Bloodchild

by Anna Stephens

  CORVUS

  Eighth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Assembly place, Fifth Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  Corvus ducked the blade, parrying it upwards with the rim of his shield, his own sword clattering off Tett’s shield and spraying chips of wood into the air. The man grunted and gave ground and Corvus charged, eating up the ground until, somehow, Tett wasn’t in front of him any more and the pressure against his shield was gone and he was stumbling forward and then, a heartbeat later, the kiss of cold steel on the back of his neck.

  ‘Shit.’ He shrugged the shield off his arm and hurled it down, only just managing not to do the same with his blade. ‘Show me.’

  Tett paced out the footwork with him, showed him the half-moon step that made him seem as though he melted away, the pivot to bring body and blade back into line with his opponent for the killing strike.

  They practised it until Corvus had learnt it, and then he nodded, clapped the man on the back. Even though Valan had returned from a successful hunt in Pine Lock, he’d kept Tett around. He liked his quiet competence and watchful nature – since the killings in the wake of the news about the Sky Path deaths, the city had been on edge. Brawls between Mireces, and the odd Raider corpse that no one seemed to know anything about, had lent a sullen, suspicious air to Rilporin. Corvus knew what a brewing slave rebellion felt like, and so did the rest of the Mireces. Most of them had taken to wearing their mail in the streets again.

  They were standing in the shade, drinking well-water so cold it made his teeth ache, when the messenger cantered up the King’s Way, his horse’s shoes sliding on the cobbles as he hauled it to a halt and tumbled from the saddle to salute and then bow awkwardly.

  ‘Your Majesty? Corporal Hooper, Sire, East Rank’s Third Thousand late out of Pine Lock with news of movement in the Western Plain and intelligence regarding your sister, the Princess Rillirin.’ The long string of words finally came to a halt and Hooper blushed and snapped back to attention.

  ‘What movement?’ Corvus snapped, wiping the sweat from his face and feeling a lurch of excitement. Chance of a fight? About fucking time.

  ‘Several patrols on long recon saw what looked like thousands of civilians marching northwest from the direction of the South Rank forts. Major Baron was going to set up a large ambush party, take as many captive as possible and extract information from them about—’

  ‘About my sister?’ Corvus interrupted.

  Hooper looked longingly at the bucket standing on the lip of the well, but knew better than to ask. ‘Initially, yes, Your Majesty. Then just as I was about to leave to bring you word of the civilians, a stranger gallops into town in weird clothes, furs and skins and the like. Says he’s Krikite, of all things. Says the princess will be travelling with a large party of civilians heading for the Wolf Lands. Seemed too much of a coincidence – had to be the same party.’

  Corvus felt some of his excitement shrivel and die. ‘So you don’t actually have word of my sister, then. You haven’t actually seen her – no one’s actually seen her?’

  Hooper shifted from foot to foot. ‘Not as such, Sire, or not by the time I’d left. The Krikites said the intel came from the calestar,’ he added, wary, expecting anger. ‘Dom Templeson, he said his name was. He’s there at Seer’s Tor along with, with Major Crys Tailorson, who professed to be the Fox God.’

  There was a long silence as Corvus digested the news. He wasn’t sure which was more important, Rillirin’s location or that of the Godblind and the Fox God. The civilians could be dismissed as slave fodder for when the time came to replenish numbers, and if it wasn’t for the fact his sister was supposedly among them, he’d have ordered them left alone for now. Tett was at his shoulder, poised for whatever order he gave.

  ‘And Major Baron was definitely proceeding with the ambush?’ Corvus demanded. ‘They’re going to get her, yes? They understand the importance, yes?’ Hooper nodded with every question, each more definite than the last. Corvus clapped once, loud. ‘This is it, then. We’re about to lay our hands on her – and in good time, after all. The Blessed One may actually fucking smile for a change.’

  Tett shifted at that, uneasy, but kept his mouth shut.

  ‘If the non-combatants at the South Forts are those who fled with Koridam on the ships, then that’s the proof we need he’s not in Listre,’ Corvus mused.

  ‘Aye, Sire, which answers your question about why they didn’t come to Tresh’s aid when we took Highcrop,’ Tett murmured. ‘Koridam and the Rankers must’ve doubled back with the civilians, fled to the South Forts and have been holed up there ever since.’

