The Bloodbound (14 page)

“Oh no . . .” Suddenly, everything made sense. Her body had known it, though her mind had not.
Not Liam Green. Liam White.
Her hand went from her mouth to her stomach. She nearly doubled over. “Oh, gods, I feel ill.”

“
You
feel ill?” He gave a humourless laugh.

“Why didn't you tell me?” She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kiss away that look in his eyes. She wanted to crawl off into the woods and disappear.

He scowled. “Is that a serious question? You're the daughter of a Banner House, surely you don't need me to explain it to you. Besides, what difference would it have made?”

“I would have been prepared!”

“For what? Do you think he would have been any less charming? Any less . . .
royal
?”

“I don't care about that!”

“Well, then you're a fool, because, trust me, it changes everything.” He turned away, rubbing his jaw roughly. He stayed like that, his back turned, for a long time.

“Liam, please.” Alix could hardly speak through the ache in her throat. “Say something.”

He turned around, and the pain in his eyes was more than she could bear. She was the cause of that pain. She was the one who had led him here, pushed him faster than he wanted to go, only to lose her way.
Just as Arran Green knew you would.

“Tell me this,” he said, “and be honest. You say he reminded you of me. Was that the only reason?”

She could have lied. She could have told him what he wanted to hear, and maybe they could have forgotten it ever happened. But she hadn't forced herself to come this far, to hurt him this much, only to lie in the end. “I don't know,” she said. “I don't think so.”

Liam nodded slowly. In that moment, he withdrew beyond her reach. The windows of his eyes went dark. Those beautiful grey eyes, so full of warmth and mischief only moments before, now a dull void. “You should go to him. He'll be waiting for you.”

She stiffened. “What, I don't get a choice in this?”

“Neither of us gets a choice. Not anymore.” He turned to go.

“So that's it?” It came out more sharply than she'd intended. “You're just going to walk away?”

He spun around and threw his arms wide. “What do you want from me, Alix?”

“Don't you even want to try to work this out?” She knew she was pushing him, but she couldn't help it. In her desperation, offence seemed better than surrender.

“What is there to work out?”

“It was just a kiss!”

“He's the
King of Alden
, Alix! There's no
just
anything. You know that as well as I do, so don't stand there shouting at me as if this is my fault!”

“So it's my fault? I didn't plan this, you know. It was just a moment—”

“It's always just a moment with you! You never stop to think. And I know that about you, so I should have seen this coming. I did, in a way, but I guess I thought after what happened that night in the woods . . . but that was stupid of me, wasn't it? So maybe it's my fault after all.”

“Of course it's not your fault. But I can't believe you're not even willing to fight for this!”

“You don't get it, do you?” He was truly angry now. “I'm a
bastard
. You're a Black. We're in the middle of a war. This was always going to be a fight. A losing one, but idiot that I am, I was still willing to try, because . . .” He choked on the words, swallowed them down. “But this . . . you and the king . . . it's too much.”

Each word was a tiny barb in her heart, cold and sharp and fletched with truth.
He's right. This was never going anywhere.
She knew that—she'd always known it—but she couldn't let go. She was a snared creature thrashing in its death throes, knowing the fight is finished, but struggling just the same. “He doesn't own me,” she said helplessly.

“Of course he does,” Liam said, turning to go. “He owns us all.” In a few lunging strides, he was through the trees and out of view.

Alix did not even remember the walk back to the keep. She simply found herself in her room, alone. She bolted the door and collapsed on her bed. Then she did what she had sworn she would never do.

She wept.

T
he horses jingled and stamped restlessly, as though they could smell the coming battle. Maybe they could. Alix had heard it said that horses could smell weather approaching, so why not death? They were warhorses; they knew the sharp scent of metal, the cold press of armoured knees at their flanks. They knew what it meant to have thick white war paint smeared on their haunches. She wondered if the paint made them feel stronger, as it was supposed to. Few people really believed in the talismanic power of war paint anymore, but it was still tradition, like carrying a banner onto the field. Maybe the horses drew courage from it, the way a knight draws courage from seeing his command standard flying bravely overhead. Or maybe it just itched.

