Blood Lust

by Garrett Robinson

  Sun dared not glance at the guards in the corner as she leaped to her feet and followed him, but she guessed they must have noticed the commotion. She hid her face under the hood of her borrowed cloak and tried to get through the door as quickly as she could.

  In the brisk night air, Albern stood with his face raised to the moonslight. He looked as if he was listening for something, or mayhap sniffing the air. But when Sun emerged into view, he turned at once and smiled at her.

  “You will have to make a bit of a climb,” he said. “But if I can do it with one arm, I am confident you can do it with two.”

  So saying, he jumped atop a small crate beside the tavern’s back door. From there he took a large step up another two that were stacked atop each other. Sun saw that a pile of crates, which she had thought were stacked at random, actually formed a little mountain leading up to the edge of the tavern’s roof, and Albern was scaling it like a satyr.

  She hurried to follow him, and soon they had both reached the solid ceramic shingles. There was a little platform there, with two piles of soft cushions. Albern kicked off his mud-covered boots with some difficulty and sank down on one of the cushion piles, and after a moment’s hesitation, Sun took her place on the other.

  “What is this—” Sun began, but Albern shushed her and pointed down at the ground.

  Sun watched as the two guards from her parents’ retinue burst out the back door of the tavern. They stopped in the alley, searching left and right. One of them spoke, and the words drifted up to Sun and Albern on the rooftop.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I do not know. She vanished.”

  “Our lord will have our heads.”

  “Not if we find her. Split up. And if you see that useless constable, enlist him into the hunt.”

  They ran off, one to the left and one to the right, and soon they were lost from view.

  “They knew!” hissed Sun, who feared to speak too loudly.

  “They did,” said Albern.

  “They followed me to the tavern!”

  “So it seems.”

  “My parents sent them,” said Sun. “Curse them. I thought I had snuck out without detection.”

  “Our parents often like to let us think we are alone and independent, but they watch us more closely than they allow us to see. Royal children especially.”

  That drew Sun’s attention. “Not royal,” she said.

  Albern smiled. “Noble, then.”

  She turned her gaze from him. “You have not asked why I am hiding.”

  “That is your business,” said Albern. “It has nothing to do with me, unless you wish it to.”

  “What if I am a criminal?” said Sun. “I could be a thief or a murderer.”

  Albern chuckled. “Those women are guards. Retainers of a noble family, or mayhap hired hands to protect a merchant’s caravan. If you were on the run, you would not be afraid of them, but of redbacks.”

  Sun frowned. “What?”

  “Forgive me,” said Albern. “It is not a polite term. Constables with their red armor, and Mystics with their crimson cloaks—those who fear the King’s law call them redbacks, collectively.”

  “And how would you know that?” said Sun.

  He grinned at her. “I, too, could be a thief or a murderer.”

  That forced a laugh from her, though she quickly hushed it and threw another nervous look at the street below. “The stories say many things about you, but they say nothing about being a criminal.”

  “I suppose they are not entirely worthless, then,” said Albern with a smile.

  Sun chuckled.

  “If you still need to relieve yourself, climb down and do it quickly,” said Albern. “That shed built against the back wall is an outhouse. I will wait here.”

  Sun nodded and did as he suggested. After she had climbed back up and settled herself on her pile of cushions again, she looked at him expectantly and waited for him to go on.

  Then she nearly jumped out of her skin at a loud thunk behind them.

  She tensed, ready to run—but then a hidden panel swung up from the rooftop behind them. The barmaid from earlier climbed halfway up through the hole, and in her hand was a tray with two full mugs of beer.

  “I am glad you found your way here safely,” she said to Albern. She put the tray with the mugs on the roof between the two piles of cushions. “Anything else? Some food, mayhap?”

  “None for me, thank you, Morled,” said Albern. “Sun?”

  “No, thank you,” said Sun, who suddenly found her fingernails very interesting as a flush crept into her cheeks.

