The Bloodsworn (22 page)

“I've grown tired of feeding your dog,” the spy said sarcastically. “What do you
think
I'm doing? Your lady wife pays me a great deal. I cannot simply stand by while they dash your head off. That would be terribly poor client relations. So if you please . . .” He gestured elaborately at the door.

Liam didn't need to be told a third time. Grabbing Rona's hand, he lunged out the door, Saxon and Highmount close behind. He hesitated at the top of the steps, blinking past a wave of vertigo. Below, the tower spiralled down and down and still down, disappearing into shadow. There would be guards at the bottom of the stairs, he supposed. “What about the—”

“Asleep,” Saxon said. “I drugged their food.”

“Good thinking. But just in case, do you have a—”

“Here.” The spy pressed a dagger into Liam's hand.

Liam paused. “You're frighteningly good at this.”

“Yes.”

They started down the stairs.

The scene at the bottom was pretty much what Liam had expected: four guards slumped over their midday meal, snoring loudly. “What about outside?” he asked.

“Clear but for the usual activity. There is a horse cart across
the square. Slops from the stables. You can conceal yourselves beneath the blanket.”

“Across the square is a long way to go without being seen.”

“I should have liked to wait for cover of darkness, but the guard will be doubled from dusk until dawn, and by dawn . . .”

“By dawn they'll come for us. You're right, it's now or never.” Reaching for the door, Liam uttered a silent prayer. Then he dropped his shoulder and barged through.

The square was empty but for a pair of stableboys carrying pails of water, but if they wondered at the group scurrying like rats across the square, they didn't let it interrupt their duties. The cart stood tantalisingly close; Liam could smell the shite already.
By the Virtues
, he thought,
we might actually make it . . .

He should have known better than to tempt fate.

Half a dozen royal guardsmen materialised from under a stone arch, blades drawn. Liam recognised their leader as the man who'd nearly skewered Rudi yesterday. He'd been a favourite of Alix's once. Meinrad, his name was.

The guardsman's gaze raked over Liam and the others contemptuously. “His Majesty was right. The spy did come.”

You fool, Liam.
Of course the king would know about Saxon. Allie and Erik told each other everything.

There was no point in resisting. Even if by some miracle he and Rona managed to take them, he wasn't willing to be responsible for the deaths of six of Alix's guardsmen. They were only doing their duty. “I don't suppose I could convince you to stand down?” he asked wearily. “Because trust me, you're on the wrong side of this.”

Righteous anger flashed in Meinrad's eyes. “I am on the side of the Kingdom of Alden,” he said, and the hilt of a sword swung at Liam's temple.

T
he last hour before dawn found them in the Greenlands. About half a day northeast of the fort, Alix judged, though it was hard to be sure. She'd clung to a thin strand of hope that they might find help out here, maybe even come across some Kingswords, but that had been naïve. The land was all but deserted this close to the front, most of its people having fled north. As for Kingswords, they had no reason to be here; there was nothing strategic nearby for them to protect. Alix and the others hadn't seen a single flicker of fire or lamplight all last night. They were on their own.

At least the Oridians were staying well clear of the Imperial Road. They would have been impossible to track once they joined the highway, but it seemed the bloodbinder feared discovery by the Kingswords more than he feared his pursuers.
That's his mistake
, Alix told herself as her ragged trio made its way along the edge of the woods.
And he will pay for it dearly.

“Rodrik's gotta be somewhere close by,” Ide said. “He only got a few hours' head start, and he can't be moving fast, shape he's in.”

“He's a thrall now,” Alix reminded her grimly. “No fear. No pain. He'll be stronger than you think.”

“Until he isn't,” Vel said. “He's been on the move for a full day and night. His body will give out eventually.”

Like a horse running itself to death
, Alix thought with a shudder. The worst part was, the Oridians wouldn't even care. “He only has to make it as far as their camp, live long enough for Dargin to harvest his blood.”

“Dargin,” Ide echoed. “That the bloodbinder?” When Alix nodded, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and brandished it. “What a coincidence. I got a shaft called Dargin right here.”

A weak smile touched Alix's lips. “It's nearly daybreak. Let's pick up the pace. Maybe we can catch them before they strike camp.”

“Think Rodrik's already met up with them?” Ide asked.

“No way of knowing. Whether he's there or not, Dargin is our priority.”
And this time he's going to die, if it's the last thing I do in this world.

A bloodred splinter appeared on the horizon, the first hint of dawn. Alix paused to reorient herself—which was how she happened to glimpse a flash in the mid-distance. “Did you see that?”

