Fall of Light (76 page)

Finarra, poor Spinnock Durav. The tale I have to tell you conjures a less than pretty scene …

  *   *   *

The gate was pushed open, stuttering upon ridges of ice, until further movement was blocked by a heap of crusted snow. The opening it made was barely enough to emit the fur-wrapped figure that stumbled out to greet Kagamandra Tulas. Straightening, the figure squinted up at the lord, and then leaned back in through the gap. ‘Trout! Get that shovel – no, the one with the handle, fool. Be quick about it!’ Leaning back, the woman faced Kagamandra again. She dipped her head and said, ‘Milord, welcome home.’

‘Braphen, is that you?’

‘Yes, milord. ’Tis Braphen, acting castellan here at Howls. Milord, your arrival was unexpected. No advance rider reached us, alas, to announce your imminent return. I must confess to a laxity in the upkeep, within the main house, that is. Sealed against the winter, sir, and the like.’ She ducked her head a second time. ‘I submit my resignation, milord, for having failed you.’

‘Braphen,’ said Kagamandra, dismounting, ‘you’ve grown into a woman. You mentioned Trout? He remains, then. Good. I’m not interested in your resignation. There was no advance messenger. Castellan now? That will do.’

While he spoke, Trout appeared with a battered shovel in his cloth-wrapped hands. Seeing Kagamandra, the old veteran nodded, and then turned his head to one side, and spat into the snow. ‘Sir,’ he said, and then he bent to the task of clearing the snow that blocked the gate.

Castellan Braphen met her lord’s gaze, and shrugged. ‘He insisted I make him a captain, milord, or he’d leave. Same for Nassaras, and Igur Lout. Three captains, milord, to command the Houseblades.’

‘That many? Well. How many Houseblades do I have, then?’

Braphen blinked, and then wiped her dripping nose with one forearm. ‘Well, that’s it, milord. Just the captains. The rest left when the orphans arrived. Headed west, I think. Sought to join Lady Hish Tulla’s Houseblades, on account of her being related to you and all.’

‘Hish Tulla is related to me?’

‘She isn’t, milord? The family names being so similar, people thought … well. Oh.’

Trout had managed to work the gate open by now, following a frenzy of flinging wet snow, and Kagamandra led his horse into the compound beyond. The animal shied as it passed beneath the lintel stone and Kagamandra had to fight the beast to bring it in.

‘Abyss below,’ he hissed, startled by his mount’s sudden terror, ‘what ails you?’

Braphen joined him, seeking to calm the animal. ‘It’s the orphans, milord.’

‘What orphans?’

‘Them as were gifted into your care, milord, by Lord Silchas Ruin and Captain Scara Bandaris. Hostages, actually.’

Kagamandra said nothing. Trout arrived to take the reins, and led the frightened horse towards the stables.

‘I know, milord,’ said Braphen, now tugging the gate shut once more. ‘Trout’s gotten even uglier. We’re all agreed on that. Can’t say how, or what’s changed, but I wager your shock finds reason in his sorry visage. Alas, milord, it’s not a shock easily worn off.’

‘Silchas Ruin, you said. And Scara Bandaris? From whence come these hostages? More to the point, why give this estate a new name? And what manner of name is Howls?’

Braphen studied him for a moment, wiping her nose once more. ‘You’ve not returned to take the charge of them, milord?’

‘No. I know nothing about any hostages. Braphen, my patience is – no, lead me inside. I’ve need of a meal. Tell me there are winter stores to suffice.’

‘Oh yes, milord. Plenty. We built us a new cold cellar, back near the old cistern, and it’s stocked full of carcasses.’

‘Near the cistern?’

‘The
old
one, I said, milord. I mean, the one we found when we started digging. Well, when Trout started digging. So we decided to stop digging. Trout did, rather. The new cellar is beside it, milord, dug into clean dirt. For the carcasses. A big cellar, sir, obviously. It’s not easy fitting fifty carcasses in anywhere.’

‘Fifty carcasses?’

They had begun walking towards the main house. Kagamandra studied it with growing unease, as echoes of his father seemed to remain, ghostly, like stains upon the grey stones. The building looked smaller, ill fitting his memories.

‘For the hostages, mostly, milord.’

‘Excuse me, what is for the hostages, Braphen?’

‘The meat, milord. Goats and steers and mutton.’

They ascended the ice-sheathed steps. Braphen edged ahead to open the door. ‘Milord, welcome back.’

