THE CITY OF SOLAT
The fall from the second-floor window of the inn played against my strengths. Kest was inhumanly coordinated; he could probably fall from the top of a tower without hurting himself. Brasti was unbelievably lucky and managed to hit a wide awning above the rear entrance. He slid down to the cobblestoned courtyard. I was neither agile nor lucky, so I just kind of fell. Hard.
As I rose to my feet I saw eight men arrayed in front of us, all armed with pikes. I hate pikes almost as much as I hate magic. Twelve feet long with a sturdy wooden shaft and a wicked iron spearhead, properly grounded, a pike had enough stopping power to take down a Knight charging in on an armoured warhorse. At the same time, it was a simple enough weapon that even an amateur could wield it effectively in battle. And the more men you had with pikes, the easier it was to take out a group of swordsmen, regardless of their skill.
But that wasn’t what was bothering me. What was bothering me was that I hadn’t heard any bells. When the city constables of Solat patrol the streets, they go in pairs, and that way, if they discover a crime and it looks like trouble, one of them can go and ring one of the huge bells placed throughout the city to call for more men. There’s a code, with each district allocated a specific number of chimes, so that reinforcements know where to go. But I hadn’t heard any bells ringing, so I was beginning to suspect these men were specifically looking for us.
‘Eight men here with pikes and two above with crossbows, Falcio,’ Kest said, slipping his sword from its sheath. ‘I believe this might just be a trap.’
‘Do try to keep the enthusiasm out of your voice, Kest,’ Brasti said as he looked longingly towards the edge of the courtyard where his bows were strapped to the saddle of his horse.
‘You’ll never make it,’ the constable opposite him said, smiling so wide it made his helmet tilt.
Brasti grumbled and reluctantly drew his sword.
A voice above us shouted, ‘The pike or the crossbow, Trattari: which would you prefer?’
I looked up at the man leaning out of the window of Tremondi’s bedroom. The collar of his leather armour displayed a single gold circle, marking him as a senior constable. ‘If you put down your swords, I can promise you a relatively painless death,’ he said. ‘That’s more consideration than you gave Lord Tremondi.’
‘You can’t seriously believe we killed Tremondi, can you?’ I shouted back.
‘Of course I can. It says “Greatcoats” right here, and in the Lord Caravaner’s own blood.’
‘Saint Felsan-who-weighs-the-world,’ I swore. ‘Why in all the hells would we kill our own employer?’
The senior constable shrugged. ‘Who knows with your kind? Aren’t you Trattari fond of seeking revenge for the death of King Paelis? Perhaps Tremondi supported the Dukes when they removed your King? Or maybe it’s simpler than that: he caught you stealing his money and you killed him to keep him from revealing how the so-called “Greatcoats” have become nothing better than brigands and thieves.’
‘Except his money’s still sitting there right beside him,’ Brasti shouted back, giving me a dirty look.
‘Hmm? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Trattari,’ the senior constable said, smiling. ‘There’s no money here – none at all.’
The men in front of us laughed. Evidently thievery was only a problem in Solat when it was someone other than the constables doing it.
‘You’re doing it again, Falcio,’ Kest said quietly.
‘What’s that?’
‘Talking when you should be fighting.’
I pulled my rapier from its sheath and raised the collar of my greatcoat, hoping the bone plates sewn inside would protect my neck. Kest was right; there wasn’t anything we could say now that was likely to get us out of this mess.
‘How would you rate our chances?’ I asked him.
‘We’ll win,’ he replied, ‘but I’ll get wounded, probably in the back. You’ll get hit by one of the crossbow bolts and likely die. Brasti will almost certainly be killed by one of the pikemen, once they get past the weak defence he puts up with his sword.’
‘You’ve been a real joy to work with, Kest, you know that?’ Brasti said, shifting his guard.
Kest rolled his right shoulder, preparing for the first attack. ‘Blame them – they’re the ones planning to kill you.’
Brasti gave me a look that indicated it wasn’t the constables he blamed. ‘I don’t suppose you have a better plan than just dying?’ he asked as he brought his sword in line with the belly of the guard closest to him.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘We teach them the first rule of the sword.’
One of the guards, the one closest to Kest, tightened his grip on his pike in preparation for the attack and said jeeringly, ‘And what’s that supposed to be, tatter-cloak? Lay down and die, like the traitors you are?’
He was a big man, well-muscled, his broad shoulders perfectly suited to using a pike.
‘No,’ Kest said. ‘The first rule of the sword is—’
His words were cut off as the guard jabbed his pike with the speed of a metal ball flying from the end of a pistol.
‘—put the pointy end into the other man,’ Kest finished.
No one else moved or spoke. The exchange had been so fast that only the final result was visible. The back of Kest’s left hand was now pressed against the haft of the pike, and the point was deflected safely behind him. His body was extended in a tight forward lunge and the point of his sword was six inches deep into the constable’s stomach.
With a gentleness that belied the nature of the encounter, Kest slid his blade from the guard’s belly and watched as he slumped to the ground.
For a moment – just a moment – the constables in front of us looked so shocked that I thought they might actually back away. But then I heard the metallic twang of a crossbow firing and felt the impact against my back. As the sting spread throughout my body I thanked Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears that the bone plates had kept the bolt from piercing my body. It still hurt like the red death, though.
‘Damned coats,’ I heard the senior constable mutter from the second-floor window.
‘Under the awning,’ I shouted, and the three of us took up positions beneath the wide cloth awning above the back door of the tavern.
‘This won’t stop crossbow bolts,’ Brasti pointed out.