The Shattered Crown

TWENTY-TWO

Regulus had never seen anything so magnificent. The tribes of Equ’un were nomadic by nature; their only settlements built from hide, bone and mud. Altars to the gods of the skies were constructed from stone and rock but the largest only rose to ten or fifteen feet. They did nothing to prepare him for the sight of the city.

Steelhaven was like a mountain newly conjured from the earth, rising up along the edge of the coast to stand defiant against the sea and sky. Its walls rose high and straight as though carved from bare rock. Within were high towers, like stolid giants facing off against one another in a vast arena of stone.

When they were close enough, Regulus halted his warriors on a rise to watch the city. A steady stream of people was filtering into Steelhaven from the north, and from his vantage point Regulus could see magnificent ships with sails of many colours cruising into the harbour from the south.

‘I have never seen such things,’ said Akkula, gawking at the vast harbour. ‘Surely the gods must have had a hand in this.’

Leandran barked a laugh. ‘What the Clawless Tribes lack in strength and ferocity, they make up for with their ingenuity. This is not the work of gods but of men.’

Leandran was the oldest of their number and had travelled widely throughout the grasslands of Equ’un. But Regulus doubted even he had seen anything like this before.

‘So how do we approach?’ Leandran asked.

Regulus stared down at the city, at its vast walls and the soaring towers beyond. ‘We will walk up to the city gates and present ourselves,’ he replied.

‘I thought perhaps one of us might go ahead and announce the coming of a Zatani chieftain.’

Regulus shook his head. ‘No, Leandran. I am no chieftain. We are merely warriors offering our spears to the city’s cause. But fear not. One day we will return to Equ’un as heroes, with the reputation to match.’

‘And I believe you, but shouldn’t we at least be cautious?’

‘Cautious we will be, old friend, but what choice do we have but to present ourselves at the gate? It’s not as if we’ll be able to hide ourselves amongst the rest of those Coldlander travellers.’ He gestured to the steady stream of bodies filtering through the city gates.

There was no more talk. As much as he had been warned of the danger there was only one way to approach, and that was to forge ahead. Besides, Zatani warriors did not creep and cower in the shadows. They fought with their heads raised, roaring their fury to the sky, facing adversity unto death.

Regulus pulled the cloak from his shoulders, flung it to the ground and strode towards the city. His warriors did likewise, following the leader of their tribe as they had done for so many leagues. Regulus hoped he was worthy of their trust, that he was not leading them to certain death.

The stone paved path beneath their feet ran east until it came to a bridge that crossed a wide river meandering down from the north. To the south of the bridge, on the western side of the river, was a ruined expanse of ramshackle buildings. They looked ancient, yet Regulus could see men, women and children moving within the sprawl. Across the bridge stood a huge gate from which another wide stone pathway led northwards.

As soon as Regulus and his five warriors had set foot on the bridge they heard a cry go up. Their approach had been seen by spotters along the city’s vast wall and, as they made their way over the bridge, they could see warriors in green moving frantically to intercept them. One was screaming for the gate to be closed, while another shouted for reinforcements.

‘Hold steady,’ Regulus said as they reached the centre of the bridge. ‘We are here as allies, not enemies.’

Though his warriors obeyed his words, Regulus could sense unease, particularly in Janto, whose hands strayed dangerously close to the handles of his twin axes.

At the gate there was more frantic movement — a woman screamed and travellers were bundled aside as more warriors in green came flooding out of the city. They positioned themselves at one end of the bridge, longspears held out in a phalanx. Regulus almost laughed at their display. Had he wanted to pass his warriors would have barely drawn breath before these Coldlanders were dead.

When they were within ten yards, Regulus lifted an arm signalling the Zatani to stop. He strode forward and stood before the row of spears, regarding the nervous men who held them.

‘Fear not,’ he said. ‘I have come as a friend and ally. Not an enemy.’

Several of the men looked on in amazement. ‘Fuck me — it speaks,’ said one of them, momentarily lowering his spear.

‘Yes, I speak. And I would parlay with your queen. I would offer her my sword.’ Regulus grabbed the hilt of his black steel blade and shook it in its scabbard, which only served to spook these men further.

‘It’s a trick,’ said one of the men.

‘Not a very good one, if it is,’ replied another. ‘Just wandering right up to the gates like that.’

‘Well, what do we do?’ added a third.

By now another warrior in green had come to stand behind the men. He looked Regulus over with a keen eye. This one looked older than the others, his face scarred and weathered.

‘You’re mercenaries?’ the man asked.

Regulus was familiar with the term — roving warriors who fought for the material rewards of battle, rather than loyalty to chief or tribe. He supposed that, as an outcast, mercenary was the closest these Coldlanders would understand to his current status.

‘I am. And I would fight for the glory of this city.’

The man gave a wry smile. ‘There may not be much glory in the days to come, but we’re in no position to turn away warriors willing to fight. Even if they are … well … foreigners. Let them through,’ he told his men. ‘We’ll escort them to the Seneschal. He’ll know what to do with them.’

‘We’re just letting them into the city?’ said one of the men.

‘Do you think it’s better we let them wander the countryside?’ said their leader.

There was no more argument. The spearmen raised their weapons and allowed Regulus and his men to cross the bridge. The green-garbed leader walked them through the vast city gate and his men moved along beside them. Regulus could see they were nervous, gripping their spears tightly; but they had nothing to fear. Soon they might find themselves fighting side by side — then they would see the wisdom of allying themselves to Zatani warriors.

Once inside the gate Regulus and his men looked on in awe at the buildings that towered above them. The ground beneath their feet was roughly spotted with stones that made a crude pathway between the dwellings that stood to either side. Each stone construction rose up and seemed to lean over like the boughs of trees, forming a corridor of rock like the sides of a steep valley. They scarcely registered that the people milling about were staring at them with wonder and fear.