Three strides through, in the cloakroom, a grimy child stood as if awaiting them. He stared up at Kagamandra without expression. He was dressed in a tattered deerskin tunic, his lower legs bare and his feet stained black by ash and the greasy stone tiles.

‘Ah, one of my hostages? Very well.’ Kagamandra approached the child and reached out a hand to rest it upon the thin shoulder.

The boy bared his teeth and growled.

Kagamandra snatched his hand back.

‘Jhelarkan hostages, milord,’ said Braphen. ‘This one is named Gear.’

‘Silchas Ruin and Scara, you said?’

‘Yes, milord.’

‘I imagine neither has visited since delivering the hostages.’

‘No, milord.’

‘How many carcasses remain in that cellar?’

‘About two-thirds, milord.’

‘So there’s room for, say, two more?’

Braphen frowned. ‘Milord?’

‘Never mind. Do we have a cook, or do we all eat raw meat now?’

‘Igur Lout commands the kitchen these days, milord. You will find the hearth in the eating hall well lit, as it’s where he passes the nights, mostly. With the orphans sleeping during the days for the most part, it’s safer that way.’ She drew off her heavier furs now, and the contrast of her comfortable excess with Kagamandra’s own gaunt frame was startling. She interrupted his comparison by wiping her nose again. ‘I will inform Igur to prepare you a meal, milord.’

‘Yes, thank you, Braphen.’

Behind them, as Braphen set off for the kitchen, Trout arrived. Seeing Gear, he pointed a finger and said, ‘That’s the lord’s own horse in the stables, you understand? Keep your claws and fangs off it!’

Gear spun and ran off down a corridor.

Trout glared at Kagamandra. ‘Sir, I’m taking captain’s pay, just like the rest of us still here. Barring the castellan, of course. On account of the hostages.’

‘Understood, Trout. Now, join me in the dining room.’

Trout hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Sir.’ He followed as Kagamandra made his way towards the central chamber.

‘And shed that miserable attitude of yours, will you? We’re old friends, you may recall. We fought side by side. We’ve seen the worst the world can offer.’

‘Shed, sir? Can’t be done. This miserable attitude is all I’ve got. Nothing underneath. Just something naked and ugly, and all the uglier for being naked. I’ve not changed at all, sir. And you, well, you look more like you than you ever did before. So yes, let’s have us a drink or two, sir. We can catch up. Shouldn’t take long. Igur’s not a bad cook, sir.’

‘And where is Nassaras?’

‘Don’t know, don’t care, and don’t dare ask, sir. She’s taken a liking to the hostages, you see.’

‘Ah. Tell me, how many hostages did they send us?’

Reaching the long dining table, Trout edged forward to sweep clutter and old foodstuffs from the surface, and then dragged out a chair for himself and sat.

Kagamandra moved to the high-backed chair at the table’s head. He saw that it was sheathed in dust. He sat and looked expectantly at Trout, until the man cleared his throat and said, ‘There were twenty-five to start, sir. Got maybe twenty left.’

‘What?
We’ve lost hostages?’

Trout scowled, reaching up to pull at the folds of wrinkled flesh on his cheeks, plucking them away from the bones underneath as if he sought to peel off his own face. It was an old habit, Kagamandra recalled, and probably responsible for the man’s flaccid mien. ‘Might look like that, but it wasn’t none of our doing. The imps like fighting each other. The weakest ones died first. Those that are left are the nasty ones, and I reckon it’s not over. Nassaras thinks it’s to do with keeping them penned up. They’re wild, you see. Some of them are still known to sleep outside, huddled under furs – sometimes the kind that’re worn, sometimes their own.’

‘They veer into their wolf forms?’

‘They ain’t got much control of that, sir. Not yet. Too young, I wager, and with no elders to teach them anything, who knows what’ll come of this.’ His dark, red-rimmed eyes flicked to Kagamandra. ‘We beat ’em on the field of battle, sir. Demanded terms of surrender and made them kneel with heads bowed. Hostages, we said. Insisted, even.’

Sighing, Kagamandra nodded. ‘No doubt it sounded reasonable in principle.’

Braphen reappeared and behind her walked Igur Lout carrying a battered silver tray on which rested a meal of mostly meat.

‘Milord!’ Igur said. ‘You look awful. I’ve seen stuff spat up by one of the orphans with more life in it. Here. Eat. Braph, get that decanter of wine over there, and some mugs. It’s a puking reunion, by the Abyss! The old company – or what’s left of it. But the captain’s back – the real captain, I mean, not money-grubbing feckers like Trout here.’ The squat, wide man set the tray down in front of Kagamandra and then sat opposite Trout. Eyes on the ugly man, he raised a hand and made a strange corkscrewing motion with his index finger, grinning. ‘Goes in one way and out the other, hey?’

