The Grim Company

The Longest Night

Eremul slumped in his chair, so tired he almost toppled forwards and down over the parapet to his doom. The stench of smoke filled his nostrils. Ash drifted through the air, carried on the light breeze that had sprung up some time after midnight. Clouds of dust clogged the sky, making it hard to tell how long remained until dawn.

He stifled a yawn and tried to focus on the endless stretch of coast before him. The last salvo had been over an hour ago. He crossed his fingers and muttered a brief prayer to the Creator, hoping desperately that the attacks had ceased for the night. He was drained, physically and mentally, the wretched limits of his magic pushed to breaking point.

The first wave of missiles from the ballistae had struck almost as soon as the sun went down. Massive bolts of iron sailed through the night air to crash into the wall below him with a concussive force that shook the entire gatehouse. The first projectile had made such a deafening noise when it struck that he almost pissed his robes. The wall had, however, withstood the ballistae. He remembered thinking the worst might be over. Then the trebuchets appeared.

He glanced down below him to where piles of smouldering rubble glowed malevolently in the darkness. The Sumnians had launched stone and flaming tar at the city, creating a nightmare storm that obliterated everything it hit. The wall was breached in three separate places, the gate below him had caught fire, and several prominent buildings had been reduced to ruin.

When he first learned of his assignment to the wall Eremul had fully intended to fake a noble offensive against the city’s liberators. He would send his magic wide of his apparent targets, loudly curse his misfortune while intentionally bungling his efforts to drive off the mercenaries. He abandoned that plan the moment a ton of rock missed the gatehouse by a few feet and massacred the poor sods living in the house across the street. From that point on he had evoked all the magic available to him and hurled it against the deadly siege engines as if his life depended on it. The effort had left him so exhausted he had puked up his guts.

There was no hiding. The Halfmage had been the city’s sole means of defence. Dorminia had no siege weapons of its own, at least none capable of reaching the enemy. The militia had taken to the battlements and sent arrows down at the mercenaries, but that had proved to be a spectacularly stupid tactic. The Sumnians were well out of bowshot range and almost impossible to see against the night sky. The conscripted men abandoned their position after the first wave of missiles from the trebuchets crushed a score of them beneath a shattered section of wall.

All in all, the first engagement had gone very much as anticipated. The invaders had weakened Dorminia’s fortifications while taking only minor casualties of their own. The real battle would begin on the morrow, when the light of day made the task of killing all the easier. The mercenary army would seek to infiltrate the breaches created by their trebuchets. Eremul had no intention of being around when that happened. He had his own part to play in the conflict, and the time had come to put the wheels in motion. Metaphorical and otherwise.

Willing his tired arms into one last effort, he turned his chair around and entered the abused gatehouse. The floor was covered in rubble but the building was otherwise mostly intact. Once again Eremul silently thanked his luck. He had been fortunate to survive the night. The White Lady couldn’t have known her agent would be placed in such a precarious position. She would doubtless be aghast to learn how close her own forces had come to killing him and ruining the plot to assassinate Salazar.

An officer of the Watch was surveying the damage. The man scratched at his bristling moustache, which perched like a mouse below a bulbous nose threaded with blue veins. Eremul pursed his lips. What’s your name again? Lieutenant Toram? Ah yes, one of the officers from out in the sticks. Ripe for a wizard’s manipulations, if my luck holds.

‘The enemy has withdrawn for the remainder of the night,’ he said. ‘I must return home and rest for a few hours or I shall be useless come tomorrow.’

‘I was told you were to remain here.’

Eremul tried to suppress his irritation. ‘I would love to, but as you can see I am hardly a peak physical specimen. A wizard’s power only stretches so far. I need sleep.’

Toram looked doubtful. ‘You can sleep here. I’ll wake you if the enemy attacks again.’

‘Look at me,’ said the Halfmage. ‘I’ve been sitting in this chair all night. My arse feels like it has been gnawed on by a pack of rabid dogs. I need my own bed. And a swig of something strong.’

‘A swig of something strong?’ the lieutenant repeated, slowly and carefully. His grey moustache twitched. Eremul was torn between the urge to gloat at his flawless intuition and the desire to vaporize the man where he stood for being such a dumbfuck. The Watch was so predictable.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘I will gladly share a drop with the soldier who escorts me to my abode. It’s near the harbour, a brisk walk from here.’

