Daughter of Blood

by Helen Lowe

  The company below the Earl’s gallery all saluted him as the crowd cheered, although Myr detected uncertainty beneath the acclamation. She looked away and caught both Huern and Kolthis watching her: her brother with reserve, while Kolthis’s lip curled. Yet her father had not dismissed the three before him, and when Myr looked back his eyes were hooded again.

  “Nonetheless,” Earl Sardon said, once the crowd realized there was more to come and grew quiet, “a transgression against our custom and my will may not be completely overlooked. I grant you your lives and your freedom, but you may no longer pursue them within this keep, or any of the holds and territory that belong to Blood. In Kharalth’s name and my own, I banish you all: Khar of the Storm Spears; Ensign Taly, formerly of my daughter Myrathis’s household; and Jad and his eight-unit, formerly of my Honor Guard. You have until tomorrow’s dawn to leave this keep, and until dawn three days from now to be clear of Blood’s territory. After that time your lives will be forfeit to any with the ability to claim them, without fear of Derai law or blood debt.”

  The crowd clamored, a sound half mournful, half hungry, that reminded Myr of the wyr pack. Exile from House and keep was as good as a death sentence on the Derai Wall, all there knew it. Faro cried out, a hoarse ugly sound, and the Sea Keepers had to haul him back from the lip of the balcony as he tried to reach Khar. Myr wanted to cry out, too, against the knowledge that she had failed. She had played her part in the pageant as Ise had taught her, but it had not turned out like the hero tales.

  Khar’s face, when she dared look his way, was a stone mask that matched her father’s. She could not bring herself to look at Taly or the other second, the honor guard her father had called Jad, whose eight-unit would share his fate because he had thwarted Sarein of a kill. Contemplating that injustice, Myr felt like flotsam, marooned by the floodtide of her family’s maneuvering. She had never been more glad of Ilai’s elaborate makeup, concealing her expression—and was even more thankful for it when her father turned and kissed her formally, first on one cheek and then the other.

  “I told you to ask wisely,” he said, close by her right ear. “You could have asked for the armies of Blood to march on your command, but instead you fritter my grace on this ragtag band.” Both eyes and face shuttered, he leaned forward on her left: “I am disappointed in you, Myrathis.”

  Myr thought her legs might give way then, despite the shame of a collapse before the gathered House, except for two circumstances. The first was that Commander Asantir stood up to salute the Earl and put out a hand to steady her. Like Ilai, Myr thought, holding me up when Sarein stood on my train. The second reason was because—in the moment Asantir steadied her—she looked past her father and met Khar’s gaze, watching from the arena below. When he caught her eye he bowed, not a salute with the sword this time, but the same bow that Asantir had made to him, with the fingertips of the right hand resting against the heart.

  He was saying something, although it was hard to hear because of the crowd. Myr frowned in concentration as Taly and Jad bowed, too, echoing his gesture, and barely noticed Asantir’s hand being withdrawn, or her father and the others turning as Khar straightened out of his bow. But in the lull that followed she heard his next words clearly. “Lady of Grace,” he said, using the salutation associated with heroines like Emeriath and Errianthar, out of the oldest stories. “Lady of Grace, I keep faith.”

  I keep faith. It was the motto Hatha had quoted as belonging to the Storm Spears, and Myr’s heart beat fast as she curtseyed again in acknowledgment. An answering sigh ran through the crowd, but it was not just for the salute or the pledge, she realized, looking beyond their small tableau as she rose. For even as Khar spoke his order’s ancient words, and before he and his seconds had departed the Field of Blood, the oriflamme above the Storm Spear’s pavilion was coming down.

  34

  A Long Road

  Kalan heard a hound give voice as he strode from the arena, and by the time he pushed into the Storm Spear’s garnet-and-gold tent what sounded like every beast in the Red Keep had joined in. The honor guards who had escorted him there were gone, but Garan and Nerys were watching the muster ground entrance. Waiting to retrieve Asantir’s swords, Kalan supposed—then saw that Dab was there, too, with a staff supporting him on one side and Liy on the other. “You can’t delay,” the guard said. “You have to leave at once.”

