It’ll be different when she’s with me, he thought. She’ll see the truth; she’ll set her feet on the Path and be a good child of the gods. Lanta won’t touch her then, not once she converts.
The shelter in the pass was finally complete, and they’d even managed to coax a fire into life despite the howling wind, and Corvus crowded into it alongside the others – no kingly propriety if you wanted to survive in the mountains. Lanta pressed against his side, her thigh along his, her head on his shoulder.
‘The men are well drilled,’ Corvus said, ‘but now we must focus on crafting them into a Rank. There will be no victory in a pitched battle without discipline, and I think there are many battles to come.’
Corvus stared at the blowing snow and the last of the sun, pink and peach on the drifts below them. Born on the plains, but made in the mountains, he could see the beauty in its promise of death to the unwary. He took some salted fish out of his pack and shared it with Lanta. ‘That’s the thing about Rivil,’ he mused, ‘he thinks we’re a rabble, that we lack discipline. He intends to use us as shock troops, to cripple the West Rank and then get wiped out by the survivors. In the meantime, he marches his own army to Rilporin to depose his father.’ He chewed patiently at a hard mouthful of fish.
‘He’s an arrogant fool,’ Lanta agreed. ‘Both that he thinks we will lose, and that he will win unaided.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing his expression when we take Rilporin from him,’ Corvus said. The last of the light faded and night swept up the pass, stranding them in a tiny circle of orange firelight. The darkness pressed in.
‘Then you do not plan on settling for the terms offered?’ Lanta asked and he could hear her smile. ‘The whole of the Western Plain between Krike and the River Gil isn’t enough for you?’
He swallowed the fish and wrapped his arms around himself. ‘I think something a little more regal would suit me better, don’t you?’ he murmured.
‘The throne of Rilpor?’
‘The throne of Rilpor,’ he confirmed. ‘Rivil’s arse won’t even have time to warm it.’
DOM
First moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Dancer’s temple, Watchtown, Western Plain
What? Where am I? What is this?
It was some sort of cavern, black and echoing and vast. Dom turned in a circle, boots scraping on stone, a cold finger of air trailing across his skin.
How did I get here? A flickering of flame cut through his panic and a figure approached, torch held high in a slender hand and the flames highlighting a face astounding in its perfection.
‘Who are you? Where am I?’ Dom tried as his brain threw up several possibilities, none of them pleasant.
‘So you’re the new calestar?’ she asked, her voice bouncing and clattering from the stone until it was a roar in his ears. Calestar, calestar, star, star, star … ‘The one born to oppose me?’ She tutted. ‘I expected more.’
She stepped closer, head on one side, predatory, and swept the torch before his face, so close the heat stirred his sweaty hair. She put her free hand on his chest over his frantic heart.
‘Who are you?’ he asked again. He saw her smile and run her tongue over her upper teeth. She pressed closer, her cheek against his.
‘I’m coming to find you, Calestar,’ she murmured into his ear, hand trailing down to his belly and lower. ‘You have something I want.’
‘What?’ he gasped, shuddering. Her touch was a snake sliding against naked skin, both repellent and alluring.
‘A promise.’
‘What promise? Who are you?’
‘Come and find me. I’ll explain everything, my love.’ She reared back to look him in the eye. ‘And stop pretending. You know who I am. And you know that you belong to me.’
Dom’s heart gave a single sudden lurch. He did know. ‘Dark Lady,’ he whispered, and Her eyes widened with delight. Then She struck, Her lips sending a bolt of lightning through his body, fusing their mouths together in a kiss that tasted of ozone and blood and sent fizzes of feeling streaking through his body.
‘My love, my love.’ Her voice echoed without and within despite Her mouth being locked to his, and it stirred a heat in him that hurt his heart. His hands were on Her shoulders and he pushed, straining away, filled with horror and sudden, unquenchable lust. His body was responding despite himself. There were other hands touching him beneath his clothes, multiple hands teasing, stroking, caressing, and he moaned, and then turned the sound into a growl and shoved at Her as hard as he could.
