The Bloodsworn (15 page)

With a swish of silk and the soft ring of footsteps, Sirin Grey quit the oratorium.

“Well,” said Rona, “that was terrifying.”

“I can't believe we're still sitting here,” Liam said. “With our heads and everything.”

“For now,” Highmount said, his gaze lingering on the door. “She will not be satisfied with that for long. A few days at most, I should think.”

Liam put on a brave face. “Given that our goal is to live long enough to be killed by the Warlord, I'm inclined to take it one day at a time, Chancellor.” Just the sort of glib nonsense that was expected of him. Inside, though, he was saying a silent prayer—not to the Virtues, but to his wife.

Hurry, Allie. For the love of all the gods, please hurry.

*   *   *

“I dreamed of her last night.”

“I know,” said Tom, a note of boredom in his voice.

“Of course you do.” Tom existed only in Erik's mind;
naturally he would know all that transpired there. “Forgive me. Sometimes I forget you're not real.”

“I don't recommend that, brother. Then you truly will be mad.”

“Isolation and boredom will do that to a man.”

“Indeed.” Tom toyed with the sumptuous velvet of the curtains. As usual, he sat propped in a corner of the window seat, gazing listlessly out into the garden. “If it helps you to speak of it, feel free.”

“Of the dream? Very well.” Erik got up to fetch himself a cup of wine, resisting the impulse to offer one to his imaginary brother. “It was the day we met Rig on the battlefield in the Brownlands. We had a sort of banquet that evening in my pavilion, to celebrate.”

“I remember.”

Erik started to say,
You weren't there
, but of course that made no sense. The real Tom hadn't been there, but he wasn't here now, either. He was the product of an overtired, overstressed mind. He was also a tremendous comfort, an escape from the dark whispers that clawed at Erik night and day. They had always been there, those whispers, in some form or another. His father's voice, sometimes, and later, Tom's. Highmount's occasionally, or Arran Green's. Even Alix's. Anyone who had ever counselled Erik this way or that, tried to make of him what they would. True, the voices were different now—stronger, more insistent, almost an audible presence. They tied his insides in knots in ways they hadn't before. But that was only to be expected, given his situation. In his captivity, in his doubt and self-recrimination, those whispers were his only company.

Those, and his dead brother.

Erik sank down into his favourite stuffed leather chair, letting his mind wander back to the dream. “I might as well have been invisible, for all the notice Alix took of me that evening. All her attention belonged to Rig. After so long apart, worrying that he might be dead . . . And now here he was, safe and sound, eating as if he hadn't seen a crumb in months. The way Alix looked at him . . . She
glowed
, Tom.”

“You always thought so.”

“This was different. I'm not talking about beauty. I'm
talking about love. She was so happy to see her brother alive and well. And it was in his eyes too, when he looked back at her, that same glow. This incredible bond between them. I remember thinking, isn't that what it's supposed to be like between siblings? Might it have been that way with my twin, had she lived?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Not this again . . .”

“Liam was there too, though of course that isn't how it really happened. But in my dream, he was there, and he was just as fascinated as I, both of us examining these strange specimens. It was as if we were trying to figure out the trick to it. As though, if we paid close enough attention, we might work out how to be brothers.”

“Why do you do this to yourself, Erik? This fantasy of yours, of having an ordinary family, an ordinary life . . . why torture yourself with it? It was never going to be. You are king.”

“As though I need you to tell me,” Erik said coolly. “I thought you were going to listen to my dream?”

“This dream I've heard. Many times.”

Erik ignored that. “When supper was over, Alix stayed behind in my tent. She had something important to tell me, she said. She had to leave my service. To join up with Rig, to lend him her sword.”

“That never happened.”

“Not in real life, but in my dream it did.”

“And in the dream, you were stunned.”

“Of course! But your sword is mine, I said. You swore me an oath. She said her first duty was to her brother. That it always had been. Part of me rejoiced to hear it, but another part was furious. How can your first duty not be to the king, I asked her?”

“A reasonable question.”

