Herald of the Storm (21 page)

Someone was whistling tunelessly.

Into the courtyard strode a young lad looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His green arming jacket was slung over one shoulder, his halfhelm clasped casually by his side. He had no weapons.

When he saw Nobul standing there he smiled and nodded, like they were old mates. He seemed unconcerned that a man he’d never seen before was standing in the middle of the courtyard where only Greencoats were supposed to be allowed. So much for the vigilant city militia.

Before the youth passed Nobul he stopped, frowning slightly, as though it was suddenly dawning that something was awry.

‘You the new recruit?’ he said, pointing his finger. As if Nobul would be standing there waiting if he wasn’t.

‘I suppose I’m one of them,’ Nobul replied, unsure of whether to show some kind of respect. This boy could be one of the serjeants for all Nobul knew, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to piss him off before he’d even started.

‘One of them? There’s no one else coming. You’re it, mate,’ said the boy with a smile. ‘I’m Denny.’ He held out a hand to shake.

It seemed a bit inappropriate, but Nobul shook it anyway.

‘Where is everybody?’ he asked.

‘Ah.’ Denny looked round as though his fellow Greencoats were hiding and might jump out at any minute. ‘It’s shift changeover. Last watch probably fucked off ages ago. They’re supposed to wait for relief before they do, but to be fair, we’re usually late anyway, so they don’t hang around.’

Nobul glanced around in disbelief. ‘So the place is just abandoned?’

‘Yeah. But not to worry, they lock the weapons store after them. Not that any of the shit in there’s worth pinching anyway.’

Maybe this had been a mistake. He should have seen the signs two days ago when he’d first tried to show interest and been welcomed with a total lack of enthusiasm. The Greencoats were clearly an ill-disciplined rabble. But hadn’t he known that anyway? No wonder the Guild ran rampant throughout the city. No wonder he’d been preyed upon for so long by scumbag enforcers demanding his hard-earned coin in return for ‘protection’.

Nobul suddenly felt angry. These men were supposed to be the city’s guardians. They were no more than a bunch of boys playing at soldiers.

‘Thanks for letting me know,’ said Nobul, turning to leave.

‘Denny! Why the fuck are you standing around like a limp cock? Get your uniform on and empty the slops from last night’s shift – they won’t have cleared up after themselves, will they?’

Nobul was stopped by the authority in the voice. He stood to attention, feeling slightly intimidated and not a little relieved that there was at least someone with a bit of clout around.

A tall grizzled figure stepped out onto the drill yard as Denny ran off to carry out his duties. He wore an eye-patch over his right eye, and his left arm was missing at the elbow. From his weathered face and the easy confidence with which he walked, Nobul could see he was seasoned. At last, a veteran.

The Greencoat walked up to Nobul, standing close. Scrutinising. Assessing. Their noses almost touching. Nobul had been here many times before, many years ago. The memories came flooding back of the mud and pain and shouting. He had to admit: part of him liked it.

‘You must be the new recruit. They told me someone had shown an interest. Name?’

Name? Now there was a quandary. Most likely the Guild were still wondering what happened to their two collectors and Nobul was top of the list for knowing where to find them. Probably best not to go around shouting his whereabouts from the rooftops.

‘Lincon.’ He’d known a lad from the Free Companies called Lincon. It was as good a name as any, and the lad who used to own it wouldn’t be needing it any more since he was twenty years in the ground.

‘Any experience?’

‘Some.’ Nobul knew better than to be too elaborate, and definitely not to overstate where you’d been and what you’d done. That was a sure way to mark yourself out as an arsehole.

‘Some?’ The veteran looked Nobul up and down again. ‘You certainly look the part, if nothing else.’
Because he was iron. Because he was steel
. ‘Most of the lads we’ve got left are too young to wipe up their own shit or too old to piss without it stinging. I suppose you’re heading towards the old side. Why should we take you on?’

‘Because from what I’ve seen so far you’re desperate for men.’

That one eye regarded him for some moments. All Nobul could hear was a single bird singing. He wondered whether he’d said the right thing or just fucked his chances.

‘You’re right there, Lincon. Desperate for men is something we definitely are. But despite what you might think, we also don’t just take on any old shit.’ That was good to know. Now all he could hope was this bloke didn’t consider him shit. ‘So, what exactly is your experience, son?’