Trout said, ‘If the rest of us didn’t hate cooking, Lout, I’d gut you right here, right now, begging the lord’s pardon.’

‘I see that little has changed,’ Kagamandra said. ‘Igur, that joke was old before I ever made captain in the Legion.’

‘It’s the only one he has,’ Trout said, ‘which ably underscores his pathetic state.’

‘This meat – is it horse?’

Igur nodded. ‘Last one, sir. What we could scavenge off it. Had to beat the orphans back and half of them veered and slathered in gore. That was the day the rest of the Houseblades quit, the shit-smeared cowards. I trust, sir, you’re already planning your revenge on Scara.’

Braphen finished pouring out the wine and turned to depart the room, before Kagamandra gestured and said, ‘Sit down, castellan. Join us.’

‘It’s not fitting, sir. I expect they’ve got complaints about me and the like. In any case, I need to see that your bedroom’s made ready.’

‘Sit down. My room can wait.’

Igur leaned forward. ‘Milord, I told you the first time we rode back in through yon gate, and I’ll tell you now. Your father was a fuckwit. We buried him and shed not a tear, except in relief. Even his own staff spat on his shadow and they’re long gone besides. It’s all yours now, sir, and rightly so. I hear you got a wife coming. Good. Let’s hope she has spirit, enough to break the legs on your bed.’ He reached out and collected a goblet of wine, and added, ‘Your health, milord.’ He drank, and leaned back.

There was a long moment of silence, until Trout pointed a finger at Igur and said, ‘And this is why no one likes you, Lout, excepting when you cook for us. You got all the delicacy of a pig on a place mat.’

Distant thumping drew everyone’s attention. Braphen rose. ‘Someone’s at the gate, milord.’

‘Ah,’ said Kagamandra, ‘that would be Sergeant Savarro and her deserters. Igur, best return to the kitchen and begin preparations to feed our guests. They might number a score or more.’

Cursing under her breath, Braphen made for the gate.

Igur rose, collected up the decanter of wine. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘they might change their mind.’

At that moment, a chorus of howls erupted from somewhere on the estate grounds.

Kagamandra glanced down at the supper he had but just started, and then he stood. ‘Well, yes. A warning does seem appropriate, under the circumstances. But I doubt they will change their minds, since they have nowhere else to go.’

‘They got horses, sir?’

‘And mules, Igur.’

Trout groaned and climbed upright. ‘I’ll see ’em stabled and all, sir, and I’ll take the first watch, too.’

By the time Kagamandra reached the gate, Savarro, Ristand and a half-dozen other Wardens were already crowding Braphen, who stood blocking their way in with one shoulder leaning against the door. Upon seeing Kagamandra, Sergeant Savarro’s eyes brightened, and then an expression of dread crossed her features.

Braphen glanced back. ‘Milord, they are proving most insistent.’

‘Step back, castellan.’

‘Milord, it’s the discourtesy I am objecting to. They are in no position to insist.’

‘Agreed, Braphen. But we will give them the compound at the very least, and the stable for their animals. Sergeant Savarro, kindly hold your people back, will you? The situation here is not as simple as it seems. On second thoughts, have them gather here, this side of the gate, while the two of us renew our acquaintance.’

Braphen retreated to permit the troop to spill into the compound. Kagamandra saw that there had been no split from the ranks, despite the news of Calat Hustain’s return. Some of the tension in the air had reached the children, and most were bawling. The mules and horses baulked at the threshold and required some effort to bring them inside. Gesturing to Savarro, Kagamandra moved a dozen paces away from the jostling mob.

She and Ristand joined him, the huge man scowling and casting glares at Braphen.

‘Lord, forgive me,’ began Savarro. ‘You didn’t identify yourself earlier—’

‘No need for apologies, sergeant. I was in no position to enlighten you on the condition of this estate. Now, it seems that the argument I left behind has been settled, although not in the way I would have expected.’

‘We voted, milord, and went with the majority. Continue on. The Vitr’s bitter curse on Calat Hustain. We saw too many friends dead on that hillside.’

‘That castellan giving us grief,’ said Ristand, scowling. ‘What kind of welcome is that? It’s cold. The sun is going down. The night is going to be frigid. My feet ache and I’m hungry. I told you, Savarro, it’s a new age, an age where no one cares to help anyone else. Kurald Galain becomes a realm of refugees. That’s no way to live.’