‘Congratulations, Captain,’ Mace said without hesitation. ‘You’re now a member of His Majesty’s West Rank, the finest fighting force in all the world. Thank you for volunteering.’
Crys exchanged grins with Tara and Ash and managed a painful salute for Mace. ‘Thank you, sir. I also still have Prince Janis’s sword. What with one thing and another I never got to give it back, and if Rivil recognised it, he’d know I still lived.’ He levered himself back out of his seat and unbuckled his belt. ‘I think you should have it, sir.’
Mace’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me? I couldn’t – that’s a royal sword, Captain. I’ll … I’ll keep it safe somewhere. It’ll have to be passed to the new king, when the court or Rastoth chooses one.’ He laid the sword on his desk with great reverence. ‘You’re sniggering, Carter. Care to explain?’
‘Your father’s name came up during the discussion of a new heir,’ Tara said. ‘It occurred to me that you might be given that sword for real one day.’
Mace’s stare was blank and went on for too long until Tara blushed and looked away. He sat back down. ‘Captain Tailorson, visit the armoury when we’re done here and find yourself a suitable replacement blade.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Ash, your assistance to the captains is recognised and appreciated. My father’s correspondence authorises you to relate everything that happened in the capital to your people so they’re aware. Please tell your chief we’ll continue to sweep north of the Blood Pass Valley into Blackgate Woods. I understand your people will be south of the valley, between it and the River Gil. Please send word if any movement is spotted.’
Ash nodded, shook hands with Tara and Crys, and then rose. ‘Of course, General. We’ll stay in touch. Tara, Crys, a pleasure travelling with you. Stay out of trouble.’
Tara shooed him away. ‘You first,’ she said.
When he’d left, Mace rounded his desk and approached them both. He waved them back into their chairs. ‘Sit, sit. Captain Tailorson, I had my doubts when I first met you, doubts about the story you were telling. But not any more. You’ve done a great service for this country by coming forward and telling us what you saw, by being prepared to testify against Rivil. Now, while I’m happy to recruit you into my Rank, a trial and your testimony may still be required, so I’ll do my best to keep you out of trouble. However, I will need your written statement, signed and witnessed by myself and our priest, before the end of tomorrow.’
‘Of course, sir, whatever you need. I’ve already provided one for your father, but it makes sense that you keep another here in case anything should happen.’ He shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable. ‘I heard the priestess and the Mireces king, sir. They’re in this for their gods, and the land and the glory are just an added bonus. My gut tells me they’ll still come no matter what happens with Rivil and his alleged reinforcements. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t at least one scrap between us and them.’
Mace rubbed his hands together. ‘I’m counting on it,’ he said grimly. ‘A pitched battle is the one thing we’ve never managed to draw them into. Let’s break the bastards once and for all.’
GALTAS
Second moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
East Rank Forts, Grazing Lands, Listran border
‘Well, this is most unexpected. Most unexpected indeed.’ General Skerris of the East Rank examined the document again, checked the prince’s seal again, and then squinted at Galtas. Galtas gave him an easy smile.
The two thousand men of the main fort were drawn up in parade lines to welcome their noble visitor. No one had yet questioned why Galtas came alone, or without prior warning.
‘His Highness will by now have been announced as heir to the throne of Rilpor,’ he said, tapping his fingertips to his heart for Janis, ‘and this knowledge has changed the man he is forever. Rivil is to be king, General. Gone is the prankster, the affable prince whiling away his time with soldiers and merchants. Prince Rivil is determined to do justice to his brother’s memory and his father’s legacy. And so he has asked me to inspect the Ranks on his behalf, and acquire personal assurances of loyalty from them. No doubt the Crown’s announcement of Prince Janis’s tragic demise mentioned the king’s ongoing health?’
Galtas leant closer and Skerris did likewise, pulling worriedly at his enormous moustache, all three of his chins wobbling with concern. ‘Between you and me, General, Janis’s death has broken our king. The royal physician fears for his health.’ Galtas lowered his voice further. ‘His sanity, even. Who knows what orders he may give? And Prince Rivil fears he is not ready to lead, that he will never be ready. But he knows that the time may come, sooner than any of us would wish, when he may have to act to curb the king’s … wilder impulses. He is keen to reassure the Ranks that he will never act in anything but Rilpor’s best interests. Also, he would dearly like to know that he has the support of the greatest men of this country should that unfortunate time ever arrive.’
