‘You’re mine?’ Nobul said. ‘And what the fuck am I supposed to do with you? We could both die tonight and what would the point be in you owing me a debt? Best look to yourself and your men, Regulus. I can take care of myself.’
From what Regulus could see, he very much doubted Nobul’s words. He looked fit to drop, his face showing its age now more than it ever had.
‘You speak truth. We may well perish tonight. But until the debt is paid, my life is yours.’
‘I get it,’ Nobul replied. ‘And if I need someone to die for me any time soon, you’ll be the first to know.’
‘Don’t jest, Nobul Jacks. You may find you need me sooner than you think.’
Nobul nodded. ‘I have no doubt. But for now all I need is a bit of quiet. If you think you can manage it.’
Regulus nodded his assent. ‘If that is what you wish.’
He left the Coldlander at the wall. There was nothing else to say. It was clear the old warrior was a stubborn one. Only time would tell if Regulus would ever be allowed to repay his debt. He only hoped he had the chance before Nobul managed to get himself killed.
But then perhaps it didn’t matter that much anyway. They might all be dead before long.
Janto, Akkula and Kazul were waiting for him when he returned. Akkula and Kazul looked eager for the fight to come. Janto reclined against the wall, hands resting on his axes, but Regulus knew when the fighting started he would be as ferocious as any of them.
‘Are you all ready for the night ahead?’ he asked.
Akkula and Kazul nodded. If they were apprehensive about the fighting to come they did not show it.
Janto presented his usual lack of feeling, but Regulus knew he would get nothing from him. The only time the Sho’tana displayed any emotion was when he was in a killing rage.
‘Good,’ said Regulus. ‘For we have lost a brother. He is to be avenged. Last night was but a taste of Zatani fury. Tonight we will teach these Khurtas the price for killing a Gor’tana.’
Akkula and Kazul growled their assent. Janto remained silent, staring at Regulus with those blue eyes.
Regulus merely stared back. He knew deep down how much Janto hated him, how much he would have wanted to kill him had he not been bound by his own debt. They were of rival tribes, after all — Regulus of the Gor’tana and Janto of the Sho’tana — the dishonour of it must have cut Janto deep. But the fact remained, Regulus had saved Janto’s life those months before and the warrior owed him. For a moment Regulus wondered if he had been wise to hold Janto to that obligation. If his life debt was ever paid the Sho’tana would most likely direct his fury at Regulus.
Then again, it might not matter any. Tens of thousands of savages also wanted him dead. If Janto wanted to kill Regulus, he would just have to get in line with the rest of the horde.
NINETEEN
The city was like a different world as River made his way through its streets — or at least what remained of them. The south of the city was little more than a blackened wasteland, and it had taken him well into the morning to navigate the carcass of what had once been a thriving metropolis. The old entrances to the system of tunnels beneath the city streets were impassable, and he had to make his way far to the north before he could find a way in. The sounds of battle had echoed through the city all the while, the fighting clearly intense. River could only hope Jay was safe for now, until he could find a way to protect her.
By the time he located a way into the under-city the sun was rising, the sounds of combat now gone silent as the Khurtic horde retreated. When he made his way through the flooded tunnels he passed several bodies washed down through the sewer inlets, their flesh so pallid and waxy he could barely tell if they were the city’s defenders or one of the savages come to besiege it.
As he came close to the sanctum, River drew his blades. The Father of Killers was most likely waiting, ready. The man who had trained him to be the assassin he was might already know River was on his way and be standing silently, waiting to kill his son. But let him. River had come to end his life. It was only fitting the Father should be prepared.
There was some apprehension in River’s heart. Some guilt at what he had to do. He had lived his life for the Father, after all. Had even loved him in his way. But the Father of Killers was in thrall to Amon Tugha and had sworn to kill the queen. River would not allow any harm to come to her, even if it meant killing the man who had raised him.
Though River knew there was little chance he would survive the encounter, he was determined that the Father of Killers would die, no matter the cost. He would not put Jay in danger. She would never know of River’s sacrifice, but that meant nothing. All that mattered was her safety.
He eventually came out in the vast subterranean cavern in which he had grown to manhood. It was pitch black, the light from the lanterns that lit the wall long since extinguished. River paused to ignite one, striking flint on tinder and catching sight of his surroundings in the sparking light. At any moment he expected the Father to come at him in that flash of illumination, but as the wick took, he realised he was alone.
He raised the lantern, shedding light in the cavern. Everything was in its place and it seemed as though no one had been here for days. Of course his brothers would not be here, Mountain was already dead at River’s hand and Forest was many miles away, if he had survived his wounds. There was just him and his Father.
As he walked through the cavern River tried to control his breathing, ears pricked for any sound, even though he knew that if the Father of Killers had wanted to attack him unseen and unheard he could easily have done so.
‘Father,’ he called into the dark.
No answer.
River stood for what seemed an age, just waiting, illuminated in that massive cavern, a floundering fish waiting for the net to be cast. But no one came.
With no other alternative, River lit more lanterns and the torches on the walls, brightening up the system of caves that made up the inner sanctum. In every new chamber he entered he half expected the Father to be waiting, but there was no sign. By the time the caves were lit, River had dropped his guard completely. If the Father of Killers were here surely he would have shown himself by now, would have struck from the dark and ended the life of his troublesome son.
There was one place he had not looked, though. One place he had never even entered in all his years in the sanctum.
River made his way to the inner chamber of the Father of Killers with trepidation. Neither he nor his brothers had ever been allowed within their Father’s private refuge, and it was obvious what the punishment would have been had any of them encroached upon it.
It lay behind a plain wooden door. The latch was a simple iron affair and there was no keyhole or bolt. It had always lain open, just so. But what need had the Father of Killers for security? Had any intruder managed to make it past his sons he would have had to be a formidable warrior indeed to survive such an encounter.
Now, as River flipped the iron latch, he wondered if he would have to be that warrior.
The door opened at the slightest push. The room beyond was in darkness, and River raised his lantern, uncertain of what to expect as he entered. Inside he saw plain blank walls, skimmed to a sheer surface and washed with white. At first the square chamber seemed empty, with not even a pallet for the Father of Killers to sleep on. As the lantern bathed the interior of the chamber with yellow light, River saw there was but a single item in the room.
On the floor in one corner lay a plain leather wallet. River recognised it immediately as the wallet Amon Tugha’s messenger had brought for the Father many weeks ago. He remembered the silence that had pervaded the sanctum as his Father looked inside. Whatever it contained was significant indeed.