Godblind

Dalli gave Carter and Mace a strained smile and Mace winced. ‘Gods, woman, that’s the most impressive black eye I’ve seen in a long while.’

Dalli fingered the bruising. ‘Mireces spear butt, right in the eye. I will confess to a momentary confusion in the aftermath.’

Mace whistled. ‘I’d confess to being unconscious if it was me. But you’re otherwise well?’

Dalli gave a half-shrug, her usual energy missing. ‘As well as can be expected. Mireces war party on the hunt for an escaped slave. She made it down to us and they followed her, attacked the village. Burnt the village. We lost nearly seventy.’ She tapped her fingertips to her heart, commemorating the dead, and Mace and Tara copied her. ‘We’d had a few hours’ advance warning, but there were too few of us nearby to form an effective defence. We fought a holding action, then had to run.’

‘My sympathies, Dalli, to you and yours. Any help you need rebuilding, please do ask. I’ll increase our patrols in the meantime, give you a chance to recover.’

‘Thank you, General, we’d appreciate that. We’re stretched thin. For now we’ve sent the girl to Watchtown with Dom, to keep her safe and … keep her away from the other Wolves. There’s some bad feeling about what happened. The Mireces wouldn’t have attacked if she wasn’t there, and if she’d told us beforehand that she’d murdered Liris – well, let’s just say we wouldn’t have sent most of our warriors to winter in the smaller settlements.’

‘She killed him?’ Mace asked, incredulous. ‘A slave?’

Dalli touched her face again. ‘That she did, General. Or that’s what she told us anyway, and we believe her.’ She rested her hip against his desk and Mace was suddenly aware of her exhaustion. She was hurt and hurting, grieving, but she’d come to warn them anyway. She puts half my men to shame.

‘At least that fat old bastard Liris is dead,’ Dalli said. ‘Even if too many of ours are as well.’

Mace stalked to the window and back again. ‘You say there’s bad feeling around the slave? We’d be happy to host her here,’ he said, trying not to sound too eager. Her knowledge of Eagle Height must be extensive. This could be the turning of the tide. But why did she have to make her way to the Wolves? I could do so much with that knowledge, so much.

‘She and Dom will stay at the temple. With luck there won’t be trouble, but we’ll bear it in mind.’

‘Of course. If her presence in Watchtown becomes complicated, let me know and we’ll send someone to fetch her. In the meantime, if you learn anything from her, please do share it with us.’ He paused and Dalli dipped her head. ‘Do we know who the new Mireces king is yet? Or if there even is one?’

Tara sighed. ‘That we don’t know. I can take a patrol—’

Mace held up a finger. ‘You’ve done enough, Carter. Just let me have your full report by this evening.’ She opened her mouth to protest. ‘I’ve told you before, being a reckless idiot is not going to get you promoted any faster. If anything, it’ll make me more inclined to demote you. You are not the only captain with a Hundred in the West Forts. I appreciate your zeal, but I have other capable officers who can take out patrols. And I’m not sure your men would appreciate another run out so soon. Dismissed,’ he added when Carter looked like protesting anyway.

She saluted and stalked to the door, closing it very firmly behind her. Mace suppressed a smile; Carter was going to be an outstanding general one day, if she managed to stay alive that long. And if she could actually bloody listen to orders.

‘She’s a good one,’ Dalli said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘You’re lucky to have her.’

‘I know, I just wish she didn’t think she had to prove herself all the time.’

Dalli snorted. ‘She’s the only woman in the Rank, and she’s an officer. Of course she has to prove herself all the time. She’s fighting the instincts of five thousand soldiers.’ Dalli poked at the bruise again. ‘Your men aren’t as enlightened as ours; most of them don’t believe Tara should be wearing trousers, let alone wielding a sword. She’d probably be better off joining the Wolves.’

‘Stop trying to steal my best officer, Dalli,’ Mace said with a mock frown. ‘You can’t have her. Listen,’ he said, moving back to the desk, ‘how bad is the feeling about this woman?’

Dalli’s brows drew together. ‘Bad enough. Seventy is too many for a single skirmish on our own ground. Those four incursions we repelled over the summer cost us less than a hundred, plus your losses of course. To lose so many now, this late in the season …’ She closed her eyes. ‘It’s been a hard year for us.’

