Blood Ties (33 page)

“Wait here,” he said, dismounting, and strode off into the main building.

Even so close to sundown, it was frantic with activity. The smithies, near the stables, were aglow and noisy; there were coopers hooping barrels in front of what looked like a warehouse; a wheelwright fitted an iron rim to a wheel near its wagon; and some fletchers were using the last of the sunlight to finish a batch of arrows — cloth-yard shafts, Bramble noticed, for the longbow that foot soldiers carried.

The yard to her right was full of horses. She edged Cam over to the railing, dismounted, and looked in. Over the past few years she and Gorham had trained quite a few horses for Thegan. They were all here. And more. He must have been buying up all the good mounts — or just taking them — from the local towns. Bramble recognized most of them in the yard. She whistled softly and they crowded to the rails, recognizing the whistle codes she and Gorham had taught them. She talked to them, deliberately taking a moment of calm before Thegan arrived. They snuffled into her hands, nuzzled her cheek, and shoved each other aside so they could get to her.

“And this,” a warm, laughing voice said, “
this
is why the gods have led you to me.”

She took a deep breath and turned. There Thegan was at last, slighter than in her memory, but still solid, with the big shoulders of a swordsman. He was welcoming, laughing with cold eyes, playing to the audience of crafters and soldiers who crowded, grinning, to see her.

“Our Kill Reborn!” he said loudly, inviting a cheer and getting one. “Welcome! You are thrice welcome to join us!”

“But I’m not joining you,” she said quietly. “Your men arrested me and brought me here. So you could steal my horses, apparently.”

His eyes went even colder, but he smiled.

“Following my orders, yes, but following the gods’ commands, too, I think. They have led you here.”

The crowd cheered and Thegan waved them backward a little so they could speak in private.

Bramble felt her whole body stiffen. She recognized, again, the itch under the skin that meant the gods were present, and she knew Thegan was right. The gods
had
led her here. But for what reason? Not to support Thegan. Of that, she was sure. The gods had their own secret purpose, which they weren’t confiding to her. All she could do was act according to her nature — to the nature they had given her.

“But not to join you,” she said, still keeping her voice quiet.

“Oh, yes,” he said, just as quietly, moving closer until his breath ruffled her cheek. “You will join me, girl. You will train my horses and you will smile. And all men will say the Kill Reborn rides with Thegan and his luck warms his bed.”

He didn’t even bother to threaten her. There was so much menace in his voice that he didn’t need to. She was trembling. At first she thought it was fear, compounded with the fear of humiliating herself in front of him by quivering in terror. Then she recognized it as anger so great that it threatened to rip her apart. It was anger greater than any she had ever felt, and she realized that she was filling with the gods’ anger as well as her own.
Blasphemer,
she thought, and on the thought was calm again. She raised her head.

“No. I won’t,” she said.

For a long moment he looked at her. It was his true face for that moment, without the mask, and she saw the lines from nose to mouth, the deep-set curves at the corners of the mouth, the tracks at the eyes from squinting into snow glare, the pores growing coarser with age. He had a grown son, she remembered, who kept Cliff Domain in his name. He was feeling the sharp breath of the Lady of Death behind his shoulder, and he was reaching for glory to stave off her kiss. He was frightened and refused to know it. She knew that this was why the gods had brought her here.

Then his face was closed to her again, age and fear covered with assurance. “You will,” he said.

“You are going to die,” she said, “and nothing you do — no war, no conquest, no victory — can stop it. You will die and rot into dust, just like everyone else. That is the gods’ message to you from me.”

His face turned dark red with anger. “I will unite this brawling pack of warlords,” he hissed. “I will create a united country, a great country, the country Acton intended, and I will leave such a legacy of prosperity and splendor that my name will live forever!”

She shook her head. “How many will you kill to ward off your fear of oblivion?” she asked.

He raised his hand as though to strike her, then turned it into a heavy-handed clap on the shoulder. “Let’s get you in out of the cold!” he said loudly.

