‘Dom?’ he whispered again. Dom’s eyes opened and Crys scrambled back, yelping, tripping over his feet and sprawling on the stone.
‘Run, little god,’ Dom grated through a throat full of jagged metal. ‘Run away now, little fox.’
‘No,’ Crys said. His heart was pounding through his chest, but this was someone he could help. ‘Concentrate on the Light, Calestar. Feel the Dancer’s sun on your face. Focus on that.’
Dom giggled and brought his arm up to his mouth, biting into the skin as though it were an apple fresh from the tree. His other hand wandered in front of his eyes and then made a grab for the wood. Crys snatched it back.
‘Find Lim, tell him everything I’ve told you,’ Dom said suddenly in his own voice. Crys knelt in front of him. ‘Leave now. Go before I stop you.’
‘The army’s out there, the rest of the Wolves. Let me get you some help, get your family. Rillirin’s here.’
‘No! Not Rillirin, not any of them. Leave me. Don’t let them find me. I can’t go with you and they can’t stay. They have too much to do. They can’t help me.’
Dom squeezed his palms against the sides of his skull, making a noise like a sick cat. ‘Don’t let me follow you. I’ll stop you. I’ll do anything I have to to stop you telling Mace and Lim to stay out of—’ His words were squeezed off into a grunt that rocked his whole body.
‘Stay out of what?’ Crys tried and Dom snarled and lunged at him, coming up off the ground faster than Crys had ever seen a man move. He yelped and thumped Dom on the shoulder with the wood. Dom fell back and then rose, lips pulled away from bloody teeth, his eyes red. Inhuman.
‘Harder,’ he hissed but then he lunged again, his fingers reaching for Crys’s throat. Saliva ran down his chin. ‘Stay out stay out stay—’
Crys leant back, took a double-handed grip on the stick, and clubbed Dom in the temple so hard the wood cracked in half, the loose end spinning away into the dusk. Dom thumped on to the stone and Crys lay him on his side beneath a pilfered blanket stained and stinking with soot. He checked Dom’s pulse and wiped away the trickle of blood from his temple, left him his waterskin and the last of his rations. Then he ran.
MACE
Third moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Watchtown, Western Plain
‘What will you do?’ Mace sat with Dalli on a small rise and they stared across the grass towards Watchtown. ‘I can’t believe it’s still burning,’ he added as smoke twisted into the sky from points in the town.
Wolves were wandering the plain, some going to the temple. It hadn’t been burnt, but by the looks on their faces when they came back out, it hadn’t been spared either. They hauled the gates to the temple compound shut and dropped the bar across.
Others had gone to the copse a couple of miles away to sit beneath the trees and come to terms with their loss. Not that you could ever come to terms with something like this.
Dalli was warm against his side and she’d cried without shame for a long time until her eyes were red and her face was blotchy and puffy. He kissed it anyway, because she was as beautiful in her grief as she was any other time.
‘What can we do?’ Dalli said in a thick voice.
‘I mean, do you want vengeance more than you want to preserve the lives of those you have left? You can march with us and we can find Corvus and his army and rip them to pieces, or you can stay here and grieve and try to find a way forward.’
Dorcas was below, frowning up at him, but Mace didn’t give a good godsdamned fuck about how he looked, the General of the West Rank with his arms around a crying Wolf. The decision had been unanimous in the end, to follow the Wolves to Watchtown and try and save it.
With the initial flood of grief over, Rankers were moving among the Wolves, offering comfort to those they knew and had fought beside in the valley. They were all war-kin now, he supposed, and he held Dalli tighter because of it.
‘It’ll be Lim’s decision in the end,’ she said, bringing him back to the present. ‘We’ll take a vote. Maybe those who want to fight will go, and those who don’t will stay. I think the chief’s past giving us orders. We need to make up our own minds.’
‘And you?’