Nobul thought about it. He tried not to think about it too long but this was an important question. Did he give him the whole chat or try to underplay it? There was no point fucking about – this guy didn’t seem like he suffered any fools.

‘Bakhaus Gate,’ Nobul replied, trying not to think too much on the memories that saying those words inspired.

The Greencoat raised the one eyebrow that wasn’t hidden under a patch.

‘Bakhaus Gate, no less? I was at Bakhaus, in the First Battalion. What about you?’

‘I was in the levies,’ he replied. ‘Under Captain Graig.’

‘I remember him. He was a good man. It was a shit way for him to go.’

Nobul agreed with that all right, the memory of it almost made him chill, but there was no point dwelling on it now. The way Graig had been torn to pieces by tooth and claw had given him nightmares enough.

The man regarded him again – weighing him up as though for the last time.

‘If you served in the levies then you’re good enough for the Greencoats. You’ll call me Serjeant Kilgar, or just Serjeant, if it please you.’

‘Yes, Serjeant.’

‘Before you start, you should know that the wages are poor – two crowns a week. And you’ll get no thanks from the heaving masses we’re obliged to protect. They’ll smile at your face then gob on your back, if they don’t stab you in it first.’

Nobul had lived amongst the filth and scum of this city all his life and the fact the Greencoats took the brunt of their ire was no surprise to him. And two crowns a week was more than he had a chance of earning now his forge was ashes.

‘Sounds fair,’ he replied.

Kilgar nodded sagely. ‘Easily pleased. You’ll fit right in. Go see Denny. He’ll sort you with a uniform, give you the proper papers to put your mark on and introduce you to the rest of the lads. They should be here soon, or I’ll know the fucking reason why not.’

‘Yes, Serjeant,’ Nobul said, feeling the old memories flooding back. The ‘yes sirs, no sirs’ of military life. The running around, being told what to do, what to eat, when to shit.

He had to admit, he was starting to like it. It was clear Kilgar was right – he
would
fit right in.

Denny did as Kilgar had said and found a uniform: green leather jerk with the crossed swords symbol below the king’s crown emblazoned on the back. He gave Nobul an open-faced helm: a bit too big, but it would do, especially if someone tried to rap a cosh over his head. It might make a dull tune but at least it would stop his skull cracking open.

When that was done he went to a tiny chamber, fished around in a desk drawer and got the recruitment papers out. Nobul didn’t even bother reading them – he could have been signing on for life for all he knew, but he didn’t care. He just made his mark and left it at that.

Denny also did the introductions as more of the watch – Amber Watch as they were known – sloped into the barracks one by one. There were eight in the watch in all, including Denny, Nobul and Serjeant Kilgar, and they were tasked with watching Northgate, closest to the outer wall. They patrolled in twos, which wasn’t the safest thing to do in Northgate, especially at night, but each man had a tin whistle in case he got into strife he couldn’t get out of and needed someone to help.

The rest of the watch consisted of Dustin and Edric, the twins. Each had a gawping expression about him, and Nobul couldn’t work out which looked the stupider. It wouldn’t do to underestimate them, mind. Nobul had fought alongside dumber-looking fellas and they’d turned out to be brave and loyal all the same.

Anton was a fairly good-looking lad, but young and with a dolorous expression about him like he’d lost his pecker end and had no clue where to find it. He gave up a half smile when Denny introduced him, meek and limp like an old man, and Nobul could only wonder how the lad would react if he got himself in real trouble on the street – most likely run like the Lord of Crows was after him.

Old Hake was next to arrive. Nobul didn’t know if that was his real name or if he was named for the fish, but it suited him anyway, and not least because of the smell he gave off. He was amiable, giving a smile and a nod as he chewed on some pipeweed. The old man looked fit enough, but not much use in a fight.

Last to arrive was Bilgot. Denny introduced him, a big lad with a mop of red hair and a burgeoning beer gut beneath his jerk. Nobul could tell he was trouble even before he opened his mouth. He’d seen it a thousand times before – young fella, grows up big, takes advantage of the smaller lads and no one’s got the stones to stand up to him. Big fish in a little pond. Nobul wasn’t here to put any backs up, so when big Bilgot said ‘Who’s the new fucking meat?’ he didn’t say anything; just let Denny do the explaining.

