Gelredida took this in with an understanding nod. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to motivate them,’ she replied. Drennan made to speak, but she had already turned her attention to Crannock. ‘And our veterans?’
The old magister continued to drum his wrinkled fingers against the desk as though he hadn’t heard her. Waylian began to feel a little uncomfortable at the prospect that his mistress might have to repeat herself, but slowly the old man looked up.
‘We lost twelve,’ he said. ‘Twice that number are wounded, I doubt they’ll be fit for tonight.’
Gelredida nodded at his solemn news. ‘We will need-’
‘I know we will,’ said the old man, wearily. ‘And I will do my best.’
‘Yes. You will.’ She turned to Lucen Kalvor.
‘Around thirty casualties. Leaves us around forty fit for the fight,’ he said without looking up. Kalvor didn’t seem to give a damn that his Raven Knights had suffered the most, but then he didn’t seem to give a damn about much.
‘I know this seems bad, but on a positive note their wytchworker is dead,’ said Gelredida. ‘Last night was particularly bloody. From now on we should face no more magick. Nevertheless, there’s every chance the fighting will get worse before the end.’
‘Get worse?’ spat Drennan through gritted teeth. ‘How could it get worse? We are losing magickers by the dozen. And do you know how long it takes to train Raven Knights? By the time we get to the end the Tower of Magisters might be nothing but an empty shell.’
‘And what would be the alternative?’ said Gelredida, her voice even and calm as she refused to rise to Drennan’s complaints.
‘We should have taken the bargain he offered us. We should have stayed out of the fight.’
‘You’re still as blind as that left eye of yours,’ said Gelredida. ‘Still hiding your cowardice behind a voice of reason.’
‘You fucking led us to this!’ he screamed. ‘You’ll see us all dead. You’ll see the Caste destroyed. The only thing holding the Free States together and it’ll be gone because you refused to bargain.’
There was silence. Waylian felt like backing from the room before the real shit started to fly, but he managed to keep himself together enough to stay put.
‘Have you finished?’ Gelredida asked eventually. Drennan stayed silent, thinking better of venting his ire any further. ‘Good.’
She made as though to continue when the sound of running feet stopped her. Waylian turned in time to see a boy, probably a little younger than he was, run into the room. His face was aglow from his exertions, his regalia marking him as holding no allegiance to any particular administrative department within the city and yet still he had been allowed into the Tower of Magisters.
The boy dropped to his knee before the Archmasters, bowing his head as though he might be turned into a mouse if he showed improper deference. In his hand he held out a sealed scroll.
Gelredida impatiently signalled for Waylian to take the message, and he swiftly obeyed. It was sealed with white wax that bore no marking. He stared at it for a moment, unsure of what that meant.
‘Well, open it then.’ Her tone seemed to stretch beyond impatience, if that were possible.
Waylian broke the seal and unfurled the scroll. He read with all the haste he could muster.
‘It is from the … Inquisition, Magistra,’ he said. ‘Seneschal Rogan demands that the magisters do their utmost to resolve the problem of the fire ships anchored in the bay.’
Gelredida sighed a sigh that asked if she didn’t already have enough on her quite considerable plate. ‘Oh, he does, does he?’ She directed the comment at the young messenger. To his credit the boy resisted the temptation to look up, and Waylian knew all too well that he must have been scared for his life at the displeasure of the Red Witch.
‘Very well,’ she said finally. ‘Tell the Seneschal we shall do our utmost to deal with it.’
The young lad needed no further encouragement and scampered off, almost bowling Waylian over on his way out.
‘Gentlemen, if there is nothing further,’ she directed at the three Archmasters. ‘I’m sure we all have much to be getting on with.’
She walked from the room, each of the men following her with eyes full of loathing. Waylian would have tried a smile before he followed her but he knew that was as dangerous as it was pointless.
Down she went, through the tower, and Waylian had to give silent thanks for the fact there were no more dead and dying lining the stairwell as they descended.
‘What will you do, Magistra?’ Waylian asked, unable to contain himself. He knew she had a lot on her mind but even he wanted to know how she proposed to destroy over a dozen artillery ships in the bay.
‘What will I do?’ she asked in return. ‘Why, I will go and seek help.’
Waylian let out a silent breath. For a moment he had feared the worst — that she’d be volunteering him for yet another perilous mission, this one involving a rowboat and some flammable materials.
He couldn’t resist. ‘Who from, Magistra?’
‘From the Wyvern Guard,’ she replied. ‘The Lord Marshal still owes me a favour or two.’
Waylian pondered that for a moment. There was something amiss with this plan and he just couldn’t stop himself.
‘But how can warriors manage to defeat ships anchored out to sea? We don’t have any boats to transport them across the bay, and even if we did surely they’d come under fire before they can even reach the first artillery ship.’
‘Very good, Waylian. You’re thinking this through. I like that. But they won’t be attacking the artillery ships by boat.’
Waylian couldn’t help but furrow his brow. He had to know.
‘So … how are they going to do it?’
Gelredida turned and flashed him an ever so rare smile.
‘Well, my young apprentice. That’s where you come in …’
Oh. Shit.
SEVENTEEN
It had been the longest night of Merrick Ryder’s life. Thankfully most of it had gone by in a haze of blood and violence. The never ending screams, the hack and slash, the piss-filled undergarments. But strangely, despite the death all around him, Merrick had never felt so alive. Had never felt like he belonged as much as he did when standing amongst the Wyvern Guard, when raising shield and sword with men he almost considered his brothers.
Riding at the enemy with nothing between him and them but the night air had seemed insane enough, but standing atop that wall when they’d come to attack had been the maddest thing he’d ever seen. Even though he knew it was coming he could never have prepared himself for the slaughter. And the Wyvern Guard were oh so good at the slaughter.
And at their fore, raising his blade like a Sword King of old had been his father, inspiring them, leading by example. The old man had cut through the enemy like a slaughterman gone mad, the gleam in his eye never faltering, the grin on his face showing a glee in butchery no sane man should ever have borne.
Merrick should have hated that. Should have judged the old bastard for taking such joy in the killing. Look at him, he should have thought. No wonder he abandoned us. No wonder I was left alone to fend for myself with this mad fucker as a father.
But Merrick couldn’t judge him — Merrick could only admire him for his battle lust. He was caught up in it like the rest of the bronzearmoured knights surrounding him. Had only wanted to race into the thick of the fighting and get himself bloody alongside them.
And he had done that all right.
All morning he’d been scrubbing his armour. Thick bits of gore were stuck in the fluted plates and Jared had been adamant that every man clean his armour to a mirror sheen before they face the enemy again. Merrick just wanted to sleep and rest his aching muscles, his sword arm in particular, but he had risen with the rest and obeyed the word of the Lord Marshal’s second. It seemed almost normal to him now, to wash and eat and fight with these men like their equal. The Merrick of old would have laughed, but then the Merrick of old was long gone.