‘They know we’re not there,’ Edris said after a deep draught of wine. ‘The sheer fact no army came to Tresh’s aid when Highcrop was attacked tells them that. Tresh’s household guard fought hard, and my lads too, but everyone bar me was put to the sword and then Tresh himself was beheaded. Right there in the throne room, amid the cloth of gold and the fine jewelled cups, they kicked him to his knees and hacked off his head. Ugly, too, poorly done. Four blows it took, Tresh alive for all of them.’
Edris’s laugh was mirthless, and he cut it off with a trembling hand pressed to his lips. ‘Forgive me. I’d taken a cut across the chest – a scrape really, little more – but there was enough blood and bodies around me they thought I was dead. It’s the only reason I’m not, the only reason I’m here.’ He gulped again at his wine and Mace wanted to scream at him to tell him the rest, but didn’t. Instead he thought of the soldiers he’d sent east with the man.
‘He was going to send us troops. He knew he was our king; he’d been mustering men, paid for out of his own purse until he could claim the royal treasury. He’d been seeking aid from the Listran government, promises of support, of trade and suchlike. As soon as it was known Tresh was dead, the army disbanded, faded into Listre as though they’d never been. I laid low until the Mireces had left, then followed, made my way here as covertly as I could. Though I can’t say for sure whether I’ve been tracked. It may be I’ve led them straight to you, sir.’
We nearly had it. We were this close to aid, to outnumbering them enough to guarantee victory. This fucking close.
‘Is there any hope at all of a Listran alliance?’ he asked instead of commenting on Edris’s last statement. Now that the civilians were safely away from the forts, it was a waiting game until the next engagement. And they’d already done enough to provoke a response by slaughtering the war bands in the Western Plain.
Edris shifted. ‘I don’t know, sir. Tresh was murdered on their soil; they may seek to make amends. I could’ve gone to the Listran capital and begged for aid – I still can, if you wish – but in the aftermath I thought informing you as soon as I could was more important.’
Mace sipped more wine, feeling it go to his head, and stared around the table. Hadir’s face was rigid, Jarl’s expression was unutterably weary, Hallos was scribbling furiously in his medical notebook, probably about the smell of Tresh’s head, and Dalli … looked as though she was trying not to giggle. The corner of his mouth turned up without volition; when faced with such monumental fuck-ups as these, the dashing of almost every hope they had left and the only certainty further conflict, laughter seemed as good a policy as any other.
‘I don’t suppose Tresh had children, did he? A bastard son or half-brother we could use? Gods, a daughter’d do,’ Jarl asked. That stole Dalli’s humour and Mace winced, but then she exhaled softly and let the moment go.
Edris came back from some inner vista of horrors. ‘No, no offspring. There are distant relatives scattered through Rilpor, of course, but Tresh was the closest to succession. Perhaps we could rally around one of them.’
‘Anyone know who they are?’ Mace asked. ‘Hallos? Surely you had access to records in the palace?’
The physician pursed his lips. ‘Two brothers in Pine Lock, I believe, several ladies on estates scattered through the Wheat Lands, but the names escape me. And at this point in the war, Rilporians need more than a stranger they’ve never heard of to be held up as a figurehead. They need someone they know, someone they trust, who’s already been fighting the Mireces.’
Mace gestured when Hallos paused. ‘Yes? Go on. Someone in the Ranks? An officer?’
‘Something like that, yes,’ Hallos said and Hadir and Jarl were already nodding. ‘When we first learnt of Janis’s death and Rivil’s betrayal, a proposal was put to your father that he take the throne. Durdil, may he rest in the Light, refused and named Tresh. It seems only fair, as Durdil’s son and heir, that the responsibility now passes to you.’
The silence was thunderous as Mace’s eyes bulged and his ears got so hot they nearly burst into flame. And then, in fits and starts and hiccups, the silence was broken. Dalli began to giggle, and then snort, and then to roar with laughter, flapping a hand in front of her face in apology as tears ran down her reddening face. She scraped back her chair with enough force that the legs squealed over the stone and fled the room, trailing hoots of jagged, hysterical mirth.
