Brave Men Die: Part 3 (14 page)

He’d sent Ben back to Redisberg that morning with the same information, to safeguard it in the event of something happening. He’d left at dawn amongst the workers that were going out of the city headed to the fields and the merchants who were travelling to the next city. Ben had confided that he’d managed to be hired as a caravan guard and he’d slip away when he was able once it had arrived in the next town. Chase trusted Ben to arrive safely and give the information to Alina for safe-keeping. She would know how to use it as insurance against any threat targeting their family and Alina would find a way to get that information to her sister.

Chase had memorised Patric’s instructions to navigate the slums and find his contact. Not one step was without purpose, he was steady and without hesitation. He mentally ticked off the instructions as he passed each landmark that the map indicated, unforgettable and distinctive.

He didn’t turn and look back when he heard someone shout ‘stop’ accompanied by the light footsteps of a youthful thief. He kept his focus and pressed on, determined to get this done tonight. By dawn the Emperor would know everything.

Todd and Grant had stopped at the entrance to the alley where he was supposed to meet Patric’s contact. Their backs were pressed against the stone walls, hands were on the hilts of their blades as they scanned the area for signs of trouble. Grizzled looks of determination marked them as the veterans they were. All of them had their reservations about everything that had unfolded so far. Chase silently prayed that everything would work out for the best and he could get his men home.

Todd nodded his head, indicating that it was all clear and Chase led Abe and Pete cautiously into the alley. He shortened his stride with ease, adjusting for the shadows and the darkness and the unexpected. With his hands by his sides, Chase hoped to give the impression of calm to belay the nervousness that he felt creeping into his body.

The shadows were long. Chase could make out the silhouette of a man leaning against the wall. The three men continued forward at their reduced pace, Chase didn’t want to scare the man but even at ten metres away, the informant had made no move to greet him. The sense of dread filled his body as Chase drew close enough to see the man had been impaled and nailed to the wall, his lifeless form erect only from the spikes driven into his upper chest. The blood that oozed from the wounds was still fresh implying it only happened recently and the man was alive when he was killed.

‘Lord DeVile, I can’t say I’m pleased to see you here. I’d hoped that it was only your brother-in-law who was conspiring against the Empire.’ The voice came from the darkness and Chase’s eyes darted into the void looking for the source.

Eventually a man stepped forward out of the blackness of the alley and half-entered the light. The shadows clung to his face, concealing his identity. What Chase could make out was ordinary. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be remembered and that suggested he was dangerous.

And more importantly, it suggested he had performed the atrocity on the wall.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met …’ Chase stated coldly, never taking his eyes from the butcher.

‘We haven’t. But I certainly know a lot about you.’

The threat was implied. Abe and Pete were bristling behind him, edging slightly forward, waiting for an opportunity.

‘So does my wife, but I know her name. Who are you?’

The corner of the man’s mouth twisted up in a harsh smile, as he rocked on the balls of his feet. ‘Xavier Roth.’

The man was a butcher. Roth had tortured women and children, had taken prisoners and broken them down until they confessed. Not only was he extremely good at his job, more sickening was the fact he enjoyed it. Chase’s stomach dropped.

‘Why are you here, Roth?’

‘You know, business.’ Roth indicated the impaled body, with the shrug of his shoulders and a flick of the head.

Pete and Abe drew their weapons instinctively, any pretence that this was going to end well over. Chase could hear the sound of Todd and Grant drawing theirs reactively but then nothing else. No shouts, no sounds of them running down the alley toward them. Now he didn’t know whether they had heard the ambush or if they were reacting to their own threat.

‘So where did your orders come from Roth? The archbishop? The Emperor?’

‘The orders were mine.’

The man who stepped from the shadows was old, with a greying trimmed beard and dressed nondescript.

‘And you are?’ Chase inquired.

‘Nathan Rawson.’

The name meant nothing. He wasn’t a Kyzantine power broker. He certainly wasn’t a bishop. Or a native, the accent didn’t sit right but he was fluent. Chase hadn’t heard of him at the palace or on the streets in the last month. But one thing Chase did know was that if Xavier Roth took orders from this man — it meant he was high up on the pecking order.

Despite the anonymity, Nathan Rawson was a player, and a dangerous one at that.

