Bloodchild

by Anna Stephens

  Corvus paused; he liked the man’s silence, liked that he only spoke when he had something necessary to say. If he was asking now, he was genuinely curious – or concerned. He squatted down next to him and steadied the shield. ‘My plan is to drag this out as long as possible. Koridam did force my hand in this, attacking the two biggest towns outside Rilporin and killing the garrisons. If he’d stayed quiet, we could’ve waited until the Dark Lady was returned to us. Which is, of course, why the clever shit didn’t wait. Even so, I can’t say I’m not relieved to be out of that fucking palace. Pretty sure I was closer to death in there than I am out here.’

  ‘Valan,’ Tett said.

  ‘And the Blessed One.’

  Tett grunted and tied off the leather wrapping the shield’s handle. ‘And you think I’m less likely to stab you in your sleep than they are.’

  Corvus ran his tongue around his teeth and waited until the other man looked up. ‘I do.’

  The corner of Tett’s mouth lifted. ‘Good, because I’ve no fucking interest in being king. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not your second; I’m your bodyguard. If I fail in my duty and you die, I won’t take the throne. You’d do better naming Fost as second. He’s slow but he’s dependable, doesn’t have the imagination to assassinate you, and even if he did, you’ll keep me on as bodyguard and I’ll make sure he fails.’

  ‘I will, will I?’ Corvus asked, amused and only a little irritated at Tett’s presumption.

  The man shrugged. ‘Why not? You can afford me. More importantly, you trust me.’

  Corvus clapped him on the shoulder and stood. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. Either Tett was telling the truth, or he was playing a very clever game. It would be interesting to see what happened next.

  Forty-six men were found dead around their campfires and at their posts the next morning. Forty-six killed in silence, without anyone noticing. Not one had drawn a weapon in self-defence. The number didn’t worry him so much as how it had been accomplished. There could be – there always was – only one answer.

  ‘Fucking Wolves,’ he said to Tett and Baron, just the name enough to set his teeth on edge. ‘Always the fucking Wolves. Baron, get your men digging fortifications. I want a ditch and palisade up before dusk, big enough to shield us all as it’s pretty fucking clear the sentries are as much use as Skerris’s bloated corpse. Tett, send men out on every horse we’ve got. Squads of twenty. Kill any scouts or small patrols they come across. Poison the stream between us and them, too – we’ll get water from that pond to the east. If they want to play games, that’s fine with me.’

  ‘And tonight?’ Baron asked. ‘We retaliate?’

  Corvus bared his teeth. ‘Of course we fucking retaliate. I want your best ambush teams and sappers ready an hour before nightfall. They’re to disable or destroy the traps dug into the ground in front of Koridam’s line and then wreak some havoc among their sentries. I want more seeded between us and them to intercept any of their lot coming this way. And tomorrow night, and the night after and the night after that. And I want double the number of sentries on the palisade once it’s up, day and night.’

  ‘Your will, Sire,’ Tett said.

  The urge to go himself was strong, the urge to fight and kill again after months of inactivity making him restless, but he resisted. The time for recklessness was when the battle was joined and his blood was up and it was kill or be killed. If he died on some stupid scouting mission, the Mireces would lose the coming battle. And if they lost the battle, it wouldn’t matter if Lanta was successful in bringing back their Bloody Mother, because there wouldn’t be any faithful left alive to worship her. No, they needed him, his vision and presence, to stiffen their spines and show them how to win. Show them what victory looked like, and what a king looked like.

  Tett followed Corvus to the edge of the encampment and around it, examining the corpses. Knife work, maybe spears. His second – my bodyguard – carried his own shield on his arm and Corvus’s slung on his back. He didn’t look at the corpses – he looked at the Rankers and Mireces who’d been stationed nearby. He looked for rebellion, for the defiant eye and sullen voice. And he looked out across the rolling fields of stubble, crops harvested, hay stacked ready for winter, to the distant forest, the distant enemy.

