‘Easy,’ Loredan breathed in his ear, ‘do as you’re told and everything’s going to be fine. Now, we’re going to take a walk, just as far as the bridge. You got that? Now move.’
A little twist on his arm, enough to have made him scream if he’d still had a voice; then Loredan’s knee against his, nudging him forward, completely under the other man’s control. He knew that Loredan could snap him in two like a twig, or slice off his head, or rip off his limbs one by one, and there’d be nothing he could do. He wanted so much not to die; or at least not this way, not killed by Colonel Bardas Loredan, as if death at his hands would be so much worse, more painful, more final than any other kind. Loredan could destroy him, break off his head, drink his blood and eat his soul; he was Death and the devil and all the horror in the universe, all the horror that he, Temrai the Sacker of Cities, Temrai the Slaughterer, had brought into the world—
‘That’s it,’ Loredan’s voice, intimate inside his ear, ‘we’re doing fine. Don’t you just love it when stories have a happy ending?’
It seemed as if the whole clan was there, watching, backing away as they passed; because in spite of everything, the engines and the fire and the several million arrows he’d had made and caused to be loosed, there was no power on earth, let alone one puny nation, that could stand up against the horror of Colonel Loredan, the eater of souls, the bringer of Death and Justice, this terrible force his blind folly had let loose upon the world. As for what would happen when the monster had finished playing with him, he couldn’t begin to imagine; the extremity of pain, or everlasting torment—
‘Keep back,’ Loredan snapped. ‘Further off, you know better than that. Keep that knife steady, son, if you scrag him we’re both dead. Right, you, we’re going to turn around. When I say turn—’
It was an awkward, ludicrous, crab-scuttling-sideways manoeuvre, like a little child being taught to dance; and then Temrai was facing the clan, the line of wagons and a splendid view of the whole of the city, burning.
He’s making me look at what I’ve done before he kills me
, Temrai said to himself,
because he’s Justice and everything’s my fault
. There was blood running down Temrai’s face from the cut across his scalp; it was dripping into the corner of one eye, making him blink. They were under the arch of the gatehouse now, walking backwards onto the drawbridge. He could see the glow of fire reflected on the water; they were stepping awkwardly over dead bodies.
‘This is as far as we go, Temrai,’ Loredan whispered. ‘Thanks for your help. You know, you remind me a bit of me when I was your age. You—’ He was speaking to the boy, the one who’d been under the wagon. ‘Can you swim?’
The boy said that he thought he could.
‘That’s good. Now put my knife back and jump.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t just stand there—’ Temrai heard the splash; then there was another horrible pain in his arm, and Loredan was whispering again, so close that the voice was inside his head. ‘I ought to kill you, but I never could see any point in revenge. You might care to think about that.’ Then a great force in the small of his back sent him sprawling on the planks of the drawbridge, and from the water below a great splash.
Then there were people round him, helping him up, shouting, holding up torches and lanterns, loosing off arrows into the water. Temrai shook himself free and stared at the water, but there was no sign of anything there; a few bodies floating, but not his.
He’s swimming underwater
, Temrai thought;
or the weight of his armour’s pulled him down and drowned him. No, don’t be stupid, he can’t die. He’s vanished, or grown wings and flown away. He’s gone, and I’m still alive
—
‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘Leave it. Get everyone out of the city, close the gate and break up the causeway. I want this finished with now.’
His lungs were bursting and all his joints were full of pain. The mailshirt was a man grabbing hold of him and pulling him down; there was no escape this time, he was going to die - ironic, really, that he should die now, after the great escape—
‘Wake up,’ said a voice overhead. ‘It’s all right, it’s just a dream.’
He opened his eyes, and saw the face of the boy, the kid he’d rescued from under the wagon. ‘Wassis?’ he mumbled through a mouthful of sleep. Behind the boy’s head was blue sky, a few seagulls circling.
‘It’s all right,’ the boy laughed, ‘you’re safe. You’re on a ship, remember?’
Loredan sat up and winced; he’d forgotten about all the wrenched muscles. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I must have been having a nightmare or something.’
The boy grinned.‘Look,’ he said, pointing at the horizon, ‘we’ve arrived.’
On the skyline, Loredan could see the outline of a city; a high wall, towers and domes, sunlight flashing off the gilded roof of a great temple. It was a place he’d heard of, one of those once-upon-a-time places that are reputed to exist, but he’d never thought he’d ever go there. And now, here he was.
It was smaller than he’d imagined.
‘How are you feeling?’ the boy asked. ‘I think the fever’s well and truly broken by now, but the captain says he knows a good doctor, just in case. He’s been really nice, hasn’t he?’
Loredan nodded grimly. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘he has.’ He saw that his tone of voice was worrying the boy, and he smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘we’ll be all right. I’ve got relatives here who’ll look after us.’
He stood up, stretching his cramped legs, and studied the city in the distance. That big shiny thing with the gold roof and the bobble on top was presumably the Great Temple. Even he’d heard of the Great Temple. It was the one building in this city that everyone knew about.
Then he turned round and looked at the mainsail of the ship, with the distinctive symbol painted in the middle. It was familiar enough, though strange in this context, the logo of the company whose ship this was; a bow fully bent, and seven arrows.
‘This is wonderful,’ the boy said, shading his eyes with his hand as he gazed at the distant city. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Scona.’