‘This will go much easier for you if you lower your weapons,’ Roth started.

‘There are five of us and only two of you,’ Abe threatened, taking a step forward.

The alley was silent bar the sound of the five men breathing and the constant rhythm of the contact’s blood hitting the puddle on the ground. The three men stared at Roth as he stood there, waiting, his head tilted slightly to the left as he stared back at Chase.

‘That’s not quite true.’ Roth smiled and clicked his fingers.

The sound of commotion came from behind them. Chase and Abe turned around. Pete stayed focused on the threat at the front, barely holding back from launching at the butcher. Four men dragged the bodies of Grant and Todd down the alley, dumping them unceremoniously where Roth indicated. Chase was in shock, he hadn’t even heard them defend themselves. And he knew his men, neither of them would have gone quietly.

He spun violently to accuse Roth and Rawson of murder and stopped when another ten men appeared behind him. In the light he could see the markings that each of them wore — the Voice of God. These were the Church’s most brutal servants. It was this group that managed to get the witnesses to change their statements. It was these men that got confessions; that made all the problems go away. It was these men who answered to Roth. Now Chase was one of their problems. And so was Patric. He hoped his brother-in-law had managed to slip away. It was too late to warn him now.

Rawson stepped further forward into the light. What Chase finally noticed about the man was his eyes — cold and grey, they were devoid of any emotion. And despite being surrounded by the clergy’s Inquisitors, he wore no marking of the Church. Which meant he was either so far above it or so engrained in it, that there would be no touching him. The man himself might not even exist.

‘Let my men go, Rawson.’ Chase went straight for the man calling the shots, ignoring Roth. The sadistic fuck wouldn’t spare anyone if he was given the choice.

Rawson was silent. Roth tisked and a cruel smile formed on his thin lips. ‘Where is all the information you gathered? Is it all in your office at the Stony Feather?’

‘Where else would it be?’ Chase demanded in anger, his rage building as the image of their bodies flashed in his mind.

‘You didn’t send copies with your man who left this morning for Redisberg? You didn’t give a copy to your brother-in-law? Patric has been interfering with a lot of things of late.’

Chase was stunned that Roth had already thought that far ahead.

‘It doesn’t matter Lord DeVile. My men have already intercepted your rider, they will be raiding the tavern as we speak and I’ll deal with Patric personally as soon as I’m finished here. Any information that you have gathered that implies anything other than what the Church has already reported will be destroyed.’

‘So the Church was behind Derrick’s murder?’

‘No, of course not. Let’s not play games here, you discovered something more damning, something that the Church has feared for centuries.’

Chase was right, he felt some satisfaction in that.

‘That Rayn’s supporters were never completely eliminated.’

‘That is correct, Lord DeVile. But if that information was to get out, I’d be out of a job, so I can’t let that happen.’

‘And you think I’m just going to stand here and let that happen?’

Roth smiled again. ‘No. I like a little resistance.’

Chase was sick with realisation that there was a hard truth in what the butcher had said.

Chase drew his blade within seconds and stepped forward beside Abe and Pete. The younger man was already charging when three bolts thundered through the air. Pete was launched back as one took him through the eye, his legs flailing through the air. Abe just sunk to his knees as he feebly clawed at the end that protruded from his throat.

His own arm felt heavy, like he was having trouble maintaining his grip on his weapon. He looked down and saw that he hadn’t been fast enough to dodge out of the way, the bolt had slammed into his shoulder. The pain slowly crept into his muscles as he choked back the scream that he wanted to hurl at them.

Taking the blade in his left hand, he stepped forward to engage with the Inquisitors. But Roth was faster than he looked for a man that appeared in the decline of life, and had plunged the dagger into his abdomen. Surprised, Chase couldn’t do anything but groan and collapse forward onto Roth’s strong frame as his life ebbed away. His last thoughts were of Alina, combing her long blonde hair in the mirror and smiling back at him.

Roth twisted the blade with sadistic glee as Chase gargled the blood in his throat and slumped forward dead. Yanking the blade out, he let the body fall and it hit the ground with a thud. Roth knelt down and wiped the dagger clean on Chase’s shirt.

