The Crimson Shield (18 page)

‘Valaric?’

‘Yes, Valaric, you bloody idiot. Now shut your hole and move!’ They ran back up Leatherbottle Lane and down another alley until Valaric stopped at a door and banged on it, three
times and then another two. When it opened, the air inside smelled of food and beer, and a hum of loud voices and laughter crept through the walls. Another Marroc hurried them into the gloom of a
kitchen, face lost in the shadows, but Sarvic knew him from how he moved. Silent Jonnic from the Crackmarsh.

The sound of voices rose and fell as a door opened and closed. Valaric looked Sarvic up and down. ‘Squirrels’ balls, but you’re a dim one.’

‘Valaric?’ Obviously, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He hadn’t seen Valaric since they’d reached Andhun. ‘I thought you were going home. Back
to your family.’

Valaric pushed him away. ‘Dumb Marroc. This
is
my family. Look at you!’ He shook his head. ‘Been watching you. A Marroc running about the streets with forkbeard blood
all over him. How long did you think you were going to last?’ His nose wrinkled in disdain. ‘Where’s your knife, Marroc? Drop it like you dropped your spear and your shield when
the Vathen came over Lostring Hill?’

‘I was—’

‘Took a forkbeard to keep your blood on the right side of your skin back then. You remember that? How’s that sit for you?’

Yes, he remembered right enough. He squared up to Valaric. ‘
Someone
has to do something. I see people hung up for the crows all over Castle Hill and Varyxhun Square. Mean nothing
to you, does it? Might as well grow a forkbeard of your own then.’

Valaric hit him. Sarvic crashed into the wall, sending pots and pans flying as Valaric came after him, grabbing him by the shirt. ‘And every time some knife-in-the-dark like you slits a
throat, how many more hearts do you think the demon-prince tears out? I should turn you in. If he hasn’t got you up on a gibbet by midday tomorrow, he’ll take ten more of us.
Doesn’t bother
him
who they are. Your life to save ten? Yes, I
should
turn you in.’ With a heavy sigh, Valaric let him go. ‘You think about that when you see
fresh blood dripping up on the square in the morning.’

‘I killed two of them,’ said Sarvic. ‘Not one.’ Ten Marroc put to death for every Lhosir murdered. The demon-prince had made sure everyone knew.

Valaric turned away. ‘You want to fight them, you fight them my way.’

‘And what way’s that, Valaric? Sit around and wait for them to get old? They won’t stop coming. It’s like it was fifteen years ago, all over again.’

‘Is it? And how would you know that?’ Valaric turned back sharply. ‘Fifteen years ago you were barely even a boy. You know nothing, Sarvic, and no, it’s not like it was
the last time. The last time they came we still had our pride. No, we don’t wait for them to get old, we wait for the Vathen to come, you clod. The demon-prince has gone off looking for the
Crimson Shield. The Widowmaker’s setting his camp, and say what you will about him but the Nightmare of the North is far less fond of his ravens than that bastard Twelvefingers. Or he would
be if people like you stopped to think for a bit.’ Valaric’s eyes glittered. ‘My way is the way of letting the Vathen and the forkbeards kill each other. That’s what they
both want, after all. It doesn’t matter to me who wins, because afterwards we finish them off, whoever they are. Vathen, Lhosir, we take our land back from both. That’s my way, Sarvic,
and I’ll be needing an army to do it, not a handful of angry murderers. A
Marroc
army, you fool.’ He pulled at Sarvic’s shirt and then waved his hands in disgust.
‘Look at you. Throw that away. Get the blood off you. And stay out of my sight. You’ll know when it’s time. Keep quiet, and if that’s just too much for you, go and find
others and tell them the same.’ He gave Sarvic his own shirt and then looked down. ‘New boots?’ Sarvic nodded. ‘Throw them in the river. You got blood on them.’

He pushed Sarvic back out into the alley. The forkbeards were probably long gone, but Sarvic stuck to the shadows as he made his way home. Just in case.

It was only later that he realised where Valaric had taken him. The back of the Grey Man.

T
he monastery gates stayed closed. In the morning light it was clear that the fire had hardly touched them. Medrin swore and cursed and had the
Lhosir cutting down trees to make a ram for something to do, all of which seemed to Gallow a waste of time. Jyrdas simply shook his head, laughed and walked off while the others set to work. He
didn’t come back until the middle of the day.