  Tett watched for danger, from wherever it might come. When it did, Corvus almost wasn’t surprised. It was cleverly done, too, he had to admit. A brawl broke out thirty strides away, Mireces and Rankers in each others’ faces, punches and insults being traded and drawing all eyes. All but Tett’s. The man yelled a warning and Corvus spun and drew, but the Ranker was already dying on the point of Tett’s sword. Another came on, another Ranker, and Tett barrelled into him shield-first, knocking him down and smashing the rim of the shield into his ribs, breaking bones and stealing breath. The man whooped, unable to scream or make his lungs work and then Tett passed Corvus his own shield and they stood back to back, waiting for more. There were no more.

  The brawl nearby became a slaughter as the Rankers swapped fists for swords and fell on the Mireces. Were they Koridam’s men, spies sent to sow discord and execute the high command, or were they Easterners who’d had enough of Mireces rule?

  ‘Stand down,’ Corvus shouted as Rank officers began sprinting through the camp in their direction, yelling orders of their own. ‘Back off,’ Corvus shouted again and the Mireces tried to disengage without getting themselves killed. Others formed a shield wall and battered their way in between the fighters until the two sides were separated and restrained.

  ‘Whose plan was this?’ Corvus demanded, sword still in hand, shield ready. He looked at the Easterners first, but then swept his gaze across the Mireces too. An attempt had been made on his life – he’d assume nothing. ‘Tell me now and some of you will live.’

  ‘They just started throwing insults, Sire,’ one of the Raiders said. ‘Talking shit about you, about the Blessed One. Saying how the Dark Lady isn’t going to come back, that their oaths don’t mean anything with Her dead. Next thing I know, that little fucker there’s trying to bite my fucking ear off.’

  The little fucker in question was a Ranker and the defiant eye was strong in him. ‘It’s true, She is dead and nothing I promised Her means shit any more. I ain’t dying out here for a fucking Mireces.’

  ‘Oh yes you are,’ Corvus said. ‘Not only are you going to die for me, you’re going to have the honour of dying at my hand. Bring him here.’

  Three Rankers wrestled him forwards and before they’d even stopped moving Corvus had rammed his sword up under the ragged chainmail shirt. He kept pushing until half the length of the blade was in the man, the tip threatening to pop out through his neck or mouth.

  The other Rankers who’d been fighting began babbling apologies and apportioning blame, a few of the Mireces too. Corvus selected the three loudest – two soldiers, one Raider – and killed them. The rest got the message and shut their mouths.

  ‘The enemy is out there,’ he said when they were dead, gesturing with his red-clotted sword. ‘Fight them, not each other. If this happens again, you will live to regret it, over days that feel like years. That is my promise to you. I want the dead hung from spears at each corner of the camp for all to see – and I want everyone to know why I killed them. Know that I will not forget your faces. Do not give me cause to doubt you again.’

  RILLIRIN

  Tenth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Red Gods’ temple, temple district, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  Tara would have been so disappointed if she’d known that Rillirin’s escape had lasted only minutes after all she’d suffered and done to free her, but Tara was dead. She’d died trying to save her, trying to get her out of the city that wanted to steal her child and perform blood magic that would see it twisted into something monstrous. And because Rillirin hadn’t run far enough or fast enough, that was exactly what was going to happen. She’d passed Tara’s corpse, bloody and tumbled lifeless
among the others in the square, when Valan dragged her back in through the South Gate.

  Rillirin paced the small room in the temple where she’d been confined ever since. There was a tiny window high up near the roof, the opening filled with expensive glass in many colours so that when the sun shone through it cast puddles of rose and sky and forest and sunset on to the floor. It marked the passage of time and the passage of days. Six so far. Ten since Corvus had marched out to fight Mace and the Rank and the Wolves and the Krikites and the Fox God and the calestar – her calestar, her Dom. Would it have happened yet, the battle? How far exactly was Deep Forest? Who would win? How soon would they have news and would Valan bother to tell Rillirin once he did?

  And always, over and over in an endless loop in her head: what were they going to do with her now? Valan couldn’t perform the ritual; he hadn’t the first idea how to go about it. The Blessed One and Gull had kept it secret, although she wasn’t sure whether or not Gull still lived. Tara had hurt him, but had she killed him? Rillirin didn’t know and no one was prepared to enlighten her. But as much as she told herself it was over, that there was nothing more they could do to her, she didn’t believe her own lies. They’d be out for vengeance, one way or another – it was in their nature. She’d dared to run; Tara had dared to rebel. They wouldn’t let that lie. Not ever.

