Godblind

by Anna Stephens

‘And if we do that, Rivil will know we suspect him. We need evidence. Leave that to me. In the meantime, I want your oaths you’ll speak to no one of this. Rastoth will have to announce Janis’s death to the court later today, it simply can’t be kept secret. The three of us must appear to accept Rivil’s story, that Janis died a hero in a tragic accident trying to rescue his men.’ Durdil rubbed at the ache in his knee, always sharper when he was under stress. ‘You two, get the body back to the temple and then keep your mouths shut.’

  ‘And you, sir?’ Wheeler asked, standing.

  Durdil ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘I’m going to send a courier west, and then I’m going to have a little chat with Rivil’s honour guard. After that, Lord Galtas Morellis and I have some unfinished business regarding the queen’s death. Let’s see what else he spills at the same time.’

  TARA

  First moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  Shingle, the River Gil, Wheat Lands

  ‘Let me get this straight. You’re scared of the man who stood for you at your cleansing and spoke the words of protection and family because you found out he’s crooked? You know how many people speak words of family at a stranger’s cleansing? You should be honoured.’

  Crys’s face was hot. ‘You don’t understand,’ he hissed, peering over Tara’s shoulder to where Ash sat at the tiller, guiding the boat past Shingle’s harbour. He gave a gaggle of children on the dock a friendly wave. ‘He kissed me!’

  ‘He kissed you on the brow, you idiot. Happens at every cleansing. He didn’t stick his tongue in your mouth.’

  Crys grimaced. ‘Don’t.’

  Tara laughed. ‘You men are so terrified of having your masculinity called into question. Here was I thinking you’d resent me accompanying you because I’ve got tits, and it turns out the man who likes other men is your concern.’

  Crys crossed his arms over his chest.

  ‘Look, d’you want me to talk to him?’ Tara tried. Though gods know what I’m going to say. Crys is an idiot, most likely.

  ‘What? No. There’s nothing to talk about. I just don’t want him getting any … ideas.’

  Tara put her head on one side. ‘You know how you feel right now?’ she asked in a low, intense voice. Crys shrugged. ‘Well, that’s how most women feel on a daily basis around soldiers and rich men and strangers and even friends. Afraid of being attacked, or being raped. Every day. Try and remember that.’

  She walked aft before he could reply and sat on the rail by the tiller. Crys looked back, at her and at Ash, and then away again. It’d been like this ever since they’d set out. Crys had taken Ash out drinking as a thank you for the cleansing, and he’d learnt his new friend was something unexpected. He’d been like a cat around a sleeping dog ever since.

  ‘He still angry?’ Ash asked. There was no shame in his blue eyes and Tara admired that. Ash knew who he was and embraced it.

  ‘I think so. He’s probably met dozens of crooked-backs in the Ranks, you know, but he just doesn’t know it.’

  ‘Please don’t call us that,’ Ash said without looking at her and Tara felt a blush creep into her face.

  ‘Sorry. I think he’s worried it’s catching.’

  Ash snorted. ‘Most men are. Gods, it’s like they think we automatically fancy any man we’re fewer than ten strides from. We’re attracted to certain types in the same way they are. But put one of them in a room with one of us, and they think all we want to do is fuck ’em. Crys wouldn’t rape a woman he was attracted to, but he thinks I’d rape him.’

  Tara squinted in a sudden gust of wind. ‘I don’t think he thinks you’d do that. Honestly, I don’t know what he thinks. Besides, you do fancy him, don’t you?’ she added.

  Ash tongued at a shred of meat stuck in his back tooth and spat it over the rail. ‘Yep,’ he muttered. ‘A lot.’

  Tara puffed out her cheeks and then laughed. ‘This is brilliant. For once it’s not me fighting off unwanted attention. I can just sit back and watch someone else squirm instead.’

  Ash’s eyebrows disappeared under his curls. ‘And here’s me thinking the West Rank was full of heroes, not rapists. Anyway, I’m not chasing him. He’s made his position extremely clear, in simple, colourful language and accompanied with a drawn dagger. To be honest, I’d be happy if he just relaxed enough to talk to me.’