‘I think Dalli speaks for all of us,’ Mace said. ‘As you said, there are still Evendooms and Pine Lock is a reachable distance for a strong enough force. We can—’
‘After Rastoth the Mad and Rivil the traitor? Perhaps it’s time the Evendooms were laid to rest,’ Hallos said. ‘New blood. A new line. An honourable line.’
‘We need a figurehead,’ Hadir agreed and Mace had to stop himself from lunging over the table and grabbing the general around the throat.
‘We have the Fox God,’ he said instead, a tinge of panic in his voice.
‘No one knows where the Fox God is,’ Hallos said, quite unhelpfully, Mace thought, though the physician didn’t register the sour look turned on him.
‘And there’s still a fair amount of doubt around the authenticity of the claim,’ Jarl put in mildly, ‘especially among our South Rankers, many of who know Major Tailorson from when he was stationed here some years ago. Understandably, they’re having trouble reconciling the rather wayward young officer they remember with the god they’ve grown up worshipping.’
‘Have to say, I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen some of the things he did on Rilporin’s wall,’ Edris added. Mace gave him a baleful glare the colonel completely failed to recognise.
‘No one goes into a war without telling their troops the gods are on their side. We need more than that,’ added Jarl and Mace had the distinct impression he was being backed into a corner. Mace didn’t like being backed into a corner. It made his fingers itch for a sword.
‘Which leads us back to the nomination of your father,’ Hallos said, ‘and so to you, as his son and heir, Commander.’
‘No,’ Mace said, the denial somewhat ruined by the strangled tone. ‘This is preposterous. I won’t do it. I don’t bloody well want to do it.’
‘You get my vote,’ Hadir said. ‘You’ll have the vote of every officer in the South, and you’ve clearly already got the support of your own.’
‘Edris is the only officer I have left,’ Mace snapped.
‘And Edris supports this proposal,’ Edris said.
‘Bastards,’ Mace muttered. He stared at his cup, wondering whether he’d drunk too much wine and this was a fever-dream. I’ll wake up in my cot soon, Dalli next to me and a war to plan. And everything will be normal.
‘You wear – and have used – the heir’s sword ever since Major Tailorson …’ Hallos paused and a sly smile curved his mouth. ‘Ever since the Fox God presented you with it. Your father himself bade you keep it, I understand. And you’re from a long line of honourable men and women, the latest in a noble family that has served the throne for generations.’
‘I’m not doing this,’ Mace snapped, but all the officers were radiating approval and Hallos was being the implacable physician who ignored his patient’s screams in order to cure them. Mace felt like shitting screaming himself.
‘You would fail in your duty to Rilpor?’ Hallos snapped. ‘Betray your oath as a soldier, to make any sacrifice for king and country?’
‘There is no king,’ Mace almost shouted.
‘Precisely.’
Mace gritted his teeth, but whichever way he looked, however he flailed, the noose was tightening. He twisted his hands together, noting distantly that they were clammy, shaking. ‘What would you have me do, ride in procession around Rilpor proclaiming myself king? You think Corvus will just hop off the throne and let me sit in it, say he was just keeping it warm for me?’
‘Word will spread,’ Hallos said. ‘Faster than plague, once it’s known. Think how fast the populations will be
gin to resist when they know the hero of the West Rank is their king.’
‘Hero? Hero? I have lost every engagement I’ve fought in this godsdamned fucking war. I should be court-martialled, not bloody crowned.’ The weight of the admission was a wave breaking on Mace’s head, roaring so loud in his ears he almost missed Hallos’s next words.
‘You won at the Blood Pass Valley.’
‘Yes, and then we fucking ran away and have stumbled from disaster to defeat ever since,’ Mace retorted and the shame of it was a stone on his chest.
‘And yet here you are, our last and best hope,’ Hallos said. Mace wondered if the man would shut up if he shoved his head in the sack with Tresh’s. Probably not.
‘We are at war, Commander,’ Hadir said. ‘Difficult decisions must be made in time of war. Even if you were just to be made regent until the crisis is passed—’
‘That’s exactly it.’ Mace grabbed at the lifeline with both hands and clung on. ‘If you insist on forcing this upon me, I will act as regent until the Mireces are defeated. That long and no longer. I am not equipped for ruling, gentlemen.’