  It was almost too much to take in. Corvus wondered whether to send for the Blessed One and Valan, but decided against it. It was a military matter, so Lanta didn’t need to know immediately, and if Valan couldn’t be arsed to attend him as a second should, he didn’t deserve to know. ‘You, Hooper, how’s the mood in Pine Lock and Yew Cove? Slaves compliant?’

  Hooper worked his tongue around his mouth before he spoke, his voice raspy with thirst. ‘Things have settled down, Your Majesty, yes. Very quiet now, which is why we’ve been able to send patrols into the Western Plain and even up into the Cattle Lands some way. We …’ he trailed off at Corvus’s scowl. He was a wordy fucker and no mistake.

  ‘Good. Get your arse back there and get me half the garrisons from Yew Cove and Pine Lock. March them to the South Forts and burn them to the fucking ground. No prisoners. No survivors.’

  ‘At once, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And so you see, Blessed One, all the pieces are falling into place after all. Rill will be with us in a matter of days, perhaps, and the threat of a Rilporian uprising will be crushed just as quickly. We can then bend all our efforts towards the return of the Dark Lady and the conquest of all Gilgoras.’

  ‘And the issue of the Fox God and the calestar in Krike?’ Lanta asked him. Corvus’s eyelid flickered. Was the woman ever fucking satisfied with anything?

  ‘As long as they stay in Krike, they are no threat. We will consolidate our hold on Rilpor. With the Dark Lady’s return, conversions will increase and every convert strengthens us in case of Krikite hostility. In due course, I will send envoys into Krike and Listre with offers of truce, allowing us to strengthen ourselves further. When the time is right and our forces are replenished with newly dedicated warriors, we will begin the conquest once more.’

  And that’s all you need to know for now, Blessed One. You have your secrets; I will have mine.

  ‘And how will you know if they don’t stay in Krike?’ she asked.

  Corvus controlled his temper, only his flared nostrils indicating the sourness within. ‘We will patrol the border,’ he said. ‘With the South Forts destroyed, we need not fear reprisals. Do not concern yourself with such matters, Blessed One,’ he added with honeyed malice. ‘You have my sister’s arrival and a ritual to prepare for. Speaking of which, how goes the rite?’

  ‘According to plan,’ Lanta snapped. She wasn’t as good at hiding her ire as he was. ‘There is unrest in the city. Be sure your sister doesn’t fall victim to it on her arrival.’

  ‘No harm will come to her,’ Corvus said with the supreme confidence that he knew annoyed her. They probably shouldn’t be baiting each other when the situation remained so volatile, but perhaps that was the exact reason they did. Ordinary Mireces got to vent their fury on slaves and each other. The king and the Blessed One had no such luxury.

  ‘I must pray,’ Lanta snapped and rose to her feet. ‘See that your sister is brought directly to me the moment she arrives.’

  Corvus waited – and waited – for her curtsey, and then he bowed his head to hide his smile when it came. ‘Your will, Blessed One.’

  MACE

  Ninth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Southwestern foothills, Western Plain, Rilporian border

  They’d headed south over the Krike border, risking the wrath of neighbours who’d said t
hey wouldn’t help them defeat the invaders, and force-marched west into the foothills, crossing back into Rilpor only when the terrain shielded them from easy view or tracking.

  It was good to be moving again, even if a forced march was Mace’s idea of hell. And not just his, judging by the sour faces. Still, no complaints. They were Rankers with a job to do, and for as long as they were marching, no matter the speed, they weren’t bastard fighting.

  They’d kept the plans for the march – for their entire, risky offensive – secret until the refugees had left for the Wolf Lands. If any of them were caught during the evacuation, they could say nothing other than that Mace and the soldiers from Rilporin were at the South Forts, but not where they were going. And now, of course, they weren’t at the forts. It was also why they were bypassing the Wolf village where those same refugees should – gods willing – now be safely ensconced.

  Outriders led by Colonel Edris rode the few cavalry mounts the army had, scouting the flanks and the trail ahead, while Dalli’s Wolves were the second line of screens between the world and the Rank. The civilian militia had the centre of the line of march, ragged lines straightening day by day as they adjusted to the discipline. Didn’t mean they’d stand in a fight, though, but the extra numbers warmed his tired heart a little.

