Princess of Blood

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘Do we go in?’ Chotel whispered to Bade after a few moments of nothing at all happening. ‘Or come back when we’re ready?’

  ‘Spade and I go,’ he replied. ‘Might be we need to deal with another guardian spirit before we get the run of the room and I don’t want gunfire in there yet.’

  Bade reached into a pocket of his coat and brought out one of several steel boxes he carried. Opening that, he retrieved a small glass bead with the character for ice painted on the surface.

  ‘Come on, Spade. Feel free to burn up anything that jumps out at you, just keep close to me, okay?’

  They followed a shallow tunnel for two hundred paces by Bade’s count, which eventually opened on to a tall cylindrical chamber with a zig-zag set of inclines rising out of the floor. The dozen shallow slopes led to a platform and a great stone door that stood open into the room. Before they reached that, however, Bade found what he was looking for around the lower part of the room – a pair of glyphs identical to the previous ones, halfway up the wall and glowing blue in the lamplight.

  ‘Ready?’

  The mage nodded and as Bade hurled his mage-bead at one of the glyphs, the mage set a stream of fire washing over the other. As the light of the magic faded, the competing magics neatly dividing the room in orange light and frost-kissed dark, the glyphs pulsed with light. Bade felt a flicker of relief, but kept his hand on his mage-pistol all the same as he ascended the slope with the mage in tow.

  The door was a slab of mage-carved rock easily fifteen feet high and more than a foot thick, but it led nowhere as the doorway beyond had been walled up. Touching his fingers to his lips, Bade crept forward and inspected the obstacle. It was human-built, brick and mortar and hastily done from what he could tell. How thick was anyone’s guess, but a test probe with his knife told him that the mortar was still slightly soft.

  Patiently he worked one brick loose and slid it out. There were more behind of course, but it gave him an idea of what he was dealing with and, after waiting a short while to see if he could hear anything from the other side, they returned to the others.

  ‘The intelligence is good, just as we were told,’ Bade said at Chotel’s inquisitive look. ‘The entrance is open and the doorway’s bricked up. You stay here with a couple of men and the big lamp, start the process of unpicking the wall, just be slow and silent. I’ll send the supplies down so we’re ready to move as soon as possible.’

  ‘You’re not going to explore the rest?’

  Bade grinned. ‘Work first,’ he said, nodding at Kastelian. ‘We can wait a day to play.’

  A thump on his foot jerked Lynx awake. Before he could even focus he was reaching for his sword, but found nothing and after a few moments of blindly flapping, he looked up to see Toil. She had a small smile on her face and her leather coat on her back.

  ‘Still a bit twitchy when you wake, eh?’

  ‘Aye, looks like it,’ he muttered. Lynx looked around and saw the back of Lastani heading through the door to the stairs. ‘Giving her a break then?’

  ‘The girl could do with a rest,’ Toil confirmed, ‘and I need to run an errand. Want to stretch your legs?’

  He blinked at her for a moment then nodded and heaved himself up. ‘Reckon I do, where are we going?’

  ‘We’re going dress shopping.’ Toil beamed. ‘You’ll love it.’

  ‘A dress? For you?’

  ‘Of course for bloody me, who else?’

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno, just never seen you in a dress.’

  ‘Here’s your chance then.’

  They headed out into the grey afternoon light and down the main avenue running south through the district. The streets were busy, people and horses packing the avenue, so they were forced to weave a path through slow-moving traffic until the green-sheathed roofs of guild-houses came into view. Surrounding each of those was a tight network of streets where the shops were mostly devoted to the trade of the guild-house. The Tailors’ Guild was an imposing red-brick structure with fifty or more small flags flying above the pair of double doors that served as entrance to the great building. On the doors themselves was a brass crest, an eight-pointed star made of sewing needles.

  ‘What’re those?’ Lynx asked, pointing at the flags.

  ‘Guildsmen crests,’ Toil said. ‘Means they’re accredited members and can charge more, sign of quality, see?’ She pointed to one of the nearby shops where the great crest of the guild was reproduced above the door while a flag bearing the guild crest of that shop twitched in the afternoon breeze.

  ‘But we’re not going in there?’

