Lord of Ashes

THIRTY

Janessa had learned of the Elharim warlord’s offer. She listened to the story that he had walked to within the shadow of the wall and made his proclamation. Every servant and steward and Sentinel was speaking of it in hushed tones but Janessa could not help but hear them. But then the corridors of Skyhelm had never held their secrets well, she knew that better than anyone.

If she was given to him he would call off his siege. Her life in exchange for the lives of thousands within the walls of the city. But Janessa knew there was no one that would give her up. Even had an angry mob arrived at the gates of the palace her Sentinels would have defended her to the death. But no one had arrived. No crowd of fearful men and women, desperate for their lives and the lives of their children, had come demanding the queen be handed over. The cityfolk of Steelhaven were loyal to her — perhaps they even loved her, despite this time of strife.

No, she would never be surrendered by her people.

But she could surrender herself.

It had been a hard decision, one she had not made lightly, but at least the thought of surrendering herself had diverted her thoughts.

Throughout the day she had been plagued by the memory of the gardens, of Leon’s hands at her throat, of Baroness Magrida’s screams as her son lay dead. Where the woman was now, Janessa had no idea. Conveyed to her rooms, no doubt, to be consoled by handmaids and watched over by guards in case she sought to harm herself … or someone else.

Janessa could not bring herself to feel guilty for it. Magrida had brought her son to the palace. Had seemingly been unaware of his complicity with Amon Tugha. She deserved everything she got. Besides, a resentful noblewoman was the least of Janessa’s concerns now.

She had a decision to make, and she had to make it quick. Could she trust the word of the Elharim? If she gave herself over to him would he really spare her city? Or would he simply allow his Khurtas their sport?

And if she did not go, was she condemning the city to destruction? Would it, could it, manage to stand firm against the hordes arrayed against it? Was it only a matter of time until the walls fell, until the Khurtas came flooding in to burn and rape and destroy all before them?

Surely there were enough dead already. Surely the walls of Steelhaven were littered with enough corpses. If there was any chance that her sacrifice could save the life of just one of her people then she should take it. She had a responsibility to this city and everyone within its walls. Just the barest chance that it could be saved if she surrendered herself to Amon Tugha was more excuse than she should ever need.

Janessa stared at the Helsbayn, and then at her armour on its stand. Inside she knew she should have donned them to face Amon Tugha; that she should appear every inch the warrior queen as she stood before him and presented herself to his mercy. But she knew she’d never be able to get out of Skyhelm that way. Instead she donned simple clothes and put a cloak about her as she had done a hundred times before.

The palace corridors were all but deserted as she made her way down to the kitchens and out through the servants’ entrance. By now she knew where every Sentinel in her retinue would be. Everyone else was in their chambers, waiting for the outcome of the siege, or gone, run away to escape their fate. There was no one to stop her as she stepped out of the palace, cloak drawn tight over her head, and the Sentinels on the gate paid her no mind.

For a fleeting moment she felt sorry for Kaira. Faithful, dedicated Kaira. A woman who had devoted herself to Janessa’s protection. She would bear this loss as a personal burden. Janessa could only hope her bodyguard would understand this was for the greater good. That any chance, however slim, to save the city was one that had to be grasped.

As evening began to darken into night, Janessa made her way north into the city and her determination to go through with this mad plan was only hardened. Steelhaven was in pieces. Buildings torn apart, voices weeping in the early morning, the wounded groaning for succour when it was clear nothing could be done for them.

She passed a group of weary-looking soldiers sharpening their blades, every one of them showing a wound of some kind, their eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Not one of them glanced at her as she walked past, biting back her tears. The stench of the unwashed was almost unbearable. The stink of sweat and death.

As she made it to what was left of the Stone Gate the sight became no less despairing. The portcullis was a mess of twisted iron, the gate a pile of blackened kindling. The defenders had done their best to build a rudimentary blockade from old carts and piles of debris, but it looked unlikely to hold once Amon Tugha’s hordes attacked once more. A serjeant barked orders for more stone as exhausted-looking bannermen continued to fill the hole in the breach.

Just to the left of the gate several wounded soldiers sat beside one another, one of them leaning against his neighbour, his face a mask of blood and dirt. Janessa made her way towards them, her cloak pulled tight about her to hide her red curls. If she was recognised now the game was most definitely up.

A water bucket sat to one side and she picked it up, dipping the cup into it and offering it to the first wounded soldier. He took it gratefully, handing it back with a nod when he had finished. Janessa worked her way along the line, all the while glancing towards the open gate as she made her way closer. When she reached the last wounded soldier she put down the bucket and walked towards the gate. She resisted the urge to run; to do that would only draw attention to her. At first it worked, and she felt her heart beating faster as she made her escape. No one said a word until she was under the shadow of the battlements. Then a voice called out.

‘Oi you! Stop!’

Janessa broke into a run, sprinting through the gate, ignoring the carcasses still lying outside, ignoring the stench and the smoke haze that cut through the night. She ran on into the dark as voices called after her, but no one followed. To try and escape with so many Khurtas surrounding the city was suicide and no one would risk their lives to come after her. For all they knew she was a frightened commoner, not the queen of the Free States.

She stumbled through the dark. To the north glowed the light from the vast Khurtic encampment. If she just kept going, if she demanded to see Amon Tugha, if she gave herself to him, this would all be over. Every corpse she tripped over, every arrow that snagged her skirts, reminded her that this was the only way. The fighting had to stop now, and only she could end it.

The bodies and detritus thinned out the further north she went. With every step Janessa expected to be assailed from the dark but there was no one waiting to attack. The closer she got the more she felt the dread growing within her but she never once thought to turn back.

