The Bloodbound (21 page)

“He
has
an alliance with the Blacks,” Rig said, frowning.

“That may be, but it is not enough. It is the symbol we require, and a symbol must be visible in order to be effective.”

“My sister is not a game piece for you to move about,” Rig said, his voice cooling with every word.

“No indeed, Lord Black, and this is not a game.”

“She's an adult. She makes her own decisions.”

“She is the daughter of a Banner House. That comes with obligations, especially to her king.”

“I have not even discussed this with her,” Erik put in. “A decision is certainly premature.”

“She isn't—”

“Could everyone kindly stop talking about me as though I weren't here?” Alix glared at the men around the table.

Rig surged to his feet, his face flushed with fury. Luckily for Highmount, he was well out of reach. “Alix is right—she can speak for herself. On my own behalf, I'll say this: If you ever presume to lecture me or mine about duty again, you
will
regret it. My sister has gone through more in her short life than a pompous prat like you ever will. She deserves to make her own choices.” With a final, furious look at Erik, Rig punched through the tent flap and disappeared.

“How invigorating,” Highmount said.

That was too much for Erik. “This council is adjourned.”

“Your Majesty—”

“Get out.”

Alix started to rise, but Erik stayed her with a subtle gesture, so she sank back into her chair and squirmed while the lords filed out of the pavilion. When they had gone, Erik passed a weary hand over his eyes. “Gods, Alix, I am so sorry. I never—”

“It's all right. Highmount is an ass, but he's right—I'm the daughter of a Banner House. I have no delusions about deciding my own destiny.” Even now that they were alone, Erik wouldn't look at her. It was more than embarrassment.
Is he afraid of what I'll see in his eyes?
She was half afraid of what he might see in hers. The thought of marrying the king was terrifying. The thought of marrying
Erik
 . . . that was terrifying too, but in a very different way.

“I want you to know that I haven't been plotting with him,” Erik said. “He brought it up, it's true, but I made it clear that I did not want to hear it.”

“I believe you.”

He sighed and would have said more, but Rig poked his head back in the tent. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, “a word?”

Erik waved him in.

Rig only entered far enough for the tent flap to close behind him. “I apologise, Your Majesty. My behaviour was inappropriate.” His gaze shifted to Alix. “I'm afraid that when it comes to my sister . . .”

“I understand,” Erik said. “But I cannot have threats and insults in my war council. Our situation is precarious enough as it is. We cannot afford to be divided now.”

“It won't happen again.” Rig bowed stiffly and went out.

Erik stared after him, thoughtful. “He loves you very much, Alix.”

She felt a little pang, part affection, part sadness. “He's always been protective. He's . . .” Words failed her.

“He's your brother.”

“He's more than that. He's my best friend.”

“That is as it should be.” Erik's gaze had taken on a faraway look. Abruptly, he stood. “Excuse me, Alix, there's something I must do. Good night.” Without so much as a backward glance, he slipped through the tent flap.

When Alix stepped outside, she found Albern Highmount waiting for her. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I wonder if I might prevail upon you for a brief word?”

“All right,” she said coolly.

“I apologise if the conversation a moment ago was awkward. However, I am sure you appreciate that for a woman of your station, marriage is an obligation, not a privilege.”

She ground her teeth together, but managed a polite, “Of course.”

In the deepening darkness, Highmount's face was little more than a shadowy sketch, but Alix could feel his eyes appraising her. “In truth, I think a betrothal between your ladyship and His Majesty would be more than a prudent political match. You complement each other well. His Majesty looks to you for counsel, and from what I have seen, your advice thus far has been admirably pragmatic. That is a crucial trait for a king, one His Majesty has only recently begun to embrace. You would do your country a great service if you helped him to nurture it.”

“Erik doesn't need my help. He's already a great king.”

Highmount cleared his throat delicately. “Even a great king can be greater.”

“Is that all?” If she didn't get out of here soon, she was going to lose her temper, and Erik would not thank her for that.

“No. I'm afraid I must beg your indulgence with a favour.”

“Go on.”

“So long as a marriage alliance between yourself and His Majesty is under discussion, your conduct must be beyond reproach. There can be no more gossip about you, Lady Alix, nothing that might jeopardise your suitability as queen.”

“What do you mean, gossip?”

“Forgive me if I am indelicate, but tales of a certain late-night visit to the Kingsword camp some months ago have circulated rather widely.”

Alix cursed inwardly, her face burning. She'd known the guards would whisper about her stealing away from Greenhold that night, but it had never occurred to her that it would reach the ears of someone like Albern Highmount.

