Read the book: «Bloodchild»
BLOODCHILD
Anna Stephens

Copyright
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Anna Smith 2019
Map copyright © Sophie E. Tallis 2017
Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Anna Stephens asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 978008215996
Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008216016
Version: 2019-07-22
Dedication
For Mark.
For everything.
Forever.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Rillirin
Mace
Crys
Corvus
Tara
The Blessed One
Dom
Crys
Rillirin
Tara
Mace
The Blessed One
Crys
Corvus
Tara
Rillirin
Dom
Crys
The Blessed One
Mace
Crys
Rillirin
Tara
Corvus
Mace
The Blessed One
Rillirin
Dom
Corvus
Rillirin
The Blessed One
Tara
Mace
Crys
Dom
The Blessed One
Tara
Crys
Tara
Mace
Corvus
Rillirin
Tara
Rillirin
The Blessed One
Corvus
Tara
Crys
Rillirin
Dom
Crys
Mace
Dom
Crys
Corvus
Dom
Crys
Mace
Corvus
Rillirin
Mace
Epilogue: Rillirin
Acknowledgments
By Anna Stephens
About the Publisher
Map

RILLIRIN
Sixth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Fort Four, South Rank forts, Western Plain, Krike border
When the fort’s warning bell began to toll, Rillirin knew they were all dead. Rilporin had fallen and the Mireces – and Corvus – were coming. Her luck had run out and she was going to end up back in her brother’s hands. It was over, all the running, all the fighting and freedom, the moments of joy. Her hands went to her belly and she stiffened her spine and found her courage. No. It might be over, but it wasn’t over without a fight.
She snatched her spear from its place by the door and sprinted from the infirmary where Gilda was having the wound in her shoulder checked, out into the drill yard. Soldiers were spilling from the barracks and donning armour.
‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.
‘Scouts are back. Enemy force – big one – heading our way, but from the east not the north.’
‘Listrans? Reinforcements?’ someone muttered. ‘Please, Dancer, please let it be reinforcements.’
‘Tresh, maybe,’ someone else said and was shushed. Officers were shouting the Rank into line, so she slipped free and ran into the corner watchtower and up to the allure before anyone could stop her. On the eastern wall stood Colonel Thatcher, commander of Fort Four, staring through his distance-viewer at the approaching dust cloud. Four was the fort closest to whatever was coming for them; Four was where the battle would begin.
Thatcher took his time and Rillirin was about to scream when he lowered the distance-viewer. ‘Rilporians. Palace Rank in the lead, what looks like Personal Guards at the rear. Civilians in the centre.’ He turned to a captain. ‘Sadler, flag it over.’
The captain complied, whirling red and yellow flags through a complex series of gestures that was repeated on the wall of Fort Three and on to Two and then headquarters. The bell began ringing the all-clear even as the news travelled and Rillirin leant forward and put her forehead against the stone of the parapet, breathing deep to channel the adrenaline flooding her. Rilporians. Did that mean they’d won? The thought stood her up again so fast she stumbled. Below, the drill yard erupted into excited speculation quickly curbed by the junior officers in charge.
Fort One sent a heavy mounted patrol out to greet the advancing troops, General Hadir himself leading them. Within minutes word came back to open the gates and prepare the infirmaries and kitchens for a mass influx.
Rillirin could make out the army now, or what was left of it, marching in weary time. A mass of civilians in the middle just as Thatcher had said, and more Rankers behind to protect them. And to one side, tramping through the dry grass of the Western Plain, a loose, flowing group in boiled leather and chainmail. The Wolves. Her breath caught in her throat. They were here. Dalli and Lim and Isbet and Ash and all the rest. They were here.
She watched until the formation split, groups peeling off to each fort with the Rankers shepherding the civilians in, watchful to the last. As soon as she knew the Wolves were coming to Fort Four she ran back down into the drill yard. Her heart was yammering in her chest, her head swimming with fear and excitement.
Dom.
Would he be here too, among his people or maybe in the Rank’s custody for his … actions? It would be hard to see him in chains, of course, but once everyone understood what had happened, that the things he’d done hadn’t been his fault, not really, it would be different. It might take even Gilda a while to forgive him, but she would, all the Wolves would. They had to.
Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as the gates opened and people began streaming in. Civilians, hundreds of them rushing with glad relief into the nearly empty fort that had once contained the South Rank’s Fifth Thousand, soldiers who’d marched to Rilporin to aid the king and now, maybe, if they were lucky, marched back. A babble of voices rose from soldiers and refugees alike as Rank physicians and any soldier with healing experience hastened towards the newcomers, and a sergeant with a voice that could crack stone directed them to form up in lines before half a dozen hastily assembled tables and chairs to give names and be allocated quarters.
Rillirin hopped from foot to foot, desperately trying to see over and through the press to the Wolves who’d been trailing the group. And then …
‘Dalli! Dalli!’
The short woman turned when Rillirin screamed her name. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘Rillirin? Fuck the gods, girl, get over here!’
Rillirin sprinted around the edge of the throng, shoving between people with muttered apologies, and flung herself bodily into Dalli’s arms where she burst into tears. ‘You’re alive, you’re alive,’ she sobbed.
‘You’re alive,’ Dalli countered and there was a wobble in her voice Rillirin had never heard before. She pulled back and took in Dalli’s face: sunburnt, freckled, green eyes rimmed with red and sitting in shadows so deep they look bruised. ‘How the bloody fuck are you still alive? You fell off the ship.’
‘Long boring story,’ Rillirin said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, other hand still clutching Dalli in case the Wolf suddenly vanished. ‘I made it to shore, found Gilda in the Dancer’s Fingers and—’
‘Gilda?’
‘Gods, yes, Dalli, Gilda’s alive! She’s here, wounded … but, but recovering; she’s fine. In the infirmary. I can take you there, you and Lim and Ash and Dom.’ Her voice got quieter on the last name, with a rise at the end that made it almost a question, something of a plea.
Dalli’s face went colder than Rillirin had ever seen it, colder even than the mask she donned for battle. That face would not entertain forgiveness or weakness. That face knew nothing of light. ‘We don’t know where Dom is. Nor Ash. They disappeared when Rilporin fell. Lim is dead.’
Now Rillirin did let go. She stumbled back, hands to her mouth and nausea coiling up her throat. ‘Rilporin fell? You mean we lost?’ Her words were too loud and carried to the nearest South Rankers. They’d have found out soon enough, but still; they needed the official version, not some overheard panicked gossip.
Dalli’s expression closed even further. ‘Yes, we lost, and yes, Lim died. So did thousands of others. Doesn’t mean it’s over though. Come, take me to Gilda. She should hear the fate of her sons – blood, adopted and fostered – from me.’ She licked cracked lips. ‘The Wolves voted me their chief.’
Rillirin blinked away tears and managed a shaky smile. ‘I’m pleased for you, Dalli, truly. You deserve it. I … The infirmary’s that way. I’m sure you can find it.’
‘No,’ Dalli said, flint in her voice. ‘You need to hear it all.’
I don’t want to hear it all. I don’t want to hear any of it! But when Dalli began walking in the direction Rillirin had indicated, she followed, and then slid ahead of her and led her to the priestess.
She was unable to take any pleasure in their reunion, knowing some of what was coming next. Was Lim’s death somehow Dom’s fault, too, as Gilda’s wound was, as Rilporin’s betrayal was? She rubbed her belly, beginning to round outwards now and obvious when she was undressed. When Dalli broke the embrace, Rillirin plucked at her shirt to make sure it wasn’t tight over her stomach. She already knew she didn’t want to tell the other woman about the babe, and who its father was. Not now, not ever, maybe, and if that meant hiding it for however long the Wolves were in the forts, so be it.
Gilda sat stiffly in her chair, back unbending despite her age and the toll the wound had taken on her. Her eyes were dry and her hands folded tightly in her lap; she didn’t invite contact, didn’t want emotion. ‘How many?’
Dalli gave a single nod, as if to say, If this is how you want it, this is how I’ll tell it. ‘Too many. Including Lim.’ Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat; she didn’t look away even though agony crossed the old priestess’s face, there and gone like summer rain. ‘In battle against the Mireces, defending his people, defending the city. It … was Corvus himself, Gilda. But it was quick, and I’m not just saying that.’
Gilda flicked a finger for her to continue, not looking at Rillirin even though her gasp at mention of her brother must have been audible to them both. Dalli’s eyes filled with tears but her voice was steady now. ‘Strike to the neck and then … decapitation. He had the charm he’d made in memory of Sarilla. Kept it with him the whole time. She’ll have welcomed him into the Light.’
‘His father too,’ Gilda murmured and Rillirin flinched. Gilda had lost so many and still she kept going, bearing the weight of pain without complaint. She nodded once, with the air of someone excising a wound. ‘Who else?’
‘Dom was—’
‘Dom is a Darksoul who betrayed his people and his gods. He tried to kill me; he failed. Who else?’
