by Ian Irvine
He turned to Rix. “You’re fighting by my side, Ricinus. If you’re not drenched in the enemy’s blood by the time we break through, I’ll cut your guts out and make you eat them.”
Rix tried to stare Grandys down, but could not defeat that ferocious glare and was the first to look away. Fear thrilled through him. Did Grandys know what he was planning? Was he setting his own trap? Curse you, he thought, to the depths of the Abysm. Whether it’s a trap, or not, I’ve got to go through with it.
Grandys raised Maloch and spurred his horse. Rix kicked his own mount into a gallop and they raced across the meadow towards the gates. He prayed that Grandys’ horse would step in a rabbit hole and fall, and that he would break his thick and partly armoured neck, but it would never happen. The Herovian’s life was charmed.
What if he rode up beside Grandys and skewered him when he wasn’t looking? No, that would be like stabbing him in the back. Rix was prepared to kill Grandys, even murder him if he had to, but it must be face to face.
After withdrawing his oath.
CHAPTER 90
Grandys reached over and scratched Rix under the chin, like a grandmother with a baby. “You hate me, and you can’t do a thing about it. I love that.”
“It’s the only way you can command loyalty,” Rix forced out.
Grandys snorted. “My men love me. I give them power for the first time in their lives.”
“Power to die for your own aggrandisement.”
“Any of us can die. But unlike Hightspall’s gutless generals, when my men look up they see me at the front, risking my life as I lead them to victory.”
“With power and magery none of your opponents can match,” Rix sneered, “and an enchanted sword protecting you all the way. You’re not taking much of a risk.”
“Maloch only protects to a degree,” said Grandys. “An arrow in the eye, the throat or the heart can kill me as easily as any man.” He sauntered out, grinning.
Oh, for an arrow in your eye! The moment Grandys was gone, Rix lay on his mattress, closed his eyes and started attacking the command spell afresh.
A fortnight had passed since Rix’s vow to kill Grandys, a time of frustration and failure as the army had gone back and forth, attacking enemy fortresses and Hightspaller manors indiscriminately. Rix had to find a way; it had to be now.
For years he had fought the compulsion Lyf had put on him via the heatstone, and the battle had strengthened his will immeasurably. Could that be why Grandys’ command spell had slipped before, when they had fought at the feast after the capture of Rebroff? Because Rix had recoiled so violently from Grandys’ atrocities?
The spell always felt tightest when Rix was fighting beside Grandys, overcome by the euphoria of following a charismatic leader. But once the battle had been won, and Grandys was despoiling the bodies and tormenting the prisoners, or revelling in the destruction of priceless artwork and libraries, Rix’s fury rose to the surface and the command spell weakened. It had not yet slipped enough for him to kill his master, though.
He debated his plan again, wishing Tobry were here, for he saw the flaws in a plan far more clearly than Rix. Nor was Tobry troubled by the self-doubt that sometimes crippled Rix. What if he succeeded in killing Grandys, but it made things worse? Would it be better to wait and see if Grandys could defeat Lyf first?
But the more Rix saw of Grandys, the more he knew what a monster the man was, far worse than Lyf who, for all his flaws, wanted to heal the land, not tear it apart. If Grandys defeated Lyf he would be too strong; there would be no check on him. Besides, Grandys no longer trusted Rix and might cut him down at any time.
He could not beat Grandys in a fair fight. The man was too tough, skilled and ruthless, and he would use every dirty trick he knew. Neither Grandys’ ego nor his reputation could allow him to lose.
How Rix wanted to crush and humiliate the brute; to inflict the same misery of defeat on him that he had done to so many others. It was unworthy, he knew. Well, he thought wryly, I never claimed to be a saint.
If he attacked Grandys, would the other officers intervene? No, they wouldn’t dare. Intervening would be saying that Grandys could not take care of himself. But if Rix should win by foul means, since fair ones offered no hope, Grandys’ men would probably tear him to pieces.
