Dangerous Offspring

by Steph Swainston

  ‘What?–Ow!’ She cracked me across the backside. It wasn’t her mask–she was holding a whip! She passed it over my mouth and I tasted the leather, and felt the little gold ferrule on the end. Suddenly I was dangerously sober. ‘Let me go!’

  ‘Please let me go, my lady.’

  ‘Ow!…My lady.’

  Eleonora smiled. ‘You’re a fast learner. Not so loud or they’ll hear you downstairs. If you dare kick, I’ll call for an audience.’

  She tilted her head, appreciating her handiwork, studying me closely. She stroked the whip into my arse crack and ran it up and down. I pleaded, but it delighted her; no matter what I said she wouldn’t let me free.

  She bent her knee up between my thighs and pressed it on the inside of my legs. The sparse light picked out shiny creases in the leather. She pushed me flat and straddled my arse, riding my cheeks as if fucking me until my backside was wet with her juices. My cock stiffened despite myself as it rubbed against the sheets.

  Her breathing quickened. I heard her sigh and felt her shudder.

  Then–oh, but I won’t go into it–she…no, I can’t say…What am I telling you this for, anyway?

  Finally she left me kneeling, my cock sore from her quick, expert tugs, because she didn’t like the way I kept growing soft. She had flicked my come out of me and it was helplessly dripping off my chest. I felt as if I had been milked, and my arse was…raw.

  She said, ‘I’ll send word around the party to come up and view you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes. They would laugh to see the Messenger so…compromised. Oh, and your wife’s downstairs, isn’t she?’

  ‘Please, Eleonora.’

  Smack!

  ‘Ow! Please, my lady.’

  She lowered her mask onto my face and pulled its string tight, restricting my vision to a few centimetres of rucked sheet and my breathing to a warm hiss. She sighed with a beautiful facsimile of sadness, ‘Now you’re used up. I’ll have to leave you on your knees until you’re ready again.’

  ‘Again?’ I whispered, muffled.

  ‘I’m taking your clothes, so even if you bite yourself free you won’t be able to leave the room. Unless you want to join the party naked, on a leash?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I will leave the door unlocked. Anyone could come in…I’ll leave it to chance.’

  She slipped out of the range of my vision. Music leaked in from the party, then the door clicked shut. Rays filtered through the curtains. Flies buzzed in the open window and landed on me. They puddled their sucker mouthparts on my skin. The tracks of their feet tickled me infuriatingly as they crawled, but I was too abandoned in my shame to shake them off. I felt squandered…And I felt beaten…I was tricked. Deceived. Eaten.

  Hours later Eleonora returned, dropped my clothes on the floor, and untied me without a word.

  CHAPTER 17

  I flew reconnaissance flights over the seemingly never-ending procession of troops. Far below me, the Peregrine General Fyrd were marching into the gate. Behind their line came the Summerday Select Fyrd, clad in dirty brigandines that had once been saffron yellow. They were driving oxen pulling room-sized espringals on wheels, capable of shooting a vireton spear through the Insect Wall. The Summerday Select were excellent at demolishing Insect paper and they knew the whole front well.

  Behind them came the Shivel Select, mustered weeks before for the advance. Their columns were in close order between the lines of outriders and, further off in the distance, another body of men whose colours I couldn’t see. I winged closer and looked down to the road. After the leaf-green of Shivel rode the crimson column of the Imperial Fyrd.

  The Emperor had kept cohesion in their formation and the five hundred men rode perfectly spaced. All the other fyrds had become one mass, trailing baggage carts tens of kilometres behind.

  I glided lower and saw the Emperor. He was leading, on his black stallion, and the diffuse sunlight gave his figure an unnatural luminosity–he was wearing full plate. Two spearmen rode behind him on either side, each steadying with one hand his pennant in his saddle rest. Reflections darted from their helmets. Their banners with the Castle’s red sun on yellow flickered forward above them.

  I wheeled away and found Tornado with a division of horsemen patrolling the road’s north verge. I half-folded my wings and came tearing down helter-skelter a hundred metres in a few seconds, rocking and side-slipping, legs dangling, to the ground.

  Tornado looked down from his enormous, ivory-clad saddle. His worn armour had a raised design that replicated the stitches and hemming of denim.

