The Bloodsworn (18 page)

She pivoted sharply, forcing her attacker to do the same. She made a halfhearted chop to sell it, then braced for the counterattack. He obliged, and she let herself be driven back, drawing the Oridian away from Rodrik and Vel. The priestess saw her opportunity; she and Rodrik slipped around the side of the pavilion. Alix waited until they were out of sight before sidestepping suddenly, catching her foe off guard. She knocked his sword wide, almost hard enough to jar it from his grasp. He was so surprised that he stumbled, and that was enough: Alix lunged and drove a clean thrust through a joint in his leather armour.

She caught up with Vel and Rodrik on the far side of the pavilion. “This way.” Rodrik took her arm, but he didn't put much weight on it; he stood a little taller, eyes lit with grim determination.

Seeing that, Alix felt her own resolve harden, so that when another Oridian blocked their path she brushed aside her fear and stepped out confidently to face him. So focused was she on her target that she didn't notice the danger until it was too late.

A blur of motion in the corner of her eye, something
hurtling toward her. Alix started to turn, but someone shoved her out of the way, hard enough to send her sprawling. Even as she fell, the sounds told the story: vicious baying, a woman shrieking, Erik's voice crying out in pain. Alix scrambled to her feet to find Rodrik pinned beneath the massive bulk of an Oridian warhound, its jaws clamped over his arm as he tried to fend it off. The soldier who'd blocked their path was moving in for the kill. Alix rushed at him, her ears filled with the screams of Erik's twin and the cracking of bone beneath powerful jaws. She rained blow after blow down on her foe, scarcely aware of anything but the sounds, the snarling and the screaming, the thump of a bow and a high-pitched yelp, and then another, and the snarling stopped, though the screaming went on.

When her vision cleared, Alix stood over a dying Oridian soldier, Ide stood over a dead warhound studded with arrows, and Vel knelt over a man curled into a bloody ball of agony.

“Farika's grace,” Ide breathed, grimacing.

Alix flew to Rodrik's side. Vel clutched at his mangled arm, a look of pure panic in her eyes. Blood . . . gods, there was so much blood . . .

“I need a belt!” Vel cried.
“Now!”

Ide yanked hers free. Vel worked quickly, but not quickly enough; Rodrik's cries of torment were drawing looks from across the camp.

“We have to go,” Alix said.

“Fucking Wraith,” Ide spat. “I'll skin him for this.”

“The bloodbinder?” Alix feared she knew the answer.

Ide shook her head. “Lost him.”

Alix's gaze raked the camp. The swarm had moved on, mustering on the north side where the bulk of the attack had been concentrated. Across the deserted rows of tents, she spied a slight figure moving like liquid shadow. He paused and their glances met; for the briefest instant, Alix thought she saw regret in Asvin's eyes. And then he was gone, vanishing between the tents, a hunter stalking his prey.

Alix knelt beside Rodrik. He was losing consciousness; he'd never be able to move on his own. “Ide, can you carry him?”

“Take my bow.” Crouching, Ide did as Alix had done on that fateful day at the Battle of Boswyck, when she'd slung her
wounded king over her shoulder and staggered off the battlefield. It was like watching herself in a dream, and for a moment, Alix stood motionless, overcome with heartache and memories. But she couldn't afford that. Rodrik couldn't afford that.

“This way,” she said, and led them off into the night.

“W
e have to stop,” Vel said. “Ide, you have to put him down.”

Ide gave a curt shake of her head, teeth bared under the strain. “Too close to the camp,” she said, pausing only to hitch Rodrik higher on her shoulder. He groaned softly, barely conscious. “Bad enough we had to go back for our stuff.” Their packs were too bulky to bring on the rescue; they'd been forced to stash them nearby. Going back for them had cost precious time.

“Can't you see his bandage is soaked? His arm has been crushed. Tourniquet or no, if we don't cauterise the wound, he will bleed to death.” Appealing to Alix, Vel continued, “A healthy man couldn't survive this, let alone one who is already dangerously weak. You must let me tend him.”

Alix glanced at the sky. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, but it was dark enough yet for a campfire to glow like a beacon. “We don't dare light a fire, not for an hour at least. Isn't there something you can do for him in the meantime?”

“We need to keep moving,” Ide cut in. “If the enemy decides to follow, they'll be on us in a heartbeat. There's no place to hide out here.”

“The trees,” Vel said. “Our campsite from last night—”

“—is in the wrong direction. We need to make the river.”

“Are you mad? The river is crawling with soldiers!”

Ide continued to lurch along stubbornly. “Which is why we need to keep moving. Need to get well east of the ford before we try to cross.”

“And if Rodrik dies in the meantime?”

“Then he dies.”

That was too much for Alix; she froze midstride. “Stop.”

“Alix . . .”

