Fourth moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
South Rank harbour, River Gil, Western Plain
‘You keep poking at it and it’ll fall off.’
Tara snatched her hand away, but seconds later it was back, prodding, teasing at the stitches holding the bottom half of her ear to the rest. The bandages had come off that morning and everything still seemed to be attached, but gods it stung, and the accompanying row of stitches just below her cheekbone still made it difficult to open her mouth wide. Yawning was bloody agony. Still, all things considered, a knife to the head could have had a much more terminal outcome.
‘Seriously though, Ash,’ she said, both her hands pressed to her chest, ‘am I still pretty?’ She batted her eyelids and smiled, the stitches pulling at the muscle so her lip turned down instead of up.
Ash grimaced. ‘You were never pretty, Carter. Face like the arse-end of an arse.’ Tara threw a punch and he ducked. ‘All right, let’s have a look. Gods, it’s fucking ugly,’ he said, squinting at it. ‘Are you sure it’s even your ear? Could be anyone’s, or just a bit of gristle they picked up off the floor and stitched on. Might not even be a fucking ear.’
He put his head on one side and poked at it himself. Tara hissed and jerked away. ‘You know, I don’t think it is. Looks a bit like foreskin, just hanging there all shrivelled and useless. Best not get too excited, woman, you might get an erection.’
Tara shoved him in the chest and he staggered backwards, laughing. ‘And there was me thinking the only useless thing attached to a cock was a man,’ she said and Ash laughed again, gave her an approving round of applause. ‘But come on, Bowman, I think we both know that if I had a cock I’d be the bloody King of Rilpor.’
‘Now that, Major, I do not doubt for a second,’ Ash said and together they hauled at the planks that had once been the boathouse and dragged them towards the growing pile of timber. Those ships that hadn’t burnt to the waterline in the blaze set by the Mireces needed patching.
‘Don’t suppose you’re a master carpenter among your other manifold abilities?’ he asked.
‘I can bang a nail in straight, and that’s about it,’ Tara said.
‘Can you stop talking about cocks for one minute,’ Ash complained and she sniggered.
‘And there was me thinking that you of all people would enjoy that kind of talk.’
‘Oi,’ Ash snapped and she stopped in surprise. ‘You want to get me executed?’ he hissed, shushing her. ‘We’re in the middle of a bloody Rank, woman, and what I am would get me killed if anyone knew, so keep your shitting voice down.’
Tara blushed. ‘I’m sorry, Ash, truly. I just … feel like I’ve got someone to talk to for the first time. Someone who knows what it’s like to be different.’
‘Having tits doesn’t make you less of a soldier,’ Ash said, shrugging, ‘and me liking men doesn’t make me less of one. But it’s the rest of the world we need to convince, eh?’
Tara sucked a splinter out of the palm of her hand and spat it as they moved back to the ruins of the boathouse. ‘True enough. So then, when I become King of Rilpor, I’ll change two laws – women in the military isn’t odd and … same-sex love is legal. How’s that?’
Ash shook his head, but he was grinning. ‘Tara, love, if you grew the necessary bits to make you king, changing the law would be the last thing you’d be worrying about.’
‘Good point. Guess we’re both still fucked then, eh?’
‘Guess so. We should probably sort this timber out now, aye?’ They picked up the next load of planks. ‘And for what it’s worth, even without a cock, you’ve got bigger balls than most men I know.’
‘Oh Ash,’ Tara sighed, batting her eyelashes again, ‘you say the nicest things.’
Tara stared at the drifting galleys in frustrated anger. ‘Godsdamn bastard shits,’ she bellowed across the water, startling waterfowl and soldiers in equal measure. A flight of ducks burst into the air, honking away from her.
‘What happened?’ Major Crys Tailorson asked.
‘Bloody rope snapped; it was singed through, but the boats themselves look intact. We could’ve really used those boats,’ she added.
‘Ships,’ Crys amended and began pulling at his boots. ‘Pass some good rope, will you?’ he asked.
Tara frowned at him, then at the water. ‘You’re going in there?’
‘Why not?’
There were several reasons why not, and every one of them had to do with the thousands of Rankers and Wolves who’d died screaming in the Yew Cove tunnels. Tara swallowed nausea. ‘Are you sure?’
Crys frowned. ‘Of course I’m sure. I can swim.’
