Forin joined them. ‘Will someone help me get this damned breastplate off?’ he said. ‘I can’t breathe in it.’ The armour was covered with deep dents, and there was a gash across the back where the metal had split. Once Tarantio and Vint eased the breastplate clear, Forin stripped off his shirt. His upper body was covered in bruises, and there was
a shallow cut on his shoulder. ‘I’m not looking forward to going through that again,’ he grumbled, sitting down on a broken wall.
‘You fought well, big man,’ said Vint. ‘I think you killed three of them.’
‘Two. Tarantio took the last. But I marked a few too.’ He looked up at Karis. ‘You think they’ll come back today?’
‘Men wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘The generals would get together and rethink their strategy. They are not men, however.’
‘Do you have another fiendish plan for them?’ asked the giant.
‘No,’ Karis admitted. ‘Send for me if they charge again.’ With that she turned and strode away, the dog Stealer padding alongside her.
‘She’s not much on celebration, is she?’ remarked Ozhobar.
As the day wore on, and the Daroth remained in their camp, an air of jubilation swept through the city. The invincible Daroth had been turned back by the strength and courage of the soldiers, and by the strategic brilliance of Karis. Crowds formed outside the palace, cheering her name.
Inside, Karis lay in a hot bath with Stealer lying at the edge, looking quizzically at his adopted mistress. Her thoughts were many and confused. Far from jubilation, she felt a sense of panic – almost of loss. It had begun when she had seen Necklen hanging from the rooftop; the old man meant more to her than she had realized. Then, when Forin charged in with his men, and she saw them cut down, one after another. With each one that died, a part of herself faded. War and death.
She was suddenly tired of both. And yet this was just the beginning. The Daroth would be wary now; they would circle the city, looking for a weak spot, then launch another attack … and another. Even if Corduin held, what would be gained? There were seven cities of the Daroth, and their power was enormous.
Karis sighed, then ducked her head under the warm water, washing her dark hair. ‘What is it for?’ she asked Stealer. Cocking his head he gazed back at her. ‘Is there a point to it all?’
‘A drowning man doesn’t stop to think about whether the sea has a reason for being,’ said a voice. ‘He just swims and fights for life.’
‘What are you doing here, Forin?’
‘I came to talk, but I’d just as soon have a bath.’ Stripping off his bloodstained clothes, the red-bearded giant moved down the marble steps and sank down into the water. ‘Ah, but that is good.’
‘I don’t want company,’ she said, but there was no force of conviction in her voice.
‘Yes, you do. You’ve lived and breathed the Daroth threat for weeks now – scheming, planning, worrying. And all for this day. Now it is over. And all the tension of those dark days is settling over you like a black mist.’
‘I’m sick of it,’ she said. ‘Sick of seeing death and violence.’
‘You are right to be sick of it, it is a sickening business. As to the point . . . ? Ask the living. There are crowds outside chanting your name . . . well, not exactly your name. “The Ice Queen”, they are calling you now. They think you are a deliverer sent by the gods. Better than the “Whore of War”, anyway.’
‘I don’t care what they think.’
‘You should; they are what this is all about: the bakers
and the carpenters, the dreamers and the poets. But you won’t see that today, will you, Karis?’
‘What is it you want from me?’ she asked, rising from the water and climbing the steps. Servants had left thick towels by the bath side and Karis wrapped one around her torso, using a second to dry her hair. ‘Well?’ she persisted.
‘I don’t know. How did the hot water feel upon your skin?’