“Do you know what she said? She told that me that her brother would be king soon enough.”

“Riggard Black. King.” Tom snorted softly. He and Rig had never got on.

“Dreams are strange,” Erik said. “Rig was standing in for Liam, I think. In reality, Alix abandoned me for my brother; in the dream, she abandoned me for hers. Either way, this fraternal love I'd been longing for my whole life . . . it had betrayed me. Alix had betrayed me.” His gaze dropped to the
cup of wine in his hand; his reflection, distorted and bloody, gazed back up at him. “I was devastated. After everything we had been through together . . .”

“Sentimental tripe,” Tom scoffed.

“We argued—”

“Enough, brother, this isn't—”

“—and I killed her.”

Tom fell silent. Erik could feel his brother's eyes boring into him.

“I called her a traitor. I pulled her own sword from its scabbard and plunged it into her breast.” Erik gazed a moment longer at the dark, twisted reflection in his cup. Feeling a sudden chill, he took a swallow, letting the wine trail fire down his throat. Tom watched in smouldering silence. Softly, Erik said, “What do you think it means, brother, this dream of mine?”

“It means you're ready.”

A knock at the bedroom door.

“Impeccable timing,” Tom murmured.

The guardsman Meinrad entered. He had the ledger with him, Erik saw. That was a good sign. “Your Majesty. This belongs to you.” He set the ledger on a side table.

“You read it, then?”

“I did, sire.” As usual, he would not meet Erik's eye.

“And did you confirm what I told you? That it is written in the chancellor's own hand?”

The guardsman nodded.

“Well, then.” Erik rose, regarding the other man with a grave expression. “You know the truth now. And what do you make of it?”

A strained look knitted the guardsman's face. “This isn't . . . I shouldn't have read it, sire. It's not my place . . .”

Erik sighed, letting his gaze soften with sympathy. “I am sorry, Meinrad. I have put you in a difficult position, I know. It cannot have been easy, reading that. But it is important that you know the truth. The whole kingdom must know it. The Priest may be gone, but his dark magic lives on, and it could be used against any of us. The people must know how it works, that they might protect themselves. Not just from the Oridians, but from those who would take advantage of the situation and prey upon people's fears, as my brother has done. Think of it,
Meinrad—as it stands now, anyone can accuse his enemy of being bloodbound and no one can disprove it, because they do not know how the magic works. This ignorance is a terrible danger.”

“I understand that, I do.” The guardsman's expression grew still more strained. “But, sire, why then did you keep it secret? Why ask the chancellor to put it down in a ledger and hide it away in a trunk in your chambers? Why not trumpet it far and wide?”

“It was wrong of me. I thought . . .” Erik shook his head regretfully. “We believed the threat had passed. That when the Priest died, his magic died with him. I did not want it rediscovered. I feared that by releasing this information, I might unwittingly help others to replicate his work. It seemed wiser to keep it quiet. Put it down in a journal, that what we learned might not be lost, but keep it safe, that it might not be abused . . .” He closed his eyes, allowing a fleeting look of pain to cross his features. “But I see now it was a mistake. Keeping that secret has been my undoing. It has allowed my brother to condemn me with lies that no one can contradict. I was naïve in that, as I was in my brother, thinking a bastard could be made a prince and all would be well.”

That last bit had been Tom's suggestion.
Remind him of Ysur the Bastard and the White War. Remind him that a half-breed was nearly the doom of this kingdom.

The guardsman pressed his lips together, gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Careful, Erik.
It had taken him nearly a week to get this far; if he pushed too hard now, he would break the spell. It took patience, this, like trying to coax a wild animal to eat from his hand. One false step would scare his quarry off. But if there was one thing Erik had always been able to count on, it was his way with people.
You've been relying on your charm all your life, brother
, Tom had said as he handed Erik the ledger.
Why stop now?

“You have read the journal,” Erik said. “You understand how the magic works, and you know that I cannot possibly be under the enemy's control. They would need my blood, a great deal of it.” He spread his arms. “And as you can see, I am quite whole.” He smiled, a sad, wounded thing. “If still you doubt me, ask the bloodbinder Nevyn. He will confirm what the ledger says.”