“I do not know who he was,” Highmount said, “and it does not matter. But if he is still among the Kingswords, you must not be seen with him again. It would not do to have it about that you were . . .
familiar
 . . . with other men.”

“You have nothing to fear on that score, my lord. That is long over.”

“I am gratified to hear it. Good evening, my lady.” He retreated into the shadows, leaving Alix to glare at his back.

*   *   *

Erik strode briskly
between the tents, doing his best to ignore the eight armed men jostling noisily to keep up with him. His purposeful gait masked his uncertainty. He was nervous, more so than he had any reason to be. Perhaps that was because he was unprepared. The impulse had come upon him suddenly, and part of him wondered if he was making a mistake.
Perhaps Alix is right. Perhaps I am behaving rashly.
The evidence was not promising. He had almost kissed her in front of the entire camp, for Ardin's sake. As uncertain as he was, however, he was determined to act on the impulse before he lost his nerve.
This is long overdue
, he told himself firmly.

He found the scouts without much difficulty. A cheerful fire danced and crackled on the fringes of the main camp; by its glow, Erik counted four silhouettes. The curious faces that turned to greet him made him feel uncharacteristically awkward, a sensation that only grew as they exclaimed in surprise and scrambled to their feet. “Please,” he said, raising his hands, “don't trouble yourselves. I have no wish to disturb you. Gods know you have earned your rest.” His gaze sought out a particular face among them. “Liam, may I have a word?”

Liam froze halfway to his feet, momentarily stunned. Then he straightened like a soldier under inspection, doing his best to avoid the questioning looks of his companions. His own expression was one of mild panic, as though Erik had just ordered him to the gallows.
At least I'm not the only one who's nervous
, he thought wryly.

He gestured for Liam to join him, heading for the relative seclusion of the river. They walked in silence. He could sense Liam's unease, but it could not be helped. He did not want to be overheard. He waited until they had passed beyond the soft globe of firelight surrounding the camp. Darkness enfolded them, and a chorus of frogs drowned out the muted sound of nearby voices.

Erik turned to his guards. “We will speak alone. You may remain here.” So saying, he led Liam up the bluff overlooking the river.

His brother waited for him to speak.

Brother.

Erik turned the word over in his mind. It was strange to think of this young man as such, after so many years of rejecting the very idea of him. Yet even through the shadows, he could recognise his father in Liam's features, and Tom too. He could even see himself.
Yes, this man is my brother.
Only half, perhaps, but what did it matter? They were bound to each other by blood, and blood could no more be parsed than water. The bond between them could not be undone by word or deed, nor diluted by a lifetime of vastly different experience. That was something to be respected. Cherished, even. Erik had ignored it for far too long.

“I'm sorry to have come upon you so suddenly,” he said. Liam did not reply. He was submissive, his gaze downcast, waiting for Erik to continue. When he did glance up, his eyes were full of dread. It was as though he expected Erik to deliver some piece of bad news, or issue some terrible edict. Erik tried not to be annoyed. Given their past history, could he really blame Liam for assuming the worst? “We will reach Erroman soon,” he said, choosing his words carefully. He had not had time to prepare, and he did not know Liam well enough to anticipate how he might react. “The enemy will be hard upon our heels. The time has come to deal with my brother. It is likely that Tom and I will meet in parley, and try to resolve this without bloodshed.”

Liam remained mute. His silence was presumably meant to be deferential, but it only made Erik more uncomfortable.

“I would like you to be there, Liam.”

There was a stretch of silence. When it became clear that a reply was expected of him, Liam said, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“You understand that I'm asking for more than just your presence. I would like your support.”

“My support? You have it, of course, but . . . Well, if you don't mind me asking, what good is that? I'm nobody.”

“
Nobody?
Liam . . .” Erik felt sick. This was his doing. His father's doing, and Arran Green's too.
It must have been pounded into him from birth.
Erik was not his family. Erik was his
king
.

It was even worse than he had imagined.
What shall I do now? Do I dare to unmake this?
To acknowledge Liam as family would be to admit he had been wronged as a child, to confess to years of neglect and mistreatment, all of it Erik's fault. That might unlock a torrent of resentment. Perhaps the only thing preventing Liam from hating Erik was that he didn't think he had the right.

“You are my brother, Liam.”
There. Too late to back out now.

Liam opened his mouth. Closed it with a snap. He frowned.

“I have been remiss not to address this sooner.” Erik felt himself flush for the first time in years. “I should have . . . found a way. I'm sorry.” It felt foolish and inadequate, but he could not think of anything else to say.