‘He’s your son!’ Rillirin burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘You might all hate him, you might think that what he did was of his own free will, but I don’t. I know he was forced. I know it. And I want to know where he is even if you don’t.’
Dalli rose from her seat, gaze fixed on Rillirin’s hands curled protectively across her belly. Rillirin blushed and let them drop to her sides. ‘He put a child in you?’ She whirled to the priestess. ‘You have to do something, Gilda! Crys is the Fox God – yes, I know how that sounds but it’s true – and Dom betrayed him to Corvus. He tortured him on the Mireces’ orders. Cut him open, beat him, ripped out his fingernails for all to see. Rankers saw it happen; they saw him do it! Whatever abomination he’s put in her can’t be allowed to live. He’s brought all of us to the brink of destruction and I don’t care if he did kill the Dark Lady afterwards, I won’t allow some Blood-infected babe to come into this world and push us over the edge! End the pregnancy or I will.’
None of what she said made sense, none of it. Dom torturing Crys? Torture? Killing the Dark Lady? The new Wolf chief was still shouting but her face, pale with fright and fury, vanished into a sea of buzzing black dots, her words drowned beneath waves of roaring.
Rillirin retched and stumbled, lurched against the table and fell back from Dalli’s seeking hands, unable to take a full breath through the tightness in her throat.
She pointed a shaking finger at Gilda. ‘You said … you said it was innocent; the babe is innocent. I don’t … You stay away from me. Both of you stay away!’ Her head was too light, her limbs heavy and not under her control. She took two steps backwards on legs wobbling worse than a newborn fawn’s, and fainted.
MACE
Sixth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
South Rank headquarters, Western Plain, Krike border
‘General Hadir, your hospitality is gratefully received,’ Mace said, wincing at the formality of the words when what he wanted to do was hug the wiry old soldier until his ribs creaked. Still might, once his people were settled.
‘Commander Koridam, whatever you need,’ Hadir said. ‘I don’t mind admitting that when you appeared I thought you were the enemy and we were all dead. Can’t tell you my relief when we spotted your uniforms. You’ll have my quarters, of course. How many staff are with you?’
Mace hacked a cough from a dry throat before answering. ‘Me, Chief Dalli of the Wolves and a handful of valiant captains who’ll bed down in the barracks as normal.’
Hadir blinked. ‘That’s it?’
Mace coughed again and the general belatedly handed him a cup from his desk. His office was small and neat, much like its owner, and Mace felt like a ragged beggar in its midst.
‘That’s it. My father is dead, as is Colonel Yarrow. Colonel Edris has gone east to Listre with a small company to tell Tresh he is now our king and to raise an army to take back his throne and country. While he’s only distantly related and I don’t believe he’s ever even visited Rilpor, he’s legitimate at least and the best we’ve got. The rest of my officers and army are captured or presumed dead.’ The water did nothing to prevent his voice hoarsening with the last words.
‘Gods,’ Hadir murmured. ‘My condolences, sir. Do you know the number you bring with you?’
Screams rang in Mace’s ears. So many losses. ‘Almost two thousand Rankers and Wolves who need rest and healing, though the badly wounded were left behind or died on the journey. Nearly four thousand civilians. I know rationing will be a problem, but I wasn’t leaving them to the Mireces.’
Hadir just nodded, a crease between his eyebrows as he no doubt calculated what they had in stores against the number of mouths they’d be feeding.
‘We got on to the Tears and made it look as if we were sailing for Listre, then sent the boats on and doubled back, through the great forest. Colonel Dorcas and Major Vaunt had another, slightly smaller, group and were going to storm the King Gate and join us. They never showed up.’
There was a long silence and Mace got the sense Hadir was giving him time to collect himself. He made the most of it, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair, feeling some of the tension run out of his shoulders for the first time since they’d fled. No, since the whole godsdamn mess of a war had started.
‘We’ll hold a full council at dusk, General,’ he said eventually, focusing on Hadir again. ‘All your staff and those among my people who have taken on such responsibility in the last weeks. In the meantime, here’s the quick and dirty version. Let the whole Rank know – we’re a long way past keeping secrets from the men who’ll be doing the fighting.’
Hadir nodded, refilled their cups with water, and began to take notes.
Mace hadn’t slept; he hadn’t even closed his eyes, waiting for the uproar that would signal the remains of the South Rank learning what had happened in Rilporin. What he had allowed to happen.
It hadn’t come. Oh, there’d been noise and disappointment and the bravado of men saying what would have happened if they’d been there, but those men had been stared at by Mace’s surviving soldiers, just stared at, all the horror and carnage they’d been involved in bleeding from their eyes, and the bravado had dried up. Mace had been prepared to break up brawls; this was much more chilling. And far more effective.
Still, the sense of failure was acute, even days after the abandonment of Rilporin. Now he sat in stiff silence while the council room filled up, absurdly grateful that Dalli had taken the seat next to him and given his knee a surreptitious squeeze beneath the table. It took him a moment to recognise Gilda and what-was-her-name, Rillirin, Corvus’s sister, and a moment more to wonder why they were sitting as far from Dalli as they could get. One look at the tightness around his lover’s mouth and he decided not to ask.
‘Thank you all for coming. For those of you who marched with me, I hope you find some ease behind the South Rank’s walls. And officers of the South Rank, let me be frank: the Wolves and civilians in this council are people I trust, people who co-ordinated and led the evacuation with me. They may not hold high office, but they have as much right to be here as you do. I know you will treat them as you would any officer. The royal physician, Hallos, travelled with us, but declined my offer to attend this council in preference to treating those who still bear the wounds of the siege. Though he is not here, I consider him a member of my staff.
‘As for high priestess Gilda and King Corvus’s sister, Rillirin, I am glad to see you both still live, and am most keen to learn what has befallen you since last we met.’ Gilda was tired and haunted, made no attempt to hide it. ‘Your son Chief Lim was a great man, high priestess, and he led his people with honour and fortitude. I grieve with you for his loss.’
‘Thank you, Commander, that is most kind. Especially as we both know how intractable he could be. But I take your words to heart.’
Hadir tapped the table with his forefinger. ‘Commander Koridam, it will be as you say. These people have seen more of war and bloodshed than many of my own; they will be treated accordingly. And if I may, this is Colonel Jarl of Fort Two, Colonel Osric of Three, and Thatcher of Four. We thought it best that this first council include the full staff so that there is no confusion.’
Mace nodded at them in turn. ‘A pleasure to meet you all. Let me begin by thanking you for your hospitality. We bring numbers these forts were never designed to hold, and coexisting is not going to be easy. Both my soldiers and the civilians need time and rest and food to recover from the siege and the journey here. Not to put too fine a point on it, General, but you and your Rank are all that stands between Rilpor and disaster for the next few weeks while the rest of us recuperate and formulate a country-wide offensive to end the Mireces threat once and for all.’
Hadir gave a single sharp nod. Mace put both his hands on the table. ‘Let me be clear: this is not over, not by a long way. We mauled them, and they mauled us, yes. Our king and former Commander of the Ranks are dead, and many, if not most, of our senior officers, but they lost the Dark Lady Herself.’ Just don’t ask me how I know or who did the killing – or why.
‘The claim is incredible, if you will allow me to say so, Commander,’ Hadir said. ‘We are all faithful followers of the Gods of Light, but to suggest one of the Red Gods is dead …’
‘Dom did it. The Wolf calestar. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, I know I wasn’t there but I’ve spoken to some of the witnesses, sirs. Dom allowed himself to be captured by the Mireces and – and he fed them certain information in order to become trusted by Corvus and the Blessed One, and then there are rumours that he killed Rivil in a duel to the death. Later on, when the Dark Lady appeared in Rilporin, he killed Her too. Well, stabbed Her so the Fox God could kill Her.’
All eyes turned to Rillirin and she flushed under their scrutiny but raised her chin, defiant. The story wasn’t hers to tell and she’d put a spin on it that didn’t sit easy with Mace, but they were certainly the facts as he understood them.
‘Aye, maybe he did kill Rivil, and that’s a job well done, but why was the Dark Lady there in the first place?’ Dalli demanded, shoving to her feet and knocking her chair over. ‘Because your precious Dom was torturing Crys! Torture, on the Mireces’ orders. Don’t try and make him out to be the hero of this tale. He did nothing but betray us at every turn and cause the deaths of thousands of people. He turned to Blood and you say we should thank him for it!’
Rillirin stood too, shaking off Gilda’s restraining hand. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she started and Dalli’s eyes bulged.
‘I don’t know what I’m talking about?’ she raged. ‘You said yourself you weren’t even there! Well, I was there and I saw what happened. You think you know Dom because you fucked him, because you’re carrying his poisonous seed? You don’t know the first thing about him, about any of us. You were a Mireces slave for ten years, your brother is their godsdamned king – of course you’ll forgive Dom for turning Mireces himself, it justifies your own weakness, your own treason! Maybe we should be asking about your faith instead of allowing you to sit here in council with us.’