Skerris’s piggy eyes widened when he realised the prince counted him among such men. ‘But of course, of course,’ he wheezed, adjusting the wide leather belt over his considerable gut.
Galtas glanced down again, reassuring himself it was still there. Skerris had two belt pouches. Two. The skin on Galtas’s face felt tight, as though he’d been burnt, and his heart was thundering. Now or never.
‘We must do all we can to aid the prince in his duty to the gods,’ Galtas said and tapped his fingernails on the buckle of his own belt. Skerris looked. Galtas wore two belt pouches.
The fat man stilled, only his fingers twitching, and then he met Galtas’s eye with an expression of polite interest. ‘We all serve the gods,’ he said.
Shit. ‘We all have a path to tread,’ Galtas tried, ‘and His Highness has set himself a mighty task.’ Well, if he doesn’t get that, he isn’t what I think he is. The weather was mild but Galtas shivered. He pulled the pouch off his belt and clinked it idly in his hand, outwardly a bored nobleman doing his master’s duty. The nails it contained tinkled together, a deeper chiming than you got from coin.
Skerris heaved out a breath and glanced around, beckoning to his senior staff. Galtas took a step back, dropping the pouch and grabbing for his sword. ‘My feet are on the Path,’ Skerris said, and bent down to pick up the pouch. He passed it reverently back.
‘My feet are on the Path,’ recited every one of his officers.
‘Thank the gods,’ Galtas said, his voice shaky. ‘My feet are on the Path as well, and so are the prince’s. The gods have a task for the East Rank, General, if you’ve a mind to listen.’
‘We live to serve, my lord,’ Skerris rumbled, ‘and if the task is what I think it is, then the Rank belongs to the prince and we’ll march where he commands.’
Galtas adjusted his eye patch, impressed. ‘That is welcome news, General. All your men are believers?’
‘Oh, no. But leave that to me. When the time comes, they will be, reluctantly.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘But reluctant or not, a soul once given cannot be ungiven. They will serve.’
Galtas stared past the officers at the men standing at attention. ‘How?’ he murmured.
Skerris gave him an evil little grin at odds with the bumbling, blubbery facade he cultivated and jerked a thumb at himself. ‘Born and raised on the Path, milord. I’m an anointed priest of the Dark Lady.’ Galtas’s mouth dropped open and then he scanned the officers around him. Skerris nodded. ‘Converted and blessed them all myself,’ he confirmed. ‘Sanctified in blood, sacrifices performed. Loyal to the gods, loyal to me, and now, without reservation, loyal to Prince Rivil.’
Galtas clapped him on one immense shoulder and grinned at the others. ‘Let’s retire somewhere more private, General,’ he said. ‘We have much to discuss and a short timeline. The Mireces will be invading soon.’ He laughed at the expressions on their faces. ‘Much has happened in the last months, my good General. More than you know.’
DURDIL
Second moon
, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
The palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘You are looking well today, Your Majesty,’ Durdil lied. Rastoth was slumped in a chair in his private audience chamber, his mourning sash stained with soup and three days’ growth of grey beard straggling like lichen across the crags of his face. He looked awful and everyone knew it, including, probably, Rastoth himself.
The scarlet of the sashes they all wore was a note of unruly cheer in the general gloom of the chamber and the atmosphere it contained. It hinted at a spring that two of the occupants, at least, dreaded.
‘Where’s the traitor?’ Rastoth snapped and Durdil saw Rivil flinch.
‘Lord Galtas Morellis?’ the Commander clarified and Rivil’s lips turned white. The prince was seated at Rastoth’s desk, ostensibly checking his correspondence. Durdil had already been through it and removed anything he thought Rivil shouldn’t see. Which was most of it. He’d left a particular report in there, though. Baiting the hook and, perhaps, taking a risk he shouldn’t.
