The Bloodsworn (6 page)

“Ho there!” the lead rider called in Erromanian. “What have we here?”

Alix ducked her head, the better to conceal her features. “Just humble farmers, my lord.”

“My lord! I like that!” He swivelled in his saddle to look at his comrades. “You all can call me
my lord
from now on,” he said, eliciting jeers and sloppy laughter. Turning back to Alix, he said, “Not afraid of us are you, all huddled up like that?” His accent was heavy, but he spoke the language well, even through his drink. An officer, Alix judged. “What's this now,” he said, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “Some fishmen, I see.”

Damn.
It had been too much to hope that the soldiers might overlook the dark skin of the Onnani in the party.

“Fishmen farmers? In Andithyri? That doesn't seem likely, now does it?” The officer's gaze sharpened; suddenly, he seemed very sober indeed.

“Not farmers,” Vel said, throwing off her cloak to reveal her priestess's robes. “Missionaries, here to pray with our Andithyrian brothers in these dark times of war.”

It was a good ploy, and it might have worked had Vel not shown a little too much skin in those robes. But there was no
mistaking the leer that crossed the officer's face. He turned and said something to his comrades, and this time the laughter had a predatory edge to it. Alix's Oridian was poor, but she distinctly heard the word
treat
.

She tensed, fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade. “Ide.”

An arrow hissed over her shoulder and caught the officer between the eyes; he was dead before he hit the ground. Dain's arm whipped out from under his cloak and a second rider fell with a dagger in his throat. The horses scattered amid shouts and the steel song of blades being drawn.

A rider charged at Alix. She got her sword out just in time to turn aside the blow, but the force of it knocked her off balance, sending her tumbling to the dirt. She barely managed to regain her feet before the rider was on her again. Alix threw herself back to the ground, swinging out at the horse's fetlocks as she fell, but she wasn't fast enough; the animal loped past and out of reach.

Rolling to her feet, Alix readied herself for another pass. So focused was she on one soldier that she nearly died on the blade of another; she spun just as a flash of steel came at her flank. Her sword was moving before her mind had fully registered the attack, meeting her opponent's blade with a clumsy
clang
that sent her stumbling back. The Oridian was on foot, his horse lying dead a few feet away, but that only made him more nimble; he threw himself at Alix in a flurry of blows. Caught off balance, she would have struggled to parry had she not wielded a bloodblade. As it was, even a sword enchanted to obey her every instinct was barely enough to keep her alive. Her foe was skilled, and if he was drunk like the others, it didn't seem to bother him. If anything, it lent him courage; his attacks were bold, furious, unpredictable. Alix gave ground quickly, without any idea what lay behind her. She couldn't even spare a glance for her comrades; a moment's distraction would be the end of her.

If her enemy hadn't stumbled on the uneven ground, she might have been overcome. But he did, and Alix didn't hesitate, driving her blade into his gut and twisting just enough to be sure of finishing the job.

She whirled in time to see a rider grab a fistful of Vel's long
hair and drag her against his horse. A dagger flashed. Dain cried out in alarm.

“Enough!”
The soldier holding Vel brandished his dagger menacingly. “No moving!”

Alix glanced around, breath harsh in her ears. Ide had thrown down her bow as soon as the battle began—it made her too vulnerable in a close fight—but her blade had seen action, judging from the smear of crimson on its edge. Dain and his foe faced each other warily, both of them bloodied, but neither seriously. That left one Oridian on horseback—the one with his dagger pressed against Vel's throat.

Alix's mind whirred. They could take the one on foot easily enough, but it would cost them Vel. That, in turn, might well cost them the Resistance. Swearing, she lowered her sword. “What now?”

“Weapons down,” the rider growled. “All.” His Erromanian wasn't as good as the dead officer's had been, but he made himself understood.

“Not much for maths, are you, mate?” Ide pointed with her sword. “There's three of us and two of you.”

“You want this one dead?” He yanked Vel's hair, hard enough to draw a yelp of pain.

Just now, I might not mind so much.
A fleeting thought, unfair. But there was no denying the anger that set Alix's cheeks aflame. The priestess had been careless, and now they might all pay the price. Aloud, she said, “How do we know you won't kill us the moment we lay down our weapons?”

He sneered down at the priestess in his grip. “You pray!”

Alix hesitated. A breeze sighed through the field, caressing it into rolling waves of green. In the heightened senses of the moment, Alix felt the soft brush of wheat against the back of her wrist, gentle as a lover. “All right,” she said. “I'm going to lower my sword now.” What choice did they have?

