That’s it, then; he’s told them there are reinforcements coming. Sweet Dancer, let it be the truth, even if they have lost the element of surprise. Let it be the Wolves, Cam and Lim and Sarilla and all the others. Let it be thousands of soldiers, overwhelming numbers to crush these bastards into the dirt.
She knew nothing about the fate of the Wolves who’d marched to the Blood Pass Valley to aid the West Rank, nothing but the reports she’d overheard from Corvus, that some had survived the battle there and were following them, so Corvus had left men behind to stage an ambush in Yew Cove’s tunnels. That had been weeks ago and there’d been no word since, but now Dom was in there and he’d have news, have information about everything that had happened in the last weeks. And she couldn’t hear him. It was maddening.
‘Who’s dead?’ she muttered to herself. ‘Which of my family are gone to the Light? How can I mourn them if I don’t know who they are?’
She prayed into the echoing silence of her skull, prayed for all of them, alive and dead. It didn’t feel enough. For the first time in decades, Gilda’s prayers faltered and all the terrors and imaginings that came with being a warrior’s wife, a warrior’s mother, flooded in upon a black wave that even the strength of a priestess couldn’t stand against.
She wept, and when she was done, she dried her face and put her mask back on and dared any Mireces to try and break her. She was Gilda Priestess, child of Light, and they could do their worst, because it would never be as bad as her own dark fears.
‘Blacked her eye,’ she whispered to herself, ‘knocked the Blessed One right on her arse. Do it again, too, she messes with Dom. That and more.’
The words buoyed her and stirred her courage again, steeled her will and stiffened her spine. Dom being here gave her something to focus on, a goal to aim for: get out, and take him with her. It was clear that he was the Godblind of which Lanta had spoken.
Gilda had never heard the term before, but there was no denying Dom was the thing they spoke of with such awe and trepidation. That his knowings had increased to such an extent that he could see the future. And the past. And everything in between, maybe.
And that they were destroying him.
Then we put a stop to it, get him into a temple where the Dark Lady can’t reach him, where he can’t spill secrets in the wrong ears, and keep him there until this is over.
Easy. Slip my chain, get him away from Lanta and Corvus, sneak to the edge of the camp before dawn and just walk away.
Easy.
Somehow, she’d slept, and now the night was deep and chill, noisy with thousands of men sleeping, crying, grunting through pain and, in the distance, fighting, killing and dying. There was no murmur of conversation from the Blessed One’s tent now, and aside from the misty orange glow of a single torch, it was dark and quiet inside.
Where would Dom be? With Lanta or with Corvus? ‘Lanta,’ Gilda breathed. ‘She’s got a new pet and she won’t let him go. I’ve been replaced.’ Her smile was grim as she clambered to her feet.
She tugged experimentally at the chain, then wrapped it around both fists, planted her feet and hauled, teeth gritted. For long seconds nothing happened except that her upper spine crackled and popped from the exertion, and then, slowly at first but gathering speed, the spike slid from the earth.
Gilda glanced around longer this time, but the Mireces were resting while they could and anyway, no one would dare skulk around outside the Blessed One’s tent in the middle of the night, not if they wanted to keep their eyes.
Gathering up the links of chain and muffling them in her ragged skirt, Gilda gripped the spike in her hand, the cool slickness of earth squelching between her fingers, and ducked into Lanta’s huge tent with her breath held. It was a combination temple and bedchamber, lit with a single torch, the ground scattered with blankets against the damp. Lanta was sitting on an ornate stool, her back to the tent flap and her hands weaving a complex charm over a set of armour.
Well, shit. You’re supposed to be asleep.
Dom was curled on a tangle of blankets like a sick hound, shivering in his sleep, his right arm cradled to his chest, eyes moving beneath the lids as he dreamed horrors. Gilda’s heart lurched in her chest when she saw him again. They’d shaved him and washed his hair, tied it back from his face and she could see the lines of his skull beneath his papery skin, all sharp cheekbones and jawline, sunken eyes and chewed lips. Oh, son, what have you done to yourself? I’ve seen corpses with more life in them. Nils looked better than you do, before and after I drove a knife into his head.
