Prince of Wrath (38 page)

“It shall be done. I noted where some improvements can be made to our tactics and will work on them, sire.” The heavily accented words were still hard for Jorqel to understand at once.

Jorqel waved him off and lastly turned to the imperial bowmen captains. “Take the next ship to Efsia and take news of our victory to Slenna. I shall be returning via the road after dealing with the camp. Arrange for the castle to be decorated in triumph.”

The archer officers bowed and called their men together. It was to them the clearing up of the mess was to fall. The rebels would be burned while the twelve Kastanian slain that were not being returned to Kastan City were to be buried. The name of the valley was Gamrap.

After signing the three messages and sealing them, Jorqel called his bodyguard to him and, signalling to Demtro to keep up, began galloping off along the valley back in the direction the rebels had come from. He had to get to the rebels before they could carry out their promise to slay Sannia.

The peace of the rebel camp was shattered by the thundering hoof beats of the lone rider who came through the canyon past the startled guards and skidded to a halt almost opposite where Zonis’ cave was. The equine was foaming at the mouth, sweat-streaked and clearly spent. The rider was similarly exhausted, and his face was etched in pain. He panted for breath, his mouth open, his hair plastered wetly across his scalp.

Guards came running over to him, concerned. Zonis stood by the entrance of the cave alongside Kimel, silently watching and listening. Almost sub-consciously his left hand touched the smooth side of his wardrobe and he leaned against it, as if needing the support.

“All is lost,” the messenger gasped, grasping the arm of the nearest man who had come to him. “We were wiped out! The boss was killed! Get Captain Wottek at once!”

Zonis sighed and passed Kimel his pipe. “Here, you may as well keep this; I won’t be needing it anymore.” As Kimel took it wordlessly, his face expressing wonder, Zonis opened the wardrobe door and felt for a small ledge high up to the right. His fingers found it and he lifted up the false inner panel and threw it aside onto the rocky floor. Revealed inside the secret panel was a gleaming sword, resting in specially made wooden clips and mounts. He lifted it out and took it in both hands, his face grim. “Ah well, all good things must come to an end,” he said, walking into the full daylight and closing in on the knot of people surrounding the messenger who had slid off the saddle and was standing shaking, getting his breath back.

“They knew where to find us,” the messenger said, then caught sight of Zonis as he raised his sword high into the air. The three guards began to turn as Zonis’ first blow slashed through the messenger’s neck, separating his head from his body.

The guards took a few heartbeats to realise what was going on. Blood splattered out and the lifeless torso of the messenger collapsed to the ground, his head bouncing with a sickening sound a few paces away. Zonis swung the sword up without hesitation. The upswing took the blade through one guard’s throat, opening it to the air, sending arterial blood spraying over his comrades’ clothing.

Shocked, the second guard fumbled for his sword but Zonis was already chopping down, stepping forward rhythmically, pace, swing, pace, swing. His blow took the guard across the chest, smashing his ribs in. The man screamed and staggered back, his lungs filling with blood. The last guard’s face twisted in fury and hate, and he pulled his sword free just in time for Zonis to swing his blade up under the guard’s into his guts. The guard sucked in his breath and doubled up.

Zonis stepped away, his face grim. He walked towards the caverns at the far side of the clearing, knowing the call for Wottek had gone out. He had to get to Clora and Sannia before Wottek did. As he strode away, leaving a scene of carnage behind him, Kimel shook his head slowly in amazement. “Scary.”

Shouts came to Zonis from above; the patrolling crossbow-carrying guards had seen the slaughter and realised that the lone swordsman was not on their side, after all. There were two guards, all that were spared from the army that had set out with Lombert Soul. Zonis couldn’t run – his lungs were too badly gone to allow that, so he walked as fast as he could towards the cavern entrance, now guarded by one man. The other had obviously gone into the passages to find Wottek.

A bolt narrowly missed Zonis and he flinched. It struck the ground and skidded away noisily. He strode on purposefully, his eyes fixed on the one guard ahead of him who was slowly drawing his sword from his sheath, the shock on his face showing just how much he couldn’t believe Zonis’ sudden turn against the rebels.