Vel squinted at the horizon. “What?”

“I'm not sure. I thought . . . a candle, maybe? Through the trees, right there.”

“You saw a candle from here?” Ide lifted an eyebrow sceptically.

“Does it matter? I saw
something
.” Alix was already moving.

They covered the distance in silence, and the closer they drew, the more certain Alix was that someone was in those trees. Several
someones
, by the sounds of it; she drew her dagger.

Surprise was in their favour; attacking now would certainly be to their advantage. But Alix had no way of knowing who was in those trees, whether friend or foe. A year ago, a month even, she wouldn't have given it a second thought—she'd have struck first and asked questions later. But things were different now. She'd had one too many bitter lessons.
This time, she was bloody well going to be sure whom they were dealing with, and how many, before she made her move.

She motioned for a halt at the edge of the trees. The shadows were deeper here, but they'd definitely found a campsite. In a short while, it would be light enough to make out whose. Crouching, Alix settled in to wait.

*   *   *

Dawn hadn't yet cleared the walls, but a crowd had already gathered in the courtyard of the Red Tower. Liam would have supposed the city all but deserted by now, but there were almost as many people in the crowd as there had been for his speech two days ago. Apparently, the execution of a prince was a spectacle not to be missed.

He felt strangely calm as they marched him across the square. Maybe that was because some part of him had always known this was how things would end up. The timeglass had started running the moment they'd hammered that bar over Erik's door; the chances of rescuing Rodrik before the sand ran out had always been remote. They'd known that, all of them, and they'd tried anyway. He was proud of them.

Or so he tried to tell himself as they wrenched him to a halt in front of the dignitaries. He kept his chin up and his shoulders back, and if his heart was working just a little harder than usual, that was only because it was weighed down with the thought of never seeing Allie again.

The banner lords—minus the Blacks and the Browns, naturally—stood assembled in a grim line with Erik at their centre. The king looked solemn. Sad, even. And when Liam caught his eye, he thought he glimpsed a little of his brother in there, behind the stranger who was about to execute him.

Erik stepped forward, his gaze roaming slowly over the crowd. Even now, Liam couldn't help marvelling at it: how regal he was, how effortlessly he held them all in his sway.
How could you ever have thought to replace this man?
It was laughable, really.

“My people,” Erik said gravely. “These are dark times. Once again, we find ourselves betrayed by those we trusted most. By those whose oath, whose very blood, should bind them to us forever. A kingdom should never have to endure
such treachery, let alone endure it twice. And yet, here we are.” His gaze fell to Liam and there it rested, as though they were the only two people in that square. “I called this man my brother once. I acknowledged him before all of you, brought him into my home and my confidence. In return, he staged a coup. He and the others before you committed high treason, and for this, they are condemned to die.”

Erik hesitated, a spasm of pain flickering through his eyes, and for the briefest moment the ice seemed to crack, revealing the roiling waters beneath. It was over in an instant; the surface froze once more, a cold glass surface in which Liam saw nothing but his own reflection.

“Rona Brown. Albern Highmount. You are hereby sentenced to death by beheading.”

Liam looked over at his companions. Rona was pale but composed. Highmount looked the way he always did, cool and hawklike, his gaze locked on Erik as though he might chisel through the ice by force of will alone.

“The same sentence has been pronounced upon Alix Black in absentia, as well as upon her servant.” Erik made a dismissive gesture at Saxon, whose name he didn't even know. “Her sentence will be carried out at the earliest opportunity.”

Liam closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
Words
, he told himself.
Allie will never come back to this place. She'll hear what happened and she'll ride to the fort. Rig will keep her safe.
Liam would have given anything to see her one last time, to take back all the terrible things he'd said, but that wasn't to be.
At least it'll be quick
, he thought.

But Erik wasn't through. “As for the traitor Liam, whose lust for power lies at the centre of this tragic conspiracy, it is our decision that he will face imperial justice.”

Liam stiffened. He had no idea what that meant, but he dreaded it instinctively—the more so when he looked to Highmount and saw the old man's composure shattered at last, his eyes wide with horror.

“Your Majesty—” Highmount began.

“The condemned will not speak!”
The words cracked over them like a whip; even the banner lords flinched. Erik paused, as if to compose himself. Then he continued, “I should have liked to honour the traditions of old by constructing the Ram of Destan.”

