Tenth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Western Wheat Lands
‘Yew Cove’s nearly empty of Rankers,’ Ash said as soon as he reached Crys in the small camp and assured himself his lover remained unhurt. Crys didn’t mind the mothering one bit, not with only weeks left to live. If he could’ve sent anyone else to spy on the town, he would have, but Ash was the best tracker and scout they had this far from Mace’s army. He reached out and tangled his fingers in Ash’s.
‘So Corvus has pulled all his troops together after our victories at Pine Lock and Sailtown,’ Crys said. ‘Exactly as we’d hoped. Gives us a chance to end this once and for all.’
‘We could take Yew Cove,’ Ash said, avoiding the implication behind his words, ‘free the people, sow some more discord for Corvus.’
‘Our orders were to scout and come back,’ Crys said. ‘I’m inclined to agree with our king. No matter how swift or silent we are, we’ll lose some in the attempt and we need every fighter we’ve got. The remaining Rankers and converts won’t risk dealing with the townsfolk too harshly – they know how badly they’re outnumbered and won’t want to push the slaves into open rebellion. That’s a fight they’d never win. They should be safe enough until we have victory.’
He let go of Ash’s hand to stare southeast to where Rilporin dominated a horizon he couldn’t see. If Corvus was coming that meant he was alive, which meant Tara might not be. He wondered if Foxy would tell him if she’d fallen. He wondered if he’d want to know – it was his words that had put her on her path. And I’ve ordered soldiers to their deaths before. This is no different.
It felt different, though. Or … something did. He rubbed at an ache in the pit of his stomach, smiled when Ash’s lips grazed his temple. They hadn’t discussed it, they’d just started showing their love for each other in public and if the Rankers who’d ridden with them didn’t like it, at least they didn’t comment. It would be over soon, anyway. Crys wasn’t going to hide for whatever time he had left. Crys was done with hiding, with not being exactly who he was, man and god and heart-bound.
‘All right,’ he said to the fifty-strong patrol with their borrowed and stolen horses, ‘we’ll ride a deep loop towards Rilporin over the next couple of days and see if we can pick up movement or advance scouts. Let’s give the king something definite to worry about, because I for one am sick of all this bastard not knowing.’
The mix of Krikites, Wolves and Rankers grinned. They broke camp and soon enough they were on the move again, riding easily despite the snap in the air as autumn drew its cloak of reds and golds across the country, its fine tracery of low mists at dawn, its sudden, chilling downpours that told him summer was a distant memory. The last summer he’d ever see and he’d spent it fighting. An upswell of affection and humour reminded him not to dwell but to live and live well for the time he had.
He scratched idly at the russet pattern curling up through the open neck of his shirt beneath his chainmail as they rode, breathing deep of the crisp air and doing his best to ignore the ache in his stomach. It had begun a couple of days before and was likely just stress, but it seemed to get stronger the closer they rode to Rilporin. As though something in the city was calling to a part of him.
He looked over at Ash, sweat from his run back from Yew Cove sticking his curls to his brow despite the chill. He sensed the weight of Crys’s gaze and tipped him a wink; Crys smiled and the ache faded a little, replaced with something warmer, something real.
He clung to it through the rest of the day, and the day after that, as they rode closer and closer to Rilporin and the ache, the sense of something coming, the gloom that hid behind the sun, continued to grow.
‘They’re coming,’ Crys said to the group assembled in Mace’s command tent at the edge of Deep Forest a week later. ‘Three days behind us, perhaps – we pushed hard to put distance between us. We caught the leading edge of their outriders, didn’t get much of a look at the force marching behind before they chased us off, but the estimate is three or four thousand.’
‘Right, if it looks like four thousand we assume it’s eight and plan accordingly,’ Mace said and the Warlord, Dalli and General Hadir nodded their agreement. Hallos was there too, which meant he was taking a break from drilling the Rank surgeons and Krikite healers for a change. The gods knew they’d need every last one of them when battle was joined, especially now Crys knew his healing ability was more limited than he’d previously thought.
He decided to seek the man out after the council was concluded. The ache was still there, sapping at his energy, quietening even the Fox God. It was a slow poison and he needed to counter it. Three days until the battle, Foxy. Doesn’t seem very long at all now, does it?
We are together.
I know.
Trouble was, the sentiment wasn’t as comforting as it had been months or even weeks ago. Dying alone was terrible, but so was dying when there was still so much living to do.
‘Tailorson?’
Crys jerked out of his reverie and blushed. ‘Sorry, sir. Sire.’
Mace’s face was unreadable. ‘I asked if they had cavalry.’
‘Outriders only, it seemed. Probably no more than a hundred.’
‘That’s still enough for a cavalry charge,’ Hadir pointed out and Mace nodded. ‘Pit-traps and leg-breakers like the ones that cock Skerris laid outside Sailtown would be useful to break up the ground in front of our line.’
‘Agreed: get men preparing it at first light. Until then, gentlemen, dismissed.’
