Bloodchild

‘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.