  She shook her head. ‘Given I’m not looking for a soldier’s uniform, no. Over there, that’ll do.’

  She led him across the street to an almost identical shop, but in the window of that one he saw a wooden headless mannequin wearing a green sleeveless dress. Lynx raised an eyebrow at the low-cut front as much as the bands of ribbon and crystal decoration, but Toil just snorted and shook her head as she reached for the door.

  ‘Don’t get any ideas, it ain’t going to be that fancy.’

  ‘Still, I’m liking the general thrust.’

  Inside it smelled of expensive leather and dried flowers, scrubbed floors and cedar wood. They were met by a pair of hatchet-faced women who could have been sisters, both with their hair severely pinned back and wearing silk shawls over the sleeveless dresses that Lynx had realised was the fashion for civillian women of a certain status. One wore black, the other brown, but both sported the shop’s crest worked into the decoration around their waist.

  ‘May we help you, ah, madam?’ asked one dubiously.

  ‘I need a dress and I need it fast,’ Toil snapped, marching inside like a duchess and turning her back on the pair as she scanned the boles of fabric lining the left-hand wall. ‘Plain silk, high neck, in green and grey. To be completed by this evening.’

  She shucked off her leather coat and tossed it to Lynx before sweeping back her dark red hair and giving the women an imperious look.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I regret—’

  Toil made an angry little sound and stepped forward, the shrewish tailor’s platitudes tailing quickly off as the imposing mercenary loomed over her.

  ‘No, no regrets.’ She pulled a purse from her belt and hefted it to make the coins inside chink. ‘I want quality work and I was told I could get it here. If you’re not up to the challenge I will take my money elsewhere and refer the others accordingly.’

  ‘Others?’ said brown dress.

  ‘Others,’ Toil confirmed without bothering to explain further. ‘Now, shouldn’t you be taking measurements?’

  The pair scuttled to work and Toil nodded approvingly. She removed her scarf and began to unbutton her tunic, flashing Lynx a mischievous smile before turning away. Underneath she wore only a thin linen shirt that showed the lines of her body to great effect, if Lynx was any judge.

  ‘Don’t worry, Lynx,’ Toil called over her shoulder as she tossed him the tunic and submitted to measurement. ‘I’ve not forgotten you and your friends.’

  ‘Oh, great, the last suit you got me was such a success,’ he replied gloomily.

  ‘At least you got a few hours use out of yours,’ Toil said, frowning. ‘I never even put mine on!’

  For the Skyriver Festival in Su Dregir, Toil had invited Lynx to the Archelect’s ball and all festivities on that night were conducted in costume. Lynx had arrived at Toil’s home dressed as the Knight of Blood only to discover two dead assassins inside. Sadly that had been only the start of the excitement. By the end of the night, even by Lynx’s travel-worn standards his costume was less than pristine.

  ‘So what do I get this time?’

  ‘Nothing so dramatic, just a uniform. It occurred to me that having extras made for those of you assigned to guard duty would be prudent, so I had some made before we left just in case.’

  ‘Not just for me then?’

  ‘Me, Payl, Varain and Teshen too. I hadn’t plan
ned on using them quite like this, but that’s the best laid plans for you.’

  ‘Good luck getting Payl in after that public bust-up she had. This is for the announcement tomorrow, right?’

  ‘It is. Payl’s my problem, and frankly that face of yours may prove as much of one. However, if it’s a case of forgoing his due dignity because of diminished numbers, I think the Envoy will agree in a pinch.’

  Lynx was quiet a while, his thoughts following the path of Toil’s plans to an unsavoury conclusion. ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘What about afterwards?’

  ‘If you get your way,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘You’ll be wanting me to volunteer?’

  ‘Ah, that.’ Toil nodded in understanding.

  Lynx had found it hard to enter Shadows Deep even with a company of Knights-Charnel cavalry pursuing them. Even the thought of doing so again made his heart beat faster. His time in a So Han military prison camp was almost a decade behind him, but the misery and hardship of working in the mines there had left an indelible impression.

  ‘Yes and no,’ Toil said finally. ‘I’ll want you to volunteer, I won’t ask you to. The choice is yours,’ she added in a softer voice. ‘You’re good in a tight spot, but if you don’t want to be there, no sense in dragging you.’