‘Enough.’ Mace slammed both fists into the table hard enough to rattle the cups and cut off whatever Rillirin had been about to scream. ‘Sit down or get out.’ Dalli shot her a triumphant look. ‘Both of you.’ She gaped at Mace and her expression turned murderous; he stared her out and, slowly enough to promise that this wasn’t over, she retrieved her chair and sat. Gilda hauled on Rillirin’s arm and dragged her back into her own seat.
‘General, Colonels, forgive me. The wounds from the siege are still raw for many of us. But let me reiterate – this is a war council. We confine ourselves to the facts and to the plan for victory. If you want to argue allegiances, do it elsewhere. My own thoughts on Dom Templeson’s actions are mixed, but no one can deny that without his aid, the Dark Lady would not have been destroyed. We cannot change his past betrayals and I do not expect that last action of his to make those of you who were there forgive him; I certainly haven’t. But he is not here and arguably he is no longer important. What is important is what we do next.’
The silence was thick with suspicion and burgeoning embarrassment. Mace found Dalli’s leg beneath the table; she moved it deliberately from under his hand.
‘The … ladies do bring up a valid point,’ Colonel Thatcher said. ‘Would someone explain this information about the Fox God and how it relates to Major Tailorson again, please?’ Rillirin and Dalli glared at each other some more. ‘And what the high priestess thinks of it all, perhaps, as the authority on such matters?’
‘Captain Kennett here may be best placed to answer that,’ Mace said and pointed. Kennett flushed under the scrutiny and sat up a little straighter. ‘Tell the council what you know, Captain.’
‘Yes, Commander. Kennett, Palace Rank, sirs. I served alongside Captain Crys Tailorson as he was then before the war, and again during the siege when he was promoted to major. Great leader, sirs, talented and brave. He had command of the southern wall. He found his, ah—’ – Kennett broke off and licked his lips, shot a desperate glance at Mace who kept his face perfectly neutral – ‘—his friend dead, pinned up to a door in a deliberate provocation by the Lord Galtas Morellis, he suspected, who he’d had some sort of feud with and who had infiltrated the city. Morellis was Prince Rivil’s co-conspirator.’
‘Slimy, one-eyed bastard,’ Jarl muttered. ‘Wouldn’t be the first soldier he’s provoked.’
‘Anyway, he found his friend and, well, I mean I was there, but it’s hard to explain. He started shouting about doing whatever was needed to bring Ash back from the dead, screaming at the Dancer for allowing him to die and then … well, he broke all the glass in the district and cracked the paving stones beneath his feet. There was a sort of silver light that shone out of him, brighter than sunlight, and then Ash wasn’t dead any more and Crys – Major Tailorson, that is – was the Fox God.’
Kennett broke off and wiped sweat from his upper lip. His face bore the expression of a man who believes he’s made a terrible mistake but is determined to see it through to the bitter end. The silence was pregnant with scepticism.
‘I was there, too,’ Dalli said, backing him up; Mace let out a silent huff of relief. ‘We thought you’d prefer to hear it first from a Ranker, but I was there and everything the captain has said is true. I found Ash and I know a corpse when I see one. He was dead and then he wasn’t and Crys did it. He did other things too, after that, during the siege. Held the breach almost single-handed through the night, rallied troops on the verge of breaking. Killed the Dark Lady after Dom wounded Her.’ Her voice was level again and her thigh bumped Mace’s in what might have been a silent apology. ‘Fought Gosfath, too. Crys is the Fox God come to aid us.’
There was a snort of something like derision from Osric. ‘And where is this so-called god now?’ he asked.
Unfortunately, that’s a good question.
‘We don’t know,’ Mace admitted. ‘He vanished during the retreat.’
‘The Fox God lives, and lives inside Crys.’ Gilda’s tone held all the calm assurance of a woman who’d spent most of her life being the voice of authority among powerful people. ‘I felt the god’s awakening even from here. He will return when we need Him.’
‘How convenient,’ Osric muttered, though not quietly enough.
‘You have something to say?’ Dalli snapped, her temper fraying again. ‘Because while you were sitting here with your cock in your hand, the rest of us were fighting and dying. Why don’t—’
‘Enough, Chief,’ Mace said, and the use of her new title was just enough to bring her down again. Gods, he loved her fire, but sometimes he could throttle her. ‘My father ordered the South’s three Thousands to remain here and that decision was the right one.’
Jarl cleared his throat. ‘The enemy will be consolidating its hold not just on Rilporin but the whole country, and as it stands we don’t have enough soldiers to break that grip. What are our next steps?’
Mace shot him a grateful look. ‘You know that Colonel Edris has gone to Listre to recruit King Tresh and an army; we hope and expect to hear from him in a matter of weeks. Until then, we need to infiltrate the major towns and gather intel on the enemy’s movements and intentions. With luck, the Mireces don’t know that we doubled back and will believe us to be in Listre, but keep sending out scouts to watch the approaches as you have been. If our presence does go unnoticed, then when we get word that Tresh is coming at the head of an army, we can pour out of here like ants and catch the bastards in a pincer, end them once and for all.’
‘And the Mireces’ numbers?’ asked Colonel Jarl.
‘No definitive idea,’ Mace said. ‘It was hand to hand in the streets for the last part of the siege. Before that, it looked as if they had six or so thousand, maybe more. More than us.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We need more troops and although I have confidence in Edris reaching King Tresh and raising an army, I’m not willing to risk the country and its inhabitants on anything less than absolute certainty. As such, I intend to send emissaries to the Warlord of Krike and negotiate a deal for their aid. It is my hope that Tresh will forgive my actions, but the survival of Rilpor is more important than lines on a map. With that in mind, I plan on offering the Krikites—’
‘Forgive my interruption, Commander,’ General Hadir said, ‘but that’s not an option. Commander Koridam, that is your father, Commander Durdil Koridam, sir, at the time he sent orders for our two Thousands to reinforce Rilporin, he also asked me to explore the potential for aid from Krike. The Warlord was … less than forthcoming.’
‘He said he looked forward to our forces wiping each other out so the Krikites could expand north into Rilpor,’ Jarl added in an acid tone.
‘If they wouldn’t agree to supply us with troops when we were, ah, winning, Commander, I think it’s unlikely they will now we have suffered a reverse,’ Hadir added in an apologetic tone.
Suffered a reverse. At least he’s phrasing my crushing defeat tactfully.
‘That is not news I was hoping to hear, gentlemen. And there’s no way we can go back to them with an offer – say, half the Western Plain – in return for aid?’
‘The Warlord and his witch, the Seer-Mother, threatened to kill any envoys they came across, regardless of whether they carried the flag of parley, Commander. Once a decision is made in Krike, it’s made.’
‘Shit,’ Mace said. ‘So we wait for Listre and pray King Tresh is eager to claim his kingdom.’
‘Train the civilians,’ Colonel Thatcher said. All eyes turned to him. ‘I’m a commoner, sir, rose through the ranks to where I am now. Always dreamt of being a soldier. These civilians we’ve got, they’ve been through a siege, they’ve seen death and destruction and been unable to prevent it. Put weapons in their hands now, get commoners like me training them, and you’ll see their spines. Not just a chance to fight back, but the ability, too? We need forces – these might be all we get. Best to start working with them now.’
‘Women too,’ Dalli said before anyone else could speak. ‘I’m chief of my people and we know the importance of recruiting warriors whatever their gender. There’ll be women amongst this lot who spent every day of that siege waiting to be raped and killed, by their own as well as the enemy. It’s what war does. Tell them they can protect themselves and they’ll jump at the chance. I’ve spoken to dozens myself on the journey here. Give them the chance, Commander. They won’t let you down.’
‘I agree,’ he said. ‘We’re not just fighting for our lives; we’re fighting for our way of life, for our children and their children. We’re fighting for freedom and the Light. I won’t deny training and weapons to anyone who wants to stand at my side.’
‘You had that woman captain, didn’t you?’ Osric muttered.
‘Major Carter, yes,’ Mace said in a bland tone. ‘Your point?’ It appeared Osric didn’t have a point. ‘Right. General Hadir, I want your rested three Thousands on patrol. I want them scouting Rilporin to see what Corvus is up to and visiting Yew Cove and Pine Lock, Shingle too if the bridge over the Gil is intact. Maybe even Sailtown if the roads are clear of Mireces and you’ve men who’ll risk crossing hostile territory. Let the civilians see you’re alive and you haven’t given up hope or given up on them. Tell them aid is coming, but don’t specify from where. Tell them to stay alive. And for the love of the Dancer, buy as many supplies as you can or we’ll all starve.
‘But’ – Mace raised a finger to stress his point – ‘no one – and I mean not a single Ranker – is to confirm the presence of anyone from Rilporin within these forts. The longer Corvus believes us to be in Listre, the more likely he is to leave us alone and let us plan our next move. If he knows we’re here … well, let’s just say I for one have had enough of being besieged.’
‘And we’re sure he thinks you’re in Listre, are we?’ Jarl asked.
