The Bloodsworn (20 page)

In his mind's eye, Liam crumpled the scroll and threw it away.

“I won't lie to you,” he said, raising his voice as if he were addressing the Wolves. “Everything I've just said was carefully thought through. Designed to make you feel better about what's to come.”

He felt Highmount stir beside him, but Liam refused to look. For good or for ill, every word he spoke from now on would be his own.

“The truth is, none of us knows what the future holds. Least of all me. I'm standing before you as your prince, but right now, I don't feel like a prince. I feel like what I am: an Erromanian born and raised, scared out of my wits but ready to face the fight that's coming. I don't know if we'll win. I don't know if, someday soon, the Kingdom of Alden will be a relic of history. What I do know is that this city is my home, and its people deserve every last ounce of my strength, my courage, and my loyalty. And I swear to you now, upon my blood, you shall have it!”

He started to say more, but a murmur of encouragement from the crowd gave him pause. Thus fortified, he continued, “That's all any of us can promise, isn't it? To give everything we have so that our loved ones can be free. We can't control the future, but we can control our actions, and our hearts. That's what makes us who we are, and it's something the Warlord can never take from us. So I ask you, people of Erroman, to summon your courage and do your part to give us a fighting chance. Return to your homes and pack up your belongings. Take your time—leave nothing of value behind. Vacate the city and find whatever shelter you can, so that we who remain can defend our homes without fear for our loved ones. In return, I pledge you my sword.” He drew his bloodblade, held it high. “I pledge you my life.”

Hearing a whisper of steel at his side, Liam turned to find Raibert Green and Rona Brown holding their own swords aloft. Then Pollard drew his blade, followed by all the royal guardsmen. And suddenly there were blades everywhere, even in the crowd, glinting defiantly in the sun as the long-awaited cries of triumph went up, a wave of sound that rolled off the temple walls and tumbled along the Street of Stars. Liam wanted to laugh. And cry. And throw up. He did none of these things, holding himself still as a glorious statue while the crowd cheered and his dog barked and Albern Highmount looked at him with something perilously close to
approval
.

Liam nodded respectfully to the clergy and stepped down from the dais, Pollard and the royal guardsmen closing in around him. They were no match for Rona Brown, though; she shoved her way through the ring and threw her arms around him. “You were brilliant,” she laughed. “You were so brilliant!”

“Pardon me while I write that down. I don't hear it often.”

“It was finely done indeed,” said a voice—cool, regal, and nearly as familiar as his own.

Liam's heart froze in his chest.

Erik stepped between the royal guardsmen, splendid in full armour and a white satin cape. Behind him stood Sirin Grey, looking grim but determined. “I thank you, brother, for handling a delicate task so admirably.”

“Your Majesty,” Rona breathed, as pale as if she'd seen a ghost. Which was not far off, Liam realised once he saw past
the gleaming armour. Erik had the wan colour and gaunt cheeks of a man recovering from long illness.

“Sire,” said Highmount, “I do not think you should be . . .”

Erik glanced over, and the look in his eye was enough to silence even Albern Highmount. Turning back to Liam, he said, “Perhaps you would not have made such a disastrous king after all, brother.”

“Erik, before you say anything else . . .” Liam took a step toward him, but the guardsman Meinrad blocked his path. Rudi didn't like that; he sprang at the guardsman with a snarl. It was all Liam could do to hold the wolfhound back.

“Dispose of that beast,” Erik said, and the guardsman drew his sword.

“Wait, Erik,
don't
!”

But Erik just motioned at the guards. Hands gripped Liam from all sides. Meinrad took a step toward the wolfhound. Rudi hauled against his lead, baying viciously, oblivious to the danger.

Meinrad hesitated, the point of his sword levelled at Rudi's throat.

“Gods' blood,” Erik said impatiently, “it's only a dog. I'll do it.” He drew his bloodblade.