“
Stop.
Put him down.” The steadiness of her voice belied the sickening swirl in her gut. She wasn't sure what appalled her more—the idea of Rodrik dying or Ide's cool acceptance of it. “Do what you can, Vel, but hurry.”

The priestess didn't need to be told; she was bending over Rodrik even as Ide lowered him to the ground. “In my pack, some fresh bandages. And a glass vial, about so big. It will help with the pain . . .”

Alix obeyed, taking refuge in the simplicity of the task, like shutting a door in her mind. On the other side of that door a flood raged, fear and guilt and the white-hot anger of betrayal. So long as she kept the door closed, she could function. That meant focusing on the charge she'd been given, narrowing her world to Vel's pack and its contents. Above all, it meant not looking at Rodrik—his ashen skin, those familiar features contorted with pain . . .

“Alix.” Ide cocked her head in the direction of the river. “A word?”

Alix hesitated, but there was nothing more she could do for Rodrik, and the priestess was completely absorbed in treating her patient. Reluctantly, she followed. “What is it?”

“That wound is a mess. Even if we cauterise it, it'll likely go septic.”

Alix scowled. “So you're a healer now?”

“I'm a soldier,” Ide returned impassively. “Seen it a dozen times, and so have you.”

“What do you suggest? We can't just leave him here. He's Erik's
twin
.”

“That's what makes him dangerous, isn't it? Enemy finds us, he falls back in their hands . . .” Ide shook her head. “Maybe it's better if he dies.”

“Don't say that. Don't you
dare
.” Alix's voice dropped to an angry hiss. “It's
treason
.”

“I'm trying to protect our king. How is that treason?”

“Rodrik is our prince.”

“It's not like I want him to die,” Ide said impatiently. “You gotta be practical, Alix. Our mission was to get him out of enemy hands. We did that. He gets recaptured, we failed our mission, right?”

“Of course, but—”

“If the Oridians find us out here—which they will, we keep dithering like this—that's what's gonna happen. On top of which, he's not our only problem.”

Alix's anger cooled into a lump of dread. “Meaning?”

“The bloodbinder. I chased him for a ways, but I had to let him go. He got himself tucked in all nice and snug behind a wall of soldiers, too many for me to handle. He fled the camp under guard, like he had an escape plan all laid out, just in case.”

“So?” As much as Alix would have liked to dispatch the worm, her priority was Rodrik. She couldn't see how the bloodbinder was an immediate concern. Unless . . .

“So he had this jug in his arms. About so big, like the ones the Erromanians used to store wine in. Looked heavy, way he was carrying it.”

“And you think . . .” Alix brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh no . . .”

“Gotta be. Big, bulky jug like that slowing you down? Must be something in there worth risking your life over, something like Rodrik's blood. Which means the bloodbinder can still work his spells.”

“We have to find him,” Alix said numbly, as though Ide needed to be told.

“He was running that way, last I saw.” Ide pointed north. “Made certain I had a line on him before I came back to find you. That's what took me so long. Only . . .” She frowned, shook her head. “I can't figure why he'd be headed for the river. Why wouldn't he just wait until we'd gone, then circle back to camp?”

That, Alix realised, was an excellent question. “Do you suppose he thinks another raid might be on the horizon? Or that battle is imminent?”

“Could be. Wouldn't be wrong about the second part, anyway. Battle's coming soon enough. Maybe he figures he's safer on his own.”

“Maybe he is.” Alix paused. An idea was tapping at her, insistent as a woodpecker, but she couldn't quite make out the shape of it. “If you think about it, he
was
safer on his own, back when Sadik had him stashed away in Gertswold. It would have been all but impossible for us to find him there, with so many places to hide. Why risk bringing Rodrik to the front lines?”

Ide grunted. “Pretty stupid, actually.”

“Unless . . .” Alix's brow cleared as the realisation broke through. “The Priest. He put himself at risk too, remember? At the Elders' Gate, and before that, in the Brownlands. He needed to be close to his thralls in order to control them. That's what we figured, anyway.” It was the only explanation for the Priest's otherwise reckless behaviour. He exposed himself because it was necessary in order for his dark magic to work.

“Then how come this bloodbinder can control our king from all the way out here?”

“That's just it—he can't. Not fully. Erik's not a thrall, at least not yet. His mind is under the influence of the magic, but there's still some part of the real Erik in there. That must be because the bloodbinder isn't close enough to control him completely.”

“So you reckon he wants to get closer?”

“It explains why he travelled to the front, and why he's headed for the river.” It also explained why Erik had grown so much worse on the journey back from Harram. As they'd drawn nearer to Erroman, they'd drawn nearer to Andithyri too. Nearer to the bloodbinder. His power over Erik had grown with every step they took.
If only I'd known . . .
They could have turned around. Taken him out of reach . . .

“Either way,” Ide said, “that's where he's headed, and we gotta stop him. That means picking up the pace.”

