No, better that River think about his own escape. Though it looked almost hopeless, perhaps there was a way.
Two Khurtas sat by the embers of a fire, furs drawn tight about their shoulders. Maybe if he could goad them enough they might offer an opportunity for him to escape. Bound as he was, River doubted he had much chance, but there was no other way he could see to get himself out of this. And now more than ever he had to return to the city, had to be at Jay’s side to protect her.
He stared, locking his eyes on one of the Khurtas. He didn’t speak their language and doubted they knew much of his. The only way for him to taunt them was to show his defiance, that he wasn’t beaten. Perhaps it would appeal to their barbarity.
One of the Khurtas stared back, his expression displaying his hatred. It was obvious he wanted nothing more than to draw the dagger at his side and open up River’s flesh, but still he sat there by the fire, unmoving. It belied all River knew about these barbarians.
‘They will not move from their fire.’
The words were whispered in River’s ear. The voice of Amon Tugha was unmistakable. How he had managed to get so close without River sensing him was a mystery, but then the Elharim were mysterious in their very nature. Hadn’t the Father of Killers been one of them? And River had grown up with the man. All that time he had known very little about his origins.
‘The Khurtas are savage. Fearless,’ continued Amon Tugha, coming to stand beside the frame to which River was bound. ‘They respect only one thing — strength. And they are obedient to he who holds power. For all their faults — their savagery, their brutality — they can be relied upon to remain loyal to he who has proven himself worthy of it. And there are none more worthy of it than I.’
He moved to stand in front of River now, staring at him. The man exuded power, not just in his frame but in his manner. He was like an animal, at once calm and majestic, but with a feral edge that suggested he might explode with ferocity at any time.
‘You should understand about loyalty, assassin. You were loyal once, or so I am led to believe. The one you called the Father of Killers put great store by your devotion to him. But you cast that loyalty aside. Only a man who has known betrayal, lived betrayal, can understand the true meaning of loyalty. I am curious … does it hurt that you betrayed the man who gave you everything? The man you called “Father”?’
River looked up into those golden eyes. Despite the difference in their appearance he saw something of the Father of Killers in the warlord’s visage. Both cold, uncaring, ready to sacrifice anything and anyone for their own ends.
‘He was no father to me,’ River replied.
Amon Tugha smiled. ‘Indeed. He was a son of the Riverlands. And you his southron pup. You were nothing to him in the end. You were right to betray him — he would only have led you to your death.’ The Elharim looked to the northern horizon, a strangely wistful expression crossing his face. ‘We were boys together, he and I. He became Subodai of my mother’s House. She cast him out years ago but he remained loyal. For a century or more he remained devoted, yearning for the chance to return to the Riverlands with honour. Can you imagine how he felt when I offered him that chance? One last chance at redemption?’
River simply stared. He cared little for the hopes or dreams of the Father of Killers. Neither did he think much of Amon Tugha’s nostalgia.
The Elharim looked back at River, fixing him in those golden eyes. ‘But of course you also know of redemption. You seek it even now. A man born and bred to kill, brought low for the love of a woman.’ A grin crossed Amon Tugha’s lips. ‘How many have you killed, assassin? How many innocents alongside the guilty? There will be no redemption for you. The only mercy I offer is for you to live long enough to see this city fall. I will rule these lands for a hundred years, long after you are dead. And then, when I have raised an army strong enough, I will return to the Riverlands and claim what is mine by right.’
River stared into Amon Tugha’s face, straining against the ropes that held him tight. There was nothing he could do; no way he could stop this immortal warrior even if he was free. But perhaps one last show of defiance.
‘Good luck,’ River said.
Amon Tugha’s grin widened before he turned away.
River could hear his laugh for a long time before it faded into the distance.
THIRTY-FIVE
‘So … that’s it, yeah?’
Shirl had asked the question a half-dozen times now and it was starting to get right on Rag’s nerves.
‘Yes it is,’ she replied. ‘Now stop going on about it.’
‘But-’
‘Will you shut the fuck up!?’
She could understand he had questions. She got the fact that he was most probably shitting himself, but there was nothing she could say to put him at ease. Shirl’s peace of mind was the least of her troubles. Fact was, this probably wasn’t the end. Fact was, Bastian was going to find out it had all gone wrong. He’d already know that the gate wasn’t open and the Khurtas hadn’t come running in. He’d know that his men never returned with the happy news they’d succeeded in their mission. He knew right now, and was most likely trying to find out what had gone wrong.
Rag should have been hiding. She should have taken her boys and run off to some corner of the city and waited out the siege, for good or bad. But that would have given the game away sure as shit. Bastian would then have known beyond any doubt they were involved. No — she’d just have to blag it, like she blagged every other thing.
How long she could keep that up only the gods knew — and they weren’t telling.
Best just to sit tight and pretend like you don’t know nothing. There’s nothing to connect you to what happened. Bastian will think the Greencoats found out and killed all his men. There ain’t nothing to worry about.
But Rag knew there was plenty to worry about. She’d been in the shit before, though, and she weren’t dead yet. She could always keep her mouth shut. It was just a matter of what the other boys had to say.
Harkas and Essen were sat playing a card game. The big fella didn’t look particularly bothered about what he’d done, which was all of the killing. Rag and Shirl and her boys had helped well enough, causing distractions in the dark so Bastian’s men had walked right onto the end of Harkas’ blade, but it was him done the murders. Eleven men he’d slain in the night. Eleven corpses he’d left lying there for someone to find in the morning light. Rag had always been afraid of the big fucker but she’d never thought him capable of that. And now he sat there all normal, like it didn’t mean a shit.
Essen hadn’t been involved but he wasn’t about to say nothing. If Bastian found out he’d known about their plan to stop the gate being opened he’d be just as dead as the rest of them. She was sure she could rely on them both to keep quiet; they were solid, she’d learned that well enough. In fact she’d have been playing cards right along with them if she had any idea what the rules were.
Chirpy, Migs and Tidge were in the corner, eating themselves stupid. Rag knew she should have sent them away to hide but they’d begged to stay with her. She’d abandoned them once before and she’d be fucked if she was gonna do it again. Besides, they’d been her crew for years. She knew she could rely on them to keep it shut. They might be little boys but they were tough as boot leather and loyal as hunting dogs. She’d take them over a grown man any day.
Then there was Shirl.
Rag knew he’d never be able to keep his mouth shut about anything. He was a coward and a dullard but at the end of the day he was part of her crew. As much as she wanted to get rid of him she knew she just didn’t have it in her. Only time would tell if that was a stupid mistake.
As the back door to the tavern opened, Rag realised that time might come sooner rather than later.