  “The Earl’s guards have gone from outside as well,” Garan said, and Kalan did not need to ask what he meant. The protection that had been extended to him until the duel was fought had been withdrawn.

  “They’re gone from Lady Mouse’s old rooms, too.” Dab grimaced. “I started thinking what would happen if you won, so I sent Liy out to scout. She found the rooms unprotected.”

  “And unlocked,” Liy added, managing to sound frightened, excited, and important at the same time. “Lucky you don’t have much gear, so I brought it down to your horses, like Dab told me.”

  “Thank you.” Kalan smiled at her, before he looked from Taly to Jad. “This needn’t mean death, not if you come with me.” Exiled from Blood twice over in my case, he thought wryly, but at least he knew it was possible to survive, even on the Wall. Taly’s face was bleak—still trying to absorb what had just happened, he suspected, and Jad looked equally confounded. When they remained silent, Garan spoke again.

  “I and my eight-guard are leaving now, by the Commander’s order. You can ride with us to the boundary of Blood’s territory, or as far as our roads lie together.”

  Briefly, Kalan wondered whether Asantir had anticipated this, too, just as she had known he would need her swords against Parannis. A gift that countered the Son of Blood’s use of old power seemed too neat for chance. But Dab was right, he could not delay for that now. Their enemies, starting with Sarein and Parannis among the ruling kin, would be unlikely to wait for tomorrow’s dawn. They might not come at the exiles directly, but retainers who sought favor would already be sharpening weapons that could be hidden in boot, glove, or sleeve. “Liy can fetch your eight-guard,” he told Jad. “We need to gather supplies and gear together quickly, then get out.”

  “Our possessions are forfeit anyway,” Jad said, visibly pulling himself together. “My unit will have been watching the duel, so they’ll probably head for a place we meet when we’ve matters to discuss that aren’t for the rest of the barracks.” He looked at Liy. “I’ll go after them, but maybe if you check the barracks, just in case. And if it’s safe, grab what you can of our gear.”

  “We’ll need food—” Taly began, but Dab shook his head at her.

  “Already taken care of, Tal, together with your personal gear.” He pulled a rueful face. “When you’re lying flat on your bunk there’s nothing to do but think, and fortunately Liy came by to see how I was doing, so the rest was easy. Everything’s with Khar’s horses,” he added, “so you just need to get to them and out the Blood Gate.”

  “Just,” Kalan thought. “Meet us at the stables,” he told Jad, “or failing that, the Blood Gate.” Once the honor guard and Liy had gone, he turned to Dab. “Can you get clear before any hunters arrive?”

  The guard shook his head. “Forget about me. You have to go now.”

  “I’ll see him clear, Storm Spear.” Bajan ducked through the muster-ground flap. He was carrying his glaive with the blade reversed, but Garan and Nerys automatically adjusted position to take account of its reach as the Bronze Holder tossed Kalan the oriflamme. “Two of Kolthis’s cronies seemed to think they had some claim to this, but I disabused ’em of the notion. I relieved them of the crossbows they had trained on the tent entrance at the same time,” he added, with a grim smile. “Jad’s taken both bows with him and Liy’s keeping watch until we leave. She’ll head to the barracks after that.”

  “We’ll go now.” Kalan stuffed the oriflamme inside his jupon, alongside the scroll and ring, and joined Bajan at the entrance.

  “The announcement of the Honor Guard and its captain should keep the
muster ground clear for some time yet,” the Bronze Holder said. “Even so, I’d take the horse tunnel to the stable, not go via the main gate. There’re too many supporters gathered there, waiting to cheer the successful candidates. You can lose yourself among ’em, though,” he told Dab. “It’s close enough, even with your wound, especially as I can help you get that far.”

  Of course, Kalan thought: Bajan was still a contender for the new Honor Guard so couldn’t pass beyond the gate until the announcement was made. He chinked the flap wide enough to survey the muster ground, then recalled Asantir’s blades. “Will you return the swords to your Commander?” he asked Garan.