He was going to do it anyway. There was a faint hope that, if he did kill Grandys, he might wrest command of his army the way he had taken over Leatherhead’s raiders, then take on Lyf. Rix had no hope of beating Lyf’s vast forces with an army of ten thousand, but for the sake of his country he was prepared to try. A man who wasn’t prepared to die for his country was no man at all.
His plan was simple. He would avoid fighting side by side with Grandys, since that strengthened the command spell, yet stay as close as possible when he was committing his atrocities, in the hope that this would crack the spell completely.
But this time Rix must restrain his horror and his disgust. If he gave any hint of his true feelings, Grandys would tighten the spell anew.
You’ve got to kill him tonight. You can’t risk it any longer.
It was a strange feeling to be cold-bloodedly planning the death, no, murder – or would it be easier if he thought of it as an execution? – of the Hero Rix had admired all his life, the legendary founder of Hightspall.
He would call Grandys out. Then Rix planned to publicly repudiate the oath he had sworn after they left Glimmering. What kind of a man am I, he thought, that I’m prepared to commit murder, yet can’t do it while I’m sworn to the brute? Then, unless Rix was killed first, he would drive a dagger through Grandys’ weakest point – his eye.
Only one obstacle remained, the command spell. It had to be cracking if Rix could actually plan his master’s murder, but it was far from broken. He prayed that the afternoon’s attack would shatter it – Grandys’ planned onslaught, using just a hundred of his men, on a castle that had already offered to surrender.
The attack was so unnecessary. Half the men of Bastion Cowly, a small fortress in Lakeland, had marched off to join the chancellor’s army this morning. Several hours later its remaining inhabitants, desperate to avoid the fate that so many other fortresses in the north had suffered, had run up white flags the moment Grandys’ small force had appeared.
“How dare they?” Grandys fumed. “No Herovian would ever surrender. But to surrender without a fight, when the attacking force is far smaller than their own, is utter cowardice.”
Rix had been restraining himself for days now, but could hold back no longer. “What the hell does it matter? You wanted Cowly, and now you can take it with no bloodshed and none of your men lost.”
“I don’t want the damn castle, and I couldn’t care less about the lives saved,” snapped Grandys. “I want the fight, miserable though it will be with such an easy target. What’s the matter with these people?”
“They’re just trying to live their normal lives.”
“Well, I’m not having it.”
Rix let out his breath in a rush. “We’re going home?”
“The surrender,” said Grandys, as though Rix was an idiot. “I’m not accepting it. Prepare to attack.”
“You can’t attack a castle that’s offered to surrender,” said Rix.
Grandys swung around in the saddle, his meaty face choleric. “How dare you tell me what I can and can’t do?”
“It’s a dishonourable act.”
“In war there are no dishonourable acts. If it helps you win, it’s the right thing to do. If it doesn’t help, it was wrong.” Grandys raised his sword, roaring, “Attack! Show the craven curs no shred of mercy.”
He turned to Rix. “You’re fighting by my side, Ricinus. If you’re not drenched in the enemy’s blood by the time we break through, I’ll cut your guts out and make you eat them.”
Rix tried to stare Grandys down, but could not defeat that ferocious glare and was the first to look away. Fear thrilled through him. Did Grandys know what he was planning? Was
he setting his own trap? Curse you, he thought, to the depths of the Abysm. Whether it’s a trap, or not, I’ve got to go through with it.
Grandys raised Maloch and spurred his horse. Rix kicked his own mount into a gallop and they raced across the meadow towards the gates. He prayed that Grandys’ horse would step in a rabbit hole and fall, and that he would break his thick and partly armoured neck, but it would never happen. The Herovian’s life was charmed.
What if he rode up beside Grandys and skewered him when he wasn’t looking? No, that would be like stabbing him in the back. Rix was prepared to kill Grandys, even murder him if he had to, but it must be face to face.
After withdrawing his oath.