  Lynx grunted, acknowledging her point. ‘But you’ll need Sitain,’ he said at last.

  ‘She’s a big girl, doesn’t need you watching over her all the time.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said dubiously.

  Toil laughed. ‘Shattered gods, you and the old man really are two peas in a diamond-shaped pod, aren’t you?’

  ‘Atieno?’ Lynx was taken aback before realising she was just taking a friendly dig, not revealing that she knew anything more about the Vagrim. Even after months around the mercenaries, he sometimes still had to remind himself not to take everything said so seriously. ‘Aye, I s’pose you could say that.’

  He gave a wry smile, glad Toil’s back was still turned. ‘Some of us don’t get wiser as we age, we just keep doing the same old thing.’

  ‘Aye, might be you’re the fool who’s met the old fool he’s going to turn into one day.’ Toil glanced back. ‘But Atieno’s a handsome enough old fool, so things could be worse.’

  ‘That’s a relief, been trading on my looks for so long I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.’

  She nodded. ‘Explains the state of your clothes at least. Jewellery too, mebbe.’

  He glanced down at the silver ring on his middle finger, almost identical to the one Atieno wore.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Want to tell me about it?’

  ‘Not much,’ he admitted. ‘If you don’t know, I’d prefer to keep it that way.’

  ‘Aha, I like a man of mystery,’ she said, making a clear effort to keep the conversation light.

  ‘No great mystery, but folk read a whole lot into nothing sometimes.’

  ‘Nothing likely to bite you in the arse?’

  Lynx laughed at that. It might not be easy to follow the Vagrim path, but when it caused a problem you tended to know pretty damn quick. Saving Sitain had been one instance of that – he’d pulled a gun on a group of Charnelers without really expecting his new comrades to back him up.

  ‘You don’t need worry on that front,’ he said as Toil shot him a quizzical look.

  ‘Good,’ she said after a moment. ‘How are we doing, ladies, almost finished?’

  ‘We’ve barely started, madam,’ protested the one in the black dress. ‘Your measurements are done, but there is cut and material to consider next.’

  ‘Bah, I’m not planning on being the belle of the ball, just need to not look out of place as an aide. Your guild training should mean you can guess well enough, it’s speed I’m interested in. I’ll be back this evening for fitting.’

  ‘Ahem, there is one further detail, madam.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your arms.’ She plucked at Toil’s sleeves with a fastidious disapproval. ‘As you know, the custom of bare arms is an established tradition in Jarrazir.’ She gestured to her colleague who let her shawl slip back and revealed the neat braiding around the shoulder of her dress which was as far as it went.

  Toil pulled her own sleeve up. Her arms were corded with muscle and more than pleasing to Lynx’s eye, but he wasn’t blind to the fact she had a good variety of scars and blemishes, especially on her forearms. One long, jagged scar ran up the inside of her right arm while a smear of pinkish burned skin covered her left wrist.

  As much anything, however, it was the haphazard direction of the scarring that was as noticeable as the largest injuries. Some Lynx could tell were knife cuts, other more irregular ones had to be the result of clambering around caverns and city-ruins.

  ‘They might not help me blend in, true,’ she admitted before brightening. ‘However, you two seem like women of great resource. I’ve no doubt that by this evening you’ll have come up with a solution.’

  With that she stepped between the two and went to the neat desk off to the side. Emptying a dozen silver coins on to it she gestured for Lynx to pass her tunic and headed for the door.

  ‘That should tide you over, we can discuss the rest later.’

  Lynx lingered a moment longer, enjoying the stunned looks on the two women’s faces. Finally they focused on him, whereupon he tipped his hat to them.

  ‘See you at the fitting, ladies.’

  Chapter 15

  ‘I could kill you for this.’

  Aben grinned. ‘You can’t buy authenticity, my friend.’

  ‘Fucking can,’ Barra groaned, ‘it’s called talent – acting, damn you!’

  ‘Ah, it wouldn’t be the same.’

  ‘Go shove a burner up your arse, bastard. How fu—Oh, hells!’

