Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2 (33 page)

The gauntling turned and began to describe slow, descending circles, high above the boat.

“It’s coming down.” Tali retrieved the crossbow and loaded it.

“Not sure it’ll be much use against a shifter that size,” said Holm.

“How can you tell how big it is?”

“You get used to judging sizes and distances, at sea. Reckon its wingspan is a good fifteen feet.”

Three times Tali’s own height.

“And it’d need to be…”

“Why?” said Tali.

“I reckon it’s carrying a rider.”

Tali rubbed her eyes, which were sore from all the sea spray. As the gauntling descended, she made out legs hanging below the middle, but not the spindly little legs of the gauntling she had seen above Fortress Rutherin.

“It’s spying for Lyf. When it reports back, they’ll send a boat after us.”

“And not cockleshell craft like we dealt with last time,” said Holm. “They’ll send a proper boat, and they’ll be prepared for anything.”

“Can you hide from it?”

“Pray for a storm, or for the fog to thicken,” he said, “though I wouldn’t want to navigate these waters in either. Likely as not we’d come to grief on a reef or a berg. Keep watch.”

The gauntling was still descending in slow, sweeping circles. Was it coming down to make sure of her identity? She paced the deck, checked the crossbow, and checked it again.

She put it down and bent over, rubbing her sore eyes. When she straightened up, the gauntling was gone.

It could not have disappeared; it must be behind a cloud. Though the clouds were too high, and the scattered fog banks, hanging above the water, seemed too low.

“Holm?”

“Yes?”

“The gauntling’s disappeared.”

He ran out. “Where did you see it last?”

“Up there. I just rubbed my eyes for a few seconds, and when I looked for it, it wasn’t there.”

“I suppose it’s gone back to report,” said Holm. “Keep watch in case it’s hiding behind an iceberg. I’m just popping below.”

The nearest iceberg was a good mile away. He returned to the wheel and the boat turned towards a fog bank half a mile off. It wasn’t much of a hiding place. The gauntling could circle above it, waiting for the fog to thin, or direct searchers in boats back to the area.

She was staring up at the sky when there came a shrieking whistle behind her, like wind howling across tortured wings. Tali whirled to see the gauntling hurtling low over the water, its clawed feet extended, straight for her.

“Holm! It’s here!”

Where had she put the crossbow? She turned around, around, around. There it was, right where she had left it. She grabbed it, aimed for the creature’s chest and fired, but her hands were shaking and the bolt missed.

Still Holm did not reply. The rider stood upright in the stirrups, pulled off a helmet and a cascade of black, wavy hair streamed out behind her. Lizue! She had tried to kill Tali before and she was here to finish the job.

“Holm,” she shrilled. “It’s Lizue.”

Tali scrabbled another bolt out of the bag, slammed it into the groove and desperately wound the crank. She would not hesitate this time. If she got a chance to draw bead on Lizue’s chest, she would put a bolt right into her heart.

Where was Holm? She shot a glance over her shoulder and he was not at the wheel. That’s right; he’d gone down the ladder and might not have heard her.

The gauntling shot across the deck, directly above. Tali fired and seemed to get it in the tail, which lashed about like a dying snake. Lizue sprang off. As she soared through the air, arms outstretched, Tali was struck by two contrasting thoughts: how extraordinarily beautiful Lizue was, and how determined she was to cut Tali’s head off.

There wasn’t time to reload the crossbow. Lizue slammed into Tali, knocking her to the deck. She tried to whack Lizue in the face with the crossbow. Lizue elbowed Tali so hard in the nose that her eyes flooded with tears, momentarily blinding her, then struck her on the elbow. Tali’s forearm went numb and the crossbow skidded away across the deck.

She blinked away the tears and jammed a finger into one of Lizue’s eyes. Lizue reared back, dropped her head and attempted to butt Tali in the face. Tali elbowed her in the mouth, splitting her lip.

Lizue heaved Tali onto her back and jammed her left knee into Tali’s belly, pinning her to the deck. Her thigh was bandaged where the Sullen Man had stabbed her. It looked swollen and fresh blood was seeping through the bandage.

