The Shattered Crown

THIRTY-NINE

The chamber was in upheaval. Men screaming in anger. Equ’un warriors bellowing their lungs out. It reminded Nobul of days long past. Days on the battlefield, sweating and bleeding and biting back the fear.

He held a chain that bound one of the Zatani. Nobul used all his strength, but still struggled to hold just that one arm. Any other time he’d have put it down to how tired he was, what he’d been through over the past few days, but he knew that wasn’t the case. These were savages from the plains of Equ’un, former slaves of the Aeslanti, tempered in the fighting pits of the beast-men. Nobul was just glad they were in chains.

The Greencoats dragged them from the chamber. Now the sentence was passed it looked like the place might erupt at any minute. Kilgar led the way, shouting for them to move as fast as they could and to hold steady. It would only take one of these killers to escape its shackles and there’d be the hells to pay.

Nobul had seen first hand the ferocity of the Zatani and their prowess in battle at Bakhaus Gate. The Aeslanti had sent some of their Zatani slaves into the fray first — shock troops to soften up the Teutonian vanguard. They were formidable opponents and Nobul had no desire to fight them again. He’d been young and fit then — hungry for blood and glory. Now he felt every year weighing down on him as he dragged the raging warrior to his cell, and all Nobul’s experience did nothing to curb the fear.

Back in the old days, when he was in his prime, he’d been scared almost shitless as he faced the enemy in the valley at Bakhaus. Now that feeling came rushing back to him. As the noise echoed down the corridor it wasn’t victory Nobul remembered. It was standing beside a hundred other lads, some of them shaking, some of them weeping. It was gripping his hammer so tight he thought he’d never be able to let it go. It was looking all about him, trying to find somewhere to run but knowing there was nowhere.

No amount of victories would ever scratch out those memories. Not a thousand blokes patting you on the back, shouting their thanks, buying you drinks. The years had served to dull the memories well enough, but now here he was, reminding himself all over again what he’d faced.

They eventually managed to get the Zatani back to his cell and with difficulty chained him up once more. Bilgot gingerly unfastened the shackle from the warrior’s neck and they stood back as the rest were brought in. There were six in all, most of them powerful looking. One appeared young and another very old, his head shaved, his dark flesh patchy, though he still looked as though he could do some damage. Even the weakest of these bastards was more than a match for your average man.

The noise in the room was deafening as they secured the warriors. Nobul gripped his short blade, looking for any sign of them escaping but there was none — though they made a lot of noise, the Greencoats managed to chain them up without incident.

‘Right, everyone out,’ said Kilgar.

None of the lads complained at that, practically falling over one another to get out of the door.

Nobul backed away as the Zatani thrashed against their bonds. It was taking all his nerve not to turn tail and run — though they were chained, these warriors still looked ferocious. He knew they were a fearsome enemy, but also a proud race. Something inside began to pity them, despite their ferocity. Something inside made him feel this just wasn’t right.

Nobul was the last one out of the cell, and as he was leaving, he caught the gaze of one of the Zatani. This one wasn’t roaring his anger, but was watching him intently. His black hair hung long over his shoulders and he was the biggest and most impressive of the group. It had been this one that spoke Teutonian and protested their innocence back in the inquisition hall. This one that stood proudly and defiantly while his fellows bellowed in rage.

As Nobul looked back at the warrior, he saw the keen intelligence in his green eyes. Nobul glanced at Kilgar, who beckoned him to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Over a decade ago he’d faced warriors like this, had killed them, but he could sense this one was no threat to him. The Zatani had only been his enemy because they were slaves to the Aeslanti. After gaining their freedom it was said they had turned on their former masters, defeating them in a savage war. Perhaps they were not the enemy after all. Perhaps they didn’t deserve such summary judgement. Surely what the Inquisition had done to these men was wrong.

‘I’m sorry,’ Nobul said, before he’d even realised it.

After a moment, the warrior responded. ‘Keep your pity, Coldlander. We have no need for it.’

As their leader spoke, the rest of the Zatani fell silent.

‘Come on,’ demanded Kilgar, beckoning again, more impatiently.

