I have a chance to help, he thought. And this old man wants me to give it all up.
It annoyed him. He knew Harden meant well. But it annoyed him.
He stood. “I’m going outside.” And don’t I feel nice and relaxed, he thought.
Harden let him go, descending into a dark place of his own. Jonik heard him drink his cup dry, heard him refill it, and drink again, before he reached the door. The dog followed him. “No, stay here.” He pulled the door open, stepped out, but the big mastiff loped past before he could pull the door back shut. He sighed. “You’re staying here when we go. Lord Ghent is going to look after you.”
He missed Shade, he realised all of a sudden. He missed his faithful steed, who was so much more than a horse to him. A friend. My first friend. Was he being taken to battle as well? Was one of the men going to armour him up in barding and ride him into the teeth of the enemy lines? It hurt him to think like that. Shade was not meant to be here. He was a horse of the Highplains, made to run free, not a warhorse. I should have let him go when I had the chance. Now he’s going to die like all the rest of them…
He found a guard at the entrance to the keep, leaning on his spear at the top of the steps. Down in the yard, the stableboys were tending to the horses, the palfrey and the stallion and the others from the inn as well. They were being fed and watered, their coats given a brush, their hooves re-shod. Beyond, through the portcullis, the rain was coming down, but in the yard it was dry.
“Coat protects us,” the guard said. He looked up. “Never rains in here.”
Overhead, the enormous stone cloak of Vandar swept down from his mighty back, forming a roof high above them. Rainwater gathered and washed down its surface, cascading in waterfalls where the cloak ended. “I saw scorch marks on his shoulder,” Jonik said. “And Tukor’s fingers were chipped. When did that happen?”
“While back. Haven’t seen many dragons here of late.”
“Aren’t you worried they’ll come with all these people passing through?”
“It’s been talked about,” the guard said, shrugging. He wasn’t young, nor did he seem to care. Another old man like Harden, Jonik thought. A man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies. “We’ll put up a fight if they do, but most dragons are frightened of the statues. They take one look at them and go flapping the other way. Only the boldest get close.” He saw the dog for the first time. “I like your hound. He got a name?”
“Not yet. And he isn’t mine.”
“Oh? Seems to like you well enough.”
“He’s going to stay here in the fort. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Ah. Some good news for once.” The man looked at him. “That the dog’s staying, that is. Not that you’re leaving.”
“I knew what you meant.” Jonik drew a breath, pulling rain-scented air into his lungs. The rain had become a deluge. He was sick of it. The whole kingdom will be drowned soon enough. “Have you heard anything about Janilah Lukar?”
The question took the old soldier off-guard. He peered at him. “Why? You looking for him, are you?”
Yes, he might have said. “Just interested,” he said instead.
“Well, he’s an interesting man, there’s no doubt. Most think he passed through here a while back. They say he used the Mistblade to go unseen. One of the scullery maids insists she saw him walk right through her kitchen. Like a blue ghost, she said.”
“Is she here? I’d like to talk with her.”
“I wouldn’t waste your time. Woman’s always been an odd one, fond of telling tall tales. There was talk of a blue ghost in Ilithor a while ago, we heard. Guessing she heard it too and just wanted some attention.”
Jonik nodded. He wouldn’t get much from the woman anyway, even if she was telling the truth. “We were told that Borrus Kanabar came here. Do you remember who he was with?”
“Bunch of people. Beast of Blackshaw, his cousin Sir Torvyn. Torvyn ‘The Returned’ they’re calling him about these parts now. Was missing for two decades until recently.” He frowned. “Who else? Ah, course. The exiled lord, Manfrey. Some more Blackshaw men, and a few others as well. Regular folk, they seemed, not warriors. Some sellswords too. Their leader had skin dark as jet. Wore shiny armour under their cloaks. Caused a bit of a stir, that lot.”
Same as in Blackhearth, Jonik thought. Sansullio and his Sunshine swords had not been welcomed by the soldiers there. “Was there any violence?”
“Not that I saw. They were all under the command of Lord Borrus, so who were we to argue? They didn’t stay long enough either. Just went straight through and down the road while the Barrel and Sir Torvyn came to talk with Commander Ghent. All the rest just kept on going.”
“They didn’t stay the night?”
The soldier gave a shake of the head. “Was early when they came, lots of riding time still ahead. Continued right on toward Eastwatch. May have stayed there.”
That sounded likely. Eastwatch was on the way to the Rustriver Road, and the fort was a Kanabar seat. It would make a natural stop-off if they were to continue south.
The soldier was looking out over the fortress walls. From here, the stream of refugees was visible, fighting through the winds and rains as they continued to meander up from the south. “Poor bastards. Having to travel in this weather. Never seen rains like it.”
There have never been rains like it, Jonik thought. Not here. Not this time of year. He could see Gerrin out there, among the crowds, talking with an old couple. They looked sad and grey, their cloaks soaked through, and had a sad grey ox with them, pulling a little cart. “How many are you going to let through?”
“As many as the Tukorans will take. It’s safer up there, in the north. We’ve been gathering supplies to send with them too, food and such. Wouldn’t want it said that we’re foisting all our own people onto them Tukorans without doing our part to help.”
Jonik was glad to hear that. “Do you know which room Sir Lenard was taken to?”
The old soldier turned. “Take the spiral stair to the right. You’ll find him on the third floor, second door along the hall, overlooking the yard. Nice room, that one. There’s a small balcony too.” He pointed it out, right above them.
“My thanks.” Jonik dipped his head and stepped away, moving up the corkscrew stair until he reached Sir Lenard’s door. He found it ajar, knocking his knuckles on the wood. The fort doctor was inside, performing his inspections, with a nurse to aid him. Jonik entered. “How is he doing?”
The doctor looked over. He was a young man, fresh-faced and clean-shaven, dressed in robes that hung loose of his slim physique. The nurse was old and frumpy. “You’re the man who brought him here?”
“I am. With my companions.” Jonik stepped inside and shut the door. “Will he live?”
“He should, thanks to you.” The doctor gestured to the patient. “Who applied these stitches?”
Jonik moved closer. The bandaging had been removed from Sir Lenard’s chest, exposing the three deep cleaves that slashed across his upper body. When they had found him in that filthy bed, they had given him water first, then made sure he was clean. The wounds had started to fester, but they’d managed to wash him, apply drakeshell powder to hasten the healing, and give him some roseweed for the pain. They’d gotten both of those from Lord Morwood. After that, there was nothing they could do but find some fresh bandages, wrap him back up, and hasten him here to the border.
As to those stitches… “We’re not certain,” he said. “We found him like that.” His guess would be Sansullio, though. The Sunshine Sword captain was as skilled with the needle as he was with the blade, Jonik knew.
“Whoever it was did a fine job,” the doctor remarked. “That said, I have had to cut away some of the flesh where it has begun to putrefy. He will scar badly, but with proper care and attention, he should survive. Do you intend on staying long?”
