The troops from the ridge passed by Rikes position and his lads set to gutting them from behind. Not the sort of odds Little Rikey favoured, but the word loot always did have an uncanny effect on him.
ChooOm! The Nubans crossbow shot its load. He couldnt really miss with so many targets, but by rights he shouldnt be able to pick his man with that thing. Even so, both bolts hit the lead rider in the chest and lifted him out of his saddle. Kent and the other two rose from behind the burgermeisters walls. They did a double-take when they saw what was coming, but choices were in short supply and they had plenty of arrows.
The Renar troops hit our trip-pits at full tilt. I swear I heard the first ankle snap. After that it was all yelling as man went over man. Kent and Liar and Row took the opportunity to send a dozen more arrows into the main mass of the attack. The Nuban loaded his monster again and this time nearly took the head off a horse. The rider went over the top, and the beast fell onto him, brains spilling on the ground.
Some of those soldier boys didnt like the road so much any more and took to finding a way through the ruins. Of course they found more than a way, they found the brothers who were waiting there.
The archers broke first. There isnt much a man in a padded tunic, with a knife at his hip, can do against a decent swordsman in plate armour. And even Burlow was more than decent.
Three of the riders reached us. We didnt stay on the street to meet them. We fell back into the skeleton of what used to be Deckers Smithy. So they rode in, slowly, ash crunching under hoof. Elban leapt the first one from an alcove over the furnaces. Took that rider down sweet as sweet he did, his sharp little knife hitting home over and over. If you recall, I said Elban had a bite to him.
Two brothers pulled the second rider down, feinting in and out until they got an opening. He had no room to move his horse around. Should have got off.
That left me and Scar-face. He had a bit more to him, and had dismounted before he followed us. He came at me slow and easy, the tip of his sword waving before him. He wasnt in a hurry: theres no rush when the best part of fifty men are hard on your heels.
Flag o truce? I said, trying to goad him.
He didnt speak. His lips pressed together in a tight line and he stepped forward, real slow. Thats when Brother Roddat stepped up behind him and stuck a sword through the back of his neck.
Should have taken your moment, Scar-face, I said.
I got back onto the street just in time to meet some huge red-faced bastard of a house-trooper whod run his way up the hill. He pretty much exploded as the Nubans bolts hit him. Then they were on us. The Nuban picked up his mattock and Red Kent grabbed his axe. Roddat came past me with his spear and found a man to pin with it.
They came in two waves. There were the dozen or so whod kept up with Marcloss bodyguard and then behind them, another twenty coming at a slower pace. The rest lay strewn along the main street or dead in the ruins.
I ran past Roddat and the man hed skewered. Past a couple of swordsmen who didnt want me bad enough, and I was through the first wave. I could see that skinny bastard with the boils on his cheeks, there in the second wave, the one whod joked about me on the fire.
Me charging the second wave, howling for Boil-cheekss blood. Thats what broke them. And the men from the ridge? They never reached us. Little Rikey thought they might be carrying loot.
I reckon more than half of the Counts men ran. But they werent the Counts men any more. They couldnt go back.
Makin came up the hill, blood all over him. He looked like Red Kent the day we found him! Burlow came with him, but he stopped to loot the dead, and of course that involves turning the injured into the dead.
Why? Makin wanted to know. I mean, superb victory, my prince but why in the name of all the hells run such a risk?
I held my sword up. The brothers around me took a step back, but to his credit, Makin didnt flinch. See this sword? I said. Not a drop of blood on it. I showed it around then waved it at the ridge. And out there theres fifty men wholl never fight for the Count of Renar again. They work for me now. Theyre carrying a story about a prince who killed the Counts son. A prince who would not retreat. A prince who never retreats. A prince who didnt have to blood his sword to beat a hundred men with thirty.
Think about it, Makin. I made Roddat here fight like a madman because I told him if they think youre not going to give up, theyll break. Now Ive got fifty enemies whore out there telling everyone wholl listen, That Prince of Ancrath, hes not going to break. Its a simple sum. If they think we wont break, they give up.
All true. It wasnt the reason, but it was all true.
9
Four years earlier
The baton struck my wrist with a loud crack. My other hand caught hold as it rose. I tried to twist it free, but Lundist held tight. Even so, I could see his surprise.
