The Bloodbound (33 page)

“No one is too valuable to do his duty.”

“You have a wife,” Gwylim said stubbornly. “Sons . . .”

“Enough.”

Gwylim subsided.

Erik watched the exchange with a grim expression. Alix could see he was torn, but what choice did he have?
We have to unbind the thralls, and to do that, we have to kill the Priest. This is the only way to get to him. It's the only way.
Erik reached the same conclusion. “Very well, General. It grieves me that it has come to this, but it seems we have no choice. Your courage will not be forgotten, I swear it.”

“One man can't do it alone, Your Majesty,” Gwylim said. “Even a man as strong as General Green can't carry enough powder on his own. Someone needs to go with him, to bring a second pack.”

Erik frowned. “You would have me send a second man to his death?”

“No, sire. General Green can wait until the second man gets clear before he lights the powder.”

“Very well,” Erik said. “I presume you wish to be appointed to that task?”

Alix bit her lip.
Gwylim is right. Green is no scout. He'll need help to sneak in without getting caught.
Gwylim was good, but she was better. The thought terrified her, and for a moment she couldn't find her tongue. Then she felt Green's eyes on her, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.
You know what you must do
, his pale gaze seemed to say.

She cleared her throat. “Your Majesty, I should be the one to go. I'm . . .”
A born thief.
She half expected Rig to say it, but he was only staring at her in horror. “I'm the best,” she finished miserably.

“Agreed,” Arran Green said, looking well satisfied.

“No!” Liam stepped between her and Green. “I mean, you are, but . . . you
can't
. Allie, you . . .” But there was nothing he could say, nothing that could measure up to the enormity of what lay before them. For a moment, he looked lost. Then his jaw set, and he said, “I'll come too.”

That was too much for Erik; he gave a wild little laugh and ran his hands over his face. “No, I think not. This plan sounds less attractive with every passing moment. The cost is too high. We should think of something else.”

“There is nothing else, Your Majesty,” Arran Green said. “I have done everything I can to keep His Highness out of danger until now, but we no longer have that luxury. At the gate or on the walls, we must all fight, and many of us will die. Liam would be a welcome addition to our party. He is an experienced scout, and he is strong. He can carry more of the powder than any of the others. We will be sure of having enough to do the job. With the captain scouting ahead, and Liam and me carrying the powder, we have the greatest chance of success.”

Erik turned away from them all, shaking his head. Alix felt for him. It was a terrible choice to have to make, but she did not doubt for a moment what his decision would be. A few months ago, Erik would never have considered it, but he was a different man now. A different king. “As you will, then,” he said quietly. “Make your preparations, Green. Lord Black will assume command of the Kingswords.”

“It is the right choice, Your Majesty.”

Erik shook his head again and stalked off toward his horse. Alix started to go after him, but Gwylim said, “Wait.” When she gave him an impatient look, he added, “It's important, Alix.” He drew something from his pocket that looked like a sewing needle. “Each of you should take some of these, just in case.”

“What is it?” Liam asked warily.

“It's just a needle, but it's been dipped in
hrak
venom, and it can be fletched to make a blow dart.”

Hrak.
The word was Harrami and sounded familiar. “Isn't that a kind of spider?” Alix asked.

“A deadly spider. Its bite will kill a man in less than half an hour. Scratching a man with a needle dipped in
hrak
venom will paralyse him before you can count to ten, and knock him out cold soon after that. The mountain tribes of Harram use it to make poisoned darts for hunting.”

Liam whistled, impressed. “We should have the archers dip their arrows in that stuff!”

“You'd need one hell of a lot of spiders,” Rig said.

Gwylim smiled wanly. “You would, and the Order of Hew has only a handful. But I can make a few darts out of them, and you can use them to knock out some of the guards around the gate. You'll have to be careful—they'll have time enough to call for help if they figure out what's going on, so it's better to do it the old-fashioned way if you can.” He drew a thumb across his throat, in case anyone had missed his meaning. “But if you can't get close enough, this is better than trying to throw a knife, and you won't be able to carry bows if you're loaded down with powder.”

Rig clapped Gwylim's shoulder. “The king is right—you're just full of useful tricks.”

“Very useful,” Arran Green agreed. “Well done.”

The praise only made Gwylim look uncomfortable. “I should be going with you, General,” he said one last time.

“Your place is with the scouts,” Green said.

They made their way back to the palace in silence. Alix couldn't bring herself to look at Liam, even though she felt his eyes on her. She knew he was furious with her for offering to go with Green. He understood why she'd done it, but that didn't mean he had to like it, and Alix had no doubt he was just itching to have it out with her. For the first time, she dreaded being alone with him.

