“Will you fight with us, Girton?” said Rufra.
I wanted to, more than anything. My eyes darted to my master, small and hurt, trying to force herself to her feet. “I…”
Rufra followed my gaze and bowed his head, then gently placed his gauntleted hand on my arm.
“I understand.” He squeezed my arm and turned, putting one foot in Balance’s stirrup.
“Wait!” I called. He turned, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Wait, only a moment.” By now his Riders surrounded us. I could feel their impatience in the air and hear it in the growling and hissing of their mounts. I found what I was looking for quickly, shining in the mud: my blades. I limped over and retrieved them. “Take my blades, Rufra.” I placed them in his hands. “You seem to have lost yours. You will need a good blade.”
He grinned, then noticed the wording on the longsword where the binding had fallen away during the fighting.
“Conwy? Girton, these are a king’s weapons.”
“And you are a king,” I said. We locked stares for a second, then he looked away and nodded before turning back to me. He placed the Conwy stabsword in my hand.
“Keep this,” he said, his voice coming close to breaking as he closed my fingers around the hilt. “And know where you find its twin, you find a brother.” Then he pulled himself up into Balance’s saddle, unable to look at me.
Rufra bent forward in his saddle with his head enveloped in the smoky clouds of his breath and he took two long deep lungfuls of air, as if filling himself with courage for the task to come. Then he stood in his stirrups, lofted his Conwy blade and pulled on his mount’s rein so it turned in a tight circle that allowed him to look each of the mounted men and women around him in the eye. You would not have known he was only fourteen. He seemed to age five years and the nervousness and melancholy that had followed him in the squireyard was replaced by a ferocious smile.
“Today,” shouted Rufra,“a king will be made in that castle.” He pointed his blade at Maniyadoc. “If you will take up a sword for the dream of a fair land and a good king, then I say…” He pulled the rein harder, and Balance screamed and reared. The light of Festival’s fires flashed from his Conwy blade. “I say,” he shouted again, “raise the bonemount and follow me! Raise the bonemount! Follow me now!” Then he slammed down his visor and the air filled with the thunder of heavy cavalry as he rode out to make his name famous.
King Rufra ap Vthyr
My brother.
My friend.
Epilogue
You will, of course, know a version of what happened next. Rufra stormed the castle and, if you believe common gossip, it was he who murdered Queen Adran and King Doran ap Mennix, though I swear it was not so.
My master and I left the lands of Maniyadoc, running from the ghosts of assassins we never saw but felt sure were always there. We would return, and when we did I found out a curious thing that makes me shiver whenever I think of that looming black castle. I spoke to a man who had been a slave. He was old, blind and free by then but what he told me had the ring of truth. He said that Maniyadoc had never had a priest of Xus.
That ancient castle is where I started along the road to adulthood and it would draw me back again and again, no matter what I wished. My name would never appear in the history books; I would never sit for a portrait and my actions would be known to only a few. Nonetheless, those actions would change the Tired Lands for ever.
Whether that was for good or ill? Well, I am still unsure.
I am old now, and when I look at the times I lived through—knowing what was to come for myself, my master and for Rufra—I ask myself, could I have acted any differently?
The answer?
Though I wish I could have saved Drusl, and fading memories of her face and a night spent together in the warm dark are all I have left of her. Though I know the strife and pain I would be put through. Though I know the price that would be paid in death, sorrow and betrayal. It is still always no. The Tired Lands are cruel, and much blood was spilt but, for a while, the tiredness was banished from Maniyadoc. It was a wonderful time—though far too short—and I am proud of the part I played in it.
When I think of Rufra ap Vthyr, I always think of him as young and full of hope, at that moment when I had given him his famous Conwy blade—his mount rearing, his shining sword aloft and his face alight with the thought of action.
We would meet again of course. And death, as it always was, would be the dog snapping at my heels.
So ends the first confession of the murderer, Girton Club-Foot.
Acknowledgements
Writing, though it’s done alone, is not actually a very lonely business and I’m indebted to so many people that a comprehensive list would be longer than the book itself—so if you read through this list and think “I can’t believe he forgot me!” then a) you probably know me well enough to work out it’s rubbishness on my part and b) let me know; I’ll put you in the next one.
So, on with it. First off, thanks to my agent, Ed “The Wilson” Wilson of Johnson and Alcock, for taking this (and me) on and letting me just write while he did all the boring stuff. You’re a gent, Ed, and a pleasure to deal with. Thanks to everyone at Orbit and my editor, Jenni Hill, for helping me focus the thing down into something people will (hopefully) want to read and for not being scary and definitely not a miserabilist (it was always going to appear some-where). I also owe a debt of gratitude to Rob Dinsdale whose advice on a previous project went, in no small way, to setting me up for this one. Micheala and Stephen Deas who gave me a leg up when it was much needed. As did Simon Spanton whose quiet and timely advice is, and has always been, welcome. And Mathilda Imlah, a long chat with whom about an entirely different book ended up being the genesis of Age of Assassins.
Then there’s the people who read various versions and offered their advice and opinion on what worked and what didn’t, so Fiona Pollard, Matt Broom (much goodminton, never badminton), Marcy Hindson, Aidan Williamson, Dylan Godfrey, Alasdair Stuart and Dr. Richard Clegg, thank you for your time, your positiveness and your patience with my constant questions.