The Bloodsworn (29 page)

“Don't worry, I'm sure he'll think of something.” Having a king in his debt was probably the greatest boon of Saxon's career.

“He's not wrong, you know. Highmount.”

Alix blinked in astonishment. “You actually think we should—”

“Of course not. How could I? I've already told you I think it's an abomination, and that was
before
what happened to me.” Shaking his head grimly, Erik went on, “But he's not wrong to suggest it. We have so few options . . . it would be irresponsible to dismiss any of them out of hand.”

Alix paused, considering the man before her. A year ago, Erik would have refused even to discuss it. Idealistic, principled to a fault, the Erik of a year ago would sooner let his kingdom perish than consider using dark magic.
How he's changed
, she thought.
How we all have.
It was bittersweet, to say the least.

Seeing her expression, his mouth twisted wryly. “You think I've been corrupted?”

“Hardly. Tempered, maybe. You're more pragmatic now.”

He sighed. “Pragmatism is not a Holy Virtue.”

“But duty is, and maybe Highmount is right. Maybe duty demands that you put being king ahead of being a good man.”

Strangely, Erik smiled at that. “I've heard that somewhere before.”

“Oh?”

“It was Raibert Green, ironically enough. He said something very similar to me last year. He told me there would come a time when I would have to choose between being a good man and being a good king. It seems that time has come.”

Alix regarded him sadly. It seemed to her that the blue eyes were a little darker than they'd once been.
Not bittersweet
, she thought.
Tragic.
And necessary. “What will you do?”

“Convene the council. My views on this haven't changed—
cannot
change—but that only makes it more important that I consult my advisors. My judgement is irretrievably clouded by what happened to me. I need help.”

Alix nodded. “Tomorrow, then. I'll inform Highmount straightaway.” Rising, she headed for the door.

*   *   *

“There is nothing to discuss, brother,” Tom said after Alix had departed.

Erik went rigid. “You shouldn't be here. You're gone.”

“Dead, but not gone. Not yet.” Tom leaned against the door, arms folded. “Surely you didn't think it would be that easy?”

Erik's breath came in short gasps. He could feel his pulse climbing dangerously; his chest grew painfully tight. “The bloodbinder is dead. The spell is broken.”

“Calm yourself, brother.” Tom approached the desk, and when Erik looked up he saw genuine concern in his brother's eyes. “It is not the magic. You are free, as Alix told you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You've seen what happens to soldiers who have known too many horrors. This is only battle shock. It will wear off eventually, assuming you live long enough.”

The arms of Erik's chair creaked in protest at his clawlike
grip. He forced himself to relax. “You shouldn't be here,” he said again.

“Don't be so quick to banish me, Erik. You need me.”

“Like I needed you while I was bewitched?”

“I was as bewitched as you,” Tom said patiently. “I
am
you, remember? Or at least a part of you.”

“The prick, presumably.”

Tom laughed. “That's better.” Slipping into a chair across from Erik, he said, “Back to business. You don't need the council, Erik. Highmount is right and you know it.”

Erik regarded him coldly. “It may come as a surprise to you, but your endorsement is hardly a point in Highmount's favour.”

Tom ignored that. “What Alix said is true: You have changed. You broke your word at the parley. Took my head with your own sword. Little by little, you have begun to realise what it takes to be king, and it isn't pretty. This is merely the next step in a necessary progression.”

“A necessary progression or a slippery slope?”

Tom shrugged. “Both, perhaps.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“Part of you believes it,” Tom said, “or I wouldn't be here.”

Erik squeezed his eyes shut. “What they did to me . . . to my twin. I had a
twin
, Tom. We had a brother.”

“I'm sorry. I know how badly you wanted that. Even I cannot help but wonder how things might have been different if we'd known him.”

“But he was taken from us. Tortured. My
mind
was tortured, harried to the brink of insanity. And now you would have me perpetrate this atrocity on others?”

“You must protect the kingdom at all costs. Difficult as it may be, that is the duty of a king.”

“It's evil, Tom.”

“Not evil. Merely tragic. Blame the ones who have forced your hand. Blame the Warlord.”

“Enough,” Erik said, waving the apparition away. “Leave me.”

When he opened his eyes, Tom was gone. Except he wasn't truly gone. Erik wondered if he ever would be.

T
he council listened in grave silence as Nevyn explained what he'd discovered—as much of an explanation as he could give, at any rate. As before, the bloodbinder maintained that he had no idea why, after months of trying, he had suddenly been successful.

Silence followed this monologue. No one wanted to be the first to break it. Erik waited patiently, fingers knit, gaze trained firmly on the table. Alix wondered if he was afraid of what they might see in his eyes.

In the end, it was Sirin Grey who found the courage first. “From the expressions around this table, it would appear that these tidings are not new for all of us. How long have we known of this?”

“His Majesty, Their Highnesses, Lord Green, and Lady Brown were apprised of the matter yesterday,” Highmount said. “I have known for a handful of days, but thought it best to wait until His Majesty had recovered from his ordeal.”

