DURDIL
Third moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Commander’s quarters, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
The city was in uproar and the palace was sullen. The courts had been suspended and the nobles were gossiping, furthering the city’s panic.
Durdil’s lockdown had prevented Rivil leaving Rilporin and strenghtening the alliance with the Mireces, but it also tied Durdil’s hands. Any correspondence he received the prince insisted on examining, using his status as heir as justification. Renik’s latest report on the hunt for Galtas had reassured Rivil his friend was still at large and worried Durdil further.
‘He’s not on his estate, he’s not in Three Beeches or Maresfield. He’s not in the city.’
Hallos’s bulk filled most of the window and he didn’t reply. He stared across the deserted assembly place to the gates leading into Fourth Circle. They were shut and barred, Personals standing guard.
Durdil wandered to the map of Rilpor painted on the wall in vibrant colours. His eyes drifted west past the yellow of the Wheat Lands, up the huge winding blue snake of the River Gil to the white-capped mountains, where his son would be fighting the Mireces. Or already had, perhaps. There’d be a message soon by carrier pigeon, a single sentence that would determine everybody’s next move. A Rank victory would force Rivil’s hand – he’d either have to declare himself or admit defeat. Durdil didn’t think he’d admit defeat.
A Mireces victory would mean his son was likely dead and the Raiders could push on unopposed into Rilpor. He’d sent messages to the other Ranks to prepare to march to Rilporin’s aid, and had received confirmation from North and South they were ready. Nothing from the East yet.
Durdil’s eyes slid across the map. ‘Allies in the east,’ he murmured. ‘No. It’s not possible.’
Hallos turned from the window. ‘What?’
‘I haven’t heard back from the East Rank.’
Hallos put his head on one side. ‘I agree, it’s not possible. It’s a Rank, Durdil. It’s five thousand men. If five thousand of your soldiers walked the Dark Path you’d know about it. They rotate every two years – how would you even get them all into the East at the same time?’
Durdil’s eyes were fixed on the cross marking the East Rank’s forts and Hallos’s words came muffled through the buzzing in his ears. ‘That’s where Galtas is. It has to be. He’s convincing the East Rank to declare for Rivil and rise against Rastoth.’
Hallos’s hand came down on his shoulder. ‘You’re overwrought, my old friend. You need to rest. Let me mix you a sedative.’
Durdil shook his hand off and indicated the map. ‘The Mireces defeat the West Rank, march to the Gil and commandeer the Rank’s fleet, sail it to Rilporin to lay siege. Meanwhile, the East Rank declares for Rivil and marches to the Tears, sails its own fleet to Rilporin to lay siege.’ His hands came together in a cage around the bright gold dot of Rilporin. ‘If they control both the rivers, the North and South Ranks will be forced to march overland to our aid, adding days to their journeys. At the same time, our lines of supply and escape are cut off.’
Hallos moved to stand by his side and squinted at the map. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we can go out through the King’s Gate and ride straight for the Listran border, the king’s estate in Highcrop.’
Durdil’s heart sank. ‘All twelve thousand citizens of Rilporin, Hallos?’ he asked. ‘While the Palace Rank defends the city against its brother Rank and an army of heathens?’
He sensed Hallos’s shame and took the bite from his words with a squeeze of the physician’s arm. ‘The king’s safety first, I understand. He is your priority. But I am Commander of the Ranks. The safety of the whole country is my concern. I’ll send another pigeon to Skerris in the east, and a courier to Renik at his last reported location. He’ll have to go to the East Rank and sniff around, see what he can find out.’
‘Prince Rivil won’t like that,’ Hallos said.
‘Prince Rivil won’t like what?’ Rivil asked from the doorway, and the two men started like guilty children and spun to face him. Rivil gave them a tight smile and repeated his question.
‘That we have no further news to share,’ Durdil said, and wondered when lying to his prince had become the safest way forward. ‘I’m sorry, Your Highness, but we are still unable to locate your friend, and we still await news from the west regarding the planned Mireces invasion.’
Rivil went to Durdil’s desk and looked at its contents, picked up a couple of reports, juggled a couple of paperweights. ‘About that,’ he said, his tone curious. ‘Tell me again where that intelligence came from.’