A blow struck Zonis hard on the upper back, just below his left shoulder blade. He staggered and his knees almost buckled, but he refused to allow himself the luxury of falling flat on his face. The bolt had gone in deep and was lodged in between two ribs. It was agony, but he was used to pain, and he stumbled on. The guard stepped forward, wondering whether he needed to cut the wounded man down, but Zonis surprised him and swung hard. The guard inexpertly raised his blade but he was too late. He sank to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground, trying to keep his guts from spilling out through his fingers.

Zonis gritted his teeth and entered the caverns. He hoped he wasn’t too late. His feet were getting heavy but he forced himself on, trying to ignore the knifing agony of the bolt in between his ribs. The passageway widened and he bounced off one wall and collided roughly with the opposite one. Ahead was the door to Lombert Soul’s chamber and a man was standing in the open doorway, his back to the passage.

Within the chamber Captain Wottek had just entered, his face red with fury. “Time to get out of here, Martha,” he said to Clora harshly. “Get your things. We’re done for if we remain here. Just let me kill this Koros whore first!” He produced a small set of keys and selected a small iron one, stepping forward towards Sannia’s cage.

“No!” Clora cried out, “you’re not going to kill her!”

Wottek stared with disbelief at her. “What? My orders are clear! She dies! Silence, witch, and do as I tell you!”

“I’m not going with you, you horrible, ugly stupid man! I hate you!”

Wottek couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You what? You said you loved me! Have you been lying all this time?”

Clora stood defiantly before him, her fists clenched by her side. “I never loved you! Zonis wanted me to make you think that so you would help us!”

“Us? Us?” Wottek’s face went hard and malevolent. He swung his arm and caught Clora across the face, knocking her over onto the rug. “Us? You’re a Koros spy? Then I shall kill you, too!”

The guard by the door gasped and staggered forward. Wottek and Sannia looked at him in surprise. The guard was staring in stupefaction at a length of steel that protruded from his chest. It was jerked free and Zonis released the man’s neck, allowing him to crash to the ground. Sannia sucked in her breath as she saw the pain-wracked figure of the man step unsteadily into the room.

Wottek dropped the keys to the floor and drew out his own blade. “So, now all becomes clear. You traitor!”

Zonis coughed blood onto his cloth, and he angrily ripped it free of his face. His lips were red. No more wearing that shameful indicator of how ill he was. He stood before Wottek, his body aching, fire in his lungs and throat, the almost unbearable pain from the crossbow bolt in his ribs. “I’m no traitor, you fool. It is you who is guilty of treason. Call yourself a captain? You insult the rank.” He breathed in rapidly. His breath was failing him.

“I am a captain! I have more rank than you, you stupid old man!”

“I am a general. General Zonis Kalfas. I commanded thousands of men at one time, more than you’ll ever see.”

“You’re nobody, whatever your name is. Once I kill you then I shall rape this whore here, slice her throat, then rape this other one for good measure before killing her, too! Then I’ll get away before your cowardly friends arrive!”

“Shut up and get on with it, then. I tire of your bragging. You speak as stupidly as you look.”

Wottek screamed in outrage and swung with all his might. Zonis deflected the blow up almost without effort, then, while the rebel captain was trying to plant his left leg firmly to enable him to bring his sword back down, punched the man full in the stomach. Wottek’s leather tunic couldn’t soften the blow and he doubled up, retching. Zonis slammed the pommel of his sword down onto Wottek’s neck, stunning him. Then he reversed his sword and sent it straight down into the rebel’s neck, in between the collarbone and spine. Zonis pressed down with all his fading strength, sinking to his knees as the blade sank in deeper, plunging down into Wottek’s body, cutting through lungs and then the stomach.

Wottek was unable to scream. He was pinned to the ground and he vaguely felt the blade pass into his body, then everything went black. Zonis released his sword and the blood-spattered corpse of Wottek fell flat on the now messy rug. He was spent; he could feel the strength ebbing from him and he sank back against a set of drawers and sat there listlessly, blood dribbling out of his mouth. He’d done it. His mission was over.

Sannia was sobbing in her cage. Her head was shaking, as if to deny what had happened before her very eyes. Clora slowly recovered, levering herself up on shaking arms, and she looked round at the bloody scene. “Zonis?”

The man’s eyes switched from the draining body of Wottek to her. He smiled crookedly. “Let her out,” he croaked. “I can’t move.”

Clora gasped and slid over to him, but he flapped a weak hand at her. ”Go get her out. I’m beyond help.”