In that case, you should have waited a little longer.
A similar thought must have occurred to Erik, judging from the bitter twist of his mouth.

“And the discovery itself?” Sirin Grey asked.

“A little over a week ago,” Nevyn said. “Eight days, to be precise.”

“Meaning it was the day after . . .” She cleared her throat primly. “After the unfortunate events in the courtyard.”

“I suppose so.” Nevyn's gaze grew thoughtful. “An interesting coincidence.”

“One that there will be ample time to ponder,” Highmount said, “assuming we reach the right decision here today.”

“There will be no decisions reached here today, Chancellor,” Erik said coolly. “This council has been convened in an advisory capacity. The decision will be mine alone.”

“Gods help you,” Raibert Green muttered. He'd worn a scowl through the discussion, though he at least had the good grace to refrain from directing it at Erik. Green was rarely driven to anger, but Alix knew him to be a fiercely principled man, just like his late cousin.
I wonder what Arran Green would have made of all this.
For that matter, she wondered what his successor would think. Rig was a principled man too, but if it came down to a choice between five thousand enemy soldiers and his entire army . . .

“It is difficult to advise,” Lady Stonegate said, “without more of the facts. I have a few questions for Nevyn, if I may.”

Erik nodded wearily.

“You say you can replicate the procedure with the blacksmith, but he is only one man. Surely it is far more difficult to control five thousand?”

“Numbers appear to be less of a factor than proximity,” Nevyn said. “I have found that if one is close enough, a man is frighteningly easy to control. The same goes for two men, or three. I have no reason to believe it would be any different for a hundred or more, provided they share a common set of instructions. However, I have recruited Egan's apprentices for my experiments as well, and from what I can deduce, the farther away a man is, the more concentration it requires to control him, and here numbers
do
enter into it. I had Egan ride all the way out to Calder's Bridge without any noticeable change, but when I sent Dannel and Ramsey out to join him, I had to concentrate just a little bit harder. The difference was subtle, but it was enough to confirm my hypothesis.”

“That fits with what we know,” Alix said. She glanced at
Erik, but he seemed to be holding up better than yesterday, so she continued, “The Priest needed to be close to control his hordes—that's what made him vulnerable—whereas Dargin was able to reach His Majesty from a great distance.”

“Something I don't understand about that,” Lord Swiftcurrent put in. “Where did he get the blood?”

Highmount cut him off with a gesture. “That is a tale for another time. Please continue, Nevyn.”

“It also matters greatly whether one seeks to control the body or merely the mind. Taking full control over a man's actions as well as his thoughts requires much greater concentration, and so the distance factor becomes even more important.”

“We worked that out too,” Alix said. “It's why Dargin was moving north when we took him: He was looking to close the distance so he could assume full control. When he did, it demanded so much concentration that he was virtually catatonic.” Poor Rodrik, meanwhile, nearby as he was, would scarcely have required a thought.

“Catatonic or no,” Nevyn said, “it was an incredible feat, if you will forgive me for saying so. I doubt very much I could replicate anything close to that, at least not without months of practice. Were I to do this, I would need to be in immediate proximity to the forces you wished me to control.”

“But you
could
do it?” Lady Stonegate pressed.

“We cannot know for certain until the attempt is made, but . . . yes, I believe I could.”

“Now that we have thoroughly discussed the mechanics of the thing,” Raibert Green said, “perhaps we could discuss the ethics.”

“I don't see what there is to discuss,” said Lady Stonegate. “This discovery may be our salvation.”

“You have a very different definition of
salvation
than I, my lady,” Green returned. “Controlling men against their will, obliging them to fight and die for us—it's immoral.”

“It's war, is what it is,” said Lord Swiftcurrent. “Come, Green, no one denies this is uncomfortable, but is it really so different from what we're doing now? We have already pressed tens of thousands of Aldenians into mandatory military service.”

“Many against their will, one presumes,” Lady Stonegate added.

“But not with magic,” said Sirin Grey, looking troubled. “This is quite different, surely.”

Erik observed the exchange in silence. Alix would have given anything to hear his thoughts, but the royal mask was impenetrable.

“The equivalency of the thing is irrelevant,” Highmount said. “The fact of the matter is that we have no choice. We will lose this war, my lords. It is a simple question of mathematics. Lord Black has a force of fifteen hundred with him now. According to his latest letter, no more than a thousand Kingswords survived the attack on the citadel. Assuming the men at the fort fell back and all our men along the border are able to regroup, the maximum size of our armies is ten thousand. The Onnani will never reach us in time. The Kingswords stand alone, at
half
the enemy's strength.”

“If that is so,” said Norvin Gold, “then even five thousand enemy soldiers will not make up the difference.”

“Five thousand
thralls
,” Highmount reminded him. “Lord Black himself estimates that every thrall is worth two ordinary soldiers—to say nothing of the psychological impact of the enemy seeing their own turned against them. When the Oridians realise what is happening, they will run.”

