The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (93 page)

Amber had been born into minor nobility and was thus accused of being pampered and indulged, while Shart spoke too much and Keneg not enough. It was as simple as that, but none of them ever tired of the same old jokes. When they had been hiding from a group of soldiers one night, Mikiss had found himself glad of their idiotic levity.

Now the major stopped his small party, stepped into the shadow of a building and let his pack fall to the dusty ground. The others followed him, and Mikiss gave a heartfelt groan as he dropped his pack, already thankful for the ease of his torment, however brief.

‘Now boys,’ Amber said, looking warily at the passers-by, ‘just because the end’s in sight, doesn’t mean we’re going to relax. Sir, you’ll be staying here with Shart and the packs. Keneg and I will go and give some names to the barkeep. I’ve no reason to think there’s going to be a problem, but we don’t take risks and I’m buggered if I’m running from the City Watch carrying that pack if I don’t have to.’ He had decided at the start that the timid army messenger would be a clerk to anyone they met, rather than the leader of their group. That left him in charge, at least in public, and mostly Mikiss preferred it that way.

Major Amber took a moment to pull his scimitars from his pack and slide the holster straps over his shoulders. He unwrapped the bleached leather from around the hilts and settled them into their sheaths, giving each a tug to ensure he could draw them without restriction. He straightened his shirt, rubbing a hand distractedly over his belly. He was a professional soldier and disliked being without his armour, but this heat made it impossible to wear even the lightest of mail. All three found themselves unconsciously checking for armour that was no longer there.

Keneg slapped the scabbard of his broadsword, a thick weapon Mikiss thought of as an unholy cross between sword and axe. He nodded at his brother and stepped up beside Major Amber.

‘If there’s no reception to speak of, I’ll send Keneg out and have the beer waiting for you.’

Shart whispered urgently, ‘See if there’s anything better than that piss we got in the last place. Bloody westerners and their poor excuse for beer; that stuff was halfway to water!’

‘You’ll get what you’re given,’ Amber growled goodnaturedly, ‘but if it’ll shut you up for half a minute I’ll see what I can do.’

The pair strode off, Keneg half a pace behind the major, continually scanning the street as befitted his role of bodyguard - though any local thug would have to be brave to the point of madness to tangle with Major Amber. There was nothing noble or gentle about the tall Menin officer. His weathered face bore a number of scars, one of which was obviously a sword cut, and his shaved head added to the brutal facade. That Amber was dressed in fine clothes was a minor point, and of no importance once one had taken in the size of his scimitars and the brutal lines of his face.

Mikiss watched them walk away, then realised he didn’t have to be on his feet any longer. He sat down heavily on his pack and gave a sigh. For a few minutes he just watched his feet, unrecognisable to him without the elegant cavalry boots he normally wore. Eventually his attention wandered to the building sheltering them. The brick looked old. It was crumbling at the edges, and dark streaks showed years of run-off from the neighbouring building. Five yards on, ground dropped away a little, though Mikiss could see no reason for it; whatever function the drop had served was long-forgotten. Now all it contained was the shrunken corpse of a small dog, little more than a bag of bones and scrappy fur, curled awkwardly in the corner. It was attended by half a dozen lacklustre flies. Mikiss frowned, Something about the corpse looked odd.

He leaned forward to look a little closer. It was the dog’s leg! It wasn’t the angle of its body that was strange, but the length of the rear legs, which were too short. With a start Mikiss understood and turned away, revolted: the little dog’s hind feet had been cut off. ‘Gods,’ he muttered, ‘is that what they do for sport in this city:”

He pulled off a sandal and rubbed the dry, blistered skin on the ball of his foot. The sandal was Chetse Army-issue, with three straps winding around the ankle to hold it secure. He was glad not to be wearing the heavy fur-lined boots reaching halfway up his thigh favoured by the Menin cavalry, but the grit of Serene’s baked roads had worked its way between every toe and under every nail.

‘Good soldier’s foot you’ve got there,’ Shart commented, leaning over to look at the underside.

‘Filthy, you mean?’

The soldier chuckled, knelt down and grabbed the foot, much to Mikiss’ alarm. He twisted it slightly and pointed down at the rough surface underneath. Once Mikiss was paying attention, Shart gave the foot a firm slap with his massively strong sword-arm. Mikiss gave a yelp of surprise and snatched his foot back.