  The barmaid only smiled at her. “Sun. A lovely name.” She leaned over and planted a quick kiss on Sun’s cheek. “Bear no worries tonight. No one here will let you fall into the hands of the constables—or anyone else who looks for you.”

  With a final bright smile, she retreated back through the roof hatch into the tavern. It was quite a little while before Sun realized she was frozen staring at the hatch, one hand gently touching her cheek where she could still feel the warmth of Morled’s lips.

  “Have another sip,” said Albern. The moonslight was not bright enough to show it, but Sun could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Yes, thank you,” said Sun distractedly. She seized the mug and drained half of it in a single pull.

  “You are clever,” said Albern. “If you finish it quickly, she will have to come back.”

  “I—that is not why I—”

  Albern’s smile widened and turned into a grin. “I know.”

  “Does your injury still pain you?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Your injury. The blow that knocked you unconscious in Northwood. Does it still hurt you?”

  Albern raised the stump of his right arm. “This one does, on occasion. But the knock on the head I took in Northwood … no, that does not pain me any longer.”

  “And Mag?” said Sun. “Her injuries—were they very bad?”

  Albern’s mouth twisted. “Mag suffered greatly at Northwood. But her hurts were of the mind, not the body.”

  Sun frowned. “I thought you said—”

  “I said I thought I saw her injured,” said Albern. “In the thick of battle, I was sure of it. But war turns a mind to madness. Soldiers often think they see things that never happened. It is one reason you must be very wary of believing stories—and war stories in particular.”

  “Do you mean they did not hurt her, even in Northwood?” said Sun. “Even in the press of all those Shades?”

  “They hurt her,” said Albern quietly. “They hurt her more deeply than she had ever been hurt in her life. But she was Mag. She was good at getting back up and carrying on. We both were, then. And Kaita, the weremage, had always been good at it.”

  Even as I lay unconscious on the ground, Kaita was winging her way west over Northwood as it burned.

  Unarmed, she thought. She beat me unarmed.

  Again.

  Beyond the city’s western outskirts, she found Rogan in council with his captains. They had gathered atop a hillock, from which they could observe most of Northwood and the progress of their troops through the city. Kaita landed and resumed her human form. Once he saw her growing out of the bird’s shape, Rogan bid his captains away with a wave of his hand and went to speak to her alone.

  “I need more troops,” said Kaita. “I know where Mag is, but I need more to overwhelm her.”

  “We cannot spare them,” said Rogan.

  “Rogan—”

  “We cannot spare them, Kaita,” said Rogan. “I must ride north after Loren, and I must take many of our siblings with me. And I need you to lead the rest of them back to the Watcher.”

  “No!” cried Kaita. “Mag is still in there! She defeated me, but I must try again. Who knows when I will get another chance?”

  Rogan tilted his head and looked upon her with a kindly expression. “What happened?”

  Kaita scowled. “She … she was t
oo fast. I had taken the form of a mountain lion, but she still outmatched me.” She did not mention that Mag had done it unarmed. She spat. “At least I killed her steer of a husband.”

  “Sten is dead?” said Rogan.

  “He is, and darkness take him.”

  Much to Kaita’s annoyance, Rogan’s lips twisted in a soft smile. “I told you that I did not think you were destined to defeat her this day, Kaita.”

  “You did,” said Kaita, avoiding his gaze. “And how did you know that?”

  “I have some of our father’s sight, though I cannot see as far as he can,” said Rogan. “Do not despair. I have made you promises, and I intend to keep them.”

  “You promised I would defeat her,” said Kaita. “How do you mean for that to happen while I am leading your army to the—”

  “Your army as much as mine,” said Rogan, his tone betraying a rare note of admonishment. “And I have changed my mind. You will lead our siblings into the Greatrocks, but you will not take them to the Watcher. When they turn north, you should continue west. Make sure you leave a trail they can follow. I have been led to believe that Albern is an excellent tracker.”