‘Then maybe she should stay at the forts,’ Mace said. He squeezed her shoulder and she opened her eyes again. ‘Think about it.’

‘I’ve got to visit a few settlements in the foothills, tell them what’s happened, then I’ll be going to Watchtown. I’ll see what the atmosphere’s like. If necessary, I’ll bring her here.’ She stood up from his desk. ‘But for now, General, with your permission I’ll raid your kitchens and then find somewhere to get my head down for a few hours. Long way still to go.’

‘Of course. Dancer’s grace upon you.’

She gave him a crooked smile. ‘And you, General.’

When Dalli had left, Mace wandered back to the window and looked down on the fort, then up at the mountains clawing the air, white and angry against a white sky. Change was coming: he could feel it. Maybe a king-killing slave from Eagle Height could help ensure that change was to their advantage.

CRYS

Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

The palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

A couple of easy years, they said. A rest from the threat of border patrols, they said. Crys stood in the audience chamber and tried to keep his eyes open. He’d been here a few weeks and was bored out of his mind. Most of his wages had gone on drinking and gambling and he’d been threatened with a flogging already for being late on duty. That was Rivil’s fault, though; the prince could drink like a horse. Though it wasn’t exactly the done thing to blame your superiors for your own tardiness.

His Hundred were in charge of the king’s honour guard this week, and he’d thought that’d liven things up. So far he’d stood and listened to the king mumble for four days. He couldn’t make out most of it, and what he could didn’t make much sense. And the court? Crys had never seen such a bunch of expensively clothed arse-lickers in all his life.

Only Rivil’s endless supply of court gossip had kept him going, and he’d discovered which of the twittering court ladies was not blind to a dashing young officer offering a supportive hand during a turn in the gardens.

He’d spent the morning amusing himself by examining their outfits, grateful for the fashion for low-cut necklines. He’d be asleep if there wasn’t an army of well-endowed bosoms parading in front of his face.

The doors opened and the princes entered together. Crys snapped to attention, thumping his pike on to the marble, the sudden movement sending a rush of blood to his numb feet. Rivil winked as he walked past and Crys fought to remain stoic as the prince flicked him the finger for good measure.

Galtas followed a few paces behind, as always. The bastard’s single eye blazed a challenge at him. Crys really was going to have to give the little prick a beating at some point. He was bigger, but Crys would bet he was faster – he’d just stay on the side without the eye.

The princes bowed to the king and Rastoth beamed at them. ‘My boys,’ he boomed cheerfully, ‘my good boys. You are well?’

‘Very well, your majesty,’ Prince Janis said with another bow, ‘and how is your health?’

‘Excellent,’ Rastoth said, though Crys noted that Rivil glanced to the physician for confirmation. Hallos inclined his head. Janis stepped forward and offered Rastoth his arm as he rose, and the three of them made their way about the throne room, courtiers simpering and smiling like a flock of birds around them.

Crys followed, his knee stiff from standing still for hours.

Rivil dropped back to walk at Crys’s side. ‘Bit of a limp there,’ he whispered.

Crys glanced at Janis, then back to Rivil. ‘It’s the size of my cock,’ he whispered, ‘drags me to the right. What’s a man to do?’

Rivil burst out laughing and Crys grinned. Janis looked back and frowned. ‘I’m not sure our wise and devoted heir approves of our friendship,’ Rivil joked, giving Janis a little wave.

‘He’s just fuming because the king’s stopped next to Lord Hardoc. Or is it Lord Haddock? His breath smells like a week-dead fish, anyway.’

Crys kept a wary eye on Commander Koridam as Rivil sniggered. ‘His daughter, though,’ the prince said and whistled. ‘Have you seen the tits on her? Face like a cow’s, but with tits like that I’d – Commander, what a pleasure.’

‘Your Highness, if you are finished with my captain, may I have a word with him?’ Durdil asked.

Gods, what now? Crys saluted, bowed to Rivil, and gestured to Weaverson to take his place. He followed Durdil out of the audience chamber and down the long corridors to the commander’s study. Whatever it is, it can’t be more boring than guard duty.

