Darksoul

by Anna Stephens

  The throwing arm was cracked and one of the giant axles had snapped under the awful force. The engine was useless. The question, though, was whether the portcullis was still down or whether they’d effected a breach that the defenders couldn’t plug. The best scenario was that the entire grate had been ripped free. Rivil and Corvus had two thousand men each standing ready to flood into the tunnel if it had worked.

  ‘No,’ Rivil said eventually, and passed Corvus the distance-viewer so he could see for himself.

  Motherfucker.

  Lanta rose on to her toes, hand on Corvus’s shoulder to steady herself, and squinted towards the city. ‘Is it burning?’

  ‘Just dust,’ Corvus said. ‘It’s hard to tell, but it seems damaged, wouldn’t you say, Rivil? Could be it’s jammed in place, trapping them inside. If we’ve at least prevented them from marching out in support of the West Rank when it arrives, then the loss of the treb is surely worth it.’ He glanced at the Godblind.

  ‘Soon,’ the man said. ‘The West Rank will be here very soon.’

  ‘But we can’t get in, either,’ Lanta pointed out, and that Corvus couldn’t deny. He squinted again as the dust half concealed, half revealed the gatehouse. Why hadn’t it torn free? Why hadn’t the gatehouse cracked, slumped, fallen? Why were they still on the outside?

  ‘Skerris, send five Hundreds at the wall between the gatehouse and Second Tower. Let’s not give them time to recover.’ Rivil had reclaimed the distance-viewer. ‘We haven’t got through either of the stump walls, but now this treb is useless, we can’t pound that weak spot further down. Let’s move one back on to it, especially after this – surely we shook the wall to its very foundations. We could be one good throw away from dropping the wall.’

  ‘Tell us, Godblind,’ Corvus said and felt the anger rise like heat from the Blessed One. He should have asked her.

  She fears the loss of her power.

  Corvus took her gently by the hand. ‘Blessed One,’ he said softly, ‘please know that your wisdom and insight can never be surpassed by this drooling madman.’ Lanta looked as if she was about to scoff, to deny his words or take umbrage. ‘But please also know that a gift such as the Godblind cannot be ignored. The gods have given him to us; we must seize every advantage and his link to the gods is strong. Better we break him than you.’

  He leant close so no one else could hear. ‘I do not think he lies, and you and I must present a united front to our allies. If you have doubts about his words, tell me afterwards, not in front of the others. And please, Blessed One, as I have had to share power with Rivil, do not dismiss the Godblind’s words out of hand. Together we will triumph; alone we may yet fall.’

  The Blessed One’s inhalation was sharp with fury and her eyes blazed blue ice at him. Very deliberately she pulled her hand from his and took a pace back. ‘I act only in the interests of the gods,’ she said. ‘Even your desires are second to Theirs, and I would do nothing – nothing – to jeopardise Their triumph. All is as the Lady wills it, even your failure here.’

  Corvus bowed his head to her, seething at her choice of words. ‘The reminder is timely for us all, Blessed One,’ he said.

  ‘Remember that you are bound to tell the truth,’ Lanta said to the Godblind before Corvus could speak. ‘Do not lie to us – about the siege, the war or anything else. Will you die for the Red Gods?’

  ‘I will die, I will kill, I will live, I will murder. All that They command I must do. I cannot do otherwise.’ The Godblind’s eyes were owlish and empty, blinking slowly in the sun.

  ‘Good,’ Corvus began but Lanta held up her hand, cutting him off again.

  ‘And do you worship with a full heart, or because you are afraid to do otherwise?’

  The Godblind was silent for so long that Corvus felt a lurch of unease.

  Shadows flocked across the man’s face so his features were hard to make out. They all stood in shadow, Corvus suddenly realised, though the sun shone undimmed in the sky.

  ‘You were told of the Godblind’s coming, you were told his identity, and still you doubt,’ he snarled suddenly, and there was a harmony in his voice that Corvus had never heard before, a timbre that vibrated his bones and set dread in his bowels. And it was a higher-pitched, more feminine voice. He sounded like a woman.