CHAPTER 91
Tali had only seconds to stop the Cythonian guard. She swung at her but the guard must have sensed the movement and turned at the same time. Tali’s blade struck the dangling chuck-lash and it went off in a series of violent red bursts, crack-crack-crack. The sword blade shattered six inches from the hilt, spraying shards of metal everywhere and wrenching Tali’s wrist so violently that she felt something tear.
A shard caught the guard in the right cheek. She reached up dazedly to pull it out, then stared at her hand in disbelief. All the fingers were gone, amputated in a second by the exploding chuck-lash. But she was well trained and determined to do her duty. She swung her lantern at Tali’s face.
She could not get out of the way in time and the base of the lantern caught her on the side of the head. The lantern went flying, hit the floor and rolled away though, being glowstone, it continued to shine. The guard went for her own sword, left-handed. Tali leapt forwards, thrusting at her middle with the shattered remnant of her blade, and the guard fell.
In the dim light, Tali could not tell where her thrust had gone. Was the guard dying, injured, or shamming? She lay on the floor, unmoving.
To Tali’s left, Tobry was struggling. He was normally cool under pressure, but his blade kept slipping in his sweat-drenched hand and his strokes were hasty, mis-timed. His tanned face had gone grey and he looked as though he were about to throw up.
His potion caused nausea and severe gut pain. Had the double dose, on top of the strain of working that powerful magery, been too much for him? And where was Holm? Why hadn’t he come to Tobry’s aid? Had he been killed already? Tali raised her broken blade to hurl it at his opponent’s throat, then lowered it. That would leave her weaponless.
Metal scraped on stone behind her. The female guard was still lying on the floor but she had raised her sword to the horizontal, and now she swung it awkwardly at Tali’s ankles.
Tali sprang high. The sword shaved leather off the heel of her left boot, slipped from the guard’s hand and went skidding across the floor. The male guard looked around, thinking he was under attack, and Tobry thrust his blade home.
Tali went for the female guard but the woman’s head thudded backwards into the stone floor. She was bleeding to death from her belly wound. Holm raced out of the passage, sword in hand.
“Where have you been?” whispered Tali.
“Guarding the clangours and watching the hall. We’d better get moving. When they don’t return, they’ll be missed. How long have we got?”
“Depends on their rounds. Two hours at most.” She turned, her voice rising. “Tobry?”
He was standing listlessly, the bloody sword dangling, and his eyes were glazed. He was going paler by the second.
“Are you hurt?” said Tali. She could see no mark on him.
“Just – overdose.”
“Maybe you’d better wait here.”
He grimaced. “I’ll cope. Which way?”
Tali struggled to remember; too much had happened too quickly. “Er… left. What time is it?”
“Must be after eleven,” said Holm.
“Then the slaves will be in their beds. We’ll head to the men’s quarters first.”
Tali knew quite a few Pale men by sight but had no friends among them. And the men were beaten down by exhausting labour in the mines and foundries. Why would they listen to her?
She put that problem aside and focused on the immediate one – getting there. The men’s quarters, which were past the heatstone mine, were about a mile away. She wasn’t looking forward to going that way – a whole mine full of heatstone was bound to cause her excruciating pain.
She took the guard’s sword in place of her own and they set off along the carved and painted tunnels. This time their luck held and they encountered no one on the way. It was just as well; Tobry was staggering and Tali’s wrenched wrist was so painful she could barely raise the sword.
As they approached the barred entrance to the heatstone mine, the wall art became ever more dark and threatening. It was always so in places where the Pale lived and worked. The art in the rest of Cython depicted gentle scenes from nature, seldom showing humans, but here the walls were sculpted into wild scenes of jungle, storm and moor, and there were eyes in the darkness. Hunters. Predators.
It was a warning to the Pale. Try to escape and this is what you will face.
Tali crept past the mine entrance, keeping to the outside wall of the tunnel and as far away as possible from any heatstone. The pain was like being stabbed through the skull but she could not stop.
“Heatstone?” said Holm.
“Help me past.”
