Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2

by Ian Irvine

  “I don’t follow.”

  “You sent Tordy and his wife away with nothing.”

  Rix frowned. Glynnie had said the same thing, but he was so tired he could not think straight. “Yes?”

  “Tordy’s a moron, but his wife is stiletto-sharp, and she’ll sell the news for a high price.”

  A throbbing pain in Rix’s belly matched the agony in his wrist.

  “In two or three days,” said Swelt, “Lyf will know where you’ve gone to ground, and he’ll come after you.”

  “How long have I got?”

  “Perhaps a fortnight.” Swelt’s gaze drifted back and forth across Rix before settling on his face.

  “Where’s the best place to cut them off?” said Rix, cursing his poor judgement.

  “Tordy’s been hunting in the rainforest all his life. You’ll never find them.”

  “Damn! Well, give me your report.”

  Swelt produced a set of hand-written inventories which he passed to Rix, then proceeded to recite them word for word and number for number – the entire contents of the pantries, larders and cellar, the number and state of the arms in the armoury, the kinds and numbers of the beasts grazing in the outer yard and on the many farms.

  “Enough!” cried Rix, his eyes glazing at the thought of so much book learning. “Just give me the gist.”

  “Which particular gist would that be, Rixium?”

  “What we have plenty of for a siege, what we lack, where our strengths and weaknesses lie, the state of the treasury —”

  “Ah,” said Swelt. “The treasury.”

  “What about it?”

  “It was most handsomely endowed when your great-aunt died, but since then…” Swelt spread his pudgy hands.

  “You’re the damned castellan,” Rix said savagely. “You’re the man in charge.”

  “I was when your great-aunt was alive. But after you inherited…” Swelt peeled off a piece of torn thumbnail.

  “Get on with it!” cried Rix, the pain in his wrist growing by the second.

  “You weren’t of age, and Lady Ricinus did not entrust the job to me.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. “She sent in a factor of her own, a fellow called Scunlees…”

  The name meant nothing to Rix. His mother had employed dozens of factors. “And?”

  “Scunlees’ instructions weren’t to manage your estate, but to strip it.”

  Rix studied Swelt, wondering if he were lying and had stolen the treasury for himself. But he did not think so. It fitted too well.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “It appears that the stories about House Ricinus’s vast wealth were exaggerated, Rixium… but I don’t think that comes as news to you.”

  “It doesn’t,” Rix said slowly. “Mother spent staggering sums on bribes to get us into the First Circle of families. And Father squandered an even greater amount training and equipping the Third Army.”

  “An army that was wiped out in the first hours of the invasion of Caulderon.”

  Rix shook his head, trying to clear his memories of that horror. “By the time of the Honouring we were on the brink of bankruptcy. Tell me the worst,” he said grimly.

  “The treasury is almost bare,” said Swelt. “Had I not hidden part of it, Scunlees would have taken every last chalt. And he sold half the flocks and stores a month ago; more than we could afford to lose.”

  “Where is the bastard?” Rix said furiously. “I’ll wring his miserable neck.”

  “When the news came of House Ricinus’s fall he was gone within the hour – with everything he could cram into his saddlebags. The great dame would weep.”

  “I don’t remember her being the weeping sort,” said Rix.

  “Just an expression,” said Swelt. “She would have nailed his head to the barn door.”

  “Go on with your gist. What about men to man the walls?”

  “With the fortress servants, the labourers from our farms and stables, the bakers and brewers, masons and smiths and so forth, we can muster three hundred men at need. Though only a handful are experienced fighters.”

  “Plus Leatherhead’s fifty. I’ll knock them into line and start training your folk in the morning. How many other people are there?”

  “Another few hundred. Plus children, nursing mothers and pensioners.”

  “That’s a lot of mouths.”

  “We’ve stores in the fortress to withstand a siege, though they won’t last for months. And if winter gets any harder we’ll have to feed half the serfs on the plateau, or see them starve.”