The guardsman's hands twitched into fists by his side. “But, sire, what would you have me do? I can't free you. If it were up to me . . . But I
can't
.” He cast a furtive look over his shoulder, afraid one of his comrades might overhear.

“I would never ask that of you, Meinrad. It would be unfair. But there is another way you can help me. A small task, one that leaves the difficult decisions to others, that you need not carry the burden on your shoulders.”

The guardsman drew a series of short, heaving breaths. He was on the verge of panic, but Erik knew that for a sign of victory. He could feel Tom's gaze, fierce and triumphant, from across the room.

“You can take this letter to Lady Sirin Grey . . .”

“H
ow many?” The look on Wraith's face was more wolfish than ever, lips drawn back in a grimace, eyes following the soldiers hungrily. Alix wouldn't have been surprised if he'd licked his chops.

“Too many,” Asvin said, lowering the longlens. “That's a whole army, that is.”

Wraith spat on the ground and snatched the longlens for himself, resting his elbows atop the pasture wall to steady his view. He grunted, but otherwise kept the fruits of his reconnaissance to himself.

Alix shielded her eyes and squinted into the distance. Without the longlens, all she could make out was a clutter of shadow and metal, but she'd been a scout long enough to know that Asvin was right. “Fifteen thousand at least, and probably more nearby. So what now?”

“We need eyes on Sadik,” Wraith growled.

“We need eyes on
Rodrik
. He's the one we came for.”

Wraith didn't answer. The longlens was still glued to his eye.

“We should go back to the others,” Asvin said. “There'll be enemy scouts nearby, and if they spot us, we're dead.”

They scurried back down the rise to where the rest of their party waited, protected from view by the swell of the land.

“Well?” Vel asked.

Asvin shrugged. “Not much to say. It's the whole sodding Oridian army, isn't it?”

“So,” said Tag, “we're buggered.”

“Not buggered.” Wraith's gaze was unfocused, but no less intense for it. “We just need a plan.”

Asvin made a wry face. “If by chance the plan involves myself and Her Ladyship sneaking into the camp, you can forget it. Fifteen thousand pairs of eyes is a few too many, even for me.”

“After dark, like,” Tag said, as though it were an innovative suggestion.

“We don't even know for certain Rodrik is with them,” Alix pointed out. “Our first priority is to find out.”

“We should be able to manage that much,” Asvin said. “We just need to get close enough to get a better look with the longlens.”

“I want eyes on Sadik,” Wraith said again.

Alix swallowed a sharp reply. They were too close to their goal for her to risk antagonising Wraith now. “We'll do what we can.”

“I'll come with,” Ide said. “Things go sour, you'll need someone can shoot.” Alix nodded her thanks.

“No more than three,” Asvin warned. “As it is, I'm worried about those damned dogs.”

Alix winced; she'd managed to put them out of her mind until now. She hadn't seen one since Boswyck, but she remembered only too well what they could do to a man. The Kingswords used dogs too, but mainly as sentries. Oridian warhounds, on the other hand, were bred for battle, fiercely disciplined and ludicrously vicious. If they caught so much as a hint of unfamiliar scent, they'd go wild. They were the bane of Kingsword scouts and the terror of Kingsword infantrymen. And this camp would have dozens of them. “We'll have to stay downwind,” Alix said, “and make sure we have nothing on us that will catch us out.” The jingle of a buckle, even the mere creak of leather might be enough to give them away. And if the wind should suddenly change direction . . .

Not worth thinking about
, Alix told herself.
Focus on the things you can control.

They fell back to the nearest cover, there to wait for nightfall. Alix used the time to check her equipment, tightening straps and discarding unnecessary metal, including her bloodblade. Unwieldy and shiny, it was too risky to bring along; her bloodforged dagger would have to do.
Just like old times.
A bittersweet thought, bringing Liam to mind. What she wouldn't give to have him here at her side—and at her back.

