The Bloodforged (5 page)

“It's time, Your Majesty.”

Erik looked splendid in his armour and white leather, the garnet-studded pommel of his bloodblade jutting out from his hip, and Alix realised how long it had been since she'd seen him dressed for battle. The sight was at once inspiring and disconcerting.

“Don't look so downcast, Alix,” he said. “You're going home.”

She managed a smile. “I do look forward to seeing Blackhold again. Though . . .” The smile faded. “I wonder what I will find.”

Liam looked away, his mouth pressed into a thin line. She could guess his thoughts. He wanted to be there for her when she stepped through the doors of her childhood home. A place she hadn't seen for nearly two years, that had fallen to the enemy, with gods knew what consequences for those beloved halls.

I wonder if I will even recognise it.

She pushed the thought away. “After you, Your Majesty.”

It was chaos in the courtyard. Grooms and squires bustled between horses stamping and snorting with impatience. The White Wolves gathered near the armoury, the scouts near the cistern. The supply wagons were islands of stillness in a sea of moving horseflesh. Near the gate, the honour guard was already mounted up, the White banner dangling from gilded spears propped in their saddles.

The king's arrival brought a hush over it all. Heads turned. Some faces were apprehensive, others merely expectant. If Erik noticed, he gave no sign; he mounted up as if they were merely heading out for a leisurely hunt.

The Street of Stars had been cleared for the procession, but the common folk were permitted to gather along the fringes. And gather they did, in gutters and side streets, on rooftops and balconies. It seemed to Alix that every man, woman, and
child in Erroman lined the route, watching in an eerie near-silence as the king and his retinue rode past. She was reminded forcibly of last summer, when Erik and the banner lords had returned from the front. The streets had been quiet then too, the people unsure how to react to the unexpected sight of their king, a man whose crown had nearly been wrested from him by his own brother. That ride had ended in triumph, with joyful crowds all but carrying them to the palace gate.

Alix felt as though she were reliving that day in reverse.

The crowds bore sombre witness all the way through the south gate and onto the old temple road. Alix hadn't been this way since
that day
, and she couldn't suppress a shudder. The gate had been repaired, the bodies long since buried, but it seemed to Alix that an aura of death remained, like a foul odour that never quite goes away.

The others felt it too, she could tell. Erik's gaze roamed over the ruins, grim and thoughtful. Liam, meanwhile, wouldn't even look at the pile of rubble that had once been the Elders' Gate. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, as though he could pass the place where Arran Green had died without it tugging relentlessly at him, like a fishhook catching at the weeds.

The column drew to a halt at the crossroads. Erik, Liam, and Alix dismounted.

“I guess this is it,” Liam said.

“Guess so.” Alix longed to bury herself in his arms, but felt as if every pair of eyes in the procession were trained on them.

Including Erik's. Looking from Alix to Liam and back, he sighed. “I'm sorry for this. I wish there were another way.”

Alix nodded. They'd had this conversation too many times to count. There was no point in having it again now, in front of White Wolves and royal guardsmen and half a hundred others.

She tried for a smile. “At least you'll have Rudi,” she said as the wolfhound trotted over.

“Yeah, great.” Liam gave his dog a wary look. “If you get word I've been killed, you'll know what happened.”

“Death jokes. Perfect.” She had half a mind to slap him; lucky for him there were all those pairs of eyes.

“You are an ass, brother,” Erik said with a rueful smile, clasping Liam's arm.

He grinned. “It's a gift.”

“Just promise me you won't bestow it upon the Onnani.”

“I'll do my best.”

Erik's smile faded. “I'm counting on you, Liam. We all are.” He slung himself back in the saddle. “Let Eldora be your sign,” he said before guiding his horse away.

Liam looked at his boots. He shoved a hand through his unruly dark hair. He had nothing to say.

“Good luck.” It was the best Alix could manage.

“Take care of him, Allie. And . . . take care of yourself.” He looked up, the beginnings of a smile hitching one side of his mouth. “I don't want to hear about frostbite on your toes or panthers in your bedroll.”

“Panthers. In my bedroll.”

“Cats love to snuggle up with warm things.”

“I'll try to remember that.”

“Speaking of warm things . . .” He reached into a saddlebag and drew out a scroll. “Here. Don't open it now. Save it for a really cold night.”

She ran a thumb over the wax seal, marked with the royal sunburst. “What is it?”

“It's a letter, you dunce.”

“I can see that, but—”

“A really cold night, Allie. When you need to warm up.”

She shook her head, baffled.