Durdil sat at his desk and stared at Crys. He cleared his throat. ‘Captain Tailorson, Prince Rivil has requested you to lead his honour guard when he and Prince Janis travel west. They’re going to visit the West Rank before winter sets in.’ Durdil’s eyes were narrow with calculation, so Crys kept his face neutral, as though this was only to be expected. ‘I understand you’ve become quite the prince’s boon companion lately.’

Crys’s elation died rapidly. ‘I – It is difficult to refuse a prince, sir, when he gives an order.’

‘I see. And drinking until dawn with him, that’s because he orders you to, is it?’

Damn. ‘Well, no, sir, but when I’m off-duty—’

‘An officer is never off-duty, Captain Tailorson. Especially not an officer serving within the Palace Rank. One who is under my direct command.’

Shit. ‘If my actions have been improper, sir, then I apologise. I will decline the prince’s request.’

Durdil huffed. ‘You’ll do no such thing, Captain. As I noted on your first day, you have the potential to be an outstanding officer. You are not embracing that potential. Captain of the princes’ honour guard will necessitate you performing at the highest level for an extended period of time. The safety of the princes is paramount, so I expect regular reports and thorough examinations of everything the king wishes examined. And I have asked the heir to keep an eye on you – I have mentioned I am considering you for promotion and would value his opinion on his return.’

He grinned, though Crys felt no desire to smile in return. ‘I may also have mentioned that in your desire to achieve that promotion, you will be taking your duties extremely seriously and will have little time for carousing.’

Godsdamn shitting shit. ‘I am indeed honoured, sir. I will serve to the best of my ability.’ Crys wondered if it rang as hollow in Durdil’s ears as it did in his own.

‘It will be a testing of your mettle, captain.’ Durdil leant forward and put his palms flat on his desk. ‘Do not let me down.’

‘Of course not, sir,’ Crys said in his blandest voice. He snapped out a salute, spun on his heel, and exited the office.

Careful what you wish for, imbecile. Sometimes you actually get it.

TARA

Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

West Rank headquarters, Cattle Lands, Rilporian border

‘Correspondence from the king, General,’ Tara said and handed it over.

Mace looked up from his letters and frowned. ‘What now? We can’t have a reply to the report about the raid and Liris’s death already. The throne doesn’t move that fast.’ He arched his back until his spine clicked.

This was one of the best things about being Mace’s adjutant, being here when he read his correspondence. Tara knew what the common soldiers thought they did up here, but at least they didn’t say it in front of her any more. Not since I broke that big git’s arm in two places. She grinned as Mace checked the name and seal on the envelope and then broke the wax.

His mouth opened as he read and then the colour drained from his face. Tara stepped forward, alarmed, and Mace swallowed and straightened in his chair.

‘It seems we are to be graced with royalty,’ he said. ‘The princes Janis and Rivil are coming to inspect the Rank, the forts, the supplies, the trade routes and anything else they can think of.’

Tara raised her eyebrows. ‘The princes? Why?’

Mace sighed. ‘The king’s health is not as robust as it once was,’ he said.

Tara kept her face neutral. That’s an understatement.

‘This may be the start of the princes assuming more control to ease the king’s burdens. Janis is capable, more than capable, but distant. It’s hard for men to be inspired to die in his name if he’s an enigma to them. Rastoth in his day could inspire anyone to do anything. Janis needs to learn to do the same.’

‘The West’s definitely the right place to start then,’ Tara said, ignoring the churning in her stomach. ‘We’re more loyal than the other Ranks as it is. West is best, after all,’ she added with a grin. Everyone said it.

‘I think that will be up to the princes to decide,’ Mace said and Tara’s smile faded. ‘They’re the future of this kingdom, Captain. Janis will be king and Rivil the Commander of the Ranks, so they need to see us at our absolute best.’

‘Future commander?’ Tara asked. ‘Surely that will be you, General.’

Mace folded his hands on the desk. ‘Me, Captain? While I admire your loyalty, I have no desire to be Commander of the Ranks. I am content with my position as general of the West. Which of course is entirely dependent on the princes’ assessment of my command. They’ll be here in a week. They’ll have my quarters, so I want you in charge of making sure they’re fitted out as best we can and my stuff is moved into the barracks.’

‘Colonel Abbas’s room—’ Tara began.

‘You know what would happen if I turfed Abbas out of his quarters?’ Mace asked.

