Lord of Ashes

THIRTY-SIX

Waylian stood in silence behind his mistress as she stared from the window of the Tower of Magisters. The mosaic glass was cracked where a missile flung from a Khurtic trebuchet had managed to strike the tower lower down. The pattern was still held in place by its lead frame but the picture itself, an Archmaster of old Waylian couldn’t name, was skewed awkwardly, making it look as though he had been sliced in half.

Magistra Gelredida stood and watched as the skies darkened. It was some way off nightfall but a veil of black cloud had cast its shadow over the city, rolling in from the Midral Sea like a tide covering the sky.

Waylian dared not interrupt as she stood there, as though keeping vigil. He had so many questions, wanted to know what he could do to help, but couldn’t find any way to ask. If she had one last task for him she’d have given it. It seemed as though all hope had fled.

Drennan’s apprentices were beaten — half of them dead. Crannock’s veterans had fared worse, only a handful remaining. Lucen Kalvor’s Raven Knights had taken a beating but many still stood resolute, ready to protect their wards until the end, for all the good it would do them.

‘The city is all but lost,’ said Gelredida, putting voice to Waylian’s thoughts. ‘Things are going to get much worse. The next attack will most likely see the Khurtas breach the wall. If not this night then the next.’

She had never sounded so defeatist before, and Waylian had to admit it worried him.

‘But, Magistra, there must be something we can do. There must be some task you could give me?’

Gelredida turned to him and Waylian saw she was smiling. That was almost enough to put him on his arse.

‘I could ask you anything, couldn’t I? Loyal Waylian Grimm. That’s one of your virtues. You’ve always been dependable and I would rely on no one else.’ She walked closer to him and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. She’d never touched him before and he found it strangely reassuring … until her face turned stern. ‘Be careful who you give your loyalty to, Waylian. If you survive this, by some miracle, you must trust no one. There will likely be no members of the Caste left to offer you safety or advice. If these walls fall, if Amon Tugha has his way, you will be alone. Your power will be sought after. Perhaps your very soul. Look to yourself, Waylian Grimm, and be the man you were always meant to be.’

She was talking now as though she wouldn’t be there. As though he would no longer be her apprentice. It scared him a little, sparking yet more unanswered questions, but all he could do was nod in agreement.

Her stare lingered for a moment, and Waylian struggled to read what was going through her mind. Was she concerned for him? Was that compassion? She’d certainly never shown anything like it before. All she’d ever done was put him in harm’s way. It was a bit late to be worried about him now, when the city was about to fall and they were all going to be slaughtered.

‘What now, Magistra?’ he asked, desperate to divert her attention.

‘Now we do what has to be done,’ she replied. ‘The only option left open to us.’

Gelredida turned and headed for the door. Waylian didn’t have to be asked — he knew he should follow wherever she led.

They made their way down through the tower, down below the entrance hall to the dungeons that lay beneath the tower’s foundations. They passed the cells where Waylian had witnessed a man being tortured to death by Gelredida’s own hand. The cold of the place suddenly made him shudder, or was it the memory? Either way he gripped the sleeves of his robe, pulling it about him tighter like a cloak.

Gelredida continued down through the tower, deeper than Waylian had ever gone before. He could barely find his footing in the scant light, desperately trying not to trip on the slick stairway and bowl into his mistress. Deeper they went, and as they did so the presence of Raven Knights seemed to increase. Two at the corridor entrance, two more in an antechamber, two others guarding a door that led through to a row of cells.

Waylian wondered what could be in those cells that would be such cause for concern. What could they house that would require six Raven Knights, men who were so sorely needed on the wall protecting the other magisters against the unstoppable enemy?

When he followed Gelredida through the doors and down the corridor he saw that every cell was empty. He counted nineteen in all, each one vacant until they reached the very last. By the dim torchlight Waylian could see little inside. As he looked and his eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom he realised there was a single body lying on a cot in one shadowed corner. The place stank of damp and rot and piss and Waylian had to grit his teeth rather than gag.

‘It’s time,’ said Gelredida in a stern voice as she came to stand next to the cell.

At first the body on the cot didn’t move, and Waylian wondered if she were talking to a corpse. Perhaps she had finally been unhinged by the pressure of protecting this damned city. Perhaps her last-gasp attempt to rescue every soul in Steelhaven was to rail at a rotting carcass.

Then the body moved.

Waylian peered through the dark as the figure sat up and stretched, dark, lank hair covering his face. Then the dishevelled form stood and slowly walked forward. There was something in his gait that Waylian recognised but he couldn’t quite place it. As the figure reached the bars he shielded his eyes with one hand against the glare of the torch, masking his features.

Then Waylian saw him smile behind a mass of dark, wispy beard.

‘Hello, Grimmy. It’s been a while.’

Waylian felt his bollocks clench at the sound of that voice. It was a voice he’d never wanted to hear again. One that struck him with terror. With memories of pain and death.

It can’t be him. He’s fucking dead. You fucking killed him.

The figure moved his hand, pressing his face up against the bars and smiling that friendly, amiable smile. He was still handsome despite the mass of hair and beard.

He was still Rembram Thule.