  “We won’t see them starve,” said Rix. “We’ll all tighten our belts.” His eyes slipped to Swelt’s astounding middle.

  “Some more than others,” Swelt said drily, though Rix sensed approval. “Your great-aunt would have said the same.”

  “And after Scunlees was gone?”

  “Leatherhead turned up the next day. He knows these mountains – he’s been terrorising them for a decade. He stormed the gates, hacked the guards to death and burst in. Within a day he had turned this lovely old fortress into a slaughterhouse, a tavern and a brothel.”

  “What’s your view of his men? They’re experienced fighters and I need all I can get.”

  “A third of them are worthless scum who’d cut your throat for a pair of boots —”

  “But I dare say they’ll follow if I beat them into line.”

  “I dare say they will – if you prove you’re as tough as Leatherhead. And if Garramide is attacked, they’ll fight for it, since they’ve nowhere else to go.” Swelt shook his head. “The rest are recent recruits, men who lost everything when the war began and had no choice. I expect you can make something of them – with the right leadership.”

  That word again. “I’m not sure leadership is my strong point.” Rix hadn’t even succeeded with Glynnie. He lowered his head into his hands.

  “Then you’d better learn fast. No one else can do it.”

  “If I lead, will you follow?”

  Swelt snorted. “I loved the old dame I served for thirty years, and she thought highly of you. I’ll do my best for you, Rixium, and so will most of the household, but be warned. You have enemies here, and they’ll do everything they can to bring you down.”

  “I grew up in an adder’s nest; I think I can handle —”

  “It’s one thing to know your enemies. It’s entirely another when you can’t tell who’s holding a dagger behind their back.”

  “Perhaps even you?” Rix asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

  “You don’t know me either.”

  “I wasn’t allowed to manage my inheritance a year ago, but I made proper enquiries about my castellan.”

  “Might I ask what they reported?” said Swelt, not entirely hiding his anxiety.

  “A gross and greedy man at the dinner table.” Rix met Swelt’s eye. “But honest, and fiercely loyal to Garramide and the old dame.”

  “So I am. But I don’t give my loyalty to fools or knaves.”

  “And I am?” said Rix.

  “More fool than knave, since you ask. We’ll obey your orders, Rixium, because you’re the lord of Garramide and we believe in fighting for our house and our country. But you’ll have to earn our loyalty – and you come with a handicap.”

  “The evil reputation of House Ricinus,” said Rix.

  “Just so.”

  The pain was back, worse than ever. How could any man overcome such a disadvantage?

  “On the other hand,” said Swelt, “at a blow you’ve freed us from a vicious tyrant, and the old household thanks you for that. You’ve made a good start – apart from one decision…”

  “What’s that?”

  “The maidservant you put in charge of the household servants. It was a mistake to raise her above her station. Only anger and resentment can come of it.”

  “Glynnie has many fine qualities.”

  “I don’t doubt it, and her green eyes and charming smile not the least of them. But
the servants will never accept her orders. It’s quite impossible.”

  “They accept mine.”

  “You’re the heir, and from birth you were trained to command. Glynnie has no right, and it shows. Persist in this decision, Rixium, and you’ll lose far more than you hope to gain from her… whatever that may be.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “I can see them now,” called Tali. “Five shell racers. Closing in fast.” She jabbed her finger behind the boat and around to port, indicating their positions.

  She was on deck, hanging onto a rope, enveloped in her oilskin sea coat and trousers, and wearing rubber-coated boots that came up to her knees. The wind blew icy spray in her face, but the porridge had given her a satisfying feeling of fullness and she felt alive for the first time since leaving Caulderon.

  Tali looked forwards, to the scattered floes and the great ice cliffs in the distance, and shuddered. How could one old man, no matter how wily, outwit five shell racers and their combined crew of twenty men?

  Holm put up a bigger sail and with the wind behind them his boat was hurtling through the water, rising up each swell then crashing down in fusillades of spray. But the shell racers were faster. In ten or fifteen minutes they would come alongside, and it would be over.