‘There’s a rise a few miles back that way.’ He pointed inland. ‘You can see all the way to Pendrin castle.’

Medrin looked at him as though he was mad. Tolvis shook his head. ‘Getting excited, One-Eye?’

Jyrdas cuffed him. ‘Strawhead! There’s two hundred men could come at us from Pendrin, and they saw that beacon lit as we came in, clear as I did. They know we’re here. They
won’t know our strength and that’ll make them cautious, but they’ll come. Be quite a fight when they do. Glorious.’ By which he meant they’d all die.

‘Are they marching on us already?’ snapped Medrin.

Jyrdas gave him a scornful look. ‘Even with two eyes I could never see across twenty miles of hills and look inside a castle. If they’re on the move, they’re not close. Take
them a day to sort their arses and their elbows from one another, but they’ll be on the move before long, I’d reckon. Master of Pendrin castle was a fierce old sod last time I
heard.’

‘They’ll be on us tomorrow then?’ Medrin’s jaw twitched. None of them liked the idea of trying to force a ram through the monastery gates, not with the bridge curved like
it was and the islanders up above dropping rocks and javelins and burning pitch and Maker-Devourer knew what else on them. But the bridge was the only way in.

Jyrdas shrugged like he didn’t much care either way. ‘Might be. Might be they’ll wait longer. Might be the old bastard’s off elsewhere bashing some other heads and they
won’t come at all. If he
is
there, then sooner or later he’ll come. I’ll stake my eye on it.’

Medrin looked up at him askance. ‘Which one?’

Jyrdas didn’t answer. He towered and glared instead, letting his size speak for him. The two of them stood glowering at each other until Horsan, who was every bit as big as Jyrdas, came
and stood beside his prince and Medrin turned away with a shake of his head.

They made their ram and carried it to the bridge anyway. Then they had a good long look at what they were about to try and even Medrin had to bow his head and agree that it wasn’t going to
work. With the curve of the bridge being what it was, they could get maybe six men to swing the ram, while the gates were solid wood and iron. Maybe, left to get on with it for a bit, the ram might
have been enough, but six men left no one to hold shields over them and the bridge was too narrow for shield bearers to stand to either side. Whoever had built it had known what they were
doing.

‘Bugger to get stuff in and out,’ muttered Tolvis, which didn’t help.

Medrin sent them back to the woods with their axes. They’d build a cover for the ram, he told them. A wooden box on wheels with the ram hanging inside, thick and strong enough to keep out
stones and javelins. Jyrdas just laughed. ‘Over that bridge? I don’t think so.’ He watched them work, merrily telling them everything they were doing wrong without lifting a
finger to help. ‘It’s not going to work,’ he said. ‘Nice as it is to get a bit of practice swinging my axe, I’d rather it was at someone’s head. Even if you get
it to the gate, they’ll just drop fire on you.’

As the sun started to fade, Gorrin came back all out of breath from the rise where Medrin had sent him to keep watch. Someone with two eyes that actually work, Medrin had said, and it
wasn’t like Gorrin was much use for anything else with his arm smashed up. ‘There’s a force on the way from the castle. A few miles away. Can’t see how many.’

‘Couple of hundred.’ Jyrdas yawned.

‘Could be that.’

‘Or could be anything else!’ snapped Medrin.

‘Well that’s how many men he has.’ Jyrdas shrugged. ‘Might have killed a dragon while no one was looking and grown a few more from its teeth, I suppose. Might
have.’ He shook his head and rolled his one eye.

Gorrin blinked, confused. ‘They’re setting a camp. I can’t see all of it.’

‘Was here a couple of years back,’ said Jyrdas, stretching and stifling a yawn. ‘That was when I first heard about the shield. Just a ship of us. Thought we’d have a fine
old time sacking a few villages up and down the coast. Couple of hundred men came out of that castle right quick and they were a mean lot too.’

‘You fought them?’ Medrin frowned.

‘Nope, we hopped back on our ship and buggered off sharp-like.’ Jyrdas cricked his neck. ‘Weren’t here for a fight. Not that time.’

‘How far to this camp?’

Gorrin winced and held his arm. ‘Couple of hours if they march quick. Could have been here by nightfall if they’d kept on coming.’