‘Good point, sir. Well, my quarters then.’ Despite her words, Tara didn’t much want a repeat of the fourteen months she’d spent in the barracks with the rest of the soldiers, even if they had made her one of the dirtiest fighters in the Rank. There wasn’t anything Tara wouldn’t use as a weapon, and there wasn’t a body part Tara wouldn’t target if it’d get a fat fucker with rape on his mind off her. Still, Mace was the general and she was a captain.

‘The barracks, please, Captain. If it’s good enough for the men, it’s good enough for me.’

‘As you say, General.’ Best get it said, then. ‘Sir, about the princes, would you prefer it if I took out a long recon?’

Mace stared at her for a second. ‘Captain Carter, you are a bloody good officer first, if a little … hasty, and a woman second. You didn’t get this far by hiding from your superiors, or hiding your’ – he gestured vaguely and Tara’s face warmed – ‘female attributes. You’re up for rotation in two years: better get used to strangers having an opinion on you soldiering. Until then, I’ll vouch for you personally.’

Tara’s face warmed again, with gratitude this time. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘How many Hundreds are patrolling?’ he said and Tara pictured the barracks, the kitchens, the drill grounds inside and outside the forts.

She grimaced. ‘Seven, sir, with the Wolves out of action. It’ll put a stretch on us to get all four forts inspection-ready with that many men out.’

‘Best get busy then, eh, Captain?’ He jerked a thumb at the door. ‘Get your arse on to the wallwalk and flag the news to the other forts. I want this place hopping in an hour. Spick and span, Carter, spick and span. We’ve royalty coming.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tara said and saluted. Princes Janis and Rivil. Do I even have a dress I can fit into these days? Do I even know how to wear one?

GALTAS

Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

South Harbour dock, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

Galtas watched the loading of the royal barge with little interest, his mind on other things. He’d argued against Crys’s inclusion in the trip, especially against him leading the honour guard, offering to do it himself in the end. Rivil had helpfully pointed out Galtas held no formal rank. Galtas had equally helpfully pointed out they could hire a private guard as so many other nobles did, and he could lead that. Last thing he needed was that inquisitive little shit poking his nose in.

Then Janis broke in and said Palace Rank was the only appropriate guard for princes. Galtas hawked and spat into the calm waters of the harbour at the memory, at Janis’s utter dismissal of him. Appropriate. Oh, Janis was all about that, wasn’t he? Appearance was everything. He wondered what went on underneath that dour, faithful, self-righteous exterior. What perversions Janis must keep hidden to protect his reputation. Galtas didn’t doubt he had them, but years of prying had never revealed so much as a whore or a bastard or an unexplained death. It was impossible.

‘Careful with that,’ a voice snapped and Galtas jerked back into the real world and scowled down the dock. Tailorson was directing the loading. The captain waved his arm, then leapt from the dock into the barge to catch the swinging cargo and help lower it to the deck.

Galtas fingered the pouch of poison hanging from his belt and spat again. Quite the little hero. Gods, he was almost as insufferable as Janis, and significantly closer to Rivil than the heir would ever be, despite outward appearances.

There were plans to be safeguarded and an inquisitive soldier was an unnecessary risk. Galtas touched the poison pouch again, checked the position of the sun, and then made his way to the Ship Tavern on the edge of the water outside the city.

Many plans, and many ways they could go wrong already, without Rivil being distracted by his new pet soldier. He took a table in a quiet corner and put his back to the wall, sipping at the ale the girl brought. If those plans came to fruition, he’d never have to bow and scrape to the likes of Janis again, or put up with shits like Tailorson.

He drank and waited, eyeing each new customer and wondering if his contact would be on time. Waiting was the hard part.

THE BLESSED ONE

Eleventh moon, year 994 since the Exile of the Red Gods

Longhouse, Eagle Height, Gilgoras Mountains

Lanta seethed. She’d felt Rillirin’s presence, she’d seen into their stinking excuse for a village, and then Corvus had slaughtered all he could find and the rest had fled. Her humiliation cut deep and she knew the Red Gods were displeased. She was displeased.

‘We are no closer to finding Liris’s killer,’ Lanta hissed. Corvus twitched, but had no answer. She could hear the enamel squeaking on her teeth, they were so tightly clenched. He’d left a band of five led by Edwin and Valan scouring the forests for Rillirin and ordered the rest back to Eagle Height, and when she’d argued against it, he’d suggested she stay and search herself. The mockery in his face when she’d declined had been plain. ‘Rillirin could be anywhere by now.’

