City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [118]
‘What’s wrong?’ Randur asked.
‘Nothing, young Kapp.’
Randur had been feeling paranoid for a while, and the old man’s anxious gaze did nothing to lighten this mood. A sudden rush of noise from within the trees, and Randur spun immediately, drawing his sabre. Nothing was visible but the vacant dampness of the forest, layers of dark brown and green, and the patches of snow.
‘Munio?’ Randur glanced around again. Munio remained seated, his face pressed into his hands.
Breaking twigs.
The clunk of metal.
An arrow shaft thumped into the nearest tree, forcing Rika to jump back, startled.
‘Jamur Rika, Jamur Eir,’ the voice boomed across the clearing. ‘This is Sergeant Howls of the Eleventh Dragoons. A hundred soldiers of the Regiment of Foot surround you. Please, cooperate with us, and let’s be on our way.’
‘Oh fuck,’ Randur grunted. Imperial soldiers. How could they have tracked us out here? Eir gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to fight till the end, while Rika stood quiet and resigned.
Soldiers faded in through the forest foliage, cracking back small branches.
A moment later, a lean and stubbled soldier approached. He appeared to be in his forties, with close-cropped dark hair dappled grey. Standing over six foot, his face was every bit that of an experienced veteran, pockmarked and scarred, and with eyes that said he had no time for messing around. ‘Munio?’ he said to the swordmaster. ‘You’re free to go, of course. One of the privates will see about your reward.’
‘Uh, sarge?’
‘Yes, Felch?’ The soldier turned impatiently to one of his comrades, a significantly younger and more cautious character.
‘Spot of trouble on that front. He’ll have to take credit notes because we, uh, forgot to bring all the money from the barracks.’
‘For pity’s sake, just deal with it, someone,’ Howls muttered despondently.
Munio wouldn’t make eye contact, wouldn’t let Randur see his face. The old man held his face firmly lowered in his hands.
The realization dawned on Randur. ‘You fucker. You hand us over, for what?’ Randur made as if to strike him before one of the soldiers stepped in to restrain him, pinning his arms behind his back. Randur strained to break free, his muscles stinging with pain. ‘How much were our lives worth to you, you wanker?’
His wrists were clamped in manacles, as were Rika’s, while Eir was soon stripped of her sword.
‘You said a man can change, young Kapp,’ Munio mumbled, his gaze still to the ground. ‘You can never completely change who you are. I will take my place in this world as a bastard, willingly, and for that I can . . . I can only apologize.’
‘Money’, Howls interjected, ‘is a great leveller, but you three are too young to understand that just yet. Right then, from here you’ll be taken to Villjamur to face charges. I think you’ll know what’s likely – you’ll be slaughtered on the outer wall of the city – and Urtica has asked to perform the task himself this time. I believe, his words were “This is personal”, which means we must keep you alive for the time being.’
‘You realize’, Randur muttered, ‘that we’re innocent in all of this.’
‘Of course you are,’ Howls replied. A smile. ‘Go into any gaol and they will say the same thing.’
Just then a bass groan seemed to deconstruct the air around them.
Suddenly a man – or something resembling one – landed in their midst, collapsing down to one knee to break his fall. His impact with the ground could be felt by all. The figure remained there for a moment longer, head down as if in prayer, a dark cloak enveloping him.
Lithely, he stood up, clearly taller than any soldier there. Seven feet at least, he had long black hair, and his skin was a pale blue, his cheeks so sunken they seemed stuck to the bone. As he scanned his surroundings his eyes resembled two lumps of charcoal. He turned to reveal that he was dressed in exotic military clothing, a metallic X binding him across the chest. Casually, the new arrival withdrew two sabres from over his shoulder, fat blades that were twice