Heirs of the Blade

Thirty-Eight

‘Beheading, isn’t it, in the Commonweal?’ the Spider-kinden Avaris asked.

‘Beheading is just for their own, nice and quick and dignified. They’ll weight our heels and string us up,’ said one of the Dragonfly-kinden, a hard-faced woman named Feass, dropping down from her ninth inspection of the grille. No flaw in its workmanship had turned up yet. The weights still pinned it down at each corner, and the brigands were still securely imprisoned in the dungeon pit of Leose.

‘Just count yourself lucky you’re on this side of the border,’ Mordrec the Wasp growled. ‘They’d use crossed pikes in the Empire, and in the Principalities, too.’

‘I always wondered about that,’ Feass said, frowning. ‘I mean, do they just leave you to starve, after tying you to the pikes? What’s to stop someone coming to cut you free?’

Mordrec gave her an odd look. ‘They don’t tie you to the pikes. They shove the pissing things in under your ribs, so the point of the pike goes right through your body into your arm on the other side, like so.’ He made a violent gesture for emphasis. ‘If they know what they’re doing – and it’s a valued skill, where I come from – then you hang there dying slowly for hours.’

‘Lovely relatives you have,’ Avaris remarked drily.

‘And things are better in the Spiderlands?’ Mordrec challenged.

‘Oh at least we have the benefit of variety. Hanging’s customary, but the local magistrate has free rein, you see. Anything goes: flayed alive, dismembered by machines, tied between four beetles and pulled apart, fed to the ant-lion, eaten alive by maggots, you name it. I once heard of a woman who had a wasp sting her – not your kind, just a little hand-sized one. Then, when they let her go, she thought she was the luckiest criminal in the Spiderlands. Of course a week later the grub starts eating her from the inside, and she’s history. So don’t you come your crossed pikes with me. We invented being cruel bastards. Your lot are just amateurs.’

‘You are so full of lies, you probably piss them,’ Mordrec retorted, but without much fire.

‘Have you not got some other topic of conversation?’ Dal complained, after that.

‘Of course, surely. So, what were you thinking of doing tomorrow, anyone? Because if the weather lasts I thought I’d go to the theatre ,’ Avaris said, slumping down tiredly. ‘Or maybe a brothel, if it rains. I know this lovely place in Helleron, the Veil. You should come along. They cater for all tastes.’

‘Shut up,’ Dal told him sharply.

‘Well you’re the one who wanted to talk-’

‘No, shut up. We’re not alone.’

That silenced them all, and they peered upward into the gloom. There was just a single torch up there, shedding precious little light.

‘Is it time?’ Mordrec asked softly.

‘It’s night,’ stammered Avaris. ‘They’ll make it public. Won’t kill us at night.’

‘ Quiet,’ hissed Dal Arche, and then, ‘So, come back to gloat some more, have you? Or is it remorse? An odd thing for someone like you to be losing sleep over.’

As he spoke, Tynisa’s pale face appeared above them, staring down. She said nothing, but would not quite meet the Dragonfly’s gaze.

‘Come on, out with it,’ Dal prompted. ‘What’s the bad news?’

She twitched unexpectedly. Perhaps only Dal’s eyes were good enough to spot it.

Tynisa backed away from the grille, out of direct view. A few grumbles of protest arose, but the bandit leader’s hiss silenced them. She put down her bundle and turned her attention to the nearest corner weight.

For a long while she just stared, even the simple mechanics of it evading her. The mechanism had been designed by the Inapt for the Inapt, though, and she had watched it in operation. Eventually something fell reluctantly into place in her mind, and she saw that if she moved this piece of wood here, it would free the counterweight to swing aside. She could not quite see how that would make this corner weight light enough to be heaved aside into the appropriate channel cut into the stone, freeing that quarter of the grille, but nevertheless that was what seemed to happen. Instead of trying to wrestle with cause and effect, she followed by rote what she had witnessed, as perhaps the jailers of Leose had done for generations, each in empty mimicry of his predecessor.

