Path of Blood

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “Fair enough. What are you planning to do with the bodies? We won’t be able to have mass pyres once we’re under siege.”

  “You mean besides dumping them into the blight and letting the nokulas deal with them?” Metyein smoothed a finger around the rim of his mug. “I’d do it, too, if I didn’t worry they’d come alive and turn into more of the beasts. It had also occurred to me to load the dead in the trebuchets and lob them at Aare’s army, but it is a bit uncivilized.”

  “A bit,” Kebonsat said dryly. “Their families might find it unseemly.”

  Metyein sighed and rolled his head around his neck to loosen the muscles. “Don’t tell Soka. He’d be only too delighted I’d sunk so low in my thinking.”

  “Strutting like a proud papa,” agreed Kebonsat with a sardonic smile.

  Metyein grinned. “Anyhow, I figure to dig a tunnel out toward those ravines above the river. We won’t be able to burn the bodies without calling attention to ourselves, but they’ll be far enough away to keep us out of danger. If we dump the midden waste there as well, it’ll keep the animals away. Worse comes to worst, we fill the tunnel with the dead and collapse it back bit by bit and pray we don’t have more corpses than tunnel.”

  Kebonsat nodded, closing his eyes. He felt a hundred years old. “What else?”

  “We’re going to set up a tannery in stockade eight—what are we calling it? Salamander? We need leather. It’ll stink, but we’ve got the hides coming in now. In winter, we may not have the supply, but we’ll have plenty of need. And I’ve approved putting the sheep and goats back in Hawk. We’ll want milk and cheese come winter, and meat into a siege; they’ll be best protected there. We’ll get the weavers going in Hawk too, now that we’re using Fox for quarantine. Won’t have to move them until our first victim, so no hurry. I hope.

  “I’ve assigned a whole host of clerks to inventory supplies and needs. I’ll not see people freeze when snow flies, and there’s not going to be any hoarding either. If folks don’t want to contribute what they’ve brought, they can march back out of here.” Metyein yawned, rubbing a finger down a list. “Oh, and I’ve decided to send woodchoppers north. They’ll fell whatever they can into the river and we’ll fish the logs out. When Aare comes, I don’t want to have depleted all the firewood close to hand.”

  “That’s risky. Aare could just as well use the timber.”

  “Risk worth taking. We’ll know they’re coming long before they get here. We’ll cut what we can and fire the rest. Or get Nurema to destroy it. Let’s see, what else? We’re still using Wolf and Raven for cooking, but we’re going to have to start spreading that out for efficiency. Disrupts the workday too much to have everyone hiking across the valley for food, and we don’t want them tracking through the fields. Plus apparently a few folks have found time to pick fights. Keeping them from grouping up might help.”

  “You’ve been busy since supper,” Kebonsat said. “Maybe we’ll get this anthill organized yet.”

  “But I’ve saved the best for last.”

  Kebonsat lifted his brow. “What’s that?”

  Just then from outside came the scuffling of boots and the sounds of yipping. Kebonsat and Metyein stood as the plank doors were unceremoniously shoved open. In walked three ahalad-kaaslane looking both angry and nervous. And well they might be, Kebonsat thought, his eyes narrowing as he folded his arms across his chest. They’d turned on Reisil, then joined her cause. They had lost the power of the Lady, and they had little credibility amongst the Kodu Riikian people. At least with Juhrnus, Metyein, and Soka, who were in charge of this sprawling compound. And you, he told himself. Don’t forget yourself in that list. Except Kebonsat was Patversemese. He didn’t belong here, fighting in a Kodu Riikian civil war. But he had no other place to go. And no where else he wanted to go.

  “Ahalad-kaaslane,” Metyein said. “What brings you here?”

  There was a bare hint of reproval in his voice that they ought to be elsewhere, ought to be doing something useful. Kebonsat saw the earnest young woman on the left wince. She had short brown hair and a round face. Her gaze flickered over him and then shifted to Metyein, her cheeks flushing rusty red beneath a spattering of freckles. Her ahalad-kaaslane was a tall, buff-colored mountain cat. Its talons curled into the hickory floor, splintering the wood.