I see you were paying attention after all, Prince Jorg.
In truth I had been somewhere else, somewhere bloody, but my body has a habit of keeping watch for me at such times.
Perhaps you can summarize my points thus far? he said.
We are defined by our enemies. This holds true for men, and by extension, their countries, I said. Id recognized the book Lundist brought to the lesson. That our enemies shape us was its central thesis.
Good. Lundist pulled his baton free and pointed to the table-map. Gelleth, Renar, and the Ken Marshes. Ancrath is a product of her environs; these are the wolves at her door.
The Renar highlands are all I care about, I said. The rest can go hang. I rocked my chair onto the back two legs. When Father orders the Gate against Count Renar, Im going too. Ill kill him myself if they let me.
Lundist shot me a look, a sharp one, to see if I meant it. Theres something wrong about such blue eyes in an old man, but wrong or not he could see to the heart with them.
Boys of ten are better occupied with Euclid and Plato. When we visit war, Sun Tzu will be our guide. Strategy and tactics, these are of the mind, these are the tools of prince and king.
I did mean it. I had a hunger in me, an aching for the Counts death. The tight lines around Lundists mouth told me that he knew how deep the hunger ran.
I looked to the high window where sunlight fingered into the schoolroom and turned the dust to dancing motes of gold. I will kill him, I said. Then, with a sudden need to shock, Maybe with a poker, like I killed that ape Inch. It galled me to have killed a man and have no memory of it, not even a trace of whatever rage drove me to it.
I wanted some new truth from Lundist. Explain me, to me. Whatever the words, that was my question, youth to old age. But even tutors have their limits.
I rocked forward, set my hands upon the map, and looked to Lundist once more. I saw the pity in him. A part of me wanted to take it, wanted to tell him how Id struggled against those hooks, how Id watched William die. A part of me longed to lay it all down, that weight I carried, the acid pain of memory, the corrosion of hate.
Lundist leaned across the table. His hair fell around his face, long in the fashion of Orient, so white as to be almost silver. We are defined by our enemies but also we can choose them. Make an enemy of hatred, Jorg. Do that and you could be a great man, but more importantly, maybe a happy one.
Lundist leaned across the table. His hair fell around his face, long in the fashion of Orient, so white as to be almost silver. We are defined by our enemies but also we can choose them. Make an enemy of hatred, Jorg. Do that and you could be a great man, but more importantly, maybe a happy one.
Theres something brittle in me that will break before it bends. Something sharp that puts an edge on all the soft words I once owned. I dont think the Count of Renar put it there that day they killed my mother, he just drew the razor from its sheath. Part of me longed for a surrender, to take the gift Lundist held before me.
I cut away that portion of my soul. For good or ill, it died that day.
When will the Gate march? I left nothing in my voice to say Id heard his words.
The Army of the Gate wont march, Lundist said. His shoulders held a slump, tiredness or defeat.
That hit me in the gut, a surprise shot passing my guard. I jumped up toppling the chair. They will! How could they not?
Lundist turned toward the door. His robes made a dry sound as he moved, like a sigh. Disbelief pinned me to the spot, my limbs strangers to me. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. How could they not? I shouted at his back, angry for feeling like a child.
Ancrath is defined by her enemies, he said, walking still. The Army of the Gate must guard the homeland, and no other army would reach the Count in his halls.
A queen has died. Mothers throat opened again and coloured my vision red. The hooks burned in my flesh once more. A prince of the realm, slain. Broken like a toy.
And there is a price to pay. Lundist paused, one hand against the door, leaning as if for support.
The price of blood and iron!
Rights to the Cathun River, three thousand ducats, and five Araby stallions. Lundist wouldnt look at me.
What?
River trade, gold, horses. Those blue eyes found me over his shoulder. An old hand took the door-ring.
The words made sense one at a time, not together.
The army I started.
Will not move. Lundist opened the door. The day streamed in, bright, hot, laced with the distant laughter of squires at play.
Ill go alone. That man will die screaming, by my hand. Cold fury crawled across my skin.
I needed a sword, a good knife at least. A horse, a map I snatched the one before me, old hide, musty, the borders tattooed in Indus ink. I needed an explanation.