  I said, ‘The Emperor’s in sight.’

  ‘How far?’ he boomed.

  ‘About five hours away.’

  ‘You tell Lightning that I will go to escort him.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The Imperial Fyrd will be looking to me for their lead.’

  I heard the excitement in his voice; he was absolutely prepared for some unspecified apotheosis. ‘You want to stay close to San in case he conjures up god, or something.’

  Tornado smiled. ‘My place is at his right hand, whatever happens. No Insect or madman will harm him in Lowespass, where I was born and bred. He’ll be safe like he was inside the Castle’s walls. And you, Comet; you’d better make sure everyone hears his words. And, like, acts on them.’

  ‘Lightning and I will come out, too.’

  ‘I’ll be first to San’s side…I’ll be certain to witness any revelation.’

  ‘What revelation?’

  ‘Any revelation!’ His shire horse started forward.

  Great, I thought. Now we begin to jockey for position in serving San. Nothing short of god returning would quench our bloody egos. I knew Lightning likes to see himself as San’s second in command but now he was anxious that the Circle had failed, and Tornado’s grim-faced but calm faith and certainty of his role gave him a rock-sure composure. He doesn’t understand that it is often the beliefs we hold most adamantly that turn out to be wrong, because we never examine them.

  I sped back to town. More sprinting along the streets, knocking on doors, a few breathless words at each one. Lightning, with Cyan unwillingly in tow, was at the top of the gatehouse.

  The large square windows in its overhang were a good vantage point. Lightning and Cyan were watching Insects running among the straggling troops, dropping into quarries. They scurried, carried on their long legs over the uneven ground. They bit experimentally at abandoned carts. When the wind gusted in our direction, we could hear them crunching as they chewed up the wood’s surface in long lines. They methodically gathered balls of grey pulp in the palps behind their jaws and then rushed away to plaster it along an edge of the Wall.

  They tugged at bodies on the ground, cutting them up and carrying them to the lake. The lake glimmered brown as if the wet land had been scraped flat. Dark patches of carcasses and vegetation floated on its surface. On occasional gusts we smelt it; and it turned my stomach. The rotting, waterlogged corpses stank, a bloated, gutsy miasma as thick as gravy. Above the lake, the atmosphere was so solid with the smell you could slice it. It intruded into everything and was destroying our morale.

  The wooden room at the tower top always smelled of tar. I leant on the windowsill as I told Lightning the news. He rubbed his eyes and said, ‘Ask Wrenn and Lourie to increase guard on the road and I’ll send them mounted archers. We’ll go out to greet the Emperor.’

  A stablehand brought our horses and we set off from town. The last of the Peregrine General Fyrd were coming into the gate. ‘Those are my men,’ Cyan said.

  ‘Not yet, they aren’t,’ Lightning told her. ‘I called them up with Micawater and I integrated them with my battalions.’

  ‘Why are they all archers?’

  ‘You will mainly field archers. Every man in Awia from eleven years old drills in archery every Sunday. I had that law passed centuries ago. Select longbow men train every day, shooting volleys together.’

  �
��Awndyn doesn’t,’ Cyan said.

  ‘Only Awia trains so thoroughly. The General Fyrd from Hacilith don’t drill at all because Aver-Falconet doesn’t want proficient soldiers in the city.’

  Cyan’s oval face was wind-burnt and coppery and, despite herself, she had an interested shine in her eyes which I found compelling. She kept watching the troops. A small gap and the next set started past, bleary-eyed from sleeping in camps, and with moustaches and beards, not like clean-shaven Awians. She peered at them. ‘Who are these?’

  Lightning said, ‘Can’t you see their standard?’

  ‘Yes…just. So?’

  ‘So who is it?’

  ‘Green, with a white splodge.’

  ‘It is a silver star on a field vert. A green flag means it’s Plainslands, and a silver star is…’

  Cyan swung her feet in her stirrups and bounced them off her horse’s ribs.

  ‘Shivel. By god, what has Swallow been teaching you?’

  ‘The harpsichord, mostly. And the violin. She said I have no talent whatsoever. She said even you’re better at playing music than I am.’

