Prince Thief (28 page)

I parted from Malekrin in a side street close to the Cat. Only after we’d said our brief goodbyes did it occur to me to ask where he was staying.

For my part, I went back to my space in the barn, which had come to seem as much like home as anywhere in Altapasaeda. But the warm scent of hay only brought back memories I’d have rather left alone. Whenever I started to drift I recalled that Saltlick was nesting nearby and opened my eyes with a jolt, to be met by darkness and the truth. Saltlick was gone, or would be soon, and I would never see him again.

For all my restlessness, I must have fallen asleep at some point – for I woke, a little scared and not at all refreshed, to a commotion thundering from somewhere nearby. I struggled to judge its source, but it was only as the last dregs of sleep drained away that I realised the reason for my difficulty: the sound was all about me, shouts reverberating within the inn, loud footsteps and more raised voices from the street, and an impenetrable backdrop of noise from the direction of the northern walls.

I crawled from my makeshift bed, stretched cramped muscles. Already the sounds from nearby were starting to diminish. There was no question that the uproar was focused increasingly upon the city’s north side, and that could only mean one thing – the attack had begun. I felt a sharp tug then, deep in my bones, which said,
Head south, Damasco! Run, damn you!
Except that every gate was locked tight. There was no way out of the city, and even if there had been, it was too late to take it. I might not be any kind of hero, but this was what my life had come to, and I’d no choice left but to see it through.

I stumbled into the courtyard, wasn’t surprised to find it empty. White Corn Road was quiet too, though I thought I could still make out the distant beat of feet and hooves from somewhere to my right. I turned in that direction and picked up my pace.

It was a pleasant day, the sky cloudless and richly blue; it was hard not to be roused by the sun’s soft warmth upon my face. I might have mixed feelings for Altapasaeda in general, but on such a morning I couldn’t help feeling a little awed by its brash architecture, its broad, cobbled streets and the grandiosity and strangeness of the Temple District. If I had to die anywhere, if I had to die
for
anywhere, I supposed the Castoval’s one and only city was as good a place as any.

Turning the corner that brought the northwestern gatehouse into view, it seemed everyone left in Altapasaeda must be up there on the walls. I saw men and women, young and old, and most of them armed and armoured; that was, if pitchforks, spades and swords so antique that only rust held them together could be considered weapons, if leather aprons, handmade helmets and scraps of metal strapped at shins and elbows could be deemed armour.

Estrada was there as well, near to the gatehouse, with a heavily bandaged Navare and a few others I recognised, most of them hangers-on from Mounteban’s short term in power. Alvantes, of course, was conspicuous by his absence. Had he survived the night? It sent a shudder through me to think that he wouldn’t be with us for the city’s last defence. With Alvantes, it would still have been a hopeless fight, but I’d seen Alvantes triumph against impossible odds more than once before. Without him, I feared hopeless really did mean hopeless.

I hurried up the nearest steps and onto the wall walk. I had to shove a little to get a view over the battlements, drawing nervous scowls from an elderly couple armed respectively with a pick axe and a surprisingly hefty-looking ladle.

I’d have done better not to have looked. If the Pasaedan army had been impressive up close, from above it was awe-inspiring, their numbers made all the more daunting by being crammed into and around the remaining streets of the Suburbs. They stood still and silent, split into divisions that lapped and angled round the shanty buildings. It struck me that their forward lines were well within bowshot, a strategic misstep I wouldn’t have expected. Then again, they had shields, I only counted a handful of bows along the wall walk, and it would take more than a tiny advantage like that to swing things in our favour. Even including the most ill-suited and inept amongst our ranks, the Pasaedans outnumbered us by five to one.

So what were they waiting for?

There was no point in my trying to guess; despite what I might have occasionally imagined to the contrary, I was no strategist. Instead, I decided I might as well catch up with Estrada. I edged along the wall walk, careful not to startle any of the heavily armed citizens I slipped past. Drawing closer, I noticed Malekrin behind Estrada and waved a greeting, which he returned with a terse nod and nervous smile. He had found Shoanish armour and a scimitar from somewhere, both a fraction too large, and the resulting combination was absurd, yet undeniably a little impressive. Did his presence mean Kalyxis was close? Yes, there she was – and despite the press upon the walls, her small troop had a portion entirely to themselves.

I looked away before she could notice me in return and said, “Good morning, Mayor Estrada. Or is it Commander Estrada today?”

“Hello Damasco,” Estrada said. Her face was gaunt, her eyes dark; I had no doubt she’d spent every minute of the night at Alvantes’s bedside. “Call me whatever you find easiest.”