  “You’re to keep them,” the Night guard said. For once, his normally expressive countenance was unrevealing. “Until you reach Night, she said.”

  So Asantir did anticipate this, Kalan thought, while Taly focused on the more obvious implication of Garan’s message. “Will we be permitted to enter Night?”

  Garan nodded. “My eight’s new mission doesn’t lie that way, but once you reach our borders you’ll have safe conduct.”

  There’s a long road there yet, Kalan thought, knowing the paired swords would be invaluable for a party of fugitives daring the Wall’s dangerous terrain. Taly’s expression indicated that she understood the difficulties ahead, but a little of her bleakness had eased. “Thank the Commander for me,” Kalan said, but Nerys checked him before he could step outside.

  “Let us go first,” Garan said. “For the service you have done the Commander and Night.”

  The Night guards had quit the tent before Kalan could muster an argument, and a few moments later Nerys whistled the all-clear. When he joined them, Kalan saw Liy crouched on a vantage point above one of the muster ground’s many gates into the arena. She waved as Taly led the way toward the horse tunnel, and Kalan sketched a salute back. He received a gamine grin in reply, at the same time as Taly and the Night guards disappeared from view. Once inside the tunnel, they all ran, the low stone roof and their pounding boots muffling the somber chorus of the hounds.

  “Although,” Taly said, as they entered the stable, “none of us actually own our horses. They’re all the property of the Red Keep. As guards we only have the use of them.”

  Kalan knew he should have remembered that, because it had been the same in Night, but he still sustained an Emerian knight’s shock at such an unnatural circumstance. “The Commander’s company have spare mounts,” Garan told them. “You can return them to the Keep of Winds with the swords. I’ll give you a note-of-hand,” he added, “so you won’t be accused of theft.”

  “Thank you.” Taly spoke stiffly, standing very straight. Kalan guessed the gall to her pride would only rub more because without horses the chance of surviving at all, let alone meeting Earl Sardon’s time frame, would be close to impossible.

  “You’re not returning to the Keep of Winds yourselves?” he queried.

  “No.” Garan was rueful. “As reward for our exemplary nursemaiding of a flock of Morning priests from the Border Mark to the Keep of Bells, then back to Morning, we are now to search the vastness of the Gray Lands for a stray from Westwind Hold. The woman’s mazed, but still managed to slip her watchers and Night territory.” His ruefulness became pity. “If we find her at all in that country, most likely she’ll be dead. Nonetheless, we have our orders.”

  When the Night guards turned away to fetch their horses, Taly accompanied them. Kalan saddled Tercel and Madder, strapping on the equipment and supplies that Liy had stashed inside Tercel’s loose box. Bajan’s page was full of resource as well as pluck, he decided, lifting the concealed items clear. The hounds’ clamor was much louder here, being so close to the kennels, and Kalan, his hands busy with straps and buckles, wondered what had set them off this time and how long they would continue before falling silent.

  By the time he finished, Garan and his unit were at the stable entrance. Kalan’s eyebrows rose when he saw that all eight were leading messenger horses, although the mounts allocated to the Blood exiles were regular troopers.

  “Garan’s company will go to the Blood Gate by the main route and take all the horses through with them, including yours if they can be led,” Taly told him. “They’re distinctive, but may be less so among the rest of the string. The gate guards are unlikely to prevent a Night company leaving, in any case.” She shrugged. “Horses are one thing, but Night can’t openly undermine Earl Sardon’s ruling, so best if we take a separate route to the Blood Gate. There’s a back way that runs behind both kennels and mews, and if the gate seems chancy there’s also a sally port we can try.” Unhappiness crept into Taly’s voice. “Although that would mean leaving the port unsecured behind us.”

  Kalan understood her reluctance. “Let’s hope we don’t have to,” he said, and handed his horses’ reins to Garan. “They’ll accept being led but don’t try and ride them, especially Madder.”

  The back way was a zigzag of lanes and alleys, all currently unused with the Red Keep still focused on the Field of Blood. Kalan stayed alert for pursuit beneath the hounds’ cacophony, while his thoughts returned to the final events in the arena and particularly his salute to Lady Myr. He had not intended to use the term Lady of Grace, or to couple it with the Storm Spears’ motto, but the words had burned themselves out of his mouth when he overheard Earl Sardon rebuke his daughter for interceding.