As they mounted the steps to the First Keep, Green said, “A word, Captain?”

Alix and Liam exchanged a look.
This can't be good
. Warily, Alix followed the commander general into a small sitting room. He closed the door behind her and stood with his hands folded behind his back, his pale gaze pinning her. “You did well to volunteer for this mission,” Green said. “I will need your stealth, and Liam's strength. Your participation guaranteed his.”

Alix dropped her gaze, embarrassed. They hadn't discussed her relationship with Liam since that day at Greenhold, so long ago. It was not a conversation she was anxious to repeat.

“It would have been preferable to avoid putting the prince in danger,” Green went on, “but he is uniquely suited to the task. He is nearly as stealthy as he is strong, and for all his faults, he is one of the most reliable soldiers I have ever commanded.”

“You might consider telling him so yourself.” It was impudent, even for her, but such worries seemed insignificant now.

Green only grunted. “Perhaps I shall. In any case, as vital as Liam's participation in this mission is, he is a prince now, and he must be kept safe to the extent possible. That means no heroics.”

Alix wasn't sure where he was going with this. “I won't goad him into doing anything stupid, if that's what you're getting at. I've learned my lesson.”

Green's mouth twisted wryly. “I doubt that, but no—that is not my point. Let me be direct. My part in this is to sacrifice myself to light the powder and destroy the Priest. However, should I fail, the task must fall to another, and that other must not be the prince.”

Alix felt the blood drain from her face.

“I very much hope it will not come to that,” Green said. “I will do everything in my power to see that it does not. But I am fallible, like anyone else. We must have a contingency plan, and that contingency plan must be you.”

She swallowed hard. “I . . . I understand.”

There was a long silence. When Alix looked up, she found Green regarding her with something like sadness. It was the most emotion she had seen from him in a long time, and it frightened her. “Fate can be cruel,” he said, sounding suddenly weary. “I have lived a long life, and have sons to carry on my legacy. But you and Liam . . . you are young. You have had little time in this world, still less of it together. I am sorry for the part I played in that.”

For a moment, Alix was too stunned to speak. “I thought you didn't approve?”

“My approval was never at issue. I take no pleasure in keeping young people apart. As things stood at the time, your involvement with Liam was unwise and inappropriate, for both of you. My personal feelings did not enter into the matter.”

“And if they had?” She wasn't sure why she asked.

Green shrugged. “I am no expert on matters of the heart. What I will say is that you do Liam an ill service by allowing him to abide in your shadow. He must learn to be a leader, and he cannot do that if he follows you about like a puppy.”

Alix's skin grew warm. “He does not.”

“Of course he does. But he is every bit as much a White as his brothers, and he has the potential to be a great leader, if you let him. Use your strength to support him, not to overpower him.”

She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp reply, but instead, she found herself saying, “I will.”

“Good.” Green's gaze took on a faraway look. “I have served the Whites all my life. Those brothers have been like sons to me, each in his own way. One of them betrayed himself, but the other two are becoming the men I have always known they could be. I leave them in your hands, Alix. Do not disappoint me.”

“I won't, General,” Alix swore, and she prayed to the gods it was the truth.

*   *   *

Alix returned to
the study, where she knew the king would be waiting. She moved in half a daze, her mind churning over her conversation with Arran Green. Fear scratched at her belly with cold claws—fear for herself, for Liam, and for Green. If all went to plan, Green would die.
That
was their best-case scenario. And if things didn't go to plan . . .

She found Erik at the window, looking out over the rose gardens. He turned as he heard her approach. “Care for a drink, Captain? I daresay we need it.” A servant appeared as if from nowhere to pour them some wine. Erik sat, motioning for Alix to do the same. She obeyed mechanically. Her fingers curled around the cup, but she wasn't feeling very thirsty. In the low light, the wine looked like blood.

Silence hovered over them. Erik sipped his wine. Alix tried to think of something to say, something that might reassure him. Instead, she blurted, “Liam and I are together.” She didn't know what made her say it, now of all moments. Maybe it was a simple desire to get it over with. Or maybe she'd decided they were both already so numb that it was a good time to broach an otherwise painful subject.

“You don't say.” Erik made a dismissive gesture. “Let's not do this, Alix, not now. Liam and I have already spoken about it, as I'm sure he told you.”

