“Don’t put the beast down. I don’t believe the pearl has been lost. Identify the location, then redouble the search where the boat sank, and for a hundred miles around.”
“Yes, Lord King. We’ll have to be more careful with gauntlings in future.”
“They’re a flawed creation,” said Lyf. “The intelligence that makes them such useful spies also gives them less desirable attributes. They’re headstrong, vengeful, malicious…”
“And always looking to break our control. I recommend that you put them all down, Lord King.”
“Once the master pearl has been found and the war won, I will. Until that time, they’re the only aerial spies I have, and I can’t do without them.”
Lyf floated up into the air, as if the extra height could enable his inner eye to see further, but it did not. He descended to the floor. “What else?”
“Lord King,” said General Hramm, with a show of reluctance, “the ice grows ever closer, and the weather colder. With so many prisoners to feed, it will be a struggle to survive the winter.”
“There is a solution,” Lyf said softly.
“Not one that is palatable to your people, Lord King. As you know, for some time there has been muttering about the senseless bloodshed and wanton destruction.”
“Very well,” snapped Lyf. “A wise king listens to the voice of his people. What are they saying?”
“That we’ve done enough. That we should negotiate for peace. And coincidentally, the chancellor has sent a second lot of envoys.”
“I know,” said Lyf. “They’ve been waiting for three days, trying to see me, and I’ve been refusing them.”
“It never hurts to talk, Lord King. They’re bound to reveal more than you will.”
“I suppose so. Send them in. But I’ll never trust the chancellor. And I’m making no concessions, nor giving back any territory.”
After seeing the envoys, he called Hramm back to complete the war report.
“What’s the situation in the north-east?”
“Mostly quiet, but underneath, rebellion seethes,” said Hramm. “As you know, there are many Herovian manors in that area.”
“That irks me,” said Lyf. “Have we the strength to subdue the region?”
“It would take another two armies. The mountains are difficult to fight in, the manors isolated and well fortified, the people of a rebellious disposition — and the weather very bad.”
“Are they preparing for war?”
“Not that we know, save for the place where your most bitter enemy, Deadhand, has taken refuge.”
“Does this place have a name?”
“Garramide. And he has the sword, Maloch, with him.”
Lyf let out a hiss. “How did you find him?”
“A lord in our pay brought news of a planned raid on our garrison at Jadgery. Our troops were waiting. They crushed the attack and followed the tracks of the survivors. Deadhand — Lord Rixium — was their leader.”
“Garramide,” said Lyf. “Do I know it?”
“The manor of Wendand Nil stood there in your time — ”
“My time? Now is my time.”
“When you were king of all Cythe, my king,” Hramm said hastily. “It was torn down, and Garramide built in its place by Axil Grandys for his bastard daughter. It’s been a Herovian outpost ever since.”
“Hand-pick a force, the best we have. Crush Garramide and raze it.”
“Yes, Lord King,” said Hramm.
“Then bring me the sword, and Deadhand’s hands — and his head, impaled on a spike.”
CHAPTER 37
The whole of Garramide was waiting in the main courtyard when Rix rode in with Nuddell and the twenty riderless horses, though they weren’t waiting for news. The survivors of the raid had told the bitter tale an hour ago.
“What went wrong?” said Swelt, gnawing at a blood sausage.
“Bedderlees betrayed us. The enemy knew when we were coming and how we planned to attack. They were waiting inside the gate.”
“And they’ll follow you back,” said Porfry, colourless and dry as dust. “For nineteen hundred years Garramide has been unassailed. Now, in one reckless night, you’ve destroyed it, Deadhand.”
“Doom, doom on us all,” howled the witch-woman, Astatin.
Blathy stared at Rix, arms folded over her bosom. No doubt comparing him to Leatherhead, who had never been known to fail in a raid.
“When the enemy attacks, hundreds of us are going to die,” said Porfry.
No one felt his failure more keenly than Rix, but he was the lord and had to protect morale. “The doom of this fortress was set in ancient times, when Axil Grandys tore down the Cythian manor that once stood here and built Garramide in its place.”
“How dare you blame our noblest ancestor for your failings!”
“The past has created the present, every bit of it — ” Rix broke off, reflecting wryly that Tobry had not long ago made the same point to him. “As soon as the centre is secure, Lyf will attack the provinces. Garramide would have been high on his list whether I came here or not.”
“It’s higher now,” Porfry said mulishly.
“Our country is being torn apart by a brutal enemy, Porfry, and if we don’t fight for it we’re going to lose it. Would you have me hide like a coward?”
“Enough, Porfry,” snapped Swelt. “A garrison that size can’t attack a mighty fortress like Garramide. Lyf will have to send a force from Caulderon — if it isn’t already on its way.”
“The result is the same,” said Porfry, shooting Swelt a hostile glance.
“And you’re a whining coward who wouldn’t fight to save your own mother!”
“I think that’ll do,” said Rix. “Let’s go in.”
“Besides,” Swelt went on, “Garramide is the greatest surviving Herovian manor, built by Axil Grandys. And Maloch — the weapon Lyf fears more than any other — lay hidden here for the next nineteen centuries. Lyf’s attention would have turned to us sooner, not later.”
Most of the servants had gone inside, but a small group lingered, shooting Rix dark looks, and Blathy was among them. He could see the fierce joy in her dark eyes.
Swelt turned to Rix and said quietly, “Don’t take any notice of that rabble. The servants that count aren’t too upset.”
“Why not?”
“Surely that’s obvious?”
“Enlighten me.”
“The dead men were the worst of Leatherhead’s thugs and they treated the servants badly. They won’t shed any tears.”
“It doesn’t lessen my failure.”
“But it will reduce the consequences. I’ll send messengers to every hut and steading on the plateau, telling them to be ready to bring their people and livestock to Garramide. We’ve got to get ready for a siege.”
“Thank you, Swelt,” said Rix. He had one ally in Garramide, at least.
Glynnie was also watching him but her eyes were hooded and he could not tell what she was thinking. She had a livid mark on her right cheek, and her arms and legs were covered in bruises.
She had always been his stoutest defender, and look how he had repaid her.
What have I done? Rix thought. And how am I ever going to fix it?
The fire in his suite was blazing and the room was full of welcoming steam. Rix had never been more glad to see it. He stripped off his filthy, bloodstained garments and collapsed into the bath that had been drawn for him. He was pouring a dipper of water over his head when the latch on the outside door clicked.
He started up, water going everywhere, and was reaching for Maloch when Glynnie came through the inner door with an armload of clean clothes. She yelped and looked away. He sat down in the tub, hastily.
“You’re hurt, Lord Deadhand.” It sounded like an accusation.
“Just scratches.”
She approached the tub, inspected his chest, arms and back. Glynnie was trying to look like an impassive servant, but she was trembling. She put down his clothes.
“They look bad. Let me tend — ”
It wasn’t right that she should be looking after him when he had done her such wrong. “No!” he said, more harshly than he had intended. “It’s nothing. I can do it.”