shaking her head. “Why do the pretty ones have to be dullards?”
“How many in all?” Vaelin asked Governor Neshim, who seemed even less immune to the fetid emanations of the dungeons than Nortah.
“Three hundred and forty-eight,” he replied, face pale and eyes blinking against the miasma’s sting. “At the last count.”
“Their crimes?”
“Oh, the usual. A few bandits, though not so many as they’re usually executed immediately. The rest are thieves and beggars, plus a few smugglers. They’re the worst. All part of the same brotherhood so they never inform on one another and band together if there’s a fight down here. We generally leave them to it. Less work for the headsman.”
“Does this brotherhood have a name?”
“The Green Vipers. They’ve been a scourge on the border country for as long as any can remember. Some say they date back to the early days of the Emerald Empire.”
Vaelin turned a questioning glance on Chien. “You know this name?”
“I know it,” she said. “Their reach is long. The Crimson Band has done business with them in the past, and also fought them, as is the way of things.”
Vaelin nodded and turned to the governor. “You have the document?”
Neshim plucked a small scroll from his sleeve and began to hand it to Vaelin.
“No,” Chien said. “They’ll need to hear him read it.” She gave Vaelin a mostly empty smile of apology. “The word of a foreign barbarian is unlikely to carry so much weight.”
“You want me to go in there?” The governor’s skin paled yet further as he peered into the gloomy recesses of the vaults. A few beams of sunlight bisected the otherwise complete darkness and the only sound was the murmur of many softly taken breaths. The denizens of this place were apparently keen not to attract the attention of whoever might have opened these doors.
“You’ll have our protection, sir,” Vaelin assured him. He stepped through the doors, pausing to regard the governor with an expectant smile. Neshim, however, only consented to follow when Alum and Nortah moved to stand close on either side, nudging him forward with polite but firm insistence.
Vaelin heard the mingled breaths grow deeper as they proceeded into the dungeon, bare feet scraping on stone as the inmates stirred. He could see them only as vague shapes in the gloom, the meagre light revealing glimpses of tattered rags and unwashed skin. He waited for Nortah and Alum to bring the governor to his side and gestured for him to read the scroll.
“I . . .” Neshim began before his voice cracked, the trickle of sweat on his brow telling Vaelin that it wasn’t only the odour of this place that disturbed him. “I,” he tried again after a hard swallow, “having been duly appointed Governor of this city by the wise beneficence of the Merchant King Lian Sha . . .”
“Just tell us what you want, you greedy fuck,” a voice called from the darkness. It had a weight and confidence to it that seemed alien to these surroundings, heralding a brief flurry of laughter from the unseen inmates. But it was the laughter of fearful men and soon faded.
“Um,” Neshim said, the scroll fluttering in his hand as it began to shake.
“The Stahlhast are coming,” Chien said, moving to stand in front of the governor. “The law-dogs want you to fight in their army to defend this place. Anyone who fights will be pardoned. Say no and they’ll leave you to rot and there’ll be no more food.”
“You expect us to trust this man’s word?” the same voice asked, stilling the subsequent upsurge in whispers. “Half of us are in here only because we couldn’t afford his bribes.”
“Lies!” Neshim cried, although a quavering voice and increasingly sweat-covered brow explained much about his earlier reluctance. “I say leave this scum here, my lord,” the governor went on, drawing himself up and attempting an authoritative air. “They don’t deserve the honour of fighting for the Merchant King . . .”
“Be quiet,” Vaelin told him. He took the scroll from Neshim’s hand and jerked his head at the doors. “Leave. I’ll deal with this.”
Relief warred with aggrieved pride on the governor’s face for a moment before he turned and walked from the vaults, his stiff-backed stride proving a poor attempt at a dignified exit.
“You don’t know me,” Vaelin said, raising his voice so that it echoed through the vaults. “I, as you can see, am a foreigner. And this”—he held up the scroll—“is just a piece of paper. So,