The Bloodforged (25 page)

“Why not? What have you to lose?”

“A great deal,” came the immediate reply from the youngest
pashanai
. “If we let you pass, you could lead the
mustevi
to our village.”

“To release you would be to break faith with the other tribes,” said another.

“Imperials do not cross the mountains,” said a third. “Ever.”

Erik frowned. “With respect,
pashanai
, you just admitted
a moment ago that a host of Oridians passed through here last winter.”

The
pasha
traded uncomfortable glances. “That is so,” Ghous said. “But we also told you that we have no quarrel with Oridia. They are not allies of Ost. They are not imperials like you.”

“Imperial.” Erik shook his head, visibly frustrated. “Your warriors called us that too. It is like a curse word in your language. You hate an empire long dead, one that never ruled over you.” He gestured at Qhara, still standing behind the
pasha
. “Even your young warriors know the story. They know of the Erromanians, and the white-hairs that ruled them. Why is that, I wonder? Why this obsession with a time long past?”

“It is not an obsession,” Ghous said. “It is an education.”

Erik's eyes were still on Qhara. “With your permission,
pashanai
, I would like to ask this warrior a question.”

Qhara stiffened in surprise. The
pasha
glanced at one another. “It is your choice, granddaughter,” said the old woman.

Granddaughter.
Alix thought she'd noticed something familiar in the old woman's features, that same solemn beauty that Qhara and her brother wore so well. She had Sakhr's deep-set, golden eyes, Qhara's sculpted cheekbones. Or rather, they had hers.

“He may ask,” Qhara said, warily.

“When we spoke, you showed great passion for history. Fahran and Dabir too. You mocked me for being an imperial, and were very proud of the role your people played in the sacking of Erroman. Why?”

“Because it shows we are strong.”

That wasn't the answer Erik was hoping for; he shook his head impatiently. “That explains your pride, perhaps, but not your scorn for me. I am sure there are many stories celebrating the strength of the mountain tribes. What makes this one so important, that you still sing about it centuries later?”

“Because . . .” Qhara paused, green-gold eyes narrowing, as though trying to read what Erik wanted from her. “Because we crushed the
mustevi
. The white-hairs who claimed superior blood, who enslaved our brothers on the coast—they fell to our warriors. Their walls crumbled beneath our hooves, and they were no more.”

Erik's eyes gleamed.
That
was the answer he'd been looking for. “The Erromanians conquered everyone except Harram. Your country alone, on the entire continent, remained untouched. And yet the mountain tribes rose up anyway. You joined with each other, even joined with your enemies in Ost, to smash the empire.”

“What of it?” said Ghous.

Erik's gaze shifted to the old man. “It is only that I wonder,
pashanai
, what makes this situation any different.”

The old man's eyes crinkled knowingly, and he chuckled, as if enjoying the antics of a precocious grandchild. “Very well, Erik White, you have said your piece. But we are not here to discuss the Oridians. The
pasha
have been called to decide what to do about
you
. In the matter of trespassers, we have two choices, as agreed by the Council of Twelve. The customary penalty is death. However, it is within our discretion to release you, if we deem you worthy of mercy, in which case you will be escorted back to your own lands.”

“I do not know the Council of Twelve,” Erik said. “Do they rule here?”

More laughter from the crowd. “They do not,” Ghous said. “The Council of Twelve is made up of the elders of each of the tribes. I sit on the Council myself, to represent my people.”

“I see,” Erik said. “I was under the impression that each tribe ruled itself.”

“That is so, Erik White. We make our own decisions, but the will of the Twelve is not to be taken lightly.” Beckoning Qhara and the others forward, Ghous said, “We will hear your testimony.”

Alix's gaze flicked from one
pashanai
to the next. At this point, it seemed unlikely the
pasha
would call for their execution, but that was little comfort. Sending them back to Alden would be its own sort of death sentence, for without help from their allies, they couldn't hope to repel Sadik's armies. Yet Alix thought she sensed an opening, a tiny wedge of hope pried open by Erik's carefully chosen words.

“Dabir, what do you have to say on the matter of these imperials?”