Dalli twisted to look up at him, her smile fragile and her eyes fierce. ‘Oh, I’m fighting, don’t you worry about that. I had parents, a cousin and two young nephews in there. I don’t want to know what happened to them, but I damn well want to kill someone for them.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mace whispered. ‘You sign up as a soldier or take the Wolf oath, you know the risks. That’s the chance you take. But the others, the innocents …’
‘They’re always the ones that get hurt,’ Dalli agreed. She gestured. ‘What’s happened here, that’s what Corvus and Rivil want to do to Rilporin. How many people there?’
‘Thousands.’
‘Thousands,’ she echoed and it sounded like a death knell.
South of Watchtown, between the temple and the copse, a giant swathe of daffodils nodded in the sun. Many had been trampled and some were past their best, but the cheerful colour, so at odds with everything else on the blasted plain, did lift his spirits a little. New life budding beside the ashes of the old.
‘We’ll march in the morning,’ he said. ‘Will your people have made their decision by then?’
‘I think so. I’ll speak to Lim and Sarilla.’
‘Later,’ he said as she made to get up. ‘Stay with me a while.’ He wrapped both his arms around her as she settled back against him and kissed the top of her head. ‘Just rest a little.’
DURDIL
Third moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Commander’s quarters, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘They searched me – they actually searched me before they let me in here,’ Renik said, red with outrage. ‘What do they think I’m doing, smuggling weapons in here? And yes, the men on your door and the king’s are the honour guard who went west with Janis.’
‘Then they’re traitors. Provoke them into any insubordination you can, arrest them and confine them. When Rivil asks where they are, tell him you don’t know. Two can play at secrets.’ Durdil drummed his fingers on the table. ‘What else?’
‘With respect, sir, that won’t work. I’ve already tried replacing the men who guard the king; Rivil himself told me to keep my nose out of palace business, said the king’s safety was now his concern and no one else’s. I can’t get a man in edgeways and believe me, sir, I’ve tried.’
Gathering the reins of power into his own hands, isolating the king from his most loyal soldiers, removing his closest advisers and any who’ll tell him the truth. Cutting off communication with the Ranks who could aid him. Durdil could almost admire how Rivil had gone about it. It’s what I’d do if I was a traitorous, heathen fuck-puppet with an army at my back and absolutely no comprehension of the hell I’m about to unleash on my country.
But I’m not. I’m the man who has to stop him. While confined to quarters. Marvellous.
‘What else?’ Durdil asked again, pushing away bitterness and fatigue.
‘Sir, Prince Rivil has made a public proclamation that the Mireces were defeated by the West Rank and the war is over.’ Renik’s voice was a monotone. ‘No one is to worry and life in Rilporin is to continue as normal.’
‘He’s done what?’ The horror in Durdil’s voice made Renik wince. The room tilted crazily and bile rose in Durdil’s throat. He shoved his chair back from the table and put his head between his knees.
‘Sir? Sir, are you all right?’
‘Major,’ Durdil said to the floor, ‘start stockpiling weapons. Buy up every sword, dagger, spear and bow available in Rilporin and any that come into the docks. I will give you a letter making my personal income available to you.’ He sat up carefully. ‘Check the outer wall and engage masons to make any necessary repairs. Stockpile food in the barracks. Make sure the Rank is very visible doing all of this.’
&n
bsp; ‘You want to panic the city?’ Renik asked.
Durdil stood up and wobbled, putting one hand on the table to support himself. ‘Yes, I want to panic the bloody city. I want them terrified and demanding the palace tells them what’s happening, demanding that reinforcements be sent for. I want rumour to be rife in the docks and the quarters. I want nobles fleeing the city to their estates – they’re fucking useless anyway. I want Rastoth to hear about all of this and retake control from his son, then order my release so I can organise the defence.’
Durdil’s hands were shaking and he clasped them together behind his back as he stalked to the window. ‘What’s the latest from our agents?’
‘The East Rank is moving,’ Renik said, his reluctance obvious. ‘The whole Rank, sir, not the Thousand Rivil said he’d requested. We’ve a man keeping watch on the Tears and he sent one of the North Tower One birds, came in this morning.’