Liam did not answer right away. He met Erik's eye at last, revealing a mix of emotions. There was confusion, unease, and, yes, anger. Of course it was there. How could it not be? For the first time, Erik realised that Liam was several inches taller than him.

“You want me to be with you when you meet the Rave . . . Prince Tomald . . . in parley.” Liam spoke slowly, as though to make sure he had understood correctly.

“I don't command it of you, Liam, but I ask it. Stand beside me, and let us face our brother together.”

Liam regarded him warily, as though half expecting some trick. “There will be other people there . . . besides His Highness, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“And you want them to know about me? Isn't that . . . a bad idea?”

“No one should have to hide who he is, Liam. You've been forced to do that for too long, and I can never make up for that. But it ends here, if you want it to.”

Liam chewed on that for a moment. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to ask, why now?”

It was a fair question. Erik sighed. “There is no simple answer to that. I've meant to do this for so long, but it never seemed like the right time. So much has happened over the past months, and . . .” He stopped himself. He was being needlessly obscure. Perhaps it was simple after all. “What it comes down to is this: We are at war, and my kingdom threatens to rip itself apart. In times like these, a man turns to family above all else. You are my family, Liam.”
The only family I have left.

Liam's eyes were guarded, even suspicious. Yet Erik fancied he could also see hope, however timid, peeking through. Liam
wanted
to believe him.

Erik put a hand on his arm. “Think about it, brother. When you're ready, you know where to find me.”

He withdrew, heading down the bluff to rejoin his guards. When he glanced back, he saw Liam staring out over the water, arms folded, head bowed.
He'll come around
, Erik told himself. The past was the past. They had both been young. Things were different now.

He would never give his brother cause to resent him again.

“I
t's looking a lot better,” Gwylim said, peeling the bandage away from Alix's ribs. “I think the poultice has done all it can.”

“Thank the Nine Virtues,” Alix said. “As much as I appreciate the healing power of that stuff, I've had about all I can take of people covering their noses and fleeing upwind.”

“You sure that's the poultice? You haven't bathed in a while.”

“Funny.”

Alix felt cool water against her skin as Gwylim dabbed at the wound. “You can probably go back to your regular routine now. As long as you make sure the stitches dry out before you cover them, you can soak them if you like.”

“In that case, leave the bandage off. I'll head down to the river and have a good wash, and you can put it on later.”

Gwylim helped her wriggle into her tunic. As she was pulling it over her head, he said, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

She froze, peering at him through the neck hole. “What?”

“Your betrothal.” Gwylim's expression was unreadable.

Alix yanked the tunic down a little too forcefully and was rewarded with a sharp pang in her back. “Word certainly travels fast.”

“It does.”

“Nothing has been decided. It's politics.”

Gwylim nodded inscrutably.
He sees right through you, Alix.

“Has . . .” She paused, feeling her skin warm. “Has everyone heard?”

“Has Liam heard, you mean?”

There was no point in pretending. She gave a miserable little nod, absently twisting the golden ring on her baby finger.

“I'm sure he has, but I haven't spoken to him about it. I doubt he would welcome any of us broaching the subject.”

Alix swore under her breath.
Poor Liam.
As though what had happened weren't bad enough, he had to face the awkwardness of all his friends knowing about it.

Gwylim seemed to read her thoughts. “At least Green promised to make him a knight. That should be some consolation.”

Alix brightened. “He did? That's great!” She thought immediately of Erik, how he had promised to speak to Green about Liam's situation.
I wonder if he had anything to do with it . . .

“After the Battle of the Scions, even Green couldn't deny that Liam was wasted in the scouts. He's with the infantry now.”

Her smile withered. The infantry meant the front lines. It meant marching straight into the teeth of the enemy. Four fifths of the men they'd lost were infantry. “Is he . . .” Alix swallowed. “Is he happy about that?”

Gwylim appraised her with kind green eyes. “Why don't you ask him?”

Because he doesn't even speak to me.
Aloud, she said, “Maybe I will.”

Gwylim rose. “Don't wait too long. There's a war going on, you know.”

Alix vacated the tent as soon as Gwylim had left, making way for a pair of soldiers to pack it up for her. The coddling made her feel like a fool, but Erik would brook no argument, so she simply nodded to the men and left them to their business. She made for the river, heading downstream of the camp to find someplace private to wash. She chose a spot where the foot of the bluff was screened by shoulder-high grass. The water sparkled brightly under the morning sun, looking cold and fresh and wonderful. Alix couldn't wait to wade in. She dropped her swordbelt onto the rocks and pulled off her boots. Then she stripped to her smalls and stepped to the river's edge, pausing to enjoy the soft, sucking mud between her toes. She waded in tentatively. By the time the water had reached her navel, she was gasping with cold, and her fingers were rigid around the cake of soap in her hand. She wouldn't last long, but at least she could give herself a good once-over.