‘That’s what I meant,’ Shart said with a knowing glint. ‘They may be ugly and filthy, but you don’t get much tougher than a soldier’s foot. Trust me; if I’d done that before we set out, you’d be crying like a girl.’ He stood up with a satisfied smile, and stuck his thumb into the thick leather belt that held his daggers and the long-handled axe he was so proficient with.

Mikiss stared at his foot, then back at Shart. ‘I think you meant to say “crying like a girl, sir”, didn’t you?’

‘That I did, sir. Apologies for the slip, but I hope you’ll let me blame it on the weather.’ Shart grinned. The army messenger was not one to take his rank seriously.

‘That I will,’ Mikiss replied, wiping an already-sodden sleeve over his face. ‘Gods, I didn’t expect it to be so hot here.’

‘None of us did. Don’t feel natural if you ask me, sir. The way folk have been walking past with their eyes glazed over, and how they’re dressed, I don’t reckon it’s normally so hot this far north.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Mikiss replied, squinting at the handful of people in the street. ‘Those soldiers on the Gate obviously didn’t have the uniform for this sort of weather.’

‘Not soldiers, sir,’ Shart said with a reproachful tone. ‘Those buggers are only city guards, useless bastards who couldn’t make it into the army.’

‘I thought the army took anyone?’

‘Aye, it does,’ Shart broke off to squint towards the tavern. Mikiss turned to look too, but it was only a well-built man leaving the building, not Keneg. ‘But there are always some who don’t have the stomach for it. Watchmen still get weapons, but they have a bed to sleep in every night and they never face real enemies. Give me any twenty regular troops and I’ll cut through a hundred city guards like they were made of butter.’

He cocked his head at Shart. ‘But if they’ve got eighty more weapons than you do-‘

‘Hah! Don’t mean nothing - a hundred men is just a confused crowd ‘til they’re trained. If we get in a fight here, you’ll see what I mean. The city guards won’t know where each other are, so they’ll just get in each other’s way. Keneg and Amber know where I’m going to be, what I’m going to do next. I don’t do things to surprise them, so they’re watching my back at every step.’ Shart smacked a hand against the head of his axe, tied to his belt with leather thongs, and pointed towards the tavern. ‘There’s the little one,’ he said, reaching for the packs at his feet.

Mikiss sighed and hoisted his own onto his back, then realised he was going to have to carry Amber’s as well. ‘It seems a bit rich to call him “the little one” - Keneg’s twice as broad as you are.’

‘Ah true, the boy does like his beer.’ Shart gave Mikiss a comradely slap on the shoulder and chuckled as he bounced against the wall. ‘But he don’t like it when people call him the ugly one.’

A wave of mixed odours hit Mikiss as he stepped over the threshold: sweat and straw, mildew and spilt beer. The tavern stank. It might be no dirtier than any other he’d been in, but the unnatural weather had produced a stench that had an almost tangible presence, one that Mikiss could feel even in the back of his throat. It made him gag, and even Shart grimaced.

The main room had a square central bar of oak and stretched a good ten yards. With no fire or lamps, Mikiss struggled to adapt to the gloom after the glare outside, despite every window and door being propped open like a desperate plea for the wind to return. The major leaned on the bar talking to a massive broad-shouldered man with his curling beard tied into a fat bunch that swung wildly, punctuating each nod or shake of his head. Mikiss guessed the man was a former soldier, for though he was taller even than the Menin officer, his deportment was deferential. Old soldiers knew trouble when they saw it, and this man, surely more physically powerful than Major Amber despite his bulging gut, was instinctively acting like a man under orders.

Shart gave a small cheer as he saw the two full tankards of beer at the major’s elbow. He had drained half of his before Mikiss had even dropped the packs and picked up his own. Amber and the barkeep were talking quietly. The local language had its roots in Menin, since the original inhabitants were largely Litse and Menin. Mikiss couldn’t understand enough for a conversation, but Lord Styrax’s preparation for the campaign had been meticulous. Elite troops of Amber’s calibre were able to speak all the important dialects in the West, to cover eventualities just such as this.

The major gave the barkeep a nod and laid a silver coin on the bar top, saying something that sounded like, ‘yes, for all!’ before turning to Mikiss.