“Sire, please, I'll take him!” A peasant pushed through the ring of startled guardsmen. He bowed his hooded head respectfully. “I've always wanted a wolfhound, Majesty,” said a rasping voice. “Such a fine specimen, I'd be honoured to take him. He need never bother you again.”

Erik scowled down at Rudi. Then, with a disgusted motion, he said, “Fine, take him. But mind yourself, or you're liable to lose a hand.”

“Thank you, sire. What a handsome beast he is! You are most generous.” The hooded figure grabbed the wolfhound's lead and dragged him away.

The king's icy gaze met Liam's, and it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. “Your hound is fortunate to have escaped death, brother,” Erik said. “Alas, the same cannot be said of you.”

“T
hey definitely crossed here,” Alix said, rising from her crouch and scanning the riverbank. “I make it half a dozen or more.”

“Those are poor odds,” Vel said. Glancing at Rodrik, she added, “I'm not sure he can make it across in any case. The current is strong here, and—”

“I can make it,” Rodrik said. “And I will thank you not to speak of me as if I were unconscious.”

Not unconscious, perhaps, but certainly not strong. He was pale as death and shining with sweat, stooped over his mangled arm with a permanent grimace of pain. Vel had offered to give him something stronger to help cope with his injuries, but Rodrik wouldn't have it; he preferred to remain as lucid as possible. Given what he'd gone through these past weeks, Alix couldn't blame him, but his suffering was terrible to witness.

“I'm trying to protect you, Rodrik,” Vel said. “Many battles have been fought on this river, and there are corpses all along its banks, especially upstream of here. Your wound could become septic.”

“It's already septic,” he said wearily. “As you well know.”

Vel bit her lip and glanced away. Ide threw Alix a grim look that said,
I told you so
.

“We need to get across,” Alix said. She refused to let the tumult inside reach her voice, or her eyes. “Are you sure you can manage, Rodrik?”

He gave her a resigned smile. “Do we have a choice, sister?”

“No,” she said, starting toward the water's edge. “No, we don't.”

So they dragged themselves across the Gunnar, Rodrik braced between Alix and Ide, each step a delicate negotiation of fast-flowing water and loose rock. By the time they reached the far bank, even Alix was too exhausted to continue; she called a halt on the rocky shore, giving them half an hour of rest. She knew she should feel relieved—they were back on Aldenian soil at last—but there were still so many hurdles before them. Only when the bloodbinder was dead and Erik's twin safe in the palace would she have fulfilled her vow to her king. Right now, however, both of those charges seemed very uncertain indeed.

Seeing Rodrik close his eyes for a spell, Alix took the priestess aside. “The arm,” she said in an undertone. “Should we . . . ?”

Vel shook her head. “I doubt he would survive it, weak as he is. If we could get him to the fort, I might be able to help him, provided the poison has not already spread to his blood. But out here . . .”

Alix squeezed her eyes shut, pushed her hands slowly through her hair. She could feel herself coming apart stitch by stitch. In a way, she was surprised she'd lasted this long; perhaps the only thing holding her together was fear. “I don't know what to do,” she whispered, and the confession hurt more than a blade.

“None of this is your fault. The bloodbinder kept Rodrik on the brink of death for nearly two months. It's a miracle he's doing as well as he is. He must have been very strong before all this began.”

“Like Erik. He was strong in every way . . .”

“He still is, I'm sure,” Vel said, gently but firmly. “Don't give up. We are not beaten yet, Alix.”

A muffled cry from Rodrik cut them short; he curled over
himself, teeth gritted in agony. “I'll prepare another dose of powder,” Vel said. “But it will only dull the pain. The sepsis . . .”

“I know,” Alix murmured. And the worst part was, so did he.

“Is it time to leave already?” he asked as she sank down beside him.

“Not quite. Vel is preparing you some tonic. Just try to rest.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Please don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know how to describe it. Pity, I'm accustomed to. I've faced it my whole life.” He held up his withered arm by way of explanation. “But that look on your face . . . it's more like remorse. As if you're apologising to me with your eyes every time you look at me.”