Lieutenant Toram rubbed at his moustache one more time and then nodded. ‘I’ll see to it myself. It’s the least I can do, considering what a sterling job you’ve done defending the city.’

The grizzled old officer took hold of Eremul’s chair by the handles and wheeled him to the edge of the steps leading down from the gatehouse. He lowered the chair one step at a time, each small thump sending fresh pain shooting through its occupant’s arse. The Halfmage gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the agony. The first part of the plan was progressing smoothly. He just hoped his contact was where he was supposed to be.

They moved south at an impressive pace, Lieutenant Toram clearly eager to avoid any unwelcome questions from his superiors. Soldiers and militiamen were everywhere, putting out small fires and attempting to shore up gaps in the wall.

Eremul stared around at the carnage. Houses had been flattened, the timber and plaster collapsing under the weight of tons of falling rock. Several sturdier buildings constructed from granite had been hit and still stood, though the roofs were shattered in parts. He saw an arm emerging from a pile of slag near one house, clutching at the air in a death grip. Nothing was visible of the arm’s owner save for a dark pool of blood oozing around the edge of the debris.

They passed south through the Bazaar. One trebuchet load had landed almost dead centre in the market, reducing several stalls to splinters. No one appeared to have been harmed by that particular projectile, but a little further along Eremul spotted a sight to make his heart shrivel up in his chest. A group of orphans were dragging tiny bodies from the Warrens to the south-west of the Bazaar. Some of the corpses were so crushed and twisted they were beyond recognition.

‘What happened?’ he asked thickly as the officer wheeled his chair past the children.

One of the orphans turned to stare at him. ‘It fell from the sky,’ he answered in a voice as dead as old bone. ‘We’re still pulling the bodies out of the rubble.’

As they drew nearer the harbour, Toram spoke. ‘We send foundlings to the quarries up in Malbrec. No one misses them if they have an accident. It must be a right bloody nuisance, having all those little bastards underfoot.’

Eremul said nothing. Instead he gripped the sides of his chair so hard he thought the wood might split beneath his fingers.

A few minutes passed, and then the depository was in sight. The sky had lightened slightly, indicating that dawn was finally on the way. Eremul searched the murk around the building for any sign of his contact. There was no one.

‘I thought a wizard might live in a grander place than this,’ observed Toram as he wheeled him to the door of the depository. The lieutenant’s moustache shifted slightly as he wrinkled his mouth. ‘It smells like shit.’

‘I appreciate the compliment.’ Eremul reached into his robes and withdrew a small bronze key, unlocked the door and pushed it open. He was growing increasingly concerned. Where the hell is the White Lady’s agent? The letter said he would meet me here. Perhaps his contact had been discovered. If that was the case he was sure to be tortured for further information — and that meant Eremul himself was royally screwed.

He wheeled himself into the depository. There was no light within, and it still smelled of damp from the recent flood. Toram followed him inside. ‘It’s as dark as a Sumnian’s arsehole in here. How about we get a flame going and see to that drink-’

The officer was cut off abruptly as a shadow detached itself from the wall behind the door and grabbed him around the throat. ‘Don’t say a word,’ the mysterious figure whispered, somewhat melodramatically.

Eremul squinted but was unable to make out the man’s features in the poor light. ‘I assume you are the agent sent by our mutual friend.’

Toram squirmed. The unexpected guest held a dagger at his throat. It seemed to emit a faint glow. ‘I am,’ the figure replied. He sounded young, Eremul thought. ‘My name is Davarus Cole.’

Davarus Cole. Cole was a bastard’s name, a common enough appellation in Dorminia and the surrounding lands.

He had known another man named Cole once. A shiver passed through him.

Toram shifted again, pushing his captor’s arm away from his throat a fraction. He managed a muffled cry for help, but no one would hear him. The streets were empty this close to the harbour; everyone was taking shelter in their homes.

Eremul sighed. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake. Just kill him.’

Davarus Cole seemed to hesitate for a second. Then he brought his dagger across Toram’s neck in a jerking motion. The lieutenant gasped wetly and fell to his knees. A few seconds later he toppled over and lay still, to the obvious discomfort of his killer.

