“Ears in the walls, Serenity. Roaches in the rushes. Things are said. Things are heard. They reach my ears and I profit.”
“Profit?” Saska felt suddenly exposed, on edge. Just one word and she was squinting at the man in doubt. “Are you trying to blackmail me, Captain?”
“No. I am trying to help you. I have been helping you already, in fact. Do not think me unversed in the horror that awaits us, or uncaring of the plight of this world. I know how important you are. And I am here to swear you my sword.”
She looked at him, narrow-eyed. “If this is some trick…”
“No trick. Just good sense. I know who you are, who your grandfather was, and I know a little of prophecy too. Without you, all may be lost. I speak of profit, yes. There is great profit to be had in protecting you.”
She still wasn’t sure. Another squinting glare. Though really, that made no sense. Only moments ago she was asking him to join her, and not so long before that she was telling Rolly that anyone who joined her company deserved to know the truth. That he had somehow unearthed it first shouldn’t matter. But it did, somehow. She felt less in control.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, after a pause. “You’ve just…you’ve taken me off-guard a bit. If the secret gets out…”
“Your enemies will come.”
“Yes.” And one in particular.
“It has,” the Surgeon said.
Saska stiffened, peering at him. His eyes gave nothing away. “You mean…” She chose her words carefully, glancing at the Tigress, at Gutter and Gore, though their eyes were still inspecting their toes and would likely stay there until commanded otherwise. “Others who know…who I am?”
“There are. There were. But fear not, the Surgeon has cut these cancers free and removed the tainted flesh. They will not trouble you anymore.”
She swallowed. “You’ve…been killing for me?”
He stared, cold-eyed. “I have killed, cut off tongues, fingers, hands, threatened the lives of loved ones. All for you. To shield your true identity. When a secret slips out it becomes a plague. It spreads, like the bloody flux beyond the walls. And soon everyone has it. Soon everyone knows. I have been working to contain the spread.”
She knew nothing of this. “By whose authority?”
“Need,” the Surgeon said. “By the authority of necessity.” He fingered a long flaying knife at his belt, nestled beside a plain-looking broadsword and nine-inch godsteel dagger, curved and cruel. He had some smaller blades as well, surgical instruments, scalpels of various shape and size fixed to a leather belt worn diagonally across his chest. “Rest assured. Only men of ill design have been blooded over this. The flow has been staunched, for now.”
Saska was beginning to understand why people feared this man. Pete Brown, she thought. That’s his true name. A plain name for a plain-looking man, but behind those eyes…
She gave a firm nod, swallowing again. Once upon a time she might have condemned him for this, but not now. The authority of necessity, she thought. He isn’t wrong.
“How many of your own people know?”
“Few. Only those I trust. These will be the men I bring with me, when we go.”
“And all this from the kindness of your heart?” She continued to peer at him, trying to get a better read. “Or are you hoping to reap some reward, Captain, from all this fine work you’ve been doing?”
“My only reward will be to accompany you on your quest. And if it should succeed…then perhaps we can talk.”
She gave a snort of laughter. Sellswords. They’re all the same. It was all about coin after all. “That’s a big risk for a risk-averse man. The Butcher told me you only ever choose the winning side.”
“The winning side is invariably the one I choose.”
Braggarts and boasters, she thought, pondering. Though really, what was there to ponder? She had wanted them along anyway. That they knew already of her path and purpose only made it all the easier. She reached out a hand. “I accept.”
He took it in callused fingers, kissed the back of her palm to seal the contract, and released her. His lips were dry as dust, crinkly to the touch. Her hand withdrew.
“When are we to leave, Serenity?”
With this about the secret slipping out, she had no time to waste. I cannot wait for Ranulf anymore.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
5
“He asked for you specifically,” said the burly hedge knight, breath misting in the cool of dawn. “He says he knows you, my lord. Wants to help, he claims.”
“Help?” Lythian Lindar frowned. “In what regard, Sir Hadros?” The man was like a gnarled old oak, with a bulbous nose, thick with broken veins, skin like bark, and hair the colour of dirty straw. All those days sleeping in barns, Lythian thought. Such was the life of a homeless hedge knight, going where the winds took him, serving this lord or that master to earn a bit of coin. Serve me well through this war, and you’ll earn more than just coin. When the dust settled on this Last Renewal, there would be a lot of empty estates and castles in need of men to restore them, the Knight of the Vale did not doubt. A man like Sir Hadros could do very well for himself…so long as he survived.
“He did not elaborate on that front, Captain Lythian,” the knight told him. “Could be any manner of things, I suppose. Or some trick. Wouldn’t put it past a Fireborn to try to trick us, my lord.”
“A Fireborn?”
“Aye, so it would seem by his raiment. Rich scaly armour, you know the sort, and a fancy cape to match. Says he lost his dragon during the battle. Not sure if he means it was killed by one of ours or flew away. Quite a few of them abandoned their riders when the Dread showed up, that I saw. Guess that bond isn’t so strong as they think.”
“No,” said Lythian, reflecting. He had seen with his own two eyes how easily Eldur could sever the bonds between dragon and rider, or fasten them anew. It seemed that Drulgar the Dread had the very same influence upon the dragons. And perhaps that’s something we can use, Lythian thought. There was nothing a dragonrider feared more than the breaking of their bond. “This Fireborn. Did he give a name, at least?”
“He didn’t. But I’m sure he’ll be happy to share it with you. Older man, he is. Kinda spindly, a bit lost-looking, haunted, you know the type.” Sir Hadros gave a glance around him, as men trundled here and there, collecting the dead in barrows, picking through their corpses for weapons and armour, clothes, food, whatever other provisions they could use. “Plenty of those looks about here these days, my lord. Some men just can’t hack the horror of battle. Too many of them are wet behind the ears.”
“This was no normal battle, Sir Hadros. I would not judge a man for withering when confronted by an ancient calamity like Drulgar.”
A pair of muscular shoulders went up and down. To experienced soldiers like Sir Hadros, those who wilted in war, no matter the conditions, were considered to be lesser men. Lythian would not agree with the word ‘lesser’, perhaps, but they were certainly less reliable. “If you say so, my lord. Good to sort the men from the boys, though. A man shows his true face when looking death in the eye, and I’m sorry to say it, but a lot of these lads don’t have it.”
