Fifth moon, before dawn, day forty-three of the siege
The breach, western wall, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘Skerris! Good man, still alive. Listen, Corvus is in. He’s going for Mace at the palace. We should be able to force a— What?’
Skerris handed Galtas the distance-viewer and pointed. ‘Might not be able to make him out, but I’m almost certain that’s Mace up by Second Tower. His presence rallies the defenders; they’re holding the breach.’
Galtas felt his stomach drop into his feet, but then a surge of excitement had him grabbing Skerris’s shoulder. He leant close, wincing at the agony spiking through his knee. ‘This could be perfect,’ he hissed. ‘Corvus gets trapped in the palace, executed or killed in the fighting, and Rivil has an uncontested claim to the throne and all of Rilpor. He— What now?’
He’d been short-tempered enough as the siege progressed, but the hours it’d taken Galtas to limp around the outside of the city, expecting at any moment to feel an arrow between the shoulders, had drained him of the last of his patience. Now Skerris looked like a partially deflated waterskin. ‘What?’ Galtas repeated.
‘Milord, you’ve been gone for weeks. Much has happened.’ Skerris paused to roar more orders at an exhausted Fifty and their lieutenant. The men stood up – slow, laboured – and made their equally laboured way out of sight. Galtas had no doubt they’d sit down again as soon as they could.
‘The Godblind who the Blessed One told us of arrived. He challenged the prince to single combat in the rite of Hoth-Nagarre, a fight witnessed and judged by the gods Themselves. It is a fight to the death and once a man has been challenged, he may not refuse the trial.’
Galtas’s hand came up to stroke his restored eye patch, the familiar, soothing gesture the only indication of his sudden unease. ‘Yes, all right, a duel. What of it?’
‘Lord … the gods saw fit to pass judgement. The Godblind triumphed; Rivil is dead.’
Galtas stumbled back a step, his splinted leg sliding in the mud. He would have fallen if Skerris’s huge paw hadn’t darted out and steadied him. ‘What shittery is this?’ He forced a laugh. ‘Rivil cannot be dead, and certainly not because of some heathen prophet.’
‘I’m afraid he is, milord. The gods Themselves witnessed it. The gods Themselves … were present.’ Even in the flickering torchlight Galtas could see how he’d lost colour. He found he didn’t want to know what Skerris meant. ‘Corvus is our only hope now if we are to restore the faith to Rilpor and all Gilgoras. He is the king we must follow.’
Corvus as king? Rivil is supposed to king! I’m supposed to be his First Adviser, Commander of his Ranks, heir to his throne until he has a child. The faith was a distant fucking second to that.
And yet … he said the gods passed this sentence.
‘Of course, the faith is all,’ Galtas muttered piously. He had no wish to anger gods who had determined Rivil should die. ‘Though this is a fucking setback. And the Godblind killed him? Why? Tell me, damn you!’
Skerris let him go. ‘He accused the prince – and you, milord – of raping his wife and then killing her and his unborn child. Her name was Hazel. In the western woods, about seven years ago, I think. Does it sound familiar?’
He knows it does. Rivil clearly admitted it or there’d be no reason for the duel. Godsdamnit, he waited seven years to get his revenge? No wonder he went bastard mad.
Galtas nodded slowly. ‘I know what you’re referring to, yes.’ He spat, trying hard to hide how shaken he was. ‘Ironic, no, that he ends up being a kind of ally and still manages to fuck up all our plans?’
Skerris licked his teeth and inspected Galtas through piggy eyes. ‘Not really, if I’m going to be honest, milord. While I am a good son of the Red Gods, I still don’t want Mireces running my country. Rivil was a king I could get behind. Corvus … less so. Irony’s the last thing I’m feeling right now and I know many in the Rank are beginning to question just why we’re still fighting.’
Probably time for that backup plan, Galtas thought, though being crippled doesn’t help me execute it. ‘The nobles I spoke with in the city said that Rastoth’s distant cousin Tresh is next in line. He’s in exile in Highcrop in Listre, but perhaps it is time to sound him out. It might be good to have a backup – we don’t know what might happen to Corvus, after all.’
Skerris pursed his lips and rubbed at the sweat in the folds of his neck. ‘Not sure what good that’ll do us now, Galtas,’ he said, dropping the man’s title for the first time. Galtas noticed it; he saw as well the corresponding decrease in deference. It did more than Skerris’s words to convince him just how far his star had fallen when Rivil did. ‘Tresh can lay claim to the throne if he wants, but any army he raises will be facing us. Despite the rumblings of dissent in the Rank, we’re here to restore the faith, not to elevate just one man. If Tresh wishes to convert, or indeed already walks the Dark Path, then excellent. Otherwise, we go with Corvus. There is no one else.’
There’s me, Galtas thought, but didn’t say it.
‘Corvus is cut off in Fifth Circle,’ he snapped instead, ‘and the officers he was hoping to capture are leading the defence of the breach on the other fucking side of the city. We’re likely to lose him too if word reaches Mace that Corvus is in there.’
Skerris squinted into the pre-dawn gloom at the torch-lit breach. ‘All right. Then we take Mace and take the breach.’
‘Oh, aye, we just take Mace, do we?’ Galtas grunted. ‘How fucking exactly?’
‘Men and artillery and blood and steel, the same as always. Your friend Crys Tailorson is up there too, by the way,’ he added, as though dangling a mouse for a hungry cat. ‘Rivil boasted that the East Rank would meet the Mireces in the centre of the city. Perhaps we should do just that. Storm the breach and then press on, no stopping, surge through the city and cut down everyone we come across. Rivil wanted us to preserve as much of his city as possible; I don’t see we have that problem any more. Unless you have a pressing desire to do otherwise?’
‘Rivil wanted a city to rule, it’s true. Perhaps Corvus doesn’t deserve one.’ Galtas’s stomach rolled with sudden acid, sudden anger. ‘Well, it looks like we’re out of other options, doesn’t it? Very well, I agree. We take Mace, take this wall, and then we join up with Corvus. I’ve little doubt he’ll head for the temple district at some point – we can meet him there.’ He squinted at Skerris. ‘You’re a general, I know that. But you still take orders. You will take them from me from now on, not from the Mireces. Yes?’
Skerris adjusted his belt over his massive gut with thoughtful deliberation. ‘As long as your orders put the faith and victory first, we won’t have a problem. Milord.’
Galtas nodded and turned to inspect the assault on the breach. Despite his words and promises, he’d no intention of seeing Corvus on the throne. Not now. Not ever.
A high vantage point, a bow and quiver, and Galtas would do his patriotic duty and prevent a Mireces ruling Rilpor. As for who would eventually take the throne, well, Galtas was a war hero and the confidant of kings. There were worse choices.