Regulus’ warriors soon arrived at the gates to another massive construction. It rose up mournfully, reaching for the grey skies above. More of the green-coated warriors awaited them and Regulus began to feel an uneasy sense of foreboding. The warning he’d been given by Tom the Blackfoot suddenly came back to him.

‘Stay your hands,’ he said to his warriors in their own tongue. ‘But be wary.’

They needed no further prompting and Regulus could see each picking his own target — a man who would immediately die if they were suddenly attacked.

From within the tower came a lone figure, dressed in a plain grey robe. The hood was drawn back from his face showing he was slim, even for a Coldlander, and he regarded Regulus with interest.

‘Greetings,’ he said to the Zatani. ‘Word has it you are ready to join battle with Steelhaven against the horde advancing upon us?’

‘I am Regulus of the Gor’tana. Come north to win glory for my tribe.’

The man smiled, but seemed suitably underwhelmed by Regulus’ statement. ‘Yes, I’m quite sure. Please, follow me.’

He led the way towards the vast tower, and Regulus followed. They walked through the grounds and into the dark interior where fires were lit along the walls. Regulus suddenly felt trapped; he was a warrior of the open plains, used to sleeping under the stars and the watchful eyes of his gods. In such a place as this he may as well have been interred beneath the earth.

‘I have come to offer my sword to your queen,’ he said, his sense of unease growing. ‘Where do you lead us?’

The man in grey turned and smiled. Regulus had little experience with the Coldlanders of the Clawless Tribes, but they certainly seemed to smile a lot. Regulus was unsure what this one had to be so pleased about.

‘I am Seneschal Rogan — advisor to Queen Janessa of Steelhaven. It is my honour to meet and receive all those who would fight for the city. Mercenaries are to be housed here, where they can be properly … cared for. These will be your quarters.’

‘But I must offer my sword to your queen.’ Regulus was finding it difficult to hide his frustration, and his warriors could sense it. Hagama gripped his spear in both hands as though ready to attack and Janto rested his hands on the handles of his axes, his eyes scanning the dark for signs of danger.

‘I am afraid that is out of the question,’ said Seneschal Rogan, leading them out into a cavernous room. ‘The queen does not meet with mercenaries.’

The room was huge and lined with tables. Around several of them were men dressed in all manner of colours, some of who glanced over with interest.

‘We are not mere mercenaries,’ said Regulus slowly, wondering if this Coldlander was finding it difficult to understand him. ‘We have travelled many leagues to be here, suffered much hardship. Faced much danger to fight for this city. We are warriors of the Gor’tana, tempered on the battlefields of Equ’un. Your city faces danger and I intend to turn the tide of battle in your favour. I will not be treated as a common slave. We must be presented to your queen.’

Regulus could see the unease had spread to the guards of this place, and they stood by nervously. He had raised his voice, and all eyes had turned to him, watching and waiting for any threat of violence. But Seneschal Rogan continued smiling, untroubled by Regulus’ outburst.

‘I can see you are seasoned fighters, but you are not the only ones who have pledged their service to the Crown.’ He gestured down the hall towards the men who sat within. Regulus could tell these were warriors but he was sure he had no rivals here. ‘You have two options. Join the rest of the mercenaries and receive your pay alongside them, or leave the city.’

‘Mercenaries,’ Regulus said, chewing on the word. As he did so he realised he was no longer a prince of the Gor’tana. No longer honoured among his tribe. What right did he have to be presented to this Coldlander queen? He was nothing more than an outcast, a sell sword who had forfeited his honour. There was a chance that he could regain that honour though, if he did not squander this opportunity through his own hubris.

‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘If that is what we must do.’

‘Excellent,’ said Rogan. ‘Now, just one more thing: your weapons. You will need to hand them over.’

Regulus looked to his men. None of them would be ready to surrender their arms and he was in no hurry to do so himself. Must it be done? Might this be the kind of trick Tom the Blackfoot had warned him about?

Glancing down the vast hall Regulus noted that none of the men bore a weapon. Perhaps this was the way of the Coldlanders.

‘They want us to hand over our weapons,’ Regulus said in the Zatani tongue.

‘Never,’ Janto growled, eyeing the nearest green-coated guard. The man took a step back, gripping his spear the tighter.

‘It could be a trick,’ said Leandran.

Regulus nodded. ‘I know. But we have come so far. We cannot turn back now.’

Though it pained him to do it, he slowly took his sheathed sword from his belt and handed it to Seneschal Rogan. Leandran then handed over his spear, quickly followed by Akkula. Hagama and Kazul were next. Only Janto remained, his hands on the handles of his axes. All eyes were on him now, and Regulus knew any future glory hung on whether this unpredictable warrior would allow himself to be cowed by these lowly Coldlanders.

Silently, the warrior took the axes from his belt. For a fleeting moment it looked as if he would bury one of them in the head of the nearest guard, but instead he spun them in his hands, offering the handles.

As they were taken from him, Rogan bowed. ‘The queen thanks you. I can assure you she is grateful for your pledge of allegiance. Now, please eat. You said that to come here you have travelled far.’

Regulus saw that food was being brought into the hall. His men looked on hungrily; slaver dripping down Akkula’s chin as he eyed the meagre offering.

When Regulus signalled permission the Zatani moved swiftly to fall upon the food. Regulus looked back to Seneschal Rogan.

‘Take care of those weapons. We’ll want them back soon,’ he said.

‘You will have them back,’ Rogan replied, still bearing that smile. ‘The enemy is close.’ With that he smiled once more and left.

Regulus watched him go. Encompassed by dark walls and foreign warriors, he wondered which enemy Rogan was referring to.