They laid their weapons in the long grasses with exaggerated care—none more so than Ide, who bent low enough that her short-cropped hair disappeared behind the stalks of wheat.

“Hurry up,” the soldier snarled.

They were the last words he ever spoke. Ide shot up out of the grass like a snake, bow in hand, loosing a shaft before the soldier could react. He pitched backward off his saddle. The
remaining Oridian tried to run, but Ide took him down before he got far.

Alix nearly doubled over in relief. “Thank the gods. I had no idea your bow was right at your feet!”

“Good bloody thing too, and that the wheat was high enough to hide it.” She whirled on Vel, who sat in the grass looking dazed. “You almost got us killed, priestess! Why didn't you take cover? Instead you just stand there like a startled rabbit?”

Alix had never seen her so livid. Neither, apparently, had Dain. “Ide—” he began.

“No, don't defend her! It's common sense, isn't it?”

Alix knew she should intervene, but in truth she agreed.

“You think maybe there's a
reason
I chop off my hair,” Ide went on, “or that Alix keeps hers in a braid? Nothing stupider in battle than giving the enemy something to grab on to.”

“I'm not a soldier,” Vel said.

That much is obvious.
Alix retrieved her bloodblade, threw it into its sheath. “We need to move on.”

Vel drew herself up on shaking legs. “I must pray for the dead.”

Alix's mouth fell open. Ide launched into a string of curses. Even Dain looked taken aback.

“I am not a soldier,” Vel repeated, ice crystals forming on the words. “I am a
priestess
. Leave me behind if you will, but I must do my duty.”

Alix pressed her lips together, exchanging a dark look with the Wolves. Turning her back on Vel, she approached the nearest horse and gave it a whack on the rump, sending it loping off into the wheat. Though she would have loved to keep it for a pack animal, it would only draw more soldiers down upon them. “Make it quick,” she shot over her shoulder. “We've lingered here too long.”

T
he Resistance found them the following day. Or rather, that was when Wraith's men chose to reveal themselves. From the way they appeared—in numbers, two groups in a flanking manoeuvre, materialising from behind cover with bows drawn—Alix guessed they'd been following for a while.

“Drop your weapons.”

Alix couldn't tell which of them had spoken; like her own party, they all wore hoods pulled low over their faces. She hesitated, every instinct screaming of threat. Then she felt the cool kiss of steel under her jaw.

“Don't make me repeat myself,” said the voice, right in her ear.

Alix went rigid. No one had ever managed to sneak up on her like that.

“Getting a bit tired of being told to drop my steel,” Ide growled. “Be nice to go more than a day without stumbling across the enemy.”

“Don't be a fool,” said Vel. “These aren't Oridians. Can't you hear his accent?”

“Accents can be faked.”

“Not by me,” said the man with the sword, a trace of
amusement in his voice. “At least not while I'm sober.” Alix felt a tug as her hood was yanked back. “Well now, there's a lovely head of hair. Goes with the jewel on your lovely sword, which I'll thank you to put down.”

Alix had little choice but to comply, tossing her bloodblade a few feet in front of her.

“And the dagger,” the man said, helping himself to the knife sheathed at her hip. Turning it over, he whistled admiringly. “Bloodforged as well. My, my, we are well kitted, aren't we? Now—the rest of you.”

Reluctantly, Ide dropped her sword, as did Dain. Vel had no weapon to divest herself of.

The sword flicked away from Alix's jaw and a slight figure stepped in front of her. He pulled his own hood back to reveal a shock of white hair and the most unsettling green eyes Alix had ever seen. He was pretty even for an Andithyrian; with his fine features and high cheekbones, he looked almost fey.

“Asvin,” said Vel, “it's good to see you again.”

“And you, Daughter.” The lack of surprise in his voice confirmed Alix's suspicion: they'd been following for a while, at least long enough to realise Vel was in the party. It was probably the only reason they'd shown themselves.

“I worried about your fate in the grain silo attack,” Vel said.

The slight man cocked his head. “How did you know I led the grain silo attack?”

“A lightning strike designed to distract and confuse? Who better than the lightning-quick Asvin?”

“By Hew,” said one of the Andithyrians, “she does pay attention.”

“By Farika,” Asvin said, “she does flatter.”

Alix was in no mood for banter. “How long have you been following us?”

“Long enough,” Asvin said. “Nice work with the roaches yesterday.”