Another cheer went up, but stopped raggedly as the crowd parted to let a woman through. It was the Lady Sorn, shrouded in a cream cloak against the chill air. A young fair-headed maid held the hem of the cloak out of the mud. Sorn looked at her husband and then at Bramble.

The gods were still with her, Bramble realized, but they had turned all their attention to Sorn. They yearned for her, it felt like, but she stood quite still, as though she couldn’t feel them at all. Perhaps she couldn’t. It was often so, with Acton’s people.

“A guest for us, my lord husband?”

“An honored guest, my lady. Bramble, the Kill Reborn.”

Sorn smiled. “We are indeed honored. Come, then, my dear.” She reached out and took Bramble’s left hand in her right.

Bramble felt a stiffness, a piece of paper, pass to her hand before Sorn let go, moving as though to guide Bramble toward the buildings. She palmed it, shoving both hands in her pockets as though she were cold. She and Sorn moved through the crowd, followed by the maid, trying to keep up. There, near the huge open doorway to the main hall, stood Leof. Bramble stopped as she saw his face, saw his eyes go from her to Sorn in puzzlement, raise to Thegan, narrow in apprehension, and come back to her as if to a lodestone.

“Leof, look who has come to be our guest!” Thegan shouted jovially. “Your fellow chaser!”

Sorn, Thegan and Bramble stopped at the threshold beside Leof, who was searching for something to say. Bramble realized that at any other time she would have felt the kick in the stomach, the shock, at his nearness. But the gods filled her sight, darkening it, and there was thrumming in her ears. She felt the gods warning her not to step over the threshold. The maid dropped the edge of Sorn’s cloak and held out a hand for Bramble’s jacket. She hung back, looking for an excuse, and with gratitude felt Trine nip her on the shoulder. She turned automatically to clout her on the nose.

“Oh, my dear,” Sorn said, “we’ve forgotten your horses, haven’t we? Why don’t you just turn them out in the yard with the others and one of the ostlers will see to them?”

“A good idea, my lady.”

She took Trine’s bridle and found Cam and Mud just behind her. She led them toward the yard and nodded to Sig as he swung the gate open for her. She paused and tied the two packhorses’ leading reins securely to their packs, so they wouldn’t trip over them. The other horses crowded forward, eager to get out, to be near her. She knew this would be her only chance.

At that moment the gods left her, emptied out of her into the sky. She had done whatever it was they wanted, and now they had no use for her. She was on her own. It left her relieved and desolate at once. But the fear rising in her stomach roused her into action: she would not give Thegan the victory of her fear.

She whistled, hard and loud, the code for “run to me,” and swung up on Cam’s back as the pack of horses turned itself into a herd and came rushing out. She urged Cam into a gallop from a standing start and swept out of the wooden gate in the middle of the herd, whistling “gallop” over and over again.

The men by the gate had no chance to close it, though they tried. For a moment she thought one of them was Beck, the warlord’s man from her own domain who had pursued her to the chasm. Then one of the other men was pushed aside by the outside horses and she lost sight of him. She couldn’t see if the man had been trampled, but said a prayer to the gods for him under her breath.

Then they were through, in a thundering avalanche of horseflesh, and heading down the steep streets of Sendat, the shadows closing over their heads as they left Thegan’s stronghold behind.

Faina’s Story

D
A CAME ROUND
the back of the milking shed in the middle of the morning. I was distracted because the cheese was just setting and had to be watched. If you leave it in the hot water for too long it goes chewy. I hoisted the cauldron off the fire and began to scoop out the curds into the setting basket. He just stood there, fidgeting with his hands in his pockets.

“It’s been a bad year, Faina,” he began.

I made the sign against ill fortune and splashed some of the hot cheese on my hand, but I bit back my curse. Mam says for every curse the gods add a day to your stay in the darkness before you are reborn.

“Are you all right?” Da asked.