  ‘I daresay,’ Lightning said, with a smile. ‘I was unaware your education was inadequate. I did give Swallow funds to hire the best tutors for you.’

  ‘She just brought in the old codger from school. I complained but you never checked…because you can’t abide the thought that she could do anything wrong.’

  Lightning said nothing.

  ‘Because you keep pretending you love her,’ Cyan added.

  ‘I do love her! With all my heart.’ Lightning shifted his position in the saddle. ‘She is the best musician the Fourlands has ever produced.’

  Lord Governor Anelace Shivel greeted us as he passed. Then his Select cavalry vanguard followed on, all in green brigandines and small star badges stamped from pewter.

  ‘Look at all these men!’ Cyan gasped.

  ‘Yes, and they’ve been in the Castle’s pay ever since they left their manor boundary,’ Lightning said. ‘That will dent the treasury badly.’

  ‘As if whether we can pay matters any more,’ I said, and turned to Cyan. ‘You haven’t seen anything yet. This is only half of Shivel’s Select, from Coutille and Pinchbeck musters. Basilard and Spraint musters are a day or so behind–and all his General Fyrd are yet to come.’

  Lightning added, ‘Governor Shivel has the title “lord”, so he is able to raise twenty thousand troops or more, and from the sight of these I would say this is the first occasion he has mobilised them all. You see, my dear? Your manor will easily raise enough for you to be Lady Governor.’

  ‘Good incentive to look after your people,’ I said. ‘Encourage them to multiply and they might replace those we’ll lose here. Pregnant women don’t get drafted. If they have a large family they can choose who to send.’

  ‘Hark at the cynic,’ Lightning said.

  ‘The villages are empty,’ I told him. ‘San will never do this twice.’

  ‘I think I should lead my fyrd,’ Cyan said thoughtfully.

  I had thought she wanted to renounce her manorship. I glanced at her, seeing her expression resolving into determination; she was reconsidering her identity yet again.

  ‘Certainly not,’ Lightning said. ‘You don’t even know one standard from the next.’

  She sat up straight in her saddle for the first time. ‘Well, tell me. How do I organise them?’

  ‘I can’t believe she doesn’t already know this,’ I said.

  Lightning sighed, ‘I blame myself. I’ll do something about it as soon as we get back. However, no reason not to start now. Mm…let me see.’ He hovered a hand at the weary men riding past in loose formation. ‘These are Select troops. Select have the same ranks as the General Fyrd and they are also used as officers for the General Fyrd–except for the lowest ranks where you can make shift with veteran General Fyrd if you have to. All Selects are trained using the same methods so different manors can fight side by side.

  ‘You will see, after that gap–that’s supposed to be a gap–a new battalion starting. The fellow on the smart black courser is its warden. The warden leads a battalion of a thousand men. Beside him is the vice-warden, and behind him comes the captain of a division, that one on the stallion.

  ‘The captain leads a division–that is, a morai–of five hundred men. The division is comprised of companies–or lamai–of fifty men apiece, and each company is led by a sergeant. A company is split into squads of five to ten men, depending on what you need them for–and squads are led by a corporal.’

  ‘I know that one,’ said Cyan.

  ‘At least!’ Lightning slapped the reins on his saddlebow in mock exasperation.

  I said, ‘The fyrd has more or less stayed the same since the time of the First Circle.’

  ‘It’s an ugly Morenzian word,’ said Lightning. ‘Each officer has a deputy; you can see the vice-captain walking past us now. The one with the beard. Give him a nod.’

  Cyan gave a cutesy nod, and the vice-captain grinned and nudged his mate.

  ‘All right,’ said Lightning. ‘Don’t get carried away. As a governor you can fine anyone, General or Select, who refuses the draft or goes absent without leave; and depending on the circumstances you can confiscate all their property. Your manor’s bureaucracy takes care of that sort of thing.’

  Cyan was watching, wide-eyed, realising what she had been missing all this time. ‘I want to take part.’

  Lightning shook his head. ‘No, blood of mine. Not yet.’

  ‘You try to stop me doing everything!’

  ‘It is for your own good.’

  ‘You want me to stay inside playing instruments!’