“Gods, woman, you have no imagination at all.” Gathering her into his arms, he whispered something in her ear.

Alix felt her skin warm. “Oh.”

His laugh against her ear made her want to cry. The gods only knew when she would hear it again.
If
she would hear it again.

He pulled back and took her chin in his hand. “No, no. Don't do that. If you cry, you might take me with you, and then how will I ever command this fine pack of manly men?”

She laughed. “And women?”

“The women are especially manly.”

“Don't let Rona Brown hear you say that.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “We'd better get on. We're holding up the war.” He planted a soft, chaste kiss on her mouth.

Alix brought a hand to his cheek. Drew in a deep draught of his scent, as though she could bottle it, keep it with her. She was
about to pull away when she felt his tongue slip into her mouth. She broke off a moment later, gaze skipping over the assembled crowd. She could feel the fierce blush colouring her cheeks.

“They'll get over it,” Liam said. He swept onto his horse with a grace belying the weight of his armour, then reached down to offer Alix a hand onto her own horse.

“What, in front of all these manly men?” She mounted up on her own.

“All right, Wolves,” Liam called. “We're for the Imperial Road.”

Ide said something Alix couldn't hear, and the Pack turned as one, pointing their mounts south. They'd follow the Imperial Road as far as the river, then swing east onto the Onnani Highway.

“I think I'd rather face a horde of thralls,” Liam said in parting.

“There's no such thing as thralls anymore,” Alix said.
But I'll be facing the next best thing in the mountain tribes.
If she'd been Liam, she would have made a joke of it. But Alix didn't feel like joking. She was leaving behind the man she loved, and all that lay ahead of her was bitter winds and bitter memories.

And the deadly mountain tribes of Harram.

T
here were certain constants in the world. Absolutes. Things you could count on, whatever twists and turns fate might take. Dogs obeyed their masters. Knights fought in battle, with swords and arrows and other pointy objects. And commanders got to choose their own seconds—especially if they were
prince
of the sodding
realm
.

So how, Liam wondered, did he end up here?

“Bollocks,” he growled.

Ide didn't respond. Admittedly, Liam might have mentioned this before.

“Completely unfair,” he added.

That provoked a response, though not quite the one he'd been looking for. “All due respect, Commander, you sound like a five-year-old.”

“There's gratitude for you.”

Ide hitched a shoulder, her sturdy frame swaying back and forth with the rhythm of the horse. “No use wallowing in it. What's done is done. I don't mind so much anyway. Never expected to be made a knight, did I?”

“You deserved it,” Liam said. “You're a better fighter than half the men under my command, and they're the cream of the realm.” What was left of them, anyhow.

Ide shrugged again. “I still come out ahead, way I see it.”

See,
that
was why he'd picked her in the first place. He'd never met someone so levelheaded. Ide was cool as mint in a fight. Afterward, she could put away enough wine to sink a small ship and still beat you at cards. She could shoot a swallow out of the sky, and that was before she'd got her bloodbow. Now he had to put her aside for some random Brownsword he'd never even met? Good job his new second had been recommended by Rig, or Liam might have pitched a proper fit.

Ide was right, though—there was no point dwelling on it. In less than half an hour, she would be relieved as his second, whether he liked it or not.

The landscape rolled past, a dozen shades of brown under an ash-coloured sky. The horses' hooves drummed rhythmically against dirt packed hard with frost. It was almost enough to put him to sleep. Last night had been spent on the hard earth, and as for the night before that . . . between making love to his wife and staring miserably at the ceiling (fortunately not at the same time, or he might have found himself short one appendage), he hadn't had much sleep. He wondered how the beds at the inn would be.
Nicer than what you've known most of your life, most likely.
Things certainly had changed since he became Liam White.

For the better, mostly. But when it came to things like this . . . diplomatic missions and political appointments . . .

Bollocks.

“There it is, Commander,” said Rona Brown, pointing. She'd braided her hair like Alix's, starting behind her forehead and sweeping down one side. Just fashionable enough to mark her as a noblewoman, but subtly.
Smart
, he thought. The Onnani would go for that, if what Alix had told him was true. He was glad Rona had come along, he decided. He hadn't been sure at first. He would have preferred to leave her in command of the Pack, the bulk of which had stayed behind in Erroman. It wouldn't have occurred to him to consult her on courtly matters. It was, he had to admit, a good idea.

“You been to Onnan before, Commander?” Ide asked.

Liam shook his head, taking in the shambling outline of the village as it rose up out of the horizon. “Actually, I don't think I've been this far east before.”