He put an arm around her waist and heaved her along. Tobry lurched in their wake, twitching, sweating and still looking as though he was going to throw up. Once they had gone a couple of hundred yards past the mine, her headache began to ease.
“What a miserable crew we are,” she said.
“Speak for yourself,” said Holm, who had perked up since leaving the pondages.
“The men’s quarters are around the next corner and down a hundred yards. Tobry, I’ll need you to work a concealing magery to get me past the guard post.”
“What’s wrong with your magery?” Tobry said limply.
“It’s weakening. I’m saving it for an emergency.”
They struggled on. “Knock the guards down,” said Tali. “Stun them… or whatever… then deal with them while I rouse the men.”
Her biggest challenge. The only time she had addressed a multitude had been at Lady and Lord Ricinus’s trial. Her tutors had not given her instruction in rhetoric, which was forbidden in Cython and would have earned her a chuck-lashing. How was she to convince all those worn-out men that rebellion and probable death in Hightspall was preferable to their miserable existence in Cython?
They crept around the corner.
“I can see the guard post,” said Holm, “but there aren’t any guards.”
“What if we’re too late?” whispered Tali.
“Get going!” said Tobry. “Courier must be – through – Seethings by now.” He slumped against the wall, holding his belly. His lips were an ugly grey, his eyes dilated.
She bit her lip. There was nothing she could do for him. And he was right. Lyf’s courier would have reached the entrance to Cython by now. In half an hour he could be handing the death order to the matriarchs. All depended on how urgent it was, and how long they took to act on it. What if the enemy already had a plan and were just waiting for the order? There might not be much time at all.
The men’s Empound, which consisted of banks of tiny, individual cells arranged around a large assembly area, was as neat and well scrubbed as everywhere else in Cython.
But the place felt empty.
Tali eased open a cell door and peeped in. She saw an empty stone bunk, a neatly folded ragweed blanket, a full water jug and a peg in the wall where the slave would hang his loincloth at bedtime. Every slave’s home looked like that. Few had any other possessions.
She checked several other cells, randomly. They were all the same – like the women’s cells, only smaller. She tasted water from one of the jugs, and it was fresh. What could have happened to the men? The cells did not look abandoned – just empty.
She went back to
Tobry and Holm. “They’re not here. What do I do now?”
“Where could they have gone?” said Holm.
When she thought about it, the answer was obvious. “Mating nights.”
“Which are?”
“The three nights a month when the mated men are allowed to visit their women folk, and the younger men and boys go home to their families. They’ll be in the women’s Empound.”
“Then your call to rebellion will have to be absolutely brilliant,” said Holm.
“Why so?”
“If you were seeing your partner for the first time in a month, would you go out to listen to some rabblerouser who was probably going to get you both killed?”
CHAPTER 91
Tali had only seconds to stop the Cythonian guard. She swung at her but the guard must have sensed the movement and turned at the same time. Tali’s blade struck the dangling chuck-lash and it went off in a series of violent red bursts, crack-crack-crack. The sword blade shattered six inches from the hilt, spraying shards of metal everywhere and wrenching Tali’s wrist so violently that she felt something tear.
A shard caught the guard in the right cheek. She reached up dazedly to pull it out, then stared at her hand in disbelief. All the fingers were gone, amputated in a second by the exploding chuck-lash. But she was well trained and determined to do her duty. She swung her lantern at Tali’s face.
She could not get out of the way in time and the base of the lantern caught her on the side of the head. The lantern went flying, hit the floor and rolled away though, being glowstone, it continued to shine. The guard went for her own sword, left-handed. Tali leapt forwards, thrusting at her middle with the shattered remnant of her blade, and the guard fell.
In the dim light, Tali could not tell where her thrust had gone. Was the guard dying, injured, or shamming? She lay on the floor, unmoving.
To Tali’s left, Tobry was struggling. He was normally cool under pressure, but his blade kept slipping in his sweat-drenched hand and his strokes were hasty, mis-timed. His tanned face had gone grey and he looked as though he were about to throw up.