The injury must be exceedingly painful – how had Lizue kept going all this time? After Tali had taken that Cythonian arrow in the thigh, out in the Seethings, only intensive healing magery had allowed her to walk on it. Tali clubbed her fist, swung it around and drove it against the stab wound with all her might.

Lizue threw her head back, let out a shriek and fell backwards, her teeth bared. Tali rolled over and scrabbled across the deck, desperate to get out of reach. Lizue was her master in every respect and fighting her hand-to-hand could only end one way. But as she regained her feet, Lizue overcame the pain and attacked with a flurry of punches, trying to finish Tali as quickly as possible.

A blow to the jaw rocked her backwards; a second blow to her nose sent blood gushing from it.

“Holm!” she gasped. “Help.”

Was he absenting himself deliberately? Could he be working with Lizue? He had tracked Tali down immediately after Lizue’s first, failed attack, after all. Had he brought Tali this way so as to sell her to Lyf?

She stumbled backwards, looking around for a spar, the boathook, or anything else she could use as a weapon. Her lack of fitness was telling on her, and the weakness in her knees told her she could not resist much longer.

From a small pack on her back, Lizue withdrew a head bag like the one she had used in the cells. She slid a heavy knife from a sheath on her left thigh, and advanced. Tali went backwards until her back was against the side of the boat. If she moved left she would be trapped at the stern; on her right, a winch blocked her way.

How could she beat a fanatical opponent who carried a knife as big as a machete? Tali’s one advantage was that Lizue could not do her serious harm before she had the head bag securely over Tali’s head. She could not risk destroying the pearl. And Lizue had a weakness. Her thigh.

Tali groped behind her in the open compartments that ran along the sides of the boat, but felt only coils of rope and other items that were useless for self-defence. How could she attack Lizue’s thigh wound? She could not use any of the tricks Nurse Bet had taught her, for Lizue knew them all. Something new, then? No, a combination of old and new.

Tali attacked with a flurry of right-handed blows intended to divert her attacker from her real attack, a roundhouse left to the throat. Then, as soon as Lizue moved to defend against the blow, Tali raised her right foot and slammed her boot heel into the thigh wound.

Lizue screamed, dropped the head bag and fell back against the side of the boat, blood flooding from the wound. Her beautiful face was twisted in agony. Tali had to finish this now; she could not fight for one more minute. She crouched, seized her attacker’s ankles and, with a swift heave, dumped her overboard.

“Did I hear you call?” said Holm from the top of the cabin ladder.

“About an hour ago,” she snapped. “Where the hell have you been?”

She picked up the boathook she had used earlier and stood ready for when Lizue tried to reboard.

“I was at the crapper,” said Holm, coming to the cabin door. “Wasn’t aware that I was supposed to ask your permission.” He looked down at the bloody deck, up at Tali’s heaving bosom and scarlet, bloody face, and his weathered face paled. “What’s going on?”

“Lizue happened. She tried to take my head. Again!”

Lizue’s head and shoulders shot from the water. Her eyes were staring and the sea was red with her blood. Her arms caught the side of the boat, heaved and she was on the side.

“Not this time,” Tali said savagely.

She jammed the curve of the boathook against Lizue’s chest and shoved hard. Lizue slid off into the water and floated there on her back, her blood staining the sea around her.

A grey fin cut the water. The sea churned and a huge, grey head burst out. Jaws opened, revealing dozens of backwards-angled teeth. A single snap took Lizue’s bleeding leg off at mid-thigh. She screamed until foam gushed from her mouth. Her hands caught the gunwale and she tried to pull herself up, but the jaws opened again, closed around her middle and pulled her under.

Even when she was screaming, even when she was about to die, Lizue was still the most beautiful woman Tali had ever seen.

“I bear dreadful news, Rixium,” said Swelt, three days later, “and I’d prefer the whole household did not hear of it. At least, not yet.”

“News of the war?”

“Yes.”

“How did you hear?”

“Your great-aunt insisted on knowing the affairs of Hightspall, and I’ve maintained her network of informers.”

“It’s a long walk from any of the battlefronts to here.”

“We use carrier hawks. One flew in an hour ago.”

“You’d better come in.” Rix opened the door to its fullest extent and Swelt squeezed through.