That done, she paused, and realized that she would have to repeat this performance for each of the corners in order to render the grille movable at all, after which she would then have to find some way of actually shifting it. She moved on, and now the bandits were watching her, wide-eyed and bewildered, but with a dawning sense that all was not as it should be, and that some opportunity might come their way. She glanced down at them, as she moved the second weight. The burly Scorpion-kinden was glowering at her still, murder burning in his deep-set eyes, but the rest had hope writ large on their faces, all save their leader, Dal Arche, who remained profoundly suspicious.

‘What are you doing, girl?’

‘You’re mine. I caught you, more than anyone did, and I had a purpose for you, at the time,’ she said tiredly, putting her back against the third weight, which grated heavily across wood and stone before it fell clear. ‘But now I’ve changed my mind. You’re mine, all of you, so that makes you mine to set free, if I want.’

She released the counterbalance for the final corner and, when she turned back, Dal was already crouching up against the grille, and others of his people were taking up position, too, using their wings or clinging to the walls, ready to jointly shoulder the confining bars out of the way.

‘That’s not it,’ Dal said patiently, as though he was not a prisoner, and she was not dangling his freedom in front of him. ‘What happened to all that truth and justice and the golden law of the Monarch? What happened to right and wrong? Or do you reckon we’re heroes, now?’

Tynisa paused and stared at him. ‘Oh, you’re murderers and robbers and bastards, the lot of you. But you know what? I realize now that I can’t judge you. The right and the wrong of it seem to have slipped away when I wasn’t looking, and I see clearly enough, now, to understand that I can’t see clearly enough to sit in judgement. And why should you suffer because of my blindness, and why should the Salmae benefit?’ She paused, staring down at their hungry faces. ‘I’m undoing it. I’m undoing it all – all my interfering. It’ll be as though I was never even here.’ Her voice trembled over the last few words, and she clenched her teeth.

‘Except for all the bodies,’ their Spider-kinden pointed out.

For a moment she went very still, fighting down a wave of nausea that rose up inside her, and she closed her eyes in case some spectre of her imagination should resurface, and plunge her back into that well of guilt she had only recently crawled out of. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘except for the bodies.’ When she looked up she wore a hard, bleak smile. ‘You and the Salmae can go tear each other apart straight away, for all I care.’

‘Not likely. It’s south for Rhael Province, for us,’ Dal decided.

‘Not staying to kill Princess Elass in her sleep?’ Tynisa enquired, shifting the last weight.

‘You’re a bloody-handed sort, aren’t you?’ At Dal’s signal, his people braced themselves to shunt the grille two feet aside. That gave enough room, and moments later they came crawling out into the dubious freedom of the prison chamber. Tynisa calmly picked up her bundle again.

Dal was staring up the ramp that led to the courtyard. ‘Trust the Salmae to want to keep their prisoners nicely out of the way of their spotless private chambers. If we can make the courtyard, we’re free.’

Tynisa knelt down and unfurled her burden, revealing a random collection of knives and swords, whatever she could take easily from the little armoury she had found. Dal knelt down and took up the shortbow she had found.

‘Just the one?’

‘Don’t complain,’ she snapped.

He shrugged, and she assumed he would keep the weapon for himself, but he passed it, along with the slender quiver, to one of his Grasshopper-kinden. ‘Soul, you’re the best shot. You take it.’

‘You didn’t happen to find a replacement nailbow on your travels, did you?’ asked the Wasp-kinden.

Tynisa gave him a narrow look. ‘You’ll just have to make do with shooting fire from your damned hands.’

The Scorpion-kinden reached down and took up a short-hafted spear. When he straightened up, his pose had subtly altered, and she took a swift step back, whisking her sword from its sheath.

‘You killed my wife,’ the man rumbled through his tusks.

The words threw Tynisa completely. ‘Your wife? I remember killing your nasty little pet.’

‘Where he comes from, you’re not considered a grown man unless you’ve a companion like that,’ murmured the Grasshopper, Soul. ‘They call them wives, because it’s a partnership for life.’

‘You killed my wife,’ repeated the Scorpion, his hands clenching the spear shaft.

‘Ygor, not now-’ Dal started, interposing himself between the pair.

‘Out of my way, Dala.’ The Scorpion hunched his shoulders, as if readying himself to rush at Tynisa.