“Aye, I’m fine.” I held my amulet for a moment and said a prayer against ill temper.

I kept scooping out the cheese, wondering what he wanted. He’s a good man, my da, but women’s work and men’s work don’t mix, he says; and he stays well away from the cheese making, knowing it’s unchancy at best, getting the curds to turn, and a man there might set all awry.

“What’s the matter, Da?” I asked finally.

“It’s been a bad year.”

Well, that was no news. What with late spring rains and early frost, and a stinging gale the week before the hay was ripe, it had been a bad year for the whole district. Mam said it was a sign from the gods, but she didn’t know of what. That we weren’t praying enough, likely.

“We can’t pay the taxes, lass,” Da said.

I put down the curd spoon and turned to him, drying my hands on my apron. This was serious news. The old warlord, Wyman, was dying of a wasting fever and with no firm hand on the reins, his men were getting out of control. They could take what they wanted in payment of taxes, and they would, too, and a bit over for themselves. We weren’t poor, but we didn’t have much to spare. If they took the cart, or the oxen, or the boar . . . it might make the difference between a bad year and a killing year.

“I thought . . . I wondered . . . It’d only be for a year. We’re short only a bit.”

“What do you mean, Da?”

“The Lady Sorn is getting married.”

Well, we all knew that, too. She’d been married off to a man twenty years older, from Cliff Domain, where the men were as cold as their mountains. A shame, it was, we all thought, even those, like me, who lived in little villages and had never set eyes on the young lady.

“They need more maids at the fort. I’ve had a word to our village voice. The tax collector will take a year of service in exchange . . . Just a year, Faina . . .”

He was so apologetic, it took me a moment to realize that he was talking about me going into tax bondage. I was shocked, but then I was excited. To go to court! To help with the marriage celebrations! And tax bondage was honorable enough. Even the warlord’s men didn’t touch the bond servants. I didn’t have to worry about rape, well, no more than living in my own village, where a girl who walked down a quiet lane always kept an ear out for the sound of horses’ hooves.

“Of course I’ll go, Da. It might even be fun,” I said, and even if I hadn’t wanted to go, it would have been worth saying so to see the relief on his face.

So I went to the court and I scrubbed out rooms that hadn’t seen a brush for eighteen years, since the Lady Sorn’s naming day. And I washed yellowing linen, carted water and emptied chamber pots, and I did all the work I always did at home, except cheese making and cooking. It
was
fun. There were lots of other girls like me, come specially for the year of the wedding, and our room at night was full of giggles and discussions about the best looking of the men at arms. We worked hard but we ate well, and some of us, I thought — looking at the scrawny ones — better than we’d ever eaten.

The only thing I didn’t like was that most of the other girls were unbelievers. They cursed without thought; they had no respect for the gods. They laughed at me for getting up before dawn to go to the altar stone. What did they know?

To kneel by the altar stone in the gray half-light, to feel the winds of dawn and know that the gods woke, to say my prayers, to be in the presence of the gods, to know they listened: that was the center of my day, the center of my life, the calm point that let me work and laugh and eat and sleep with joy, because the gods went with me.

There was always the same handful of people at the altar stone: an old man from the stables, a woman from the kitchen called Aldie, a boy from the blacksmith’s, a young woman from the court. We prayed in silence and waited for the dawn, and then moved away with a smile to each other.

It was the third day before I realized that the young woman was the Lady Sorn, and that was only because the old man said, “Tomorrow’s the day, then, my lady,” and she smiled at him and nodded.

“The Lord Thegan’s son will be here at midmorning,” she said.

“May all the gods bless you, my lady,” he said.

“Thank you, Sip,” she said. Then she looked at me curiously. “You’re one of the new maids?”

I curtsied low. “Faina, my lady.”

“You are very devout, Faina.”

I blushed. Mam never thought so. “I like to come to the altar stone, my lady.”