  The men who brought her food and took away her chamber pot wouldn’t speak to her. No one would speak to her. Valan had been tight-lipped with anger and grief, bloody-handed from killing. He’d run her down like a deer and then hauled her back all in murderous silence. The only voice Rillirin had for company was her own, so she spoke aloud to the babe and Dom and the gods and Tara’s memory. She prayed and sang and she paced her room until she was dizzy from turning around every six steps and her back ached. Then she lay on the cot and told the squirming life inside her bedtime stories half remembered from when she was a bairn, making it up where she forgot the details.

  And she watched the rainbow on the floor as it slid from one wall to the other and then vanished. Another day done.

  ‘Few more days and Mace is going to march on this city and demand its surrender and Valan will have no choice but to open the gates and let him in. And your da will be with him and he’ll come and find us, and by the time you’re ready to be born we’ll be safe at home in the Wolf Lands, in the winter village with Grandma Gilda and Auntie Dalli and all the rest.’

  The babe kicked in hearty agreement, up under Rillirin’s ribs into her heart, and she winced, arching her back to try and shift the foot somewhere less painful. ‘What are your feet doing up there?’ she groaned. ‘You do not need to be head down yet.’

  But the babe had other ideas, it seemed, for Rillirin’s womb tightened, a ripple of pain from her back to her navel, harder, longer and more intense than any practice pain before. She rode it, trying to remember to breathe. Breathing made it hurt less, they said, as it hurt more, and then more, and then slowly, slowly drained away.

  ‘Well, that wasn’t fun,’ she muttered. She stood and walked, trying to ease the ache low in her back, pausing to gulp water from the pitcher on the table, still cold from the well. ‘I could do without another one of those until twelfth moon.’

  But the leading edge of the light pattern on the floor had barely advanced when another one struck, just as long, just as hard, leaving her panting, sweat on her upper lip. ‘Not. A good. Idea,’ she grunted, massaging her back and seized with the need to walk again. She padded back and forth, resolutely refusing to entertain the possible. The probable.

  Minutes dragged by and then it happened again, pain building at her core and muscles she’d never known she had spasming into life, stealing her breath and drawing her all unwilling into herself so she crouched, hands on the floor for balance, clenched splay-legged around the pain.

  Breathe. Breathe!

  She tried counting until it stopped but the numbers wouldn’t line up.

  ‘Practice pain, just a practice pain,’ she panted, taking her time getting up. Perhaps walking wasn’t such a good idea. She just needed to lie down. Rillirin sipped some more water and retreated to her cot. She started to sing, her voice a little breathy, a trill of anxiety curling through the notes and making them waver. She watched the light cross the room and she counted the contractions until there was no denying it any longer: the babe was coming early. The babe was coming now.

  And that’s fine, she thought suddenly and struggled to her feet on a wave of giddy exhilaration. She pushed the room’s tiny table and single chair against the door in paltry protection. That’s fine. You come as fast as you like, little warrior. Because if they miss your birth, they can’t do anything, can they? The Blessed One said it had to be immediately after birth and even if Gull’s still alive he won’t be ready.

  Rillirin took deep breaths and then removed the too-tight, encumbering gown and wrapped the blanket around her instead against the chill. She rolled the gown into a long rope and wadded it at the bottom of the door to muffle any sounds she might make, and then retreated to the bed.

  ‘Come on then, Wolf cub,’ she whispered. ‘If you’re coming, come fast. Born and dedicated to the Light before they even know you’re on your way. That’ll fuck with their plans.’

  Rillirin’s babe didn’t come fast despite pacing and pleading. It was dusk before her waters broke and dusk was when the guards came with food. And so they did, unlocking the door and shoving on it, forcing away the furniture that blocked it before she could move it away and pretend that everything was fine, that nothing unusual was happening, that she wasn’t in the middle of a contraction that made her want to scream.