‘We’ll find my sister when the gods will it,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll learn everything she has to say.’ He’d a fondness for quoting the gods’ will at her, as if he even knew what that was. A fondness for ignoring her, for ignoring the gods too when it suited him.

Lanta feared nothing, not even death – death would simply bring her into the gods’ very presence, to sit with the Dark Lady as Her Blessed One for all eternity. But the thought of that little cunt slipping through her fingers filled her with something akin to fear. Fear and bright, pure rage.

‘She was right there, Corvus, and you didn’t take her. You let her escape. Is your sense of family—’

‘You will address me correctly, Blessed One,’ he said smoothly, ‘as “Sire” or “your Majesty”. I give you that courtesy and you will do the same for me. As for my sense of family, Rillirin is a heathen and so she is dead to me. You think I would have allowed her to be a mere bed-slave to be used by any man who could claim her if I felt anything for her?’

‘Sire,’ she managed, swallowing bile, ‘be that as it may, Rillirin knows who killed Liris, but she also knows many of our secrets. Secrets we have just handed to the Wolves. The invasion, maybe even the ongoing negotiations with the Rilporian, may all be spilt. She is a weakness we cannot afford.’

‘And yet the gods will it otherwise,’ Corvus said and Lanta’s teeth squeaked again. ‘As for the Wolves, we sowed bloody confusion in their very fucking homes, killed them while they slept. The survivors won’t be able to stand against us for long.’ He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Commune with the gods, ask them for direction. Leave Rillirin and the war to me.’

Lanta sought for calm. ‘I shall pray and seek guidance. For our cause and for you, that you may have your eyes opened.’

‘Oh, I see clearly, Blessed One. Very clearly.’

His arrogance made her want to spit in his face, to draw her sacred hammer and put it through his temple. Instead she curtseyed and went to the door leading down into the cave-temple, controlling her temper until she was out of sight.

‘I will have that little bitch under my knife for this,’ she whispered, the sibilants echoing back to her. ‘Corvus’s arrogance, his ignorance, may destroy us all. I will not let that happen. The gods will triumph. They will have Rilpor. I have sworn it and I need no king to bring it about.’

In the temple, Lanta took a deep breath and stilled her mind and heart. To step into the circle unprepared was to have your soul torn to pieces. She lit the candles and threw bunches of dried sage on to the brazier and smoke rose, thick with visions. She knelt, palms on thighs, eyes closed and breathing steadily, until she felt the pathway to the gods break open and she rushed along it into the presence of her mistress.

In the stillness of the temple Lanta’s body twitched and bent, shuddering with pain that was indistinguishable from pleasure.

‘I am here, my child,’ the Dark Lady said and Lanta’s mind thrilled with awe and terror. Sweat darkened her dress. ‘You are distressed?’

The Dark Lady was a voice in Lanta’s head, a voice of fear and blood and orgasm, and Lanta opened herself like a flower to its owner. ‘My goddess, I fear Your will may not be done. I fear Corvus is not strong in his faith, that he will fail to accomplish Your desires. Will you guide me, tell me what must be done? Should I remove him?’

The Dark Lady was silent and Lanta waited, muscles tensing in waves through her body as the Goddess rifled through her mind and memories, her desires and plans. Lanta didn’t fight it, didn’t try and hide anything from Her. Not that she could have. All her ambitions and secret wants she put on view, and the Dark Lady pondered them, turned them over like trinkets, and discarded them.

‘Corvus does my will,’ the Dark Lady said abruptly, and Lanta sucked in a breath. ‘He is one of many instruments I command. You are another. The Rilporian is a third. The calestar the fourth. When all those pieces come together in one place, then will my victory be complete.’

‘The calestar? I did not know.’

‘You did not need to,’ the Dark Lady said and Her voice hurt. Lanta submitted. She could feel Her amusement. ‘You do not like Corvus, do you? Or is it that you do not like that he has stripped you of power?’ Lanta’s mind was crushed suddenly in a vice and she screamed, clutching her head. She fell to the stone as the Dark Lady tore open her skull.