“You can't know that,” Green said.

“What I know, Lord Green, is that this choice decides the war. If we do not do this, Alden
will
fall. And after that Onnan, and then Harram, at a cost of how many thousands of lives? What is so very ethical about allowing this bloodshed to continue?”

“So if our cause is just, we are justified in anything?” Rona Brown shook her head. “An argument like that can be used to rationalise all manner of horrors.”

“Indeed,” said Green. “No doubt the Priest used the same reasoning to defend his actions. To him, conquest in the name of religion was doing the work of the gods. Are we no better than the Madman of Oridia? Would we truly become the very thing we are fighting against?”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then everyone started talking at once.

“We can't possibly—”

“The matter is clear—”

“How will history judge—”

Around and around it went, all of it boiling down to the same two positions.
It's wrong. We have no choice.
With each raised voice, Erik looked a little wearier, his gaze a little more detached. Eventually, he held up a hand. “That will do, I think.”

The voices died down, but the glaring continued. Many of those relationships would never recover, Alix knew.

“It is clear we will not reach a consensus here,” Erik said, “nor did I really expect one. I have listened to your arguments and I will weigh them carefully. Once again, my lords, I thank you for your service.”

Each and every one of them looked like they might say more, but then Erik rose, effectively stifling any further discussion. This time, he didn't wait for the lords and ladies to file out of the room; instead he quit it himself. Alix let him go. He needed to be alone.

“What do you think he'll decide?” Liam asked as they made their way down the corridor.

Alix shook her head. The choice was hard enough on its own, but for Erik to have to make it after everything he had gone through . . .

A good man, or a good king?

“He shouldn't have to choose,” she murmured.

“He shouldn't,” Liam said, “but he does. And soon.”

*   *   *

A soft knock drew Erik out of his reverie. Rubbing his eyes, he called, “Come,” and was more than a little surprised when the door opened to admit his brother. Liam had not come to see him privately since . . . before.

“Thought you might want some company,” Liam said. “But if you'd rather not . . . I mean, I know you've got a lot on your mind.”

“Actually, I think a bit of company is just what I need. Can I offer you some wine?”

“No, thanks.” Liam settled into a chair across from Erik, the one Tom always used to occupy when he came to his elder brother with some complaint or another. “How are you holding up?”

“I haven't come to a decision, if that's what you mean.”

“Can't say I blame you. It's a terrible choice to have to make.”

“Terrible choices are a part of war. I daresay victory never comes without them.” Erik sighed. “Though perhaps Raibert Green would disagree.”

“Easy for him. He isn't king.”

“Precisely. I haven't the luxury of following my conscience wherever it may lead.”

“Says who?”

“Pardon?”

Liam regarded him with a clear, frank gaze. “What else are you supposed to follow if not your conscience?”

“Duty. Wisdom.”

“Well, sure, but those things are subjective, aren't they? It's your conscience that defines what they are.”

“I suppose you're right. I suppose the real problem is that my conscience is divided.”

“Good man versus good king.” Liam nodded. “Allie told me.”

“And does she have an answer?”

“You should ask her, maybe.”

There was a tone there, Erik thought. He had sensed it more than once over the past few days. Something had changed between the two of them, a distance that hadn't been there before. It was yet another stone on the cairn of Erik's grief.

Now was not the time to confront it, however. “What about you?” Erik asked. “What do you think?”

“I'm flattered you would ask, but the truth is, it doesn't matter a damn what I think, or anyone else. All of us put together don't amount to the man you are.”

“Don't be ridiculous—”

“I'm not. Look, there's something I think you need to hear. My whole life, I've looked up to you. Or the idea of you, anyway. Growing up, you were the person I wished I could be.” Liam coloured as he spoke, and Erik was painfully aware of how awkward this must be for him—for them both. “It's different now, obviously. You're not just an idea anymore. I've seen you make mistakes. But if anything that's only deepened my respect, because I know the man I'm looking up to is real, with the same fears and doubts as anybody else. These past few weeks, while you were”—his gaze dropped briefly—“while you were unwell, and I was trying to fill your boots . . . it was
the hardest thing I've ever done. I don't know anyone who could do what you do, Erik. And none of that changes because of what happened to you. Not if you don't let it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you should trust yourself. If anyone can find the right thing here, it's you.”

“I . . . thank you, Liam.” He wanted to say more, to tell his brother how very much it meant to him, but the words fell short, just as they had with Alix the other day.

It was then that her words finally sank in.
You still have family.
More loyal, more loving, than any he had known before. The thought was a light flickering to life inside him, like a candle in a long-dark room. They had done so much to protect him; now it was his turn.

He would not offer his soul, but he would offer his life, and gladly, in return for theirs. His head in exchange for their safety. The Warlord would honour such a bargain, Erik felt sure. He had done so before.

“Thank you, brother,” he said again, his voice strong now. “I believe I know what I must do.”