They returned to Vel and Rodrik. “I've done what I can,” the priestess said. “The bleeding has been brought under control for now, but we need to seal the wound as soon as possible.”

The sight of him was almost more than Alix could bear. He lay on his side, pale and wasted, mangled arm trussed up against his body. He looked for all the world like a corpse, and it was
impossible not to imagine Erik lying there, dead, as if she were living out her worst nightmare. “The wound.” She spoke softly, as though she might wake him. “Will it turn septic?”

“Given the severity of it, and how he got it . . . That is very possible.”

“Maybe we should cut his arm off,” Ide said. “Not much good to him when it was healthy, shrivelled like it is.”

“We may have to,” Vel said, “though I doubt it would save him. We would have to take it above the elbow, and that would just leave us with another dangerous wound. We need to get him somewhere safe where we can tend him properly.”

“We're a long way from safe,” Alix said. Alone, they could make the border in a day or so. But with Rodrik in this condition . . . “At the rate we're moving, it will take three days at least, and that's just to the river. Another day to the fort.”

“Except we're not headed for the fort,” Ide said. “If that bloodbinder's got any sense at all, he'll give the Kingswords a wide berth, try to cross someplace out of sight.”

“Bloodbinder?” Vel glanced between them. “I thought that was just a ruse to get help from the Resistance?”

There wasn't much point in trying to keep it from her now; they were in too deep. “There was a bloodbinder,” Alix said, “it just wasn't Rodrik. We were supposed to kill him, but he fled out the back of the tent.”

“I don't understand. What would a bloodbinder want with Rodrik?”

Alix and Ide exchanged a glance. “Rodrik is King Erik's identical twin.”

“Obviously, but . . .” Then her hand flew to her mouth, and Alix knew she'd understood.

“The bloodbinder got away,” Alix went on, “and we think he still has some of Rodrik's blood. We need to destroy it, and him.”

Vel closed her eyes and whispered something in her own language. Alix didn't speak Onnani, but she was fairly certain she shared the sentiment. “How will we find him?” the priestess asked.

“We got a general idea where he's headed,” Ide said, “and Alix and me are trained trackers. One man would be tough,
but he's got an armed escort. Muddy riverbank, unfamiliar territory and all—we'll find 'em. But it'll take time.”

“Rodrik doesn't have time,” Vel said.

Neither does Liam
, Alix thought. Nor Erik, nor the kingdom itself for that matter. Time was the scarcest, most precious thing in all the world, and it was bleeding out as surely as Rodrik's wound. “Let's keep moving,” she said. “We'll build a fire after sunrise.”

*   *   *

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine Liam was with her. The crackle of the fire, the soft sigh of wind through the leaves, a coyote calling in the distance. How many times had she listened to those sounds in a Kingsword camp, under an Aldenian sky, with her fellow scouts gathered around her? Even Ide's snoring was a familiar strain, for like Liam, she'd been with Alix from the beginning.

She could call his voice to mind so easily. Laughing at his own jokes, or trading banter with Gwylim. They were a delight to listen to, those two, Liam's playful spark against Gwylim's dry tinder. And then later, after the others had gone to bed, a different tone in Liam's voice, one reserved only for her. Even before they became lovers, she'd noticed that difference, and it made her feel special. It made the relationship feel special, as if two closer friends had never been. And when he'd finally worked up the nerve to kiss her . . . She could still hear the words as clearly as if he spoke in her ear.
Do you have any notion of how beautiful you are?
It sent the same bright shiver running through her even now.

And then, inevitably, the golden glow of memory faded, and she was alone in the dark, standing watch in enemy lands.

A hollow space opened in her chest, a great cavern of nothing between her ribs. She could almost feel the cold air passing through.
Oh, Liam, how did we let this happen?

Movement nearby pulled her out of her reverie. Rodrik was stirring. She brought him water, helped him to sit. He took a few tentative sips before tipping the water skin back and gulping it down. “Careful,” Alix murmured. “Not too much at once.”

He passed the skin back breathlessly, wiping a hand across his beard. Even in the low light, Alix could see a vigour in his eyes that hadn't been there before. She knew better than to suppose that meant he was out of danger, but at least he was lucid. “How do you feel?” she asked.

His glance dropped to his arm, assessing. It must have been excruciating—crushed bone, severed tendon, burnt flesh—but he regarded it impassively, as if merely trying to recall how he'd come by it. He'd barely been conscious when they cauterised the wound; Alix wondered if he had any memory of the ordeal. She hoped not, for his sake.

“Should I wake the priestess? She can give you something for the pain . . .” Alix started to move, but Rodrik raised his good hand in a staying gesture.

“No more potions. I've been under their spell too long. At least with the pain, I know for certain I'm awake and not back in that never-ending nightmare.”

Alix winced. They'd probably kept him drugged the entire time, rousing him only for food or water. And when he did wake, what he must have seen through the haze of pain and potions . . . a never-ending nightmare indeed.