Hallos was seated at another table in the window, grinding herbs in a small mortar. Another concoction to bolster the king’s failing body, no doubt. Durdil wasn’t sure there were any herbs left in all Gilgoras that could heal the king now.
‘Are there any other traitors?’ Rastoth demanded and Durdil blinked. He’s having a rational day? Thank the gods.
‘None that we know of yet,’ Durdil said. ‘The latest report from Major Renik, who is leading the hunt, confirms the man hasn’t been seen in any of the towns or villages of the Wheat Lands.’ Durdil put his hands behind his back and shifted slightly to get a better view of the room. ‘They’re heading east to see if they can pick up a trail on the Tears or into the Grazing Lands.’
Rivil was ready this time and gave no indication of alarm. A moment later, however, he raised a sheaf of papers and squinted at them; then he placed them carefully back on the desk. He tapped the topmost page. ‘What is this, Commander?’ he asked in a friendly tone.
Durdil moved to stand behind him and looked over his shoulder. ‘What is what, Your Highness?’ Gods, I hate subterfuge. I’m no good at it and there’s no honour in it. The world has changed since I was young.
‘This report,’ Rivil said, picking it up again, ‘regarding my mother the queen’s murder. You wrote it?’
‘I did, Your Highness. That investigation remains ongoing, as you know, and His Majesty receives regular updates.’
‘I see. You have written, and I quote, “query Lord Galtas Morellis” where you discuss suspects. His is the only name, in fact, on what is then a very short list.’ Rivil swivelled in his chair; his face had the faintest hint of red in it. His eyes were very cold. Other than that, he oozed calm detachment. He was a better actor than Durdil, but then, he needed to be.
‘Ah, that’s where that report got to,’ Durdil said as Rastoth’s head rose from his chest. ‘I’d thought it was still in my chambers. Must have got mixed up with some other papers.’ The lie slid cool and easy from his tongue and his rigid honour creaked in protest. He held out his hand for it but Rivil didn’t let go.
‘You think my friend killed my mother?’ Rivil asked and now there was a tremor in his voice. Anger? Fear? Guilt, perhaps? ‘Why in the gods’ names would you think that? Galtas has never been anything but loyal.’
‘Of course,’ Hallos put in and Rivil twitched, ‘he knew of the placement of the soldiers’ bodies, didn’t he, Durdil? And you said that information was confidential. You said nobody knew that, not even the princes. Most strange.’
Rivil stood, forcing Durdil back a pace. ‘This is ridiculous. Soldiers talk. Galtas spends time in their company. I imagine most of the Palace Rank knows the details of Mother’s death.’
‘Galtas killed my Marisa?’ Rastoth asked, and the madness in his voice had been replaced by icy rage. His fingers were claws on the arms of the chair, and while his eyes were still watery, they pierced Rivil like a sword.
‘No, Father, he did not! Galtas was with me in the tavern, don’t you remember, that’s where we’d been all evening. I told you. So did he.’ He pointed an accusatory finger at Durdil. ‘The Commander questioned us, like we were common fucking criminals! Like he doubted us even then. And now, all this time later, he still suspects us. It’s an outrage.’
Rastoth waved him away so he could focus on Durdil. ‘Galtas killed Marisa and you suspected him, so he went to your chambers searching for the report and Wheeler disturbed him and he killed him, then fled.’
‘No!’ Rivil shouted.
‘That is a very interesting theory, Your Majesty,’ Durdil said. ‘It would appear to fit with the facts of both cases, at least for now.’
Rivil stared between them, wild and furious. Come on, make a mistake, Rivil, give me something, anything I can work with. Even a hint.
‘Lord Morellis is my friend,’ the prince said, smoothing his coat, his sash. ‘He has served me well and faithfully. I do not for one second believe he could kill my mother, or Major Wheeler. You are mistaken in this, all of you.’
‘Would you swear by the gods he had nothing to do with it?’ Durdil pushed, knowing he was showing some of his hand, that Rivil would see his suspicions stretched to more than just Galtas. It’d be worth it, though. He wouldn’t swear on the gods if he knew the words were lies.