“So do I. But I’ve never had a maid who would accompany me.” She smiled wryly, but those beautiful green eyes were warm. “You can’t order someone to pray.”

I smiled back. “No, my lady. The gods wouldn’t like it.”

“No, they would not. Come with me.”

I followed her to her rooms and from that moment I was her own maid, her special maid. A blessing from the gods. No matter what else has happened, that was a blessing. I think, now, she might be one of those that the gods work through without them knowing it.

We talked often and long, she and I, though not so much that first day as there was so much to do getting ready for the wedding. But over the next weeks, and years, I learned about her life.

She had been cross to be married off without her father even asking, but she’d expected that long enough. The old lord, Wyman, treated his women like dogs and horses — breeding animals were only worth their keep if they bred true. Hah! Three wives he had and only the one ever caught a babe, and then he beat her for producing a girl until she died, lying in the straw still wet from the birth. The gods abhor a man such as he. He will scream at the edges of the dark, but it will be a warm night in hell before he gets reborn.

So he mistreated my lady all her life, for rage and disappointment that she wasn’t a boy. And he pampered her, too, for show’s sake, for his own pride’s sake, so she was dressed in furs and silks and waited on with respect in the court, and then beaten behind doors. And all that time all everyone knew was that my Lady Sorn was beautiful and young and the best catch in the Eleven Domains, because her husband would rule the richest Domain of all when her father died, and he was dying fast from the wasting sickness.

They sent all manner of negotiators, the warlords from the other Domains. They wanted Central for their sons, or for themselves. Arvid, Lord of the Last Domain, was the only one who didn’t court her. Central was too far, maybe, although of them all he was the closest in age. Thegan was old enough to be her father, almost. He has a son a couple of years younger, Gabra, who holds Cliff Domain for him, and at first the old warlord said that Sorn should be matched with him. All this happened through go-betweens, my lady told me.

Then Thegan arrived himself, with no warning, riding in large as life and twice as handsome, all gold hair and blue eyes and smiles, as irresistible as Acton himself. I wasn’t there, but I can imagine it. I’ve seen him charm strangers a hundred times, seen that warmth flow out of him like honey, like sunlight. I don’t think either my Lady Sorn or the old warlord even tried to resist him. They had the marriage two weeks later, an engagement just long enough to prepare the wedding and for my lord Thegan’s son to arrive from Cliff Domain.

The first time I saw my lord Thegan was when he arrived in the hall in his wedding finery, all blue to match his eyes, smiling at my lady as though he had never seen anything so beautiful. And she was. Oh, yes, she was glowing. She believed in him, then. Loved him even.

We all believed in Thegan. After the old warlord died and my lord took the reins, he seemed sent by the gods to lead us. He used the lash and the gallows more than the old warlord, but then things had been let slide a while, and there were lawless men preying on merchants and farmers alike. They deserved the flayings and the hangings they got. At least I thought so — was sure so. After all, the Well of Secrets was Thegan’s niece, as everyone knew. Surely that was a family led by the gods.

Just as I met my lady, I met my Alston at the altar stone in the dawn. He is a gods’ man, my Alston, pure-hearted, and I loved him soon enough, as he loves me. He follows my lord like a child follows his father, and my lord Thegan trusts him.

About three years after my lady and my lord were married, Alston came to visit me one evening, excited and exalted. My lord had told him great news, news that filled him with hope for the future, our children’s future. He explained everything to me, just as my lord had explained it to him: how the Domains were wasting away under lazy and evil warlords, and how they could be — should be — united to form a single great country, just as Acton had intended.

When Acton disappeared, a thousand years ago, he had been in the process of uniting the country. His death interrupted that, but now it was time to complete it — one country, strong and free and prosperous, under one law. Thegan’s law. For he would be Overlord of the Eleven Domains. I could see it. It was a wonderful vision. For surely, the warlords cared too much for their own comfort and not much for the needs of their people. If there was an overlord, setting the law, making them abide by it, it could be a great thing for the common people.