  A short man, coming only to Kebonsat’s shoulder, with thinning copper hair and rough, pocked skin stood on her right. His ahalad-kaaslane was one of the northern wild dogs, its stature halfway between a wolf and a fox. The animal had yellow eyes and a ridge of frost-tipped fur running from ears to the tip of its tail. Otherwise it was the blue-gray color of smoke. Beside him was another man, this one older than the others, though probably not more than thirty-five years old. His gaze was as sharp as a hunting knife. He stared at Metyein and Kebonsat from beneath bushy black brows. He wore a full beard streaked with gray, and his teeth were stained brown. His ahalad-kaaslane was a weirmart that clung to his neck beneath his loose fall of hair. Kebonsat frowned at the minklike animal. Upsakes had been paired with one of those. And Upsakes had been a traitor.

  “We would like to see Vertina Emelovi,” declared the gray-bearded man abruptly.

  Metyein lifted one of his brows. “Would you, now? Why?”

  The pock-faced man flushed and glowered. “We don’t have to explain ourselves to you. We are ahalad-kaaslane .”

  “Yes, that you are,” Metyein said, perching on the edge of the table and turning a gimlet eye on the three of them. “Why are you talking to me then?”

  “We tried. Her guards sent us to you.” The woman spoke this time, sounding uncertain and strained. “They said . . . they said you had to approve first.”

  “I see.” Metyein said nothing more.

  An uncomfortable silence fell. The three ahalad-kaaslane shifted awkwardly, and the wild dog whined. Kebonsat couldn’t help but feel a reluctant sympathy. Certainly the ahalad-kaaslane had not behaved well to Reisil. But they’d been misled by Sodur, and now they had lost the power of the Lady and the confidence of their people.

  “If you wish, I will carry a message to the Vertina,” Metyein said at last, more gently, when none of them seemed inclined to speak. Kebonsat could tell his friend was torn between resentment for what they’d done to Reisil, and a lifetime of ingrained respect for the ahalad-kaaslane.

  The visitors exchanged unhappy glances, and at last the pock-faced man spoke in a subdued tone. “We wish to ask—That is, we hope that she might allow us to aid in the defense of Honor until Reisiltark can offer her guidance. We know now she is the Lady’s voice and wish to serve Kodu Riik as she directs.”

  Metyein didn’t speak. He’d gone gray. Kebonsat’s knees sagged. Oh, dear Ellini! What kind of fool was he? He’d been so focused on building the stockades, on their defenses. The obvious, the inevitable, had been staring him in the face and he’d not seen it. Not wanted to see it. His stomach turned over and he closed his eyes, feeling as if the floor were moving beneath him.

  They’d come to see Emelovi. To ask her to let them serve. He scraped his fingers through his hair, digging them hard into his scalp. Because they naturally thought she ruled here, that she was a pretender to the throne in opposition to her brother. Otherwise she would be at his side.

  Nothing could be farther from the truth. It was the last thing Emelovi wanted. The last thing she’d dream of.

  Kebonsat had lured Emelovi away from Koduteel with the promise of finding her missing father, even though he’d known her father had been made a nokula and was lost to her forever. At the time he’d justified lying to her by telling himself he was keeping her safe from her brother. Aare had tried to force her to bed one of the Scallacian sorcerers under the threat of killing her. Kebonsat couldn’t, with any honor at all, have let her stay there.

  He closed his eyes, struck to the core. Honor. No matter how good his intentions, he’d lied to her. And now she could never go back, never convince her brother she hadn’t had a part in t
his, that she didn’t want to rule. And she would want to. She was loyal to a fault. When she discovered Kebonsat’s duplicity, she would hate him.

  Kebonsat swallowed convulsively, starting as the door suddenly swung open. He watched with glazed eyes as Emelovi entered, her steps faltering as she realized Metyein and Kebonsat were not alone.

  The three ahalad-kaaslane bowed eagerly to Emelovi. She nodded and smiled uncertainly, her eyes softening as they settled on Kebonsat. He cringed, guilt gnawing at his bowels.

  The bearded ahalad-kaaslane’s face was determined. He squared his shoulders, speaking quickly and respectfully. “Vertina, we wish to have a place in your army, in reclaiming Kodu Riik from your traitorous brother and fighting off the Scallacians. He has severed ties with the Lady, abandoning his duty to this land and murdering the ahalad-kaaslane. We offer our service to you. Let us help you take the throne and return Kodu Riik to the light of the Lady.”