‘The Wolves found a slave escaped from Eagle Height. She told them the Mireces were planning an invasion. My son questioned her; he believes her story is legitimate and took appropriate measures. The Raiders have a new king, Corvus. It seems he wants to make a name for himself.’
‘An escaped slave,’ Rivil said, putting one paperweight back on the desk and keeping the other, a lump of raw silver, in his hand. It was almost as big as his fist and Durdil had a sudden vision of how it would sparkle just before Rivil slammed it into his temple. He put his hand on his belt, next to his dagger.
‘It seems she knew a lot. For a slave, I mean.’
Durdil sniffed. ‘Well, from what I know, Mireces don’t think of slaves as human. They don’t even acknowledge their presence unless they’re giving them an order. I can’t imagine they’d feel it necessary to keep secrets from them.’
‘Yes, secrets,’ Rivil said, leaping on the word. ‘Insidious, dangerous things. They always get found out in the end.’
Durdil matched him, threat for threat. ‘Yes, Your Highness, that they do.’ Neither of them blinked for a long second, and then Rivil grinned and tossed the silver from one hand to the other.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to your plotting. The king wants to thrash me at chess again.’ He gave them a friendly nod and exited, and Durdil followed him to the door and closed it firmly. He puffed out his cheeks and swallowed hard. Too close.
At his desk he opened a drawer, took out a tiny slip of paper and wrote ‘Renik, check East Rank’ on it. He rolled it into a tube and tucked it into his jerkin. He’d visit the dovecote before he started his rounds of the Personals. The men were professional and dedicated, but even they were getting restless under the extended hours of guarding the palace without help from the Rank.
He straightened, and then frowned at his desk and moved a couple of papers aside. He glared at the closed door. ‘On top of everything else, the bastard stole my paperweight.’
DOM
Third moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
West Rank headquarters, Cattle Lands, Rilporian border
Dom scratched his right wrist, the bracelet of scars itching, burning, maddening. When that didn’t work, he brought it up to his mouth and nibbled. The itch didn’t fade and he shook his arm hard, and then scraped it against the stone of the wall.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ he said, frustrated. The Dark Lady’s attempts at torture in the Waystation had been less effective than this. If it didn’t stop soon, he’d lose his mind or hack his own arm off. Or both.
Dom gritted his teeth and pressed his back against the wall. There was a flicker of an image, a tantalising glimpse of something he recognised and couldn’t place, like something seen from the corner of his eye, there and gone. The itch swelled into pain and burnt up his arm into his head, his right eye.
‘No,’ Dom muttered, ‘no, not here, not now.’ He stared around desperately, staggered into the stables and headed to the end stall. The horse in there took one look at him and flattened its ears, prepared to kick him to death if he went in. There was a pile of hay opposite and Dom fell into it as the fire filled his eyes and the godspace in his head filled with images.
Dimly, he heard a horse whinny and a hoof hit a stall door, the sound of a bucket being kicked over. His back arched and he clenched his fists, his ja
w. The pictures were clear this time, not confused or obscure. Dom knew exactly what he was seeing and what it meant. He fought the air into his lungs, felt the stitches on his wound pop as he thrashed, the pain of it tiny in the sea of agony washing through his skull.
Another image, so clear it was as if he stood before the horror of it, a helpless witness. Dom convulsed, a low wail juddering from his throat.
‘You’re the calestar. You.’ Mace couldn’t hide his disbelief. Half a dozen Rankers had witnessed the knowing, dragged him out of the hay when he stopped thrashing and taken him to the hospital. Lim and Mace sat either side of his cot.
Dom ignored Mace’s incredulity. ‘Corvus isn’t coming,’ he croaked. ‘He was never intending to face us. He’s going for Watchtown.’
Lim’s face drained of blood while Mace’s confusion deepened. ‘They’re all going to die,’ Dom said. ‘Watchtown is going to burn and everyone will burn with it. More deaths to tear the veil. It’s nearly done now. They’ll be back soon.’ Tears slid into his hair. ‘We’ve lost.’