‘All seems fine so far,’ he commented, casting around the room again and seeing nothing of concern.

‘So he will give us directions to find Purn?’

‘He was told to expect us - well, you, anyway. Purn’s servant left instructions a week ago and has been in each evening since to fetch his master’s evening meal.’

‘Servant?’ Mikiss asked dubiously. They all knew the reputation of necromancers.

‘Aye,’ Amber replied grimly while Shart called the barkeep over to refill his tankard. ‘Don’t think he’s too popular, but when the money’s good, who’s going to complain?’

‘So is Purn nearby, do you think? It’s rather busy for him in this part of town.’

‘Doubt it, but that doesn’t matter. Safer for him to get his meals from further away, and it’s not as if he cares whether the food’s cold by the time it arrives, not in this weather.’

‘So what do we do now?’ Mikiss asked, eying Shart as the man enthusiastically set about his second pint.

‘We wait and we eat,’ Amber said firmly. ‘The man’s not coming until evening and I don’t want to be wandering the streets just waiting for some bored patrol to pick a fight.’ He nodded towards the barkeep, who smiled nervously in response. ‘He’ll bring us food in a while and make sure our tankards are kept full.’

Are you sure you want to let these two drink all afternoon?’

A smile split across Amber’s face. ‘They know their limits. Trust me, even if they start singing and dancing on tables, they’ll sober up in an instant if someone draws a sword or throws a punch. That little incident was just them letting off steam.’

‘Letting off steam?’ Mikiss shuddered. The brothers had been bleeding profusely by the end of the vicious fist-fight they’d had a week back.

Aye, they didn’t do any real damage. Shart’s got too many words in him; sometimes they just come out too fast and he gets on Keneg’s tits. Keneg has to remind his brother which one’s the elder, who’s in charge.’

‘They beat each other to a pulp!’

Amber’s smile widened. ‘We got a saying in the army, “No man’s your brother till you spill blood with him.” Those two know there’s no grudge to hold; even Shart knows that he’s not going to win most of the time, but he don’t care. They kick off, get it all out of their system and forget about it before the bruises fade.’ The major gave Mikiss a friendly thump on the arm, which was still smarting from where Shart had accidentally slammed him into the wall. ‘Anyone else spills their brother’s blood, and not even the worst fiend of the Dark Place will stop them.’

Mikiss looked at the pair. Shart was chatting animatedly with the barkeep, clearly enjoying the chance to practise his language skills. Keneg was staring at the floor, happy in his own world of silence. They couldn’t be more different. Most likely half of their arguments start when Shart accidentally hits Keneg while he’s talking, Mikiss thought, watching the younger waving his hands wildly to demonstrate a point.

Presently something resembling food was brought out by a greasy-haired girl. Her eyes were dark with fatigue, betraying a lack of sleep that left her movements weary and sluggish. Even Keneg’s glare when she slopped a little of the brackish stew elicited no response.

Mikiss watched Major Amber hunker down over a tough crust of bread, though his eyes were firmly fixed on the right-hand corner of the room. Mikiss could barely see the men sitting there, a broad-shouldered man roughly Amber’s size and a smaller companion. They had been anxiously watching the new arrivals, which had prickled Amber’s instincts. Now the mismatched pair were huddled together over their table, examining something.

‘Strange,’ Amber whispered to Mikiss when he realised they were watching the same pair. ‘An odd paid of labourers: one damned pale and skinny, the other as much a soldier as I am, and from those scars on his hands I’d say one who’s seen the wrong end of a torturer in his days.’

Mikiss half expected Shart to make a joke, but the brothers were busy with their food. The only sign they gave of having heard Amber was a surreptitious loosening of weapon ties. ‘Do you think they’re here for us?’ he asked.

‘I doubt it; General Gaur said there were bad things brewing in this place. Knowing what Isherin Purn’s sort are like, I’d expect his favourite taverns to be at the centre of whatever is going on. Whatever those two are about, it might not be anywhere near legal, but as long as it’s nothing to do with us I don’t care.’

They lapsed into silence, concentrating on the food, grateful at least that the poor excuse for stew had softened the bread a touch. An hour crept past, then another. The day grew hotter as the afternoon wore on. Through the open shutters and doors they could hear the sounds of city life dwindle to almost nothing under the oppressive weight of the heat.