Free The Cold Commands (v5.0) (html) by Richard K Morgan - [A Land Fit for Heroes 02]

rasped, and the blue blade flashed. The third march-master had time to blink at the glimmer of metallic light in his face, then he saw his view tip and tumble and spin, pine trees and cloud and patches of bandlit sky rushing by—he had that single moment to think he’d been pushed over the edge of the bluff—and then a painful thud, vision unaccountably dimming out now, taste of dirt in his gaping mouth, and his eyes came to rest on a final, closing glimpse of something he might or might not have had time to recognize as his own collapsing, blood-gouting headless corpse …

    The swordsman watched the body fall, then turned back to Gerin, who still sat splay-legged on the ground, head drooping forward now.The cloaked figure crouched in front of the boy, touched the wound gently around the quarrel, and grimaced. He put down his blade and lifted the boy’s sagging chin. Gerin looked back at him blankly for a moment; then a child-like smile touched the corners of his bloodied mouth.

    “Doesn’t hurt anymore,” he mumbled. “Did we get away?”

    The figure cleared its throat. “After a fashion, yes. Yes, you did.”

    “That’s good then.”

    They looked at each other for a little longer. Blood ran out of one smiling corner of Gerin’s mouth. The figure saw it and let go of his chin, put one hand cupped against the boy’s lacerated, muddy cheek instead.

    “Is there anything I can do for you, lad?”

    “Out on the marsh,” the boy said indistinctly. “Salt in the wind … ”

    “Yeah?”

    “Mother says … ”

    “Yes … Gerin, right? What does she say, Gerin?”

    “… says don’t … get too close to …”

    The swordsman put a single knee to the ground. Waited. After a moment, tears ran out of the boy’s eyes and blotched on his lap.

    “Fuck them,” he wept. “Fuck them all.”

    He did not lift his head again.

    Ringil Eskiath kept his hand cupped at Gerin’s cheek until he was quite sure the boy was dead. Then he picked up his sword, and got quietly to his feet. He looked down at the small body for a while, and then away across the top of the rock bluffs, toward the distant, dotted fires of the slave caravan’s camp.

    “
That
I think I can do for you,” he said meditatively.

CHAPTER 6

    e had Kefanin wake him before dawn. He stumbled downstairs for a breakfast his stomach didn’t really want, and stepped out into the courtyard under a sky fading dark blue from black. The sun was still a good hour under the horizon, and a crisp desert chill held the air. He filled his lungs with it, and was surprised to find, as he crossed the yard, a cheerful energy in his stride that hadn’t been there the day before.

    Purpose
.

    It was the first time in weeks he could remember having any.

    He made good time on the boulevard; traffic was minimal compared with the brawling chaos that would claim the streets later. A handful of tradesmen with their barrows, some slaves carrying bundled wood for kitchen fires, the odd merchant setting out on horseback for somewhere requiring an early start. Once, a short column of soldiers passed him, marching to a muster somewhere. Egar heard the cadence as they over-hauledhim, made them for Upland Free Marauders, and grinned in recognition. He’d fought alongside the Upland Free a couple of times, had liked them for their hill-tribe manners and disdain for all things urban. More than any other imperial soldiers, they’d reminded him of his own people, back when that wasn’t such a bad thing.

    They tramped on, double-timing it behind a mounted captain, and left him behind in the graying light. The chant faded out on the morning air.

    Egar split from the boulevard a few hundred yards farther on, crossed the river at the Gray Mane bridge and then took the long, winding incline of Immortal Glory Rise. He reached the top just as the sun poked its new-forged glowing edge above the eastern skyline. A pause to get his breath back—really must start some