  Lady of Grace. Kalan repeated the epithet to himself and decided that if Earl Sardon could not see his youngest daughter’s courage and integrity, then he might be adept in games of power but was far from wise. He was still thinking about that when Taly turned into another tunnel that curved gently down, and the hounds fell silent as abruptly as they had begun to howl.

  Kalan caught the first reverberation of boots off stone at once, interspersed with voices and the clink of armor. Listening intently, he decided there were between four to six warriors behind them, approaching at a pace that would see them catch up shortly. A few seconds later Taly glanced behind, but shook her head when he asked how far to the gate. “Too far, even if we run, and there’s nowhere to hide either.” She glanced back again: “Best to confront them.”

  But keep an eye to our backs as well, Kalan thought, as they faced the way they had come. Beside him, Taly could have been his mirror image, prepared but not overtly threatening. The boots were louder now, ringing in the confined space, and soon Kolthis rounded the corner, with Rhisart and Ralth to either side—the latter sporting a heavily bruised face and what looked like a broken nose. Three more warriors followed a pace behind them. “Ah,” Kolthis said, stopping. “I feared you would escape my grasp.”

  “What’s actually escaped you is Earl Sardon’s deadline,” Kalan replied. “We have until tomorrow’s dawn to quit the keep.”

  “If you survive to do so,” Kolthis returned softly. “I’m sure you already know that no one’s going to ask questions if you and the ensign here vanish. Even the Mouse will assume you’ve left as ordered.”

  Taly’s head was up in a way that reminded Kalan of Girvase at his most dangerous. “I thought you would be on the Field of Blood, Kolthis, receiving your preordained captaincy. Or is this last piece of dirty work what’s required to secure it?”

  Kolthis shrugged. “Poor Taly, you must have known it was never going to be you.” His look grew reflective. “How did Lord Huern put it? That the Battlemaster might tolerate one of your line’s get in the keep garrison, but never in any of Blood’s elite corps. Not even the Half-Blood’s Honor Guard, apparently.” As if on cue, his companions smirked. “Of course, we’re here to ensure he no longer needs to tolerate you at all.”

  “Besides,” Rhisart added, “they’ve decided to announce the Honor Guard and the captaincy at tonight’s feast.”

  “In order to safeguard the purity of the contest from your disgrace.” Kolthis took the Bane Holder up smoothly, although Kalan detected an initial flash of irritation. “And the Bride’s folly. Naturally, as captain, it will be my privilege to e
nsure such folly ceases. Starting,” Kolthis ended, “with removing its current source.”

  The rasp of steel clearing scabbards echoed along the tunnel. Taly’s blade was a gleam in Kalan’s peripheral vision as he drew Asantir’s longsword. “If we do this, you know there’s no guarantee you’ll live to accept that captaincy.”

  Kolthis smiled. “You may be good, Storm Spear, but even with Taly to back you, the odds favor us.”

  If Girvase were here, he would say that two against six was close enough to be called even—but before Kalan could move, a deep growl sounded from behind him. “Khar,” Taly said, very quietly, at the same time as a large form brushed between them and Kolthis’s eyes widened. More bodies followed, but even before Kalan saw the sleek heads and glowing eyes, the beasts’ size had told him they were wyr hounds. When a head bumped against his hip, he risked a swift glance down, sufficient to recognize the hound that had survived the stables.

  “Scion of Tavaral: Kalan-hamar-khar.” The moth whisper brushed his mind again, but this time Kalan heard a deeper, more sonorous note beneath it. The narrow head swung back toward Kolthis, the pale eyes as incandescent as the Night Mare’s had been in Jaransor, six years before. When the hound growled and took another step forward, the rest of the beasts advanced in unison. Kalan counted thirteen of them altogether, their hackles raised and ears flattened, standing between him and Kolthis. “Kol.” Rhisart sounded uneasy. “They’re wyr hounds . . .” His voice trailed away.