Roth stood up and ordered the waiting men. ‘Dump his body in an alley at the whore district and make it look like he was mugged. The others,’ indicating the four guards, ‘dispose of them so they will never be found. In the morning the report will come across the Emperor’s desk that Lord DeVile was mugged and killed after visiting a brothel unattended by his retinue of personal guards. In their shame, they have fled the city. See to it that it happens that way.’

The closest Inquisitors nodded and started dragging the bodies away. Roth turned to the impaled informant hammered into the wall as two men went to remove the body. He was about to order them to destroy the body when Rawson interrupted.

‘Leave him. He will serve as a warning to those who knew who he worked for and for those who knew who he was meeting with.’

Roth turned to the older man who had ordered the execution. He nodded, and indicated for his men to move on. The two men silently accepted the instructions and moved to help dispose of the other bodies.

Roth stood there amongst the bloodshed, satisfied at how the work was progressing. First he would need to deal with Patric, then ensure that the rider had met with an unfortunate end and all the evidence was destroyed at the tavern. Then this particular thread would be finished and he could go on to hunt down the chapter of exiled casters who had returned for the Church.

Volans’ chest heaved up and down and his hammer weighed heavily in his hand. The veins bulged between the muscles in his arm as he watched the last of the butchery. The Nails were tearing apart the small convoy of supply wagons and their escort.

Hydrus came and stood beside him, blood dripping from his blade and beard, sweat dripping down his face. Volans nodded and turned his eyes back to the vision in front of him, watching the men mop up the rest of them.

No matter where he looked, Volans’ eyes were drawn to one figure, one man who moved with fluid grace, his blade sliced through the air around him and carved up the enemy flesh.

‘What are you staring at?’ Hydrus queried.

Volans didn’t take his eyes from the slaughter, but raised his hand and pointed at Castor and replied, ‘I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.’

Hydrus jaw dropped, his eyes locked on his corporal’s movements. ‘Shit, I can’t follow the blade.’

Castor cleaved through another Kyzantine, tore the body in half before he stepped around a careless thrust and rammed his blade into the woman’s chest up to the hilt. He slid his sword out, knocked another blade out of the way then took the man’s head off his shoulders.

Volans watched as Castor stopped, paused in the midst of battle and searched for another target, his blade poised waiting to strike. The Kyzantines kept their distance and the fight raged around him. Resigned that it was over for him, he stalked closer to Volans and Hydrus, slicing his blade across the back of one man who couldn’t get away fast enough.

Castor’s face was calm, his eyes focused as he neared, a sight that Volans had become accustomed to lately. All emotion had drained from the young man, he had effectively distanced himself from everything he did out here. Castor had become a brutal killer and Volans could see less and less of the young man he remembered from Buckthorne.

Gore dripped off the steel as he stood staring over his shoulder as the Nails finished the last of them and began raiding the wagons. His green eyes seemed almost inhuman before they caught the light that made them sparkle with flecks of orange for just a moment.

‘Get what food you can,’ Hydrus screamed out the orders. ‘Anything useful that you can carry grab, anything you can’t we burn.’

‘Where now?’ Castor asked.

‘We go east. We know the Gorgon Pass is secure and I’m confident that Duncan will hold it with the reinforcements. I want to know about Cerebus Valley and I want to know about the Musea Pass. If any of them have fallen that’s where they all will be heading and we can strike at their supply line.’

‘Do you think anywhere has fallen yet Hydrus?’ Volans queried.

‘I hope not but who knows until we get word and that won’t happen while we are out here in the middle of the bloody Empire cut off from any information. I want to be able to have numbers of the enemy if we get the chance to let anyone know.’

‘What about Pyxis and her hunters?’

Castor snapped his head around at the mention of her name, his words came out like venom. ‘Has the bitch been spotted?’

‘There has been no sign of them since we gave them the slip in the woods, but Pyxis is following. She is a relentless little bitch that won’t let go once she has you in her sights. Pyxis will be following but I plan for us to be always one step ahead.’

Castor wasn’t impressed. ‘Let her come, I’ll finish the job.’

Volans was sure that Castor meant it too. His form with his blade was brilliant and he was better than he was back in the Gorgon Pass when they first crossed blades. He was more determined too and would kill his way through her troops just to get to her.

