Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2

by Ian Irvine

Tali woke screaming, and it took ages to come down from the nightmare. No, the reliving.

  The best part of an hour passed before she came back to who she was and where she was. Before the pain where the top of Zenda’s head had been gouged away shifted and blurred into the pain in Tali’s shoulder.

  “It’s all right,” someone was saying, over and again. “You’re safe now. No one can hurt you.”

  She forced her eyes open. Outside, the wind was howling again, but in the back of the cave, with Holm’s carved ice door closed and the heatstone stove open, it was almost warm.

  Holm’s own eyes were closed. He was holding her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. Tali lay still, and gradually the nightmare of her reliving was replaced by a new fear – that she could have revealed her deepest secret to Holm, whom, after all this time, she knew little about.

  “Stupid nightmares,” she said with a false laugh. “I’ve been having them for ages.”

  “Right now, I’m more concerned about what happened up on the peak,” said Holm, setting her down on the floor. The ice was carpeted with their oilskins.

  As she sat upright, pain speared through her left shoulder. He made her a cup of spiced tea. She clamped her cold hands around it.

  “On the peak?” she said, struggling to dredge up the memory.

  “You fell and gashed your shoulder badly. I had to sew the wound back together.”

  Tali felt her shoulder, winced. Scraps of the moment came back.

  “I reached the top and the fog lifted.” She frowned. “No, I broke through it. The top was a few yards below me. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was glorious; I could see in all directions for a hundred miles…”

  “And then?”

  She did not want to tell him. Why should she reveal her secrets when Holm kept his from her? Besides, it would make her seem weak.

  “How come you fell?” he persisted. “You’re usually so sure-footed.”

  She was being silly. He needed to know. And if she opened up, perhaps he would too.

  “I had a panic attack. I’ve been having them ever since I got out of Cython. The world is too big, and sometimes, on bright clear days, it feels as though the sky is overturning on me. I need a hat,” she said plaintively. “Have you got a hat?”

  “You can have my hat any time you want. And because of the panic attack, you fell.”

  “The ice was like greasy glass. I just slipped, that’s all.”

  “No harm done, then. It’s a nice clean wound. It’ll heal quickly.”

  “I do heal quickly,” said Tali. On the outside, anyway.

  “Lunch?” said Holm.

  “As long as it’s not fish-head stew.”

  “I caught some fresh fish last night, while you were asleep. You can have them grilled if you like.”

  “I would like.” Anything to distract him from asking about the reliving, though she thought she had got away with it by passing it off as a recurring nightmare.

  He grilled the fish in a pan on top of the heatstone stove, which only took a few minutes, and served it with pepper and salt. It was the best meal she had ever eaten.

  She started to get up to clean the plates.

  “I’ll do it,” said Holm. “I don’t want you moving that shoulder for a while.”

  He returned, made more tea then lay back on his covers.

  Tali closed her eyes and was drifting to sleep when he said suddenly, “What was all that about Zenda?”

  She jumped, fighting to calm herself. She hadn’t got away with it at all. “Just a nightmare.”

  “Like the other one you had a while back, about a woman called Sulien?”

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “The healer in Rutherin told me. She was worried.”

  “Why did she tell you?” Tali said hotly. “She had no right. What’s it got to do with you?”

  “I’ve picked up a bit about healing in my travels,” he said airily. “Unusual things. She thought I might be able to advise her. Who’s Sulien?”

  “No one you’d know.”

  “You mentioned a great-grandmother. Was that Sulien?”

  His questions were like arrows, striking all around the target, perhaps deliberately. He was a clever man. Would he put the next one in the bull’s eye?

  “Or was Zenda your great-grandmother? And Sulien the one before that?”

  Her only refuge was silence. She felt too weak to spar with him, or evade his probing questions.

  After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, “Hold your tongue all you like. I think I can answer for you.”

  She started but did not speak.

  “You keep having nightmares about murders,” said Holm, sipping his tea. “Hardly surprising since you saw your mother murdered for an ebony pearl ten years ago, when you were the tender age of eight.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a callused, square hand. “There’s no point denying it.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Just as well. Since the scandalous revelations at the late Lord Ricinus’s Honouring, any denial on your part would only heighten my suspicions.”

  Her attempt at an indifferent shrug sent pain spearing through her shoulder.

  He continued. “Everyone with an interest in ebony pearls knows that four have been harvested, from four young Pale women. But no one knows who the other hosts were. They could have been any four out of a hundred thousand young women born in Cython over the past hundred years.”

  “Or more,” said Tali desperately. “There are eighty-five thousand Pale, and if there were five generations, say, and half of them women —”

  The number reminded her of her unbreakable blood oath, and her impossible duty to save her people. Every new victory by Lyf brought the fatal day closer – the day when he would have to move against the Pale, the threat at the heart of his empire.

  “Something the matter?” said Holm.

  “No,” she lied.

  “Good. The number of Pale isn’t relevant,” said Holm, “because there’s another possibility – equally plausible. That those women belonged to a single, extraordinary family.”

  Her blood ran as cold as the ice the room was carved from. He knew! He knew everything.