‘It’s like commanding, Commander. Just a few more things to think about, that’s all,’ Hallos said, but he was grinning because he’d got his own way. ‘As far as we know, those of noble birth gathered here, plus those good men who have risen to prominence through their own skill and intelligence, represent the last of the Rilporian ruling class. All those who agree that Commander Mace Koridam be crowned Rilpor’s king—’
‘Regent, regent,’ Mace insisted. The clamminess had spread from his palms up his arms and across his back, cold sweat forming as though he was about to face an enemy in single combat that he knew was better than him.
‘Say aye,’ Hallos finished.
It was unanimous.
‘Bastards,’ Mace repeated bitterly. ‘Absolute bastards, the lot of you.’
Hallos leant forward with a conspiratorial smile as the table erupted in cheers and hope, missing for far too long, was rekindled. ‘I can’t wait to see what they make of a Wolf chief as queen regent,’ he whispered, and Mace was suddenly light-headed as the blood drained from his face.
‘Oh gods,’ he said. ‘Dalli’s going to fucking kill me.’
‘Well, Sire, now that that’s settled, with your permission I will arrange for the burial of Tresh’s remains with all honours.’ Hallos picked up the sack and exited before Mace could think of a response.
Sire. He called me Sire. This is what it must feel like to go mad. Focus, focus on what’s real, what needs to be done. This is just – just a publicity stunt. Propaganda.
And breathe.
Mace sat in numb silence and let his officers release some pent-up tension at his expense, barely listening. He weighed the relative merits of throwing up in the corner and getting blind drunk, and decided reluctantly he could afford neither. The war was what was important now, that and nothing else. Stupid political manoeuvring he’d leave up to others. None of it would affect him, not really.
Queen Dalli, he thought, and despite himself the corner of his mouth turned up. She’s going to fucking kill me.
Dalli hadn’t fucking killed him. She’d done something much, much worse.
‘Announcing yourself as regent but not as king isn’t enough. Rilpor needs a figurehead, someone to rally behind. You have to claim the throne.’
Mace flung himself on to the bed and stared up at the ceiling. ‘I can’t believe you’re siding with them. I don’t want to be the shitting king!’
‘And we don’t always get what we want in this life, do we?’ Dalli snapped back, folding her arms in that way she had that told him he was in trouble.
He sat back up, met her glare for glare. ‘So you’d be happy being Queen of Rilpor, then, would you? Prancing around in posh gowns and eating from gold plates all day? That the future you want?’
‘I’m not going to be queen, love. I never will, and not just because we both know how bad I’d be at it.’
‘Then, no,’ Mace said with flat finality. ‘If I take the throne, I lose everything. I lose you. I get the job Rivil killed for and Corvus is messing up, but I lose you. This may come as a surprise, but that’s not a deal I’m prepared to make. I don’t want to be king, but I’d do it – if you were at my side. But you won’t be, so I will govern only until a replacement is elected. Then I’ll go back west, rebuild the forts and we can live there. Or I’ll retire from soldiering altogether and live wherever you live. But I’m not losing you.’
Dalli grabbed fistfuls of her hair in frustration. ‘You’re a fucking idiot, Mace Koridam! You can’t give up the throne, the country, your career for me. I’m nothing, just a Wolf with a smart mouth.’
He stood and crossed to her, pulled her hands free and held them in his own. ‘I can and I will,’ he said softly. ‘If this war, this … whole mess has taught me anything, it’s to keep hold of what means most in this world and fight for it, no matter what. I’ll give it all up for you, Wolf chief.’
‘Don’t ask me to do this,’ Dalli pleaded.
‘I’m not asking. I’m simply saying that without you, I won’t take the throne.’
‘Yes, which means you’re giving me no choice.’ She pulled a hand free and punched him in the chest. He grunted. ‘You’re backing me into a corner.’
Mace grabbed her and, lifting her feet from the floor, strode across the room. ‘No,’ he said with sudden passion, ‘this is backing you into a corner.’