Out of respect for his great-aunt, and the feelings of the house-hold about her, Rix had not taken her chambers for himself. He had occupied the rooms of her late husband, Rorke, an ineffectual man who had died thirty years before and not been missed by his spouse or anyone else.

Rix gestured Swelt to the chair by the fire and resumed his seat at an ornate desk by a narrow window. The only light in the chamber came from the fire but he did not light a candle. If they would soon be besieged, every candle was precious.

“What news?”

“You knew that Lyf had sent an army of twenty thousand across the mountains to attack Bleddimire?” said Swelt.

Rix’s stomach knotted. “I’d heard he’d sent an army. I didn’t know it was that big.” The army of wealthy Bleddimire was Hightspall’s main hope of relief. “What’s happened?”

“There was a battle by Lilluly Water yesterday.”

“Where’s that?”

“Two hours’ march south of Bledd. Lyf’s forces wiped Bleddimire’s army out, leaving the capital undefended. They’ll be attacking the walls of Bledd by now.”

Rix rose abruptly, stalked to the fire and stirred it with a poker. Sparks shot out onto the floor. He crushed them under his boot. “What about the chancellor?”

“He’s holed up in Fortress Rutherin, a hundred and fifty miles to the south.”

“But… he must have known Lyf was marching on Bleddimire.”

“He must have,” said Swelt. “Not even Lyf can move so great an army in secret.”

“Why didn’t the chancellor go after him? He could have attacked from the rear.”

“At a guess, because he’s a schemer, not a fighter.”

“But he’s got half a dozen generals…” said Rix. Swelt was shaking his round head, his jowls quivering like dewlaps. “Hasn’t he?”

“It seems Lyf targeted our commanders in the initial attack on Caulderon. All the chancellor’s generals and senior officers were killed or captured on the first day.”

“Even so —”

“The chancellor’s army is small, and his only officers are raw lieutenants. They don’t know anything about military strategy and they’ve got no battle experience.”

Rix drew another chair up to the fire and sat down abruptly. “So we’ve lost the centre, the south and now the north-west. Half of Hightspall will soon be occupied – the strongest and wealthiest half. And the chancellor, who’s useless, is stuck in Rutherin, a hundred miles across the mountains from anywhere. What do we do, Swelt?”

“Why ask me? You’re the lord of Garramide.”

Rix had already come to rely on the old man, and valued his advice. In some respects, Swelt was the kind of father figure Rix had yearned for, but never had. “I haven’t been in charge of a fortress before. I don’t know these mountains and I don’t know the servants. What are they like? Will they support me?”

“Depends what you want to do?”

“I told you, fight for my country.”

“Then most will support you – as long as you don’t just talk about it.”

“But some won’t.”

“The ones who served your great-aunt – a couple of hundred, all up, including myself – are loyal. Most of them have lived and worked at Garramide for generations and they loved the old lady. Since she named you her heir, they’ll follow you.”

“Even to war?”

“Of course – they know what the alternative is if Lyf wins.”

“What about the others?”

“The war has brought over a hundred new people in, counting Leatherhead’s fighters and their hangers-on. In the absence of anyone stronger, most of them will follow you…”

“And the rest?”

“Troublemakers. They’ll obey you if you’re strong enough, but you’ll never gain their loyalty.”

Rix sat back. “What about the enemy?”

“Lyf has a few garrisons lower down in the mountains. There’s one at Jadgery, one at Fladzey, further east, and another way up north at Twounce. Only forty or fifty men at each; he’s just showing the flag.”

“I know Jadgery,” said Rix. “I spent some time there when I was a kid.” He rubbed his jaw. “So… if we could take one of their garrisons…”

“Jadgery is closest,” said Swelt.

“It would inspire everyone else. It would be the first start to an uprising.”

“Which would bring Lyf down on us, quick-smart.”

“But with all the battles he’s fighting, and all the provinces and cities he’s occupying, he can’t have many troops to spare right now.”

“It’ll be different in spring.”

“Once he controls his captured lands, he’ll be able to spare an army. If we wait until spring to take him on, it’ll be too late.”

“What’s your plan?”