‘No,’ Mace said, ‘but let’s not hand definitive proof to him on a platter, eh? Meanwhile, let it be known across the forts that we’re taking volunteers for a militia and that it’s open to women. We’ll start training them in a week. Until then, they rest and they eat. We all do – with our safety in your hands.’
‘Understood, sir,’ Hadir said. ‘All right, gentlemen, let’s show Commander Koridam what the South Rank is made of.’
CRYS
Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Green Ridge, Southern Krike
Two out of the three of them woke screaming – again.
By the time Crys flailed upright out of the nightmare, sweat sticking his shirt to his back, Ash was stoking up the fire and the calestar was huddled by it, gaunt and rocking. Dom’s nightmares were a product of him killing the Dark Lady. Crys’s were the result of Dom nearly killing him.
‘Morning,’ Crys croaked, scrubbing sweat from his face and reaching for the waterskin. Ash grabbed his hand, grazed a kiss across the knuckles. Neither of them looked at Dom. Despite the Fox God’s insistence that he should accompany them, Crys’s skin crawled every time the Wolf came near.
It will fade.
Crys grunted and drank. Weeks of running and hiding from Mireces and their own people to get over the border into Krike hadn’t improved his mood much, but at least now they were here and safe. Unless the Krikites decided to kill them. An archer, a god and a one-armed madman walk into Krike … Worst joke ever.
They picked through the remains of the previous night’s meal, slung weapons and blankets scavenged from a burning Rilporin over their shoulders, and began to walk. Dom was silent. Dom was always silent and that was just how Crys liked it. He and Ash walked a few steps apart from him, unwilling to forgive – and unable to forget – what he’d done. Everything he’d done.
Not all the choices were his. Not all the betrayals were willing.
And not everything he did to me was felt by you, Foxy, Crys countered. But I felt it. All of it. I looked into his eyes and saw joy.
I looked into his soul and saw despair, the Fox God said. Crys told himself he didn’t care.
‘So, this Warlord,’ Ash said, picking up the threads of the conversation they’d been having for the last few days, perhaps in response to the faraway look Crys got whenever the Trickster within spoke to him. ‘Rules all of Krike?’
‘Sort of. He’s the military and secular arm of the government. They have a seer – Seer-Mother or Seer-Father, depending on who’s elected – who leads the priesthood and arbitrates those disputes that can’t be settled by local priests. When I served in the South Rank, the Warlord was Brid Fox-dream and the seer was a woman.’
‘Fox?’ Ash asked.
‘No relation,’ Crys said and grinned, the change of subject blowing away the last tendrils of memory and nightmare. ‘They’re quite particular about it, though. They have some ritual, performed by the priesthood once a year, I believe, when they take children of a certain age on some sort of spiritual journey and they are confronted with a … creature that they’re particularly attuned to.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Ash snorted. ‘Mine would be a majestic wolf, of course, with a silver pelt and noble aspect.’
‘Flea-bitten badger, more like,’ Crys teased him. ‘But maybe we’ll get to find out when we meet her.’
‘Riders,’ Dom said and pointed.
Ash’s hand went to his bow and Crys gripped the axe he’d taken from Rilporin. Not a favoured weapon, but all he had. Dom just cradled the stump of his arm – hand severed by the same axe – and watched them come. The Fox God rumbled wariness but not danger.
The small band cantered up and encircled them, spears pointing down at their chests. Ash twitched again but then Crys was stepping forward. ‘Greetings, warriors. May the Fox God shine His light upon you and the Dancer bless you with plenty.’ He dropped his axe into the grass and raised both hands, shirt sleeves falling back to expose the scars on his forearms. ‘You have heard of the war in Rilpor, the invasion by the Mireces and their Red Gods? We’ve come to see if you will fight alongside us – fight for your gods – to repel the heathens? May we speak with your clan chief?’
‘I am Cutta Frog-dream,’ a woman said. ‘I am war leader of Green Ridge and clan chief. We know of your troubles, Rilporian, but they trouble us not. We have already answered your emissaries and promised to shed the blood of any more who came.’
‘Well, that’s awkward,’ Ash muttered. ‘This is no normal emissary,’ he shouted and nearly took out Crys’s eye with his pointing finger. ‘This is the Fox God Himself, the Great Trickster in a mortal’s flesh. He fought – and killed – the Dark Lady of the Mireces! He brought me back from the dead! He healed thousands of wounded soldiers and civilians! You owe him your allegiance.’
Crys waited for the laughter followed by the spears. Neither came.
‘The Two-Eyed Man,’ someone whispered. ‘The old tales …’
‘You make a bold claim for your friend, Wolf,’ the war leader said. ‘Yes, we know your clan by your look. A bold claim and one that will see you all dead if it is untrue. You think us savages and wild, our beliefs childlike, but you are wrong. If you think to trick us, it will be the last thought you ever have.’
‘Thanks for that, Ash,’ Crys said as the Krikites turned their horses and clicked them into motion back the way they’d come, the three men in their midst.
‘May as well start as we mean to go on,’ Ash replied with a tight smile. ‘You never said this would be easy, after all. But I’d quite like to live, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Wouldn’t we all,’ Crys muttered. ‘Come on then, Foxy. No pressure.’
It wasn’t exactly a private audience with the war leader and her priests, but the Fox God didn’t seem to mind. Crys stood on the green at the centre of the town, where a single finger of rock twice his height had been erected. Something about its outline, its presence black against the sky, called to him. Before anyone could speak – and it looked as if the whole town had been summoned to bear witness – he found himself drifting across the grass towards it, goats and chickens ambling from his path. Inside him, sharp teeth grinned with anticipation.
‘This is where you come to soul-dream with your priests,’ he said, his voice lifting across the green.
‘It was,’ Cutta Frog-dream replied. Crys frowned. ‘Now all soul-dreams are performed at Seer’s Tor, our capital, by the Seer-Mother herself.’
‘You don’t dream without her?’ Crys called. ‘Why not?’
‘It is not done any more,’ the war leader replied. ‘And how do you know of our magic?’
‘Because I am the Two-Eyed Man,’ he said and the claim spoken aloud caused a susurrus of disbelief and outrage. None of them believed him, not yet anyway. But they would. They had to.
They will.
Up close, the surface had been carved with whorls and spirals and sinuous connecting lines that dizzied the eye and drew it upwards. Lightheaded, heart speeding, Crys placed both palms against the carvings. The hair on his forearms stood up as if he was in the centre of an electrical storm. He’d moved before anyone could question him or tell him what to do, and over the rushing in his ears he just made out the muttering and shifting of the crowd. Part of him wondered if he was committing sacrilege, but the stone and its patterns didn’t care and neither did the Trickster.
Some of the carvings called to him and he traced them with his fingertips, aware of the tiny trails of silver light he left in their grooves as he made his way around the rock, touching here and there, wonder and rightness and homecoming and duty and the Fox God expanding until he could feel fur brushing the inside of his skin.
‘Two-Eyed Man,’ someone shouted and he ignored it, ignored all but the carvings and the guiding instinct within.
‘This is home,’ he whispered. ‘This is us.’
When the pattern within the pattern was done, Crys stepped back. The middle of the stone glowed, the carvings bright as starlight in winter. The air hummed. Ash had already knelt and bowed his head and Crys opened his mouth to tell him to get up, silly bollocks, and stop embarrassing them both. The Fox God stopped the words.
‘Two-Eyed Man,’ Cutta shouted. ‘Our legends tell of you. The teachings of our old priests talk of your appearance and how you will lead us.’
‘To death and beyond,’ Crys muttered, though none heard him. ‘I do not lead you,’ he shouted back. ‘I do not seek to take command, but the Gods of Light need you. I need you. If Rilpor falls, the Mireces will come for you next. Your faith and your way of life will be forbidden. Krike will drown in its people’s blood unless we stop them in Rilpor. Unless you help me stop them.’
The war leader walked forward into the empty space between them. The stone at Crys’s back was still humming, as though a million sleeping bees fanned their wings as they dreamt inside it. ‘Is this magic? Blood magic?’ she asked quietly, loosening the knife on her belt.
‘This is me,’ the Fox God said and she took a step back, awe and fear chasing across her features. ‘This is the fate of Gilgoras and the part you may play in it.’
‘May?’
The Fox God spread His hands. ‘I do not command.’
‘You killed the Dark Lady?’ she asked. A tiny frog was tattooed in front of her left ear.
‘I drank Her and destroyed Her,’ the Fox God replied. ‘But She seeks a way back and Her followers aid Her. If they succeed all will turn to Blood and madness. While I can stop the Dark Lady again, I cannot stop Her forces alone.’
‘You are not alone, Two-Eyed Man,’ Cutta Frog-dream said, and knelt at his feet. ‘Green Ridge is with you and together we will convince all Krike, including the Warlord.’
That was easier than expected, Foxy.
There was a rustle of amusement from within. Don’t get used to it.
CORVUS
Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Throne room, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘The thing about control that you Rilporians have never quite understood is that if you don’t believe in it, neither will those you rule.’
