The man bent forward at the wait, so he could look down over the side of the wall. Then he fussed with his helmet, as if trying to get a better view through its eyeslits. Morget heard him cursing, his voice hollow and echoing inside the helmet. Then the man of Ness shrugged off the great helm with a sigh of disgust, and for the first time Morget saw his face.
“Malden?” he shouted upward.
The little thief stared back down at him. “Morget? Fancy meeting you like this.”
“Imagine my surprise, at being hailed by a thief,” Morget shouted back.
“It’s Lord Mayor Malden now.”
“They put you in charge?” Morget boomed out a violent laugh. “Malden! I must admit, it’s very good to see you up there! I was worried this place would be defended by an actual soldier!”
“Is that some kind of jibe at my expense? I never could figure out your wit, Morget. But then, I never went looking for it with a magnifying glass. Look, what do you want? You-the other one-you’re Morg, right? The barbarian king?”
“We don’t have kings,” Morg said, with the air of a man repeating words he had spoken a thousand times before. “The clans rule themselves. They call me their Great Chieftain.”
“Morg the Wise! Morg the conqueror of North Tyndale, Morg the Master of Helstrow, Morg, friend of dogs! Morg whose sword is not magical, but who needeth not such toys to-”
Morg shut Hurlind up with a pointed glance.
“So you’re the famous Malden?” the Great Chieftain asked when he had quiet again. “Well met, friend. Morget’s spoken often of you. He said you were instrumental in helping to bring down Cloudblade. Without you he might have stepped into a trap under the mountain and hurt his foot.”
“Oh, now you’re just insulting me,” Malden said. “I’m ever so deeply offended.”
Morg grinned. It looked like he found Malden entertaining. Morget had always found the little man annoying himself. Such a weakling. He’d never understood why Croy had chosen this rodent to carry an Ancient Blade.
Morg bowed low to the thief. “Forgive my transgression. I’ve come to make you an offer.”
“Please don’t be surprised when I tell you to go fuck yourself,” Malden called down. “But I’ll do you the honor of hearing the offer before I reject it.”
Morg nodded happily. “All right, then! We all know each other. Perhaps we can talk like rational beings. Malden, you’re in trouble. I think you know that. If we have to take this city by force, my clans aren’t going to be polite about it. They’ll rape your women, cut ears off your men, and eat every animal they find inside your walls. That’s just their way.”
“So I’ve heard,” Malden said. “That’s why I didn’t invite you in to break fast with me this morning.”
Morg shrugged. “I won’t be able to stop them if it comes to that. I can’t tell them what to do, not in the heat of victory. What I can do is give you another option. You can open your gates now. You can march out with whatever you can carry on your backs. I’ll give my word that no citizen of Ness will come to any harm.”
“I’ve heard about your word as well. Ulfram V trusted your word. Every man in Skrae knows your secret, Morg: you cheat. That’s the only way you can win.”
“I won’t make this offer again,” Morg pointed out.
“Good,” Malden said. “Then I won’t have to tell you to dine on my shit again. I’ve never enjoyed profanity.” With that, the thief disappeared from the battlements.
Morg looked almost saddened that his offer had been rejected. Had he seriously believed the westerners would even consider it? No warrior could have borne the shame of just walking away from a battlefield. Of course, Malden was no warrior-Morget knew that from personal experience.
The Great Chieftain turned and headed back into the camp, with Morget trailing after him. They headed directly for Morget’s tent, where Balint waited for them. Outside the tent Morg sighed deeply. He stared down at the frost-withered grass and seemed to be convincing himself of something. Morget left him to his thoughts, knowing he’d already pushed his father enough that day.
After a while Morg nodded to himself and pushed his way into the tent. Morget followed close behind.
“Nice chat with the locals?” Balint asked. “Did you achieve much?”
The Great Chieftain sat down on a stool and bowed his head. “I must take this city, and soon,” he told the dwarf. She nodded, her eyes suddenly bright with excitement. “I want to keep the wall intact. I don’t want to set the place on fire with balls of burning pitch either.” He sighed deeply. “Other than that, I’m open to suggestions.”
Chapter Eighty-Four
“Get me out of this ridiculous stuff,” Malden growled, trying to yank the gauntlet off his left hand. It felt like some of his fingers would come off with it if he pulled too hard. Slag hurried forward with a screwdriver to help Malden out of the armor, but Cythera just stood back and laughed at him.
Velmont couldn’t stop peeking over the wall. It was as if the Helstrovian thief had never seen a horde of barbarians before.
In fact he hadn’t. Malden had given strict instructions that no one was allowed up on the walls without his permission. He’d said it was so no one would become a target for some sharp-eyed barbarian bowman, but really he just hadn’t wanted anyone to see what they were up against and lose heart.
A piece of steel dug hard into his side. It felt like it drew blood. “Quicker, if you please,” Malden snarled.
“You want it done fucking right, or you want me to take half your skin off?” Slag asked. When Malden had decided to actually hear what the barbarians had to say-it was that or listen to their scold shout himself mute-it was decided that he had to look like an actual knight. The problem had been that the Burgrave, when outfitting his Army of Free Men, already took every complete set of steel armor in Ness. The few pieces Slag was able to scrounge had been of different sizes, and some showed the signs of repeated and ill use. The Burgrave had left these pieces behind for good reason. Getting Malden into the armor was torture-getting it off would be worse.
“You told him for certes,” Velmont said, in the voice of a man who has just seen a ghost. “You told him good. Did you e’en hear him, though, what he offered?”
“To let us all walk out of here? It was an empty promise,” Malden said. Slag started disassembling the complicated pattern of rivets holding his breastplate together. Ignoring the constant pinching of his skin, Malden tried to focus on the Helstrovian. Velmont didn’t just look scared. He looked like he was about to soil himself. “Morg might have kept his word and let us walk out of the gate. He said nothing about what would happen to us afterward. Most likely he would have enthralled us all. Even if he meant to let us free, then what? We don’t have any food left to carry with us. We could starve out there in the fields, with no place to go. Alternatively we can stay here and starve where it’s warm.”
“You could’ve asked for time to ponder,” Velmont said. “Bought us some breathin’ room, at the very least-” He shook his head and seemed to recover himself. “Sorry, boss. There’s just so many of ’em. I don’t like our chances, is all.”
Malden could hardly disagree with that.
Velmont came over to help Slag with the greaves, and soon Malden was naked on the battlements, freezing in the wind. Cythera draped a cloak around him and led him down to the level of the streets. As they made their way back toward the Lemon Garden, Velmont and Slag gave him reports on where they stood. The food shortage was the main topic of conversation. Even with strict rationing, the people of Ness would be without so much as a crumb in two weeks. Malden had already recruited a legion of oyster rakers and fisherman to try to drag food up out of the Skrait, but eight hundred years of cultivation had left the river a poor pantry. Short of food dropping from the heavens (or, slightly more likely given the city’s religious bent, flowing up from a crack in the earth, stinking of the pit), people were going to starve.