Night fell. Alix tossed a few blades of grass in the air, then struck out with Ide and Asvin in the direction of the wind. They gave the camp a wide berth, cutting low across the fields for nearly a mile before swinging back toward the orange glow of campfires. Above, a glittering track of stars seemed to light a path toward their goal; Alix chose to view that as a sign the gods were with them.

They dropped to the ground well out of longlens range, crawling the rest of the way on their bellies. Across the open plain, a low murmur of voices could be heard, and the smell of roast meat drifted down the wind. In the distance, a coyote yipped.

“What do you think?”

Alix started badly, though Asvin's voice was barely a breath. “A few more feet,” she whispered.

This close to the camp, the glow of the fires was no longer soft and diffuse; instead, a dozen searing points of light burned holes through Alix's night vision. The voices too had become distinct; Alix caught a familiar word here and there.

The coyote yipped again, and this time it was answered: a bone-chilling howl went up from the far side of the camp.
The dogs.
Alix shuddered.

“Least they're way over there,” Ide said in an undertone.

“Longlens,” Asvin whispered, but Alix raised it to her own eye. This was
her
bloody mission, after all. The instrument smelled of the river mud she'd smeared on it to keep it from catching the light. Blinking away bits of dirt, she looked.

It was the most orderly camp she'd ever seen. Instead of the random constellation of tents she was accustomed to, the Oridians had theirs staked out in neat ranks, about twenty tents to a square. Between the squares ran well-tended dirt
tracks, wide enough to permit the passage of a wagon. A single pavilion, slightly larger than the others, stood at the northwestern corner of every square—the officer of the unit, presumably—and each boasted its own cluster of tables and cooking fire, complete with roasting spit. Wraith had said the bulk of the Oridian army had been camped here for a while; it certainly showed.

This is good
, Alix thought.
The more organised they are, the easier it will be to find Rodrik.
Unless of course Sadik expected them to come looking, in which case Rodrik could be hidden in any one of those fifteen thousand tents. Her pulse fluttered unpleasantly at the thought. It was possible. After all, Erik had been locked away in his chambers; the bloodbinder must realise by now that his influence had been discovered. Might Sadik not anticipate this response?

Alix could feel herself sinking into panic. She couldn't afford that.
Be rational about this.
Think it through.
Rodrik couldn't be in just any of these tents, at least not all the time. The bloodbinder needed space to work. On top of which, a bloodbinder was too valuable a resource to yoke to a single man, even one as important as Rodrik. The Priest, who'd single-handedly bloodbound thousands of thralls, had still found time to bloodforge weapons for his army. Sadik would no doubt have his pet bloodbinder doing the same.

Alix's pulse settled back into a steady rhythm. “We're looking for a smithy.”

Asvin grunted. “Makes sense.”

Alix swept the longlens over the camp again. She recalled only too vividly the pavilion the Priest had used in the field last summer. There had been an open wooden structure beside it, with a stone forge beneath . . . “There.”

“You see it?” Asvin's eyes glinted excitedly.

“No, but I do see smoke, too thick for a cooking fire.” Handing the longlens to Ide, she said, “Past the crimson pavilion, on the left. See how it blots out the firelight? And just past it . . .”

Ide swore expressively.

Asvin scowled; he didn't like being left out. “What is it?”

“The forge is on the far side of the camp,” Alix said.

“The
dog
side of the camp,” Ide added.

“Figures.” He held out a hand for the longlens. “Am I permitted to look now?”

Alix watched him scan the camp. “No, not there. To the left. Can't you see it?”

“Just getting the lay of things,” he murmured, continuing his slow arc from right to left. He paused, tensing, but whatever he saw, he didn't give voice to it; he passed the longlens back in silence.

“Did you see it?” Alix asked.

“I saw enough.”

“We need to be sure,” Alix said.

Ide sighed. “Meaning you want to get closer.”

“We'll head toward the river. That'll keep us downwind of the dogs.”