The Dark Lady broke the kiss and Dom gasped, rubbing his mouth and backing away, putting distance between him and that silky skin. He spat on the cavern’s floor and shuddered. ‘Stay the fuck away from me,’ he panted, hands out in front of him. ‘Don’t you fucking touch me.’
‘Not bad for your first try,’ She said with a small, cruel smile, ‘both at kissing me and at turning me away.’ She laughed low in her throat. ‘But we both know you can’t resist me.’ She swept the torch between them, the tattered flames filling his vision. ‘Off you go, my love. But don’t worry, we’ll meet again soon.’ She licked her lips. ‘I can’t wait to do this again.’
The flames burnt into Dom’s head, searing, engulfing his brain, and with a jerk and a whooping inhalation, he woke. In his bed. In the dark.
Alone.
GILDA
First moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Dancer’s temple, Watchtown, Western Plain
Dalli was teaching Rillirin the spear, the pair having selected and carved one for her from the copse. It didn’t have a blade yet, but they’d sharpened the end and hardened it in the ashes of a fire so it would penetrate the target.
Gilda leant on the paddock gate and smiled at Dalli’s impatience, smiled more that Rillirin didn’t shrivel up because of it. She’d seen in a new year free from the Mireces. A new start, new beginnings.
‘All right, lighter on your feet, that’s it, tense the belly, tense I said, and lunge,’ Dalli said. The spear juddered across the target and went in a few inches. A goat stared at it.
‘Not bad,’ Dalli said yet again and Rillirin snorted.
‘I didn’t even scare the goat.’
Movement caught her eye and Gilda watched Dom walk slowly from the temple house, stooped like an old man. He flinched when the cockerel crowed, pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and shuffled into the temple. He’s been spending a lot of time in there the last couple of days. And his sleep is never normally this broken.
Cam crept up behind her and pounced, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing the side of her jaw. She squeaked and then laughed, slapped his hand when it began to wander. ‘You want that business, you should try visiting more regularly,’ she scolded, but she turned her head so his kiss landed on the corner of her mouth.
Cam rested his head on her shoulder. ‘How’s the lass doing?’
Gilda gestured and they watched Rillirin attempt an unauthorised figure of eight, the spear’s point raking across Dalli’s scalp and making her duck.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Rillirin said as Dalli spouted curses at her. Cam snorted, but the next time she lunged feet, hips and spear moved as one and the tip struck the butt and sank in deep.
Dalli thumped her on the back. ‘Good. Much better,’ she said, grinning. ‘Now we’ll try it with a grown-up’s spear.’
‘Ouch,’ Cam murmured.
‘You’re just as bad when you teach the sword,’ Gilda reminded him. ‘What’s going on with Dom?’
Cam shifted. ‘You’ve noticed it too, then.’ He sighed and kissed her earlobe. ‘No idea. I tried to get him to open up this morning, but he won’t talk about it. Says he’s tired from the knowing.’
Gilda watched Rillirin and Dalli as they examined the torn skin on Rillirin’s palms. She could see her pride in the wounds, caused from learning to fight back, see her relishing the pain.
The sun poked through a c
rack in the cloud and outlined them in pale gold. Rillirin turned her face up to the light, eyes closed, a faint smile on her face. ‘She looks so innocent,’ Gilda murmured. She turned in Cam’s arms. ‘The boy’s keeping something from us,’ she said. ‘He’s learnt something in the knowing he isn’t sharing, I’m sure of it.’
Cam rubbed at the bristles on his chin. ‘Then we’ll winkle it out of him, one way or the other. Corner him and force him to tell us the truth. We can’t help him if he doesn’t.’
Gilda took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second. ‘That’s why I love you, Cam old man,’ she said. ‘You don’t argue with me.’
Cam laughed and slipped his fingers in the neckline of her dress. ‘What would be the point in that?’ he asked, and made a spirited attempt to get his tongue in her ear.
‘You’re incorrigible,’ she said even as she felt herself blushing. After all these years he still makes me feel like a girl. They kissed, and Gilda was debating whether they could slip away for an hour when Watchtown’s horn blew a triple blast.