Castor stood staring off to the west, knowing that the Kyzantine general was out there somewhere searching for him. Her standard would be fluttering in the slight breeze under the sun’s waning heat. Her black hair would be tied back, sweat on her brow, her tanned skin red from the sun.

Pyxis would come, he knew it, just didn’t know when. Castor massaged the palm of his left hand with his right thumb, catching the familiar silhouettes out of the corner of his right eye. Their numbers had grown since his time in the Empire plains, they sat in their saddles watching over him and the other Nails. One sat in front of the others, leaned forward to catch every glimpse, every aspect of the battle. Or perhaps just to be closer to him.

Men yelled in the background to step back as they torched the wagons and Castor turned and watched the flames lick at the wooden sides until they finally took hold and turned each and every one into a burning inferno.

Hydrus ordered them to move out so Castor casually made his way to Virtue and climbed into the saddle. He risked one last look over his shoulder to the shadows overwatching him, before turning his thoughts to what lay ahead. East and more Kyzantines to kill.

Byrn stood on the tower top at dusk as the scene unfolded in front of his eyes. The power struggle had been teetering on the edge of disaster for a while: Cygnus and his Howlers from Gravid’s Drift against Pollux and Buckthorne — a hugely volatile mix.

The Kyzantines were retreating in the distance. The trumpets had sounded and recalled them after another long exhausting day. Pollux dragged himself up the stairs, the scratches on his upper arm still bleeding, a look of determination and sorrow in his eyes. Octans was snapping at his heels, ready to explode. Ara accompanied them, moving off to one side as the two men went off to confront Cygnus.

Cygnus stood in the middle of the tower surrounded by his men, who all wore the tension on their faces, their hands twitching on their bows. Byrn watched as Pollux calmly and confidently stepped forward and met Cygnus’ gaze. Octans stood just off centre, his left hand resting on his sword hilt. The archers didn’t faze him at all.

Byrn risked a brief look in the direction of the mage, probably the most powerful person there and one of the more influential power brokers in this situation. Their eyes locked and a moment of recognition passed between them. In that instant he knew where her alliance lay, that Pollux would have her support and if things went bad up here, that magic of hers would decimate the men of Gravid’s Drift.

‘We need to talk Cygnus.’

‘So we are going to do this now? Right after, under my leadership, we have successfully kept the Kyzantines from taking the walls of Black Claw again?’

‘At the expense of my men.’

‘Your men? You were the only one left after the rest of the Buckthorne leaders died. They couldn’t even save themselves let alone defend the barricade. That doesn’t make you much of a leader — it just means you are alive.’

Pollux almost hit him. Cygnus was goading him to do so but he resisted the temptation. Octans was on the balls of his feet, foaming at the mouth for the opportunity.

‘Soldiers do as they are told. Die if they have to, if it means their life or their country. You are all expendable if I say so.’

Pollux clenched his fists. ‘If you keep sending men to die, there won’t be any left for you to kill tomorrow. Think about it. These are the only men we’ve got until reinforcements come and who bloody knows when that will be.’

‘Don’t be a fucking idiot Cygnus, you cowardly—’

Cygnus’ cheeks went red with anger before he swung his arm around. Pollux managed to step back to avoid the punch, forced his arms to remain at his sides as Cygnus turned and took another shot.

Byrn wasn’t surprised when Octans grabbed hold of Cygnus’ arm and dropped his head into his mouth. Blood sprayed from the broken lip and Cygnus stumbled back, his chest heaving, his breath heavy.

‘Time for a change Cygnus,’ Pollux said confidently. ‘You have two options. First, we share the responsibility. That means we run things by each other, share the worst of it amongst all the men not just mine. Or option two, I assume complete control of Black Claw and you will damn well do as you are told.’

Pollux stared Cygnus down, his green eyes never leaving Cygnus’, even when the archers from Gravid’s Drift moved closer. Byrn touched the hilt of his sword while Octans withdrew his and stared them down. A quick glance over at the mage saw flames wisping along her slender fingers. Things were going to get ugly very quickly depending on Cygnus’ response.

