I followed the line of Brasti’s arm and saw a one-legged man some distance away, holding himself up with a crutch. He watched us with one eye, the other being covered by a patch. ‘How exactly is he supposed to face off against an Avarean warrior?’ Brasti asked.
I wondered the same thing myself, but something about the man was bothering me, and not just his infirmity. Despite missing an eye and a limb, he held himself like a soldier and his arms were still showing wiry muscles that defied obvious age and years of rough living. When he caught me staring, he turned away and ducked into his tent.
‘We should go,’ Kest said. ‘Best get inside and report to Valiana as quickly as possible.’
I nodded, but something was keeping me rooted there. I thought at first it was the paupers’ army arrayed before us – Saints, how long had it taken Valiana’s envoys to collect even these few shabby volunteers? With his four hundred Shan steel-armed and Greatcoat-and Avarean-trained warriors, Morn would cut through this lot in an afternoon. And there were dozens of other warbands in Avares, each with their own horde of skilled fighters.
‘Come on,’ Brasti said, ‘let’s go and see the Realm’s Protector so I can ask her personally how she expects a one-legged, one-eyed man to help her “protect” the realm.’
‘She wouldn’t,’ I said, and suddenly found myself dismounting and walking towards the tents.
‘Falcio?’
‘Wait here and keep an eye on the boy,’ I said, and headed straight for the tent I’d seen the man enter. No recruitment envoy, no matter how desperate, would conscript an ageing, one-legged man to be a soldier.
*
The tent looked empty at first glance, but only because the old man was hiding himself just to the right of the entrance. The flash of a curved dagger flitted into my peripheral vision as he brought it up to my neck. Without hesitation I dropped my own weapon and reached up to grab his wrist. He was a strong devil, but he needed one arm to hold onto his crutch so it took me only a moment to twist the blade from his hand.
‘Sorry,’ he said, letting the knife fall to the ground. ‘Couldn’t take a chance it might be one of them bastards from Luth come to make trouble again.’
‘Which bastards would those be?’ I asked.
He grimaced and reached up a hand to scratch at his scraggly beard. ‘Fucking Ducal guardsmen. A couple of ’em come through once in a while looking to see if there’s any contraband they can “confiscate”.’
As if I didn’t already have enough reasons to want to pummel Pastien’s guards to a pulp. One more thing to deal with later. Keeping an eye on the old man, I knelt down and picked up his knife. ‘You were staring at me,’ I said.
He gave a half-grin that didn’t do anything to make up for the scars on his face that weren’t nearly well enough covered by his beard. ‘Couldn’t help myself, Trattari. You’re pretty damned ugly.’
Despite the crutch, he stood straight-backed, confident, almost commanding. It was his presence, rather than his appearance, that made me recognise him. ‘Well, you don’t look half-bad for a dead man, General Feltock.’
His smile widened. ‘Captain, as you well know. Wondered when you’d figure out it was me, Falcio.’
‘But how—? Duke Perault’s soldiers had you outnumbered four to one.’
Feltock nodded. ‘Aye, and killed every one of my boys,’ he said, an angry edge to his voice. ‘Thought they’d killed me, too.’ He tapped a finger against the patch. ‘Did you know you can survive a crossbow bolt right in the eye?’
‘And the leg?’ I asked.
He looked down and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe the limb was gone. ‘A cut – barely a scratch, really. Got infected.’ He looked back at me. ‘Funny, ain’t it? A wound that should’ve killed me – the shot that convinced Duke Perault’s soldiers that I was already dead – saved my life, and a little nick on my thigh cost me my leg.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘Not half as sorry as you’ll be if you keep looking at me with that pitying expression on your face.’
I was working on a clever reply when suddenly Feltock reached out and grabbed my shoulders with both hands, letting his crutch fall to the ground. ‘Thank you, boy,’ he said, hugging me roughly.
‘For what?’
He looked at me as if I were mad. ‘For her, of course. For -Valiana. You saved her! Despite all that bitch Patriana tried to do, you saved my girl!’ Tears welled in his eyes. ‘The things she’s done . . . becoming Realm’s Protector, facing down a God . . . you even made her a Greatcoat!’
It was quite possibly the first time I’d ever heard him refer to us as anything other than ‘Trattari’. Then it suddenly dawned on me that I wasn’t the person who should be having this reunion. ‘Damn, Feltock, we have to take you to her! She’ll be so happy to—’
He pulled away from me, hopping over to reach down and pick up his crutch. ‘No.’
‘No?’
He used the crutch to help himself back up, refusing my hand. ‘Look at me, Falcio. I’m a broken old man, useless for anything but begging my way from village to village. I won’t have Valiana see me like this.’
‘She wouldn’t care,’ I said. ‘She’d want to . . .’
The deep, unrelenting sorrow in his gaze told me there was no point in pushing him further, and yet I couldn’t help but ask, ‘Why did you come here, Feltock? If you didn’t want her to see you then why—?’
‘So I could see her,’ he replied, and held the tent flap open for me to leave. ‘Just one more time, Falcio. So I could catch a glimpse of our girl from afar and see how bright she shines in all this darkness.’
*
Though it pained me to do so, I did as Feltock asked and kept his presence secret even from the others. I knew Kest would understand, if I’d explained Feltock’s reasoning. Brasti would have listened carefully, nodded his head, and then run off straightaway to tell Valiana. He never did think much of the old tragedies, those stories and plays about honour and dignity. So I kept my silence and made vague excuses as I rejoined the others and we walked our mounts up to the castle where other annoyances awaited our attention.
‘You’ll have to wait,’ a man in the brown livery of Domaris warned, gesturing to his fellows to be ready in case we tried to pass. ‘No entrance until our captain—’
Filian started to speak but Brasti blessedly cut him off before the boy could unwittingly draw attention to himself. ‘Oh, for the love of Saint Liza-who-shaves-men’s-backs,’ Brasti swore, ‘not this again.’
One of the Domaris guardsmen looked at us quizzically. ‘Saint who?’
‘Don’t ask,’ I said. ‘And we’re not here to make trouble.’
‘We aren’t?’ Brasti asked.
‘No.’ I turned my gaze back to the guardsman. ‘I just need you to take a message to Aline for me. Tell her—’
My words were cut off as a blur in a blue gown ran past the guardsmen, shouts following close behind. Something soft struck me square in the chest, nearly bowling me over, and it took me a moment to realise that my assailant was a young woman apparently intent on hugging me to death.