Cam dropped her, Dalli shoved the spear back into Rillirin’s hands, and together they jogged for the temple gate while Rillirin shrank to Gilda’s side, face pinched with sudden fear. Lim and Ash came out of the stables and, a long moment later, Dom hobbled from the temple.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Triple blast means someone’s approaching the town. It’s not an alarm as such, more of a make-ready. Cam, love, what is it?’ she called as the horn sounded twice, standing down the alert. They’d recognised whoever it was.
‘Sarilla’s bringing in a stranger,’ Cam said, ‘a Ranker.’
They all crowded to the gate and watched the pair approaching. ‘Coming to the temple, not the town,’ Gilda noted.
Lim grunted and waved; Sarilla waved back. Gilda looked behind her, sensing space where someone should be. Dom stood with his back pressed to the temple wall, his gaze locked on the stranger coming in through the gates. His eyes were as big as goose eggs and even from here Gilda could see his chest heaving. Whatever he was hiding, this man was a part of it.
CRYS
First moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Dancer’s temple, Watchtown, Western Plain
‘What’s going on, Sarilla?’ the Wolf chief asked. Crys stood by the godpool, where it was said a man could tell no lies, and the Wolves stood in a line between him and the exit. Fine by me, Crys thought, I don’t want to go back out there anyway. Possibly not ever.
‘This is Captain Crys Tailorson, head of the princes’ personal guard on their journey to the West Forts. Found him a mile from the treeline when I was checking snares. He knew Captain Carter’s name.’ She shrugged. ‘Then he asked for sanctuary.’
The Wolves stared at him, one harder than the rest. It was as though he was trying to dig the secrets out of Crys’s head with his eyes. They’d made him give up his weapons and his palm itched for his sword.
‘Sanctuary?’ asked the tall, scarred archer.
Crys nodded. ‘Yes. Protection, cleansing, food if you can spare it.’ He was babbling and he knew it, couldn’t stop. ‘Anything, really, to keep me safe.’
‘Safe from who?’ the chief asked again. ‘Who are you?’
‘He’s the Trickster,’ said the staring one.
Crys shifted, uncomfortable. ‘I’m a soldier, like your friend said. Crys Tailorson of Three Beeches. Joined up when I was seventeen, spent my qualifying years in the East Rank before beginning my rotation. Over the years I lost a couple of promotions, earned them back, then came to the attention of Prince Rivil when I joined the Palace Rank a couple of months ago.’
His face twisted. I trusted him, I admired him. He was my friend. And all the time a traitor – to the Crown, the country, the gods. To me.
He sat suddenly on the bench beside him and the movement made them all twitch. All except the starer, who hadn’t shifted his gaze from Crys once. Crys wasn’t sure the man had even blinked.
He rubbed the sweat from his cheek on to his shoulder. ‘The schedule was for us to sail up the River Gil, visit the forts and then travel across country to the harbour below Dancer’s Lake and charter a boat down the Tears back to Rilporin. Instead, after we’d visited the Forts, Prince Rivil expressed a desire to visit the Blood Pass Valley – to see the site of so many famous victories, he said. We had twenty men and General Koridam had swept the area a few days before; it was empty. So, like a fool, I agreed. We were ahead of schedule, after all. When we got there we found a party of Mireces waiting for us.’
The Wolf chief swore. ‘And that’s who you’re running from?’
Crys forced a laugh. ‘If only it were that simple, sir.’ He put his head in his hands for a second, swallowing nausea, throat stinging with bile. ‘Prince Janis is dead. Rivil, Galtas Morellis and nearly all the soldiers under my command took part in his sacrifice to sanctify their conversion to the Red Joy.’
Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as the Wolves watched him in uncomprehending silence. Then a babble of voices rose. Crys clutched the Fox God’s amulet he wore at his throat and spoke over them. ‘Janis is dead and Rivil is a traitor. What they did was … It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.’
‘What did they do?’ the chief asked in a hoarse voice. The pretty redhead beside him had her eyes closed and both hands over her mouth.
‘They called her the Blessed One. She’d come with the Mireces and she nailed Janis to a beam, dozens of nails through his legs. And the Dark Lady spoke through the prince before he died, told Rivil he would be King of Rilpor if Rivil pledged himself to Her. And he did.’
‘She spoke through him?’ the starer asked. ‘How? What did She do?’
