Age of Iron by Angus Watson

making as if to leave.
    “No. She’ll be long gone. Shame you didn’t think to go straight there. No matter. We can’t expect soldiers to think . But can anyone tell me where she will go next? I could relieve someone of their innards to look, but I don’t need to. Intelligence tells me. Can anyone else say the same?”
    “She’ll run? To Gaul perhaps? I think she’s from Gaul?” Dionysia looked about as if hoping for confirmation.
    “No, no, don’t think like a coward. Think like Lowa. And she’s from Germany, but that’s irrelevant.”
    Dionysia reddened. “She’ll try to attack us here? Tonight?”
    “Oh dear. Weylin?”
    Weylin cocked his head and turned his palms up.
    “Bladonfort,” said Vasin Goldan from the bench. Everyone looked surprised that she had spoken, apart from Elliax, who looked terrified.
    “What?” said Felix.
    “She’ll need information if she’s on a vendetta. If I were her, I’d go to Bladonfort for that. If you want anything useful around here you have to go to Bladonfort.”
    Felix sat back, lower lip pushing up and eyes widening. “Yes, you’re right. Of course she’ll go to Bladonfort. She’ll be desperate to know why her women were killed. One minute she was Zadar’s pet, then next she was running for her life. Her desire to know why she fell from favour and why her women were executed will be even greater than her desire to avenge them. She knows that Maidun soldiers will be in Bladonfort tomorrow, drinking, buying weapons and armour, selling spoils, and she thinks that they’ll know why the order was given.”
    “Why did Zadar order her killed?” asked Dionysia.
    “It was necessary. Now it’s more necessary. Which is why you’re going take more people than you think you could possibly need, go to Bladonfort tomorrow, find her and kill her. You may go.”
    They turned.
    “Actually,” said Felix, like a man changing his order in a tavern, “bring her back alive. I’ve some new torture ideas that compassion has so far prevented me from experimenting with on everyday prisoners.”
    Weylin nodded. He and Dionysia walked out into the cool night air.
    “That wasn’t so bad?” said Weylin.
    “You are such a prick,” said Dionysia.
    In the big hut Felix’s bright little eyes bored into the couple from Barton. Elliax looked at his wife. She was picking around the edges of a scab on her hand.
    Finally, when Elliax was thinking that he might have to scream to break the tension, Felix spoke: “Elliax. You’ve been collecting tribute for Zadar for a decade.”
    “Yes.” It sounded like there was some sort of reward coming.
    “And you started stealing from him right at the beginning. You’ve become increasingly brazen.”
    Elliax felt like someone had rammed a hook up his arse and pulled his guts out. “I haven’t—” he peeped.
    “Last year there were one hundred and twenty-two births in Barton, so you should have sent twelve slaves to Maidun, one for every ten born. How many did you send?”
    How could he know? Elliax felt faint.
    “But there was sickness.”
    “Don’t bother trying to wriggle out of it. Of the two hundred and forty lambs born on Barton’s lands you should have sent forty to Maidun. You sent fourteen. Shall I go on? Shall we talk about crops, textiles, iron working or flint mining?”
    Elliax put his head in his hands, then slowly looked up. “Where’s Zadar? Zadar won’t have—”
    “Zadar knows what I have told him and has asked me to punish you.”
    “What are you talking about!” Vasin made to stand up.
    Elliax put a hand on her leg and shook his head.
    “You … idiot,” she said.
    “Indeed, Vasin,” said Felix. “But don’t worry. I’ve got a fascinating and useful punishment for your husband, and you’re going to help. A lot.”
    “Who do you think you are! I’ve never heard—” Vasin made to stand again, but Chamanca darted across, pushed the much larger woman back down with a stiff arm, straddled her wide