  The slim woman froze for a moment then turned and ran back to the privy, looking stricken. Aben’s grin became wider. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud despite the fact he was going to suffer some sort of retribution. Barra would no doubt make him pay for weeks, but it had been a hugely entertaining sight to watch all of the Envoy’s staff emerge from their rooms one by one, faces pale – embarrassment mingling with alarm as a great gust of stink accompanied them.

  ‘Private!’ snapped an angry voice from behind him. ‘What’s going on?’

  Aben smothered the look of amusement on his face and turned to salute Captain Onerist as crisply as he could. ‘Illness, sir.’

  ‘Merciful Ulfer!’ Onerist exclaimed as the smell reached him. He reeled back for a moment then pulled a handkerchief from one pocket to cover his mouth. ‘What’s happened to them?’

  ‘Something they ate, sir, so I’m guessing. All the staff are down with it, they’re, ah, not in a good way.’

  ‘Something they ate?’

  ‘Last night, sir – I was fortunate to be absent when the cook served the evening meal to the staff, and you, of course, ate with the Envoy.’

  ‘Gods man, all of the staff? Is it as bad as the smell suggests?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir, shitting like their lives depended on it,’ Aben said with all the cheer of a man who’d supplied the laxative instead of swallowed it. ‘Evacuating their bowels like rats off a sinking ship.’

  Onerist paused, frowning. ‘I’m not sure that’s quite the correct analogy.’

  ‘Don’t know that word, sir,’ Aben continued, trying not to enjoy himself too obviously, ‘but it sounds right given what Corporal Paranil’s saying about his backside.’

  ‘Fetch them a doctor then, quick about it. Senator Ammen must have a staff attending him this afternoon – an Envoy of Su Dregir can’t be seen at a foreign court with just two guards and no aides at all!’

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I’ve seen this before,’ Aben replied, throwing in another salute for good measure as Onerist’s ears were starting to turn red with fury. ‘Out on campaign once, consignment of mutton some thieving shitestick of a merchant padded out with rat meat. Rotten it was, ev
ery man in the squad spent a day with the shits and couldn’t move. A day at least, sir, any doctor’ll tell you the same, I’d wager my beer rations on it. Nothing to be done but drink all the tea you can then watch it run out just as fast. These poor bastards ain’t going nowhere.’

  The captain went very quiet and for a moment Aben thought he was going to explode with fury, but when he eventually spoke it was in a quiet, worried voice. ‘Private, we must have attendants, do you understand? The Envoy is calling for his private secretary right now, but later we will be in public! We are still waiting for final meetings with the Monarch’s staff. The Envoy cannot arrive alone like some pauper.’

  ‘Onerist!’ roared a voice from elsewhere in the house, unmistakably the booming presence of the Envoy. ‘Dammit, captain, where are you?’

  Onerist closed his eyes briefly, wilting at the prospect of the Envoy’s rage, but Aben just had to fight the urge to grin even more. Given he wasn’t really a Lighthouse Guardsman and only playing the role, being bawled out didn’t matter a jot to him. As a man used to besting most people he met in size and strength, he didn’t intimidate easily. His greatest concern was laughing in the face of his betters, given they tended to dislike that.

  ‘Come on, sir, let’s give him the bad news together. Never good to do that alone, they tend to focus all their rage then, eh?’

  Onerist made a choking sound, no doubt as confused by the sudden comradely manner as anything else, but he let himself be caught up in the big man’s wake as Aben strode upstairs to where Senator Ammen stood, hands on hips and still bellowing as they came into view.

  ‘Where in the living piss is everyone, man? You, private – what’s going on?’

  ‘Apologies, milord,’ Aben replied, ‘your staff’s got the shits, if you’ll pardon my language, sir.’

  ‘What? Onerist, what’s he talking about?’ Ammen demanded. ‘All of them? All at once?’

  Onerist began to splutter more apologies and was well on his way to grovelling when Aben got bored and talked over the man instead.

  ‘All of them, sir, rotten meat in last night’s meal is my guess. I’ve seen it before, sits on the stomach badly overnight and as soon as you move in the morning, well, things start to move. Don’t stop all day neither.’