  ‘Well, that’s something we all need to do tonight,’ Tara said. ‘We’ll be at Rilporin tomorrow and we still don’t have a viable plan to reach the Commander.’ She punched him in the arm. ‘And you two need to sort this out. We’re here to protect Crys and make sure he gets to Durdil with his story. That means he needs to trust that you’ll look after him if he needs it. He can’t be wondering what your motivation is all the time.’

  Ash locked the tiller and stretched. ‘My motivation is the same as yours: to get Durdil to arrest Rivil. But how do I convince him of that? Swear an oath I’ll never touch him?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  Crys’s voice was hesitant, but it still made them jump. He’s quieter than a cat when he wants to be. How long has he been listening?

  ‘I’ve been an idiot and I apologise, Ash. You and yours have been nothing but good to me since I arrived in Watchtown. You stood for me at my cleansing. You’ve been a friend and you’re risking your life to come to Rilporin with me.’ He raised a hand to his face. ‘I’ve been treated differently since I was a boy because of my eyes. Seems to me I shouldn’t do the same because you’re … different.’

  Tara looked between the pair of them and then threw out her arms, dragging them both to her. ‘Ah, you boys,’ she said, ‘all friends together. Hooray.’ She shoved them away as Ash grinned and Crys scowled. ‘Now that that’s settled, how do we tell Durdil Koridam that Prince Rivil is a heretic and a murderer and has allied with our greatest enemies to overthrow our king and our gods? Hmm?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t you think it’s time we focused on that instead of who wants to get into whose linens?’

  CRYS

  First moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  South Harbour, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  ‘Here we go,’ Crys breathed. He was both relieved and frightened to be at Rilporin’s docks, especially as his chances of surviving an encounter with the prince were exactly zero. Please don’t be here. Please don’t be here.

  ‘Um, Crys,’ Tara hissed. ‘There’s a lot of scarlet flying.’

  Crys looked up at First Bastion, the closest tower. A red pennant flew from its top and there was one on First Tower as well. He looked east around the curve of the city, and South Tower One was flying red.

  ‘Fucking shit. They know.’

  ‘So Rivil’s here,’ Ash muttered, dragging his gaze from the city walls, higher than any he’d ever seen.

  ‘Must be.’

  ‘All right, nobody panic,’ Tara said. ‘No one’s giving you a second look. Let’s just get to the palace.’

  Crys touched the bandage they’d wrapped around his head and over one eye; then he tongued at the split lip Tara had given him as an added disguise. Though she’d taken a little too much pleasure in it for his liking.

  Ash was gawping at the walls again. ‘Stinks,’ he pronounced sagely, wrinkling his nose as they wandered along the docks to the main road leading to the gatehouse. In the distance, around the long curve of the western wall, they could just make out the north harbour and the Tears. Rilporin sat at the confluence of the two great rivers, surrounded on three sides by water and the fourth by the wall.

  ‘Stinks? Rilporin is the greatest city in the world. This is the smell of success, of money and jewels and big dinners,’ Crys said.

  ‘Big shits more like,’ Ash complained and Crys laughed despite himself, the banter calming some of his nerves. ‘Impressive though,’ Ash added. ‘Enemy’d have a time getting in here.’ They walked through the gatehouse, an echoing tunnel of stone burrowed through the thickness of the wall. Ash whistled and
listened to its echo.

  ‘Right, where do you want me?’ he asked as they emerged into the market built on the killing field beneath the wall. It was a riot of noise and colour, brightly dyed awnings and gaudy traders clamouring for their attention.

  ‘Away from the barracks and the gates. This is First Circle, so if you head along there you’ll reach the merchants’ quarter. It’s probably best for gossip. There’re some decent taverns too. See what you can learn: when Rivil got back; the story that’s been told to the court and the people; anything about me. Tara, we’ll head straight for Durdil’s quarters at the palace. Once I’m safely in, come back and find Ash, pool your knowledge. And keep a low profile. If anything happens to me, find Durdil. Make him listen.’ Crys shook his head at an old man holding up an even older dead fish, and then flipped a copper to a beggar girl.

  ‘Dancer’s grace and Trickster’s luck go with you,’ Ash said and vanished into the crowd, gawking like a child at his first Yuletide celebration. He was taller than most, and Crys tracked his progress through the market until he was lost from view.

