I noted with distant satisfaction when scarlet spattered from his nostrils. Alone, however, that probably wouldn’t have been enough to stop me — but at that point someone caught and gripped my wrist, and as I span around I was puzzled to see Mounteban, watching me from his one good eye.
Mounteban let go of my arm. “If you must know,” he said, “it had nothing to do with Alvantes. I talked the giants into helping. And if it saved Altapasaeda, I’d do the same again. So if you want to hit someone, Damasco, you’re welcome to try and hit me.”
I was furious. I wasn’t suicidal. If I threw a punch at Castilio Mounteban, it would be the last thing I ever threw at anyone.
Still, that didn’t mean I had to let it go. I fixed him with my best stare, poured every drop of hatred I felt into it, and said, “I might not have lived a blameless life, Mounteban, but I’m no killer. If Saltlick dies, that’s something I’ll be looking to change.”
Mounteban held my gaze — and I realised then how hopeless it was to try and intimidate him. You didn’t lead the life Castilio Mounteban had lived and let yourself be afraid, of anyone or anything. “One of these days,” he said, “we’ll have to have a talk about what happened to my man Synza.”
Synza… the lunatic assassin Mounteban had sent after me during our recent conflict, and a subject I’d hoped might have slipped his mind. I really hadn’t killed Synza, a misjudged step from a high cliff had taken care of that, but nor had I been entirely blameless in his death.
Then it occurred to me that Mounteban had played right into my hands. “All you need to know,” I said, “is that it was messy, and that it could easily happen again.”
However, I had to abandon our glaring contest then, for, with a grunt more of irritation than pain, Alvantes had climbed to his feet — and I could hardly keep looking at Mounteban when I was about to have my face pounded into blood porridge.
When Alvantes took a step towards me, Estrada put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, brushing her fingers off with his own and then dabbing a smear of crimson from his nostrils. “I’m not going to hurt him. Anyway, he was right; I did want to make the giants fight for us.” His eyes brushed across Mounteban. “And I see now that it’s something only a monster would have done.”
With my anger and excitement rapidly abating, I felt none too good about attacking Alvantes. We might be far from friends, but it was also true that a good part of our mutual animosity had dissolved in recent days — and now here I was, pummelling his face for no reason, after he’d just fought not one but two desperate battles. “Alvantes…” I began.
He looked at me for the first time. “Still,” he said, “you might want to keep out of my way for a day or two, Damasco.”
I nodded weakly. “I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do for Saltlick,” I mumbled, to no one in particular.
“I’ll come with you,” said Estrada. “Unless you need me here, Lunto?”
Alvantes looked once more to Mounteban, and this time there was nothing in his eyes; he spoke with the frank civility of one commander communing with another. “What’s the situation, Mounteban? Is Altapasaeda falling?”
“I think not,” replied Mounteban, in the same tone. “Not today. They played us well… made it look as though they were throwing their weight at the northeastern gate and then hit this one twice as hard. But we routed them on the other side of the city, and thanks to the giants, here too.” He paused, looked thoughtful. “There are plenty in the city who didn’t quite believe their noble king would really attack his own city. Now that he has, I suspect we’ll have a few new recruits on our hands.”
“Panchessa’s tested our strength,” Alvantes agreed. “I think he’ll wait before trying anything else. Do whatever you need to do, Marina, and we’ll reconvene this evening to discuss what happens next.”
What happens next. Alvantes said it so calmly. Only listening to his conversation with Mounteban had it really sunk in that outside those walls, Panchessa and an army of Pasaedan soldiers had made their camp; that unless these two men found a way to keep them out, something uniquely terrible in Castovalian history was about to happen.
I shuddered. Every muscle in my body itched to be out of there, free of Altapasaeda once and for all. But damn him, there was no way I could go anywhere until I knew what was to become of Saltlick. Why had he put me in such a position? Why thrust himself into harm’s way and then not even have the basic sense to defend himself? What creature could be so wilfully stupid?
A sob rose in my throat, and I had to cough hard to choke it down. I couldn’t talk myself out of this one with anger. It had taken me long enough to distinguish Saltlick’s unbending decency from a lack of sense, but now that I had, there was no going back. Nor was it so easy to return to being the self-serving thief who’d willingly put his own interests before those of others, whatever the cost.
No, that person had been dying slowly since the moment I’d met Saltlick, dissolving day on day. And maybe that was the one thing I had a real right to be angry with him for, but I couldn’t find that in myself either. Perhaps there was nothing to keep me in Altapasaeda, no good I could do; yet there was no way I could leave either, not until I knew whether Saltlick would live.
“Hurry up if you’re coming, will you?” I told Estrada, speaking as sharply as I could to hide how my voice was shaking.
I set a fast pace, for the cart and its giant attendants were long gone, I didn’t know where they were headed and I could hardly ask Alvantes, leaving my only option to catch them before they left the main road. Then I remembered that our mounts were tied just around the first bend; on horseback, I’d be able to close the distance in no time. Rounding the turn, I saw the horses just as we’d left them, though a touch calmer now that the tumult had passed. There was no sign of the cart, however — and even if there had been, no possibility I’d be riding after it.
After everything I’d seen that day, after everything that had happened, I should have been past the point where anything could surprise me. Yet it still came as a shock to see Kalyxis and her barbarians stalking towards us, claiming the centre of the street as if they owned it.
“That’s her?” Estrada asked. “That’s…”
“Kalyxis,” I said.
“What do you think she’s…?”
“Keep quiet and I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
It took me a moment to notice that Navare was with them, hurrying just behind Kalyxis herself. As they drew close, he picked up his pace so as to meet us first. “She called for a truce,” he explained quickly, “and said she wants to parley with our leaders. Ludovoco had crawled back into the palace by then; I could hardly say no.”
Then Kalyxis had caught up, leaving Navare no choice but to sidestep quickly out of her way. I was astonished by how undaunted she seemed to be there, in the heart of what could only be considered enemy territory. Indeed, her bearing was just as when I’d first met her; haughty and aloof, as though her status was something that travelled miasma-like about her.
Kalyxis’s eyes roved over me, with first recognition and then distaste. “Dinascus, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“Damasco,” I corrected — and never had I found it so difficult to pronounce that beloved name.
“Ah. Yes. Damasco.” Kalyxis nodded thoughtfully, as though this information were the last piece in a conundrum she’d been pondering. “Damasco,” she said, “you have as long as it takes me to count to five to tell me where my grandson is, or else my men will flay you to death right here in the street.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“One,” Kalyxis began.
A thousand thoughts coursed through my head, and nine in every ten involved running… run left, run right, hurl myself through the nearest open window, dash at Kalyxis screaming and hope she was too surprised to have her men slice me to ribbons.