“But I know how you must feel, and I owe it to you—”

“You don't owe me anything.” Erik fixed her with that determined stare of his, the one that brooked no argument. “None of us was responsible for the situation we found ourselves in. All that was left to us was to decide what to do, and I for one have no regrets about the choices I made. As for what I feel, I don't think you do know, but I can say this: however unpleasant this may be, it's a lot better than how I would feel if I came between my brother and the woman he loves. I've been down that road once. Never again. You have my blessing, Alix, both of you.”

Alix's heart flooded with ache, and she reached across the desk to take his hand. “How do you manage to always be so
good
?”

His only answer was a sad smile.

There was something in that look that overwhelmed her. The tears finally broke free, spilling warm over her cheeks and spattering the surface of Erik's desk. She tried to stand, to escape, but he kept a tight grip on her hand.

“Please tell me this isn't for me,” he said gently.

“I'm so sorry. I've made such a wreck of everything, and now . . .”

“Alix.” He came around the desk and drew her up out of her chair. “Please don't.”

She swiped her face with the back of her hand, angry with herself.
What must he think of me? I'm supposed to be apologising, and instead I'm blubbering like a scared little girl.
“I'm sorry.” She drew a shaking breath. “I shouldn't have let myself go like that. It's just . . . This feels like good-bye.”

“It is, of a sort.”

“It's just so bitterly unfair. For all this to be happening now, when you and Liam are just getting to know each other . . . If something happens to him because of me . . .”

“If something happens to Liam, it won't be because of you.”

“He's only coming on this mission because he wants to protect me. And what if Green falls, Erik? What then? One of us will have to light the powder . . .”

Erik blanched. He hadn't thought of that. “It won't come to that,” he said in a voice like stone. “It can't.”
I won't let it
, she could almost hear him say, as if there were a damned thing he could do about it. He threw his arms around her, and for a moment Alix feared she would break down again. But she didn't. Instead, she allowed herself to be comforted by her friend and king. Or maybe she was the one comforting him.

Good-bye, of a sort.
Or maybe just good-bye.

“I
hate this plan,” Erik said. That did not mean he would change his mind—it was too late to back out now—but he wondered what sort of madness had led him to agree to this.
My brother, my dearest friend, and the man my father trusted above all others. I'm sending one of them to die. Or maybe all of them.
It felt like a betrayal.

“Oddly enough, I'm not wild about it myself.” Liam leaned out over the parapet. The wind that reached up to riffle his dark hair carried the smell of smoke.

They stood together on the ramparts, gazing out over the city—what was left of it, at least. Most of the populace had either fled or gone to ground. The lucky ones hunkered down in the catacombs beneath the temples, and the truly privileged sheltered in the Three Keeps on the palace compound. The rest gathered in cellars, warehouses—anywhere they could find. For all the good it would do them. Erroman was left hollow, like a discarded seashell on the shore of a dark and swelling tide.

Erik squinted into the distance beyond the city walls. Campfires glittered in the pre-dawn light, blanketing the landscape in tiny dots of flame. He had never seen so many. They covered the horizon, like so many stars on a clear night. It was almost beautiful. In their midst, great hulking shadows began to take shape, wooden giants with broad shoulders and mighty fists. Siege towers and trebuchets
.
Erik counted half a dozen of them near the south gate alone, their grim forms sharpening against the slowly blooming sky.

“I guess it'll be over soon, one way or another.” Liam sounded more pensive than afraid. He lapsed into silence for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever wondered where you'll go when you die?”

“What Domain, you mean?” Erik shook his head. “Not since I was a boy.”

“I've always figured myself for a Hew man.”

Erik smiled. “That sounds about right. What do you suppose his Domain is like?”

“Hell is full of crows that peck at your eyes, and heaven is an everlasting tournament of verbal jousting and improvised comedy. You never stumble over your words, and everyone laughs at your jokes.”

“You've thought a lot about this.”

“Boring childhood.” Liam's grin was short-lived. “Actually, my mother was quite devout.”

Most common folk are
, Erik almost said, but he caught himself in time.

“What about you? Eldora, I suppose.”

Erik grimaced. “I don't feel very wise just now. Just as well, really. I can't imagine spending eternity with Albern Highmount.”

Liam managed a brief laugh, but it died almost as soon as it left his lips. Very quietly, he said, “I know where Arran Green will go.”

“Destan,” Erik said without hesitation. Somehow, that made him feel a little better.

“A more honourable man never lived,” Liam agreed.

Erik flicked him an uncomfortable glance. “Honourable, to be sure, but hard.”

His guilt must have shown on his face, because Liam said, “I know what you're thinking, and you needn't. I couldn't have asked for a better mentor. You chose well.”

“So you know about that.” For some reason, that only shamed him more. “I suppose Alix told you?”