‘So could every man in the West Rank,’ Tara mumbled. ‘Didn’t stop them drowning.’
Crys unbuckled his sword belt and pulled his jerkin and shirt off. His upper back and ribs were patterned with bruising and it looked as though every knob of bone had had the skin scraped off it, exposing patches of raw flesh. ‘Rope,’ he said, holding out his hand, and Tara threw him the end of a line. Crys tied a loop and threw it over his head and arm, slid down the bank into the water, waded out to his thighs and began to swim.
All activity along the bank ceased and men and women lined the river, watching Crys swim hard after the boats drifting on the current. ‘Is he bloody daft?’ Ash muttered, coming to stand at Tara’s side. ‘Gods, he’s an idiot. What’s he doing?’
‘Fetching the boats, or ships, or whatever,’ Tara said. ‘How can he just do that? Just get in there like it’s nothing? Like what happened didn’t happen?’
‘He went back down the tunnels to search for survivors once we were out, remember,’ Ash said. ‘Twice. I thought it was just adrenaline at the time; now I can see its lunacy.’ Ash’s knuckles were white where he was gripping the haft of his hand axe. ‘You’ve got hold of the other end of that rope, yes? So we can pull him in?’
Tara looked at the end of the line slowly inching towards the water and stamped down on it. Blushing, she snatched it up and then began following Crys along the bank as he swam, closing the distance to the unmanned boats. He reached the stern of the closest and reached up, pulled himself high enough to loop the rope over the tiller, then hauled himself in and checked the line connecting it to the others was secure.
He turned to Tara and seemed surprised at the crowd on the bank. ‘All right, pull us in,’ he called and circled his arm above his head. Tara and Ash began dragging at the rope with the help of half a dozen others, and the small fleet came to a stop and then, slowly, made its way back to the battered dock.
‘What?’ Crys asked as he jumped out. ‘Were you worried, love?’ he asked Ash and winked at Tara.
Tara let go of the rope and stared at them. ‘Love? What are … are you two … what?’ she spluttered.
Crys laughed and slung his arms around them both. ‘Come on, we need to get to Rilporin.’ He jogged over to the pile of clothes and boots he’d left on the grass. Men were smiling at him, congratulating him.
‘How does he do that?’ Tara muttered. ‘Just get men to like him so easily?’
‘I have no idea,’ Ash said. ‘And no, don’t ask. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Or me. Or him.’
‘Well, I’m pleased for you,’ she said, stamping down on the twinge of envy curling through her chest.
Crys glanced back at them and grinned, beckoned them over, and as the low sun threw his face into shadow, his eyes glowed yellow. ‘More to the point,’ Ash said in a worried voice, ‘how does he do that?’
‘Yeah,’ Tara said. ‘That’s … weird.’
‘And it’s happening more and more,’ Ash fretted. ‘What is it?’
‘If we get a shift on we can set sail this evening,’ Crys interrupted as they approached. He had a twitchy, manic energy about him, as if he was gripped by a fever, but with the exception of that eye shine, he was healthy enough. Healthier than most of the rest of us. No major wound from any of the fighting he’s done, or if there was, it’s healed. Which is impossible.
‘Sounds good,’ Tara said with an effort. ‘I’ll inform Colonel Dorcas and the general that we’ll be ready to leave in a couple of hours. We’ll be in Rilporin in the morning.’
That soured the mood some, but it was the truth and they all knew what they were here for. After what had happened in Yew Cove, Tara’d been convinced they’d have a mutiny on their hands when Mace announced his intention to raise the siege at Rilporin, but the Rank knew its duty. Tara stared at the weary faces around them, heart swelling with pride. Not out of the fight yet.
She noted the way they watched Crys when he wasn’t looking, as though his presence was a charm or a comfort. She’d felt the same herself, a time or two.
Harness this and there could be no stopping us, no matter what the Mireces try. They’ll die for him if he asks, and he doesn’t even know it.
She waved them on and walked away, her gait slow and her face thoughtful as she poked at the stitched-on earlobe. The men weren’t the only ones who’d die for him, she realised. She was drawn to him, as though he was north and she was a lodestone. There was a burst of laughter from behind, something she hadn’t heard in weeks, and she knew who’d caused it.
Who are you, Crys Tailorson? What are you?