How? How can their deaths be purchased?
Your father forged his alliance with the Horse Coast kingdoms through marriage. The strength of that alliance threatened Count Renar. The Count struck early, before the links grew too strong, hoping to remove both the wife, and the heirs. Lundist stepped into the light, and his hair became golden, a halo in the breeze. Your father hasnt the strength to destroy Renar and keep the wolves from Ancraths doors. Your grandfather on the Horse Coast will not accept that, so the alliance is dead, Renar is safe. Now Renar seeks a truce so he may turn his strength to other borders. Your father has sold him such a truce.
Inside I was falling, pitching, tumbling. Falling into an endless void.
Come, Prince. Lundist held out a hand. Lets walk in the sunshine. Its not a day for desk-learning.
I bunched the map in my fist, and somewhere in me I found a smile, sharp, bitter, but with a chill to it that held me to my purpose. Of course, dear tutor. Let us walk in the sun. Its not a day for wasting oh no.
And we went out into the day, and all the heat of it couldnt touch the ice in me.
Knife-work is a dirty business, yet Brother Grumlow is always clean.
10
We had ourselves a prisoner. One of Marcloss riders proved less dead than expected. Bad news for him all in all. Makin had Burlow and Rike bring the man to me on the burgermeisters steps.
Says his name is Renton. Sir Renton, if you please, Makin said.
I looked the fellow up and down. A nice black bruise wrapped itself halfway round his forehead, and an overhasty embrace with Mother Earth had left his nose somewhat flatter than he might have liked. His moustache and beard could have been neatly trimmed, but caked in all that blood they looked a mess.
Fell off your horse did you, Renton? I asked.
You stabbed Count Renars son under a flag of truce, he said. He sounded a little comical on the stabbed and son. A broken nose will do that for you.
I did, I said. I cant think of anything I wouldnt have stabbed him under. I held Rentons gaze; he had squinty little eyes. He wouldnt have been much to look at in court finery. On the steps, covered in mud and blood, he looked like a rats leavings. If I were you, Id be more worried about my own fate than whether Marclos was stabbed in accordance with the right social niceties.
That of course was a lie. If I were in his place, Id have been looking for an opportunity to stick a knife in me. But I knew enough to know that most men didnt share my priorities. As Makin said, something in me had got broken, but not so broken I didnt remember what it was.
My family is rich, theyll ransom me, Renton said. He spoke quickly, nervous now, as if hed just realized his situation.
I yawned. No theyre not. If they were rich you wouldnt be riding in chain armour as one of Marcloss guards. I yawned again, stretching my mouth until my jaw cracked. Maical, get me a cup of that festival beer, will you?
Maicals dead, Rike said, from behind Sir Renton.
Never? I said. Idiot Maical? I thought God had blessed him with the same luck that looks after drunkards and madmen.
Well hes near enough dead, Rike said. Got him a gut-full of rusty iron from one of Renars boys. We laid him out in the shade.
Touching, I said. Now get my beer.
Rike grumbled and slapped Jobe into taking the errand. I turned back to Sir Renton. He didnt look happy, but he didnt look as sad as you might expect a man in such a bad place to look. His eyes kept sliding over to Father Gomst. Heres a man with faith in a higher source, I thought.
So, Sir Renton, I said. What brings young Marclos to Ancraths protectorates? What does the Count think hes up to?
Some of the brothers had gathered around the steps for the show, but most were still looting the dead. A mans coin is nice and portable, but the brothers wouldnt stop there. I expected the head-cart to be heaped with arms and armour when we left. Boots too; theres three coppers in a well-made pair of boots.
Renton coughed and wiped at his nose, spreading black gore across his face. I dont know the Counts plans. Im not privy to his private council. He looked up at Father Gomst. As God is my witness.
I leaned in close to him. He smelled sour, like cheese in the sun. God is your witness, Renton, hes going to watch you die.
I let that sink in. I gave old Gomsty a smile. You can look after this knights soul, Father. The sins of the flesh though theyre all mine.
Rike handed me my cup of beer, and I had a sip. The day youre tired of looting, Little Rikey, is the day youre tired of life, I said. It got a chuckle from the brothers on the steps. Whyre you still here when you could be cutting up the dead in search of a golden liver?