaali long to find him, following the sound of his voice as it echoed through the palace corridors. He was instructing his men of the Desert Blades as she approached, making it clear that they were to be more vigilant than ever as they patrolled the palace grounds. As he dismissed them he saw her approach.

  ‘There will be no more training today,’ he told her, before she could even speak.

  ‘But I am ready,’ she said, unable to hide her disappointment. She was keen to redeem herself for her earlier failures.

  ‘With so many strangers in the palace I am needed elsewhere,’ he replied. ‘We will continue later. There is much I have to do.’

  Adaali should have done as she was told, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘I would like to meet these foreigners,’ she said. ‘They seem a curious bunch. I’m sure we can learn much from them. Rahuul would also like to—’

  Dragosh shook his head. ‘No. Stay away from them. We know little enough about them as it is. Your job is to protect the prince. Keeping your brother safe should be your only concern. Make sure Rahuul stays in his room – he is not to mix with these people unaccompanied.’ He seemed adamant, and Adaali was not about to argue with her weapons tutor.

  With a final nod, Dragosh left her to see to his duties. She watched him go, thinking on his words, but she could not get the image of that one-eyed southerner from her mind.

  Nevertheless, Adaali obeyed, making her way back through the palace, taking the opportunity to slip by the scurrying servants and vigilant guards unseen. Dragosh had taught her how to use the shadows and the environment to conceal her passing and she had taken to it better than any of his weapons training. When she reached the royal chambers though, there was no hiding from what awaited.

  ‘Adaali,’ her mother called as she reached the top of the stairs. ‘Come, there is much to do.’

  She saw her mother standing in the vestibule, surrounded by handmaids she recognised and a couple of men she didn’t.

  ‘What is it, Mother?’ she asked as she entered, a feeling of dread slowly creeping up inside her.

  ‘There is a feast to attend to,’ her mother said. ‘We must all look our best. We must show the people of the Suderfeld what they are dealing with.’

  ‘Dealing with?’

  Queen Suraan shook her head. ‘Never mind. Just go with the maids and have your bath.’

  Adaali lifted her tunic and sniffed. The smell wasn’t that bad. ‘But I don’t need—’

  ‘Just go.’ Her mother’s tone brooked no argument.

  Adaali went with the handmaids and let them strip her tunic. A bath had already been prepared with rose petals and oils and Adaali reluctantly climbed in. At first it was a relaxing experience until the handmaids took to scrubbing every inch of her. By the end it felt as though they had scraped her skin raw, and she was pulled from the bath and dried off with soft towels. All this went against Dragosh’s lessons. He had taught her to endure hardship, to hone her body into iron, and here she was being primped and powdered like some prize animal.

  When they led her out into a dressing room her mother and brother were already there. Rahuul was taking great delight in trying on an array of magisterial robes in red and blue silk, shot through with gems of green and yellow, but when it came to her turn Adaali struggled to muster the same enthusiasm. Eventually she was dressed in a bright blue gown, the sleeves so long they covered her hands. Her head was covered with a scarf that draped in front of her eyes and she was forced to wear velvet sandals that pinched her toes. It was beautiful, and she hated every inch of it.

  Adaali was a warrior. It had been made clear to her for as long as she could remember that she was no princess, but here she was dressed up like one of those snivelling courtiers her mother so often complained about. How was she to protect her brother when she couldn’t see, walk or hold a weapon properly due to this ridiculous dress? Nevertheless, she had her duty to perform, and if this was her mother’s wish then she would have to obey.

  When finally Adaali and her brother were ready, their mother came to lead them to the feast. She was dressed in her finery, head covered in a silken veil, the crown of Kantor on her head. Adaali had never seen her look so beautiful.

  The queen led them down to the dining hall. Dragosh was waiting for them, and he opened the doors. Adaali could hear the sound of conversation hush from within as Dragosh led the procession. All eyes were on Suraan as she walked to the head of the huge feasting table and Adaali could see that there were dozens assembled. Aldermen from the outlying regions sat in their respective places. The two Suderfeld envoys were positioned side-by-side, one hulking and bearded, the other all charm and smiles. Egil Sun had taken the seat opposite them, leering like a vulture about to feast.

  Suraan took her place at the head of the table and Adaali sat on her left-hand side, Rahuul on her right. Even with Dragosh standing vigilantly behind them, Adaali still felt exposed. All eyes were on the royal trio and she had never felt so conspicuous.

  No sooner had Queen Suraan seated herself than Egil Sun was on his feet.

  ‘Your Royal Majesty, may I present our esteemed guests from the Suderfeld.’ The two southerners rose, the bearded brute some inches taller than his blonde counterpart. ‘This is Duke Bertrand of Canbria, envoy of Stellan, King Regnant of the Suderfeld.’ The man with the eye patch bowed in respect. ‘And this is Manssun Rike, champion to King Banedon of Arethusa.’ The bearded warrior gave an almost imperceptible nod, stark in its contrast.

  ‘Our pleasure, Your Majesty,’ said Duke Bertrand. ‘And may we take the opportunity to thank you for such generous hospitality.’

  The queen acknowledg
ed him with a nod as Egil continued. ‘They are here on behalf of the King Regnant who wishes—’

  Queen Suraan raised a hand for Egil to be silent and he duly obeyed.

  ‘I am willing to listen to any entreaties,’ she said. ‘But these envoys should know that Kantor has remained a neutral power for many decades. We are not willing to become embroiled in a treaty that will see us at war.’

  Egil glanced towards the duke, who smiled wider, inclining his head at Suraan.

  ‘A wise policy, Your Majesty,’ said Bertrand. ‘But it is not the treaty that will see you at war. The Ramadi invasion of your lands is inevitable. The White Widow is a threat to both our realms and the only way to defeat her is for our nations to unite. King Stellan suggests an alliance of marriage. A union of hearts and minds.’

  ‘And armies?’ Suraan asked.

  ‘Why of course. The military might of all the Suderfeld would be at your disposal.’

  The queen seemed unmoved by the prospect. ‘And who would my son be marrying? King Stellan has no daughters.’

  ‘But King Banedon of Arethusa does,’ said Manssun Rike in his gruff voice. It cut through the air of the dining hall like an axe.

  The queen regarded him coolly. ‘So you would have us marry the heir of Kantor to a minor noble?’

  ‘The son of King Banedon is no—’

  Manssun Rike stopped when Bertrand laid a hand on his meaty arm. ‘This will still be a powerful alliance, Your Majesty.’

  ‘The answer is no,’ Suraan said.

  Egil Sun rose to his feet. ‘Majesty, you must consider—’

  ‘I must consider nothing,’ she said. ‘Now, let us feast.’

  Before anyone else could speak the doors to the dining hall opened and the first of many courses was brought in. There was no more talk of marriages or alliances as the gathering ate. Adaali picked at her food as she watched the envoys talk to one another. Duke Bertrand seemed to be going to great lengths to keep his burly companion calm. When they had finished, Queen Suraan stood.