She was sitting on the rocks, freshly washed, pulling her boots back on, when a rustle in the grass drew her gaze over her shoulder.

“Oh,” said Liam, drawing up short. “Hello.”

She straightened. Liam did not look happy to see her.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn't know you were down here. I'll just . . . leave you to it.”

Alix's cheeks stung as though she'd been slapped.
So he has been avoiding me after all.
She'd tried to convince herself she was imagining it. It would be awkward to talk in front of the others as they marched. He didn't want Arran Green to see them together. Erik might grow suspicious if Liam tried to seek her out. All this had been rationalisation, lies she told herself to ward off the hurt. The truth could not be more plain: Liam wanted nothing to do with her.

He turned to go.

“Liam, wait.”

He pursed his lips with obvious reluctance, but he waited. Alix hesitated a moment, Highmount's warning fresh in her mind, but this was something she had to do. She picked her way over the rocks, her heart in her throat. She couldn't meet his gaze. “I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, for everything. If I could undo it . . . but I can't. I know that I wronged you, in more ways than one.” She forced herself to look up.

Liam was fidgeting. He looked like he would rather be facing down a horde of thralls than having this conversation.

She cursed herself silently. All she was doing was making him uncomfortable. Overcome with self-loathing, she said, “You have every right to hate me.”

Liam scowled. “Don't be ridiculous, of course I don't hate you. How could you—?” He broke off, shaking his head irritably. “I don't
hate
you, Alix. I could never hate you. I'm not even angry, really—not anymore. I know you didn't do it deliberately. You just go with your instincts, which is one of the things I . . .” He paused, swallowed. “Anyway, I don't hate you. I just . . . can't be around you.”

Alix looked away. She didn't want him to see how deeply his words cut. “I understand. I just want you to be happy.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm fine, really.” He shrugged.

I'm not fine
, she wanted to say. And if Liam was recovering nicely, she had a pretty good idea why. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “How's Kerta?”

His eyes narrowed; for a moment, Alix thought he wouldn't reply. “She's great,” he said coolly. “Look, I'd better go. If we don't talk again for a while . . . Well, good-bye, I guess.” Hesitantly, he put his arms around her. He was stiff and awkward, and his armour dug into her rib cage, but Alix melted into him anyway. It was all she could do to keep her tears in check. After a moment, he relaxed, holding her more closely. She was acutely aware of his breath on her hair, his hand on the curve of her back. His scent filled her nose, familiar and comforting, leather and metal and something that made her think of home. She moved her head a fraction to drink it in deeper, bringing her lips against the bare flesh of his neck. The urge to kiss him, even just the faintest pressure, was almost overwhelming. A moment more and she might have succumbed, but he pulled away, and she felt the loss of him like a physical chill. He started back toward the bluff.

A light winked somewhere downriver. “What was that?”

Liam paused. “What?”

“I thought I saw . . . There it is again.” Just a momentary glint, as of sunlight on metal. “Someone's down there.”

“Well, there are about eight thousand of us, so . . .” He shrugged and turned away.

“But there shouldn't be anyone downstream.” Something began to gnaw at her gut, subtle but persistent, like a meal that didn't quite agree with her. “I came down here specifically to avoid the others.”

“Probably someone else had the same idea.”

“I'm going to check it out.”

He frowned. “You shouldn't go wandering off by yourself.”

“So come with me.”

“Alix . . .”

“It'll only take a moment.” She picked up her swordbelt and started off. Grumbling under his breath, Liam followed.

The riverbank narrowed as they went, the steep bluff crowding them against the water's edge. They weaved their way through towering temples of grass. Trees played peek-and-hide through the swaying screen, but there was no sign of man or beast.

“You must have imagined it,” Liam said. “We should turn back.”

“Hush. Did you hear that?” Quietly, Alix drew her sword.

“I didn't hear anything.” All the same, he pulled his own blade and swung his shield down from his back.

A twig snapped somewhere nearby. They froze.

Alix licked her lips, her eyes raking the greenery for signs of movement. Her blood rushed in her ears.
It could be anything
, the sensible part of her argued.
A rabbit. A bird. And even if you did see metal, it was probably just a Kingsword, like Liam said . . .
Sensible, all of it, but she knew it wasn't true.