Gilda weighed the spike in her hand, its length dull with earth, unable to catch the light. She drifted closer, studying the line of Lanta’s neck where it met the shoulder, the back of her head. One solid blow. She advanced another step. Her hands didn’t tremble.
Have I really come in here to kill? Is that what these people have reduced me to? No, of course not. But I do need her to be … sleeping. She hefted the spike.
‘Scell’s going to be flogged for letting you escape so easily,’ Lanta said affably as she finished the charm on the armour – Corvus’s, most likely. Her voice was low and honeyed, the harsh Mireces accent rolling smooth from her tongue. She didn’t bother to look up.
Gilda moved around to face her and sat on the stool opposite. Lanta’s smile was reptilian. ‘Scell’s more interested in poking around in dead bodies than watching me,’ she said, dropping the spike to the ground by her foot. ‘Dread to think what he’s poking into one tonight. And besides, I’m an old woman weighed down with collar and chain. Not a threat, so no one watches me.’
‘And yet here you are in my tent, unaccompanied, and arguably armed. Some people would find that threatening.’
‘But not you? Because we’re past all that, aren’t we, Blessed One?’ Though the memory of punching you in the face still warms my heart. She gazed around the tent with open admiration. ‘Nice place you’ve got. None of the hardships of siege for you, eh? And a friend to warm you in the night, too.’ She indicated Dom, and saw the muscles around Lanta’s eyes tighten. ‘Oh, not to your liking?’
‘The Godblind is very much to my liking, just not in the way you infer.’
‘What’s a Godblind?’ Gilda asked, playing the daft-old-lady card that neither of them believed in any more. Lanta just smiled, and Gilda looked at Dom again, sensing his scrutiny. She caught the glint of eyes in the gloom, but gave no sign to either of them that she’d noticed. Well, you’re awake at least. That’s a start if we’re going to get out of here.
‘Dom Templeson, Wolf, Calestar and your adopted son,’ Lanta said and Gilda’s attention snapped back to the woman seated opposite. Lanta’s chuckle was undiluted malice. ‘Did you think he was still yours, old woman? Did you think you could save him?’ She affected surprise. ‘Is that why you’re here? You were going to kill me and steal away with your boy, return to the wilds with him and wait for this to all be over?’
‘Something like that,’ Gilda said with a shrug. ‘Though I’m not a killer. But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Godblind,’ Lanta said with forced patience. ‘Blind to everything but what the gods show him. Your gods, my gods, whoever wishes it. Though he says he hasn’t heard from the Dancer and the Fox God in weeks. It’s funny, isn’t it, that now, when he’s a still pool just waiting for the Dancer to write Her words across his surface, that She doesn’t have anything to say? Why do you think that is?’
‘Because he’s doing what She needs him to do,’ Gilda said, her voice calm. ‘He’s not here for you, Blessed One, or because the Dark Lady has commanded it. He’s here because the Dancer needs him to be here. And She’ll reveal Her purpose to us all soon enough.’
That rattled her. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Lanta said. Gilda just lifted a shoulder in reply and watched the other woman twitch with annoyance. Then she poured a cup of wine and passed it to Gilda, smiling warm enough to melt a glacier. Gilda took the cup on reflex and
then sniffed. Lanta smiled.
‘He’s been more than a little forthcoming, your boy there. Told us so many things. So many interesting, useful things. Godblind, I’m sure Gilda would like to know who of her family – and yours, I suppose – has been slaughtered. Would you tell her?’
‘No,’ Gilda said, holding up her palm. She gulped wine too fast, coughed. ‘No, thank you. Dom doesn’t need to parade his gift for me. I have been with him through dozens of knowings over the years, I know what they’re like.’ Her heart was hammering and a voice in her head was screaming, Yes, tell me, tell me who lives. Cam? Lim? Sarilla? Tell me!
‘You’re sure?’ Lanta asked as Dom sat up. He was watching the exchange with a manic energy, a glee verging on hysteria, that Gilda had never seen in him before. There wasn’t the man she knew or the boy she remembered in that gaze.
‘May I?’ Gilda said, standing. ‘Dom, love—’
‘You may not,’ Lanta said, and if her smile had been hot, her voice now was wintry. ‘Sit down and drink. We’re not done here yet.’