At that moment more men came riding into the camp through the narrow canyon. Armoured men and others. They spread out as they arrived and saw a pile of bodies off to the left, and one man standing close to them. High up, the two men with crossbows turned and fled, not wanting to get into a fight with a squadron of imperial cavalry.

“Check that man there,” Jorqel snapped to one of his men. He looked about the place. Evidence of many men having been trained were all about. Caves dotted the edges of the clearing.

Two men dragged a wild-eyed Kimel over to an impatient Jorqel. “You,” the prince jabbed a gauntleted finger at the man, “where are they keeping my woman? Sannia Nicate. Where?”

“Over there,” Kimel pointed to the caverns on the far side.

Jorqel’s face grew grimmer. “Right. Half of you stay here and get some sense out of him; I want details of everything. The rest of you, and you, Kalfas, with me!” Jorqel led Demtro and half of his bodyguard over to the caverns where one guard lay dead.

“My brother’s handiwork,” Demtro observed. “And those others back there, by the looks of things.”

“Let’s hope he did his duty, then!” Jorqel snapped and vaulted out of his saddle, pausing only to drag his sword out from its resting place. He ran into the cavern and was quickly joined by his men and Demtro. Passages led off left and right. “Which way, damn it?”

“Sire, over here!” one of the men had gone a short way down the tunnel to the left and spotted a dead man lying in a doorway. The men all moved as fast as they could to the opening.

Inside the room Sannia looked up from comforting Zonis in alarm, then joy as she caught sight of Jorqel framed in the doorway. “Oh, Jorqel!” She got to her feet, leaving a weeping Clora to hold a grey-faced Zonis, and threw herself into the prince’s arms.

Jorqel screwed his eyes shut in utter relief and held his woman to him for a long, long, moment. “Oh, thank the gods you’re alive – and unhurt! Did those unspeakable people do anything to you?”

Sannia shook her head. She couldn’t speak for a moment, such was her emotion. Jorqel put his sword down and held her at arm’s length and gave her a long examination, seeing her face, her hair, her eyes, her body. He wanted to remember how she looked, how she felt.

Demtro pushed into the room and saw both Clora and Zonis. Wottek’s grisly corpse was ignored. He knelt next to the pair. “Clora, Zonis. It’s over.”

Clora nodded and put one arm round him. “He saved us both! Demtro, do something!”

Demtro looked at his older brother. Zonis was smiling slightly, blood running down his chin. “You did it,” Demtro said softly. “I can’t thank you enough, Zonis.”

“You never could,” Zonis whispered. He swallowed. Blood was threatening to clog up his windpipe. His lungs felt as if they were going to burst. He whispered again. Demtro leaned close, his ear next to his brother’s mouth. “Thank you.”

“What for?” Demtro asked, puzzled.

“Making me feel alive again. I’m at peace.”

Demtro looked at his brother in surprise, then concern as his face seemed to sag and his eyes unfocussed. “Zonis!” He felt his neck, and put his ear right against Zonis’ ear. Nothing.

Clora put her hands to her face and wept. “Zonis!”

Demtro closed his eyes and hung his head. “He was a dead man anyway. At least he died with purpose, with honour. He wasn’t going to live much longer anyway.” He sat down next to Zonis and held his dead brother’s head against him, cuddling Clora to him with his other arm.

Sannia wiped her cheeks and eyes and looked at the tableau. The other guards were milling about outside, uncertain what they were to do. “Go search this place. Arrest anyone you find. I want this place secured,” Jorqel ordered. He gently guided Sannia into the room, away from what used to be Wottek. Somebody would have to cover that up fairly soon. “You’re safe now, Sannia, this ugly business is at an end; we can return to Slenna and plan our futures there.”

“And what about them?” Sannia nodded at the three sat on the other side of the room. “He gave his life to save ours.”

“Ours?”

“Yes, that girl there and mine.”

“Your woman, Kalfas?”

Demtro looked up. “Oh, yes, this is Clora. My other agent here.”

“I’m sorry about your brother. He’ll be honoured, don’t you worry. He’ll get his rank back on his tombstone.”

Demtro nodded sadly. “I’ll make arrangements. He’ll be buried in Niake. As for you, Clora, your days of spying are over.”

Clora looked up at Demtro in surprise. “Oh? Did I not…..?”

“Nothing like that. I’m not putting you in danger again. Especially if you’re going to be my wife.”

“You-your wife? You mean…?”