Nobul stood his ground, though he realised how irrational it was. ‘Close the door,’ he replied, still staring at the dark-skinned warrior.

‘Are you fucking insane?’

‘Close the door,’ repeated Nobul.

Without a word, Kilgar slammed the door to the cell shut and locked it.

The warrior watched him, his green eyes revealing no emotion.

‘I’m Nobul Jacks.’

‘Regulus of the Gor’tana. Prince of Equ’un,’ the Zatani replied.

‘It’s good to meet you, Regulus of the Gor’tana. And I don’t pity you, but I am still sorry.’

‘I understand, Nobul Jacks. But your sorrow will not see us freed from this place.’

‘No, I reckon it won’t. Not much I can do about that.’

Regulus looked forlorn, beaten, and it made Nobul pity him all the more.

‘To think, we came to fight for your queen,’ said the warrior. ‘To bring her glory. To bring death to her enemies. Now we will be slaughtered like livestock.’

‘Why would you do that? Why come all the way north to do your killing? There must be plenty of killing to be done back south.’

‘There is indeed death aplenty back in my homeland. But the glory is here, in the north. Fighting to save the city of our liberator.’

‘You mean King Cael? He’s dead and gone.’ And some of us didn’t shed too many tears over it neither.

‘So we have learned. Surely all the more reason to defend his kith and kin?’

Nobul could see the sense of it. And he’d be doing that very thing soon enough.

‘It would have been good to stand beside you on the battlements,’ said Nobul. He wasn’t lying either — he’d have taken six Zatani at his shoulder when facing an army of Khurtas any day. ‘But I guess that’ll never happen now.’

‘You are a warrior then, Nobul Jacks? But of course, I can see it in your bearing. Have you fought many battles?’

‘I’ve fought enough. A long time ago now.’

‘You have fought my people?’

That caught him off his guard. For a moment he considered denying it, but chained as these Zatani were there was little need to lie.

‘Aye, I was at the Gate. Your people are great fighters. I hope never to face their like again.’

Regulus seemed to appreciate that.

‘Would that I could have fought to win our freedom back then, but I was a child. The years were against me.’

‘The years are against all of us, one way or the other,’ Nobul said with a smile, as though he was passing the time with any old veteran. ‘It’s what you do with them that counts.’

‘I fear I may not have used mine with the greatest of wisdom.’

‘You don’t know that yet.’

‘You are right. It is best not to live with regret.’

‘True enough,’ Nobul said, though Arlor knew he’d gathered enough regrets of his own over the years.

The warrior crouched down, resting his back against the wall. Nobul glanced around at the other Zatani, looking on in silence. One of them watched from the dark, his blue stare unmistakeably hateful.

Nobul turned back to Regulus and knelt down beside him.

‘You don’t deserve this. None of you do.’

The Zatani’s face twisted into a smile. ‘Perhaps none of us get what we deserve, Nobul Jacks. We are all condemned by fate.’

‘Aye, that’s true enough. You’ve just got to make the best of what gets thrown at you.’

‘Indeed. And for what it’s worth, I bear you no ill will.’

‘That makes me feel a bit better, I suppose,’ Nobul said, though he wasn’t too sure it did. ‘Good luck to you, Regulus of the Gor’tana.’

‘And to you, Coldlander.’

Nobul pounded on the cell door twice. When Kilgar opened it he couldn’t bring himself to look back at the warriors, chained and caged behind him.

Once more, Kilgar locked the door. When he turned Nobul expected him to give out a roasting, but the serjeant said nothing. The group of Greencoats made their way from the building in silence.

Back at the barracks all was unnaturally quiet. There was fear on Dustin and Edric’s faces. Even Bilgot had lost his usual bluster. It was understandable. Nobul knew too well how the Zatani could unman you with just a glance of those eyes, let alone a flash of the claws and teeth. These lads should have counted themselves lucky they never went up against the Aeslanti, never mind Zatani warriors.

Nobul watched them as they all slipped away from the barracks one by one, without saying a word to him. He appreciated that; he wanted some time to himself.