Dabir's eyes went to Alix, lingering there a moment before
falling to his boots. She couldn't be sure with his dark skin, but she thought he might have flushed. “Thank you for letting me speak, honourable
pasha
. I believe that they behaved as anyone would who was taken captive. They do not deserve to die.”

Fahran snorted, shooting his cousin a disgusted look.

“You disagree, Fahran,” said Qhara's grandmother. “What say you?”

“I say this one insulted me!” He levelled a finger at Alix. “I say she almost killed Dabir!”

The old woman's mouth quirked. “They vex you in that order, presumably.”

Glancing around, Alix saw that the rest of the
pasha
, and indeed the rest of the crowd, were eyeing Fahran disapprovingly. He seemed to realise it too; he shifted on his feet. “They are dangerous,
pashanai
. These are not ordinary imperials. Whatever you decide here, all the tribes will hear of it. All the world will hear of it. And then
they
will judge
us
, decide if we are strong or weak, if we keep faith or are oath-breakers.” His words were having an effect; a number of onlookers were nodding, murmuring agreement. That seemed to restore Fahran a little. He straightened, inclining his head formally. “Thank you for letting me speak, honourable
pasha
.”

“And you, grandson?” The old woman's golden gaze shifted to Sakhr. “What say you?”

“Thank you for hearing me, honourable
pasha
. I agree with Dabir. The imperials conducted themselves acceptably under the circumstances. But Fahran is not wrong: Whatever we do here today, there will be consequences. I know the
pasha
will consider these carefully.”

The old woman raised her eyebrows. “Qhara?”

“Thank you for hearing me, honourable
pasha
.” She looked at Erik. Green-gold eyes met blue, a long, drawn-out stare charged with something Alix couldn't read. “I concur with my brother and Dabir. They behaved as I would have. Better, perhaps.”

Kerta whispered a prayer of thanks. Alix knew she should join the sentiment, but she couldn't. Exile meant failure. It meant a return to a country at war, and no help at hand.

But Qhara was not quite through. “I also think . . .” She
hesitated another heartbeat. “I think they should be allowed to continue to Ost, honourable
pasha
.”

Sakhr's head snapped to look at his sister. The crowd stirred in astonishment. Qhara ignored it all, her gaze still fixed on Erik.

Qhara's grandmother eyed her solemnly. “I thought you might.”

“Impossible.” The youngest
pashanai
made a sharp cutting motion with his hand. “The Council of Twelve has made its will clear.”

“We could convene them,” Qhara's grandmother said. “It is our right.”

“That would be a mistake,” said another of the
pasha
. “Convening the Twelve is not lightly done, and this matter has already been decided. Imperials do not cross the mountains. The tribes are united in this, if nothing else.”

Ghous grunted. “Unity does not make truth, Temur.”

“I cannot believe we are even discussing this!” The one called Temur gestured angrily at Erik. “What is it to us if he calls himself a king? Why should we make an exception for him?”

“It is not the man I find exceptional,” Qhara's grandmother said. “It is the circumstances.”

“We have made promises,” Temur returned, “and we must keep them. Peace depends on it.”

Qhara's grandmother tutted quietly. “We all value peace, Temur, but let us not pretend there is only one path to it.”

“We all know what became of the Arsuk when they allowed the Oridians to pass through their lands,” Temur said. “Would you have our tribe censured as well? Our elder”—he gestured at Ghous—“removed from the Council, our voice no longer heard?”

Alix's gaze cut back and forth between them. There seemed to be a generational divide here, and surprisingly, it was the younger of the
pasha
who were taking the more conservative part. Unfortunately, the young also outnumbered the old.

“I do not see what we gain by breaking our oath. I see only what we lose.” This from the youngest of the
pasha
. Four of them were doing all the talking; the rest had yet to pronounce themselves, watching the exchange as intently as the prisoners.

Ghous sighed and braced his hands against his thighs. “It
appears this will take longer than we thought,” he said, rising slowly. “Come, it is no good arguing in front of the entire village. Let us take some drink together and discuss as friends.” So saying, he led his fellow
pasha
through the crowd and disappeared.

