There was a wooden wall behind him, so he scrambled closer to shelter from the wind and noticed a man next to him, his ankle shackled to another post, and a bruise covering half of his face.
Corthie nodded to him. ‘Did you need broken-in too?’
The man stared at him. He had a thick woollen cloak round him, and a fur-lined hat. ‘I thought you were going to freeze to death.’
‘A bit of cold doesn’t bother me,’ Corthie said. He touched his face, trying to gauge the extent of the damage. His left eye was still closed, and there was blood matted into his hair. He nodded. ‘Nothing broken at least. Do they always beat up new arrivals?’
The man shook his head. ‘Only the ones they think will be trouble.’
‘I threatened to crush the governor’s skull; does that count?’
‘Yeah,’ the man laughed. ‘I’m Achan. Who are you?’
Corthie paused for a moment. Should he try to hide his identity? He remembered what the governor had said about Marcus sending soldiers if he found out he was still alive.
‘I have people after me,’ he said, ‘and no offence, but I don’t know you.’
‘That’s fair, I guess,’ said Achan. ‘Did you arrive this morning?’
‘Aye.’
‘I didn’t see you get off the boat with the others.’
‘No, I was kept separate from them. Wait, have you been out here all day?’
‘Yeah. I was caught trying to smuggle a message onto a departing ship. This is what they do when the prison’s full; they stick us out here in the cold.’
‘Is everyone here prisoners; apart from the guards?’
‘Most, though there are a few with debts who are here to earn gold. There are folk from all over the City in Tarstation, and every few weeks another boat-load is brought in to replace the ones who have died.’
‘How do they die?’
‘Some freeze to death in the icefields, others drown in the tarpits. A few are beaten to death by the guards every now and again, if they want to remind us who’s in charge. Where are you from, no-name?’
‘You mean what tribe do I belong to?’
Achan nodded.
‘You go first.’
‘Fine,’ said Achan. ‘I’m a Hammer.’
Corthie squinted. ‘Really? I half-believed they were mythical. I saw the high walls around the territory of the Scythes and the Hammers, but this is the first time I’ve actually met one.’
Achan smiled. ‘So, you’re a Blade? Figures, from the size of you. Looks like we’re enemies.’
‘Why?’
‘Are you completely clueless? It’s the Blades who keep the Scythes and Hammers oppressed. We’re slaves; those walls you saw are to keep us in, not to keep the greenhides or anyone else out. Have you any idea what goes on behind those walls? The misery, the cruelty?’
Corthie shook his head.
‘This is exactly what’s wrong with the City. The Hammers make half of the goods for Auldan and Medio, and no one has the first idea of the conditions we live under, and no one cares. Except Princess Yendra, if the stories are true. She was the only one who ever gave a rat’s ass about us. The Evaders think they have it bad? Well, they should see how we live. At least they’re free to walk the streets.’
‘This has all been kept from me,’ said Corthie. ‘I didn’t know any of this.’
Achan raised an eyebrow. ‘Come on. The Blades have been doing this to us for a thousand years.’
‘Aye, but I’m not really a Blade.’
‘Show me your arm.’
Corthie lifted his left sleeve to reveal the Blade tattoo, and Achan leaned in closer to read the inked lettering.
‘Wolfpack?’ he frowned, then his eyes widened. ‘Are you a champion?’
‘Aye, but shush. Damn it, I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Marcus and Kano would kill me if they knew I was still alive. Gadena always said my big mouth was likely to get me in trouble.’
Achan’s eyes darkened. ‘Marcus and Kano want you dead? Why?’
‘They’re trying to frame me for someone’s murder.’
‘And how do you feel about them, truthfully?’
Corthie shrugged. ‘I hate them. Give me five minutes alone with either and I’d rip their heads off.’
Achan nodded. ‘Alright, I’ll keep your secret. Maybe we’re not enemies after all. I got sent here because I kept causing problems for the Blades. I have a big mouth too.’
He silenced as a group of guards approached.
‘On your feet, you two,’ the officer said.
Corthie and Achan stood, and guards released their shackles from the iron posts, while others covered the prisoners with their crossbows.
They were led away from the harbour and into a network of rough tracks, where low, wooden shacks lay on either side. They stopped off at a store depot, and Corthie was issued with warm, though tattered and filthy clothing, then they were taken past a guard post and into one of the low shacks.
‘Prisoner Achan,’ said the officer; ‘the governor has told me to inform you that you are being relocated to this accommodation block, as you have proved a disruptive presence. And you,’ he said to Corthie, ‘welcome to your new home. Work begins tomorrow.’
They were taken along a narrow passageway, where doors led off on either side. The officer checked a document, then opened one of the doors. Inside were three bunk beds, two of which were already occupied by four prisoners. Corthie and Achan entered, and the door was closed and locked behind them.
Four sets of eyes glowered at them from the shadows.
‘Not that asshole Achan,’ growled one. ‘And who’s the freak?’
Corthie rolled his shoulders. ‘Shall we get this over with now, lads? Anyone who touches me or Achan will be eating their own teeth. All at once, or one at a time; come at me any way you want.’
One of the men gripped the side of the bunk bed and launched himself at Corthie. The champion smiled, dodged and slammed his fist into the man’s mouth, dropping him to the floor. The others stared, but didn’t move.
‘Are we done?’ Corthie said.
No one spoke.
‘Excellent.’ Corthie eyed the empty beds. ‘I’m taking the bottom bunk.’
Achan glanced at up at him, his eyes wide. ‘Sure, no-name. Anything you say.’
Corthie stepped over the unconscious prisoner and lay down onto the bed. He closed his eyes. The mattress stank, and had hard lumps that dug into his skin, but compared to the hold of the ship it felt like luxury.
‘Who are you?’ said one of the other prisoners.
Corthie didn’t answer, his mind already drifting off into sleep.
Chapter 3
A Last Lesson
Tara, Auldan, The City – 17th Marcalis 3419
‘Not the face!’ cried her grandmother as Emily dodged a blow from the wooden sword.
Emily lunged out at her sparring partner, and he parried, the two swords clacking together.
‘In fact,’ said her grandmother, ‘that’s enough for today. Your mother would kill me if you went home all bruised.’
‘But I’m only just getting warmed up,’ Emily said, keeping her sword raised, ’and it’s my last lesson.’