Eremul pushed his chair forwards an inch or two. Forcing out the last dregs of magic within him, he muttered a few words and evoked a glowing sphere of light around one trembling hand. Then he raised it, in order to better see the face of the city’s would-be saviour.

He gasped. The resemblance was undeniable. That nose, crooked yet still so similar; the grey eyes staring back at him. ‘Your father. Who was he?’

Davarus Cole looked proud. ‘Illarius Cole. He was a great hero. You might say I take after him in many respects.’

‘Illarius Cole. A great hero,’ Eremul stated flatly. He stared at young Cole’s face. The lad nodded solemnly in response.

The irony was too much. Eremul felt the muscles in his cheek twitch, and suddenly the mirth burst out of him. He sucked in air in great wheezing gasps, laughing so hard he almost shat himself.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Cole, sounding somewhat annoyed.

Eremul waved his hand, inadvertently sending the globe of light dancing over Lieutenant Toram. The man’s face was frozen in an expression of shock. Blood glistened on the carpet below his open neck. ‘I fear you have been… slightly misinformed.’

‘Misinformed?’ Cole repeated.

Eremul stared back at the lad and tried to gather himself. Not misinformed, boy. Lied to. Fed a festering pile of bullshit that would choke the most dishonest magistrate. Your father, Illarius Cole, a hero? I could shatter your world, here and now, if I but told you the truth.

The youngster’s face was a picture of earnest confusion. Despite everything, Eremul found himself feeling sorry for the young fool. ‘Do you possess his dagger?’

‘You mean Magebane? It’s right here.’ Davarus Cole patted the side of his waist, where he must have sheathed the glowing weapon beneath his dark cloak.

Eremul remembered the feel of that blade against his throat. The way it had leached his magic away and left him powerless before he was carried off to the Obelisk dungeons to be maimed and turned into a tool of Salazar’s. Bitterness filled him, and he almost blurted out the truth. Almost.

You too are a tool, he realized, studying that familiar face. There is no sense breaking you until you have served your purpose. That is, if you do not find out from Salazar before then.

‘What did you mean by misinformed?’ the boy asked again, this time sounding anxious.

Eremul shook his head. ‘Forget it. You are quite right — your father was one of the greatest men I ever had the fortune to meet. I am sure you will prove equal to his heroic legacy.’

Cole grinned happily, the doubt on his face instantly replaced by glowing pride. Eremul sighed. A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘I don’t suppose you were on the ship that rescued a band of rebels from Farrowgate?’

‘Yes. How did you guess?’

‘Brianna was aboard that vessel, was she not?’ Cole nodded in confirmation. ‘Tell me,’ he continued. ‘Did you happen to meet a fellow by the name of Isaac?’

‘I know him.’ The look on the young man’s face told its own story.

‘Did he say or do anything that struck you as… strange?’

‘Now that you mention it, there was something odd about him. I tried to raise my concerns to the group. No one wanted to listen.’

Isaac, Isaac… What game are you playing? He glanced out of the window. The black sky had given way to a shade of grey. How many will lose their lives this coming day? That all depends on the fate of one man. One Magelord. Salazar has to die or Dorminia will drown in blood.

He glanced back at Cole. ‘Morning is an hour away,’ he said. ‘The White Lady’s army will soon be at the walls. We will make our way to the Obelisk in the confusion.’

‘What if we’re seen?’

‘If anyone asks, we tell them Salazar summoned me. Important wizardly business of some kind. Arcane matters beyond the comprehension of regular folk. All that bullshit.’

‘What sort of trouble can I expect once I’m in the tower?’

Eremul shrugged. ‘Less than in normal circumstances. The Supreme Augmentor is busy leading the city’s defence. I suspect that, very soon, his magic-wielding heavies will be needed at the gates. The White Lady’s pale servants will not be easily turned aside by the Watch and the militia.’

‘You’ve seen them? What are those women?’

‘It’s probably best not to speculate. In any case, we still have some time before we leave. I will remind you of the Obelisk’s layout.’

‘That would be helpful. I just have one question before we start.’

Eremul narrowed his eyes. He had a terrible suspicion he knew what was coming. ‘Yes?’

‘I was just wondering… what happened to your legs?’