Asvin glanced up at the sky. “We're going to run into dawn if we're not careful.”

“Then we'd better be careful.”

Olan was riding high among the stars by the time they cut their way back toward the far side of the camp, his gleaming silver shield bathing the countryside in the holy light of courage. Maybe the brightness of the moon explained the excitement of the coyotes, still yipping away upstream. Whatever the reason, Alix thanked Olan and all the Virtues, for the Oridian warhounds were driven to distraction by the shrill mockery of the coyotes in the distance. Low barks and deep-throated howls marked out the kennels as surely as smoke marked out the forge, and fortunately, the two were not as close together as Alix had feared. She and her companions were able to settle in barely two hundred feet from the fringes of the camp, beyond the greedy glow of cooking fires and the still-smouldering pit of the forge.

“That's got to be it,” Alix breathed into Ide's ear. “See that pavilion beside it? Looks a lot like Madan's, doesn't it?”

Ide's straw-coloured mop bobbed in the dark.

“That's definitely the bloodbinder's forge. I'll bet he even sleeps in there.”
I'll bet they're in there right now, he and Rodrik . . .
Alix's whole body tensed. The urge to try her luck right here and now was almost overwhelming, but she knew it for folly.

Asvin pointed at the moon.
Time to go.
Nodding, Alix wriggled backward into the night.

*   *   *

She could feel Wraith's gaze tracking them through the darkness as they approached their modest campsite by the creek. No fire for them so close to the enemy camp; only a single tallow candle wedged into a rotting log provided light. With her night vision well tuned, it was enough for Alix to make out the anxious features of her companions.

“Success,” Asvin said, flopping soundlessly to the ground. “I could use a drink.”

“You found him?” Wraith's wolfish gaze was pinned to Asvin. The smaller man looked up, and an expressive glance passed between them. “Think so,” Asvin said.

“Did you actually see him?” Dain asked.

Alix shook her head. “But we found a pavilion with a forge outside. It looked much like the tent Madan used for his rituals, minus the religious trappings. I'm fairly certain that's where the bloodbinder plies his trade.”

Fredek, who rarely said much of anything, asked the obvious question: “So what do we do about it?”

“I see only one alternative,” Alix said. “We need a distraction.”

“Aye,” said Wraith. “Problem is, we don't have much to work with here. The rest of my men are back at the farm, and that's a half day's ride from here. Even then, it wouldn't be enough. I'd need time to muster the irregulars.”

“The irregulars?” Alix and the Wolves exchanged blank looks.

“Civilians. Part-timers, you might call them. Same folk we used to put together that decoy your brother asked for a few weeks back. They're willing enough, but they're scattered. Would take a few days to gather them up.”

Alix was shaking her head even before he'd finished. “We don't have that kind of time. For all we know, it's already . . .” She looked away, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat.

“In case you haven't noticed, we're outnumbered about fifteen thousand to one. Unless you've got a better idea . . .”

“I do,” said Vel.

All eyes swung to the priestess.

“Will nine thousand Kingswords do? General Black is a day's ride across the river, after all.”

Wraith snorted. “You know a lot of useful things, Daughter, but fighting obviously isn't one of them. General Black would be a fool to risk his already outnumbered army for a single man, even a bloodbinder.”

“You obviously don't know General Black,” Vel returned smoothly, “nor any number of other relevant factors, because I am quite confident he
would
risk it. Particularly if his sister is the one doing the asking.”

“She's right,” Alix said. “Rig will help us, I'm sure of it.”

Wraith grunted, scratched his beard. “Someone would have to ride to the fort. We can probably muster up a horse around here someplace, but not a falcon.”

“I'll go,” Vel said, a little too eagerly.

“No, Daughter,” Dain said, “I'll go. I'm a fast rider, and besides, Rodrik will most likely need your healing skills.”

“Oh? Do you think the enemy will have mistreated him?”

Alix and Dain exchanged a look. Vel knew more than the Resistance, but she still didn't know all. “Probably,” Alix said. “To force him to do their bidding.”