Corvus examined the nobleman kneeling on the marble before his improvised throne, the original now a charred heap of wood and gold leaf. ‘Take us, for example, and them.’ He pointed at the fresh corpses. ‘I have control over you, because I have proved beyond doubt that if you disobey me you will die. As such, our relationship is established and both of us can be content within it – me as owner, you as slave. Oh, don’t look so horrified. You’re alive, aren’t you, still in possession of your limbs, your tongue, your eyes and your cock? So you have to serve me instead of others serving you. You’ll get used to it. And when you place your feet upon the Dark Path, you’ll be freed and can buy slaves of your own. The sooner you understand that, the sooner we can all get along.’
Lord Silais shifted, clearly unused to the discomfort of kneeling on cold stone.
This is the breed of man who ruled this country? Corvus allowed a sneer to twist his mouth. No wonder Rivil was weak.
‘Your Majesty, I am a child of Light. I will never walk the Dark Path – but that does not mean I cannot be of assistance to you. Advise you,’ he added quickly. ‘There are many things you will encounter as you consolidate your rule. Rebellions, laws, heirs to the throne who may seek to seduce loyalty away from you.’
Corvus looked at Valan, his second in command, and rolled his eyes. ‘I know about Tresh in his little castle in Listre,’ he said. ‘You’re beginning to bore me, Slave Silais.’ He grinned as the man twitched again – it really was too much fun.
The former noble met his gaze with an expression of earnest surprise. ‘Oh no, Your Majesty, there are many more heirs than just Tresh. They’re like rats, Sire – kill one and another rears its head. It’s a shame so much of the palace burnt, really. All the records of the full line of the Evendoom dynasty were in the royal library.’
Corvus’s humour vanished. ‘Let me guess – you know who these heirs are and you’re bartering your freedom in return for the knowledge?’
Silais’s smile was silky-smooth. ‘It appears we can assist each other, does it not?’ he asked, straightening a little, feeling he was on firmer ground.
‘It does,’ Corvus said and jerked his head. Valan stepped down from the dais and held out his hand to help the lord up. Silais nodded his thanks and was on his feet before he realised Valan had ducked behind him, snaking his arm around beneath his chin and grasping his ear firmly. Valan tucked his elbow and pulled Silais’s head into his chest, stretched his ear out further, and sawed it off with his knife.
Silais was screaming like a bloody woman by the time it was done, legs treadling and hands slapping uselessly at Valan’s constricting arm. Corvus wandered down from his throne and bent to look into his face, still tucked lovingly against Valan’s chest.
‘Control,’ he whispered into the bloody hole where his ear used to be. ‘I have it, and you don’t. And you’re going to tell me the names and locations of Rastoth’s heirs, aren’t you, my lord Earless? Or Valan here will show you just what an artist he can be with that knife.’
Silais tried to nod, snot bubbling from his nose. ‘Y-yes, Your Majesty. Anything. I’ll tell you anything.’
Corvus patted his head. ‘Not anything,’ he clarified, straightening up with a wink at Valan. ‘Everything.’
The problem, of course, despite his fine words to the contrary, was that Corvus didn’t have control. Or not as much as he’d have liked, anyway.
Oh, Rilporin was mostly peaceful as the slaves adjusted to their new way of life and any uprisings were put down with the usual brutal efficiency, but the rest of the country was kindling awaiting a flame. And Mace fucking Koridam, General of the West Rank, was running around out there somewhere striking sparks.
Best guesses put him in Listre, but in the chaotic aftermath of the fall of Rilporin and the days afterwards with Mireces and East Rankers struggling to come to terms with the loss of the Dark Lady, the man could have marched past the city with drum, flute and flag and no one would have noticed.
Corvus had never had this much territory to control before and his influence – or lack of it – had never extended so far from his power base, and he’d never had to function with his heart torn from his chest.
The Dark Lady’s absence was madness clawing at the edges of his mind, questioning his every decision, whispering at him to lie down and die. Every night, when he pulled a blanket around him, the temptation was there, at the tip of his dagger. Every morning, the grief mocked his cowardice. Corvus survived by packing the hurt down inside himself to fester, like an abscess beneath a tooth, buried and stinking.
It was different for the common Mireces and East Rankers – all they had to do was follow the orders given them by their leaders. For Corvus, his surviving war chiefs, Lanta and General Skerris, it was like trying to stand against an avalanche to make sure others survived. And what should have united them was driving them apart.
Two weeks after Rilporin’s conquest, Skerris and the East had left the capital, flooding west and north to occupy the major towns along the Gil and the Tears to take control of supplies, stores, wealth and crops. It made military and economic sense, and it left Corvus with an altogether unfamiliar sense of loneliness. Despite his mild contempt for the fat general, Skerris was a talented commander and a faithful son of the Red Gods, and he needed someone he could trust in Sailtown. On the other hand, aside from the one-eared, snivelling Silais, Skerris was the only other who truly understood the workings of Rilpor. And he needed to restore order as soon as possible. The question was how – and which sort of order. Rilporian laws and customs, or Mireces? Prisons or executions? Persuasion or forced conversion?
It was a new way of life, requiring new thinking, and Corvus hated it.
Now that parts of the palace were habitable, he’d taken up residence there, as befitted the King of Rilpor and because he thought he should. There was a suite for the Blessed One, though she never used it. She never left the temple district or the shrine that she had constructed on the flagstones in the great temple square that were stained by the black splats and sweeps of divine blood. The site of the Dark Lady’s manifestation and destruction.
Valan lived in the heir’s quarters, both because they were close by and because he was, until Corvus produced a son, his successor. War chief Fost had a suite of rooms and so did the other surviving or newly made chiefs, but there was no communal living, no longhouse camaraderie like back home in Eagle Height. The palace was empty and Rilporin was too big. Corvus hated that, too.
Outside, the endless sounds of hammering and of dragging stone, the shouts of slave labourers and their Mireces overseers, painted a backdrop of noise both like and unlike his home village. This is home now, he reminded himself firmly. They had thousands of slaves, soldiers and civilians, though the number of deaths since their victory was far higher than the usual attrition rate as Mireces offered their wealth to the Red Gods, seeking to fill the voids in their souls with Rilporian blood.
In the last weeks they had cannibalised entire sections of the city to gather enough stone to fix the walls and wood to repair the gates, and while they weren’t pretty, they were high and sturdy once more. Holy Gosfath had left them more than enough shattered stone after His rampage through the city to fling it at any enemy who approached, using the East Rank’s trebuchets. Those slaves who were carpenters were attempting to fix the catapults and stingers, too. When Listre came, when any enemy came, they wouldn’t find him unprepared.
They’d scoured the city: every house, alley, building and cellar had been looted of people and goods both. Corvus had given every Mireces two slaves, more wealth than some of the lowest warriors had ever had, but all were expected to lend them to the great rebuilding of the city. The remaining slaves were awarded to those who’d fought hardest. Corvus had accepted only six, three strong men and three pretty women, though the surviving war chiefs and most of the warriors had clamoured for him to take more. He declined; he had an entire country, and enough riches had survived the burning to tempt the greediest of men, something Corvus had never been, despite what his enemies said of him.
And so by seeming to take less than his due, his men cleaved still more closely to him. He would need such loyalty in the months to come. Rilpor might be beaten, but it wasn’t subdued, not by a long way. More Mireces would die in the next few years than in an entire generation of raids. Perhaps more than they could afford to lose.
The marketplace that had once stood in the killing ground in First Circle was operating again, albeit run by the victors now, and the flesh trade was brisk as men bartered slaves for goods and goods for slaves. The sealing of the gates had done much to curb the escape attempts and the city was loud with Mireces voices, sullen with fear and pregnant with violence.
It almost felt like home – unlike the echoing palace.
‘It’s time to send Fost to fetch our women and children, Valan. It’ll do much to steady the men, having their consorts and legacy back with them, and once the women are running the households and keeping the slaves in check, we can look to the rest of the country. There is still much work to be done. Besides, it will be good to hear more Mireces voices than Rilporian. The consorts will make the city our home, and this country ours too.’
Valan grinned. ‘It will be good to see Neela and my girls again, I admit. I’ve been too long from them.’
‘That we could all find such contentment in the arms of a single woman,’ Corvus said, feeling his mood lighten. Teasing Valan for his unusual fidelity never got old.
‘There’s only one Neela, Sire. But perhaps you will find some pretty Rilporian who will walk the Dark Path at your side. The Lady’s …’ He faltered, tongue tripping over the words.
Corvus swallowed against the spike of hurt and he found the healing cuts on his left arm without conscious volition, wounds he’d carved into himself in the moments after Her destruction, blood that hadn’t been enough to save Her.
‘The Lady’s will,’ he said deliberately, pressing against the stitches and offering the pain to the gods. ‘She’s coming back, Valan. The Blessed One and high priest Gull work tirelessly. Whatever happened, She is still our Lady. Our pain calls to Her, the Blessed One calls to Her, and She will come back. She must.’