They filed out one by one and Crys waited until they were alone. ‘A moment of your time, Your Majesty?’ he asked and managed a faint smile at Mace’s glare at the use of the title. ‘It’s about Ash. About what happens to him after I … well, after.’
Mace gestured him to a seat. ‘I thought we’d get to this eventually. Let me point out here and now that I am not expecting you to die in this battle. You’re too bloody good a soldier and frankly I can’t afford to lose you. So do me a favour and stay alive.’
Crys managed a mirthless laugh. ‘I’ll be doing my best,’ he said.
‘That said, I will offer Ash a place on my staff after this is all over, or assign him as Dalli’s personal bodyguard, whichever he prefers. It would be nice to keep the two of them together, though they’ll no doubt make a mockery of the business of ruling. Alternatively, if Dalli passed over chiefdom to another when she becomes queen, Ash would get my vote as a more than suitable successor. And of course, the Crown and the Wolves will forever be closely entwined. Dalli won’t let it be any other way, and I’m not stupid enough to argue with that one on a regular basis.’
Crys didn’t know what to say. He’d expected an argument, awkward questions and perhaps even a reprimand for their public behaviour. He hadn’t expected Mace to understand him so well. Hadn’t expected compassion. It was an unfamiliar feeling after the months of wary devotion that was all the Krikites showed in his presence. It loosened a ball of tension in his chest that had sat there so long he’d forgotten about it. He let out a shaky breath.
Mace leant over and slapped him on the arm. ‘As I said, I’m ordering you not to die, Tailorson, but if you do disobey me, I’ll see him well looked after.’
‘Thank you, Sire,’ he stammered. ‘It means more than you could know. Your … acceptance too.’
Mace’s mouth twitched but his face was pensive. ‘Let’s just say Dalli is a tyrant and has taught me a few things about not being a prejudiced arse. A few lessons that I – that all of us – should’ve learnt a long time ago. And besides, it’s not easy to love a warrior when there’s a battle on the horizon,’ he added. ‘With everything on your shoulders, I wouldn’t deny you this small comfort. Of course, it requires both Ash and me to live to see it performed.’
‘You will, both of you,’ Crys said, an automatic rejection of the possibility of death, but Mace took it with more belief than was wise, as if it was a divine prediction. Crys didn’t disabuse him of his faith. He stood. ‘Thank you again, sir. With your permission?’
Mace stood and Crys saluted him. ‘Dismissed, Major.’
Crys left the king to his planning and went in search of Hallos. The physician leapt to his feet when Crys entered the long, low tent that would be the field hospital once battle was joined. The burly man hastened the length of the tent and ushered him towards the torchlight with unseemly glee. ‘It is an honour, a great honour,’ he said. ‘How may I help?’
‘Easy, Hallos,’ a voice said and Crys recognised Gilda in the shadows; he felt an absurd flush of relief. ‘Let the lad sit before you start poking him.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Hallos protested but Crys thought he looked a little guilty despite his words. He took the proffered seat anyway and Gilda dragged her stool closer into the light, rolling her eyes when he glanced over.
He felt faintly ridiculous now it came to it, sitting here about to complain of bellyache a few days before they’d be fighting and killing. And that, of course, was when the Fox God decided to take over.
‘There’s something in me that’s trying to burrow its way out,’ He said and Hallos sucked his breath in with a great gasp as the change became apparent. He fumbled for a pencil and notebook without looking, licked the wrong end and began to scrawl across a page already thick with text. ‘I think it’s the Dark Lady’s essence,’ He added and the pencil stopped moving. There was a long pause and then Gilda slid a little closer.
Uh, Foxy? When were you going to tell me about this?
What, did you think we’d just pissed Her back out? Laughter bubbled in his veins.
Yes. Well, no. Well, I didn’t really think about it.
We’d never have used our cock again if we’d done that, the Fox God assured him.
‘Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating,’ Hallos muttered. ‘And tell me, what makes you think it could be such a … substance? And why is it trying to, ah, vacate your body now?’
‘Because the time is nearly here,’ said another voice from the shadows and the hairs stood up on Crys’s neck. Dom limped into the light between rows of cots awaiting cleaved and screaming patients.
‘No,’ Crys whispered. ‘The Bloodchild is at least six weeks away, probably more. The battle will have been fought and won by then. It’ll be over.’
‘The Fox God’s destiny is to defeat the Dark Lady. How can you do that if you die in three days?’ Dom asked. Gilda helped him on to her stool and stood behind, ready to catch him if he moved into a knowing. Hallos’s head swivelled like an owl watching two juicy mice, unsure which to eat first.
‘So I survive the battle?’ Crys asked, his heart leaping. There was still time, there were still days for him to spend with Ash, to wring every last drop from life and love.
Dom’s laugh was sly and not exactly reassuring as he pressed his hand to his right eye. ‘Or maybe that babe just doesn’t want to wait,’ he said. ‘Who knows?’