Tenth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Five miles from Deep Forest, Wheat Lands
The pretender to the throne had laid his battle lines with care, expecting Corvus to walk into them and die like an untrained fool. Corvus didn’t. He pulled up his army with five long miles between them and Koridam, and he set his own lines, placed his sentries and sent his scouts to check for movement. And he waited.
Koridam wanted to force a swift conclusion to this war; Corvus should probably want that too, but he had time before the Dark Lady’s return to play cat and mouse for a while. The East Rankers had brought harvested crops, livestock and flour with them from Yew Cove, Shingle and Three Beeches, and the Wheat Lands were well named; his army wouldn’t starve.
Corvus had roughly two thousand Mireces and the same again in East Rankers. Not a huge number, but scouts put Mace’s forces at about the same, maybe fewer. It didn’t seem like a lot to decide the fate of a country, but neither side had any more forces they could draw upon. This was it, the final, all-in gamble, only Corvus knew he held the winning hand, gifted to him by the gods Themselves. Still, over-confidence was unwise, hence his decision not to rush the enemy’s position.
The hill Mace was perched atop like a cock on a shit heap was the only elevation for miles and it was backed by the leading edge of Deep Forest – a clever avenue of retreat if they needed it. A small outpost of the forest cloaked the base of the hill to the west and that, no doubt, would be where the Wolves and some of the Krikites were stationed. The rest of the Krikites had the slope from the trees to the summit, with the Ranks commanding the top. It was simple and so it would work – unless Corvus could disrupt those lines, draw forces away from each other, separate the Wolves from the Krikites and the Ranks from everyone.
Fortunately, he had a plan to do just that. And afterwards, when the war was won and the Dark Lady returned in the body of his niece? Afterwards, Corvus would focus on rebuilding his army from converted warriors, Rankers and farmers to protect Rilpor from Listre and Krike. He’d rebuild until he was strong enough to take those lands for the Red Gods, for the Dark Lady who would walk this land clothed in flesh and related to him by blood, a link none would dare to question. He and Rill would rule together, united in love of the Dark Lady, reaping the rewards of all She had promised.
And he’d sire himself a few heirs, on his sister and others. That business with Valan had made him realise his legacy needed to be secured. Tett was a good second, but Corvus wanted his own blood to sit the throne after him. A dynasty like the Evendooms had been, only stronger. The line of Corvus, blood royal and blood divine, a line that would last forever.
No, Corvus was more than happy to wait as long as he needed to before the final battle. Everything was falling into place.
The king’s good humour vanished as Baron, the new general of the much-reduced East Rank, trotted over. ‘They have the better ground, Your Majesty,’ he said, not for the first time. ‘I doubt they’ll give it up.’
‘If they have the better ground, why the shit am I going to fight on it?’ he growled. ‘We wait.’
‘Your plan is to lure them here?’
‘My plan is to wait and respond to events as they unfold. If they want to force my hand, they’ll have to do more than sit on a hill in front of a forest.’ He stared at the distant green and brown smudge. ‘That said, if they send scouts, we kill them. Kill anyone who comes within range. We don’t want them getting a good look at us.’
Baron looked as if he disagreed, but kept his opinion to himself. ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he said instead, saluted and marched away.
Tett was nearby, fixing the handle on his shield. ‘Do you have a plan, though?’ he asked without looking up.
Corvus paused; he liked the man’s silence, liked that he only spoke when he had something necessary to say. If he was asking now, he was genuinely curious – or concerned. He squatted down next to him and steadied the shield. ‘My plan is to drag this out as long as possible. Koridam did force my hand in this, attacking the two biggest towns outside Rilporin and killing the garrisons. If he’d stayed quiet, we could’ve waited until the Dark Lady was returned to us. Which is, of course, why the clever shit didn’t wait. Even so, I can’t say I’m not relieved to be out of that fucking palace. Pretty sure I was closer to death in there than I am out here.’
‘Valan,’ Tett said.
‘And the Blessed One.’
Tett grunted and tied off the leather wrapping the shield’s handle. ‘And you think I’m less likely to stab you in your sleep than they are.’
Corvus ran his tongue around his teeth and waited until the other man looked up. ‘I do.’
The corner of Tett’s mouth lifted. ‘Good, because I’ve no fucking interest in being king. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not your second; I’m your bodyguard. If I fail in my duty and you die, I won’t take the throne. You’d do better naming Fost as second. He’s slow but he’s dependable, doesn’t have the imagination to assassinate you, and even if he did, you’ll keep me on as bodyguard and I’ll make sure he fails.’
‘I will, will I?’ Corvus asked, amused and only a little irritated at Tett’s presumption.
The man shrugged. ‘Why not? You can afford me. More importantly, you trust me.’
Corvus clapped him on the shoulder and stood. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. Either Tett was telling the truth, or he was playing a very clever game. It would be interesting to see what happened next.