Durdil grunted. His whim to have another flock of homing pigeons that didn’t return to the palace but somewhere else in the city had finally proven its worth. There weren’t many of them, and of course they had to be sent out in the first place, but some information was flowing into his hands again, albeit at a trickle.
‘So, the eastern Listran border is unguarded and Rivil has an entire Rank moving to his command. And yet he tells the people the war is won. All right, I want this news spreading as well. Leak it at the docks and within an hour no one will know who started it. Why’s the Rank moving if the war’s won? Is there another threat we don’t know about? You know the type – they’re usually the rumours we’re trying to suppress.’
‘We also have an agent in Shingle and three travelling west, one on the river, two by horse. They’ve all got tower birds and they’re instructed to put their location and the date on the message and send it back as soon as the Mireces are spotted. It’ll give a little warning.’
‘And there’s no way you can get to the dovecote? A message to the North and South Ranks?’
Renik was already shaking his head. ‘Dovecote’s guarded day and night.’
Durdil slammed his fist on the wall by the window and pressed his forehead to the cold glass. ‘Not enough. It’s not enough. I don’t know what’s going on in the palace. Is Mace coming? How many men does he have? How many Mireces? Three thousand Palace Rankers against five thousand from the East, plus the Raiders. Maybe a thousand merchants and tavern-brawlers and fishermen will stand on the walls with us and the City Watch when they see what’s coming, but I can’t see them making much difference …
‘All right, it’ll take longer, but I want you to send men on horseback to the South Rank and demand two Thousands from them. Also send men by horse as far as Three Beeches so they avoid the East Rank, then get them on the Tears up to the North Rank as well. Another two Thousands from them. All forces are to set out within one hour of receiving the correspondence. Understand? One hour. Forced march to the harbours, then they sail without stopping, day and night. Leave the siege weapons, leave the horses. All haste or Rilporin falls.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Renik said and Durdil brightened. They just needed to hold them off for a week, ten days at the most, and four thousand Rankers would be ramming swords up their arses.
‘All right, good. The market is being dismantled?’ The market that covered Rilporin’s killing field was vast and cumbersome and would take days to pull apart, but if the enemy broke through the gatehouse they’d be fish in a barrel, trapped between First and Second Circle’s walls and vulnerable to arrow volleys and even small catapults.
Their losses would be horrendous and … and Renik wasn’t saying anything. Durdil came back to the table and sat. ‘There’s no need for it to be pulled down, sir, because the Mireces aren’t coming. Apparently.’
‘Gods fucking damnit,’ Durdil said with quiet vehemence. ‘Right, burn it down. Make sure it’s late at night and make sure you set multiple fires. The whole thing needs to go up at once. If enough of it’s damaged, they’ll have to pull it all down. Keep it away from the houses, but when you turn out to help fight it, recommend those stalls are knocked down immediately to prevent the spread of fire into a residential area.’
‘You want me to set fire to Rilporin?’ Renik whispered.
Durdil rocked his hand from side to side. ‘Only a bit of it,’ he said. ‘Look, Rivil’s going to know this was me. As soon as it’s done I expect I’ll be arrested and charged with treason, so pay attention. Colonels Edris and Yarrow can probably be trusted, and possibly Major Vaunt as well. Hallos can absolutely be trusted, so I’d make him your first confidant and sound out the others as you go. If they come to you willingly with ideas of defence or concerns about the prince, you can probably confide in them. But remember Wheeler, and be careful. The defence is going to be down to you, so watch for Rivil stabbing you in the back when you least expect it.’
‘We can get you out, sir,’ Renik said, leaping to his feet. ‘The men are loyal to you, not Rivil. We can storm the palace and—’
‘Concentrate on defending our city for now,’ Durdil interrupted. He clenched his fists. ‘It really doesn’t matter what happens to me as long as Rilporin stands, and stands in the Light.’
MACE
Third moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Yew Cove, River Gil, Western Plain
The bridge at the West Rank’s harbour had been destroyed, all the boats taken or set alight, and the bridge at Pine Lock had been felled as well. The river was beginning to curve south, adding miles and hours to the march. They needed to cross.
