‘You will address me correctly, Blessed One,’ he said smoothly, ‘as “Sire” or “your Majesty”. I give you that courtesy and you will do the same for me. As for my sense of family, Rillirin is a heathen and so she is dead to me. You think I would have allowed her to be a mere bed-slave to be used by any man who could claim her if I felt anything for her?’
‘Sire,’ she managed, swallowing bile, ‘be that as it may, Rillirin knows who killed Liris, but she also knows many of our secrets. Secrets we have just handed to the Wolves. The invasion, maybe even the ongoing negotiations with the Rilporian, may all be spilt. She is a weakness we cannot afford.’
‘And yet the gods will it otherwise,’ Corvus said and Lanta’s teeth squeaked again. ‘As for the Wolves, we sowed bloody confusion in their very fucking homes, killed them while they slept. The survivors won’t be able to stand against us for long.’ He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Commune with the gods, ask them for direction. Leave Rillirin and the war to me.’
Lanta sought for calm. ‘I shall pray and seek guidance. For our cause and for you, that you may have your eyes opened.’
‘Oh, I see clearly, Blessed One. Very clearly.’
His arrogance made her want to spit in his face, to draw her sacred hammer and put it through his temple. Instead she curtseyed and went to the door leading down into the cave-temple, controlling her temper until she was out of sight.
‘I will have that little bitch under my knife for this,’ she whispered, the sibilants echoing back to her. ‘Corvus’s arrogance, his ignorance, may destroy us all. I will not let that happen. The gods will triumph. They will have Rilpor. I have sworn it and I need no king to bring it about.’
In the temple, Lanta took a deep breath and stilled her mind and heart. To step into the circle unprepared was to have your soul torn to pieces. She lit the candles and threw bunches of dried sage on to the brazier and smoke rose, thick with visions. She knelt, palms on thighs, eyes closed and breathing steadily, until she felt the pathway to the gods break open and she rushed along it into the presence of her mistress.
In the stillness of the temple Lanta’s body twitched and bent, shuddering with pain that was indistinguishable from pleasure.
‘I am here, my child,’ the Dark Lady said and Lanta’s mind thrilled with awe and terror. Sweat darkened her dress. ‘You are distressed?’
The Dark Lady was a voice in Lanta’s head, a voice of fear and blood and orgasm, and Lanta opened herself like a flower to its owner. ‘My goddess, I fear Your will may not be done. I fear Corvus is not strong in his faith, that he will fail to accomplish Your desires. Will you guide me, tell me what must be done? Should I remove him?’
The Dark Lady was silent and Lanta waited, muscles tensing in waves through her body as the Goddess rifled through her mind and memories, her desires and plans. Lanta didn’t fight it, didn’t try and hide anything from Her. Not that she could have. All her ambitions and secret wants she put on view, and the Dark Lady pondered them, turned them over like trinkets, and discarded them.
‘Corvus does my will,’ the Dark Lady said abruptly, and Lanta sucked in a breath. ‘He is one of many instruments I command. You are another. The Rilporian is a third. The calestar the fourth. When all those pieces come together in one place, then will my victory be complete.’
‘The calestar? I did not know.’
‘You did not need to,’ the Dark Lady said and Her voice hurt. Lanta submitted. She could feel Her amusement. ‘You do not like Corvus, do you? Or is it that you do not like that he has stripped you of power?’ Lanta’s mind was crushed suddenly in a vice and she screamed, clutching her head. She fell to the stone as the Dark Lady tore open her skull.
‘You do my will, child, as does Corvus. Your petty ambitions mean nothing to me. If you hinder my plans with this feud with him, you will regret it. Never forget you could be replaced as easily as he could, as Liris was.’
‘Your will, Lady,’ Lanta gasped. ‘I will not fail you.’
The pain was gone and instead she felt the touch of fingertips, stroking along her skin, caressing, soothing, exciting. Lanta forced herself back on to her knees, shaking with the echoes of pain and the Dark Lady’s sudden arousal.
‘See that you do not fail me, child. Rilpor will belong to Blood again and, after it has fallen, all the world will know my wrath.’
Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
Physician’s quarters, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘I will no doubt regret asking this, but how do you keep the cadavers so fresh?’ Durdil asked.
Hallos tapped the side of his nose and sat forward in his chair, putting his glass to the side. ‘You have your secrets, my old friend, and I have mine. I’ve had a few of your recruits assisting me with my research.’
Durdil eyed him dubiously. ‘You haven’t made any of them into cadavers, have you?’ Hallos laughed and waved a hand. ‘How many recruits?’
‘Three, and they’re all fine, before you ask. They had a few days’ leave and wanted to make some extra coin. They’ll be well enough to return to the barracks tomorrow.’
‘Hallos!’ Durdil snapped. ‘My soldiers are not your personal playthings. You know I had four drop out last year after you got your hands on them. One of them still has a limp.’
‘It’s vital research, Commander. The king himself gave me permission.’
‘I’m not sure he was aware of what you’d be doing to them. You’re a physician, not a soldier. What did you learn this time?’
‘Not much, unfortunately. I’m trying to find a way to swiftly elicit unconsciousness so that wounded men can be treated. A blood choke, you call it. Only they keep waking up when the pressure on the neck is released.’
‘You are not to keep pressure on indefinitely,’ Durdil almost shrieked.
Hallos patted the air. ‘I know, I know. I am a physician, after all. The brain would be compromised if the choke were applied for a sustained period. I tried it on some dogs before I moved to humans.’
‘You tried it on …’ Durdil trailed off and then drained his glass. ‘Remind me never to bring my hounds to the palace.’ He paused and replayed Hallos’s words. ‘Wait, you said they’ll be well enough to return to the barracks tomorrow. Where are they now?’
Hallos shifted in his seat. ‘Hospital,’ he muttered, and then patted the air again. ‘Precautionary only, I promise. I am making progress on ascertaining how long a healthy man can hold his breath in a variety of situations, though. Under water, in toxic smoke, while under stress, while running. All fascinating.’
‘And how is this of use?’ Durdil asked.
‘Well, say the palace caught fire, gods forbid. The king is trapped in his quarters with a fire raging its way towards him. You’re at the other end of the corridor. Now I’m confident that a fit man, as you undoubtedly are, could sprint that hundred yards while holding your breath in around twenty seconds. Meaning you know how long it will take you to reach the king and escort him to safety.’
Durdil choked slightly on his drink. ‘Twenty seconds? You have a lot of faith in an old man, Hallos. But let’s go along with the scenario. I heroically hold my breath and sprint the length of the corridor, full of toxic smoke, and burst into the king’s quarters. Now, once I’ve got my wind back, which I imagine would take several minutes and perhaps a small lie-down, how do I get his majesty