  A shout had him whirling to the source of the sound: a rider cantering from their rear. ‘Contact south,’ he called and officers began roaring orders as the militia came to a panicked halt. ‘At least a thousand, some cavalry, mostly on foot. No uniforms, no blue. Maybe Krikites.’

  ‘Distance?’

  ‘Couple of miles, Commander. They’ve picked up our trail.’

  ‘Bollocking fuck,’ Mace muttered and then raised his voice to battleground level. ‘Thatcher, Osric, deploy your Thousands across the flat there. Captain Kennett, I want archers on that hill. Militia, you’re in the rear. Hold between the line and the field hospital. Hallos, you know the drill.’ He sucked in a breath as men began to move. ‘Hadir, Jarl, you’ve got the rearguard. Dalli? Where’s Dalli? Take your people and find out who they are for me.’

  Half the Wolves were deployed as advance scouts, but Dalli gathered those closest and they loped off through the grass, threading around the Thousands who’d already flowed into position with drill-yard speed, while Hadir sent riders to alert those ahead.

  The air was thick with tension and the ill-at-ease muttering of the militia, and Mace wondered again how quickly they’d break when it came to battle. Just not today. Krike isn’t the enemy. Don’t be an enemy, Krike, please.

  As always before battle, seconds lasted hours but minutes passed in seconds. After an eternity that was all too soon, Dalli reappeared. And she was grinning. ‘All clear!’ she yelled. ‘They’re friendlies. Allies.’

  Mace was a suspicious bastard, so he held formation as the first ranks marched into view and refused to let his hopes rise. Definitely Krikites, and led by … he squinted. Tailorson? Crys bloody Tailorson?

  The man was carrying the yellow flag of parley just to be safe, but he was grinning as widely as Dalli was. The archer was there too, Ash, and a man who could only be the Warlord, but it was Crys who Mace couldn’t stop staring at.

  He wore shirt, jerkin and chainmail in the Krikite fashion, but there was something feral about him he’d never noticed before. Not the eyes, which weren’t flaring yellow for once, or the strange red and silver markings showing at his neck, some sort of tattoo, perhaps. No, it was something … other, something Mace couldn’t identify no matter how hard he tried.

  His sandy hair had grown almost to his jaw since they’d met last, and there were beads woven into strands of it, though he remained clean-shaven, unlike the Krikites ranged behind him. The man had never looked less like an officer, or more like himself.

  Mace wrenched his gaze from Crys. ‘Stand down,’ he ordered and the Rank visibly relaxed. The Krikites did likewise a moment later, hands drifting from weapon hilts only when the Warlord’s did.

  The Warlord himself was tall and broad, a checked cloak hanging from his shoulders and his long yellow hair braided and hung with feathers. There was a glint of gold at his neck and his weapons were well used but well cared for, too.

  Mace stepped forward. ‘Warlord of Krike, I—’

  ‘You should address the Lord Trickster first, not me,’ the big man rumbled, gesturing deferentially to Crys.

  A smile twisted Crys’s face and he stepped forward. ‘Well, this is awkward, isn’t it? How about you let me start?’ He went to one knee in the wet grass and bowed his head. ‘Long live the king.’

  Mace blinked, heard the rattle of harness as his staff knelt, the louder clatter behind him as the Rank and Wolves followed suit. ‘Long live the king,’ they bellowed, and the Warlord gestured for his army to salute.

  It was everything Mace had tried to avoid since announcing his intention to take the throne. Even bloody Dalli was kneeling, her expression proud and anxious and a little bit sad.

  ‘How in the gods’ names do you know that?’ he snapped, taken aback.

  Crys pointed with his chin and Mace turned. The royal standard was flying over their army. ‘Thought if we were going to die, might as well do it for king as well as country,’ Hadir said. ‘Brought it from the forts.’

  ‘I – You …’ Mace stammered, and Crys stood again, the armies rising with him. He hesitated a brief second, perhaps wondering at the protocol of confronting a king – Mace snorted – and then stepped forward, hand out as the Rank moved back to attention. Mace took it in the warrior’s grip, held on tight. ‘What now?’ he hissed.

  Crys jerked his head. ‘Now greet your allies.’

  ‘But what do I call you?’

  Crys shrugged. ‘Major Tailorson works for me,’ he said with a wink. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m sick of titles. Crys is fine. Lord if you need to be formal.’