  “They’ll try to shoot me,” said Holm, as if he had heard her thoughts. He had lashed the wheel and was standing in the cabin doorway.

  “Wouldn’t that send the boat out of control?”

  He shook his head. “Wind’s steady behind us. We could sail on for a good while.”

  “Have you got a plan?”

  “Get among the icebergs before they catch us.”

  “How will that help?”

  “It’s tricky sailing in there. The winds are constantly shifting and there’ll be broken ice in the water, barely visible. If a shell racer hits a chunk of ice at speed, it goes straight to the bottom.”

  “So will we,” said Tali.

  “I built this boat. It can take a hell of a lot more than their cockle-shell racers can. And we’re a lot higher in the water. We can see what’s ahead.”

  But they’re far more manoeuvrable, she thought. And they can go upwind.

  The shell racers were only a few hundred yards behind now, the icebergs about the same distance ahead.

  “What are you going to do once we get among them?” said Tali.

  “Take advantage of what comes up.”

  Frustrating man! “What do you think will come up?”

  “How would I know? I didn’t expect this.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “That we’d sail merrily north, out to sea where the pursuit would never find us, sipping our afternoon tea and reciting odes to the creeping ice.”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

  “Me?” He grinned.

  He went inside. Tali watched the shell racers, her heart beating erratically, now racing, now creeping. Two of the racers were heading out to the left, another two to the right, while the fifth continued directly behind them.

  “Looks like they’re planning to close around us and attack together,” she said over her shoulder.

  “That’s how I’d do it,” said Holm, adjusting the sail and putting up another, smaller one.

  It gained them a little more speed, but not enough. Something went whirr-click. She looked around and he was holding a small crossbow.

  “Don’t suppose you’ve fired one of these?”

  “Oddly enough, the enemy don’t hand them out to their slaves,” said Tali.

  “Making jokes now,” said Holm. “You have improved.” He handed her the weapon. “Unlike an ordinary bow, any fool can shoot straight with a crossbow.”

  “Any fool?”

  “No insult intended, but it takes hundreds of hours of practice to be any good with a true bow.”

  He showed her how to work the crank, load the quarrels and use the sights, and made her practise until she could load and crank back the bow in thirty seconds.

  “Don’t try anything fancy. Just aim for the middle of the man’s chest.”

  “Just like that?”

  “It’s him or you, Tali, so yes, just like that. But no further than thirty yards away – if you shoot, you have to hit.”

  Clearly, Holm wasn’t planning to sell her to the chancellor, but who he was and what he really wanted was no clearer. Tali sighted on the leading man in the racer behind them, felt an inner squirm, and lowered the crossbow. Could she shoot a man dead, just like that?

  Remembering her mother’s murder, and that sickening reliving of her great-great-grandmother’s death, she knew there was no choice. If they caught her, the chancellor would do the same to her. He might do it reluctantly, and perhaps with regret, but nothing would stop him from taking the master pearl that could win the war. Or lose Hightspall forever, if Lyf got it.

  The racers were only a hundred yards away when she felt a chilly blast of wind. They were flashing past a white mountain, a cracked and cratered iceberg towering as high as the twisted spire on top of Rix’s tower in Palace Ricinus.

  The boat heeled so violently that Tali was thrown off her feet and went sliding towards the side, the cocked crossbow spinning ahead of her. If it went off…

  Snap, thud, crash!

  “What the hell are you doing?” roared Holm, who was fighting the wheel.

  Tali struck the side, whacking her head on a timber rib. Holm raced out but did not look her way; he was heaving on the lines, adjusting the sails. He ran in, spun the wheel, then called over his shoulder, “You all right?”

  She got up, rubbing her head, picked up the crossbow and lurched across the deck. Ahead was a maze of icebergs, hundreds of them, ranging from monsters the size of a small town down to berglets no bigger than a house, and pancake floes that only stood a few inches out of the water. How was Holm going to manoeuvre through all that?