  “I suppose,” said Kaita through gritted teeth. “And where would you have me lead them?”

  “To where it all began. Between the two of you.”

  Kaita’s eyes shot wide. “Home.”

  “Yes. And not just for your own personal reasons. I need to send a trusted captain there to hurry things along. For some time now, I did not know who it would be. Now the answer is obvious. I trust no one more than you. Lead Albern and Mag there, and help our siblings accomplish their mission. You can claim your vengeance at the same time.”

  Kaita stepped towards him and smiled. “Yes, this … this is better. This is far better. Sky above, Rogan, why did you not tell me this was your aim in the first place? I would have done as you asked.”

  Rogan shook his head. “This was not my plan. Many things are not clear to me until it is time. Even an hour ago, I would never have considered it. I am sorry, Kaita. It frustrates me as much as you.”

  Many emotions warred within her. But her fear was still nearly as strong as her excitement. She shook her head slowly—not in refusal, but in thought.

  “If I do this,” she said, “I want a guarantee. I may need more strength than I currently have.”

  “You are strong beyond—”

  “That is not what I mean,” said Kaita. “I want a guarantee, Rogan. If I do this, and yet I cannot take my revenge alone, I want our father to grant me the power he has long denied me.”

  Rogan’s eyes narrowed, filling with … not fear, but something akin to it. “That is too dangerous.”

  “I am no simpleton.”

  “The risks—”

  “The risk to me, and to my mission, is also great,” said Kaita. “Promise me, Rogan.”

  Rogan sighed. “Kaita, if things go ill, we will have to—”

  “I know.”

  “I have no wish to see you harmed.”

  Her expression softened. “I know that, too.” She went to him then, and she laid her head against his chest. “Whatever you may think of me, I am our father’s child. My heart is true. But I need this.”

  “Then you shall have it,” said Rogan. His tree-trunk arm wrapped around her shoulders. “If you cannot vanquish her alone, you will have every power our father can grant you. And I only hope neither of us has cause to regret it.”

  “Thank you,” Kaita whispered into his chest. Then she drew back, out of his reach, and looked up into his eyes. “Go after Loren. Bring our father’s vengeance to those who call themselves our rulers.”

  “I will. May death stay its hand from you.”

  Kaita smirked. “I would wish you the same, but in your case, death has no choice. I will contact you when I can.”

  Rogan gave her a final smile and left. Kaita took a moment to gather herself before finding the captains to order the retreat.

  I WOKE WITH A SPLITTING headache to find Elsie kneeling over me, bathing my face with warm water.

  “Mag,” I groaned.

  “You are alive,” she said, her brows rising. “The healers told me so, but I did not believe them. Neither would you, if you could see yourself.”

  “Mag,” I repeated. I tried to lift my head, but a spike of pain nearly drove me senseless again. I fought to remain conscious. “Where is she?” I whispered.

  “Puttering about the place,” said Elsie. She rose and went to fetch me water from a bucket by the wall.

  “Alive?”

  “No, she died, but that has not stopped her. Of course she is alive, you dolt.”

  I let myself relax, at least a little. “Everyone else?” I said. Each word came with great effort. “How many survived?”

  Elsie’s brisk demeanor seemed to fade away. She looked over at me, and for a moment her eyes sparkled with tears. “Not enough. Though I suppose each one is a blessing.”

  She had been there when I first fought to defend Northwood against invaders all those years ago. I could see from the sadness on her face that this time was far, far worse.

  “I am sorry,” I said.

  Her resolve returned at once, and she turned back to the water, ladling a cup full of it. “You should not be. You fought like a champion. Not as well as Mag, of course, or she would be lying here and you would be the one walking around. But you did all right, I suppose.”

  That forced a weak chuckle out of me, and with it, I felt a bit better. Strength had been creeping back into my limbs. I tried to lift my head again, and this time the pain was not so bad.

