The Ruthless. Peter Newman

was sent between lives two days ago.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘The Toothsack came with the higher water and attacked Raften. Even though she was injured, our High Lord flew out to meet it.’ There was pride as well as sadness in the woman’s voice. ‘The Toothsack was banished back to the swamp and Raften is safe again. But …’

      She trailed off and the two women became sullen, accusing. If he had only come sooner. If House Sapphire had acted in accordance with the traditions, this could have been avoided.

      ‘Again, I am sorry. Is anyone in residence? I have urgent news.’

      ‘Lady Anuja sits on the throne during the High Lord’s absence. She led a hunt this morning. They have yet to return.’

      ‘I am sorry to have missed it.’ His statement was genuine enough that he saw them soften a little. ‘And another hunt in the High Lord’s lands so soon? Can you tell me the details?’

      ‘Fourboards sent out the call for aid. They made the sacrifice last night and set loose their tributes at sunsrise.’ The guardian shook her head. ‘Six tributes they sent, Lord Vasin. Not three. Not four. Six. Can you believe such a thing?’

      Every hunt required tributes. They were the bait used to lure the things of the Wild out of hiding. Each would bear a light so the hunters could find them, and a fresh cut, so the demons could too. Many tributes did not survive, but those that did were elevated among their peers, any past crimes or failings forgotten. It was one of the ways road-born could come to the attention of the Deathless, and be taken to one of the floating castles as servant or hunter. Alternatively, tributes could enjoy positions of power or influence among their peers.

      Six tributes will be impossible to manage, thought Vasin grimly. They’ll be spread too far, and that much blood will bring every demon from miles around.

      ‘These are strange times,’ he replied.

      ‘Strange indeed!’

      ‘I wonder what they will do if all six survive.’

      ‘Little danger of that I fear, Lord Vasin. The Wild is bold these days.’ Her voice cracked, betraying the fear lurking beneath the words. ‘Never known nothing like it, nor has me mother, nor hers. Have you in your many lives seen this before?’

      He thought about Quiverhive and the Murkers being spat onto the Godroad. He thought of the Scuttling Corpseman sparing his mother, even allowing her to sever its arm and take it as a trophy. They all think she sold us out to the Wild when all along it was Lord Rochant. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not like this.’

      ‘Aye,’ she agreed. ‘These are dark days. Six! It’s just not right.’

      The two guardians grabbed the bottom of the cage as it came down and guided it in. It was a simple design: one edge of the square base had a bench carved into it, another had a set of posts for tying animals to. Vasin stepped inside and the guardians closed the door behind him.

      A signal was given, and the cage began to ascend in slow rhythmic jerks.

      He liked the Rubies. They were direct but in a warm, honest fashion. It was refreshing not to be constantly worrying about how he was coming across, or what it was the other person was really saying. He realized he was looking forward to seeing Lady Anuja again. She was the youngest of her house, like he was, and that gave them a certain understanding. And we both know what it’s like to be out of our depth.

      As the cage got higher, he could see the way the currents became more violent further out. Directly beneath the floating castle was a whirlpool, and he knew that at the bottom there was a crack that led deep into the earth and beyond. From it, alien mists rose, like ethereal hands of purple, yellow and green. Something of the whirlpool’s frenzy caught them, swirling them together, blending the colours briefly before they faded. The further away from the crack they rose, the harder they were to see, and by the time they reached above the level of the swamp, only slight distortions in the air were discernible to the naked eye. It was the essence in the mists that caught the crystals in the base of the castle and kept it buoyant, like a boat, bobbing on invisible waves.

      Because of the interaction between essence mist and whirlpool, the currents spiralled rather than floating straight up. Were it not for the chains that held it in place, the Ruby High Lord’s Castle would be forever spinning. As it was, the castle made a slight twist to the left until the chains tightened, pulling it right again, making it seem to Vasin as if the whole structure were a huge head, subtly shaking in disapproval.

      Servants met him at the top, escorting him to the Chrysalis Chamber, where he could remove his armour. It was always odd to enter the chamber of another Deathless. They were sacred places, where the crystals that made their weapons were grown and shaped. Each chamber had a bond with the Deathless that used it, deepened by time and blood. The Ruby High Lord’s Gardener-smiths muttered to themselves when he arrived, clearly unhappy. It wasn’t ideal for him either, but as he had come alone, without entourage, he had no choice but to endure their moaning.

      Half of the outer walls were made of glass, capturing and focusing the sunslight into the chamber, the other half was studded with rubies that the Gardener-smiths would harvest when ready. A section of the chamber had been hastily curtained off, no doubt to stop him from seeing the new armour they would be growing for the High Lord’s next lifecycle.

      They fear that a glance from a Sapphire might taint the crystals somehow. Gardener-smiths are all the same, so fussy and superstitious. He knew that his own would be most unhappy that his armour was going to be touched by foreign hands.

      For all that, when he stood in the ritual position, they moved quickly enough, and in a way that he recognized, taking each piece of his armour in turn, checking it for damage, before cleaning it and placing it carefully on a stand. Vasin never liked coming out of his armour, or, as he thought of it, coming down. The crystals had his blood in them, and were grown and regrown over the years just as his bodies were. When he wore it, he felt connected to his deeper self, and drew confidence and strength from it. He was elevated literally and spiritually.

      Out of the armour, he felt a lesser being, like he was half-asleep. And when they unstrapped his Sky-legs, he immediately missed the sense of potency in his stride.

      A bath followed, then food, drink and a sleep on scented cushions. Long flights were as exhilarating as they were exhausting. He awoke to a servant singing for permission to bring biscuits and water, and he stayed conscious just long enough to consume them before drifting back to sleep. By the time the message reached him that Lady Anuja had returned and awaited his company, the suns had set, and he felt refreshed.

      He touched the ruby embedded in the nearby wall. It was warm under his fingertips, having bathed in the suns through the day. At his command it began to release the stored sunslight, illuminating the room and giving it a vermillion tint.

      A servant sang for entry and was waved inside, Vasin taking an instant dislike to the way the man’s eyes darted over his things. A slightly irreverent tone of voice, too, no outright rudeness, but unmistakably souring, like a tiny piece of grit buried in a hunk of bread. The servant helped him dress, wrapping the silk tight on his arms, legs and body, before covering him with the long gown of deep blue that he’d brought. He hated that he did not know the servant. It made him feel vulnerable. What if this one is spying? They may just be displaying a fashionable dislike of the Sapphire, but what if they wish me ill? The thought was impossible to shake, particularly when the servant was touching his face with paint, and highlighting his eyes and lips in gold. It would be so simple to kill me. Poison on the face paint. A thrust of their brush into my eyesocket. I wonder if High Lord Yadavendra would be cruel enough to add such a death to my legend? I wonder if he would deign to bring me back at all?

      Sixteen years ago he had been shocked to realize his own staff had been subverted and swapped for those loyal to his brother. The problem was sorted out, now, but it had left him suspicious of anyone he didn’t know. Unconsciously, the index and middle fingers of his right hand curled into a hook, ready to strike the servant