“Give me some credit. A banner knight doesn't just show up in Lower Town looking for a squire. Who else would have sent him?”

Erik sighed. “Yes, I sent him. But it was too little, too late.”

“You wouldn't think so if you were in my boots.”

And you wouldn't be so forgiving if you knew that everything you went through was my fault.
Erik resolved to tell Liam the truth one day, if they lived long enough.

“Anyway,” Liam said, “all that's in the past. I have a brother now, and I'm in love with an incredible woman. I actually feel pretty blessed. You're the one who showed me that.”

And what if it's all gone tomorrow? Will you still feel blessed then?
Erik kept the bitter thought to himself.

A slash of dawn appeared on the horizon, low and bloody. Against its glow, Erik could see the enemy camp stirring, tiny dark specks swarming like flies around a wound. “Are you a praying man, Liam?”

“Sometimes. Are you?”

A trumpet sounded in the distance, as cold and sharp as a blade through the heart.

“I am today.”

*   *   *

Erik covered his
head with his arms, throwing himself against the parapet as stone rained down around him. The noise was deafening, drowning out even the screams of the archers who tumbled off the ramparts to spatter sickeningly onto the pavement below. A second missile followed hard upon the first; a slab of stone the size of an ox shattered the wall walk not ten paces away, sending a shower of flagstones in all directions. A royal guardsman huddling nearby took one in the head; warm blood sprayed across Erik's face. He snapped his visor down. It would do little to protect him from the trebuchets, but he did not want the men to see him bloodied.

“Sire, we must move!” Rona Brown reached for him. “It's too dangerous!”

Erik ignored her. Leaning down into the courtyard, he called to the men operating the onager. “You're nearly there! Ten paces to the right!”

Below, a Kingsword cracked his whip, and the oxen began to pull, rotating the great wooden platform beneath the onager. They had scarcely begun before the Kingsword hauled back on the reins, drawing them up short. The mechanism shuddered to a halt, and the men scrambled to load up another clay ball. Erik closed his eyes and said a silent prayer as the great arm snapped to and flung a missile over the wall. He followed its arc through the sky, fearing they had overcorrected, but no—the clay ball struck the axle of the trebuchet and exploded, sending pitch tumbling down over the frame. “That's it!” Erik cried. Fire arrows retraced the onager's trajectory, and the pitch burst into flame, setting the trebuchet alight. Erik was just about to give the command to fire at will when someone screamed, “
Take cover!
” and he dropped to his haunches as the trebuchet answered, slamming another massive rock into the wall. The world shook under Erik's feet, and one of the merlons crumbled behind him, but the blow left the wall walk mercifully untouched.

He waited until the second trebuchet had spent its load before uncoiling from his crouch to look over the parapet. The siege towers were drawing relentlessly closer. At their feet, thralls swarmed like angry ants, ready to clamber up the moment the towers touched the walls. The battering ram was afire, but only on one side, and the thralls operating it scarcely seemed to notice. They continued to heave even as their flesh withered in the heat. The ram pounded the gates with a steady, thunderous
boom
, like the heartbeat of some dark god, but so far, the iron-plated oak held.
We still have time
, Erik told himself. Time was the prize they sought, time for Arran Green to light the black powder and bring down the Elders' Gate. It was a poor reward for so much blood, but it would have to serve.

The sky bristled with a steady thrum of arrows in both directions. A few of the thralls took cover beneath their shields, but most fought on, undaunted, though some of them were as feathered as any bird. Only a fatal shot—throat, heart, head—would drop them, and even the famed female archers of the Kingswords were hard-pressed to find their marks through visor slats and chinks in armour.
It takes a woman to thread a needle
, the Kingswords were fond of saying, but this was like trying to thread a needle while breaking in a stallion on the deck of a heaving ship.
We need more oil and pitch
, Erik thought, but he had spent most of it on the battering ram and the trebuchet, and he knew he could not replenish their stock—not without robbing one of the other gates. Assuming the banner lords had any left, they surely needed it more than he, for the gates they manned were of far more modest make, with only bands of iron to gird them.

Yet even metal plating was not indestructible. A terrible screech rent the air, as if some great bird had been wounded, and for a moment the pounding stopped. Erik leaned out between the merlons, already knowing what he would find. The point of the battering ram had punched through the iron plate at last; the screech sounded again as ragged edges of metal scraped against the ram. Another thrust sent wood chips flying. The ram continued to burn, but slowly, so slowly. It was soaked in something that seemed to quell the spread of the flames.
They're going to get through
, Erik realised with dull certainty.
It's too soon. Too soon . . .