  The Godblind pointed at them each in turn, his eyes golden despite the shadow, seeming taller than he had. Wisps of black curled around him, obscuring, revealing. ‘Show humility when your goddess speaks to you. Lanta Costinioff, daughter of a tenth-rate warrior and a poxed bed-slave, you rose to prominence as my instrument. Madoc Fisher, slave of Dancer’s Lake, your ascension fulfils my desires, not your own.’

  Corvus felt the blood drain from his face and fell on to his knees, pressing his forehead into the grass. It’s Her. It’s Her inside him.

  The Godblind’s head moved like a snake’s, sinuous and full of menace as the others knelt in awed terror. ‘Prince Rivil Evendoom, your father is dead and the council has elected Tresh to be the new king. You have been overlooked, as you were your entire life. Only in me have you found purpose. Only I have seen your worth.’

  The Godblind brought his hands together hard and the sound was as loud as a thunderclap. Lanta cried out and Corvus was flattened as Valan threw himself over him in instinctive protection. ‘I am served by the lowest of slaves, whom I raised to prominence to do my will, and yet you question me? Question my chosen vessel, my Godblind? Think to raise yourselves above him? Above me?’

  Corvus could just see him out of the corner of one eye. The Godblind’s shape shifted so that sometimes he was himself, other times something … else. He pulsed and fluttered, shape changing man to woman, man to woman to snake to horror to woman, and he pointed at them one by one in much the same way Lanta chose sacrifices. Corvus felt his bladder twitch. He squeezed hard.

  ‘If it were not for the time it would take, I would find replacements for you all. As it is, know that I am displeased. Move the northern trebuchet off the stump wall and back on to the weakness. There is to be no let-up of men or siege engines. And do not ever question the Godblind’s devotion again.’

  The presence drained away and the Godblind’s back arched and he rose on to his toes, arms flung at the sky, before collapsing. One flailing arm caught Skerris in the face, knocking him backwards. Corvus shoved Valan off him and knelt up, staring at the Godblind in awe and fear. She was in him. She was here in the world, in him. She is everywhere and everything. I will never doubt again.

  ‘Skerris,’ Rivil said in a shaky voice, ‘get the trebuchet moved immediately and get those men up the fucking wall.’

  ‘Your will, Majesty,’ Skerris said, lumbering to his feet and hurrying away with much haste and little dignity.

  ‘Valan, send the men at the wall. Go now.’ Valan too vanished and Corvus exchanged a long look with the Blessed One; she was grey, pupils dilated. Her fingers shook.

  ‘Our feet are on the Path,’ she whispered.

  Corvus heard sobbing and reached out; he put a gentle hand on the Godblind’s back. ‘Come on, man, let’s get you somewhere comfortable. You’ll have much to do before this is all over.’

  TARA

  Fourth moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  South Rank harbour, River Gil, Western Plain

  ‘You keep poking at it and it’ll fall off.’

  Tara snatched her hand away, but seconds later it was back, prodding, teasing at the stitches holding the bottom half of her ear to the rest. The bandages had come off that morning and everything still seemed to be attached, but gods it stung, and the accompanying row of stitches just below her cheekbone still made it difficult to open her mouth wide. Yawning was bloody agony. Still, all things considered, a knife to the head could have had a much more terminal outcome.

  ‘Seriously though, Ash,’ she said, both her hands pressed to her chest, ‘am I still pretty?’ She batted her eyelids and smiled, the stitches pulling at the muscle so her lip turne
d down instead of up.

  Ash grimaced. ‘You were never pretty, Carter. Face like the arse-end of an arse.’ Tara threw a punch and he ducked. ‘All right, let’s have a look. Gods, it’s fucking ugly,’ he said, squinting at it. ‘Are you sure it’s even your ear? Could be anyone’s, or just a bit of gristle they picked up off the floor and stitched on. Might not even be a fucking ear.’

  He put his head on one side and poked at it himself. Tara hissed and jerked away. ‘You know, I don’t think it is. Looks a bit like foreskin, just hanging there all shrivelled and useless. Best not get too excited, woman, you might get an erection.’

  Tara shoved him in the chest and he staggered backwards, laughing. ‘And there was me thinking the only useless thing attached to a cock was a man,’ she said and Ash laughed again, gave her an approving round of applause. ‘But come on, Bowman, I think we both know that if I had a cock I’d be the bloody King of Rilpor.’