Adelbard Brown swivelled in his saddle to survey the ranks. He'd done that several times over the last quarter hour, as if to reassure himself that they were still there. His eyes stared out through the visor of his impressive gilt helm, hard and unreadable. He stayed like that for long moments before turning back around. Alix scowled at the back of his head.

“You're doing it again,” Raibert Green admonished quietly. His mount was close enough to Alix's that Lord Brown couldn't hear.

“He's making the men nervous,” Alix whispered. “Why does he keep staring at them like that? Like he's trying to memorise their faces?”

“These are his lands, Alix. Surely we can excuse a bit of agitation?”

He was right, of course. Lord Brown had every reason to be worried. The Oridian host had made faster progress than they'd hoped, leaving little time to evacuate the area. Brownhold itself was safe enough for now, but the Brownlands were heavily populated, especially here in the fertile hills. Every league of territory lost to the enemy would mean one more village burned, its inhabitants driven off or slaughtered.

There will be no victory here
, Alix thought. Even with the modest addition of Brownswords, the Oridians still outnumbered them a little less than three to one. The Brownlands would fall. It was not a question of if, but when. Erik knew that; they all did. The king's goal was not to defeat the enemy host, but to slow its progress, skirmishing along its edges like a small predator harassing much larger prey. He did this to give people a chance to flee, and to buy time for Arran Green and the rest of the Kingswords to dislodge the enemy from the Blacklands.

It was hardly the stuff of legend, but that didn't stop Erik from speaking of it like it was the most glorious battle of their times. He'd greeted the morning with breezy talk of their inevitable triumph, clapping Lord Brown and his daughter Rona on the shoulder as though they were about to embark on a leisurely hunt. He'd addressed the men as heroes whose songs had yet to be sung.

“A good day,” he'd told Alix that morning. “A day to remember.”

Alix had seen him do this before, at Three Skulls, and again at Boswyck. She'd thought him vain and naïve. But seeing him now, resplendent in his white tabard and gleaming white helm, guiding his warhorse regally down the line, Alix understood. It wasn't vanity that prompted Erik to carry himself as though he were posing for a portrait. He
was
posing for a portrait, if only in the minds of his men. He was the heroic king who would lead them to victory, for the glory of Alden. Erik understood the power of symbol.

Not that it was entirely for show. There was no mistaking the excited glint in his eyes as he drew his horse up alongside Alix's. “You look vexed, Captain,” he said lightly, raising the visor of his helm. “Aren't you glad to be up and about, instead of cooped up in the castle?”

“Not quite as glad as you are, sire. I do wish you would reconsider.”

A shadow flickered across Erik's features. He lowered his voice. “We've discussed this, Alix. I'll not hear it again.”

She nodded resignedly. It was pointless to argue. But she couldn't pretend to like it, not when he was putting himself in danger like this.

He leaned over his horse's neck so Alix alone could hear. “I haven't tried to dissuade you from
your
duty, however much I might wish to. We both belong here, and it's no use pretending otherwise.”

“I know.”

His gaze softened, and he started to say something else, but Raibert Green interrupted. “Scouts, Your Majesty!”

A figure on horseback pounded down the eastern slope, and a second appeared moments later. Half a dozen other scouts prowled the hills nearby, though they were invisible to Alix's eyes. The Kingswords had nestled themselves in the winding trough of the valley, using the hills as cover. They hoped to take the Oridians from the flank, for if they confronted the host head-on, they would be slaughtered.

The lead scout arrived in a flurry of hooves and turf, his mount foaming. “They're a half mile out, Your Majesty!”

“Did they see you?”

“No, sire, I'm certain of it. They're still pursuing our decoy upcountry, and we took out the only enemy scout that could have given us away.”