‘New recruit,’ said Denny. ‘His name’s Lincon—’

‘Lincon?’ Bilgot walked up, facing off, a good inch or two above Nobul. ‘You look like a tough one. You a tough one?’

Nobul had been in this situation very recently, and two men were dead and floating down the Storway and into the sea for their trouble. It wouldn’t do to fly off on one and fuck this up too, so he just stood and said nothing, not looking away but not doing any provoking.

‘Let me tell you, I’m top dog round here. What I say fucking go—’

‘Right, you set of lazy bastards!’

There was a sudden commotion at the sound of Kilgar’s voice.

Bilgot shut his mouth, turning to stand to attention along with the rest of the lads. Nobul was beside them, not needing anyone to tell him what to do – he’d been here enough times before.

‘As you can see,’ said Kilgar as he walked into the barrack room, ‘we have a new body with us today. Denny, you’ll show him the ropes. Shouldn’t be too hard for you, he’s a veteran – Bakhaus Gate no less, served under the king, so he’s no stranger to being in a fix and living through it.’

Nobul could feel the atmosphere change at the mention of Bakhaus Gate. Some of the lads would instantly respect him for it, others would think it was horseshit. They could think what they wanted; it didn’t change a thing.

‘Right! On your ways.’

At that Amber Watch filed out of the barrack room.

On their way out onto the streets they stopped at the armoury, though calling it that was a bit like calling a turd a tiara. Denny explained later that due to lack of funds and the fact most of the lads sent to the front had taken the good stuff with them, they had to share weapons between the watches, and after your shift you had to put them back, safe and sound, in the small locked room they called the armoury. The pickings were slim, and Nobul chose a short sword for himself since it looked the weapon least likely to break after a hefty swing. The other lads went for the stuff more intimidating – Bilgot going for a massive banded cudgel. It only showed what little these lads knew, going for weapons that looked the business despite being useless for the job at hand, but then they didn’t have much to choose from.

When they got out on the streets of Northgate, Denny was quiet. At first Nobul took it for vigilance; he was feeling the pressure himself after all. In their helms and green jackets they stood out as easy targets for anyone wanting to cause a bit of bother.

Denny pointed out the dodgy alleys to avoid and the faces that might cause the most trouble, but he seemed unconcerned about investigating them, so Nobul just followed his lead.

They got beaming smiles in some places, but Nobul could tell that behind half of them there was little friendship. He found himself looking round at the slightest noise, keeping his hand close to that short blade, conscious of the whistle hung about his neck in case they needed help. But he was also conscious of the respect they were being shown, just for wearing the uniform … or was it fear? People moved out of their way as they approached and if someone looked like they were up to no good they’d disappear as soon as Nobul and Denny approached them.

Nobul had to admit: he was beginning to enjoy himself.

As the afternoon wore on and there was no sign of any trouble he even relaxed a little. It was then that the questions began.

‘So, Bakhaus Gate. Not many blokes still around from those days. You must have seen some sights?’

‘None that I’d wish on anyone else.’

‘No … course not. Just wish I could have been there is all. Wish I could have done my bit like you lads.’

Nobul didn’t answer. There was no point shattering anyone’s dreams of glory and battle, even if they were talking shit. Let the lad have his dream. Hopefully he’d never have to experience it, but if the Khurtas swept down across the Free States and he had to face them at the city gates he’d learn soon enough what the reality was like.

‘Did you see the Black Helm in action?’ said Denny, his eyes widening. ‘That was the tale most made me want to sign up for the Greencoats. One of the old boys from Leach Street used to tell us about the Black Helm. Held the Gate single-handed while the king got his wounded out of the breach. They say he took half a dozen beast-man pelts, wielding that hammer of his like it weighed nothing, smashing those lion-faced bastards all over the place.’

‘Those kind of stories ain’t usually right in the telling,’ Nobul replied.

‘No,’ Denny agreed, obviously feeling foolish for being caught up in an old man’s tales of war. ‘Six pelts does sound like a load of bollocks. Bloke probably never even existed.’