Unholy War (78 page)

Other than that, she was fine.

The last thing she remembered was Gurvon’s blade twisting in her side, but her healing-gnosis was holding, re-knitting flesh despite her being out of it, and the venom was finally beginning to recede, combated in ways she couldn’t understand but that were clearly to do with her link to Kazim. Somehow he’d fed her enough energy to allow her own healing power to fight the venom, and that disrupting spell too. So she bathed in the sound of his voice, and opened her eyes.

Kazim’s face was inches from hers, looking down at her anxiously as he cradled her. A complex wave of emotions crackled between them: love and fear and the sheer need to be in physical contact. Strength flowed into her, from
him
: the Dokken, feeding the mage …

The sheer uncharted miracle of their love was encapsulated in that phenomenon.
Kore’s Heart, I adore him
. She let that show unreservedly on her face.

Then she looked around, and for the first time she realised the extent of the slaughter. Gurvon had brought two or three hundred mounted men here and they were all dead, and their beasts too. The lamiae had hurled half the mountainside down on the riders, crushing and maiming en masse, before wading in and striking at superhuman speed. Her respect for – and fear of – the Pallas Animagi grew.

The lamiae were all round them, shouting in victory, embracing each other. She looked about for familiar faces. Kekropius was near, cradling a bloodied Kessa just as Kazim was holding her. The symmetry caught her eye. Then Kessa stirred and looked at her mate with love, and then at Elena.

Then she saw the bloody hole in the lamia woman’s chest.

No! Sweet Kore, no!

She pushed out of Kazim’s arms and crawled to Kessa’s side. There was a hole in the lamia woman’s chest and she couldn’t move. Though Elena tried to seal the wound with healing-gnosis, Kessa died before the spell could take effect full effect.

Kekropius threw back his head and howled.

Elena dropped her head to the ground, blinked away tears of fury, then noticed the one other living human on the battlefield: Gurvon Gyle.

He was pinned down by a pair of burly lamia males, and bleeding badly from dozens of scratches and bites. He looked groggy and his right arm was swelling below the elbow – the flesh visible through his shredded shirt was greenish-purple. Poison. But his face was composed; he was doubtless busy concocting his lies.

Kessa had been supposed to stay out of the fight. She’d sworn she would. Elena looked at the distraught Kekropius and felt the same sort of wail build inside her. Slowly, she stood, and felt Kazim join her and feed her strength, and the whole gathering went silent, even Kekropius. The only sounds were the moans of the few wounded and the growing hum of flies. The sun beat down oppressively. She inhaled the warm breeze and finally found the strength to face her former lover.

‘We await your assent to kill him,’ Kekropius told her, his voice bereft of emotion.

She inhaled heavily and planted her hands on her hips. She saw the way he was watching her, like a stranger, calculation and cunning all over his face despite his plight and his obvious pain. The thought of actually talking to him nauseated her, and as for really
questioning
him, she didn’t have the stomach for such things any more.

I should want to know what you’re planning. I should want to know about troop movements and numbers, about strategies and personnel. About why you had Cera and poor Tarita stoned. I should torture you just for the rukking joy of it! But I don’t think I can stand to be even a minute in your company.

She turned her back. ‘I don’t want to hear his lies,’ she said. ‘Just kill him.’

A ripple of satisfaction went through the lamiae, a hiss like summer winds through grass. She glanced at Kazim, who looked faintly shocked, but he nodded with understanding.

Gurvon’s voice broke then: he was –
finally
– truly afraid. ‘No! Elena—! You can’t!’

Kekropius cocked his head and raised his hand to signal, but he held it up, his eyes searching her face. When they’d laid their plans they’d spoken of capturing him, and he recalled what she’d said then: that it was vital to take him alive. Even in his grief, with his own overwhelming desire for revenge, he had the wisdom to recognise a decision made out of emotion and question it.

‘Elena!’ Gurvon’s voice rose a note. ‘Elena, I have her, Elena—! She’s alive!’

She turned, her thoughts sluggish. ‘Who is alive?’

‘Cera Nesti.’

*

Elena looked dazedly from Kekropius to Gurvon. ‘Cera is alive?’
She can’t be.
‘A thousand people saw her die.’

Gurvon looked up at her, his face white but his eyes steady. ‘I saved her from the stoning and got her out of Brochena.’