“Not much reason to,” Ide said, “unless you fancy pig farming.”

As soon as she said it, Liam could smell it: the unmistakably delightful odour of pig shit.
This just keeps getting better.

The village was typical of those along the highways, little more than a glorified hitching post erected for travellers on their way somewhere more important. Its amenities lined the road like a row of soldiers hoping to be picked for some special duty. Liam spotted a smithy, a baker, a cobbler, and a cluster of market stalls selling vegetables and meat. “Do you suppose they have pork?” he asked dryly.

The Boar's Tusk was the only stone structure in the village. A handsome whitewashed building of two storeys capped with thatch, it presided over its collection of modest neighbours with the ponderous dignity of a priest ministering to a rabble of peasants. Cheerful bay windows swelled out from the walls on either side of the door. It was posh, all right. Liam suddenly felt awkward. As much as he looked forward to a nice bed, sleeping apart from the rest of the men didn't seem right. It was easier to ignore at the palace. The Pack barracks were well appointed, as barracks go, and Liam had family to look forward to at the end of the day. Out here on the road, it felt like putting on airs.

Get used to it
, he told himself.
You're not one of the lads anymore.

He dismounted and handed the reins to Stig. “Tell the
stable boy no oats,” he reminded the squire. “And take Rudi with you, all right?”

“Yes, Commander.” Stig summoned the wolfhound with a shrill whistle and headed off to the stables.

The door of the inn opened to eject a plump, swarthy man in a straining doublet. From his dark complexion, Liam would have taken him for Onnani, but he was obviously of mixed blood, because a moustache the size of a small ferret perched across his upper lip. The innkeep, Liam reckoned.

“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing low. “It is a great honour to welcome you to the Boar's Tusk. My name is Cull, your most humble host. Please, come inside. Your supper is on the stove even now.”

Liam, Ide, and Rona Brown followed the innkeep into a warm, low-lit common room full of empty tables. For a fleeting moment, Liam worried what that said about the food. Then he realised:
They've cleared the whole place out for us. For you.
He almost sighed aloud, offering a silent apology to the poor sods who'd been relocated to gods-knew-where. His gaze took in the rest of the room. A long, curved bar hugged the far wall, and a fire snapped in the hearth. Something sizzled heartily behind a closed door. Bacon, naturally.

The room's only occupant rose from behind a table near the hearth. He wore Kingsword armour, and had the dark hair, smooth cheeks, and dusky complexion of an easterner. He bowed.

“Commander Dain Cooper, I presume.” Liam hoped it sounded warmer than he felt.

“Your Highness.” The knight bowed again.

“Wasn't sure you'd make it in time.”
Almost wish you hadn't.
“You ride fast.”

Dain Cooper made no reply.

“Shall I have the girl draw you a bath, Your Highness?” the innkeep asked.

Liam glanced at his companions. “I think we'd rather eat first,” he said, to a vigorous nod from Ide.

The innkeep blinked, surprised by this display of rough manners. Liam was feeling just peevish enough to enjoy that.

The three Wolves joined their newest member at the table. Liam clasped arms in greeting, which seemed to surprise the other man. He introduced Ide and Rona and pulled up a chair.

Then they sat there and stared at each other for a while.

“So,” Liam said eventually. “You're my new second.”

Brilliant opening. While you're at it, maybe you could try lighting a fire with soggy straw.

“It's my great honour, Your Highness,” the knight said.

“Commander, please.”

“I . . . beg your pardon?”

Rona Brown came to his rescue. “The commander prefers for us to refer to him by his military rank, not his courtly one. He only goes by
Your Highness
at the palace. Just as I only go by
Lady Brown
at court or at Brownhold.”

“I see,” Dain said, in a tone that suggested he really didn't. “I apologise, Commander. I didn't realise.”

“How could you?” Liam said.
Since I've never clapped eyes on you before they made you second-in-command of my Pack.

The knight shifted in his seat. He wore a look that Liam knew intimately; he'd been seeing it in the mirror for months. A man out of place. Sent where he'd been told, not where he'd chosen to go. Surrounded by people he feared were judging him.

You, Liam White, are a proper prat.

“So,” he said again, and this time he forced himself to smile. “Cooper. First generation?” It was none of his business, and he didn't really care anyway, but he couldn't think of a sodding
thing
to say to this man.

“That's right,” Dain Cooper said, a little warily. Dark eyes searched Liam's. He didn't know anything about his new commander's politics, presumably. Like whether Liam was the sort to be offended by the obvious statement of taking a second name, when most commoners had only one.