  Tali went into the cabin. “What happened?”

  He indicated a gouge in the brass wheel. “Your bolt glanced off the wheel and struck the porridge pot amidships. I’m afraid it’s gone down with all hands.”

  The saucepan, which Tali had left on the bench, was crumpled on the side facing her and had a neat hole through it.

  “Sorry. Was thrown off my feet. Why did the boat heel over that way?”

  “Sudden wind shift,” said Holm. “Among the bergs, the wind can come from any direction, and there’s no predicting it. Reload your bow. You’re going to need it.”

  She did so, hastily.

  “This time, hang on,” said Holm.

  They shot through a narrow gap between two icebergs. The sides matched so well that Tali wondered if they had been one iceberg that had split in half.

  “Only three racers are following us,” said Tali. “Do you think we’ve lost the others?”

  “Not a chance. They’ll have gone out wide, hoping to find a quicker way through the ice to cut us off.”

  “I suppose they’ll be a lot quicker in here.”

  “You suppose right. Manoeuvrability is everything when you’re in the ice. And with their shallow keels they can cut through places I don’t dare. Brace yourself – and don’t point that thing anywhere near me.”

  Tali clamped onto the rail and lowered the crossbow. They headed out into open water.

  “Or yourself!” yelled Holm.

  Tali realised it was aimed at her left foot. She directed it away and clung on as the boat heeled again.

  “Look out!” roared Holm, and spun the wheel hard. Something struck the starboard side of the boat a glancing blow, driving it sideways, then they shot past. A little ice floe, awash and almost invisible in the water.

  She looked up and there, directly ahead, were the other two shell racers.

  “They’re planning to board us from either side,” said Holm. “Shoot!”

  She aimed at the middle of the leading rower, a barrel-chested fellow wearing a red, tasselled hat, but as she fired, Holm spun the wheel the
other way. The bolt went wide as the boat veered off to starboard.

  The two racers turned in their own length and raced ahead to cut them off. The three behind were only forty yards away. The enemy’s plan had gone perfectly. In a minute or two they would be surrounded.

  “Shoot!” yelled Holm.

  Which target? The racer following in their wake was the closest. Tali inserted another bolt, aimed at the leading man, but as she was about to fire the bow dropped. She could not shoot him in cold blood, just like that.

  She fired. He let out a yelp as the bolt passed between his shins and slammed into the floor of the boat.

  “If you can’t kill him, at least disable the bastard,” said Holm.

  Tali took aim at the side of the man’s chest but, before she could fire, the shell racer slowed sharply. It was noticeably bow-down now, and the leading rower was groping in water that must have been flooding in through a hole in the bottom.

  “Your bolt smashed through a plank,” said Holm. “Hull must be thin as an egg.”

  The leading man dropped his oar and bent over, pushing down as though trying to block the hole with his fist, but it wasn’t working. The racer was filling fast, the waves already lapping at its low sides.

  “One wave and they’re gone,” whispered Tali.

  As she spoke, a little wave curled over the side and the long, low craft sank beneath the rowers, leaving them struggling in the water.

  “Help!” they cried, waving frantically to their fellows.

  Their pleas were ignored and, one by one, the cold got to them and they sank.

  “The others are greedy for the prize,” said Holm, shaking his head.

  Tali did not reply. She was too shocked. She stared at the grey water, imagining that she was thrashing uselessly in the cold sea, about to drown.

  “Hang on!” Holm yelled.

  He heeled the boat over so sharply that she was flung against the side once more. This time she took the blow on shoulder and hip, managing to keep her grip on the crossbow. She looked up and gasped. Holm was hurtling towards a tiny gap, only twenty feet wide, between two icebergs. It was a clever strategy, if it worked, for the shell racers could not attack from the sides and would have to follow. But if the boat struck hard enough, it would go straight to the bottom.