Great Kore!
She gripped Kazim’s arm to hold herself up and shook her head, then realised that she was showing Gurvon just how much he’d shaken her.
I don’t even know if it’s true
. She swallowed, then made a conscious effort to purge herself of emotion. She had to be cool now, cold and composed, or he would hoodwink them all. ‘Why should I care about her?’ she asked in a flat voice. ‘The little bitch sold me down the river.’

All the while her brain was throbbing.
Rukka mia! He has Cera! Cera’s alive!
She didn’t even know how she felt about that. She’d once planned to kill her former ward, but now … ?

‘Elena?’ Kekropius asked, his hand still raised to signal Gurvon’s death.

Utter mental and physical exhaustion washed over her. ‘Wait,’ she whispered. ‘Gods, I’m sorry, Kekropius. I know what you must be going through … but this …’
Why is nothing ever simple?
She glared down at Gurvon. ‘Come on, tell me, why the Hel should I care about that double-crossing bint? Even if you did somehow pull that off, why should I want her back?’

‘Because the people will rise for her,’ he replied, his voice stony.

‘They will rise in time anyway.’

‘But now, if she comes back from the dead? She will be a legend. You could do anything you wanted with a tale like that. The whole of Javon would eat from her hand: a new messiah for you to play with.’

‘I notice you’re not doing it.’

‘I had Olfuss killed, remember? They’d hang me before I got two words out.’

He’s holding something back.
She was suddenly conscious of the eyes and ears of the lamiae all around. She threw her hands up and cried, ‘Enough!’ She turned away, trying not to show how confused and at a loss she was.
Rukka!

‘Is he telling the truth?’ Kazim whispered.

‘No idea.’ She bunched her fists, stared at the ground in utter frustration, then decided. ‘Kekropius, I’m sorry, but this is too important not to explore at least. I know you wish vengeance for all you’ve lost today, and you deserve it: but let us at least take that vengeance with a cool head. Let’s lock him up somewhere once we’ve Chained his gnosis.’

Kekropius’ fury had gone from hot to cold. ‘Very well. Let us deal with the wounded, and the bodies. We must cook what we can to preserve it, and bury the rest.’ His eyes burned into Gurvon, then he whirled and slithered away.

The lamiae would butcher both men and horses, Elena realised. She shrugged internally. Was it even cannibalism anyway? Did they eat snakes as well? The ethics of the matter were of no interest to her; she’d stick to fish. ‘Thank you, Kekropius.’ Then she whispered again, ‘I’m so sorry.’

The lamiae clan began to draw away, many visibly unhappy at this perceived leniency. The two who were holding Gurvon lifted him to his feet, keeping his arms pinned, and Kazim stepped past her and went to him. She held her breath as they confronted each other, her former lover and the man she wanted to be with for ever. Both said something, low words meant only for each other.

Then Kazim smashed his fist into Gurvon’s belly so hard that he bent in half and crumpled, gasping. The two lamiae holding him aloft grinned fiercely.

‘Kazim!’ The admonishment was involuntary, and not exactly passionate.

‘Someone had to do it,’ he replied without a hint of remorse. ‘Elena, show me how to do one of your Chain-runes, please. And how to make it
hurt
.’

*

Elena, Kazim and Kekropius gathered outside the cavern where Gurvon was confined. Elena had wrapped wards around it and Kazim set the Chain-rune under her guidance. The agony Gurvon had endured as they bound him had given her a disturbing amount of satisfaction, although seeing the hatred and humiliation on his face, she had wondered if perhaps they would be better killing him after all.

Not once did he ask after the woman he’d claimed to be his new paramour – but perhaps he’d seen her taken down from behind by half a dozen of the lamiae. She’d put up a fight, Kekropius had reported, but she’d gone under. Elena would have liked to have questioned her about her Contact-rune, but she thought she could probably work it out with a bit of time and practise. It was a useful little spell.

Most of the day was spent healing the injured and tending to the fallen. The most heartbreaking of those losses was Kessa, and Elena was feeling horribly guilty – Kessa had given her life to protect her. Her own condition was improving rapidly, thanks to her healing-gnosis. The venom on Gurvon’s sword might have been meant to incapacitate, not kill, but had it not been for her link to Kazim she might never have survived both poison and blood loss.

‘So, why should we not kill this man?’ Kekropius asked, his voice still raw. ‘Who is this Cera Nesti?’