  ‘Lord?’ Mace’s voice was a squeak.

  ‘People can … usually tell when that one’s appropriate. Rest of the time, it’s just Crys or Major – if you still want me as an officer, that is,’ he added with a sudden nervousness that was almost ridiculous and which served to restore some of Mace’s wits.

  ‘Ah yes, you deserted, didn’t you?’ he said in a neutral tone and Crys flushed bright red. He snapped into parade rest, the pulse jumping in his throat. ‘But you did also heal my future queen of a fatal wound. Welcome back, Major Tailorson,’ he finished and Crys huffed with relief.

  He saluted and stepped back and let the Warlord take his place. The Krikite was unimpressed at this treatment of his god, it seemed, and Mace wondered how fragile this alliance would prove. See us to victory, Warlord, and then if you want to go back to arguing over lines on a map, I’ll oblige you. Just not yet, eh?

  ‘Warlord, I am Mace Koridam, Commander of the Ranks and – and King of Rilpor. General Hadir and of the South Rank’ – the two men exchanged stiff nods – ‘and Dalli Shortspear, Chief of the Wolves. Your aid is more appreciated than I can say, especially as it is so unexpected.’

  ‘Brid Fox-dream, Warlord of Krike,’ the blond warrior said. He indicated the woman to his left. ‘Cutta Frog-dream, war leader. We have fifteen hundred warriors and our aid is given because the Two-Eyed Man asked for it, our great Trickster. We fight for him, not you.’

  Well, that puts me in my place, and while fifteen hundred isn’t many, it’s fifteen hundred more than I had this morning.

  ‘I understand, Warlord. Still I thank you. Not just Rilpor but all Gilgoras stands in the shadow of the Red Gods. Together, I hope we can bring her back into the Light.’

  The Warlord grunted. ‘Fine words. I hope you fight as well as you speak.’

  Mace pursed his lips. ‘Better,’ he said and knew he’d judged right when the man grunted a reluctant laugh. ‘How did you know we’d be here?’ he continued as Ash slid past with a respectful nod and into the knot of Wolves.

  ‘We didn’t,’ Crys said. ‘We were coming for Rillirin, but Dalli
says you don’t have her.’

  Mace frowned. ‘We don’t. She was sent with the civilian refugees to the Wolf Lands a few weeks ago. This is about her child, yes?’

  Crys nodded. ‘The calestar, you remember Dom?’ He pointed to a litter pulled by a brace of horses. ‘I know you struggled to believe the knowings, but he’s been right every time, Sire, and, well, in light of everything else’ – he jerked a thumb at himself – ‘I hope you can believe him now. He’s told us the Blessed One plans to resurrect the Dark Lady in the body of Rillirin’s child. If she does, us winning the war won’t make a scrap of difference.’

  Mace hesitated. More bloody divine intervention. Couldn’t a war just be simple any more?

  ‘As far as we know, they made it to the Wolf Lands,’ he said, ‘though we’re not going there ourselves. In fact, Warlord, if I may be allowed to give your army a target?’ he added as an idea came to him. The Krikite nodded. ‘We’re heading for Sailtown. That’s where Skerris of the East Rank is based, and as the biggest city outside of Rilporin itself, it has the largest Eastern garrison. We’re going to take it, and we’re going to take Skerris. We’re going to capture or kill every Easterner in the city and deprive Corvus not only of his only ally who understands Rank warfare, but deprive him of as much of that Rank as possible.’

  Both men were nodding. ‘The Mireces fight more as we do,’ the Warlord said. ‘We’ve had our skirmishes with them in the far west of our country over the years; we know how to kill them.’ He showed big white teeth in a sudden smile. ‘And, of course, we’re good at fighting Rankers. But where do you want us?’

  ‘A second attack on this side of the country will throw Corvus’s defence into confusion and stretch his already thin resources. Can you take Pine Lock for me?’

  Crys nodded. ‘Yes, Sire. But we could be there in a week, whereas it’ll take you far longer to reach Sailtown. How do we co-ordinate?’

  ‘Choose a date. Say … Mabon, the autumn equinox? That gives us just under three weeks to get there. You’ll need to stay out of sight until the day. Use the time to check on Rillirin. If she’s not there …’