The Shattered Crown

THIRTY

The tension had been building since they’d arrived. The threat of violence had never diminished, but so far none of the Coldlanders had made a move on Regulus or his warriors.

He had learned there were three tribes within the oppressive building. Each had a fanciful name that seemed to relate little to their history and deeds. Regulus could only hope these men could fight as well as they could name themselves. Somehow he doubted it.

Nevertheless, he and his warriors were careful to watch their backs, heeding the words of Tom the Blackfoot well. It was clear these mercenaries held little love for the Zatani.

They awoke in their cell — a bare room with a single window looking out onto the city. As ever, when Regulus led his warriors out into the vast hall they were the first of the mercenaries to appear. The Zatani were craving daylight, and a lack of it had made their sleep restless and short. It had been days since they had seen the sun, and they were suffering for it. Hagama and Kazul had grown increasingly agitated, taking their frustrations out on the younger Akkula. More than once Regulus had been forced to scold them for it. Leandran seemed to be handling their confinement well, though he had been all but silent since they had come to this place. Janto too, was silent, but that did not serve to put Regulus at his ease. The unpredictable warrior could explode into violence at any second which was the last thing they needed — at least until they faced a real enemy.

Having left their cell, they took their places at a table in one corner of the great hall. The Zatani were used to sitting around a fire under the stars on the open plain, but they had soon grown accustomed to the Coldlander custom of hunkering around a table. As the other mercenaries began to join them, the atmosphere in the hall darkened.

The Midnight Falcons wore night-black livery, their leader a hulking brute who little resembled a bird of prey. They sat at the opposite end of the hall, making no secret of their disdain for Regulus and his warriors, though none were brave enough to speak of it. Regulus put their number at almost fifty. Not even their strongest looked a match for his weakest.

Next to come from their darkened cells was the Scarlet Company in tunics of red. These numbered fewer than the Midnight Falcons, perhaps thirty warriors led by a dark-browed veteran, his white hair pulled back from his head in a topknot. He regarded Regulus with unmasked hatred.

Finally the Hallowed Shields arrived — their emblem of a quartered shield on each of their chests — taking their place close to the Zatani, but only because there was nowhere else to sit. Almost a hundred warriors, and word was they had more fighting men housed elsewhere. Their leader was young but confident, and Regulus had rapidly grown sick of his arrogant smile. How he would have liked to challenge this one, but Regulus was bound to the accord he had made with Seneschal Rogan and was determined he would not be the one to break it.

The hum of chatter filled the hall, and Regulus and his warriors sat around their table in silence. There was no hunt to plan, no strategy to formulate, so why all this talking? Regulus disliked these Coldlanders all the more for their incessant need to waggle their tongues.

With little fanfare, a cauldron of broth was brought in. The other mercenaries quickly stood and formed a line, but Regulus and his men had no need to join it. Rogan had been happy enough to satisfy the Zatani’s specific needs.

On a platter, held between two of Rogan’s slaves, came a modest pile of meat. The slaves dumped it unceremoniously on the table amongst the Zatani and left as fast as they could. Regulus regarded their meagre and unappetising fare. It was scraps, far from fresh, and flies were already beginning to gather about it.

‘This is shit,’ said Kazul.

Hagama nodded in agreement.

Unabashed, Leandran and Akkula reached forward to take their fill. Janto sat back, his appetite clearly fled.

‘Eat,’ said Regulus. ‘We need to keep our strength. There will be fighting soon enough. Once the enemy comes and we have tasted our first victory there will be meat to fill us all.’

Kazul reached forward reluctantly and took a hunk, more bone than meat.

‘How much longer do we have to be caged here?’ Hagama said. ‘I’m sick of this place.’

‘As are we all,’ Regulus replied, fast losing patience. ‘But I believe it will not be long. Now eat.’

Hagama glared at the pile of greying animal carcass before digging in. They ate quickly, taking no relish. They were hunters all, used to the warmth of a fresh kill. They were not carrion eaters other than in times of famine. But Regulus guessed a famine was exactly what they had to endure. For now.

As they ate, Regulus could hear the Coldlanders talking. ‘Animals’ they called the Zatani, ‘beasts’ or words Regulus had never heard before, though their unpleasant meaning was clear. He ignored them. His warriors could not speak the Coldlander tongue and it was best they did not know what was being said about them.

Once they had finished, Regulus sat back and waited. He tried to block out the noise from the mercenaries, concentrating on the sound of Leandran sucking the marrow from a bone, but it was no use. He was under no illusions: he and his warriors were trapped in here with a rabble that might turn on them at any moment.

The morning wore on, and the Coldlanders began to drink their infernal brew. Regulus understood little about this habit. He had learned their drink was potent, a poison of sorts that sometimes sent them into a rage. He could understand such a thing’s value in battle, but in times of repose? And what was its use when it often sent them into a stupor, or caused them to fight amongst themselves, and with no skill — only stubborn ferocity?

The day drew on, and Regulus felt his sense of unease growing.

‘Look to yourselves,’ he warned his men, as the Coldlanders became more raucous, some of them bursting into song.

His warriors focused on their surroundings. Though they had no weapons Regulus was sure they’d be a match for these men.

‘What is it?’ asked Leandran.

‘Just keep your eyes open,’ Regulus replied as the song became more noisy and aggressive.

Slowly he stood up. He knew they needed to get outside, even if just for a little while. They couldn’t be expected to remain inside here indefinitely. He had to find one of their guards, gaolers, whatever name they used, and take their leave of this place.

Before he had moved two paces, one of the mercenaries in the livery of the Scarlet Company staggered forward.

‘Where are you going?’ he shouted. Some of his fellows heard and stopped their bickering to look on with interest.

Regulus did not answer.