  ‘Now that, Major, I do not doubt for a second,’ Ash said and together they hauled at the planks that had once been the boathouse and dragged them towards the growing pile of timber. Those ships that hadn’t burnt to the waterline in the blaze set by the Mireces needed patching.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’re a master carpenter among your other manifold abilities?’ he asked.

  ‘I can bang a nail in straight, and that’s about it,’ Tara said.

  ‘Can you stop talking about cocks for one minute,’ Ash complained and she sniggered.

  ‘And there was me thinking that you of all people would enjoy that kind of talk.’

  ‘Oi,’ Ash snapped and she stopped in surprise. ‘You want to get me executed?’ he hissed, shushing her. ‘We’re in the middle of a bloody Rank, woman, and what I am would get me killed if anyone knew, so keep your shitting voice down.’

  Tara blushed. ‘I’m sorry, Ash, truly. I just … feel like I’ve got someone to talk to for the first time. Someone who knows what it’s like to be different.’

  ‘Having tits doesn’t make you less of a soldier,’ Ash said, shrugging, ‘and me liking men doesn’t make me less of one. But it’s the rest of the world we need to convince, eh?’

  Tara sucked a splinter out of the palm of her hand and spat it as they moved back to the ruins of the boathouse. ‘True enough. So then, when I become King of Rilpor, I’ll change two laws – women in the military isn’t odd and … same-sex love is legal. How’s that?’

  Ash shook his head, but he was grinning. ‘Tara, love, if you grew the necessary bits to make you king, changing the law would be the last thing you’d be worrying about.’

  ‘Good point. Guess we’re both still fucked then, eh?’

  ‘Guess so. We should probably sort this timber out now, aye?’ They picked up the next load of planks. ‘And for what it’s worth, even without a cock, you’ve got bigger balls than most men I know.’

  ‘Oh Ash,’ Tara sighed, batting her eyelashes again, ‘you say the nicest things.’

  Tara stared at the drifting galleys in frustrated anger. ‘Godsdamn bastard shits,’ she bellowed across the water, startling waterfowl and soldiers in equal measure. A flight of ducks burst into the air, honking away from her.

  ‘What happened?’ Major Crys Tailorson asked.

  ‘Bloody rope snapped; it was singed through, but the boats themselves look intact. We could’ve really used those boats,’ she added.

  ‘Ships,’ Crys amended and began pulling at his boots. ‘Pass some good rope, will you?’ he asked.

  Tara frowned at him, then at the water. ‘You’re going in there?’

  ‘Why not?’

  There were several reasons why not, and every one of them had to do with the thousands of Rankers and Wolves who’d died screaming in the Yew Cove tunnels. Tara swallowed nausea. ‘Are you sure?’

  Crys frowned. ‘Of course I’m sure. I can swim.’

  ‘So could every man in the West Rank,’ Tara mumbled. ‘Didn’t stop them drowning.’

  Crys unbuckled his sword belt and pulled his jerkin and shirt off. His upper back and ribs were patterned with bruising and it looked as though every knob of bone had had the skin scraped off it, exposing patches of raw flesh. ‘Rope,’ he said, holding out his hand, and Tara threw him the end of a line. Crys tied a loop and threw it over his head and arm, slid down the bank into the water, waded out to his thighs and began to swim.

  All activity along the bank ceased and men and women lined the river, watching Crys swim hard after the boats drifting on the current. ‘Is he bloody daft?’ Ash muttered, coming to stand at Tara’s side. ‘Gods, he’s an idiot. What’s he doing?’

  ‘Fetching the boats, or ships, or whatever,’ Tara said. ‘How can he just do that? Just get in there like it’s nothing? Like what happened didn’t happen?’

  ‘He went back down the tunnels to search for survivors once we were out, remember,’ Ash said. ‘Twice. I thought it was just adrenaline at the time; now I can see its lunacy.’ Ash’s knuckles were white where he was gripping the haft of his hand axe. ‘You’ve got hold of the other end of that rope, yes? So we can pull him in?’