Of course, he could have figured it out, if he'd thought it through. Liam decided to help him. “Never missed having a second name, myself. I'm still getting used to it.” The man's shoulders relaxed. Liam felt oddly proud of himself. “Why Cooper?” he asked.

The knight shrugged. “Thought it sounded better than
Barrel-maker
.”

A serving girl appeared at Liam's elbow with a big platter of rashers, and his stomach rumbled appreciatively. There were worse things, he decided, than overnighting in a pig town.

He reached for a bread roll, broke it in half. It shattered like
masonry met with black powder. “From barrel-maker to Brownsword to Kingsword. There's an interesting journey.”

Dain picked up the basket of stale rolls and passed it to Rona Brown. “After my king's service, I realised I liked handling a sword better than I liked banding oak.”

“I never knew my father had an Onnani knight in his service,” Rona said.

“He didn't.” Dain was using bacon fat to loosen up his bread. Or at least, he was trying to. The things were impervious to all forms of moisture. They could double as ammunition for a trebuchet. “I've only been a knight for a few months. I was appointed by the commander general.” There was more than a hint of pride in his voice, but Liam didn't hold it against him. He'd felt the same when Arran Green finally made him a knight.

“Rig . . .” Liam cleared his throat. “That is, General Black . . . speaks highly of you.”

“He's a great man.” Liam would have taken that for polish had Dain not been so visibly earnest. Somewhat less earnestly, he added, “Also, he owes me half the gold in the Black River.”

Liam's bacon froze halfway to his mouth. “How's that?”

“He can rout a battalion with a band of fifty and bludgeon any man in the ring one-on-one, but by Hew, the man
cannot
play cards.”

It was right about then Liam decided he liked Commander Dain Cooper.

*   *   *

“Well,” Ide said,
lowering the longlens, “how do you like that?”

Liam peered down the long metal cylinder, trying to get a sense of their numbers. About fifty, he reckoned, though it was hard to be sure. “Definitely soldiers.” He'd known that before he put the longlens to his eye; it was the glint of their armour on the horizon that had drawn his attention in the first place. “I see the Onnani banner.”

“An honour escort?”

“Let's hope so, or things are about to get awkward.” Liam twisted in his saddle. “All right, Wolves! Look sharp! I want the lines kept nice and clean. First impressions, and all that.”

“You heard the commander,” said Dain Cooper, turning his
horse and heading down the line. “Let's tighten it up back here. We're representing His Majesty the King of Alden, so let's bloody well look like it!”

Moments later, Liam's pack of fifty riders had been guided into ranks as straight and even as the tines of a comb. His new second was doing well, Liam had to admit. In less than three days, Dain Cooper had taken to his new role like a fish takes to—

No. Not like a fish. Definitely
not
like that.
Grumbling, Liam spurred his horse.

“The border post is just over that rise,” Dain said.

“Funny they're meeting us on this side of it,” said Ide.

“Actually, the Onnani consider that we crossed the border about half an hour ago.”

Liam blinked in surprise. “Come again?”

“This section of the border is still technically in dispute. Has been ever since the empire fell.”

“But the border post . . .”

Dain shrugged. “The Onnani are willing to play nice and share the fort, but that doesn't mean they accept the Aldenian border demarcation. As far as they're concerned, they're hosting an Aldenian contingent on their territory.”

“Huh.” Liam hadn't realised the border between the two allies was in any way controversial.
Nothing about that in Saxon's notes.
Alix had assured him the spy knew all there was to know about Onnani politics, that his notes would be an invaluable guide. This little oversight did not bode well.
How many more of those have I got to look forward to?
The thought didn't fill him with confidence.

“You been here before, Dain?” Ide asked.

“We came often when I was a kid. Distant relatives. My father thought it was important that we see the old country.”

“Did you like it?” Rona asked.

Dain smiled. “Have you ever seen the sea?” When Rona shook her head, he added, “Well, just wait. Every man should see the sea at least once before he dies.”

They were nearing the riders now, and Liam realised there were more than he'd thought. A lot more. Eighty at least.
What in the Nine Domains do they need with eighty men?

Their leader raised a hand as the Wolves approached. He spoke a word, and the riders all crossed one arm over their
breasts and did a seated half bow. Liam had no idea how he was supposed to respond. He waved.

The riders at the front of the column flourished their banners, and slowly, somewhat awkwardly, their horses lowered themselves to one knee. It was, Liam had to admit, a nice trick.