‘The woman asked Janis questions, but it wasn’t Janis answering. Her voice – the Dark Lady’s voice – came from his mouth.’
The high priestess stepped forward and placed her hands on Crys’s shoulders. ‘Tell them everything you can think of,’ she said, ‘and then we will talk of your soul and whether you need – or would like – to be cleansed.’
Crys found he was gripping her forearms hard, and concentrated on letting go. ‘Thank you, priestess,’ he mumbled past the lump in his throat.
She nodded and patted the side of his face, and then drew a circle on his brow. ‘I am Gilda, and left to right is Dom, Dalli, Lim our chief, Rillirin, Ash and Cam. And Sarilla who found you.’
‘What else, Captain?’ Lim asked. ‘How are they going to communicate? Is Rivil going to fund a private army? I can’t imagine Corvus will be happy to do all the fighting only for Rivil to get the throne.’ He glanced at Sarilla. ‘Mace’ll need to know this.’
She nodded. ‘The king needs to know too. If Rivil’s on his way back there, his feet newly nailed to the Dark Path, then Rastoth’s a hog tied ready for slaughter and doesn’t even know it.’
‘General Koridam should already know,’ Crys said. ‘I met Captain Carter a few days ago, other side of the river. She wanted me to go back to the fort with her, but I refused. I’ – he blushed – ‘I threatened her. But there was no way I could go back there; it’s the first place they’d look. I’d faked my own death in order to get away from Rivil and the others, you see, but I’ve got no idea if they fell for it. I killed two soldiers during a snowstorm, dragged them away as far as I could get, made it look like they’d been cut down while tracking someone. Then I legged it. Anyway, I told the captain, and she was going straight to the fort to tell Koridam.’
Lim was nodding. ‘Sensible. Dalli, when we’ve finished questioning him, take a horse and get to Mace fast as you can. Fill him in on any blanks and ask him what he wants to do next.’
Good, this is good. They believe me, they’re preparing for the worst, and I’m going to get cleansed. I’m safe here and the West Rank can prepare. Crys’s heart rate began to slow and he started to relax.
His eye was caught by a sudden lunge of motion. The starer, Dom, stumbled forward
, stretched tall and then hunched over, saliva stringing from his chin. ‘War will come soon,’ he said, his right eyelid flickering as he stared in Crys’s direction with blank, empty eyes. ‘The Mireces will break the West Rank, raid the Western Plain and the Cattle Lands, destroying and burning. Burning Watchtown. But Corvus won’t stop once Rivil is king. He will take Rivil and sacrifice him. And the Red Joy will be ascendant. Corvus, King of Rilpor.’
Crys’s mouth was hanging open but he snapped it shut and darted forward as Dom stumbled; he caught him beneath the armpit just as Ash reached him on the other side.
Dom seized Crys around the neck, squeezing. ‘Why do you shine?’ he demanded in a thick voice. ‘You shine with godlight. Why? Who are you?’
‘What? No one,’ Crys wheezed as Ash prised at Dom’s hands. ‘I’m no one. I’m a soldier, just a soldier. That’s all. A soldier.’
‘Godlight. God’s eyes. Splitsoul.’ Dom shook him and there were spots fizzing at the corners of Crys’s vision.
‘Crys Tailorson, just Crys Tailorson, son of John and Mara, and a poor captain in the Ranks. Please, I’m nothing.’
Dom grunted and released him, his knees buckling, and Ash dragged him on to a bench. He sat still, head bowed, hands dangling between his thighs.
‘What is this?’ Crys asked. His back was against the wall, the width of the godpool between them and no idea how he’d got there. ‘How does he know all that? What does he mean, shining? Who is he?’ They were all staring at him, calculation in their eyes.
‘Dom’s the calestar,’ Gilda said. ‘He sees the future. Not always, and not well. Your information has revealed a little more of the pattern to him. He’ll sleep now.’
Dom’s face was that of a week-dead corpse as he scanned the room. ‘You have much to do, Rillirin Fisher of Dancer’s Lake, herald of the end,’ he whispered and the redhead twitched, taking an involuntary step back. The dead stare moved on, settling on Crys, and Crys felt the hairs stand up on the nape of his neck.
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