“Good.” Erik raised his arm, signalling the archers in the hills above. Alix watched them creep closer to the summits, readying themselves for the second signal that would order the volley.

The king turned his horse and walked it to the back of the cavalry lines. Alix, the banner lords, Rona Brown, and the rest of Erik's guard followed. This minor concession was all Erik had allowed. He wouldn't ride at the vanguard, but he would ride all the same.

Tense moments crawled by. Alix licked her lips with a dry tongue.
You can do this
, she told herself, but the thought lacked conviction. She'd never been on the front lines before. She wasn't trained for it. She had barely been tested in battle at all. Her job was to guard her king against assassins, lone men armed with bows and daggers and poison. Now Erik was about to ride straight into an army. She couldn't protect him from that. She would be lucky to protect herself. She stared down the throat of the valley, at the place where it veered sharply to the west. Just beyond that blind corner, the valley spilled out into the plains, into the enemy. She couldn't see them, and they couldn't see her, but they were there. Any moment now, Erik would order the charge, and there would be no more time to fear.

A glint of metal flashed from the summit of the eastern hill. The signal came from the scouts; the enemy was in position. The king slammed down his visor. Then he nodded, and his standard-bearer raised the White banner high.

The northern sky darkened as a thick volley of arrows arced out from the hilltops. It was an awesome sight. Like a flock of slender birds moving as one, the arrows reached the apex of their flight, seeming to hang, suspended, before plunging down and out of view. Screams drifted on the wind. A second volley leapt after the first, sizzling through the air. More shouts, followed by the panicked call of a horn. A third and final time the sky bristled with death, and then Erik drew his sword. He glanced at Alix, winked, and let out a cry.

The Kingswords surged.

Alix rode as close to Erik as she dared. Raibert and Lord Brown flanked him on the opposite side, young Rona hard upon their heels. The rest of the cavalry, two hundred horses, thundered before them; the valley shuddered beneath the avalanche of their hooves. They burst onto the plain to find the Oridians in disarray, their ranks swarming as they tried to reposition their defences. Before the men even had time to set their pikes, the Kingswords were upon them.

Alix had never been trained to fight on horseback. All she could do was look to Erik for guidance. The king crouched in his stirrups, his body coiled to absorb the force of the blows he would deliver. Alix leaned forward a little in the saddle, doing her best to imitate Erik's posture. Then they crashed into the enemy lines, and there was no more time to think. She bore down on the nearest target and swung.

The impact nearly threw her down. Her sword bit deep into the man's breastplate, arresting her forward momentum so suddenly that she fell back in the saddle, her shoulder wrenching painfully. She barely managed to pull her blade free before she lost it.

First lesson: Don't follow through.

Bodies swam all around her. She lashed out blindly, using short, clipped blows. She aimed for necks and limbs instead of the sturdier core. That worked much better, and soon she had a steady rhythm. She hacked her way through the enemy ranks, blood spattering her greaves and sparkling off her blade. The carnage should have appalled her, but instead, she felt strangely removed from it all, looking down from above like some passing god. The men she cut down were faceless, fleeting, no more real to her than a straw man set up in the yard.

Suddenly, her horse screamed and heaved to the side. Alix managed to swing her leg over just in time to avoid being pinned as the courser went down. She leapt away from the beast and rolled to her feet, sword at the ready. She caught a glimpse of white: Erik, still heading west. She charged after him, engaging the first Oridian that got in her way.

She was lucky in her foe. The man was wide-eyed with fear, and he clutched his spear as though she meant to steal it from him. When he dove at her, she struck his weapon in half, then lashed out with her shield, catching him under the chin. His head snapped back, and Alix lunged, thrusting the end of her blade into his throat. The encounter lasted less than five breaths. It was a welcome reminder that unlike Alden, the Trionate of Oridia swelled its ranks by pressing untrained peasants into military service. Most of these men weren't professional soldiers. They were farmers and bakers and fishmongers. Bloodweapons or no, they were at a serious disadvantage.