“A raid on his garrison at Jadgery.”

“If you succeed it’ll be a great boost to morale,” said Swelt.

“I’ll take Leatherhead’s fifty. They’re the only experienced fighters I have.”

“How can you be sure they’ll fight?”

“If we win, they get a share of the plunder.”

Swelt shrugged, his shoulders wobbling. “If you win, it’ll also bind them to you.”

“What if I lose?”

“Try to lose the thugs we don’t want back.”

As Swelt was waddling out, panting with each breath, Rix said, “Swelt?”

He turned. “Yes?”

“How’s Glynnie getting on?”

“Surely you know better than I do?”

“She’s been avoiding me,” said Rix.

Swelt inflated his cheeks. “I’m not one to carry tales, Rixium!”

“I need to know.”

“Well, I have to admire the girl.”

“For taking charge of the household?”

“No,” said Swelt, “for taking on the lowest, dirtiest and most menial tasks of all, and doing them perfectly.”

He went out, leaving Rix staring after him.

“You called for me, Lord Deadhand?” said Glynnie, from behind Rix.

He had not realised she was there. He started and knocked the ink bottle across his map.

“Sorry, Lord Deadhand. Let me clean it up.”

“I’ll do it!” he said, more brusquely than he had intended. “And call me Rix, dammit.”

She stepped back smartly, until he could barely see her in the dim light, then stood stiffly to attention as though awaiting Lady Ricinus’s pleasure.

“Don’t be like that, Glynnie,” he said, sighing.

“How may I serve you, Lord?” she said in a voice stripped of all emotion, though it quavered on
Lord
.

“Please, not after all we’ve been through together.”

“That was then,” she said quietly. “This is now.”

“We were friends. I miss you. I need you.”

Her face was tilted away from him. “You’re back where you belong, the lord of a manor with thousands of rich acres and hundreds of servants. And I’m back where I belong – the least of them all. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“You’re not least,” said Rix. “I gave you charge of the household servants.”

“I begged you not to. I’m just a maid – the least of all.”

“You’re strong and clever, and you know how House Ricinus was run.”

“
But I didn’t run it
. I don’t give orders, I obey them.”

“You can run this household; I know you can.”

“They won’t have me, and I don’t want it.”

“Is that why you’re doing the dirty jobs? To spite me?”

“When I see a job that needs doing, I do it. There’s nothing more to say. Will that be all, Lord?”

She was turning to go when he said sharply, “What’s happened? What did they do?”

“Nothing, Deadhand,” she muttered. “Just the everyday life of a servant in a great house.”

He sprang up, caught her by the shoulder and turned her around. She resisted, then obeyed. Her left eyebrow was badly cut and swollen, the area around her eye turning blue-black.

“Who hit you?” he raged.

“I’ll never say and you can’t make me.”

“I’ll have the lot of them up here. I’ll make the bastards talk.”

“And they’ll get me for it. Rix – Lord,” she clutched at his hands. “I told you this would happen. Why wouldn’t you listen?”

“I was trying to do the right thing. You’re so clever and capable, and you’ve done so much for me.”

Glynnie exploded. “You’re so stupid!”

“What are you talking about?” he said, genuinely bewildered.

“Ten days ago you were looking for a housemaid’s position for me, without asking me, because I’m an inexperienced girl who knows nothing of the ways of the world. Now, suddenly I’m old and experienced enough to be put in charge of a vast household?”

After a long pause, he said quietly, “I – wanted to make up for the way I’d treated you.”

“You’ve got to take it back.”

“If I do, they’ll assume I’m weak. They’ll know they’ve won.”

“They have won. You know the rumours Blathy is spreading about me?”

“No,” said Rix, frowning. “How could I?”

She made an exasperated noise. “She’s calling me your mistress – though that’s not the word she uses.” She flushed.

“What word does she use?”

“Slut! Your
slut
, Rix.”

“But I’m trying to do the right thing,” he bellowed.

“It’s not working.” She went out.

Rix threw himself on the huge old bed, which emitted clouds of mouldy dust.

Damn Blathy. He had to get rid of her, right now. He could not put off the evil moment any longer. He sprang up and headed downstairs to the servants’ quarters, feeling that familiar pain in his belly again. What if she wouldn’t go and he had to throw her out?