Gilda sat and sipped her wine. ‘Did you always want to be a priestess?’ she asked after a pause. Dom was still kneeling close by, his gaze flicking between them, waiting for orders, perhaps. ‘Is the priesthood the only way to power other than climbing into bed after bed until you reach someone with a scrap of authority?’
Lanta snorted. ‘Being a consort to a warrior, even a war chief, was never to be my fate, just as being a farmer’s wife was never to be yours. Women like us control the worlds in which we live. We mould the world to shape our wills; we are not moulded by it. I wanted to serve the gods. In turn, They have honoured me with position and a voice in the king’s council.’
‘So you mould your world to your will, or that of the gods?’
Lanta’s smile was full of pity. ‘I am Their instrument – my will and Theirs move as one.’ She drank and Gilda watched the pale column of her throat as she swallowed, wondering how it would feel to wrap the chain around it and pull.
‘How lucky you are, to feel so at one with your gods, to know no doubt,’ Gilda said, her eyes straying to Dom again. ‘Sleep, son. There’s nothing for you to do here.’ Dom bobbed his head and lay down. Lanta’s brow furrowed. Gilda smelt the mud in the lines of her hand – loamy, tangy, a hint of metals – as she watched Lanta’s face and eyes. ‘Look, I’m not going anywhere; I think we both know that. Dom can’t come with me until he’s fulfilled his purpose, and now that he’s here, I’m not going to leave him. He’s as good as a chain for me, and that being so, is there any chance you’d take this collar off me? It chafes something awful.’
‘Don’t push me, old woman. We are not friends and we are not allies.’
Gilda puffed out her cheeks. ‘Why am I still here, Lanta?’ she asked, noting how the Blessed One’s lips turned white at use of her name. ‘What’s the point? We’ve dissected each other’s religions, holy workings and practices. You’ve destroyed my town, my temple and my people and you’re well on your way to winning this war. What use have I been in any of that?’
‘You want me to kill you?’ Lanta asked.
Gilda chuckled. ‘No, I want you to take off my collar and let me stay by my son, to soothe him as best I can. When this is all over, then you can let me – let us both – go. That’s what I want. What do you want?’
Lanta was silent.
‘Other than to be queen, of course,’ Gilda continued. She smelt the earth on her hand again while Lanta’s expression solidified. ‘I never realised it before, but you’re lonely. That’s why you won’t let me go or have me executed. I’m not a Mireces, so you can talk to me without worry that I’ll tell anyone else – I mean, who’d believe me?’ She reached out on instinct, took Lanta’s unresponsive hand. ‘You’re utterly alone in a camp of thousands. It must be awful.’
Lanta stiffened and pulled her hand away. ‘I am never alone; my gods walk with me.’
Gilda raised both her hands and sat up a little straighter. ‘I’m not asking for your confession, lady, but a conversation. Friendship. I mean, why not? What have you got to lose?’
Very deliberately, Lanta wiped her hand on her skirts, her meaning plain. ‘I have no need of friends, or of conversation. I live only to serve my gods, to bring Their holy words to my people, to assist my king in his duties. It is balm enough for my soul. I need nothing else.’
Gilda scratched under the collar at the raw skin, hissing at the sting of parted flesh. ‘But what if this goes wrong? What if you do lose? You’ll need a friend then, someone to vouch for you.’
‘We won’t lose,’ Lanta said, as Gilda had expected. ‘My gods will not allow it.’
‘All right, then what about love? You were … close to your King Liris, I understand, and Rillirin told me he was hideous. But none can deny Corvus’s attractions.’ She laughed at Lanta’s expression, though she marked Dom’s twitch at mention of Rillirin’s name; she was his love, his hope of redemption. If anything could get through to him, surely it was memories of her.
‘I’m old, I’m not dead,’ Gilda continued before Lanta noticed her preoccupation with Dom. ‘I can appreciate a pretty man as much as you can. So what’s stopping you? Or do you prefer Prince Rivil? The King’s second, Valan, perhaps?’
Lanta blinked.
Ooh, was that a flash of something there? Valan? As King’s second, he’d rule if Corvus died without issue. Of course, you’d need to secure Corvus’s death and that of any bairns he might have, but then I don’t think you’d have much difficulty with that, would you, Lady Lanta?