  Kebonsat held himself rigid, watching in pained silence as comprehension struck. Emelovi’s body twitched. She darted a quick glance at Metyein and Kebonsat and then back to the waiting ahalad-kaaslane. Her mouth opened and then closed, the color draining from her face.

  “You are mistaken. We will hold the throne for my father’s return,” she said in a strangled voice. She swayed and Metyein leaped to guide her to a chair.

  “The Vertina is unwell. Please excuse her. I will speak with you as soon as I may.” He looked pointedly at the door and then to the disconcerted ahalad-kaaslane .

  They exchanged glances, hesitating. Then the woman spoke, even as Kebonsat stepped in front of Emelovi, blocking her from their sight.

  “Please, we wish only to help, to serve Kodu Riik,” she said, her hands twisting together. Her mountain cat made an anxious growling sound and clawed at the floor. She set a calming hand on the animal’s head, her fingers trembling.

  “Aren’t you ahalad-kaaslane? What approval can you possibly need to do anything you want to do?” Kebonsat demanded in sudden fury. The question drew blood. The woman looked away, biting her lip. Kebonsat no longer felt sympathy. He couldn’t. Not with Emelovi devastated behind him. Metyein laid a hand on his arm.

  “We will consult with the Vertina and apprise you of her wishes,” he said. When the pock-faced ahalad-kaaslane began to expostulate, Metyein raised one brow, his voice turning glacial. “I am sure you do not mean to impose on the Vertina when she is ill.”

  “Of course not,” the bearded man said. “We will wait patiently.” He turned to leave and then paused. “It is our hope to begin serving as soon as may be.”

  “Of course,” Metyein said blandly, and the three departed, dismissed.

  Metyein turned and met Kebonsat’s gaze over Emelovi’s bowed head. She stared at her fingers knotted together in her lap. Her breath came fast and light in the silence of the room. Neither man spoke. At last she looked up, her face waxy.

  “You must find my father.” Her voice was scratchy and desperate as she lurched to her feet, eyes fastened on Kebonsat. “Only he can stop this. If he returns to Koduteel, Aare will have to stop, and I—Please, please, you must find him. Otherwise I must return and beg forgiveness for my treachery.”

  Kebonsat felt himself nodding as he took her chilled hands in his. His lips felt stiff as iron as he lied. “Of course we’ll find him.”

  Chapter 4

  “You’re making me tired with all that fidgeting. Since you cannot sit still, shall we take the afternoon and tour Honor? We can collect Soka on the way.”

  Kebonsat didn’t have to be asked twice. He jumped to his feet, snatching up his cloak. He ignored Metyein’s grin. “Soka? What do we want him for? He’ll make targets of us all with the men he’s cuckolded,” Kebonsat said. “We’ll be lucky to get fifty paces without getting an arrow in the chest.”

  “True enough, but he’s a sewer for gossip and sordid rumor. We may as well learn what he knows while we can.”

  “Very well. But he gives even the horses the flux with that sharp tongue of his. Does he never stop talking?”

  “I believe that is something only the ladies know for sure,” Metyein said, donning his cloak. A heavy silver pin was stuck through the collar.

  Kebonsat flicked a glance at the pin. “I’m glad to see you didn’t lose it.”

  Metyein pulled his gloves on with deliberate care. “I’d as soon wear it on my cods.”

  Kebonsat grinned. “A poor sense of gratitude for such an honor.”

  “You can have it.”

  “Not me, my friend. I am Patversemese. Or I was, before all this.” He made a circular motion in the air with his hand. “The moment the Regent took me prisoner, I was disinherited and disowned. Now I am a man without a country. Either way, I am no leader for this army to follow. Accept it gracefully. You are the only choice. I am here merely to advise.”

  Metyein snorted, fingering the pin. It was shaped like a gryphon, two stalks of wheat in its beak, a sword clutched in its claws. Rubies flashed in the eyes, while sapphires and ebony sparkled in the hilt of the sword and topaz gleamed in the wheat. “You’re better qualified. You have been in the field; I have not. You have led men into battle; I have not. You have been besieged; I have not. You ought to be wearing this Lady-cursed bauble, not I.”

