Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the mad bastard Merrick had no idea, but it was probably best to stay out of his way, at least until the fighting started. Then he’d want every one of these thugs watching his back. Whether Cormach would guard it or try to stick four feet of steel in it remained to be seen.
    ‘Merrick,’ said a deep voice. ‘Horses need mucking out. Your turn.’
    He looked up to see Jared motioning with his thumb. As the newest recruit it was only natural he’d get the shittiest jobs, even he knew that. It didn’t make him like them any better, but it did make him stand without complaint and make his way towards Skyhelm’s stables.
    Merrick walked across the courtyard, giving a nod here and there to the lads he’d got to know. There was a nod in return from Lannar, the big shaven headed one, a quick wink from Stross as he polished a plate of his bronze armour. Their gestures were genuine enough but Merrick still felt on the outside. He liked to think he could talk to anyone, fit into any kind of company, but he had to admit the Wyvern Guard had been a struggle. Not that he was surprised at that. They’d been raised in the mountains and fed nothing but pain and hardship. He’d come from privilege, and although he’d fallen on hard times it was nothing in comparison to that of the men he now found himself among. Merrick had done his best to breach the gap. They had little in common on the surface, but every man was the same when you got down to it. Everyone wanted a laugh and a joke. All fighting men took the piss out of one another and the best piss takers often got the most respect.
    If Merrick was good at one thing it was taking the piss.
    It hadn’t taken him long to work out who were the easy targets and who to avoid. Who he could push the furthest and who could take the harshest ribbing. Within a day he’d had some of these lads falling about laughing. He was just lucky that a man who could raise the spirits in a time of war was as valuable as the hardiest warrior.
    When Merrick reached the stables he picked up the pitchfork leaning against one wall and got to work. Wasn’t long before he’d stripped down to his shirt, even in the cool morning air, and he’d got so used to the ripe stench of dung he could hardly smell it any more.
    He had never been particularly fond of horses, and the troop brought down by the Wyvern Guard seemed an ill-tempered bunch. Still, he managed to do his job without one of them giving him a kick or biting at him, which was something to be thankful for at least. Within an hour he was sweating through his shirt. Within two he was feeling the ache of it in his shoulders and back. As he took a rest, letting his body cool a touch, Jared came with a cup of water.
    Though Merrick wasn’t especially fond of water – wine always taking preference to anything else wet – he took it gratefully and downed half the cup in one go.
    ‘You’ve done a good job,’ said Jared, glancing at the pile of steaming shit, oblivious to how condescending he sounded.
    ‘Everyone has their particular skills,’ Merrick replied.
    Jared didn’t seem to take up on his sarcasm. ‘We’ll need these destriers in tip-top condition for what’s to come.’
    Way back in the dim and distant, in the Collegium of House Tarnath, Merrick had studied the rudiments of siege warfare, and he was pretty sure cavalry wasn’t a part of it.
    ‘If we’re defending a city what do we need horses for?’
    Jared smiled knowingly. ‘Not too familiar with the Lord Marshal’s methods, are you, lad?’
    ‘I suppose not,’ Merrick replied, swallowing a comment about the fact his father had abandoned him years ago, so it was unlikely he’d be familiar with any such
methods
. ‘Please enlighten me.’
    ‘It’s not likely the Lord Marshal’s going to sit behind the wall and wait for the enemy to come to him. He’ll want to use his advantage. Take his horse and run the bastards down.’ Jared patted the rear of a destrier, whose flanks