Cygnus broke the gaze, glanced at Octans’ steel, noticed the mage and judged whether the bloodbath would go in his favour if he decided to fight. Byrn thought he was an idiot if he thought they would survive. Ara tipped everything in Pollux’s favour.

‘Fine, we will share it. Don’t think for one minute that you are better than me, peasant general. If you don’t show me the respect my position deserves, the Kyzantines will never have the chance to get you.’

‘Don’t threaten me Cygnus. At Black Claw every man is equal and if you don’t like it, you can shove it up your arse.’

Cygnus opened his mouth to scream but managed to keep his cool.

‘Now for starters,’ Pollux continued. ‘We are going to take the fight to them. Hit them when they aren’t expecting it, like right bloody now. They think the fight is over when they retreat for the night, but no longer. We dictate the terms of battle from now on. I’m going to ride out with the remnants of the baron’s Fangs. You make sure that the gate stays open long enough for us to get back in. Understand?’

‘I thought this was going to be a joint leadership — that we ran things by each other?’ Cygnus sneered.

‘We have been doing things your way for long enough. This is my idea, we can judge how well it works and how we can adapt it when I get back.’

The scowl on Cygnus’ face said it all. Pollux turned and left, turning his back on a man that was ready to plunge a dagger into it. He made it to the stairs before Octans sheathed his blade and Ara strode calmly after him. Byrn followed, trying hard to hide the smile on his face, and left Cygnus and his dumbfounded men on the tower top.

Pollux shook Octans’ hand firmly and couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, he could hardly believe it went so well — no one had died.

‘I need you to stay here Octans, just to make sure that the bastard doesn’t close the gates on us.’

‘You need me out there beside you Pollux.’

‘I need you here more,’ Pollux reassured him. ‘Just this time, next time you can come with me.’

The Fangs came from the stables, each dressed in battle armour, leading their mounts by the reins. They mounted up and sat patiently for their general to lead them.

Finally Octans relented and gave way, racing off to order some of the Fists to station themselves around the gate. Pollux smiled at the sight, proud that his friend was beginning to get the feel of leading.

Ara stepped up beside him, her hand touching his briefly.

‘You sure you don’t mind doing this?’ he asked, the thought that he might get her killed on this run weighing heavily on his mind.

‘I told you I can handle myself. I’m much stronger than I let on and I can easily do everything that you have asked.’

Her smile filled him with confidence, that this little scheme of his might actually work and boost the morale of his men. They needed to do something that put them in control of all of this, not just stand on the wall day in, day out, wondering when they would die.

Pollux put one foot in the stirrup of a horse someone had brought from the stables for him and heaved himself into the saddle. He really needed to work on doing that more gracefully. His thoughts momentarily shifted to Castor, how he was so comfortable in the saddle. Pollux wondered if his brother was still alive. He hadn’t heard any information from the Gorgon Pass and he mumbled a quiet prayer to the gods to look over him.

Byrn came over quickly, rubbed his hand through his mount’s mane.

‘That went better than you could have hoped,’ the old master of arms muttered.

‘Yeah, no bloodshed. Best we could have hoped for.’

‘You heard he got a missive from Gravid’s Drift?’

Pollux raised an eyebrow. He didn’t really have time for this.

‘Arryn Dunn died trying to reclaim his second son’s body in the Musea Pass. Cygnus has now lost his father and brother to the Kyzantines.’

‘That means he is the new earl …’ That definitely put an interesting twist on things. He would have to deal with the consequences of this news when he got back. He nodded to Byrn and the man left, downtrodden and wearied.

Looking over his shoulder at Ara, her auburn hair now reaching her shoulders and her icy blue eyes warming when they met his. Pollux flashed her a smile, exposed his dimples, and blushed when she smiled back. What on earth was he doing flirting with her when they were about to go out there?

‘Open the gates,’ Pollux ordered, nudging his horse forward.

The sun had slipped behind the mountains, casting the pass in shadow. Pollux rode out underneath the barricade, Ara trailing close, the Fangs riding behind him. Trotting along, the knights moved into formation with him at the point.

He signalled Ara and an orb of light pulsed in the palm of her hand before she flung it into the air. It reached its pinnacle, exploding as the knights burst into the valley and into the first of the unsuspecting Kyzantines.

Pollux’s blade rose and fell as he killed his first.