  They piled into the room with shouted threats and were brought to a halt by the pattering of liquid through the straw mattress on to the stone beneath, by the groan Rillirin couldn’t suppress no matter how hard she tried.

  ‘Use the fucking chamber pot,’ one shouted, pointing, but the other knew what he was looking at.

  ‘Get Valan,’ he yelled. ‘Get Valan now! Bairn’s coming.’ The first guard bolted as if Rillirin had grown claws and a tail. The second moved in closer and stood watching her as if he was at a difficult lambing.

  ‘It’s not,’ Rillirin tried but the man just smirked. ‘Please. Please don’t let them hurt my baby.’

  ‘Shut up.’ He shifted, glancing back out of the room. Uncomfortable.

  ‘Please. It’s just a baby. It’s innocent. Valan doesn’t know what to do.’

  ‘I said shut up,’ he repeated, but he took a few steps towards the door. Eager for reinforcements.

  Rillirin made herself sit up, the blanket falling to her waist and exposing her belly. She put a hand on the top curve. ‘Please, honoured,’ she whispered. Her lip wobbled and she dashed away tears and sweat. ‘Just let me go. Please.’

  He looked out through the door, looked back at her, and Rillirin’s heart lifted. Then shouted voices and he went blank, stood up straight. Moments later, Valan pushed past. ‘Are you sure? She’s early,’ he said but one look at the strain in her face and he knew. A gentle smile lightened his features. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you ready to meet the Dark Lady.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Rillirin barked, putting as much strength as she had into her voice. ‘Whatever you think you’re going to do, it won’t work. It won’t work, so just leave me be.’

  Valan crouched at her feet and put his hand on her knee; his knuckles were swollen and bruised, scabbed over. ‘Hush now, lass. Everything’s going to be fine. I know you’re scared and I know it hurts, but your body knows what to do. Just trust it.’

  ‘You know it hurts?’ Rillirin demanded, undermined more than she wanted to admit by his tenderness. ‘How the fuck do you know how much it hurts?’

  He slid one arm around her back and lifted; she had no choice but to stand. The blanket fell from her hips, leaving her clad in sodden linens, breast band and sweat. ‘I helped Neela birth both our daughters,’ he said, brushi
ng her lank, damp hair back from her brow. ‘Let me help you, too. Trust me.’

  She was leaning on him and trying not to, but it’d been hours already and she was scared and he understood, at least some of it. He’s fucking Mireces. He’s Valan, King’s Second. He’s not going to help me. He’s going to steal my baby and give it to Gull who doesn’t know what he’s doing. What if it doesn’t work? A cold shiver racked her. What if it does work, even without Lanta? She couldn’t bear the thought of either outcome.

  ‘Leave us alone,’ she managed but then another contraction took her and she buckled under its strength. Valan held her, his arms strong and warm. He let her dig her fingers into his flesh, murmuring wordless sounds of comfort, counting her breaths with her, and by the time it passed she couldn’t have let go of him if she wanted to.

  Rillirin sucked in two deep breaths and then met his eyes. ‘Please, Valan,’ she whispered, using his name for maybe the first time in her life. Her voice was as cracked as a dropped pot, her words as useless, but she had to try. ‘Please don’t take my baby away.’

  Valan took a little more of her weight and began walking to the exit. ‘Oh Rillirin, love, we’re not taking her away. You’re her mother. And soon you’ll be the mother of our Mother and one of the most important people in the whole world. Come on, now, let’s get you settled. It’s all for the best, you’ll see.’

  They shuffled out of the room that had been her prison for six days and the stench of the main temple, awash in rotten blood, smacked her in the face. She gagged and he paused, holding her while she retched. ‘We’ll burn some herbs,’ he promised her, his voice gentle and soothing so she clung to it, to him, against her better judgement.

  The main temple was gloomy but Mireces were hurrying through the shadows with tapers, lighting candles and rushlights and torches in brackets until the room was leaping with smoky light and the shadows lunged at her and pulled away with every breath of air. To the left of the godpool and its filthy, slopping liquid, two huge chalk circles had been drawn on the floor so that their edges touched. Candles placed at intervals around them awaited lighting and a brazier nearby cut the chill of the big open space.