  “At least you’re aware of your limitations. Makes you a better Lord Marshal than most. And you’ve studied under one of the best.”

  “My father. Who has been Lord Marshal since before my birth. Who will be leading the army against us. He’ll be six steps ahead of me. And they’ll have metal weapons and shields, and plenty of them.”

  Kebonsat shrugged. “Your father also has the Regent. He’s a liability. If he thinks your father’s off on the wrong track, he’ll step in. And he’s likely to make emotional and stupid choices. And don’t forget your father has to deal with the sorcerers.”

  “Aare knows enough to let my father do his work. And the sorcerers want this place as much as Aare. They won’t turn on him until the day is won.”

  Kebonsat adjusted the sword on his hip and banked the coals of the fire. “Your Regent isn’t one to keep his hands to himself, not when he’s so hungry for victory. And with any luck, Juhrnus’s sorceress will be our fox in the henhouse.”

  “I would feel a whole lot better if Reisiltark were here.”

  “We have Nurema.”

  Metyein’s eyebrows arched.

  Kebonsat conceded, “I don’t trust her either. I don’t know that I can’t trust her, but . . .” He shrugged. “She’s a mystery and could very well be playing a game all her own. On the other hand, there’s no gainsaying that she does have power and she’s the only one on our side who does, except Reisil,” he said, swinging open the door.

  Metyein stepped out into the muddy street. “I hope she shows up soon.”

  Won’t do any good if she hasn’t learned to use her power. Kebonsat didn’t say it. Metyein had enough to stew about. But Reisil had gone to the wizards to find out how to use her magic. Had she succeeded? Or was she even now their prisoner? Or worse?

  They found Soka emerging from one of the drill arenas. His shirt was open to his waist and he was soaked to his skin. His long, foxy hair hung loose in wet draggles around his face. Silver and ivory beads were woven into braids behind his ear, and more were strung around his neck. He was panting, and there were two long tears in his shirt, one over his chest and the other in his left sleeve. A new bruise was spreading over his left cheek beneath his eye patch.

  “I hope your opponent looks worse than you,” Kebonsat said.

  Soka’s grin was feral. “Considerably so.”

  “You have certainly come a long way since I began tutoring you,” said Metyein with a gesture toward Soka’s sword, nicked and scarred by hard use.

  “Women adore a man who can use his sword well.” He leered, another ivory bead caught between his teeth, the ends filled with lead.

  Metyein’s gaze hardened as he caught sight of it. “Someday you’
re going to trip and crack that thing open. Stupid way to die.”

  Soka’s smile only widened as he stepped into the weapons shack to towel himself off and change his shirt. He wiped down his sword carefully before sheathing it and then pulled on his coat, hat, and gloves. “There are worse ways.” His expression darkened. “Much worse.” Then he shook himself, the bead lumping between his lip and jaw. “What brings you?”

  “Taking stock of things. Care to join us?”

  Soka’s stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly. He patted it. “If we can eat on the way.”

  “Your wish is our command,” said Metyein dryly.

  They retrieved their horses and rode out along the muddy streets and then to Wolf, where the midday meal was under way. Kebonsat allowed Soka and Metyein to take the lead. They were greeted with friendly calls as they entered the crude hall. Few spoke to Kebonsat, giving him only reserved nods as he trailed his gregarious companions silently through the long line. He filled his bowl with the hearty game stew that was the perpetual menu in the valley and grabbed a loaf of chewy brown bread.

  “When all this is over, I will be grateful for a haunch of roast beef, succulent puddings, pot pies, pastries, candied fruits, gravies, cakes, roast fowl, glazed suckling pig—”

  “Enough!” Metyein interrupted Soka’s gluttonous ramblings. “You oughtn’t torture your friends so. And anyway . . .” He trailed off, his lips clamping tight for a moment, and then he speared a hunk of venison and pushed it into his mouth.

  “Anyway?” Soka prompted, one eyebrow raised.

  Metyein flashed his friend a cutting look, but did not answer.

  “Rats got your tongue?” Soka pressed, disregarding the dangerous glint in Metyein’s eyes and the red flagging his cheeks.

  “Anyway, we probably won’t survive to enjoy such delicacies,” Kebonsat drawled, soaking a hunk of bread in his stew and stuffing it in his mouth.

  Soka sat up, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “You don’t say?”