“Where’s Blathy?” he said to the widow Lobb, a toothless crone who was sitting by a narrow window, using a darning needle to gouge an ugly splinter from a boy’s hand, and making a bloody mess of it. She must have been half blind. The boy’s eyes were damp and he was trying not to cry out.

“I’ll take you to her, Lord,” said the boy – a sturdy, grey-eyed lad of about eight years, with wild sandy hair and a gap where he’d lost two front teeth.

Rix looked down at the boy’s raw hand. “Yes, right away.”

The boy wriggled free of the widow Lobb. “This way, Lord Deadhand.”

“Mind you come straight back,” Lobb said sharply.

“What’s your name, lad?” said Rix, following.

“Thom, Lord. I’m one of the wood boys.”

“An important job. I’ll see you get leather gloves in future.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Thom led Rix through a maze of passages and up a damp, south-facing tower to a weathered plank door. “Here’s Blathy’s room, Lord.”

“Thanks.” The boy was waiting, watching him, and Rix didn’t want any witnesses. “Better run back and get that splinter out.”

Thom studied his butchered palm, trembling. Rix took pity on him. “Go down and find Glynnie – you know her, don’t you?”

“Yes, Lord. She’s pretty.” Thom reddened. “And kind.”

“Tell her I sent you. She’ll have that splinter out so quick you won’t even feel it.”

“Thank you, Lord.” Thom ran.

Rix took a deep breath and rapped on the door. “Blathy, come out.” What if she wouldn’t go? He should have brought some guards.

After a minute or two she wrenched the door open and stood there in her shift, staring at him. She must have come from her bed, for her heavy-lidded eyes were half closed, her long hair was a tangled mess and her feet were bare.

“What do you want, Deadhand?” she said imperiously.

“According to the official charter, you have no right here. I’m putting you out. Gather your things.”

She stared at him for a long time, then strode across to the rumpled bed and in one swift movement drew her shift over her head and dropped it on the floor. She stood before him, proud, majestic and completely naked.

“Throw me out.”

She was bluffing. She had to be.

“Get dressed.”

“Make me.”

He wasn’t going along that road. “I’ll send the guards up, and some women to dress you.”

She picked up a heavy knife. “They’d better come armed.”

“They will,” said Rix, cursing her.

“If you expel me I’ll tear my clothes off and walk naked into the snow, to freeze to death.”

“That’s your choice, not mine.”

“But you’ll be blamed. You’ll bear it for the rest of your life.”

She threw her head back, proudly meeting his eyes, staring him down. She wasn’t bluffing. Blathy was a terrible, vindictive woman, but a magnificent one too – she was prepared to risk everything on her estimate of his character, and face the consequences if she was wrong.

“What do I care if you live or die?” he muttered.

“You’re chivalrous, Deadhand. With my death on your conscience, you’ll burn with guilt.”

“You’re assuming I have a conscience.”

“When it comes to dealing with women, you’re weak. It’s your curse.”

There was nothing to say. He walked out, cursing his folly. I am weak, he thought, and she’s beaten me. How will I ever get rid of her now?

His wrist was aching worse than ever. He manually flexed the fingers of his dead hand, then rubbed the inflamed scar where it joined the healthy flesh of his wrist. It did not ease the pain. If there had been more of Tali’s healing blood, might it have saved his hand?

He had not thought about her in ages. In truth, he’d avoided thinking about Tali because her small betrayals – notably, not telling him about Lord and Lady Ricinus’s treasonous plan to assassinate the chancellor – had been too painful. Now he realised that her failings paled beside his own.

He flexed his fingers again. Why had his rejoined hand worked so well, then gone dead? He should never have used his own blood to paint with. Had the prophetic mural ended the life of his hand?

In the past, Rix had often painted things he did not want to see, yet painting had also been his main solace in childhood. It had been the one thing that had not been bought by the wealth of House Ricinus. He wanted to paint now. No – to get the insoluble problems of Glynnie and Blathy out of his head he
needed
to paint. Even something crude, which was all he could manage left-handed, would be better than nothing.