‘I pray it is so.’
The old banter was swallowed by the new world and the loss of Her, and Corvus strode restlessly to the window. The fine glass was missing, but the view was one of industry and scars being repaired, and besides, the weather was warm down here in the flatlands and the breeze soft against his face, unlike the ice-edged winds of the Gilgoras Mountains. Everything down here was soft – the women, the weather, Rilporian courage.
A world rebuilt in honour of the Red Gods. Washed clean in blood. It would be hard, but it was his sacrifice to the gods. He would build paradise in Gilgoras for Them. His will – Their will – crystallised. ‘She will return, and She will look down on this new world we have dedicated to Her, and She will be pleased. All Rilpor will worship. And all Gilgoras will follow our example.’
‘Our feet are on the Path,’ Valan murmured and Corvus’s mood lifted again. ‘Sire, the food situation isn’t what we hoped. Some of the fires we set when taking the city burnt grain stores, and more was ruined or consumed by the defenders before they fled or were captured.’
Corvus’s mood dropped. He squinted out at the blue sky and strove for calm. ‘We’ve felt lack before, Valan. I know we expected rich bounty, but war is different to raiding. It’ll be a lean harvest and a hard winter, but when Fost returns, they’ll bring any stores they have left and all the livestock. If it’s still not enough, we take more from the towns. Let winter cull the slave population so that when spring comes our people have plenty of land each and the optimum number of drudges to work it for them.’
He turned back. ‘In the meantime, we need to deal with these fucking Evendooms. How many did Silais name?’
Valan consulted the papers scattered across a small table. ‘Fourteen, Sire. Women and bastards, mostly, but he’s right: the Rilporians will be so desperate they’ll rally to anyone with a drop of royal blood who might be able to save them. Simultaneous attacks?’
‘I don’t know if we’ve the numbers to spare,’ Corvus admitted; then he grinned. ‘Bring the royal women to me instead of killing them outright. Perhaps one of them will be pretty enough to rival even the luscious Neela. A consort of royal blood could legitimise my rule in the eyes of some, including Listre and Krike. If it allows us time to consolidate our hold and recruit more warriors from converted Rilporians, as well as crush any surviving rebellion within our borders, then I suppose I can lower myself to fucking a princess, illegitimate or not.’
‘A noble sacrifice,’ Valan said and chuckled.
Corvus returned to his throne. ‘Speaking of princesses, any news of my sister? She’s a few months gone now, isn’t she? The Blessed One is beginning to devise the ritual to bring back the Dark Lady’ – another pain in his heart, hinting at the depths of agony rolling like a slow swell deep within – ‘but it would be better to have Rill in our possession in good time. With proper instruction, by the time she births the vessel that will hold our Bloody Mother, she’ll have come round to our way of thinking.’ And if not for your loyalty to skinny Neela, you could have had her, Valan. Then if I don’t sire an heir, at least my blood still sits the throne when I am gone.
‘Nothing yet, Sire. The East Rank is consolidating its grip on the main towns and villages, recruiting from or replacing the local watchmen. There’ve been uprisings, of course, but nothing serious. They’ve all got a description of your sister, though.’
‘Tell them to keep looking and to send me those royal women,’ Corvus said, ‘and then get me Fost. It’s time to make Rilpor a true home for the Red Gods and all the Mireces people.’ He stretched and gave a self-satisfied grunt as Valan’s face lit up. ‘It’s time to show our women and children the wealth of their new land.’
TARA
Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
South barracks, Second Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘Tomaz? Tomaz, my love? Call to me, darling. Tell me where you are.’
Tara rushed along the rows of beds with their manacled, staring occupants, easily outstripping her guard, skirts bunched in a sweaty fist and praying none of the soldiers outed her as one of them. She passed an open-mouthed Captain Salter, a man who’d served under her for a year and had never once in that time heard Tara call anyone ‘my love’. He looked down and away.
Too many weeks of eyes-down, mouth-closed hard labour and a dedication to duty that would have astounded Mace, and Valan, her owner, had finally allowed her to visit the makeshift prison and her husband. Valan himself stood by the entrance with the other barracks guards, the door open to clear some of the miasma of sweat, shit and sickness from his delicate nostrils. Tara barely noticed it, both out of respect for the Rankers chained here and because if this went wrong, she could measure her remaining life in breaths, not years.
You better figure out the ruse fast, Tomaz my lad, or we’re both dead.
‘Slow down, wench,’ Bern, the barracks guard escorting her, grumbled, a note of warning in his voice.
Tara gritted her teeth and complied. ‘Forgive me, honoured, I am anxious to see my beloved after so long. I’ve been so worried …’
‘He’s a heathen traitor, an enemy of Rilpor, and a bastard,’ Bern grunted. ‘You want to get anywhere in this life, you’d be better off finding yourself a real man. Your so-called marriage laws count for nothing now, remember. It’s only because you belong to Second Valan that you haven’t been fucked seven ways from midsummer already. Though I bet he’s done a good job of showing you what a real man can do, hasn’t he?’
Tara didn’t answer. Instead she hurried for the row of small rooms at the rear of the barracks, the officers’ quarters, where word had it that the captive high command were imprisoned. Not dead. Not dead yet, anyway.
‘Tomaz?’ she called again, and this time a bearded face appeared at the barred window in one of the heavy wooden doors. ‘Darling!’ she shrieked, running to the door and pressing her face to the bars. ‘I’m your wife,’ she hissed. Major Tomaz Vaunt blinked once in confusion and Tara’s stomach threatened to exit via her throat, and then the guard was unlocking the door and she shoved her way inside and fell into his arms, showering his face with kisses and clutching his unresponsive body to hers.
‘Oh my love, my love,’ she said breathlessly, ‘I never thought I’d see you again. Oh, my darling Tomaz, my husband, my Tomaz.’
Please, please, you fucking idiot. Play along.
She could feel the disbelief in Vaunt’s rigid frame and dug her fingers hard into his back. He coughed. ‘Tara?’ he said hoarsely and squeezed her to him. ‘You there,’ he added a moment later as Tara was swallowing tears of relief, ‘any chance you can piss off for a while? This is my wife.’
The man staring through the door sniggered and made a few comments, but they heard the turning of the key in the lock. ‘One hour,’ Bern said, ‘and if you come out of there with a babe in your belly, you’ll still work until you drop it. No light duties, no extra rations. And if Valan wants to put one in you, you’ll abort it and thank him while you do, understand?’ He spat at them, the thick glob of saliva clinging to the window bar, and left.
Tara gave it a few more minutes, murmuring endearments and pressing kisses to Vaunt’s face and neck. He thawed quickly and soon enough was playing the part of loving husband with vigour.
Eventually, Tara pushed him away. ‘Put a curtain up over the window, my love,’ she said huskily and he grabbed up a blanket, hooked it awkwardly over the frame; they heard a cheer, and more ribald jests that made even Tara blush. As a soldier, she’d thought she’d heard them all. Apparently not. Fucking pig.
Vaunt sat cautiously next to her on the bed, close enough to drag her into an embrace if needed. ‘You’re alive.’
Tara snorted. ‘Of course I’m alive. What do you think I am, some soft Palace Ranker?’
Vaunt’s mouth quirked. ‘No. Though you do appear to be married to one.’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t fancy being passed around the Mireces, thought a high-ranking husband’d be my best bet. Working so far.’
Vaunt shook his head. ‘What the actual bollocking fuck are you doing here, Major?’ he hissed. ‘I mean here, in Rilporin? Last we heard, you were cut off in the city, no idea if you were dead or not. Why didn’t you get out?’
Tara took a second to rub the taste of him off her mouth, her chest suddenly tight at his use of her rank. A reminder of who she really was, not this, this drudge, this slave.
I’m a soldier. An officer. I’m a godsdamned West Ranker.
‘Assassination, rebellion, insurrection. The usual,’ she said flippantly, but Vaunt wasn’t taken in by her act.
His face paled. ‘Assassination? Corvus?’ he guessed and she blinked acknowledgment. He ran distracted hands through his hair. ‘That’s a big ask, Carter.’
She waved it away. ‘First things first: what do you know?’
He looked ready to argue, then slumped. ‘Not much. I haven’t been out of this room since they caught us at the King Gate, even though the rest labour from dawn to dark every day repairing the walls and gates.’
‘All right, listen up. You’re the only captives who haven’t been sold as slaves yet,’ she told him. ‘You and any soldiers still alive in the north barracks, but as I have no reason to go there, I can’t find out who’s left. Everyone else, every other civilian, now belongs to someone. You belong to the city itself, or the Mireces as a group, maybe. I don’t know why they haven’t sold you, but it can’t be out of a sense of fair play. So they’ve got something planned. I’m trying to find out what, but no luck so far. I’ll keep digging.’
‘And you?’
She tapped the heavy metal collar around her neck. ‘Oh, I’m special, I am. I was a gift to Valan the king’s second himself. Hence the need for a husband, though he’s … got a sort of honour, in a way. Hasn’t touched me yet, anyway.’