  ‘No–I’m glad you want to fight. At last you’ve given me a clear clue as to what you want to do with your life. But you need experience before I give you command. We can’t waste Zascai lives. You have no idea what to do, you don’t even know the manoeuvre codes. You don’t appreciate how terrible the confusion can be in the battle’s heat.’

  ‘Tell me and I’ll remember.’

  ‘You have no practice yet, my dear. If something changed or went wrong you wouldn’t know how to improvise.’

  ‘Of course I do. When you visit Awndyn, your work–battles and hunts–is all you talk about!’

  ‘Have you ever seen an Insect close to?’

  ‘Not closer than the ones we’ve just been watching.’

  ‘And you want to lead men into battle? Everyone would be killed beside you! Our name would be reviled. When the push starts you must not leave town, do you hear me? Continue to learn archery and in a few short years you may lead your fyrd.’

  Cyan spat, ‘Archery! I’m sick of people foisting their obsessions on me. Every time you visited me all I had was hours of shooting lessons. You just assume I’m interested. Well, I’m not and I didn’t want to take part in your tournaments–or Swallow’s music. But this suits me–’ she waved at the mounted soldiers ‘–I like this on my own terms, not just to please you. Why should I do archery or music when I’m not interested? I need to find something of my own. Something that’s really me.’

  Lightning sighed. ‘You are proficient with the bow, and at riding, but you can’t jump straight in.’

  The soldiers were staring at Cyan now and she was heat-hazed with embarrassment, but even more determined to make her point. ‘You don’t know me at all. Even the presents you bring are the same as when I was a little girl. I liked them then, OK, but I’m grown up now. I’m not a kid! You won’t let me fly.’

  ‘What? Only Jant and Insects can fly.’

  ‘I mean metaphorically! I want to be at the centre of things!’

  Lightning nodded. ‘That is your noble blood showing. Very well, but you must learn poise.’

  ‘Must learn poise,’ Cyan repeated, making fun of his deep voice. ‘Typical. What about you, with that thing you keep doing with your hand?’

  Lightning looked down and seemed surprised. His right hand was closed and h
e had been touching the scar across his palm. He snorted disparagingly, then pulled his gloves from under his belt and wiggled his fingers into them. He said, ‘We might be redundant soon. I have more important things to think about.’

  Cyan persisted: ‘What is it with your hand?’

  ‘A scar from my wedding.’

  ‘Savory? All the poise in the world didn’t save her.’

  ‘Ah!’ Lightning looked at Cyan sharply. ‘You have no right! You know nothing of what happened!’

  ‘Well, tell me.’

  Lightning took a breath as if he was about to speak, but hesitated and drew into himself. ‘Whenever I smell pine I remember her,’ he said quietly.

  I spoke up. ‘Cyan’s half-sister has filled her head with all kinds of lies.’

  ‘I can speak to my sisters if I want.’

  ‘Your half-sisters are envious,’ Lightning said dismissively. ‘They do not have your prospects and they must come to terms with Ata’s unpopularity.’

  Cyan and Lightning, like a peregrine and its prey, were trying to gain height on the other in the flight of the argument and it was an unsettling spectacle. I told him, ‘Cyan’s little more than a squab, but I can find her some work. Otherwise she’ll just wander around insulting Eszai. If she was my daughter I’d find her something to do.’

  He shook his head with a stony expression. ‘Jant, if by some freak of nature you had a daughter, you would want to keep her safe. You saw what happened to Swallow. I’ve seen her lamed in battle–and Cyan’s mother herself slain. The same will not happen to her.’

  Cyan raised her three middle fingers at the troops watching her. She did remind me of her mother, who was more of a rebel than I could ever be, because she had been capable of seeing the whole system and knew how to put her immortality to use. I ameliorate myself to the system, with drugs, because I can only see my own small part, as a Rhydanne does who’s used to hunting alone.

  Yells broke our sullen silence. Pangare raised her head, ears forward. Riders were galloping up the line, passing by the queue and racing towards us at a mad speed. They were at one with their wild skewbald mounts. Their tack and clothes blazed with colour; their flowing black scarves and loose cotton trousers rippled. Red and green pompoms bounced on the bridles, the thick woollen tassels strung along their reins and the fringes over the horses’ foreheads.