Jyrdas shook his head. ‘Worn down from a day’s march and no idea how many we are? No, and they know that no one’s getting into that monastery in any hurry. Could take the fight
to them, I suppose. Wait until dark and then fall on them in their beds. Make a big noise. That way they won’t see we’re not so many after all. Might work. Probably would if they were
Marroc. Not so sure about here – ferocious bunch, these sheep-shaggers. Could be they’ll hold and then likely as not they’ll kick us back into the sea, but it would make a good
offering to the Maker-Devourer either way.’

‘We’re here to get the shield,’ Medrin growled. ‘Fine. Jyrdas, go back to the ship. Take the men we left there. Fall on them in their beds and send them
running.’

Jyrdas looked at him like he was mad. ‘What?’

‘You heard. Take the men watching the ships and do it.’

‘I see. Well, if that’s what you want, then yes, I could do that. Don’t see as how it would help you. Thirteen against a couple of hundred. We’d have to be mighty
terrible indeed.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘There’s me with my one eye. Still terrible, I reckon. Then there’s Latti with that jaw I cracked for him. Maybe not quite as mighty as he was right now. And Yeshk with his
foot. I mean, he’ll fight well enough once he gets there, but that might not be until tomorrow morning. And Dvag’s got three broken fingers on account of that punch he threw at Blue
Forri, and Forri’s shoulder hasn’t been working right ever since. But, right enough, if you want some heads broken, we’ll do that. Pity about none of us getting to see the Crimson
Shield in the end, but when they burn our ships and pin you to the cliffs and send you off to visit us in the Maker-Devourer’s cauldron on the morrow, you can tells us all what you
thought
it would look like, eh?’

For a moment Medrin stared at Jyrdas like he was a rabid animal needing to be put down. Whatever favour Jyrdas had had, Gallow reckoned he’d just lost it. But he’d said what
he’d said, and so had Medrin, and neither of them would move an inch now, and so Jyrdas and the others would march off into the twilight and get themselves killed just to prove a point, and
Medrin would let it happen, and when they sailed empty-handed back to Andhun, Jyrdas would take the blame.

‘There might be another way,’ Gallow said. Because there was, and he’d been thinking about it all through the day.

Medrin fixed an eye on him. ‘You can go with Jyrdas too. The mighty Gallow Truesword. The Screambreaker seems to like you. You can show us you’re not a sheep even if you look like
one.’

‘I’m here, aren’t I? There was another time we went looking for the Crimson Shield, you and I. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.’

‘And don’t think I have, either.’ Medrin glowered, poised to go on, then bit back on whatever words were waiting. Instead he laughed. ‘So, what is it, this other way?
Going to take some nice Marroc words with you and ask these
nioingr
to open their gates for us?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘If it was that easy—’

‘Go on,’ butted in Jyrdas. ‘What’s this other way that none of the rest of us have thought of then, clean-skin?’

‘We climb the cliff.’

Several of them laughed. ‘And how do we get there? Got an Aulian witch squirrelled away to cast some spells so we can walk across the water?’

‘When the tide’s right out, you can see rocks down in the water almost right across the gap. That’ll be about an hour after dark.’ The look on them changed right there,
Jyrdas and Tolvis and a few of the others who could see where he was going. Even Medrin, but then no one had ever said Medrin was stupid. ‘Won’t be easy, but there’s rocks to hold
right across to the bottom of the cliff.’

‘And some right buggers of waves in between them,’ grumbled Jyrdas. ‘No place in the Maker-Devourer’s cauldron for the drowned.’

Gallow shrugged. ‘If you don’t think you can do it . . .’

‘Don’t
you
start.’ Jyrdas’s one good eye burned. ‘So if you get across the water, then what, clean-skin?’

‘Climb the cliff.’

‘And then?’

‘Climb the wall. Slip inside. Open the gate.’

Jyrdas was shaking his head. ‘Might as well just get that Aulian witch of yours to grow us some wings – would be a mighty sight easier than making the sea be still and making the
watchers on the wall go blind and stupid. I’ll grant you might climb the cliff. Don’t know how you’re going to climb the wall on the top of it though. Get a cloud to carry
you?’ He laughed.

‘They’ll be watching the bridge. They won’t be watching the other side.’

Medrin was looking at Gallow intently. ‘O One-Eye, you don’t know this man like I do. Gallow here could climb that wall right enough. Always was good for that sort of thing.’
He smiled. ‘Jyrdas, go and get the men from the ship and bring them anyway. Gallow opens the gates for us or else you can show the
nioingr
over the hill how terrible you are. One or
the other.’