A tempting offer under better circumstances. Instead I asked, “How’s Alvantes?”

“Better,” she replied. “He’s awake, and talking. I think he’d have been up here with a sword if only he could stand.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I agreed. Then, hesitantly, I added, “And Saltlick? Is he...”

“Gone. The giants are gone, Easie. They left just after dawn.”

“Oh.” Some part of me hadn’t quite believed he’d go through with it – that Saltlick would choose to end the journey we’d begun so long ago without me. “That’s that, then. For the best, like you said. That they weren’t here for this, I mean.”

But Estrada’s attention had moved on from me. She was leaning forward to stare down into the street beyond the walls – and though the act seemed risky when arrows were likely to be pouring from that direction at any minute, I realised others were doing the same.

There was something irresistible in the wave of murmured exclamations running back and forth along the walls. I pressed into a gap between Estrada and Navare and spied over the battlements. At first, I couldn’t see much that I hadn’t noticed before; only the desolate ruins of the Suburbs and far too many soldiers to number. “What
is
it?” I asked. “What’s happening?”

“Be
quiet
, Damasco,” Estrada said. “The King...”

I saw then where she was looking. Along one of the wider streets, one of the very few in the suburbs that were paved, a palanquin was approaching. It was borne on the shoulders of four men who, if I hadn’t been witness to the real thing, I would probably have described as giants. In front and behind rode a dozen riders, their armour as ornate as any lady’s finest jewellery.

The palanquin finished its slow journey in the street below us and its titanic bearers laid it down, without apparent strain. Two of the riders dismounted, one moving to open a door carved with the royal heron insignia while the other held their horses.

Estrada had been right. Out stepped Panchessa, dressed lavishly, and even wearing a sword at his hip. The riders that were still mounted hurried to shield their monarch from attack – not that anyone on our side was showing much interest in making one. This would be the first time the majority of Altapasaedans had ever seen their king, and despite what his arrival portended, the mood seemed more curious than fearful.

Panchessa waited until silence fell. It didn’t take long, and when it came it was a hush deep as an ocean, in which a mouse’s flatulence would have sounded like a house collapsing. Amidst that unnatural calm, Panchessa’s voice sounded stronger and more commanding than it had the night before. “Altapasaedans,” he said, “open your gates to me.”

“The day the frozen hells catch fire,” muttered Navare, close to my ear. Estrada said nothing.

And me? I was caught by a single, overpowering thought. It had seemingly come from nowhere – yet as soon as it had arrived, I’d realised it had been building for days. “This doesn’t make sense,” I whispered.

No one responded – but then I hadn’t been speaking to anyone except myself. Now that it was out however, now that my brain was working, I felt as if I’d woken from a long stupor.

“We have to do what he says,” I said, “we have to open the gates.”

Estrada’s head snapped round. Her expression was somewhere between surprise and infuriation. “We have to do nothing of the sort.”

“Listen to me,” I told her, and this time my voice was urgent. “Estrada, listen to me now, if it’s the only time you ever do. There’s one way left we can save this city – and it relies on you opening those gates right now.”

“If we open the gates,” Estrada said, “there may never be another chance to listen to anything you say, Damasco.”

“No! Don’t you see?” I was growing frantic; I strove to check myself. “Estrada, it’s the only way.”

I knew what I said was true. Because as I’d looked at Panchessa, there in the street with his vast army at his back, I had tried to see a terrifying despot, a bloody-handed warlord intend on tearing down our city brick by brick – yet all I’d actually seen was an ailing old man.

With that realisation, memories of the last night’s conversation had come back clearly into my mind. Malekrin might not have been able to hear what Panchessa had said, but I had – and though I hadn’t understood at the time, I did now. Panchessa could have levelled Altapasaeda a dozen times, had he wanted to; if he’d been determined enough, there was no punishment he couldn’t have inflicted, no enemy he couldn’t have revenged himself upon.

“Estrada,” I said, “what were you plotting with Ondeges, back when we were fleeing from the Shoanish fleet? No... don’t tell me, I know.”

“But it wouldn’t have worked,” she said, exasperated. “Panchessa would never have agreed, let alone Kalyxis. And Malekrin?”

“They will now,” I told her. “Because there’s no other choice. It’s the only thing Panchessa cares about anymore, don’t you see? Estrada, please, trust me on this... Give the order or we’re all going to die here.”