‘No, not now,’ Dal insisted. ‘Look, she’s not running from us, and she’ll be happy to hack it out with you any other time. Right now we need to get out. Later, Ygor, later. She’s up for it, that I guarantee, but not now.’

For a moment it looked as though no amount of calming words would do, but then something went out of the belligerent Scorpion-kinden, with a long hiss of breath. ‘Then let’s move,’ he snarled.

‘There’s some way of getting out front?’ Dal asked.

Tynisa glanced at the doors to the courtyard, barred on the outside of course. She herself had come here via the narrow stairwell leading from the guards’ quarters. In truth her planning ended here: free the prisoners, undo the results of her meddling, then leave. She had not thought it through. Indeed thought barely came into it.

Something in her said fight. Rouse the guards, slay the Salmae, avenge the insult. But surely she had done enough avenging already, enough for a lifetime and a half.

‘I will go out and open the doors. Just stay here, and be quiet.’

‘Oh, no,’ Dal told her straight away. ‘You think this makes us your followers, to stay or go at your say-so? And what if this is just some game of yours, or of the nobles? You slip out of here and suddenly they come down on us, catch us trying to escape, have a little sport?’

The Scorpion, Ygor, rumbled deep in his chest, and she sensed the brigands weighing up the odds, a pack of them against her, their stolen blades crossing with a single rapier. She felt her smile grow, and was helpless to stop it. Why not? Free them, kill them – what’s the difference? Be but true to your own nature, wherever it takes you, and then you need bear no guilt nor blame. She suppressed the insidious feeling, but something of it had communicated itself to the brigands, and none of them made a first move.

‘Soul, you go with her,’ Dal directed. ‘Besides, the bar on these doors is huge, a two-man job at least.’

Tynisa looked the Grasshopper up and down. He was a tall, lean specimen with his kind’s usual lanky frame, but there was a stillness to him that marked him out as dangerous. He nodded to her and, when she ascended the stairs, he fell into step so naturally that it was as if they had worked together for years. He was silent too, padding past the sleeping guards with barely a scuff of his bare feet. The one sentry still awake saw Tynisa coming, recognizing her and not challenging her, just as he had let her pass through on the way down, no doubt imagining her to be on some errand of the princess’s. This time Tynisa made herself nod, forcing a smile, while Soul Je crept past unobserved, as though the pair of them had spent an hour planning the move.

The castle beyond was quiet, at a time when only a few of the most menial servants would be abroad and about their tasks. Tynisa led the way, passage to passage, heading for the open air: not using the main gates, which were closed, with guards close at hand within, but a window on the first floor, the shutters drawn back and just large enough for her to squeeze through. In truth she was not sure if he would be able to follow her, but with a twist of his shoulders he was out, too. While she let herself down the wall hand over hand with her Art, he simply dropped straight down, crouching for a moment all knees and elbows, before straightening up and making his swift way across the courtyard to the hatch leading to the prison.

They heard the fighting from the other side of the trapdoor even as they approached. Clearly, at least one of the Salmae’s guards had decided to see what Tynisa had been up to, or had simply wandered down to check on the prisoners. Sharing a glance, Tynisa and Soul Je took hold of the bar and hefted it out of its rests, letting the heavy wood thud to the ground. The doors burst open almost at once.

Tynisa saw the Spider-kinden, Avaris, fall back with a mailed Dragonfly poised above him, his punch-sword drawn back to strike. She did not stop to think, and any distant guilt she might have entertained about causing the deaths of innocent servants simply doing their jobs vanished on the instant. Her blade took the man between shoulder and neck, where his armour was weak, and she killed him in that one surgical strike. Avaris scrambled out from under the corpse, and wasted no time running for the main gates to the courtyard.

The brigands came piling out into the open air without plan or rearguard, spilling the Salmae’s guardsmen in their wake. Tynisa counted a mere half a dozen of the latter here, with a couple lying dead around the empty pit, and at least one of Dal Arche’s people fallen too. There would be more, though, for the alarm would have been raised, and Elass’s forces here were bolstered by the retinues of her early-arriving guests.