  ‘Straight down the King’s Way?’ Tara asked, adjusting her uniform. She was attracting attention, but that was the point; while everyone was staring at a woman in uniform, they weren’t paying attention to the bruised and bandaged soldier by her side.

  ‘No, I’m likely to know too many men on the main gates. We’ll go roundabout.’

  A half-hour’s brisk walk got them to the palace. Crys grinned when he saw who was on door duty. ‘I must see the Commander, Lieutenant. I have vital information regarding the security of the realm,’ he said.

  ‘West Rank?’ the soldier asked. ‘I’ll need your names.’

  Crys stepped close and lifted the bandage from his eye. ‘Hello, Roger, how’s the guarding going?’

  Weaverson’s eyes widened. ‘Captain? What – word is you’re dead,’ he said in a low voice, eyes darting through the crowds thronging the assembly place in front of the palace. ‘Prince Rivil himself told the Commander.’ He spotted Tara and his eyes popped out of his head.

  ‘Well, you can see I’m not. Let us in, will you?’

  Roger shifted from foot to foot. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.’

  ‘You don’t trust me?’ Crys asked, putting as much affronted dignity into his voice as he could. Tara was watching the approaches but his neck was prickling.

  ‘Prince Rivil said you died along with the heir. Now you turn up here. What’m I supposed to think?’

  You’re a lieutenant. No one cares what you think.

  ‘You’re an excellent young officer, Roger,’ Tara said, stepping around Crys and smiling into Roger’s eyes. ‘A real asset to the Palace Rank, I can see. I’m Captain Tara Carter of the West. This is a report from General Mace Koridam. It’s addressed to the Commander of the Ranks and I have been instructed to put into his hands directly. Captain Tailorson has a verbal report for the Commander as well. So you’re going to let us in, because if you don’t, you will be impeding two officers in their duty. Do you understand?’

  Roger’s face was a study in pimply misery. ‘Yes, sir, er, ma’am,’ he said and stepped aside. ‘But—’

  They slid past him into the gloom of the palace, ignoring his final protests.

  ‘He’s going to be off-duty in less than an hour and chances are he’ll tell his new captain about us.’

  ‘Then we’ve got less than an hour to locate Durdil and get you safely under cover,’ Tara said. ‘Speaking of which, pull that bloody bandage back over your eye.’

  Crys walked faster, head up, shoulders back and Mace’s report in his hand. Tara marched at his side. One thing he’d learnt guarding this place was no one questioned the confident people with pieces of paper. They cut through the corridors and counting rooms, slid into a servants’ corridor and trotted along it, exited into an antechamber and hurried for Koridam’s office.

  ‘Captain Tara Carter of the West Rank with urgent correspondence for the Commander of the Ranks.’

  The under-secretary pursed his lips and stared Tara up and down with deliberate disdain. His eyes flicked to Crys. ‘And you?’

  ‘I have information for the Commander regarding the prince.’

  ‘I meant your name.’

  ‘You don’t need to know his name. I vouch for him,’ Tara said. She stared past the man as though he didn’t exist. Crys was impressed.

  The under-secretary’s pale eyebrows rose fractionally. He pointed at the rug. ‘Wait.’ He rose from behind his opulent desk and scuttled to a set of doors, slid through and vanished from sight. Crys breathed a soft prayer to the Dancer that no one he knew decided to pop in. They stood at parade rest and waited.

  Eventually the under-secretary poked his head back through the door and beckoned. ‘Over there.’ He pointed, exited the larger room and closed the door behind him.

  Crys spotted a desk. He approached with Tara and saluted. ‘I am here with vital information for the Commander of the Ranks. I must see him at once.’

  ‘The Commander is not available.’ The secretary gave a small smile that made his mouth look like a puckered arse.

  Crys scratched his neck. ‘Commander Koridam is always available.’

  ‘He is not available,’ the secretary repeated as he shuffled papers into exact alignment. ‘Your name?’

  ‘Who is available then? And who are you?’ Crys countered. What the fuck? Godsdamn pissing functionaries.

  The man sighed. ‘I cannot reveal that information without identification.’

  ‘Really? I could go to the docks and find out in three seconds just by asking around. Who’s the prick in the yellow velvet hat who thinks he’s the fucking King of Rilpor?’