She scowled. “I suppose you mean the Oridians. Do I take it you stood by and watched that? Your friend the priestess here nearly died.”

The green eyes regarded her coolly. “We had no notion of who you were. Still don't, aside from Daughter Vel here. General Black's men, I presume?”

“General Black's sister, in fact,” Vel said conversationally.

Asvin arched a white eyebrow. “Is that so? The same sister who snuffed the Priest?”

Alix felt herself flush. “It wasn't I who killed him. It was my comrade, Gwylim. I just helped smuggle in the black powder.”

“Now that,” Asvin said, “was some
quality
sneaking. I should know.”

“It does seem to be a talent we share,” Alix said, not warmly.

“I'd fancy hearing that tale, but it'll have to wait.” He sheathed his sword and gestured for his men to gather up the weapons. “You know the procedure, Daughter.”

“Blindfolds.” Vel nodded. “Please proceed.”

It was more than a little presumptuous, but Alix let it go. It seemed her brother had been right, and Vel did know her way around these men.
Time to earn your keep, priestess.

They were bound and hooded, loaded onto the back of an oxcart among sacks of turnips smelling of mould. Someone pulled a blanket over them, and they were off, jouncing along the narrow dirt track they'd been following when Wraith's men ambushed them.

“Bloody undignified, this,” Ide muttered, but the rest of them endured it in silence.

After what seemed like forever, the oxcart came to a halt. Someone climbed up and set to cutting their bonds. As soon as her wrists were free, Alix pulled the sack off her head, squinting in the harsh sunlight. A shadow resolved itself into Asvin, looking amused. “Stiff?”

“Rather,” she said, wincing as she worked her joints.

“I'm sorry for it. It's not that we don't trust you, but . . .” He shrugged.

“But you don't trust us enough.”

His smile vanished. “Trust is death in occupied Andithyri, my lady. You'd best remember it.” He leapt down from the oxcart and offered a hand.

Alix took in her surroundings. A remote farmstead, from the look of things, probably much like the place where Rodrik grew up. For that matter, it could have been just about anywhere in Alden, so anonymous were its features. Their base of
operations, or simply a safe place to bring visitors? Alix supposed it didn't much matter. “Where is Wraith?”

“Not here. You'll have to settle for me for the time being.”

Alix and the Wolves exchanged a look. It was Wraith they'd come all this way to see, but apparently that would have to wait.

They were shown into the farmhouse, a humble dwelling with little in the way of furniture. A door in the back hinted at a smaller room beyond, and a cot sat in the corner, but it didn't look to have been slept in recently. The only occupant was a falcon eyeing them keenly from its perch. Hunter or messenger? Knowing the white-hairs, the bird could even have been trained to attack. Alix kept her distance. Asvin, meanwhile, fetched a kettle and set to boiling water while the rest of his men waited outside.

“This can't be their headquarters,” Dain said in an undertone while the Andithyrian busied himself with the tea. “Not enough room.”

“This is where I was brought the last time,” the priestess said. “Perhaps it serves as a vetting area.”

“Vetting?” Dain echoed, frowning. “Vetting what?”

“Why, us of course.”

Asvin poured tea, then dragged a chair up to the table to join them. Green eyes scrutinised them one by one, sharp and unreadable. “So,” he said, “let's start at the beginning.”

*   *   *

Alix growled in frustration and ran her hands over her face. “I already
told
you, I don't know. And even if I did, I wouldn't say. If my brother thought it wise to share such details about his forces, don't you think he would have done so by now?”

Asvin set his empty teacup aside, fixing Alix with that same inscrutable look he'd worn for the past two hours. “Essentially, what you're telling me is that General Black saw fit to send his sister, two White Wolves, and an Onnani priestess to beg a favour of the Resistance, in return for which he offers—” He spread his hands, empty.

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Alix said, “but I can't bargain with information that isn't mine to share.” Rig would
never forgive her, and anyway, these men had given her no reason to trust them.

“I've been hearing some variation of that refrain all afternoon,” Asvin said impatiently. “You've deflected my every inquiry, no matter how insignificant.”

“And yet you continue to ask.”

“Does that surprise you? My comrades and I are scavengers, my lady. We spend our days scrounging for opportunities. A scrap of information here, a spot of luck there—anything we can use to strike at our enemies—and here I have the sister of the Aldenian commander general sitting across from me. A rare gift, one I cannot afford to pass up. So please—there must be
something
, some small detail you can part with, if only as a gesture of good faith.”