‘Carter—’
‘I’m your wife. Get used to calling me Tara. And don’t worry about it.’
Vaunt was grim, but he didn’t press and she was glad. ‘What else?’
‘The East Rank has been sent up the Tears and the Gil to subdue the towns and villages and take a tax in food and goods to send here. So that means there’re only Mireces guarding this place. That could give us an advantage.’
‘You want to start a riot?’
‘I want to start a fucking war,’ Tara snarled and then interrupted herself with a string of endearments and a giggle she could tell by Vaunt’s face he never expected to hear from her. The footsteps outside the cell paused and then carried on. More than one guard now, ready with their fists and clubs no doubt.
‘My orders are to kill Corvus and Lanta too, and for that I’m going to need a distraction. I’ll ready the palace slaves to fight and if we co-ordinate with an uprising among you lot, we can take this city back and kill every Mireces Raider we find, those two included.’
‘Shitting hell, Cart— Tara. You want to ghost Lanta and Corvus? That’s insane. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a decent plan, but the risk is huge,’ Vaunt said; then he pressed a finger to her lips and listened hard. Tara held her breath until he shook his head slightly and gestured at her to continue.
‘I think we’re past worrying about risks. Besides, no one knows I’m a soldier,’ Tara said with more confidence than she felt. ‘I’m in a good position as Valan’s property. There’re a lot of logistics to work out, but it’s doable. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. But it’s not just my orders. That Blessed Bitch Lanta has apparently come up with some insane plan to bring the Dark Lady back from death, a plan that involves Corvus’s sister Rillirin, who’s at large somewhere in Rilpor. Yes, I know how it sounds. The woman’s touched by the moon, madder than a frog in a skillet, but she believes, so if it comes down to it, I reckon she needs killing more than Corvus does. He’s just a man, after all; she’s got the power to resurrect a goddess.’
Vaunt scrubbed his fingers through his short beard. ‘Maybe I’m the one who’s gone mad,’ he muttered, ‘because that’s the craziest bloody story I’ve ever heard.’
‘Try being on this side of the slave collar,’ Tara muttered and then threw Vaunt back on to the bed and followed him down, a leg over his hips. A sudden rattling of the door, shaking it hard enough to dislodge the blanket, and faces crowding the window.
Vaunt shouted a curse and tucked Tara behind him against the wall as if to shelter her. His acting was good, and she felt a sudden urge to stay there with him and let him protect her for real. Just for an hour. Just a little while. Please, gods. Please.
Colonel Dorcas’s voice rose loud from the next room – cell – along, and the guards drifted reluctantly from the door again. Vaunt replaced the blanket, threading it between the bars this time to hold it firm.
He came back to the bed and managed a smile. ‘Good ears,’ he whispered approvingly, ‘I’d no idea they were there.’
‘You learn to sense it,’ she said and an involuntary shudder rippled down her back.
Some of the gleam went out of Vaunt’s face. ‘Are you really all right? Have you been hurt?’
‘Yes, I’m all right and yes, I’ve been hurt. What did you think would happen, I’d be showered with gifts? I’m a thing.’ She waved away his concern and her own scalding bitterness. ‘Sorry, ignore that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.’
Again, he didn’t press and again, she was grateful. ‘All right, I’ll let this lot know we’ve got someone on the inside and to be ready to fight. With luck and the Dancer’s grace, they’ll get word to the soldiers in the north barracks too. Anything else?’
‘Code words,’ Tara said. ‘Something to identify friendlies. It needs to be—’
Three metal-on-stone taps on the wall from the next room interrupted her and this time it was Vaunt who jumped on her, pinning her to the cot and forcing her legs apart with his knees.
Tara heard a mumbled ‘sorry’ against her mouth before his hand was inside the neck of her gown and fumbling at her breast band. She stiffened, hooking her fingers into claws to drive at his eyes, when the lock rattled and the door swung open without so much as a knock.
‘Godsfuckingdamnit, sir!’ Vaunt roared, leaping up off Tara and leaving her thoroughly dishevelled, one breast peeking from its restraint and her skirts halfway up her thighs. Vaunt stalked towards the guards smirking and staring and poked Bern in the chest with his finger. ‘One hour, you said. One hour of privacy for myself and my wife. Get the fuck out of my quarters immediately!’
Tara scrunched against the wall next to the cot, tidying herself and not having to fake the shock and anxiety on her face. She held out an imploring hand. ‘Tomaz, darling, don’t. They’ll hurt you.’
‘Listen to the little wifey, soldier,’ Bern snarled, ‘or you’ll lose that fucking finger and more besides.’ The flat of a dagger slapped Vaunt between the legs and he grunted, twitched and took a halting step back.
‘Hour’s up,’ Bern added and Tara slid off the bed.
‘No, it bloody well isn’t,’ Vaunt snapped and this time the guard sheathed his knife and then slapped him so hard across the face it spun him around. His eyes narrowed to murderous slits and Tara stepped quickly past him.
‘Your will, honoured,’ she said quietly, eyes downcast.
‘It isn’t,’ Vaunt insisted, but Tara turned and put her palms on the sides of his face.
‘Hush now, don’t make them angry. I’ll be back soon.’ She kissed him, and even meant it this time, wanting something of warmth and softness to remember. Something real. It seemed Vaunt wanted the same, because he wrapped his arms around her and his mouth parted under hers and his tongue flicked, gentle as a butterfly’s wing, over hers.
And then he pushed her away. ‘Stay safe, Tara,’ he murmured. ‘Do as you’re told and no harm will come to you. I love you.’
‘I love you too. I’ll visit again soon, I swear it.’
Vaunt kissed her knuckles. ‘I’ll be ready,’ he promised, his eyes telling her they all would. She stepped back, nodded once, and then walked to the open door and the waiting Mireces.
‘Touch her and I’ll kill you,’ she heard Vaunt promise as she left the room. It didn’t matter that the threat was empty; it comforted her nonetheless.
Bern fell in beside her, the other guard behind, as they walked the length of the barracks through the shit-stinking, red-stained gloom of a thousand shackled, despairing men. Salter gave her the barest nod, which she ignored.
‘Get yer wet, did he?’ Bern asked as they reached the exit; Valan was just outside. Tara didn’t answer. ‘Asked you a question, bitch,’ he grunted.
‘I am an officer’s wife,’ Tara said, ‘and that is no sort of question to ask a lady.’
Bern’s hand was big enough to encircle her throat and he slammed her back-first into the wall next to the door. ‘You are a fucking slave,’ he muttered, teeth stained and cracked and foul breath blowing in her face. ‘You are fucking nothing.’
‘You’re right,’ Tara gasped, struggling to prise his fingers away. ‘I am a slave. I am Second Valan’s slave. I belong to him, not you.’ Her collar was biting into her neck under his hand and she could feel the sting of skin parting.
‘Asked if he got you wet,’ Bern grunted. ‘You don’t answer, I got to find out for myself. Don’t need no fucking permission for that.’
‘Stop,’ she choked. ‘Please. Please, honoured.’
The worst of it, she thought as Bern’s fingers dragged up her skirts and she pushed at arms thicker than her thighs, wasn’t even what he was doing. It wasn’t that she couldn’t kill him without revealing herself as more than a simple slave woman, even though she could practically taste his death she wanted it so badly.
No. The worst was that she could just make out, over his shoulder, the faces of both Major Vaunt and Colonel Dorcas at their windows. Dorcas turned away, unable to watch, but Vaunt was bellowing threats and curses in their direction. Tara closed her eyes.
You die first, Bern.
Believe me, shithead, you die first.
‘What is this?’ The voice was soft and cold and very, very lethal. Bern disappeared, to the sound of flesh smacking flesh and tearing cloth. Tara looked down at a long rip in her skirt. Her thigh was visible, as were the red fingerprints Bern had left in her skin. The man himself was sitting on his arse and clutching his bleeding mouth.
She fell to her knees in front of Valan. ‘Forgive me, honoured, forgive me. I didn’t want … but he insisted and I, I was afraid. My husband is so angry, but …’ She let the tears come, tears from weeks of fear and responsibility and grief. ‘I told Bern that I belong to you now.’ She whispered the last, casting a guilty glance in Vaunt’s direction, and then dared to look Valan in the eye. ‘Although my heart forever belongs with Tomaz. Please don’t hurt him for my error, lord.’
Valan hauled her to her feet, not unkindly. ‘The error was not yours. The error was Bern’s, who failed to realise that a slave collar means a woman is fucking claimed by another.’ He roared the last in Bern’s face and all of them flinched.
Bern fought his way to his feet. ‘Just checking that fucking Ranker hadn’t had a go at her,’ he whined. ‘Didn’t want you raising no bastard of a Rilporian.’
‘Touch her again and I’ll cut your cock off, roast it and make you eat it – do you understand?’
Bern spat blood. ‘Aye, Second,’ he said, tone sullen and eyes defiant. ‘I understand.’