  “Your great-great-grandmother, Sulien; then your great-grandmother, Zenda. And your grandmother…” Holm looked at her expectantly.

  Tali could not fight him any longer. There was no point. “Nusee,” she whispered.

  “And finally your own mother, whose death you witnessed.”

  “Iusia.”

  “One thing puzzles me, though,” said Holm. “Who was Mimula?”

  “Mimoy. She was my thrice-grandmother, Sulien’s mother. She had a gift of magery and she was a tough, cranky old cow.”

  “You knew her? Your thrice-grandmother?”

  “She lived to be a hundred and nineteen. Though not naturally, Mimoy said.”

  “I wonder if she could have been the first intended victim, but she got away?”

  “It never occurred to me… though she did have an old scar on the top of her head.”

  She looked across from him, sick with dread. “Well, you know my secret, and what I’m worth. What are you going to do with it?”

  “Why would I want to do anything with it?” Holm said mildly.

  “Everyone wants something from me.”

  “You should learn to trust more.”

  “That’s not easy to do when you’re the one, and bear a pearl in your head that’s worth a province.”

  “Makes no difference to me. I have all the possessions I want.”

  “You just lost your beautiful boat because of me. With the pearl you could buy another one tomorrow.”

  “My boat was precious because I built it with my own hands, and because of the memories – of the places we voyaged together over twenty years. Neither can be replaced with any amount of money.”

  “All right. If you’re a patriot, the master p
earl could win the war for whoever you give it to.”

  “I am a patriot. Doesn’t mean I’ll do anything to save my country.”

  “Why did you hunt me down to the docks, if not for the pearl?”

  “I didn’t know you had it. Didn’t even suspect it.”

  “Why did you risk your life helping me, then?”

  “When I took you aboard, I didn’t expect to be risking my life. If not for the ice, we would have escaped north and no one would have known where we were.”

  “You’re a liar!” she yelled. “You were stealing the chancellor’s most valuable prisoner, and in wartime that’s treason. You didn’t do that on a whim. What patriot would? What do you want?”

  He buried his head in his hands.

  “Well?” said Tali. “I’ve told you my deepest secrets. You could at least tell me something.”

  After a long interval, he said, “You can call it atonement, if it helps.”

  “It doesn’t. Why atonement? Whose?”

  “Let’s just say that I did a terrible wrong once. Not deliberately, nor by accident, but through my own negligent arrogance. Others paid dearly for my wrong, and I took a vow, long ago, to try and make up for what I’d done.”

  “Oh!” she said, and knew by the way he spoke that he was telling the truth. At least, a small part of the truth. Two deaths on my conscience, he had said the other day. “What wrong did you do?”

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.” He rose, looking old and haggard, and went to the entrance. “The best thing you can do for your shoulder is to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I might say the same thing about your own ailment.”

  “I dare say you’re right. But there’ll be no sleep tonight for me, so I might as well go fishing.”

  He wrapped himself in his oilskins, put on fur-lined sea boots and stomped down to the water.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Do I have your blessing for this raid?” said Rix after outlining his plan to Swelt.

  “If we don’t fight for our country, we’ll lose it.”

  “It’s just the first stroke.” Rix rose and began to pace. “If it succeeds, people will flock here to join my army and I’ll plan a bigger strike.”

  “You have bold plans,” said Swelt.

  “We can’t save Hightspall by hiding and hoping Lyf will go away.”

  “I agree. But when it does come to war, how are you going to pay the troops? Our treasury is almost empty.”

  “Every able-bodied man has to do thirty days customary service. After that, I’ll pay them. I brought a small treasury of my own,” said Rix, and was pleased to note Swelt’s eyes widen. “Did you think I came empty-handed, like a beggar on the road?”

  “Of course not,” Swelt said hastily. “And when it’s exhausted? Need I remind you how ruinously expensive war is?”

  “I checked Father’s accounts for the Third Army. I know the cost of a soldier, and a war, to the penny. And since we’re on the topic, Astatin mentioned the ancient, secret treasures of Garramide.”

  Swelt rolled his eyes. “Many have sought them, but nothing has been found.”

  “Do you think there are treasures to be found?”

  “Old manors are characterised by three things, Rixium. Ghosts, secrets and rumours of lost treasure. I put my faith in things I can count and measure.” He looked down at the ledgers and lists on the table.

  “Then why was Garramide built so strong?” said Rix. “It’s the strongest fortress I’ve seen outside Caulderon.”

  “They say it was to protect Grandys’ daughter – his only child, only relative. She was the only Herovian rescued from the wreck of the Third Fleet. Blood was everything to him.”

  Swelt turned the pages of a ledger, then added, “What if the raid isn’t the success you expect?”

  “It’ll still worry Lyf.”

  “How so?”

  With a flourish, Rix drew Maloch and held it high. “Grandys maimed Lyf with this sword, and I’ve fought Lyf with it, twice. And hurt him, too. More than anything in the world, he’s afraid of Maloch.”

  Swelt smiled. “I’m pleased to hear it. What do you ask of me?”

  “I need more men.”

  “Why?” said Swelt, frowning until his forehead bulged out over his deep-set eyes.