Alix shook her head. This was going nowhere. There was too much at stake, and too little time, to sit here haggling like a couple of merchants. “I've told you what I can. If it's not enough—”

“Not enough?” Asvin's voice grew cold. “All you've told me is that you need our help to find a man called Rodrik who grew up in a village called Indrask. You won't tell me who he is, or why he's important. You won't tell me anything of what your brother plans, or what he thinks the Warlord plans. And in exchange for this
treasure trove
of information, you'd have us risk our lives.”

“I sympathise,” Vel put in dryly.

“Maybe it was a mistake to come here,” Alix said, rising. “My brother thought you'd help us, but apparently the line between ally and mercenary is thin in Andithyri.”

It was a mistake; she knew it as soon as she'd spoken. A glint of menace flashed in the green eyes, like a dagger unsheathed. “Careful, my lady. You will find no mercenaries here, nor will you find men who bear insults lightly.”

“I have no wish to insult you, but I can spare no more time for this interrogation. I'd hoped you could help us. Apparently, you can't. So I'll ask you to blindfold us and pack us in your wagon, because we have a long and dangerous road ahead.”

Vel and the Wolves took the cue, rising. Asvin, though, remained seated, boot propped casually on his thigh, gazing up at Alix with his unsettling eyes. “It's your call,” he said.

Alix thought the remark meant for her, but then a door
opened at the back of the room, and a large, grizzled man with a close-trimmed white beard filled the doorframe. Hazel eyes met Alix's, held her gaze in an iron grip as their owner strode over, boots tolling heavily across the floorboards. From its corner, the falcon gave a keening cry, as though in greeting.

“Hello, Wraith,” said Vel.

“Daughter.” His eyes flicked only briefly to the priestess. They were too busy devouring Alix, stripping her to the bone. “This won't do at all,” he said.

Alix swallowed, resisting the urge to back away. It wasn't so much his size—though he rivalled Rig in both height and bulk—but the sheer intensity of his gaze. Where Asvin reminded her a little of a fox, this one was a wolf—the kind that would set his pack on you without a thought.

“Sit,” he said with a perfunctory gesture, and Alix complied.

Wraith.
An incongruous name for a man such as this; Alix had a hard time imagining a more substantial figure. The room seemed suddenly smaller with him in it.

“This won't do,” he said again, straddling a chair in front of Alix, meaty arms draped across the back. “It's very bad manners, my lady of Blackhold, to come into a man's home and start making demands.”

“I'm not demanding anything. I'm asking for help.”

He nodded. “Rodrik. Indrask. I heard. Only you won't say who he is or why we should care. So tell me, why would I risk the lives of my men to help you find him?”

“Does it really matter who he is?”

“Aye,” Wraith said, leaning forward, “it does.”

Alix glanced across the table at Dain; he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

She couldn't tell Wraith the truth. Of course she couldn't. But if she didn't tell him
something
, he wouldn't lift a finger to help her. She could see that clearly, could even understand it. Yet without the Resistance, her chances of success were vanishingly small. The incident with the soldiers had convinced her of that.

Alix licked her lips. Made a decision.

“Rig wouldn't want me to say.” An opening ploy. Destan himself wouldn't judge her for it under the circumstances—or so she told herself.

“I've not met your brother,” Wraith said, “but he must be a good judge of character, else he wouldn't be able to play the Warlord the way he does. I've got to think he'd anticipate my position on the matter, yet he sent you my way nonetheless.”

“I don't know . . .” Alix shot another look at her companions, openly this time.
Can't give in too easily, or he'll be suspicious . . .

“There is little use belabouring the point,” Vel said, unwittingly playing into Alix's hand. “Tell him or do not, but we have gone round this issue enough for one day.”

Alix dropped her gaze to the floor as though weighing her options one final time. “Very well,” she said. “Rodrik . . . he's a bloodbinder.”

Asvin's eyebrows flew up at that, as did Vel's. Wraith just grunted.

“I thought Alden had only one,” Asvin said.

“That's true, which is why Rodrik is so valuable. It seems he never declared himself. He went into hiding when the war broke out, to avoid military service.” Plausible enough; it would hardly be the first time such a thing had happened. In peacetime, a bloodbinder's rare gifts ensured he would be comfortable and wealthy. But in times of war, he was little more than a tool, compelled to work day and night to equip his country's armies. Some bloodbinders remained in hiding all their lives to avoid such a fate. “This man could make an enormous difference to the war effort,” Alix said. “We must get him to General Black as soon as possible.”