‘Get out.’ Bern and the other guard sidled through the barracks entrance and Valan glared at the men chained closest. They turned away. He put a finger beneath Tara’s chin and raised her head. ‘Did he hurt you?’
She looked into his face and let a hint of fire show through. ‘Yes. But that is the lot of a slave, isn’t it? To be hurt.’
Valan’s mouth twitched, as though he appreciated her answer even as he didn’t deny its truth. ‘Bern won’t bother you again, but if he does, tell me. Work hard, do as you’re told, and you can visit your husband again.’
‘Yes, honoured,’ Tara said and followed him from the barracks, absurdly grateful for his intervention. Vaunt’s kiss was still on her mouth, but it was Valan who’d kept her safe.
THE BLESSED ONE
Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Red Gods’ temple, temple district, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘Sire, how may I serve?’
If Corvus resented having to trek through the city to the temple in order for her to ‘serve’ him, it didn’t show on his face. Nothing showed on Corvus’s face but what he wanted people to see.
She padded out of the shadows of the temple and watched him drink in the sight of her, the godblood adorning her skin, the marks and the wisdom they imparted painting her in truth and promise and hope. The blood of the Dark Lady, stained forever in swirls and sigils on Lanta’s body, tingling and whispering like the breath of a lover.
She curtseyed and he offered a stiff nod in return, declined wine or water or food. Annoyed, then, and straight to business. Lanta suppressed a sigh.
‘We have thousands of slaves and not enough food to feed them all,’ Corvus said. Lanta blinked. What did she care about stinking Rilporians? ‘You said we would offer a mass sacrifice to bring back the Bloody Mother, and yet there is still no date set for the ritual. May I know the reason for the delay, Blessed One?’
‘You think hungry slaves determine when a work as great as this will be carried out?’ she asked. ‘This is why you come to me, interrupt our devotions, our ritual-crafting?’ She stood in a swirl of skirts. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
‘Hungry slaves are rebellious slaves,’ Corvus said doggedly, staying her with his voice. ‘I have sent Fost to bring home the women and children from the mountains; soon the city will have even more mouths to feed. You told me to spare as many lives as possible for your great rite and there are two prison barracks bursting with angry, hungry soldiers and I cannot keep them alive indefinitely. Would you have me take bread from our young to give to them?’
‘I would have you do your job as king and sort out such matters. Do you need me to wipe your arse for you as well?’ She was tired and frustrated – the ritual they needed didn’t exist and she and high priest Gull had no previous lore to draw upon – but still, she shouldn’t have said it. The temperature in the room plummeted, chilled by the ice in Corvus’s expression.
Lanta inhaled through flared nostrils. ‘Sire, forgive my hasty words. I am very tired. I thought I had made myself clear – the slaves will be needed in the great rite that restores the Dark Lady to us in the body of your sister’s child.’
Corvus thumped the arm of his chair. ‘You want me to keep them alive until – when, Yule? Another half-year? Impossible!’
‘This is the richest country in Gilgoras, Sire. Are you telling me you cannot find enough grain to feed slaves a starvation diet? I need their bodies and blood and fear, not sleek muscles and healthy minds. They can be raving skeletons for all I care, just keep them alive.’
‘We trampled through most of the Wheat Lands during the siege. We have ruined half the crop.’ Corvus was standing too now, anger gleaming just below the frustration.
‘Then it is a good thing we only need to feed the half of the population that walks the Dark Path,’ Lanta snapped. ‘Sire, please. I don’t have time to come up with all the answers for you. Back in Eagle Height you made it clear that I should confine myself to spiritual matters while you dealt with the rest, and now you come here expecting me to magic bread out of the air and take control of those very matters you have excluded me from. I cannot. I will not.’
‘We will have a rebellion on our hands, Blessed One. Slaves and Mireces will die in that rebellion.’
Lanta gritted her teeth. ‘You swore that everything you did was for the glory of the gods. They need more than glory now; They need an act of faith so enormous that it returns the Dark Lady to us. All other considerations are as nothing in the face of that. What we are attempting has never been done and I will not have you jeopardise it. I will not, so I don’t care where you get it from, just find the food and keep my sacrifices alive until I need them.’
Corvus’s hand was squeezing the hilt of his dagger, but not in threat, she thought. ‘You ask too much.’
‘The gods always ask too much, Sire,’ she said softly. ‘And we always provide Them with what They demand. We are Mireces; sacrifice is in our blood.’
He had no answer to that, of course, as she’d known he wouldn’t. It furthered his frustration and added another crack in the bond that had united king and Blessed One thus far in their great conquest. Corvus stalked from the temple without another word, and when he was gone Gull detached himself from the shadows and joined her.
‘You are concerned?’ he asked.
‘He was the perfect king to lead us to victory – even a victory such as this, that cost us our Bloody Mother. But is he the king to rule Rilpor in the gods’ names? Is he the king who will do all that is necessary to see Them ascendant?’
‘You doubt his loyalty?’ Gull was surprised.
‘Never,’ Lanta responded instantly, and was a little surprised to find it was the truth. ‘I doubt his … ability. Corvus is a killer and a leader of men, but is he a governor? Can he provide for his people and keep the slaves in their places? When he killed King Liris, he took over an established and stable world. This one he is building from scratch and I don’t think he knows how. I don’t think he really wants to.’
‘He wants to go to war.’
Lanta rocked her head from side to side. ‘He knows war, but he knows subjugation too. Sending the East Rank rather than Mireces to occupy the towns and villages was a master stroke – it’s easier to give up your liberty to people who look and sound like you. But taxes and crops and laws? Where’s the glory and excitement in that?’
‘Do you want him removed?’ Gull asked.
Lanta pursed her lips. ‘Not yet: we need stability, at least for now. Corvus understands the importance of keeping the slaves alive; despite his frustration here, he will not risk the great rite out of pettiness. But he needs aid, someone who can teach him what he needs to know, provide answers to the questions he doesn’t know how to ask.’
‘I may be able to help with some of the governance,’ Gull offered. ‘I was a silk merchant here in Rilporin for a decade. I understand trade, supply and demand.’
Lanta turned away from the door through which Corvus had exited. ‘Your offer is generous, but I need you here. Corvus will monopolise you if he thinks he can pass such things into your hands. But if there are others among the slaves who would suit …’
Gull nodded and left her, understanding her moods well enough, and Lanta wandered through what had once been the Dancer’s temple and was now sworn and blooded to Holy Gosfath and His absent Sister-Lover. Not dead. Absent. It was the only way she could bring herself to think about it despite the great work they were preparing, despite her every waking – and some dreaming – moments being dedicated to it.
She passed the godpool, sanctified now with the blood of scores of sacrifices so that the once-clear water was red-tinged and thick, clotted and reeking. It was unpleasant, but the last of the Light needed to be chased from this newly hallowed place. Besides, it served as a potent reminder to any slave who thought to raise the defiant eye to their betters.
As always, her footsteps led her outside and into the temple square, to the wooden, open-sided shelter that had been erected over the place where the Dark Lady had been taken from them, the ground still stained with Her divine blood, much as Lanta was herself. There was someone in the shrine, kneeling on the unmarked stone and staring fixedly at the black droplets just in front of him. He looked up at her approach, and scrambled to his feet.
‘Second Valan, forgive me. I had no wish to intrude on your prayers.’
He bowed, his eyes running hungrily over the marks on her skin. He wanted to touch them, as he wanted to touch the stains on the stone. He didn’t dare. ‘It is I who should beg forgiveness. If this place belongs to anyone, it belongs to you.’
Lanta sat on one of the benches circling the shrine and gestured for him to join her. ‘It belongs to us all, Second. You are welcome here whenever you wish, but if you are looking for Corvus, he has left.’
Valan was silent for a while. ‘I was not,’ he said. ‘I came here to pray for my family. Their journey is long and may be perilous, and Ede is only three.’ He met her eyes briefly and Lanta noted the flash of indecision. She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘I worry my daughters won’t remember me,’ he confessed in a rush. ‘What will they have been through while I was here fighting? What trials or sicknesses that I could not comfort? They might not even be alive now.’
Lanta was surprised. Valan rarely spoke of his family and she couldn’t even remember his consort’s name. Such open love was rare among Mireces men, such loyalty even rarer. ‘Their lives will have been what the gods decreed for them,’ she said. ‘Be at peace knowing that if they suffered, they did so to prove their devotion. But there is no saying they did,’ she added.
They sat in silence for a while longer. ‘You are a good man, Valan,’ Lanta said and he blinked in surprise. ‘I hope Corvus knows how lucky he is to have you as his second.’
‘The honour is mine,’ Valan said automatically. ‘My life to serve.’
‘Yes,’ Lanta said, examining him in light of the idea sitting fresh and a little shocking in her mind. ‘We are all put in Gilgoras to serve the gods and do Their will, whatever it may be.’ She stood and he rose with her. ‘I will pray for your family,’ she said and strode back towards the temple before he could respond.
The free sample has ended.