They waited a few more moments in silence. Slowly, the tip of Liam's sword began to droop. “Alix—”

Something erupted from the grass and charged at them. Alix saw a flash of crimson and a glint of metal. Liam grunted in surprise, but he got his shield up in time to block the sword humming toward his neck. Alix lunged, thrusting her blade and withdrawing it in a single motion. A man's body slumped to the ground. Alix tensed, ready for the next attack, but the grass was still.

Long moments passed. The only sound was the soft gasping of the Oridian scout dying at their feet.

“Do you think he was alone?” Alix whispered.

“No way to tell.” Liam glanced back over his shoulder. “You should go warn the others. I'll stand guard.”

“Not bloody likely.”

Liam's jaw twitched. “We don't know what's out there. And you're wounded, remember?”

“I'm fine. I'm not leaving you alone. Anyway, we're within shouting distance of the camp. If we get into trouble, we can call for help.”

“Oh, right, well, that makes
perfect
sense. I'm sure the enemy won't mind waiting around for our friends to join us before they kill us.”

“Are you coming or not?”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Gods' blood, woman, you're going to be the death of us both.” A graceless surrender, but a surrender nonetheless. Alix parted the grass with the tip of her sword and peered beyond. Nothing. Steeling herself, she plunged through.

The scene before her looked just like the one behind: grass, trees, rocks. No movement. She forged ahead, rolling along the arches of her feet to muffle her footfalls. Liam followed almost as soundlessly, in spite of his plate and mail. The Kingswords trained their scouts well.

About fifty paces on, the ground fell away to the east, offering a good view of the terrain beyond. A thousand shades of green shivered against a canvas of stark blue sky, and the river scattered over the rocks in glistening threads of spun glass. But it was not the beauty of the vista that drew Alix up short. “Oh no,” she whispered, her sword nearly slipping from numb fingers.

There were thirty of them, maybe more, their crimson tabards flowing over the rocks like a spreading pool of blood. They moved furtively, their blades already drawn in anticipation of battle.

“Would this be a good time to say I told you so?” Liam asked dryly.

“I wouldn't recommend it.”

The raiding party was closing fast. It wouldn't be long before they fell upon the Kingsword camp.
They'll catch the men unawares, but still . . . they'll never get out alive.
Thirty against eight thousand. What were they thinking?

There was no time to worry about it now. “Options?” she asked.

Just then, an Oridian looked their way and pointed. As one, the men turned their heads.

Liam sighed. “I'd say it boils down to running or dying.”

The Oridians charged.

Alix and Liam sprinted back upstream, but they didn't get far. A pair of enemies rushed at them from the grass—more scouts, moving out ahead of the pack. Alix crouched, keeping tight to Liam's shield side for added protection. It proved a wise move, for the first Oridian that lunged at her was nearly decapitated by Liam's shield. He used it like a weapon, slicing out with a snap of his elbow at the man's unprotected throat and sending a sheet of blood arcing through the air. It cut through far too cleanly for an ordinary shield. Liam must have filed the steel banding down to a razor edge. A clever trick; Alix hoped he had more of them.

The second Oridian came at them more cautiously, harrying them just enough to pin them down while his comrades caught up. Within moments, it was three on two. They doubled up on Liam, while the third went for Alix. Her attacker was quick, but not quick enough; she turned aside his downstroke and cleaved off his hand. He kept attacking, barrelling into her with his shield, but Alix spun aside, ramming her blade into his exposed flank.
Thrall
, she thought grimly as he fell. He hadn't even flinched when she cut off his hand. “Fall back! Where the bank narrows!”

Liam obeyed, and they let themselves be driven back until they reached a thin strip of rocks hemmed in by bluff and deep water. The defile was only wide enough for two or three to fight abreast—a perfect choke point.

“Better, but we're still in trouble.” Liam drove the point of his sword into a man's chest, then planted a boot in his gut and sent him sprawling backward into the gathering crowd. Two more Oridians surged forward to take his place, stepping over their fallen comrade without so much as a glance.
More thralls. How many of them can there be?
Alix looked into their flat, soulless eyes, and saw the truth.
All of them. Gods have mercy.

She fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Liam, beating them back as best she could, but she knew they couldn't hold out for long. Thralls were piling up at the choke point, jostling to get by one another in their frenzy. It was like holding back a riot. A thicket of blades flashed in every direction. Blood spattered across Alix's chest as the Oridian she was fighting lost an arm to the man behind him. Men in full plate armour waded out into the river, only to be dragged under by the current. Others tried to scrabble up the embankment. Alix and Liam fell back again, but they were running out of room, and still the crowd pressed in.
They're going to trample us
, she thought dully.