Almost a hundred Wolves had refused to go any further. Those who’d lost too many in Watchtown and the battle; those who’d lost their stomach for the fight. Two dozen others had announced their intention to follow the Gil all the way back to the Sky Path in the mountains, massacre the Mireces women and children left in the villages, and free the slaves. If the Wolves had no one to go home to, neither would the Raiders.
Mace felt a flicker of disquiet at the memory, and at the memory of the ice in Lim’s voice when he wished them good hunting. Even Dalli had approved. Mace wondered if he’d want to do the same if Rilporin fell, or if every man in his Rank was dead. Maybe.
Dusk was chasing them down when they finally came in sight of Yew Cove.
‘Bridge looks good, sir,’ Tara said. ‘The Wolves are checking it now.’
‘About bloody time,’ Mace said. ‘Alright, form up tight. I want us over this bridge at speed – we don’t want half our force on one side getting ambushed and half stuck on the other.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tara said and jogged away, her voice rising as she gave orders.
There were no candles being lit in Yew Cove, no smoke rising from chimneys. Dead or fled, Mace supposed. He prayed the latter. Pine Lock had been a butcher’s yard.
Mace strained his eyes in the gloom and saw the Wolves flitting through the first few houses lining the road to the bridge. The muscles in his legs tensed to run and he found he’d donned his helmet without noticing. They were clear all the way to the bridge, clear on to it, and the Rank was packing in tight to follow when shouts and the clash of steel eruped from the far side of the bridge. Rags of flame wove from between the houses on the far bank as Mireces with torches poured out of concealment. Arrows whickered in both directions and the Wolves didn’t have the numbers to hold the bridge. The Mireces locked shields and pushed them back.
‘Get your arses off the bridge and we’ll hold them here,’ Mace roared, bulling his way through the Rank to the front. ‘Fucking move,’ he added as arrows crossed the water and found homes in his soldiers.
‘Behind! Behind!’ Dorcas’s voice shrieked, so high-pitched he sounded like a woman. Mace lurched around and peered over the heads of the Rank.
‘Boost,’ he demanded and three men around him hoisted him up. ‘Shit on this,’ he breathed. ‘How many armies do these cunts have?’
A force of Mireces that looked in the gloom to be thousands strong wa
s sprinting from the town towards them. There was nowhere to go – they couldn’t cross the bridge and the road back on to the plain was blocked with advancing Raiders.
‘Here,’ a voice called, ‘over here, now!’ Soldiers began streaming towards the source of the voice and Mace caught a glimpse of a young man beckoning desperately from a house. ‘Now,’ he shouted, ‘there’s a way out.’
‘Careful,’ Mace yelled but no one was listening. It was dark, arrows were thudding into them and they were trapped between two forces. The boy’s way out was all they had. Despite his protests, Mace got caught up in the sudden stampede, unable to slow the tide or extricate himself.
He found himself in the boy’s house. ‘Straight down. Trapdoor. Tunnels,’ the boy was repeating, over and over. ‘Straight down, trapdoor, tunnels.’
Yew Cove, also known as Smuggler’s Cove, was honeycombed with tunnels beneath the town and Mace found himself running along one, the sounds of stamping feet and shouts to hurry bouncing from the rough earth and wooden walls.
They passed storerooms stacked with barrels and bundles, sailcloth, salted fish, brandy, all lit by torches in wall sconces. More storerooms, empty now and without light, and then more, those empty too. The pace slackened; no one knew where they were going or even if there was another exit, and Mace slowed, stopped.
He turned in a circle, dragging in air. Crys was close by and he grabbed the captain. ‘Where are the townsfolk?’ he demanded in a hoarse whisper. ‘If everyone’s hiding, where are they? These rooms are all empty.’
Crys swivelled very slowly on his heels to look behind him. As he did, his eyes reflected yellow like an animal’s in the torchlight. ‘It’s a trap,’ he said and pointed.
A growing orange glow lit the walls further down the tunnel and they could hear the tramp of feet and the jingle of war gear.
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