‘Cera Nesti was –
is
– the Queen-Regent of Javon; your valley is part of that kingdom.’ She gave him a quick recent history of Javon, from King Olfuss’ death through Cera’s reign as her brother’s regent, and young Timori’s continued claim to the throne. ‘I had thought her dead.’

‘But you say she betrayed you – why?’ Kekropius looked mystified.

When she thought about it, she supposed that twenty years was a very short time, and the lamiae were a tiny, loyal clan; they were unlikely to have encountered the many faces of treachery.

‘I don’t really know. I have my suspicions, but really I need to see her, to speak to her, if I am to understand it.’

‘Make him bring her to you,’ Kazim suggested. ‘And her brother the king as well.’

Why not? If you’re going to negotiate, you should ask for the world and let the other side feel grateful to get out with anything at all
. ‘It’s worth asking, amori.’ She looked at Kekropius. ‘Elder, I believe gaining Cera might just about be worth doing, but I am aware that it will rob you of your vengeance and so that decision should not be mine to make. We are in your debt. It must be your decision.’

The Elder looked appreciative of her gesture. ‘Speak to him – find out what he will propose, if the exchange is what you think it would be. Then advise me – I will await you here.’

*

They had sealed Gurvon in the deepest cavern and stationed a lamia guard at the wicker gate; he was waiting in impassive patience.
Such a curious mix, theses snake-people
, she thought,
fierce when roused, stolid when cool
. This one bobbed his head respectfully, then stood aside as Elena removed the wards and walked in.

Gurvon looked up, his face tired and swollen. The cavern was cold and his blanket had been selected for its inadequacy. Having a slop-bucket in the corner wasn’t helping his comfort levels much either, she guessed.

‘Well?’ he said, lifting his head haughtily. ‘My life for a queen’s? Should be an easy choice.’

‘A queen-regent,’ she corrected briskly. ‘Get up. I’m not talking to you in here. Follow.’

They took him to one of the warmer caverns, where they gave him water and some horsemeat stew. ‘You should enjoy it,’ Elena said chattily, ‘it’s your own legion’s horses. Rykjard’s men, weren’t they?’

Gurvon grimaced, but he didn’t stop eating. ‘I don’t suppose you have wine?’ he asked, and grunted morosely when she shook her head. ‘You’ve not just gone native, you’ve gone feral.’

She ignored that and waited until he was done, then pointedly took the spoon from him. She spoke in Keshi so that Kazim could follow the conversation. ‘Right,’ she said briskly, ‘here are my demands. In exchange for your life I want Cera and Timori, and all of my gold, every last fennik you owe me. They are to be delivered to a place of my choosing, somewhere near Lybis.’ She smiled coldly. ‘That, or I send Rutt your head.’

‘I don’t have Timori in Lybis, and I certainly don’t have your gold.’

She turned to Kazim. ‘My love, next time he refuses me, hit him.’ Then she turned back and said, ‘Gurvon, this isn’t a negotiation. This is me giving you one chance to save your life. You will accede to all my demands, or I’ll assume you’re lying and let the lamiae kill you. You get one opportunity to reconsider your reply.’

His nostrils flared, but his shoulders sagged. ‘Kore’s Blood, Elena! I’m telling the truth, I swear to you. They told me if I fucked this up, Tomas Betillon would be sent in. I imagine he’ll be in Brochena by week’s end as soon as word of this gets out. Do you want the Butcher of Knebb let loose here?’

‘I welcome the chance to put a knife in his back. You’ll promise me Cera, Timori and the gold, or I’ll tell Kekropius that you’re all his.’

‘Damn it, Elena! I had to give Timori to Endus Rykjard to hold because all my people kept dying. He’s not just my prisoner any more.’

‘And the gold?’

‘Impossible. It’s in Yuros.’

She turned to Kazim. ‘Break his nose.’

Kazim lashed out, a blur of movement; there was a
crunch
and Gurvon’s head snapped back, blood spraying everywhere. He fell back on his rocky seat, crying out and looking dazed.
Kore’s Blood, if anyone deserved that, it’s him.

‘No games,’ she told him. ‘You’re in Javon, so of course you’re getting the gold sent here – this is home now, isn’t it? And I know how much you’ve got, remember? You used to tell me to keep me motivated.’

He wiped his bloody face. His voice now sounded thickly nasal. ‘Fifty per cent of my fee has been shipped to Brochena by Jusst and Holsen. I can get it to Lybis in a month.’