The Last Bastion Read Online Free

devil of Varyxhun. Sarvic remembered clear as the sun: the Foxbeard standing beside the pyre and on it the ironskin, and then Mournful telling him how it was, how Gallow and the iron devil had fought as theCrackmarsh men swept down the mountainside. How the iron devil’s red blade Solace had shattered Gallow’s sword and how the Foxbeard had killed him anyway, ramming the splintered remains of his blade through the devil’s mask.
    The rest of the Marroc scattered, looking for plunder or other forkbeards to kill or whatever drove them now. Sarvic looked the two old men up and down. Warriors once. Didn’t take much of an eye to see that in the way they held themselves, in the way they gripped their spears.
    ‘Nioingr ,’ hissed one of them. He was staring at the clean-shaven chin where Gallow’s forked beard should have been.
    Sarvic sidled up behind Gallow, too close for him to ignore but not so close he got in the way. ‘Need a hand, forkbeard? You can leave them to me if you like. I’d take that as a favour.’
    If Gallow heard, he didn’t show it. His eyes didn’t leave the men shielding the throne. When he spoke he sounded tired.
    ‘Nioingr? The last man to call me that was Beyard Ironskin. He ate those words.’ He drew out the sword Solace and let them see the red steel of it. Sarvic stepped back, hissing at the cursed blade. ‘Beyard carried this. We fought by the pyre of Tolvis Loudmouth and I sent him to the Maker-Devourer by his own sword. I placed his body on the pyre and I spoke him out and I have no doubt that the Screambreaker himself will welcome him. A better man than any of us.’ He looked at the red sword. ‘The Marroc named this blade the Comforter and call it cursed. The Vathen named it Solace, the Peacebringer. The Aulians called it the Edge of Sorrows.’ He pointed the sword at the two forkbeards. ‘You’re Garran, named Fleetfoot once. I remember what they said of you, that you could run faster than the wind. You were with the Screambreaker at Selleuk’s Bridge. I was there too and I saw you. You didn’t run like the wind that day. You didn’t run at all. The Marroc broke us yet your brothers had to tearyou away. Lay down your spear, Garran Fleetfoot. Even the Lhosir can’t always win. The Marroc have the day here. Cithjan is dead. Sixfingers’ Fateguard is gone.’ He shrugged. ‘Our brothers of the sea who fought for the walls of Witches’ Reach are scattered and broken. What sense is there in dying for all these things that went before you? Set down your spear, Fleetfoot. Walk the Aulian Way to Tarkhun and beyond. Sail your ship home and live your twilight years in peace among the family you left behind. You’ve long done enough to enter the Maker-Devourer’s cauldron.’
    Sarvic tried not to snort. Walk the Aulian Way? Let Gallow explain to the mob outside why they should let a couple of forkbeards go when they could just as easily hang them.
    But it wouldn’t come to that. The old forkbeard shook his head. ‘ Nioingr ,’ he hissed. ‘ Nioingr. Nioingr .’ Three times, after which Sarvic knew there could be no going back. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. No one would have to explain anything to anyone then. Just two more dead forkbeards. So much the better.
    Gallow lifted his shield as the second forkbeard lunged and then jumped back as Fleetfoot stabbed at his feet. The red sword swung sharp and hard and sheared the shaft of Fleetfoot’s spear. Sarvic started forward but Gallow was faster, lunging at both of the forkbeards, barging into the other Lhosir, shield against shield with enough force and weight to send the old man sprawling. Sarvic darted in quickly to put the point of his spear to the fallen forkbeard’s throat. ‘Very happy to kill you, old man. Very happy.’
    The forkbeard didn’t move. Gallow battered Fleetfoot back, driving him with blow after blow until he was pressed against a wall. ‘Eat your words, old man! Eat them!’
    Garran Fleetfoot