For a long moment, her dark eyes held mine, and I could read every emotion there, clear as day. I saw trepidation, doubt, even fear – not for herself, but for those who had gathered here, the people who had placed their lives in her care. I could see what the gamble I was so glibly arguing for actually meant to her, the hideous burden of it. And with that, all my certainty vanished.

I was about to tell her I was wrong, that I was the last person she should be listening to – but I was too late. “Do what his highness says!” she cried ringingly. “Unbarricade the gates!”

There was surprisingly little resistance to our dramatic about-face from the gathered folk of Altapasaeda. No one commented on the fact that one minute Estrada had been ready to fight for this gate to the last man, woman or child, and now here she was opening it simply because Panchessa had asked her to. I put it down to the fact that none of them had much wanted to fight, and certainly not against their king; whatever was happening now, it at least offered the slim hope of an alternative.

With a crowd of Altapasaedans working in concert, it took mere minutes before the last scrap of barricade was wrenched away. Beneath, the heavily patched gates looked like a patchwork quilt of wood. They creaked in grating protest as they were hauled wide.

I’d assumed Panchessa would climb back into his palanquin, and enter accompanied by his full escort. Instead, he crossed the short distance on foot, with a mere dozen men at his back. It might not stop his army pouring after in his wake, but it seemed a small concession at least.

Estrada responded in kind. She’d called Malekrin over and, despite the resistance obvious in his face, he had hurried to join us. Though many of Mounteban’s former cronies had made efforts to catch her eye, however, she had carefully overlooked them. Kalyxis, too, she’d studiedly ignored, and I couldn’t but notice how Navare and his men had moved to discreetly bar her path.

Thus it was that the party waiting just beyond the gatehouse consisted of three people only: Estrada, Malekrin and me. I’d never felt so conspicuous in my life; the expectation of the nearby crowds was like a weight pressing from all sides.

“Good morning, your highness,” said Estrada, as Panchessa stepped from the shadow of the gatehouse. She gave a deep bow that Malekrin and I hurried to emulate.

“Is this a fit delegation to welcome a king?” asked Panchessa. “A woman, a bastard and,” – he eyed me – “some sort of street vagabond?”

“I felt,” replied Estrada calmly, “that when we have so little to offer and even less to negotiate with, this was appropriate. A show of weakness, if you like.”

“At least you appreciate your position,” Panchessa observed.

“We do,” Estrada agreed. “If you choose to pit your armies against ours, we can’t hope to win. But this man, Easie Damasco, has an alternative to offer, and I hope for all our sakes that you’ll hear it.”

Before I could sputter that I’d never intended to do any talking, let alone alternative-offering, Panchessa’s gaze had swung to consider me – and every thought froze in my head. “You were with my grandson last night,” he noted. “And haven’t I seen your face before that?”

Actually, it’s not so long ago that you ordered my death
, I managed to refrain from saying. “I seem to have a knack for finding myself in the wrong places at the wrong times,” I pointed out instead.

Panchessa nodded. “I’ve known such men,” he said. “Trouble, every one of them. Go on then, Easie Damasco, speak your proposal.”

I gulped thickly. Everything that had seemed so clear a few minutes ago was now just a soup of half-formed ideas, each foolish in its own right. I tried to hone on in something definite, something I felt sure of. “King Panchessa,” I said, “I don’t believe you came here to punish the people of Altapasaeda.”

“Is that right?” Panchessa asked. “Will you tell me, then, why I marched my armies across two lands, if not to put down a rebellion?”

“I think you came because you’re afraid of what your legacy will be.”

It wasn’t what I’d meant to say, or how I’d meant to say it, but it was too late – and Panchessa’s expression was blacker than thunderclouds. “
Afraid
?” he said.

“Your sons are dead; you have no heir,” I told him, wincing at each word. “The Senate in Pasaeda is close to rebellion, Shoan is openly at arms, and now the Castoval is slipping away too. I think
that’s
why you came here... to make sure you left a mark on the world, even if it was stamped in blood.”

Panchessa’s face was contorted with fury now. He raised a trembling hand, beckoned to one of his men. I heard an all-too-familiar hiss – the snake’s breath of steel slipping free of a scabbard.

I was supposed to be stopping a massacre. All I’d done was hasten it. I would be first to die, and it might even be a relief – because for whatever brief time remained to me, the deaths of thousands would be on my conscience.

But if that was the case, shouldn’t I die as I’d lived? My mother had always warned me I’d talk my way onto a funeral pyre; here was my opportunity to prove her right. “Then,” I went on hurriedly, “you saw a better way – a chance to keep your line on the throne of Ans Pasaeda. Only, that didn’t work out either. Because your grandson, frankly, is every bit as bloody-minded as his father and grandparents.”