  “No,” said Elsie at once, coming towards me. “You are to stay—”

  “I want to see the town,” I told her firmly. “And I need to see Mag.”

  Before she could reach me, I sat up, and I gently batted away her hands when she tried to push me back down. Despite her protests, I sat up from the straw pallet where I had been laid.

  It was not till then that I realized I was in the common room of the Lee Shore. Mag’s inn could not have looked more different. All the tables had been cleared out, and the floor was covered with four rows of pallets holding the wounded. Healers and helpers moved down the line, providing more pillows, fetching water, and seeing to their patients’ needs.

  “Are these all who remain?” I said as I fought painfully to my feet.

  Though she clucked her tongue at me, Elsie at last abandoned her attempts to force me back to bed. She took an arm and helped me rise to my feet. “Of course not,” she said. “Every tavern and inn throughout Northwood has been turned into a sickroom. Those that were not burned down in the attack, anyway.”

  “Help me to the door,” I said.

  “You mean to go outside?” she said, horrified.

  “I told you I need to see Mag. If she is not in here, then yes, I need to go outside.”

  Elsie glared up at me and did not budge. “I am not sure how else to tell you this, and I do not understand why I have to, but: you nearly died, you great idiot.”

  I smiled at her. “I am no stranger to injury. I will be fine.”

  “No stranger indeed. You seem well acquainted with head injuries in particular.” But she sighed and moved forwards, helping me hobble towards the inn’s front door. With her help, I pushed it open.

  And there stood Mag.

  She stood across the street, leaning against the building opposite. Her head was tilted back, resting against the wall, and her eyes were closed. Dirt covered her face, her arms, every scrap of her clothing. A great deal of blood was mixed in with it. But as I looked closely, I could see that none of it was hers. There were no rents in her skin, no angry red wounds. Not even a scratch.

  I stood there for a long moment, staring at her, entirely dumbfounded. And as I stared, Mag opened her eyes and looked at me. A small smile tugged at her lips.

  “Mag,” I said. “You are alive.”

  “Albern,” she said. “You are up. That
is good, I suppose.”

  Gone from her voice was the lifeless, heartless monotone of her battle-trance. This was the Mag who was my friend, who did not mercilessly cut down her enemies, but who provided beds and food and rest to a band of children who had come down out of the mountains with her old friend.

  I walked towards her. Elsie tried to help me, but I had almost forgotten her, and I pulled away from her grip. The pain in my body, even in my head, was forgotten. I went to Mag and put my hand on her shoulder.

  “I am sorry, Mag,” I said. “Sky above, I am so sorry.”

  Mag shrugged. “It was not your fault, nor mine. Blame the ones who did this.” She gestured vaguely at the town. “Something is happening, Albern. If that was not clear to both of us before, it should be now. It is bigger than either of us, bigger than poor Loren and her friends. All we can do is try to weather the storm and pull the ones we love through it with us.” She turned her gaze away, looking into the blood-soaked mud of the street. “And sometimes fail.”

  “Mag—”

  “Leave it,” she said. There was just a hint of sharpness in her tone, enough to make me obey.

  After a long moment, I spoke again. “Before I went down, I saw you surrounded. I thought I saw you wounded.”

  That seemed to bring her out of the darkness her thoughts had cast her into. For a moment she smiled, and it was like we were on the campaign trail again, trading boasts around a campfire. She stepped forwards and held out her arms. “They did surround me. I fought my way free. Do you see any wounds?”

  I did not. I sighed. “You are frightening sometimes, Mag.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  “But … but then what happened?” I pressed. “How did we drive them away from Northwood, in the end?”

  Mag frowned. “I have only an answer that is both poor and troubling. I do not know that we did drive them away. They simply turned and marched into the mountains. No one knows why.”

  My jaw clenched. “I would like an answer. And I would like them to answer for other things as well.”

  “As would I,” said Mag. “But now that you have risen, many things need tending to—and one of them, in particular, was not one I wished to tend to until you were awake.”