‘I tire of your babble,’ Lanta snapped, and the heat in her voice and cheeks convinced Gilda she was on the right path. ‘The gods are my succour and They are all I need. Liris required … instruction in the proper forms of worship, nothing more.’
Gilda arched an eyebrow and coughed a laugh. ‘Really? From what I heard, Liris was a fat old goat, and I’ve seen that Skerris chap, and he’s a big sweaty bastard – and an anointed priest to boot. Maybe you could invite him in one evening.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘You’re too wound up, Lanta, too stiff. I reckon an energetic seeing-to will do you the world of good.’
Lanta surged to her feet on a tidal wave of outrage and blue skirts. ‘You disgust me,’ she snarled, bending low into Gilda’s face, her breath washing across the other woman’s cheek.
Gilda laughed and stood too, forcing Lanta back. ‘Look, if you like Valan, take him. He’s King’s second, so if Corvus dies without issue – and this is a war, after all – Valan’ll be king and you’re only one step away from being queen and having everything you’ve ever dreamt of.’
‘I don’t … Shut up, just fucking shut up,’ Lanta shouted, the shell of her calm cracking. ‘I don’t know what you think you know, but you don’t. You don’t know anything.’
Gilda put her head on one side. ‘I know you want to be queen. I know you’ll do anything to see that happen, kill anyone you have to, marry anyone you have to. Maybe you think Valan would be a more … malleable king, and a very grateful husband. I mean, no doubt you’d kill him after a couple of years and rule alone. Blessed One and queen both. It has a certain ring to it, I’ll give you that.’
Lanta stepped forward like a predator, her mood shifting from outrage to danger in a heartbeat. ‘Or maybe I’ll take your son into my bed,’ she hissed, ‘bind him to me and to the Dark Path forever. Maybe I’ll show him delights he’s only ever dreamt of as we commune with the Red Gods even as I let him take me. Think he’ll do what your Dancer commands then? Care to test the strength of his faith?’
‘I know Dom,’ Gilda said as steadily as she could, but her palms were slick with sudden sweat. She wasn’t one to underestimate her enemies, but she had done so here, and badly. ‘His love is for Rillirin, King Corvus’s sister. He’d never betray her.’ Again the twitch. ‘And the Dancer doesn’t command.’
I do know Dom, and I know he wouldn’t let himself be used. I know he’s fighting this, figh
ting the Dark Lady with everything he’s got. And I know he’ll win.
I know it.
‘You think so?’ Lanta asked, sly and abruptly amused. ‘Because I think you’d be surprised how little you really understand him. Come here, Godblind,’ she added and Dom stood and moved to Lanta’s side. ‘Who do you love?’ she purred, one hand on his back, a knife somehow in the other, though it was pointing in Gilda’s direction.
Gilda took a careful step back. ‘All right, all right, I apologise,’ she said, raising her palms. ‘I’ll just go and chain myself back up outside, shall I, and we’ll forget all about this?’
‘Stay where you are; you should see what the boy raised in your temple became when he embraced his truth. Godblind, answer the question. Who do you love?’
Dom’s smile was on the far side of madness. ‘My feet are on the Path, and my love, my only love, is our Bloody Mother. All others are dead to me. She is water to me, She is blood, and I will bathe in Her and be reborn.’
‘Oh, gods,’ Gilda breathed. ‘Dom, listen to me. Listen to your—’
‘Shut up, old woman. I’m finished with you, with your clever words and your clever little insults. You’re quite right, I do need a friend, and Dom here is going to be it, aren’t you, Dom? You and me and the Dark Lady and Holy Gosfath and the subjugation of Gilgoras.’
‘Yes,’ he whispered, ‘my life to serve. There is nothing but the Path, nothing but Her.’
‘She spoke through him, you know,’ Lanta said casually. ‘She entered his body and entered this world and spoke to us – to me – through him. I could see Her inside him. The Godblind is a living sacrifice now, a permanent link to the gods. His every breath is a torment to him and a tribute to Them. That is who your boy is now.’
Gilda felt the refutation spring to her lips, and then she looked at Dom with the clear, objective gaze of her calling, and she was silent. Racked with pain, but silent.
Darksoul Page 10
