The Tower Broken(96)

‘I will need help to get rid of it.’ Farid could not take his eyes from the pool of blood in the street.

‘Then do that.’ Mura tried to pull Moreth to standing, but he was twice her height and weight. As she struggled with the rock-sworn she glanced back at Farid. ‘Well, go!’

Farid ran.





41



Sarmin


Sarmin stood on Qalamin’s Deck, the early morning cool against his skin. Grada, as always, waited beside him. ‘This is my city,’ Sarmin said, waving a hand from the darkened Low Gate all the way north to the Worship Gate, nearly obscured by the fog of the Great Storm. In between stood the Storm Gate, where Yrkmen and White Hats stared at one another across the great wall. A month ago he might have seen colour and movement below him, heard the shouts of citizens as they passed through the streets, but this dawn the city lay empty, its wounds from the earthquake open to the sky, and the only smoke rose from the distant camps of the Yrkmen.

Sarmin raised his spyglass and focused on the Maze, where the rebels’ knives and rocks had gone still. Somewhere amongst those twisting alleys and piled rubble Adam must be crouched, giving orders, planning his coordination with the Yrkman army. He might have Sarmin’s mother with him, held against her will. But even the walls and stone defied Sarmin, for he could see nothing there. He turned the glass towards the northern quarter, lying in the shadow of the Storm, and then moved to the ruined marketplaces to the south. He saw nothing so clear and easy to define as an austere laying patterns or Yrkmen soldiers marching down the street; all looked calm, like the quiet before a storm. The Holies were spread out in front of him, clean and sparking in the dawn, and to his right, the Mages’ Tower and the Tower of the Knife raised their proud domes towards heaven.

A buzzing beat around his ears and he shook his head in annoyance. He turned his spyglass east. Mogyrk’s Scar was there, and if they beat Yrkmir then he would have to go to it. There would be no ending the wounds unless the Scar was ended first. But what the lens showed him brought out a cold sweat against his forehead. He saw a churning wall of light and movement, like a sandstorm without any sand, where objects flickered in and out of his sight. He saw a tree rise and disappear; a lake evaporated. This was not a wound, not a void, but something else – something more. He lowered the spyglass and Grada moved closer, curious for the first time. ‘What is it, Your Majesty?’

‘It’s the Scar. It has drawn close.’ He ran his hands down the silk of his robes, as he had seen Azeem do many times. He found it comforting. ‘Very close.’

Movement caught his eye. At last he saw people in the streets – but these were not his ordinary citizens, running back and forth to the market or carrying rice from flatboats on the river. Through the glass he could see that these men wore torn, ragged clothes that showed the filth of the Maze. Most of them were cut or bruised; only half wore shoes. But their faces showed a determination and a clarity that made him wonder. In their midst stood a man in red robes, his yellow hair gleaming in the soft light of the dawn. This man stood perfectly still, his arms by his sides, and he stared up at Qalamin’s Deck as if he knew Sarmin was standing there, staring down at him. Austere Adam. Nessaket was not with him.

‘He surrenders,’ said Grada, looking over the edge, and he resisted the urge to pull her back, away from the fall. Far beneath them, Blue Shields surrounded the man and his ragged crew. He snapped his spyglass shut. ‘Come. We have been too long away from the throne room.’

*

‘We must kill him, Your Majesty,’ said General Merkel, waving his thin arm at the great doors. ‘As punishment for the deaths he has caused, the damage to our buildings and the consternation of our citizens.’

‘The emperor, heaven bless him and keep him,’ said Dinar to the general, ‘does not make decisions that quickly. The first prisoner we took remains in the temple of Mirra.’ A smile played over his lips as Grada’s hand moved towards the hilt of her Knife.

‘The duke is well enough under your thumb, Magnificence,’ Lurish said. ‘It is time to show the troops that vengeance will be had upon their enemies.’

Dinar smiled again. ‘Indeed. The duke has finished the wardings we needed. The Yrkmen want him and Adam both – why not throw both men’s heads into their midst?’

Assar shook his head. ‘Why not return them both alive, as was requested? Perhaps that way we can avert any more deaths.’

This led to open laughter, but before anybody spoke again Sarmin whispered to Azeem, ‘Make sure the duke stays safely away from these men until I have rendered my decision.’ He would not lose his second ally from Fryth in less than a year. It was not just his court watching; the whole world was watching. Beyond his borders lived kings and emperors and chieftains with whom he would one day need to negotiate; killing envoys was not the reputation he desired to cultivate.