‘Stop changing the subject,’ she tried, but he could hear her smile as he pressed kisses down the curve of her throat. ‘We need to talk about this, Mace. About what’s best for the country,’ she insisted.
‘No, we really don’t. You don’t want to be queen; I don’t want to be king. Conversation over. Besides, I’d be a terrible king. I’d rule as though the entire country was one giant Rank. It’d be a nightmare. And I’m probably going to die in the next few weeks anyway, so it’s a moot point. Now stop wriggling, woman, and kiss me.’
She did, and things were just getting interesting when she pushed him away, both of them flushed and breathless. ‘No, stop. We have to talk about this.’
‘For the gods’ sake, Dalli,’ Mace grunted, adjusting the bulge in his trousers. ‘What more is there to say? I failed to retain Rilporin, your entire people were wiped out at Watchtown, I lost half my Rank in the Yew Cove tunnels and I’ve recently sent thousands of unarmed civilians to wander the entire length of the Western Plain in the vague hope they don’t die. And let’s not forget I’m about to order an offensive that is going to result in the deaths of thousands of civilians and soldiers. Think about it. Whoever survives – assuming anyone does – won’t appoint me king. They’ll fucking execute me for genocide of my own people. And I’ll deserve it.’
The flush in his cheeks now was that of shame. He sat back on the bed and put his head in his hands. He was unutterably weary.
There was a long pause and then Dalli crouched between his knees and pulled his hands from his face, replacing them with her own, fingers in his hair. ‘Yes, civilians are going to die,’ she said, and he flinched. ‘But, Mace, civilians always die. So do soldiers. It’s a war. Watchtown wasn’t your fault; the tunnels weren’t your fault. Losing Rilporin wasn’t your fault. Can’t you see what you’ve given us? The hope you’ve given us? Why do you think we’re all here, why do you think we follow you?’
‘Because for good or ill, I’m all that’s left,’ he mumbled, and the thought sickened him. Of all the great officers, of all the leaders Rilpor had had, it came down to him. ‘Every man has his limit,’ he added. ‘This is mine.’
She slapped him, and it wasn’t a love tap either. Mace’s head rocked sideways and he had the distinct impression she’d torn his ear off. His eye watered and he gasped in outrage. Dalli shook the sting out of her hand.
‘Then you damn us all,’ she said, and her voice was very cold. ‘You insist you’ve failed us; you haven’t. But you will, if you re
fuse the throne. That will be your failure, Mace Koridam, and it could well be the end of Rilpor and the safe, bright lives we’ve fought and died all these months to preserve. Right now we back your decisions, knowing we all share the responsibility for the lives that will be lost. And that’s why you have to be king, because you can talk about the death of innocents and we can both believe in its necessity and help you shoulder the blame for it. We want to share the blame. You make us want to.’
His mouth opened to protest again and Dalli put her finger over it. ‘This offensive is the biggest risk we’ve taken so far – win or die. If we didn’t believe in you, we wouldn’t agree to it. So take the throne and make us believe in you some more.’
Her chin trembled with sudden emotion. ‘Take the throne and I’ll stand by your side,’ she said, taking away his last excuse and looking as miserable about the whole situation as he was, as though the throne was a death sentence, not something men fought and slaughtered for.
‘I’ve talked myself into this as surely as I have you. So if that’s what it’ll take to make you do what we all know is best for Rilpor, then Trickster preserve me, but I’ll be your bloody queen.’
CRYS
Eighth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Travellers’ quarters, Seer’s Tor, Krike
‘Crys?’ A gentle hand on his shoulder and he jerked out of sleep, nearly fell out of the chair pulled up to the edge of the bed. ‘Crys, I think he’s waking up.’
Crys knuckled his eyes and leant forward, his spine crackling protest. The amount of healing he’d had to force into the calestar so soon after the soul-dreaming, plus the wounds he’d sustained in Tanik’s attack, had tested the depths of his strength, and for the first time he realised that it wasn’t a bottomless well of power. The Fox God – he – had his limits and they weren’t as far out of reach as he’d thought. Not by a long way. Foxy had nothing to say on the matter, and despite how they were almost one these days, Crys got the sense the god was keeping something from him.
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