  “The enemy garrison is forty or fifty strong. To be sure of success I need a hundred men —”

  “You can’t take a hundred from here.”

  “I wasn’t planning to. Look, Swelt, you know everyone in these parts. Give me introductions to one or two young lords, of a like mind to me. Men who chafe under the yoke of this war and want to strike a blow against the enemy.”

  Swelt said nothing for a very long time.

  “Is there a problem?” said Rix.

  “I advise against it.”

  “Why?” cried Rix.

  “I can introduce you to several young hotbloods who, according to reputation, would be only too happy to join with you on such a raid. But reputation isn’t reality, and the men with the loudest mouths don’t necessarily make the best allies.”

  “As long as they support me with a small number of fighting men —”

  “They might say one thing and do another. They might agree to support you, then go running to the enemy. Or their wives or mistresses might talk them out of it —”

  “Do you think I haven’t thought about that?”

  “If you plan to go to war relying on men you don’t know, you haven’t thought about it enough.”

  “Just do the introductions. I’ll worry about the quality of the men I’m dealing with.”

  Though Rix was forcing their pace to the limit, he dared no light. They had to cover the twenty miles from Garramide to Jadgery and back in darkness, unseen, otherwise the enemy would follow them home. The Cythonians might suspect that the attack came from Garramide, but they must not know.

  The track down the escarpment was by turns greasy, a knee-deep bog, and crisscrossed by sharp-edged outcrops. Rix, who had been riding since he was three and was an accomplished horseman, fell twice, and he was the best of them. By the time they reached the bottom two horses had broken their legs and one rider his neck. Rix left the man without a mount to bury the dead man, then walk back up to the mountaintop sentry post.

  It was snowing gently as they gathered at the foot of the escarpment. At least one thing was going right.

  “We’re down to forty-eight,” said Rix. It was barely enough for the main attack on Jadgery, and only if everything went perfectly, though he wasn’t going to say that.

  “Where are the others meeting us, Deadhand?” said Riddum, a lanky, sarcastic man who had been one of Leatherhead’s strongest supporters. Rix thought he could trust him, though he wasn’t absolutely sure he could trust any of them.

  “The lord of Bedderlees has sent twenty men. They’ll signal once they’re in place at the rear of the garrison, then set fire to the barracks —”

  “How?” said a voice from the darkness. Rix had no idea who it was.

  “They’ll hurl blazing oil bottles onto the roof, each holding enough oil to burn through wet thatch to the dry straw underneath. Yestin’s thirty-five are attacking the right-hand wall. They’re going to send a wagon filled with black powder down the hill into the palisade, aiming to blow a hole through it into the armoury on the other side and destroy their chymical weaponry.”

  “What’s our plan?” said Riddum. “I assume you do have one?”

  The disrespect was palpable, but the middle of a raid was no time for a lesson. Rix made a note to take the man down once they returned.

  “We creep up to the garrison gates and wait for the signals. When the other attacks begin, we storm the gates and take the officers’ quarters. It’s the stone building around to the right. We want to capture their commanding officer, and any other officers we can find.”

  “Better to kill them so we can loot the place in peace,” said Riddum.


  “Are you leading this raid?” Rix said in a dangerous voice.

  “We’re taking our pay in plunder, Deadhand. We’ve got to make sure of it.”

  They went at a steady pace through the night, seeing no one on the way. Rix rode absently, trying to imagine all the ways the raid could go wrong and working out what to do about each problem. If the alert was raised before his allies were in position, for instance. Should he attack by himself, or abort the raid? His allies were to signal that they were in place, but in the dark he had no way to modify their orders. The question should have been decided in advance.

  He scratched an itch under his chest-plate. He was wearing chest and back armour. It was heavy, ill-fitting and cold as an icicle.

  At three in the morning they bypassed the town of Jadgery and walked their horses across a snow-covered field towards the garrison, which lay half a mile beyond the town. From his saddlebags Rix drew the steel gauntlet he’d taken from an old suit of armour. He straightened his dead fingers to slip the gauntlet on and closed its fingers into a fist. It wasn’t as good as a sword in his right hand, but after a blow from his steel fist his opponent would not get up.

  “Keep the horses calm,” said Rix. “If one of them whinnies —”

  “We know our business,” growled Riddum. “Most of us were a’raiding when your mummy was still wipin’ —”

  Someone shushed him, which was just as well. Rix was considering knocking him cold and dumping him in the snow.

  “Bedderlees and Yestin will signal when they’re in place,” said Rix. “That’ll be in a quarter of an hour, if all goes to plan.”

  “You know them?” said Nuddell, a middle-aged raider with no hair and few teeth, a steady fellow who Rix felt he could rely on.

  “I met them three days ago. Swelt introduced them as sound men. They seemed solid enough.”

  “Folk usually are in the security of their own manors.” Nuddell spat sideways into the snow. “But when the night’s cold and the wife is warm, staying a’bed can seem a better option than going a’raiding. Not that I know these young fellers, Lord.”

  Suddenly the night seemed a lot colder. Rix pulled his coat around him. “They gave their word. They’ll be here.”

  “I’m just saying, is all.”