They were gone a very long time. The onlookers lingered for a while, but eventually dispersed—except Qhara and the others, who seemed to be responsible for keeping watch. Someone brought water and warm bread. The sun slid behind the peaks.

Twilight was falling when the crowd began to gather again, like clouds before a storm. Alix did pray then, if only in her head.

Blessed Farika, goddess of grace, please let them see.

The
pasha
reappeared, looking worn but resolved. One by one, they resumed their seats. “The
pasha
have decided, Erik White.” It was Ghous who spoke, his gusty voice raised for the benefit of the onlookers. “Have you anything final to say?”

Erik shook his head.

“Very well,” said Ghous. “This is our verdict.”

“G
eneral.”

Rig turned to find Morris hovering in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. “The priestess has returned.”

Thank the gods for small miracles.
After five days, Rig had all but resigned himself to the idea that Vel was never coming back. She'd been caught, or betrayed him, or joined the Resistance herself. Any of these had seemed equally possible. Her return was the first good news he'd had since Whitefish Bridge. “You could at least pretend to sound happy about it, Morris.”

His second was unrepentant. “I'll be happy if she gives us
anything we can use, General. Anything we can
trust
.” He arched an eyebrow significantly, in case Rig had somehow forgotten about his misgivings.

“Fair enough, but I told her you'd at least be grateful. And I told myself that if you weren't . . . well, you don't want to know.”

Morris made a wry face. “I'm guessing it involves my notables.”

“You're a sharp fellow, Morris. That's why you're my second. Now go fetch her, will you?”

Vel arrived in the company of Battalion Commander Wright. “A great day, General,” the Onnani knight said as he strode through the door, eyes lit with something akin to paternal pride.

“Welcome back, Daughter,” Rig said. “I was starting to worry.”

“How sweet.” She had that same look she'd worn the night before she left: almost childishly eager, eyes shining, skin flush with victory.

“Success, I take it?” Rig said.

“I very much hope so. Will you offer us wine?”

One thing you could safely say about Vel: She did not lack for nerve. Shaking his head, Rig fetched the jug from the hearth.

She indulged in a dramatic pause as she sipped her wine. “Hmm,” she said approvingly. “You can barely manage to put meat on the table, yet you always have such fine wine.”

“Vel.”

“I tax your patience, General. Very well.” She set down her cup. “I made contact with the Resistance. Or rather, they made contact with me. They took me captive almost the moment I crossed the river. Word had reached them that spies were coming down from the front looking for them. Enemy spies, they presumed, so they set a trap. I fell right into it. Had I not been Onnani, they would have killed me on the spot. Ironic, don't you think?” She smiled sweetly at Morris.

“Ironic, and bloody lucky,” Rig said. “Thank the gods.”

“Luck is not a Holy Virtue,” Vel said airily.

“What did you do?” Wright asked. “How did you convince them not to kill you?”

“I told them the truth. That I had been sent by General Black himself to make contact with them. They could see from the
colour of my skin that I was not Oridian. And they had heard that an Onnani battalion had joined the Kingswords at the front. I showed them my priestess's mask, explained how I came to be among you, and asked to be taken to someone who could speak on their behalf. I offered to let them blindfold me, so that I wouldn't know where I was being taken.” She turned her smile on Rig. “A trick I learned from you, General.”

I'll be damned.
Rig could feel a smile beginning to tug at his mouth. “Go on.”

“They took me up on my offer. They searched me, blindfolded me, and took me to some run-down farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. That's where I met him.” She chose that moment to pick up her cup and take another sip of wine.
She's savouring every bit of this
, Rig thought. Her moment of triumph. Her
contribution
.

Wright could hardly stand it. “Who?”

“He calls himself Wraith.”

Rig's eyebrows flew up. “Excuse me?”

“Not his real name, obviously, but all his men call him that. He is a captain of the Resistance. Quite high ranking, from what I could tell. Though”—her voice became reflective—“I am not entirely sure the Resistance acts as one cohesive unit. I suspect there are several branches all over Andithyri, and whether or not they come together under a single leader isn't clear to me.”