This is the only way. There is no other option than to gift your life to Amon Tugha.

Khurtic voices pealed through the dark before she saw the sentries. They were silhouetted on the ridge above and Janessa only hoped they would see her coming and not skewer her on their spears as soon as look at her.

She let her cloak fall to the ground as she made her way up the hill, the chill of the night air raising bumps on her flesh. One of the sentries spotted her as she came, shouting a quick warning to one of his comrades. They stood side by side, their spears held out defensively. Whatever they had been waiting for to come from the night it was obviously not an unarmed woman. The first Khurta glanced to the other uncertainly as Janessa made her way into the light. They spoke again but she had no way to understand them.

‘I am Queen Janessa Mastragall,’ she said, trying to sound confident, trying to stay strong, but her hands were shaking so much she had to clench her fists. ‘Amon Tugha is waiting for me.’ Janessa gestured towards the camp.

The Khurtas barked at one another, one of them waving his spear threateningly, despite the fact he had no one to fight. Janessa held her hands out, trying to show she was no threat, that she had only come to surrender, but the face of the savage in front of her showed he was in no mood to accept.

He lunged forward with his spear, aiming at her heart, and Janessa had no time to move.

A shadow broke away from the dark, along with the sound of steel cutting the air twice in quick succession. Before she could draw breath, a figure stood in front of Janessa, one hand holding the severed tip of the Khurta’s spear, the other a straight silver blade spattered with blood. The Khurta fell without a sound as the second sentry backed away in fear.

In the weak light Janessa could see she had been saved by a woman; blonde, beautiful, her shoulder rent and torn from a recent wound. As the woman turned, Janessa was startled by her golden eyes gleaming through the dark.

‘Your Majesty,’ said the woman with a humourless smile. She nodded her head in the mockery of a bow. ‘My lord will be overjoyed that you decided to accept his offer.’ With that she gestured towards the camp. ‘If you please.’

Janessa followed the woman, all the while keeping her head raised, fighting the fear. As they made their way through the sea of tents, Khurtas gathered, some looking on with interest, others with a baleful hunger. On they went, wending their way through until by the time they had reached the midst of the camp there were hundreds surrounding them. Janessa could tell many of the Khurtas wanted to harm her, to fall upon her and do unspeakable things, but this woman with her eyes of gold seemed to have a strange power over them. They feared her, that much was obvious. As much as she knew the woman was her enemy she could only be grateful that she stood beside her now.

Eventually they came to a massive pyre in the centre of the camp. Khurtas milled around it impatiently, as though a night without battle made them agitated. As Janessa approached the fire one of them, a giant compared to the rest, glanced towards her, his face a torn and scarred mess. He grinned hideously and Janessa almost felt herself weaken under that gaze. For a moment she wondered if this was Amon Tugha, but as another figure stood up from his crouched position beside the pyre the Khurtas hushed.

He walked towards her and she knew this must be the Elharim warlord. His hair was spiked, the colour of it seeming to shift in the light of the dancing flames, and his bare torso shone, the thick sinews of his arms and chest glistening. He fixed her with eyes that sparkled gold and as he approached he greeted Janessa with a welcoming smile. It did nothing to put her at ease.

‘Such bravery,’ he said in a deep and thick accent. ‘The Mastragalls are truly a courageous line. You have come to save your city?’

‘You know why I have come,’ Janessa said, in no mood to parlay. ‘End this, and send your horde back from where they came.’

‘Your father was not a man to bandy words either. I liked that about him. But you shouldn’t be so eager for this to be over. Not before you have seen the parting gift I have for you.’

Amon Tugha gestured away from the fire. A group of Khurtas moved aside as he did so, revealing a wooden frame erected in a clearing. Lashed to it, his arms and legs secured with rope, was a broken figure.

Janessa took a step forward, squinting through the light of the fire. As the man lifted his head she gasped and moved towards him, forgetting all else as she did so. River tried to speak but his mouth was filled with blood, his face encrusted with it. Janessa ran to him, cradling his head in her hands, her eyes filling with tears.

‘As you see,’ said Amon Tugha, now standing behind her. ‘I am no monster. I have reunited two lovers for the last time.’

Janessa tried to ignore him; all she could do was stare at River as he looked back from a beaten and bloody face. She could tell he was in pain but would not show it. Could tell he was trying to be courageous for her sake.

‘You will let him go,’ she said, turning to the Elharim warlord. For a moment she realised how ridiculous it was that she would make demands of this creature. He was a beast, there was nothing she could do to intimidate him, but it didn’t seem to matter now.

‘Doubtful,’ said Amon. ‘It is inevitable he will one day return to avenge you. And there will already be enough men out there ready to kill me once I have laid waste to your city and taken its crown as my own. Now come. It is time for this to end.’

‘No,’ she cried, but there was nothing she could do as the Elharim took her by the arm. She had never felt such strength, and bit back a cry of pain as he dragged her away from River. ‘You promised Steelhaven would be spared. You made a vow.’

Amon drove her to her knees, staring down with those golden eyes, so cold in the firelight. ‘Your city will surrender to me, as you have done, or I will raze it to the ground. Every last stone. Every man, woman and child will be crushed.’ He held out his hand and one of the Khurtas brought forth a massive spear which Amon took. ‘Now, bow your head with dignity.’

Janessa stared up at him. Through the tears in her eyes she saw that she was surrounded. There was no escape, nothing she could do.

A tear rolled down her cheek, but it was not for herself.

Janessa Mastragall shed one final tear of sorrow for Steelhaven.