Free Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) by Richard Ford Page B

abandoned. They built them high back in those days, and Rag was hoping it would give her a decent enough vantage point to see what was going on.
    The climb didn’t take long; the old stonework provided enough handholds for her to reach the top in no time. On the roof she could see out across most of the city, from the blackened seawall to the south all the way to the River Gate and beyond to the north.
    Rag’s grip on the stonework tightened. At the curtain wall all along the northern battlements stood a mass of armoured men, all looking out to the plain beyond. Past them, filling the plain, was a massive horde moving towards the city. Torches shone in the night, showing their numbers, showing the mass of savages moving on Steelhaven. Amongst the horde were huge machines – catapults, siege towers, battering rams and things Rag didn’t even know the names for – all moving south like there weren’t nothing that could stop them.
    She watched for as long as she dared before she realised her mouth was hanging open and her fingers were starting to hurt they were gripping the stone so tight. Almost as quick as she’d climbed she made it to the ground where Yarrick was waiting.
    ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What’s happening?’
    She stared up at him, hands shaking from the climb and the fear.
    ‘We need to get a frigging move on, is what’s happening.’

EIGHT
    F orty thousand screaming, braying Khurtic bastards were massed outside the city, making all the noise in the hells. Merrick sat on his horse facing the deathly racket they were making, with nothing between him and them but a hundred yards of dark, grassy plain.
    He had to admit, he’d spent better evenings having the shit kicked out of him in Dockside taverns.
    The horse whickered beneath him, stamping its foot nervously. Merrick patted it reassuringly but it seemed to do little good.
    You think you’re bloody nervous? I had plans – ambitions. What did you have other than a nosebag in front and a pile of shit behind?
    Beside him, to the left, sat Tannick. They hadn’t spoken but it was obvious the old man wanted to keep him close, maybe to look after him and make sure he’d be able to take that bloody sword one day, or maybe just to make sure he didn’t bring shame on the Wyvern Guard and the family name. Either way, Merrick took some strange solace from the fact his father was nearby.
    The Wyvern Guard had ridden out as the Khurtas arrived. A few hundred men on horseback trotting out to face a horde of forty thousand. The savages were arrayed against them now, just standing there screaming, four hundred yards from the city wall. Every now and again a Khurtic archer would take a pot shot at them, his arrow whistling overhead or clanging against a shield, but other than that they were happy just to stand and shout. Of the great Amon Tugha there was no sign, and Merrick took no small reassurance from that. Howling savages he could just about stomach – an immortal giant from the Riverlands might well have been a foe too far.
    ‘See them?’ Tannick yelled above the din. ‘They’ve come to take this city. Come to prove they’re the hardest, deadliest bastards in all the corners of the world. Look at them.’ He pointed, his arm sweeping from left to right as he took in the whole Khurtic front line. As he did so an arrow whistled past the winged helm on his head, but Tannick never flinched. ‘They’ve come south to prove their might. To prove they’re the greatest killers the Free States have ever seen. And we’re going to prove them wrong.’
    This time it was the turn of the Wyvern Guard to howl. Merrick had to admit, his father’s words stirred him a bit, but he still couldn’t bring himself to join in with their cheering.
    From within the mass of Khurtas a figure came forward holding aloft a banner. He pushed his way through and planted it in front of the Khurtic lines, as though taunting his enemies with his prize. Through the gloom, Merrick could