  Tara looked at the end of the line slowly inching towards the water and stamped down on it. Blushing, she snatched it up and then began following Crys along the bank as he swam, closing the distance to the unmanned boats. He reached the stern of the closest and reached up, pulled himself high enough to loop the rope over the tiller, then hauled himself in and checked the line connecting it to the others was secure.

  He turned to Tara and seemed surprised at the crowd on the bank. ‘All right, pull us in,’ he called and circled his arm above his head. Tara and Ash began dragging at the rope with the help of half a dozen others, and the small fleet came to a stop and then, slowly, made its way back to the battered dock.

  ‘What?’ Crys asked as he jumped out. ‘Were you worried, love?’ he asked Ash and winked at Tara.

  Tara let go of the rope and stared at them. ‘Love? What are … are you two … what?’ she spluttered.

  Crys laughed and slung his arms around them both. ‘Come on, we need to get to Rilporin.’ He jogged over to the pile of clothes and boots he’d left on the grass. Men were smiling at him, congratulating him.

  ‘How does he do that?’ Tara muttered. ‘Just get men to like him so easily?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Ash said. ‘And no, don’t ask. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Or me. Or him.’

  ‘Well, I’m pleased for you,’ she said, stamping down on the twinge of envy curling through her chest.

  Crys glanced back at them and grinned, beckoned them over, and as the low sun threw his face into shadow, his eyes glowed yellow. ‘More to the point,’ Ash said in a worried voice, ‘how does he do that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tara said. ‘That’s … weird.’

  ‘And it’s happening more and more,’ Ash fretted. ‘What is it?’

  ‘If we get a shift on we can set sail this evening,’ Crys interrupted as they approached. He had a twitchy, manic energy about him, as if he was gripped by a fever, but with the exception of that eye shine, he was healthy enough. Healthier than most of the rest of us. No major wound from any of the fighting he’s done, or if there was, it’s healed. Which is impossible.

  ‘Sounds good,’ Tara said with an effort. ‘I’ll inform Colonel Dorcas and the general that we’ll be ready to leave in a couple of hours. We’ll be in Rilporin in the morning.’

  That soured the mood some, but it was the truth and they all knew what they were here for. After what had happened in Yew Cove, Tara’d been convinced they’d have a mutiny on their hands when Mace announced his intention to raise the siege at Rilporin, but the Rank knew its duty. Tara stared at the weary faces around them, heart swelling with pride. Not out of the fight yet.

  She noted the way they watched Crys when he wasn’t looking, as though his presence was a charm or a comfort. She’d felt the same herself, a time or two.

  Harness this and there could be no stopping us, no matter what
the Mireces try. They’ll die for him if he asks, and he doesn’t even know it.

  She waved them on and walked away, her gait slow and her face thoughtful as she poked at the stitched-on earlobe. The men weren’t the only ones who’d die for him, she realised. She was drawn to him, as though he was north and she was a lodestone. There was a burst of laughter from behind, something she hadn’t heard in weeks, and she knew who’d caused it.

  Who are you, Crys Tailorson? What are you?

  GILDA

  Fourth moon, night, day thirty-one of the siege

  Mireces encampment, outside Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  They still hadn’t let her see him, not to speak with. He trailed around behind Corvus or Lanta while another warrior trailed him, writing down his words as though they were holy.

  He’d ignored her completely when he arrived, shambling past towards the tent, still wet from his dunk in the river and shivering beneath the blue of a Mireces shirt a little too big for the skin and bones he was now. As though he didn’t recognise her any more.

  It’s just a ploy. He doesn’t want them to know how close we are, that’s all.

  Gilda didn’t believe her own lies, not this time. She sat outside Lanta’s tent as darkness fell, chained to a spike driven deep into the hard earth, an empty cup and bowl at her side. They’d cut her rations again, and her stomach growled its protest. After the work she was doing now at the field hospital, a meal was the least they owed her. Unless they found out how many Rankers she’d guided back to the Light, of course.

  She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders and tried to listen, but she couldn’t hear words, just voices, the rise and fall of questions and answers and more questions, on and on as, in the distance, Rilporin’s curtain wall was lit bright with torches, the better to see who they were killing and who was killing them. Something Dom had said had made them elect to fight through the night and there’d been no let-up in assaults since the afternoon.