Rivil stared at him for a second and then put the crumpled report back on the desk. ‘You have offended me, Commander,’ he said, ‘and you have questioned the honour of my friend. I do not need to swear on the gods because I know you are wrong and that you will be proved so when we find Wheeler’s killer.’ He shook his head. ‘You have all offended me.’ He tugged at his sash. ‘Here, now, when we should be united in grief, you seek to drive a wedge between my father and me.’ He lowered his voice. ‘How could you?’
Rivil made for the door and Rastoth half rose from his chair, one hand out to his son.
Durdil could have applauded the performance. Instead he spoke. ‘I apologise, Your Highness. But for now, Lord Morellis must remain our chief suspect in both cases until we can definitively prove otherwise. A murder has taken place in the palace itself. As we did after the queen’s death, I have ordered Fifth Circle to be shut to all comings and goings. The king’s Personals are in control and all nobles, functionaries and Palace Rankers have been ejected. We are all required to stay within the palace walls until such time as Lord Morellis is brought before the king for questioning. But be assured, we will continue to pursue all inquiries in case your friend is indeed innocent.’
Rivil’s fingers tightened on the door latch and then he spun back into the room. ‘We are your prisoners?’ he demanded, striding towards Durdil. ‘You would lock us up?’
Durdil plastered polite concern on to his face. ‘You are heir to the Throne of Rilpor now, Your Highness. Your safety and that of the king is my only concern. I fear you would not be adequately protected should you wander the city. Or travel further afield.’
‘Be calm, Rivil,’ Rastoth said, ‘Durdil has my full support in this. We will do as you say, Commander, until Galtas is found and tried. Or any other suspect,’ the old man added as Rivil’s mouth opened to complain.
‘And what are we to do while we are incarcerated?’ Rivil asked in icy tones.
Durdil inclined his head. ‘I would not presume to say, Your Highness.’ But with the Personal Guards in charge, your heretical honour guard won’t be visiting, that I can promise you.
Rivil’s nostrils flared, but he held his tongue, bowed to Rastoth and exited the room.
And now we wait, Durdil thought, wiping the sweat from his palms on to his trousers. Hallos gave him a tiny nod of approval. And we see who blinks first.
THE BLESSED ONE
Second moon, year 995 since the Exile of the Red Gods
Longhouse, Eagle Height, Gilgoras Mountains
‘These are the last days of the life we have known. Soon, we will all leave these mountains that hav
e both culled us and nurtured us. Until then, you have a sacred duty. Every warrior, every boy and every old man goes to war. Only the cripples and the slaves will be left, along with Pask, my priest, to tend to your souls.’
He’d do more than that, of course, but the women must feel this was their chance at freedom. Secrets would spill when they thought there were no ears to hear. It was an easy way to discover the loyalty of the war chiefs, the warriors, when what they confessed to their women in the dark was repeated in the light.
Lanta surveyed the women of the village gathered before her, the life consorts secure in their power and position, the rest eyeing each other already. She’d given the same speech to the women in Cat Valley, Falcon’s Landing and Crow Crag on the way back along the Sky Path. She’d ensured the priest at each village understood his duty. When the men marched to war, old grudges would be settled and some of the women would die. It was their way. It was the Lady’s will.
‘We cannot say how long it will be before we send for you, but never doubt that we will. Preserve the children – whatever feuds fester among yourselves, the children are not to be harmed, for they are our future. Pask will know and Pask will inform me if any die. Those responsible will follow them into the Afterworld, and not gloriously.’
The threat was effective and Lanta, her point made, relaxed and gifted them with a smile, a rare indulgence. ‘We march to glory, women. Many will fall, their deaths wetting our path, washing the veil until it vanishes like mist in the sun. We are the ice that cracks rocks. We are the wind that fells trees and the storm that batters all life.’ She raised her arms and the women copied her, swept up in her passion. ‘We are the Mireces, chosen of the gods, and our feet are on the Path.’
‘Our feet are on the Path,’ the women shouted.
Lanta lowered her arms and then raised one hand in supplication. ‘Do not let our victorious warriors return to claim their women and find only slaughter. Do not let your slaves rise against your rule. Do not kill each other to be consort to a man who may not return.’
Godblind Page 23