‘You don’t really believe all this, do you?’ Mace whispered when Dom laid his arm across his eyes. ‘Visions and prophecies? Really? It’s madness. He’s … ill, some sort of brain imbalance. He’s just raving, Lim, you must see that.’ He coughed a laugh. ‘You can’t base a sound military strategy on the ravings of a madman, even if he is family.’
Lim’s voice was very cold. ‘Dom has foreseen all this and more. He saw Janis’s sacrifice as it happened; he foresaw the invasion. If he says Corvus is going for our people, I believe him. And we’re going to stop him.’
Dom sat up in the cot and world spun around him. ‘We’ve lost,’ he snarled, ‘and they’re all going to die. It’s over.’ He could hear the rustle of the Dark Lady’s laughter and shuddered, digging his nails into his right wrist.
‘Watchtown is made up of thousands of warriors, fighting for their homes and their children. They’ll stop Corvus, but we need to help them.’ Lim’s voice was less sure in the face of Dom’s conviction. If they lost Watchtown, they lost everything. They lost their future, their past, who they were.
‘Look, I have no idea what’s going on here,’ Mace interrupted, ‘but it’s clear you’re exhausted, Dom. I know you all believe in your calestar, in his prophecies, and I admit I’m stunned to learn you think you’re him, but I have a Rank to command. Captain Carter’s intelligence was that Corvus’s army would be here sometime today. That is intelligence I understand and believe. Not this … whatever it is.’
Lim scraped his chair back. ‘I understand, General. Good luck.’
Mace jumped up. ‘What does that mean?’
‘We’ll be riding for Watchtown to aid our people,’ Lim said. ‘That’s where Corvus is going, that’s where we’ll fight him. You’ll be sitting here looking out at nothing if you stay, General, whereas you could help us if you marched with us. Please, Mace.’
Mace wavered.
‘The veil is weak. So many dead, so many converts,’ Dom said, his eyes blank. The words came through him, not from him, and he had no idea what he was going to say until he heard himself say it. ‘All the east.’ He pushed back the blankets and stood, brushed past Mace and wandered to the exit in bare feet. ‘It’ll tear soon, tear wide open. Rot in the east, madness in the capital, and a soul to claim.’ He giggled and picked at the scabs on his wrist. ‘You think I’m mad, you should see Rastoth. Blood rises.’
‘Supposing I believe you,’ Mace said thoughtfully, ‘why didn’t you see any of this before? Why let us run back here with our tails between our legs? If you’d known of the two forces earlier, we could have sent a Thousand up the Gil-beside Road and held them there.’ He jerked his hand through the air. ‘Gods, there are so many things we could’ve done. A Thousand could hold on the Gil-beside for weeks.’
‘It comes when it comes when it comes,’ Dom said. ‘No stopping it, no controlling it most of the time.’ He grasped at the air. ‘The gods talk when They wish, not when I want Them to.’
‘And normally it’s never this clear,’ Lim said, ‘but now it is, and we should be thankful for that. We need to get ready to move. My father’s dead, thousands of us are dead. I won’t lose anyone else.’ He collected Dom’s boots from the under the cot and snatched the blanket as well. At the door he looked back. ‘Make up your mind fast, General. Stay here and fight nothing, or march with us and fight Corvus.’
‘You really believe him?’ Mace asked.
‘Dom’s made his mistakes, General,’ Lim said and Dom’s face flushed, ‘but I believe this. The Dancer has sent us a message that could save the lives of our people. I’ll not ignore that.’
Lim gave Dom his boots and Dom concentrated on getting his feet into them. It was easier than looking into Lim’s eyes and telling him the knowing hadn’t come from the Gods of Light at all.
THE BLESSED ONE
Third moon, year 995 since the Exile of the Red Gods
Watch Ford, River Gil, Cattle Lands
‘It is confirmed,’ Lanta said, opening her eyes and blinking at the glare of the sun. A whole night had passed while she’d communed. She allowed Corvus to help her to stand and gave no indication of the pins and needles consuming her legs as they took her weight.
