They shifted on the deck, and Corthie took a look at the way they had come. The sea was dark and still, and littered with huge chunks of floating ice, many higher than the mast of the ship.
‘We’re close to the icefields,’ said the agent. ‘There is nothing but darkness and cold that way.’
‘Which way is the City?’
‘The other way. The ship turned in the night to enter the bay, and sailed sunward for a couple of hours.’
Corthie stared iceward. ‘Has anyone ever crossed the icefields?’
The agent shook his head. ‘There is no “crossing”; it’s impossible. After another hundred miles or so, there is nothing but complete darkness and the low temperature would kill you in minutes. It’s the same sunward. If one travels across the marshes opposite Port Sanders for a hundred miles, there is nothing but desert, and the sun and heat get stronger and stronger until life becomes impossible.’
‘So everything lives on a narrow strip between the ice and the desert?’
‘Yes. I assume this is different from… wherever you hail from?’
‘Very.’
The captain joined them and gestured to the gangway. A few sailors paused from their work to watch as Corthie walked to the slim plank. Standing on the pier were a dozen people dressed in thick furs and cloaks, their faces protected from the bitter wind by scarves. Their eyes tracked him as he walked down from the ship, their hands resting on their weapons. The agent and guards followed him down to the pier, and Corthie swayed for a moment as his balance adjusted to the feeling of solid ground.
The agent spoke to the people gathered on the pier, and they set off again, striding down the wooden walkway amid the freezing wind. The two Reaper guards kept their crossbows pointed at Corthie’s back as they left the pier. To their right, a boat was being loaded with large barrels stained black from tar and oil, while the workers were being watched by armed guards. They left the harbour front and entered a network of rough, makeshift tracks that glistened with frost. A small handful of the buildings were made of stone, and the agent led Corthie towards one of the largest.
They entered the building, passing more guards, and Corthie was taken to a small cell on the ground floor. The guards pushed him in and locked the barred entrance. The two Reapers that had accompanied him on the voyage began to relax, their faces lightening as the agent strode away.
‘You heading back home, then, lads?’ Corthie said to them as he stood by the bars.
One glanced away, but the other nodded. ‘Yeah, praise Malik. The sooner we get out of this dump the better.’
‘Don’t speak to him,’ said the other Reaper; ‘you know our orders.’
‘But we’ve delivered him, at last. The hard part will be not telling the wife where I’ve been for the last twenty days when we get back.’
Corthie smiled. ‘Tell her the truth.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said the guard; ‘I’m just going to tell her that we were escorting the most wanted criminal in the City, who everyone thinks was executed? If Marcus knew you were here, boy, you’d be dead.’
‘But you know I’m innocent, eh? You know it wasn’t me who killed Khora?’
The two guards glanced at each other. Before either could answer, the agent walked back into the room, with another man and more guards.
‘Here he is, Governor,’ said the agent; ‘Corthie Holdfast.’
The man approached, staring at the champion. He shook his head. ‘You’re asking me to risk everything. I won’t be able to keep this a secret for long. Sailors talk.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Salvor’s agent; ‘no one will believe gossip, not after so many are convinced they saw him lie dead in the gardens of Cuidrach Palace. I trust the compensation is adequate?’
‘And I’ll receive the same again when I return to the City at the end of my term?’
‘As long as he’s still alive.’
The governor nodded. ‘Tell your master that I shall do as he asks. I can’t guarantee his survival; the tar sands are dangerous, but I won’t throw his life away.’
They shook hands. The agent gave one last glance towards Corthie, then he and the two Reaper guards left the room. The governor waited until they had gone, then he turned to Corthie.
‘You’re mine now, lad.’
‘And who are you?’
‘I am Governor Dyzack, and as far as you’re concerned I may as well be the god of this town. Do you realise how much I’ve been paid to keep you here? Even if I were to forego the other half of the payment, I would still be a very rich man. In other words, your death would be of very little concern to me. And if word does leak out, and Marcus sends soldiers to hunt you, then I’ll not hesitate to separate your head from your body so they can take it home to show the new prince; do you understand?’
Corthie smiled at him. ‘I’ve killed thousands of greenhides; do you think I’m frightened of you?’ He lifted his hand. ‘You say you’re like a god; did you know that I crushed a god’s skull with this hand? Come a little closer and I’ll happily demonstrate.’
A couple of the governor’s guards snorted.
‘Well then,’ said the governor, ‘it looks like you’ll need broken in first.’ He nodded to the guards. ‘Open the door and beat him. Don’t kill him, but make sure he understands the consequences of threatening me.’
Corthie laughed and rubbed his hands together as the lead soldier unlocked the gate. The champion thrummed his battle-vision, taking in the size and shape of each of the eight approaching guards. They were in leather armour, and each was carrying a two foot stave. Three rushed him, their weapons high, and Corthie sprang forward to meet them. He buried his fist into the first guard’s face as he ducked to avoid a blow. A stave smacked into his shoulder, and he ripped it out of the soldier’s grasp and rammed the butt-end into the man’s nose, breaking it. He wielded the stave himself, catching another guard on the chin as more blows rained down on him. He downed a fourth guard, doubling him over with a blow to his stomach, then a heavy swing caught the side of his head and he saw sparks in his eyes.
More guards had been called, and over a dozen crammed into the cell, surrounding him. Each time his fist connected with one of them they would fall back, slumped to the ground, but he was still weakened from the journey, and his battle-vision powers were sluggish. A fifth guard fell, then a sixth, before Corthie was driven to his knees, his hands raised as the thick staves landed on him from all sides. A hand came too close, and he grabbed it, crushing the man’s fingers in his grasp until he heard him scream.
A stave battered off the back of his head and he fell, blood coming from the wounds on his face. The blows continued to strike him as he lay motionless on the ground.
‘Enough,’ said the governor.
Corthie’s left eye had swollen shut, but he opened his right a crack, and saw seven guards being carried out of the cell. He smiled, then passed out.
He awoke outside, shivering in the freezing cold. The chains connecting his wrists had been removed, but shackles were connecting his left ankle to an iron post that had been driven into the frozen ground. The wind was howling, biting through his thin clothes and he glanced around, trying to get his bearings. To his right, he could see the harbour between the sides of the ramshackle buildings in the way, and the refinery was to his left, filling the dark sky with flames and thick, black smoke.