Forty-six men were found dead around their campfires and at their posts the next morning. Forty-six killed in silence, without anyone noticing. Not one had drawn a weapon in self-defence. The number didn’t worry him so much as how it had been accomplished. There could be – there always was – only one answer.
‘Fucking Wolves,’ he said to Tett and Baron, just the name enough to set his teeth on edge. ‘Always the fucking Wolves. Baron, get your men digging fortifications. I want a ditch and palisade up before dusk, big enough to shield us all as it’s pretty fucking clear the sentries are as much use as Skerris’s bloated corpse. Tett, send men out on every horse we’ve got. Squads of twenty. Kill any scouts or small patrols they come across. Poison the stream between us and them, too – we’ll get water from that pond to the east. If they want to play games, that’s fine with me.’
‘And tonight?’ Baron asked. ‘We retaliate?’
Corvus bared his teeth. ‘Of course we fucking retaliate. I want your best ambush teams and sappers ready an hour before nightfall. They’re to disable or destroy the traps dug into the ground in front of Koridam’s line and then wreak some havoc among their sentries. I want more seeded between us and them to intercept any of their lot coming this way. And tomorrow night, and the night after and the night after that. And I want double the number of sentries on the palisade once it’s up, day and night.’
‘Your will, Sire,’ Tett said.
The urge to go himself was strong, the urge to fight and kill again after months of inactivity making him restless, but he resisted. The time for recklessness was when the battle was joined and his blood was up and it was kill or be killed. If he died on some stupid scouting mission, the Mireces would lose the coming battle. And if they lost the battle, it wouldn’t matter if Lanta was successful in bringing back their Bloody Mother, because there wouldn’t be any faithful left alive to worship her. No, they needed him, his vision and presence, to stiffen their spines and show them how to win. Show them what victory looked like, and what a king looked like.
Tett followed Corvus to the edge of the encampment and around it, examining the corpses. Knife work, maybe spears. His second – my bodyguard – carried his own shield on his arm and Corvus’s slung on his back. He didn’t look at the corpses – he looked at the Rankers and Mireces who’d been stationed nearby. He looked for rebellion, for the defiant eye and sullen voice. And he looked out across the rolling fields of stubble, crops harvested, hay stacked ready for winter, to the distant forest, the distant enemy.
Tett watched for danger, from wherever it might come. When it did, Corvus almost wasn’t surprised. It was cleverly done, too, he had to admit. A brawl broke out thirty strides away, Mireces and Rankers in each others’ faces, punches and insults being traded and drawing all eyes. All but Tett’s. The man yelled a warning and Corvus spun and drew, but the Ranker was already dying on the point of Tett’s sword. Another came on, another Ranker, and Tett barrelled into him shield-first, knocking him down and smashing the rim of the shield into his ribs, breaking bones and stealing breath. The man whooped, unable to scream or make his lungs work and then Tett passed Corvus his own shield and they stood back to back, waiting for more. There were no more.
The brawl nearby became a slaughter as the Rankers swapped fists for swords and fell on the Mireces. Were they Koridam’s men, spies sent to sow discord and execute the high command, or were they Easterners who’d had enough of Mireces rule?
‘Stand down,’ Corvus shouted as Rank officers began sprinting through the camp in their direction, yelling orders of their own. ‘Back off,’ Corvus shouted again and the Mireces tried to disengage without getting themselves killed. Others formed a shield wall and battered their way in between the fighters until the two sides were separated and restrained.
‘Whose plan was this?’ Corvus demanded, sword still in hand, shield ready. He looked at the Easterners first, but then swept his gaze across the Mireces too. An attempt had been made on his life – he’d assume nothing. ‘Tell me now and some of you will live.’
‘They just started throwing insults, Sire,’ one of the Raiders said. ‘Talking shit about you, about the Blessed One. Saying how the Dark Lady isn’t going to come back, that their oaths don’t mean anything with Her dead. Next thing I know, that little fucker there’s trying to bite my fucking ear off.’
The little fucker in question was a Ranker and the defiant eye was strong in him. ‘It’s true, She is dead and nothing I promised Her means shit any more. I ain’t dying out here for a fucking Mireces.’
‘Oh yes you are,’ Corvus said. ‘Not only are you going to die for me, you’re going to have the honour of dying at my hand. Bring him here.’
Three Rankers wrestled him forwards and before they’d even stopped moving Corvus had rammed his sword up under the ragged chainmail shirt. He kept pushing until half the length of the blade was in the man, the tip threatening to pop out through his neck or mouth.
The other Rankers who’d been fighting began babbling apologies and apportioning blame, a few of the Mireces too. Corvus selected the three loudest – two soldiers, one Raider – and killed them. The rest got the message and shut their mouths.
‘The enemy is out there,’ he said when they were dead, gesturing with his red-clotted sword. ‘Fight them, not each other. If this happens again, you will live to regret it, over days that feel like years. That is my promise to you. I want the dead hung from spears at each corner of the camp for all to see – and I want everyone to know why I killed them. Know that I will not forget your faces. Do not give me cause to doubt you again.’