Her sword lashed out again, and they fell back before her, even as the brigands rushed for the main gates. She was left alone to face the guards, but they stayed back and would not engage her, and their faces showed only fear. In that moment she finally saw what Salme Elass had made of her: not a champion, not a huntress, most certainly not a fit match for her son. Instead, a tame monster was what Tynisa had been cast as, to terrify the Salmae’s enemies and keep their allies in line; just a pet killer to be let off the leash for special occasions.

Well, I am off the leash now, and she retreated back towards the gates, even as another flight of Dragonfly-kinden dropped down, armed retainers of the Salmae and her visitors.

‘Get the gate open!’ she shouted, and risked a brief glance over her shoulder to see that the brigands had the bar off, but were being attacked even now. Airborne guards began swooping on them, and she saw Soul Je’s little bow sing, spitting shafts through the night air with a calm, sure aim, backed by the fierce flash of Mordrec’s Wasp-kinden sting.

She went after them then, turning her back on her opponents and trusting to her reputation and her reflexes to keep them at bay for just long enough. Half the brigands were already through the gates now, and running, and she saw Dal Arche trying to muster the rest to get them moving. She arrived in a flurry of steel, picking one of the attackers from the air even as he swooped down. ‘Go!’ she heard herself yelling. Dal’s expression made it plain that was exactly what he was attempting, but then his eyes fell on something behind her, and she read his face and turned.

There was a pale figure emerging from the hatch leading to the prison: a white-haired Mantis-kinden that she knew well.

The guards dropped towards them again in renewed numbers, and for a moment it was all they could do to defend themselves. Most of the brigands kept going, getting clear of the castle, putting more and more of a burden on those few that remained. The first few guards flying over the courtyard wall, in pursuit of the escapees, met with Soul Je’s bow as he kept watch and picked them off.

‘Go!’ Tynisa shouted, and then realized that they had, that even Dal Arche was now backing away as Isendter Whitehand approached, and that there was only one left there beside her to hold off the guards. It was Ygor the Scorpion-kinden, the short spear bloody in his clawed hands. Behind them there was a flurry of wings, an arrow singing through the air, as Soul Je waited on to keep the fliers at bay.

A reverent hush fell over the guards of Leose, and they started backing off, giving room for Isendter himself. Imperial soldiers would have brought Tynisa and Ygor down by now, with these superior numbers, and sent Light Airborne out to kill the fleeing brigands, but they did things differently here in the Commonweal, and as the Salmae’s champion took the field, he was given time and space to act.

Whitehand stepped to within a few yards of them, his face expressionless, and Tynisa had a moment of wondering what he was waiting for. Then she realized: Single combat, a duel of Weaponsmasters – that’s what he wants. The Mantis intended to accord her the honour due to her badge, before he killed her.

Tynisa did indeed feel honoured. It was the right and proper way, such a fight, and such a death. For a moment she straightened up, directing her sword towards him, but then the crippling thought came, That’s what Tisamon wants as well, the spectre of her father pulling her strings just like before, tugging her down the road of Mantis tragedy. She faltered, and was not ready as Isendter’s stance shifted, impatient for the strike.

They had both forgotten Ygor. The Scorpion moved in a sudden, ugly lunge that would sully the name of any Weaponsmaster. For a moment it seemed that he intended to spit Tynisa herself with his spear, and she had a split second’s glimpse of those eyes, mad with fury and vengeance for his dead pet, his lost wife. Then he was past her, throwing himself at Isendter.

He hurled the spear, and that nearly won him the fight. Isendter was not expecting the enemy to disarm himself, and if he had simply swayed aside, then one of the Dragonflies behind would have taken the shaft in the chest. Instead he struck the spear to the ground with a swift motion of his claw, as Ygor charged him with taloned hands spread wide.

Dal Arche was unexpectedly back, dropping down beside Tynisa. ‘Time to move,’ he said hoarsely. The Dragonfly was staring after his friend, his face creased with emotion, but he was already backing away, drawing her after him, putting distance between them and the fight.

When they turned again, they saw Ygor strike twice, three times, savage and furious, but not one blow landed, and then Isendter killed him with a single clean strike to the throat, using the same deadly blow that Tisamon had always been so fond of. In that moment Dal made a single choked sound, the only grief to escape his control, then he was gone, his wings lifting him away, and Tynisa was running after him.