Corvus handed her a waterskin and waited, edgy with impatience, for her to speak. Behind him were Valan and the war chiefs and Gilda, her lined face bright with curiosity. What had it looked like to her, Lanta’s communion with the Dark Lady? The army was a carpet of blue on the green plain, most of them sitting or lying in the grass, enjoying the warmth, the softness of this land.
Lanta looked back at the mountains rearing behind them, then at the ford through the river, the water hissing and chuckling over the rocks.
‘Your army was defeated, Sire.’ Lanta pitched her voice loud enough for the war chiefs to hear. ‘Slaughtered to the last man.’
Corvus’s nostrils flared. ‘I see.’
‘Their holy deaths served their purpose, Sire. The veil is washed in blood, weakening every day. The West Rank lost nearly half its men, and the Wolves were decimated. They have scurried back to the forts, hiding behind the walls in fear. But they will come for us soon.’
Corvus crossed his arms. ‘Good. Will they interfere with our plans for Watchtown?’
‘No. We have more than enough time for Watchtown’s destruction. And when the West Rank does come, will we flee ahead of them?’
‘We will not. I have a plan to end every last one of them with minimal losses to our number. The maps the Rilporian left with us have been most informative. As long as we destroy a few bridges to force them to stay on the south bank of the river, then when we strike they’ll only have one place to go.’ He brought his hands together. ‘Into a trap.’
‘Well?’ Lanta snapped at Gilda, who’d for once lost her patronising smile. ‘Does your goddess give you such detailed information?’
‘Not to me,’ Gilda said, ‘but She talks to our calestar, tells him what we need to know.’
‘Ah yes, the famous calestar. It isn’t just the Flower-Whore who talks to him, though. Did you know that? Did you know the unspeakable torments he suffers at the hands of my gods?’
‘I know,’ Gilda said. ‘And I am not surprised you would take pride in something like that. You speak as though your gods’ penchant for torture is a good thing. You should be careful They don’t decide to torture you.’
‘I would welcome it,’ Lanta said and Gilda’s expression showed polite disbelief.
‘We are days away now, Blessed One, just days from Rilporin. Did the gods say anything of our allies? Does the prince keep true to his word?’ Corvus pressed.
Lanta glared at Gilda a moment longer before turning her attention on the king. ‘He does. His allies in the east are confirmed. They will join us in sacking their city and claiming their king. The Red Gods will be ascendant, Sire.’
‘Then let us bathe this land in the blood of heathens to welcome Them. Valan, so
und the advance and get the army over the ford. I want us just out of sight of Watchtown by nightfall and ready to tear the place to pieces by dawn tomorrow.’
‘Your will, Sire,’ Valan said.
Corvus offered Lanta his arm. ‘You have knelt in trance for many hours, Blessed One. Are you able to walk or shall I have the men assemble a litter?’
Lanta put her hand on his arm and stood. ‘I will walk,’ she said, ignoring the fizzes of pain behind her knees. ‘My feet are on the Path, and every step I take is consecrated to the gods. My pain is my gift to Them.’
Corvus inclined his head. ‘You are a teacher to us all, Blessed One.’
‘You should try being joyful,’ Gilda said as she walked behind them. ‘The gods like Their people to be happy. Maybe the Dark Lady would appreciate that instead.’
‘I have been in the presence of my goddess. Do not profane the moment with your ramblings, or I will have your fingers cut off.’
Gilda said no more and they walked in the midst of their army over the ford on to the Western Plain. Towards Watchtown and glory. ‘Soon, Sire,’ Lanta murmured, ‘soon the Wolves and the Watchers will be annihilated, Rilpor subjugated, and the gods will take Their rightful place in the world again. Soon, all Gilgoras will bow to Them and to you.’
And soon enough to me.
Blessed One.
Queen.
GALTAS
Third moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
East Rank headquarters, Grazing Lands, Listran border
‘Messages from Rilporin, my lord,’ Skerris wheezed, panting in the doorway from the climb up the stairs.
Galtas beckoned him in. ‘About fucking time. I was getting worried. Well?’
Skerris poured himself into a chair and mopped his face with a square of linen. ‘Sent by pigeon, so they’re brief. Durdil requests again my confirmation of orders received, that we will march to Rilporin’s defence if needed.’
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