With all the worry about rioters and invaders, discipline had slipped in the past few weeks. The Greencoats were even more slack about keeping guard than they had been when Nobul had first arrived, so it was nothing for him to make his way to the little room where they kept all the ledgers. Where the man who paid the wages kept his little desk.

It didn’t take Nobul long to find what he was looking for. It was easy to search for a name and see where the man lived.

As Nobul made his way up to Northgate, all he could think about were those Zatani and how, after everything they’d been through, that leader of theirs appeared to hold no grudges.

Could Nobul Jacks have been that forgiving? Could he be slighted so badly and just put it down to fate?

The house was on a little street just west of the market. There was a single door at the front but Nobul wasn’t interested in that. He made his way down a back alley, ankle deep in piss and shit. The night was drawing in fast and he could barely see where he was walking but he managed to find another door to the rear. Locked. Nobul nudged the single window beside it and it gave a little. A bit more muscle and it slid open. The sound of it was a bit too loud but Nobul didn’t care, there was nothing to fear. Not for him at least.

Inside was dark. As his eyes adjusted to the light of a single candle he saw the one he’d come for. The lad was slumped over a table, empty bottle of spirits next to him, cup overturned. There was a knife too, just a few inches from his hand.

Nobul crept closer. Well, he wouldn’t want to wake the lad up while he was sleeping so peaceful, would he. He picked the knife up off the table and rammed its blade into the doorjamb.

The sound woke Anton up with a start.

‘Who’s there?’ he asked, his eyes looking all bleary as his hand felt around in the dark for a weapon.

‘Thought you’d have been miles away by now,’ said Nobul.

‘Oh fuck,’ Anton breathed in the dark. ‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.’

‘What’s the matter? The Guild abandon you? They hang you out to dry when things went tits up?’

‘They’re looking for you,’ said Anton, staring wide-eyed. ‘They’re probably watching the house right now. They’ll be turning the city upside down after what you did. You shouldn’t be here.’

Nobul shrugged. ‘I’m willing to take the risk.’

Anton was shaking, and Nobul had to admit he liked that.

‘What now?’ Anton asked. ‘You gonna kill me?’

Nobul stared at him awhile.

Well, are you? Isn’t that why you came here? He’s wronged you worse than most. After what you’ve been through, it’s only right.

‘I don’t know,’ Nobul replied. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think I’m a dead man.’

‘Maybe that’s what you deserve.’

‘Then get on with it,’ Anton screamed, rising to his feet.

Even in the gloom, Nobul could see tears in his eyes. He’d probably been waiting here to die for days. Had no idea what to do about it. He was only a lad too, didn’t have a clue how to get himself out of this mess other than with a bottle of booze.

‘Forgiveness is a difficult thing,’ Nobul said. ‘If I let you walk away from here, make sure you never fucking come back.’

Anton clearly suspected a trick. ‘Honestly?’

Nobul nodded. ‘Never come back.’

‘I won’t. I won’t ever. You won’t ever see me again.’

‘Then you’d better make tracks, boy.’

Anton turned hurriedly. His bag was on the floor and he bent to pick it up.

And just like that, you’ll let him go? Just like that, Nobul Jacks will take being treated like a cunt. That what you gonna do when the Khurtas get here — offer them forgiveness? And expect to survive the first day?

As Anton stuffed something into his bag, Nobul found himself taking a step towards him.

That’s it. You’re a cold bastard, Nobul Jacks. This city’s gonna need cold bastards just like you. There’s got to be a reckoning for what he did. Got to be some payback.

Anton was just there, his back turned, ready to start life anew, away from this city and its poison. Away from the Guild and the Khurtas and Nobul fucking Jacks.

And all because of your forgiveness.

Nobul’s hands closed around Anton’s throat. The lad gave a choked gasp, his last sound before the air was cut off. He struggled, but there was no escaping it.

Give him his due, he tried to fight, fingers scraping at Nobul’s fists. The pain was good, and Nobul gritted his teeth, squeezing all the harder, tensing those arms for gods knew how long until Anton wasn’t moving no more.

The lad finally fell dead to the floor.

Nobul looked briefly at that body lying there in the dark. It had been a quick death all in all.

That was about as much forgiveness as Nobul Jacks had left in him.