My Alston said that Thegan’s son in Cliff Domain, Gabra, wasn’t strong enough to hold the country together after Thegan’s death, but Thegan and Sorn’s children would be raised from birth to know their destiny, and Thegan and Sorn’s son would be overlord after Thegan. Then he swore me to secrecy, because there were spies from the other Domains who were our enemies, and no one should know for certain what the lord intended. I was so proud that Alston was one of my lord’s trusted men. I gave a lock of my hair in thanksgiving to the gods that night, and when my lady asked me why, I told her, for of course Alston wouldn’t have meant me to keep such a secret from my lady.

“All the Domains, Faina?” she asked quietly. “And how will he achieve this? He has sent out no letters for a council.”

It had been twenty-two years since the last Council of Warlords, since the last attack on the Cliff Domain by the Ice King, where they had all agreed to send men to help drive back the ice warriors. Lord Thegan was one of the leaders of that campaign, along with his father and brother, and was the bravest of them all. That is why his men worship him so, Alston says. He is so driven in battle, but so careful about his men’s lives. A true leader, my Alston says.

Looking back, it was after I told my Lady Sorn about the lord’s plans that she changed. Stopped looking at him with that dazed, tremulous expression. I knew what that look meant. I’d heard her moaning in his bed, and crying out, and weeping, sometimes, too, but not weeping that needed comforting. For weeks after the wedding, he went around looking like a cat in a dairy and she was soft-eyed and languorous, as a new bride should be, but rarely is. It may be there was too much awakening too soon, for later she resented that her body had betrayed her, that when he called her to his bed she went despite herself, despite her suspicion and her distrust.

“I’m like a bitch in heat,” she said bitterly to me one morning as we walked away from the altar stone a few weeks after I told her of the Lord Thegan’s plans. “He snaps his fingers and I go running. And the things he does to me . . .” She buried her face in her hands, but I could see it was burning red with shame. “The things I do to him . . .” she whispered.

“But lady, he’s your husband,” I comforted her. “The gods enjoin us to cleave to our husbands and enjoy them.”

“Not like this,” she said quietly, then lifted her head and shook back her hair. “Well. He may have my body, but he won’t have my mind. And maybe having the body will allay any suspicion of me. He will build his overlordship on the bodies of the innocent, Faina, and the gods cannot approve.”

I admit, I was torn at that moment. If my lord Thegan was guided by the gods, then my lady should not be suspicious of him. Nor work against him. I thought, for a moment, that I should tell Alston that my lady mistrusted his master, but then something in me knew, and I thought, no, she told me this for the gods alone to hear. Thank the gods I said nothing!

The preparations for war began, with the blacksmith working noon and night, although nothing was said openly. My lord began to buy all the horses he could, or take them in lieu of taxes if he couldn’t buy them. And my lady started to walk all the courtyards and buildings of the fort each day, inspecting the preparations, listening to the sergeants at arms train their men.

Then the night came when the Kill Reborn was found and brought to the fort.

I followed my lady out into the night, intrigued to see the Kill Reborn join with my lord Thegan. Was it a true sign that he was doing the gods’ will? Did they want the Domains united into one country, “a great nation” as my lord said, “renowned and strong and free . . .”?

I saw the Kill Reborn and it was a shock to realize she was a Traveler. But the gods often choose Travelers to carry their messages, I have noticed. So many stonecasters travel, it cannot be coincidence. Only a few can hear the gods. I’ve learned to pick them out of the crowd. I cannot feel the gods direct but, at secondhand, I am never wrong. The Kill Reborn travels with them on her shoulder. No doubt. I could feel them around her despite the dark, and the crowd, and the swords and shouts.

She was coming inside —
I might be able to serve her myself,
I thought, and was churned up with excitement — then she leaped upon her horse and whistled, and the whole pack of horses followed her. I felt my lady stiffen in surprise, then relax. My lord Thegan swore and stormed back toward the yard.