She sighed. “Perhaps I am.”

“But why? You have nothing to atone for, sister. You saved me.”

Not yet, I haven't.
Aloud, she said, “I'm doing my best, but we have a long road ahead. The bloodbinder—”

“Dargin.” That glint of hatred again, like the last time he'd said the name.

“He has your blood, and that means he can still work his magic. On you, or . . .”

“Or on my brother.” Rodrik nodded slowly. “I think I understand now. It's not me you're apologising to, is it? It's him. My twin.”

“I'm sorry. It must be so strange for you. But when I look at you . . .”

“You see him.”

“And you,” she was quick to add. “I also see you, Rodrik. I feel as if you're both here, somehow.”

He was quiet for a time. Then: “Will you tell me about him? What is he like?”

“He . . .” Alix swallowed against a knot in her throat. “Erik White is the best man I've ever known.”

Rodrik raised his red-gold eyebrows. “High praise. How so?”

For a moment, Alix grappled with how to answer. But then
she realised it was really very simple. “He is endowed with every single one of the Holy Virtues. Courage and wisdom and honour. And strength . . . by the gods, he's strong. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and with such grace . . .”

“You love him very much.”

Alix could only nod.

“So what is it you're apologising for?”

“Pardon?”

“That look in your eye,” he said. “The remorse. What is it for?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came. How could she possibly explain what she'd done, how she'd betrayed his twin and her oath? Even if she could find the strength to confess her sins, it wasn't fair to burden Rodrik with the details of the evil that had been wrought with his blood.

“Never mind,” he said. “It's unfair of me to ask. It's only that I would like to get a sense of him, in case . . .” He paused, his gaze falling to his bandaged arm. “In case we are not destined to meet in this world.”

“Don't say that.” Alix gripped his good hand fiercely. “You will.”

He nodded, but Alix had the sense that was only because he was too tired to argue. “And my other brother—Liam, you said it was?”

The name brought an ache to her heart and a smile to her face. “You'll like him. Everyone does. He's . . .” She shook her head, still smiling. “He's Liam.”

Rodrik laughed, and though his smile was Erik's, the sound was all his own. “That's exactly how I would describe my wife.”

“You're married?” For some reason, the thought had never occurred to her.

“I was,” he said, his smile turning sad. An old pain, clearly. “She died three years ago, along with our daughter.”

“I'm sorry.”

“At least she didn't have to see this war. It would have crushed her. She would never have wanted our daughter to be born into this world.”

“What was her name?” It felt important to ask.

“Haillie. And our daughter was Sella.”

“That's a beautiful name,” Alix said.

“My little sister chose it,” Rodrik said, and here was a fresh pain; his face crumpled in grief.

He doesn't know what became of her.
Oh, Alix, you self-centred fool . . .
“I'm so sorry,” she said, taking his hand again. “I should have told you straightaway. I just wasn't thinking. Ana—she's all right.”

His eyes widened. “You saw her? You saw my sister?”

“That's how we found you. She's fine. Shaken, but well. Marelda is taking care of her.”

“Oh, thank the Virtues . . .”

Alix put an arm around his trembling shoulders. Vel came over with the tonic and he drank, but his gaze was a million miles away, lost in memories and grief. Or so Alix thought, until her hand brushed his skin.
Fever
, she realised grimly.

“Time to go,” she said, rising. “We need to find that bloodbinder.”

And they needed to find help, or Rodrik White was going to die.

*   *   *

“We're losing them,” Ide said, gesturing disgustedly at the pile of cold ashes at her feet. “If they got this far by last night, it means they're at least three hours ahead of us now. We got to pick up the pace, Alix.”

“What would you have me do?” Alix snapped. “Conjure a horse out of thin air, perhaps?”