  ‘Then do not let me detain you from the docks, sir,’ the secretary said with prudish malevolence. ‘Your appearance would suggest it is where you belong, after all.’

  Tara spoke before Crys lunged over the desk and throttled him. ‘I have a report here from the general of the West to be placed directly into the Commander’s hands,’ she said. ‘Captain Tara Carter, West Rank.’

  ‘Then you may see the Commander. As for you,’ the secretary sneered at Crys, ‘you can leave the palace. Guard!’

  Heavy footsteps the other side of the door and Crys panicked and drew his sword, making the secretary squeak and dive behind his desk. Tara swore at him and unsheathed her blade.

  If Rivil or Galtas or any of the honour guard comes through that door they’re dead, no time for pleasantries. His mouth tasted of copper and he couldn’t swallow. Gods? Anyone? A little help?

  The door handle turned and Crys threw off his cloak, pulled a dagger with his free hand and crouched. Tara took two steps forward. ‘If this goes bad, get out and don’t wait for me,’ she said. The door opened before Crys could argue, and Durdil Koridam strode into the room with three guards.

  ‘What is this? Who are you?’ Durdil snapped, his hand raised to order the attack.

  ‘My lord? Commander?’ Crys threw his sword and dagger behind him, raised his hands and dropped to his knees. Tara copied him. ‘Commander, I’m Captain Crys Tailorson. You may remember me; we met before Yule when I first entered the Palace Rank. Shortly afterwards I was recruited by Prince Rivil into his personal guard?’ He ripped the bandage off his head.

  Durdil studied him and his eyes widened and then slitted in confusion. He signalled to his guards and they sheathed their swords. ‘Come with me, both of you,’ Durdil grunted. ‘You.’ He pointed at the secretary and then the soldiers. ‘You never saw this man. You never heard this conversation. Understand?’

  The secretary nodded frantically, looking as though he would never speak of anything to anyone ever again. Durdil looked back at Crys and then at the doors. ‘Fetch your blades and follow me,’ he said, ‘and put that bandage back on.’

  CORVUS

  First moon, year 995 since the Exile of the Red Gods

  Crow Crag, Sky Path, Gilgoras Mountains

  Th
ey’d lose men on the way down to the plains. It was too early in the season, the weather too unpredictable; the weak and the sick would be culled. Meaning the strongest and fiercest will be left to face the West Rank and the Wolves. The Lady’s will.

  Corvus found he hadn’t missed his home village. Compared with Eagle Height it was small and poor, but the men it bred were the toughest he’d ever known. ‘Will you be ready?’

  ‘Aye, Sire, we will,’ Fost said and let out a piercing whistle. The warriors of the village moved through the drill, a little ragged, a few missed steps, but on the whole they were a small, deadly little army, well armed and armoured. More armour than the Rilporians would ever have seen them in. A nice little surprise.

  ‘This isn’t a raid, Fost, this is invasion, war, and the glory of the gods. Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘We’re ready, Sire. You can wind out my guts on a stick if we’re not.’

  Corvus turned his cheek to a blast of wind full of needles of ice and watched as the warriors continued their manoeuvres, oblivious to the weather. A group of archers adjusted for the wind and loosed at targets fifty paces away. Most hit.

  Corvus’s skin itched with excitement. ‘Good. Discipline maintained, the village in good order, the slaves compliant. You are war chief of Crow Crag in my place.’ He looked at Valan as he made the pronouncement, saw his dismay. He’d been Corvus’s second at Crow Crag, so the village should be his by right now Corvus was king. But Valan was just returned from Rilpor with news that his patrol was dead and Rillirin was still in Wolf hands. That Rillirin had killed for the Wolves, no less. Valan had a lot of trust to earn back. Best keep him close for that.

  ‘Your will, honoured,’ Fost said, grinning.

  ‘And are you ready to move out?’ Corvus continued as they strolled into the longhouse, the gaggle of chiefs and priests trailing after them, Lanta moving smooth as silk in their midst.

  ‘We are, Sire. We want only the date.’

  ‘First day of third moon, so keep preparing. Take the Sky Path and meet me and the others at the head of the Gil-beside Road. We’ll take it down into Rilpor.’