Alix brought down a second foe almost as quickly as the first, and with each kill, her confidence grew. She let the bloodbond guide her hand. Her blade was a part of her, weightless and sure, an extension of her own reflexes and intuition. She slashed and parried and lunged and blocked without conscious thought. Even so, her progress was frustratingly slow. No sooner had she felled one opponent than another would appear to take his place. She could hear the cries of horses as cavalry went down all around her. She needed to find Erik.

She shoved a dying man off her blade and paused to reorient herself. The press of bodies grew denser by the moment as the Kingswords continued to pour out of the hills. Spears stabbed the air, and naked blades flashed in every direction. Even if Alix managed to avoid engaging anyone directly, she was liable to be skewered by friend or foe.

Between the heaving bodies, she spied the distinctive gilt helm of Adelbard Brown. She made for him, doing her best to see in three directions at once. An Oridian charged toward her, but she knocked him aside with her shield and kept running. She was close to Brown now, and she could see he was in trouble. He staggered backward as he fended off an ogre of a man armed with a two-handed greatsword. The Oridian looked to be an officer; he was covered in heavy plate from the waist up. His legs, though, were only protected by tassets, presenting a soft target from the rear. Alix took him unawares, slashing the backs of his knees. He buckled, and Brown's blade crashed into his head.

Lord Brown gave a brief nod of thanks before engaging a new foe, leaving Alix free to move on. Erik should be nearby; Brown wouldn't have strayed far from the king if he could help it. She spotted his daughter Rona nearby, hacking away from atop her destrier. Alix started toward her, and soon the king himself came into view. He was on foot, his tabard sprayed with blood, but it didn't seem to be his. His horse lay dead at his side, and he kept close to the animal's corpse, using its bulk to shield his flank as he fought.

Alix closed with his other flank, feeling more comfortable than she had since the battle began. It was relatively calm here inside the ring of Erik's knights; the king and his bodyguard had the luxury of facing their foes one at a time. Even so, Alix found little honour in her kills. The first Oridian to break through the knights was a mere boy, fourteen at most, and Alix cut him down in a heartbeat. The second was just as green, judging by his white-knuckled grip and white-rimmed eyes. He died with a sob on his lips. Meanwhile, Erik tangled with a real soldier, a man in full plate armed with a fearsome-looking mace. The king hunkered cautiously behind his shield, and it was only then Alix remembered that he was bereft of his bloodblade. The sword in his hand was ordinary steel, slow and heavy and awkward.

Just as she pivoted to help, a pair of Oridians rushed at Rona Brown. The young knight opened up the shoulder of the first and crossed swords with the second. The wounded Oridian barrelled on as though he hadn't even noticed. He came at Alix, swinging with a strength he was no longer entitled to. She was so surprised that she almost didn't put enough into her parry; his blade jarred to a halt barely a handspan above her collarbone. She shoved him back, but no sooner had he regained his footing than he swung again, totally undaunted by the bloody trench pumping its contents over his sword arm. Alix deflected the blow and followed it with a lunge that bit just below the ribs. He was too far out of reach for the blade to sink very deep, but it should have been enough to double him over. It didn't even slow him down. He slashed at Alix again and again, his exertion all but invisible on his face. Dead eyes stared out at her, glassy and dark like the surface of a well. Those eyes turned her guts to water.

She had all she could do to keep him at arm's length. He just kept closing in, as though he were trying to tackle her bodily to the ground. She got through his defences more than once, but no matter how much blood she drew, he didn't even flinch.

Panic welled up inside her. What was
wrong
with this man?

Eventually he found an opening, and he crashed into her, toppling her easily under his weight. A gauntleted fist clamped around her throat. Pain arced from her chest to her skull. Alix gasped and flailed. She tried to club at him with the hilt of her sword, but she couldn't get the leverage. Her chest bucked in a futile effort to draw air.