A wave of shock rolled over Liam, sickening in its intensity. For a moment he thought his knees might actually give out. Mercifully, he managed to remain upright, but the world seemed to tilt around him. There was noise in the crowd, and Rona crying out, and Raibert Green looking like he was going to be sick on the dais. Liam registered it all through a haze, his mind's eye fixated on the image of the Ram of Destan, that most infamous of Erromanian torture devices, a beast-shaped furnace that was said to bellow and snort smoke as the man boarded up inside roasted to death.

“We had not time to build one,” the king went on, “but we will evoke it in spirit. The traitor shall be burned at the stake.”

Liam blinked slowly. He felt as if he'd been swallowed in a bubble. Outside, sound was muted, colours diluted; inside, his breath was as loud as if he'd slipped underwater. There was a commotion on the dais, but he couldn't make it out. Already they were pulling at him, dragging him across the flagstones toward the pyre that he'd somehow failed to notice before now.

“The sentence,” Erik said, “will be carried out immediately.”

*   *   *

Ide stirred restlessly, scowling at Alix in a look that clearly said,
Now.

But Alix shook her head. She needed to be sure. Dawn was blooming in the sky, but it had not yet penetrated the cover of the trees; Alix could see little of the figures moving in the gloom. She couldn't tell if they were armed, and their murmured voices were too low to make out. They could be refugees. They could be Kingsword scouts. They could be anyone. So she waited.

Eventually, light began to filter through the trees. The men—seven of them, by Alix's count—had almost finished packing up their camp. Definitely armed, she could see now. One of them, a burly fellow who looked to be in charge, was pointing and giving orders. Alix strained to hear the words, but he was deliberately keeping his voice low.
It's got to be the Oridians
, she thought. But what if she was wrong?

And then one of them moved to the edge of the camp to relieve himself, and the decision was made for her. Alix wasn't
sure what caught his attention, but he frowned and took another step, calling a warning back to his companions. In Oridian.

He was dead before he'd finished his sentence. One of Ide's arrows caught him between the eyes, dropping him noisily into the brush.

The men scattered. Vel took cover. Alix had little choice but to spring out of hiding, hurtling headlong into the enemy's nest.

She barely looked before throwing her dagger, but as always the bloodbond did its work, guiding her blade to the precise spot marked by her glance. An Oridian went down with its jewelled hilt protruding from his skull. Alix pivoted, looking for a new foe, but the rest had already dissolved into the brush. They wouldn't go far, she knew. She'd taken them by surprise, but they outnumbered her; it wouldn't be long before they regrouped and seized the initiative. In an instant, she'd gone from hunter to prey. All she could do now was crouch and wait.

She didn't wait long. A rustle of branches brought her swinging around to meet her enemy in a clang of metal. She sensed movement at her back, a second swordsman rushing in for the attack, but Ide took him down before he got too close. Alix focused on the foe before her, trusting Ide to cover her as best she could.

He wielded a bloodblade. The realisation was a cold fist on her heart, but she tried to shake it off, squaring her feet and coiling, sword at the ready. They circled each other warily. Alix rarely struck first, let alone when she faced a knight with a bloodblade, but she could feel the time flowing through her fingers like sand. She hadn't seen the bloodbinder, and that meant he could be getting away even now. So she swallowed her fear and lunged. The Oridian batted her away and got off a quick riposte, driving her back. She tried to pivot around him, but he sidestepped, cutting her off. She was vulnerable here and he knew it. The trees were too close behind her, the shadows too deep. She could hear crackling in the brush.

She dove in again, trading blows with her attacker, trying to ignore the cold claws of threat raking at her back. The undergrowth rustled and snapped as the enemy moved into position. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for their opening . . .

They came at her from both sides, erupting from the bush like a pair of charging boars. Ide's bow sounded a steady pulse, like a heartbeat. One man dropped where he stood. The other blundered into Alix, driving her bodily to the ground. She tried to roll the dead man over, but his armour weighed too much. And then a boot crashed down on her wrist. Alix screamed, her sword falling from numb fingers.

The bow thumped again, followed by the meaty
thunk
of an arrow meeting wood. The knight must have ducked behind a tree. Alix wriggled out from under the dead man and picked up her sword, but she knew the moment she lifted its weight that it would be all but useless to her now. Pain radiated up her forearm to her elbow; it was all she could do to keep the tip of her blade up. And then an arc of metal was flashing toward her, and though she managed to meet the blow, the jolt of agony up her arm was enough to send her reeling backward with a cry. She waited for the sound of Ide's bow, but it didn't come. A moment later, she understood why: A stutter of swordplay sounded from Ide's position. The enemy had charged her. She'd been so busy covering Alix she hadn't noticed them closing in, and now they were on her, leaving Alix alone and injured, facing a knight with a bloodblade.