Morris grunted thoughtfully. “Useful.”

Rig could tell from Vel's expression that she was wrestling with a sarcastic reply, but for once, she kept it to herself. “I had to be careful how many questions I asked, lest I rouse suspicion. I was not there to gather intelligence, but to build trust, so I took what information I was offered, and made myself content with that.”

“Smart,” Rig said. “And so what about this Wraith? What did you get from him?”

“A man of few words. His people asked me many questions before he offered anything in return, and I had to be very careful what I told him. I made it clear that I would not answer questions about the location of the fort, for instance, or numbers and deployments. He understood that. In truth, I think he would have been suspicious if I had spoken of such things. What I did
tell him seemed to accord with information they had gathered on their own, which also helped my credibility. After a full day of circling me like a hawk, he finally accepted that I was who I claimed to be, or at least that he could afford to risk it.”

“And?”

“And, it appears that he has been as eager to get in touch with you as you with him.”

“Then why hasn't he?” Wright asked. “It is not so very difficult for a single person to steal across the border, as you have just proven.”

“He was not sure what kind of man the commander general was. Whether he could trust him.”

“What did you say?” Rig asked.

“I told him what kind of man you are.” She smiled enigmatically.

Morris flashed an impatient glance at the ceiling. “So what's the nub of it, Daughter? Where did you leave it?”

Vel drew a scroll from her robes. “Here is everything they have on the Warlord's movements. It's not much—Sadik is being more careful now. Wraith says it suggests a newfound respect for his enemy.”

Rig scanned the scroll. She was right: It wasn't much. The Resistance did seem to have a good eye on Sadik's supply lines, though. That was something. “Says here they're building new siege engines. The old ones didn't fare so well through the winter.”

“That's good news,” Morris said. “It'll slow them down some.”

“More importantly,” Vel said, “he gave us a way of contacting him. A falcon, trained to fly to its master with any message you wish to send. I turned it over to your chief messenger.”

“You smuggled a falcon back over the border?” Rig couldn't help laughing.

“No, actually. It followed me overhead. A most remarkable bird.”

“The white-hairs are known for it,” Morris said. “Falconry was the preferred hobby of the Erromanian nobility.”

“If we send a message with this bird,” Wright said, “how do we receive the reply? Can it find its way back?”

“I'm not sure. But as you said, Commander, it is not difficult
for a single man to sneak across the border. Wraith did not trust me quite enough to divulge his location, nor to give me the key to their cypher, at least not yet. But he is willing to coordinate with us.”

“He might not have given you his location,” Rig said, “but it says a lot that he gave you that bird. If we wanted to, we could follow it right to him. He must have known that. You obviously got through to him.”

She flushed with pleasure and let her gaze fall to the map.

“We should send a message straightaway, General,” Wright said. “Strike while the steel is hot.”

“Agreed. But I don't want to waste a trip, or risk one of their men, for a simple hello. Let's take a couple of hours to think about this. One thing's sure: We need to know how long it will take them to mobilise. I can think of any number of targets I want hit, but I need a better sense of their capabilities first.”

“Sensitive information,” Morris said. “We'll probably have to give up something in return.”

“Let's think about that too. In the meantime, see to it that falcon is secured. I want as few people knowing about it as possible.”

“Aye, General.” Morris saluted and withdrew.

“Will you pray with me, Daughter?” Wright asked. “Offer thanks to the Virtues for your success?”

Vel gave him a tired smile. “I would like that very much, Commander, but if you don't mind, I would like to rest first. I am exhausted.”

“I can imagine. I'll leave you, then. You know where to find me when you're ready.”

The tired look vanished from Vel's face the moment Wright closed the door, replaced by barely restrained triumph. She picked up her wine, drained her cup, and helped herself to another. Her skin, already flush, took on a richer colour. It became her; in the low light of Rig's chambers, she was ominously beautiful.

“Careful,” he said. “I need you coherent when we meet again later.”

“What's this? Could it be that you actually value my advice?”