All my attention was caught up in searching Panchessa’s face for something besides anger, but I could sense what was happening around us, as clearly as if I’d been watching it. One word from their king and his men would be hacking us to pieces. One cry from Estrada, and Navare would fling himself into the fray. And close on their heels would come the entire Pasaedan army and half the population of Altapasaeda.

“King Panchessa,” I said, with a firmness I barely felt, “Malekrin won’t ever agree to be some king in training. But Altapasaeda has a palace sitting empty, and he
might
agree to fill it... at least for a while. Say, what, five years? That’s a mayoral term here in the Castoval. It’s not long, I know. Then again, he may find he warms to the job. Maybe the people will want him to stay.”

I’d spoken with all the passion I could muster. I’d presented my argument as clearly as my garbled thoughts would allow. Yet Panchessa still looked furious. Behind him, his men still had their swords drawn.

I had his attention, though; it felt as if his gaze should have been scorching cavities through my skull and on into the stones of the city beyond. And surely that counted for something, the undivided attention of a king?

I’d never been much of a thief. I’d failed at becoming a hero. But my tongue had scathed warlords and put down tyrants, had rattled guard captains and toyed with giants – and I couldn’t let it fail me now.

I closed my eyes and opened them, held Panchessa’s eye – and there the words were, waiting in my mouth. They weren’t insults, or mockery, but they were the truth. “Malekrin’s a good boy, your highness,” I said. “He’d be a good prince. And having him watching over this city, watching over this land, would be a fine legacy... far better than the alternative.”

By then, I was no longer expecting an answer – at least, not one that wasn’t the order to cut me down where I stood. So I nearly jumped for shock when Panchessa said, “And what of Ans Pasaeda? You’d have me leave my land without a king?”

“That’s for Ans Pasaeda to decide,” I said. “You can’t force Malekrin to be king in your place. But if you ask him, he might do this.”

Panchessa looked at Malekrin then. “Will you? Is
this
what you want?”

“If Alvantes and I helped you?” put in Estrada quickly. “If Commander Ondeges were to resume his role? If between us we carried some of the burden, until you felt you were ready?”

By then, we were all looking at Malekrin – and I could see him shrinking from our gaze, could tell how badly he wanted to flee. Only then, far too late, did I realise how much better it would have been to convince him before I put my proposal to Panchessa; that there was every chance he’d refuse and condemn us all.

But perhaps I should have had more faith. Because, for all the half-buried panic in his eyes, Malekrin hardly hesitated as he said, “I’ll do it. If it saves more bloodshed, if it keeps this city safe – I’ll do it.”

I couldn’t be certain, for it was the briefest flicker, but I thought I saw something lift from Panchessa’s face then: a layer of weariness and pain slipping free. “Then,” he said, “I wish you luck, grandson.”

“Thank you, your highness,” replied Malekrin softly.

Panchessa nodded, once, as though acknowledging some sentiment that had passed unspoken between them. Then he said, “I will speak to my people now.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he strode past us, to a point where he could be seen clearly from the walls. He looked around appraisingly, took in the gathered men, women and children, their hotchpotch weapons and their makeshift armour. He cleared his throat – and for a moment, I thought the short cough might turn into a choking fit, for he pressed a palm hard to his chest.

The moment passed. Panchessa took one more deep breath and cried, “People of Altapasaeda. It has been suggested to me, by a young man I have some measure of respect for, that your lives might be better spent than as fodder in a war not of your choosing. And if that fact might have meant little to me a week ago, now I find myself swayed. Therefore, I offer you peace... and to my grandson Malekrin, I grant the princeship of Altapasaeda. He may not want it, but a little responsibility will do him good. Let him see firsthand the trials of wielding power.”

Panchessa paused, then, gathered himself – and once again, his face darkened with the threat of anger. “However, all of this rests upon one condition: the woman named Kalyxis must leave your city now, and reclaim the force she has let loose in my lands. This is not open to dispute. I will not have invaders marching upon Ans Pasaedan soil. I brought an army to your walls, Altapasaedans, and I can do so again.”

For all his tough words, Panchessa’s voice had been fading throughout, the threat an outburst of coughing threading his speech like worms through old wood. Lifting his gaze one last time, he said, more firmly, “That’s it. You have been spared, Altapasaedans. Use your freedom wisely.”

Then Panchessa turned and, without another word, walked back the way he had come.