The man leaned forward with a smile. More of the Coldlanders were looking on now. Some had clearly been awaiting such a confrontation.

‘Come on,’ said the man. ‘I know you can understand me. I’ve seen you speaking our language.’

Regulus took a breath, trying to remain composed. He could sense his warriors stirring behind him.

‘I seek no trouble,’ he said. ‘I have come to serve your queen.’

‘My queen?’ said the Coldlander. ‘She’s not my queen — I’m from Stelmorn. I’m here for the money, but if you want to fall to your fucking knee in front of her, feel free.’ Some of the others laughed.

Regulus regarded the man, bottle in hand, staggering on his feet. How could he even call himself a warrior? What pride did he take in himself? Where was his honour? But then, he only fought for coin — something Regulus would never understand.

He took another step, but the man moved into his path.

‘What’s the obsession with the queen, then? Not got one of your own?’

There was no way Regulus was about to explain himself to such a cur. He could feel the claws at his fingertips begin to twitch, his jaw tightening. Behind this man, more red liveried warriors stepped forward.

‘They probably ate her,’ said a man at the back of the group.

‘Yeah, they’ll have fucked her first, though. That’s all those black bastards know about.’

Regulus knew he was being goaded. He must not bow to it. If he lost control, it could jeopardise everything.

‘You seen much battle then, darky?’ someone shouted suddenly.

Regulus felt his stomach tighten. He clenched his fists, letting his claws dig into his palms.

‘What are they saying?’ asked Kazul from behind him.

The tension was growing. Regulus knew he had to do something to take the fire out of these men’s bellies, but what?

Walk away?

No, Regulus Gor could not do that.

‘Yes, I have seen battle,’ Regulus said, raising his voice. ‘I came north to wield my blade on behalf of your king. The man who set my people free.’ The Coldlanders quieted at the mention of their late leader. ‘Even though he is dead, I will still fight beside you to defend his lands. For my father’s honour and for that of your queen.’

The Coldlanders looked at one another uncertainly.

Before he could think of more to say, the leader of the Hallowed Shields walked forward. He smiled at Regulus.

‘You see,’ he said, speaking to his men. ‘I told you there was nothing to fear from them. They are here as our allies.’

‘Like fuck they are,’ shouted someone from the crowd.

‘What are they saying?’ Kazul said again, more agitated.

The leader of the Hallowed Shields looked up at Regulus and winked. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘We’ll soon be fighting side by side. We should be friends.’

‘What’s he saying?’ Kazul stood up, and Janto rose to his feet beside him.

Regulus was about to tell them to sit down again, that this man just wanted peace, when the leader of the Hallowed Shields reached behind his back.

‘Let’s drink to our new-found friendship,’ he said.

‘Weapon!’ Kazul shouted, darting forward.

Regulus leapt in the way as the Coldlander pulled, not a weapon, but a tin flask from his belt. The man staggered back from Kazul’s attack, but Regulus was fast enough to stop his warrior as he leapt with teeth bared.

But he was not able to stop Janto.

At the first sign of trouble the warrior hurled himself at the nearest group of mercenaries. They staggered back under Janto’s onslaught as he tore with his claws. Blood flew as Regulus looked on, unable to rein back his warrior.

Before he could attempt to calm them, shouts of alarm and anger went up from the gathered mercenaries. Though unarmed, and facing the fearsome Zatani of the Gor’tana, it did not stop them. They surged forward. Regulus went down under a wave of bodies. Fists pummelled his face and he could hear yells of anger. In the background his warriors roared their defiance as they too joined the fray.

Regulus threw the first Coldlander aside, trying to gain his feet, but two more leapt at him. He was loath to strike them, one blow from his claws would tear out a throat and he was here as an ally, not an enemy. He tried to speak, to talk sense, but blows rained in at him. The Coldlander mercenaries were incensed, and elsewhere Regulus could hear his warriors were not fighting with restraint. Screams of pain echoed through the hall, joined by cries of unfettered rage.

He should not have allowed his warriors to spend so much time incarcerated in this place. They were men of the wild, hunters of the plains. It was only a matter of time before they would unleash their pent-up urges.

A Coldlander came at Regulus, screaming in fury. In his hand, there was a flash of steel. A weapon. They were all supposed to be unarmed but this man had smuggled a knife in with him.

The time for appeasement was over.

Regulus snarled, throwing off the men who were trying to hold him down. With a swipe of his arm he rent the flesh of the knifeman from jaw to eye. As his face came away, the man screamed, dropping his weapon and falling to the ground.

Seeing their fellow so savagely mutilated, some of the mercenaries dropped back. One was brave enough to rush forward but Regulus grasped him by the throat, raising him high, with his legs kicking helplessly for purchase.

‘Gor’tana!’ Regulus cried. ‘To me!’

Immediately his warriors disengaged from their enemy and came to stand beside him — Leandran was breathing heavily, Kazul, Hagama and Akkula all stared wide-eyed, and eager for more. Janto was the last to pull himself away, his mouth dripping with blood.

Regulus surveyed the carnage — men lay dead and dying, blood was strewn on the floor of the massive hall.

Before Regulus could order his men to retreat, there was a commotion in the entryway. More soldiers in the green livery of the city guard rushed in — Regulus counted thirty of them — all carrying polearms, all looking determined.

He could have ordered his men to fight, but to what end? Against unarmed mercenaries they were more than a match, but armed warriors were a different matter.

Janto moved to attack, but Regulus grasped his shoulder, digging his claws into the warrior’s flesh.

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘We’ve done enough.’

He dropped the mercenary he held to the ground where the man lay gasping for air.

The soldiers surrounded them. As Regulus showed his palms in sign of peace, he glanced at the dead and dying that lay all around them.

This would take some explaining.