“You did well,” Rig said, hefting his cup in salute. “Bloody well, if you'll pardon my language.”

“I will pardon anything from you, General.” Dark eyes peered boldly over the rim of her cup.

“I mean it, Vel. Thank you for this. The gods know I needed some good news.” He found it difficult to hold on to his smile after that; it slipped away from him like a pleasant dream.

Vel sobered too. “How are the men coping?”

“About how you'd expect. They're hot for Oridian blood. There's grumbling about the fact we haven't retaliated yet. Even among the officers, Morris tells me.”

“The slaughter of children will cloud anyone's judgement.”

“Tell me about it.” Rig passed a hand over his eyes, as if he could wipe away the memory. “It was all I could do not to lead the lot of them across the river the morning you left. It's only the thought of another Raynesford that stopped me. That, and what you said to me.” He glanced at her. “Thank you for that too. I'm sure I didn't seem very grateful at the time, but of course you were right. And I needed to hear it.”

“You did and you didn't.” She set her wine down and drew closer. “What I said was to soothe your mind, but I know you would not have done anything foolish. Ardin's flame burns bright in you, to be sure, but there is more to you than that. Your passions are tempered by something.”

“Age,” he said sourly.

She laughed. “Actually, I was thinking it was Destan.”

He grunted sceptically. “I would have thought honour would side with passion on this one.”

“Honour is the first face of Destan, but he is also duty.” A hint of the priestess voice now, that musical cadence that thrummed along Rig's spine. “Duty means looking beyond what you want, to what is required of you. It was Destan who whispered in your ear, told you that you had to look beyond your rage and do what was best for your country. Destan, and of course Eldora.” She reached for him, fingertips grazing his brow. “She really does fancy you.”

Rig sighed. “I'm not sure what you want from me, Vel.”

“It does you no credit. I've been rather plain on the subject.” She bit her lip, gaze lingering on his mouth.

“Okay, beyond
that
.”

Dark eyes met his. “Why does there have to be anything beyond that?”

That, Rig decided, was a very good question. So when she stood on her toes, he met her halfway.

She kissed him lingeringly this time, with none of the wilfulness of the other day. If anything, though, that only made him burn hotter, for he could savour every soft angle of her, every caress of her lips and tongue and the fingertips against the back of his neck. He drew her into him, sighing like a man relieved of an ache. It was like slipping into that warm water he'd been craving, a silken darkness that flowed around him in gently thrilling folds. He kissed her until he didn't know where he was, his blood running gleefully in every direction but up.

At least, until she started tugging on his clothing. That brought him round quickly enough. It seemed he had a decision to make, one his body was voting on rather exuberantly below the drawstring of his breeches. “Vel . . .”

She ignored him, of course, moving decisively enough that he couldn't help going along with it, raising his arms to let her pull his shirt over his head. He was aware, painfully, that the space for decision making was shrinking.

She raked her nails gently down his stomach, making the same approving noise she'd made over the wine. “Just as I imagined it.”

He laughed, a little nervously. “Wait—you imagined this? You mean all that flirting wasn't just . . . ?”

“You really are dense, General.” Her arms curved around his neck, drawing his head down.

His blood spiked again, sending his hands off on their own reconnaissance mission. His fingers sought the plunging V at the back of her robes, the soft canyon between her shoulder blades. He felt her shiver in his arms. Her robes slid down off her shoulder, offering a new field to explore, satin under his callused hands. An inch more would expose her breast. The tiny bit of Rig's brain that was still working told him that would be the point of no return.

He broke off, leaving just enough space to breathe.

“Do you want me to go?” Her voice was a strained whisper.

“No.”

“Are you afraid of what will happen if I stay?”

“I know what will happen.”

“Good.” She surged into him, a fierce, final push. Her mouth
was on his, her hands on his face, every contour of her body pressed into him.

The last remnants of resistance crumbled.

Rig surrendered.

*   *   *

He was turning
the corner to head into the courtyard when Morris nearly collided with him. “General. I was just coming to you. There's been an incident.”

Rig's blood, still running rampant from the last hour with Vel, slowed to a crawl. “What kind of incident?”