But that can never be. Samina was right — you abandoned your sisters long ago.
As the last of the Khurtas was defeated, Kaira took a moment to look along the wall. As far as she could see the Khurtas had been slain to a man. Parts of the wall were smashed to ruins and bodies lay all along the battlements. But they had won.
Far below on the plain in front of the city, a horn blew loud and clear in the night. At the sound, the horde began to retreat back to the north, leaving their dead and dying behind on the field.
Kaira stared out at the retreating mass as it moved out of bow range of the wall and realised her sword was held tight in her grip, her breath coming in short, laboured gasps. Loosening her grasp on the weapon she felt her hand begin to shake.
‘You all right?’
Kaira looked up at the familiar voice, stifling a smile as she saw Merrick looking at her with concern.
‘I am,’ she replied. ‘Just …’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘It’s not what I was expecting either.’
He grinned, but Kaira could see beyond the smile. Behind his eyes were fear and pain. Despite the fact he looked every inch the warrior in his armour, he was just as scared as she was, and she took a step towards him.
‘How have you been?’ she asked. ‘Since you joined your father?’
Merrick shrugged. ‘I’ve been tattooed, shot at with arrows, chased by Khurtas, screamed at by sword-wielding maniacs and I think I just killed three men, maybe four. But there have been shit times as well.’
He smiled again, showing his teeth, showing some of the carefree Merrick of old, and for the briefest of moments Kaira smiled too.
Without another word he offered her a nod, and turned to join the rest of the Wyvern Guard.
After watching him go, Kaira glanced north one last time towards the enemy. They had been beaten back but not defeated. They would return soon enough. And she could only hope she would get another opportunity to face them with her sword in hand.
FOURTEEN
Whenever she’d been able, Rag had avoided the Rafts like the plague. Calling it a shithole would have been generous to shit. Pinching from Eastgate, and even Dockside, was risky enough, but the Rafts was one place you never wanted to get caught with your hand in someone’s purse. Not that there was much worth pinching there.
As she watched the last of the slum dwellers walking past, it reminded her what a good decision she’d always made in leaving this place well alone.
The Greencoats were herding them out now, and being none too polite about it neither. Men, women and children, all looking like they’d not seen soap and a flannel for far too long, were being beasted like animals into the city. Every now and again some ugly-looking bastard would try and argue, try and make a fuss, but they were soon quieted with the prod of a baton or an angry shove. It didn’t look like the Greencoats were taking any shit, and Rag could hardly blame them. You didn’t fuck about with the residents of the Rafts — not if you knew what was good for you.
As relieved as she was that there’d be no dodgy, robbing bastards waiting for her in the shadows of the Rafts, she knew it would be no easy job getting through now. For some reason the Greencoats were evacuating the whole district — if you could call it that — and she guessed they’d be none too happy with her just strolling on by.
She knew she had to get through, though, weren’t no choice about that now. The rolled-up parchment with the black seal that pressed against her inside pocket was enough of a reminder of that. Bastian wanted his message delivered, and what Bastian wanted he’d bloody well get or someone would pay the price for it. Rag didn’t reckon she fancied paying what he’d charge if she fucked this up.
‘Need to keep our heads down,’ she said to Yarrick. He just nodded his reply, looking on at the scene. He was nervous, fearful, but Rag doubted he could be any more scared than she was. They were delivering that parchment to someone at the other side of the Rafts and she wasn’t looking forward to finding out who.
The pair of them waited as long as they could until the crowd that was moving out of the shanty town thinned down to a trickle. For their part, the Greencoats seemed eager to have this business finished, and it was obvious there was something going down. Rag could only hope she had time to finish her own business before it all kicked off.
‘Let’s go,’ she whispered eventually, when it looked like there was enough of a gap in the bodies to make a move. The dark would give them cover enough to make it past the Greencoats but they’d still have to be careful. She didn’t fancy getting coshed over the head for her trouble. There was enough to worry about as it was.
Yarrick followed close as she struck out from the wall they’d been squatting behind. None of the people being evacuated gave them a second glance. Luckily, none of the Greencoats seemed to take much notice of anyone trying to get back into the Rafts, so concerned were they with ushering people out.
There were a few yards of open ground as Rag padded quietly over the rickety wooden platform that had been built across the river. Further on was a jumble of shacks to hide in if they weren’t quick enough to go unseen. Yarrick stayed with her every step, but he weren’t quite as light on his feet. In the quiet of night, if she’d been on the rob, that might have been a problem, but there was noise enough to cover their tracks from all the complaining and shouting going on.
When they made it behind the first wooden hovel they stopped, breathing deep from the run and the fear. Rag peered round the corner, relieved that no one had seen them. She looked up at Yarrick to see he looked just as nervous as ever. This was work he was unused to, and Rag began to wonder exactly what Friedrik — poor, dead fucker that he was — had employed him for in the first place. He was too nervy for a pincher, too scared for a strongarm, and certainly weren’t quick enough with his wits to be kept round for the laughs. Took all sorts, she supposed.
Patting him on the arm she moved further into the densely packed dwellings. The stink rose up and hit her nostrils — fishy and clammy and shitty all at once. Here and there the wood under her feet would creak and give a little, and more than once she thought she might go right through to the river below. Ignoring the fear rising in her heart with every step, they eventually made it to the midway point of the river.
Voices rose up here and there from within some of the buildings. Folk who’d ignored the Greencoats, no doubt; deciding to fuck authority and stay despite what they’d been told. Part of her admired them for it; she’d never been a fan of the Greencoats, after all. Another part of her thought they were just bloody stupid. There must have been some reason for the evacuation, even if it was just the threat of the Khurtas coming screaming across from the Old City. Either way, that weren’t her concern right now.
As she and Yarrick made their way further on, there was light up ahead. A lantern dangled there off a stanchion and for a moment, while she stared at that light just swinging in the breeze, she got a thought in her head.
Don’t you do it, Rag. You know what tends to happen when you get those thoughts. They’ve got you in as much shit as they’ve got you out, and Bastian ain’t the kind of bloke to fuck about with. When he’s given an order and it’s been disobeyed it never ends well for whoever’s done the disobeying.