“If they make it to the Imperial Road, we'll never pick up the trail. All they gotta do is ditch their crimson tabards and no one will ever be the wiser—”

“Do you think you're telling me anything I don't know?”

“Enough.” The priestess's voice, quiet but commanding. She gestured behind her to where Rodrik stood propped against a tree, head bowed, shoulders drooping. “This isn't helping.”

“Nothing is helping,” Ide said. “He's getting slower and slower. We should—”

“Don't say another word.”

“What in the hells is the matter with you?” Ide glared at Alix the way she'd glared at Vel when the priestess had nearly
got herself killed. “I know you, Alix. You got more sense than this. Deep down, you know I'm right.”

Alix did her best to keep her voice low, but it trembled with raw emotion. “Erik would never forgive me.
Never.
” She shook her head angrily. How could she make Ide understand what this man meant to Erik? What Erik's forgiveness meant to her?

You can't.
There were only two people in this world who could possibly understand, and neither of them was here. So she drew a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I won't have that kind of talk again, Ide, do you hear me?”

Ide thumped out a bitter salute and stomped off through the undergrowth.

Alix fetched her waterskin and offered to it to Rodrik, but he shook his head. “I can't,” he said. “It aches.”

“You must bear it,” Vel said. “You need to drink or the fever will worsen.”

“Maybe we should camp here,” Alix said.

“We've fallen too far behind already.” Rodrik lifted his head slowly, as though it cost him a great effort. “She's right, you know,” he said, cocking his chin after Ide. “We're losing precious time because of me. You should leave me behind.”

“We're not leaving anyone behind, least of all you. We came all this way to get you, Rodrik. I'm not quitting now.”

“I'm not going to make it to Erroman, sister. We all know it. What matters now is catching Dargin. If you promise me you will make him pay for what he's done, I am content to let it go.”

“Well, I'm not,” Alix said, furious at the tremor in her voice. “I'm not
content
, so we keep moving for another hour, and then we make camp.” Before he could argue, she snatched her waterskin back and headed after Ide.

Somehow, they managed to keep going until sunset. Rodrik nearly collapsed onto his bedroll, but at least Vel managed to coax some broth into him before he fell asleep. Alix took the first watch, prowling restlessly through the woods in a wide circle, letting the night sounds fill her ears and trying not to think about anything at all. Each time she passed the cluster of slumbering forms, she paused to listen, half expecting to
hear Rodrik stirring, but it seemed exhaustion had triumphed over pain, for his bedroll lay still.

Ide took over when the moon was high. Alix was sure she wouldn't sleep; there were too many shadows chasing each other across the grim canvas of her mind. But exhaustion triumphed over her too; she had scarcely pulled her blanket up over her shoulders before she slipped into darkness.

If she dreamed, she had no memory of it. But she woke to a nightmare.

*   *   *

Someone was shouting at her, as if from a great distance. Alix tried to understand, but everything was dark and muffled, as if she'd been swaddled in layer upon layer of spider's silk. And then something seized her shoulder, tearing her from the cocoon of sleep; in an instant, she was on her feet, dagger flashing.

Vel stood before her, wild-eyed and dishevelled. “He's gone!”

“What?” Alix shook her head, throwing off the last silken threads of sleep. Dimly, she registered that it was just before dawn.

“Rodrik! I went to give him his tonic and he's gone!”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“His bedroll is empty! Look!”

Ide stirred, groaning. “What in the Nine Hells?”

Gone. Rodrik is gone.
For a moment, Alix struggled to comprehend it. Then the realisation dashed over her like a bucket of icy river water. “The bloodbinder. Oh gods . . .”

“What do you mean?” Vel said. “What's happening?”

Alix was very nearly sick then, doubling over and clutching at her middle.
How did I not see this coming?
She'd been so focused on Erik, so sure that the bloodbinder would be doing the same, she hadn't even seen the danger. “He's using the bloodbond on Rodrik. He's calling him back!”