As the barge lurched violently, Forest charged, his approach meant to seem rash, as he attempted to draw the mercenary forward. But the man stood his ground, crouching lower behind his shield. With a flourish, Forest feinted to the left, then right, then left again, and cut in with his rapier, but the warrior anticipated his move, blocking it easily with his shield. Forest drew back, ready for the counter, ready with his short blade to slice the mercenary’s sword hand, but no counter came.
‘Kill him,’ shouted the general. ‘What are you waiting for?’
But the mercenary paid no heed. Forest almost felt sympathy for the man — he was clearly a far superior warrior to his commander, and unquestionably loyal. Nevertheless, he stood in the way of Forest’s mark, he had to die.
Forest leapt to the side, dodging the mercenary, sword raised high, aiming at the general. Seeing his commander was about to die the last defender rushed to intercept. Forest had counted on the man’s loyalty — on his determination to guard his leader with his life. A loyalty that would cost him dearly.
Twisting in midair, Forest thrust his rapier, aiming past the shield at the mercenary’s heart. In a last effort to save himself the man brought his sword up, deflecting Forest’s lunge so it only pierced his shoulder. He growled in defiance at the biting pain as Forest quickly tore the blade free, preparing for the killing blow. The mercenary staggered back as Forest lashed in again, but before he could strike the barge smashed against the vast stone curtain wall that ran along the Storway. The vessel listed violently and the mercenary lost his footing. He was pitched over the side, plunging into the water as the sound of snapping timbers cracked the air.
The deck was fast filling with water now, and Forest turned to the general. The man’s sword was drawn, his face twisted in anger, but there was fear in his eyes.
Forest advanced through the ankle-deep water as the barge smashed against the wall once more. He could hear the decking crack and splinter, the noise ringing out over the sound of the heavy rain hitting the river. The general was crouched at the bow, grasping his sword in a defensive posture. His form was perfect, but it was still not enough to deter Forest.
The general growled in defiance, pressing to attack, but he was old and sluggish, his best days long behind him. Forest easily parried and countered the clumsy blow. There was a clang of metal on metal as he swept the general’s sword aside, before thrusting his rapier into the mark’s chest. As Forest pulled his bloody weapon free, for a brief moment the general looked bewildered, as though he could barely believe he was dead. Then the light in his eyes slowly dimmed and his body slumped to the bottom of the barge.
Forest saw the vessel was headed straight at the stone stanchion of Steelhaven’s derelict Carrion Bridge. He waited in the deepening water as the barge span towards its final doom. In the last moment before it hit, he leapt from the boat’s prow, grasping the crumbling stanchion and pulling himself up. The barge smashed against what remained of the bridge, broke in two, and was quickly consumed by the river. The bodies of the general and his men were swept into the treacherous arms of the Midral Sea.
It was nothing for Forest to scale the wall into Steelhaven. Nothing for him to avoid the attention of the Greencoats, their duty ineffectual as they sheltered from the rain.
The streets were deserted, swept clear of the drudges who usually filled them by the torrential rain. Forest was glad of it; he would rather have suffered the cold and rain any day, than endure the multitude of city folk who walked this place as though in a stupor. He hated them, hated this place, but he was bound here by his devotion to the Father of Killers. Nothing would ever see that devotion questioned.
It took little time to return to the sanctum where the cloying dark of the subterranean tunnels offered shelter from the driving rain. In places the tunnels were flooded, the rainwater flowing in rivers through the underground passages, but Forest knew the secret ways, and in no time was at the central cavern.
He knelt in silence waiting for the Father. It could be a long vigil; the Father of Killers came at his own behest and Forest had sometimes waited for days. Mercifully, the Father was eager to learn that his son had succeeded.
‘The general?’ came a deep voice from the darkness.
‘Is dead.’ Forest kept to himself that achieving this had been neither quick nor easy.
The Father moved closer. ‘I am pleased,’ he said, stepping into the winking torchlight, his face drawn, troubled. For days he had mourned the loss of Mountain, and even more the loss of River — his favoured son. Forest hated River for that. Hated him more than ever for his betrayal and what he had done to their Father.
‘I live to serve, Father. I live to destroy the enemies-’
‘I know, my son,’ the Father interrupted. His voice held an edge of annoyance and for a second Forest wondered if he would indeed feel the sting of the whip, but instead the Father of Killers laid a hand on his head. ‘You are the most loyal of all, my one remaining son. And I have a further task for you.’
‘Name it, Father,’ Forest replied looking up eagerly, yearning for another chance to make his Father proud. As he did so he noticed the Father held two iron nails in his hands, rubbing them between his thumb and finger as though they gave him comfort.
‘You might be less willing when you learn of the task I would have you perform.’
‘I will do anything you ask.’
The Father smiled. ‘I know you will, my son.’
He took a step back and gestured for his son to rise. Forest obeyed, eager to know what would be asked of him.
‘River is at Keidro Bay. The Lords of the Serpent Road are being brought to heel as we speak and his task almost done. You will travel to Aluk Vadir. When River has completed his mission, he will travel there to receive his next instruction.’ The Father fixed Forest with his stare. ‘And there you will kill him.’
Forest understood the Father’s words, but could barely believe what he was hearing. Any other time he would have obeyed immediately, would already be on his way to carry out the Father’s bidding. Instead, he shook his head.
‘But we entered into a pact with him. He has upheld his part of the bargain. Why are we-?’
‘Do you question me, Forest?’
The Father’s words stung more than any whip and Forest quickly bowed his head in shame.
‘No, Father. I will do as you command.’
The Father of Killers laid a hand on his shoulder, saying again, ‘I know you will, my son.’ His words were calm once more, his ire forgotten. ‘I understand your concern; we have entered into an accord and it should be honoured, for without honour we are nothing. But there are greater things to consider, Forest. Things you are not yet able to understand.’
Forest trusted his Father, trusted his words, and he could only think those ‘things’ were something to do with the message and the battered leather wallet that had been delivered all those days ago by the foreign herald. Since then, his Father, usually so composed, had behaved strangely, his mood erratic, at times almost anxious and Forest had become concerned. On occasion he had spied the Father staring inside that wallet, his lips moving silently, though Forest had never had the courage to ask what lay inside.
Some things he simply could not question.
‘I do not need to understand, Father. I will do your bidding.’ Yet Forest wondered if it was the bidding of his Father or of the warlord Amon Tugha, to whom his Father seemed beholden.
‘That pleases me, my son. I know I ask much of you. River was your brother, and it is only natural you would retain some feeling for him.’