“Archers! Two bands, with me!” He raced for the tower and the stairs that would take him down to the gates, archers and royal guardsmen following close behind. The gates continued their steady thunder, each blow answered by an echoing shudder.

By the time Erik reached the gates, the enemy was almost through. The terrible drumbeat had gone from
boom
to
crack
, a split working its way up the grain of the wood. “I want every bow trained on that split! The moment you see daylight,
thread the needle!
” The archers answered with a stout “
Aye!
” Bows creaked. “Infantry, form up!” The order echoed down the lines. The Kingswords tightened their ranks and waited.

And waited.

Crack
, went the gates.
Crack.
The split widened and lengthened.

The gates finally gave way in a shower of splinters, five inches of sharpened log poking through. The point withdrew, leaving a hole no more than a handspan wide, but it was enough. Arrows hissed through the air, stuffing the hole and fringing it with feathers, so many at once that they bounced off each other midflight. There were no screams on the other side of the gates. Thralls never screamed.

The ram blasted through a second time, sending more splinters flying. Slowly, resignedly, Erik swung his shield down and slipped his arm through the straps. He reached across his body and drew his bloodblade, its steel whisper louder to his ears than the pounding on the gates. He could feel the men's eyes on him, could smell their fear. He licked his lips, tasted sweat. He closed his eyes for one brief moment, but it was not the gods he prayed to.

Hurry, Green. By all the Virtues, please hurry.

*   *   *

Alix jerked her
blade across the Oridian's throat, quick enough to avoid the wash of warm blood that gushed from the wound. She caught him under the armpits as he sagged, one hand clamped awkwardly over his mouth in case he tried to scream. He didn't.

Four down, fifty thousand to go.
She glanced back over her shoulder and waved, bringing Liam and Arran Green out from behind a mound of grass-flecked rubble.

Things had gone smoothly so far. They'd stolen out through the north gate, giving the city walls a wide berth until they were well clear of the south gate. From there, the ruins of the old imperial walls made for good cover; even Arran Green managed to stay hidden, provided Alix prowled ahead to deal with any stray Oridians. There hadn't been many. The enemy hadn't bothered with sentries, and why would he? Who would expect anything as suicidal and pointless as three stray Kingswords on the wrong side of the city walls? The four Oridians they'd encountered so far were no more than strays, drunk or relieving themselves or simply looking for a place to hide while their comrades took care of the fighting and dying. Alix hadn't even needed Gwylim's poisoned darts to deal with them. Better still, their corpses had provided her small party with Oridian bucklers, a useful bit of costume that would allow them to pass for enemy men-at-arms. Only once had she feared they'd been discovered, and that was only paranoia; a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye had proved to be nothing more than a shadow.

Liam shifted his pack awkwardly. Of the three of them, he bore the heaviest load of powder, and it was starting to wear him down. “Are we there yet?”

They weren't far. Alix could see the top of the gate tower poking up from behind the rubble. They were at the edge of the southern fortifications, where seemingly random piles of stone began to assume man-made shapes. Before them, the wall climbed gradually up from the grass, only to crumble away again, looking like a stairway to nowhere. Beyond the gap, the wall remained intact right up to the Elders' Gate.

Alix chewed her lip. “Maybe we should just walk up to the gate like we belong there. No one could possibly recognise us.”

“Perhaps not,” said Green, “but I doubt they will permit us inside without express orders from an officer. We could try to trick our way in, but my Oridian is not good enough to pass for a native speaker. Is yours?”

Her mother must be smirking in her grave. “Er, not quite.”

“Anyway, there are no women in the Oridian army,” Liam said.

Green grunted. “True. I had forgotten how backward they are.”

So says General One-Light-One-Heavy.
Alix took a moment to soak in the irony before pointing at the sway-backed stretch of wall before them. “Let me climb up there and a take a look.” She slipped her arms out from the pack and left it at Liam's feet. Then she scrambled up the loose rock and flattened herself against the top of the wall.

The sight that greeted her was an ugly one. The Elders' Gate, a great square hulk with rounded towers for corners, overlooked the rear ranks of the entire Oridian host. South of the gate, the sloping fields were sprinkled with tents and the ash of campfires. Only a few men milled about, presumably healers or smiths or those too injured to fight. Inside the gate, about a furlong up the temple road, a wide column of soldiers stood in loose ranks, waiting. They stretched for half a mile, almost all the way to the city proper, ready to charge as soon as their enthralled prisoners breached the walls.
So many
, Alix thought,
and all of them just waiting in safety while the thralls do their dirty work. Cowards.