Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2 (29 page)

The outlaws shuffled their filthy feet, staring at Maloch, and Rix’s grey right hand, and the body of their fallen leader, as if they could not comprehend it. No one spoke. No one met his eyes.

There were more than forty of them now, and despite that some were clearly drunk, and others barefoot and only armed with knives, they were a formidable force.

Behind them, through the gate, the fortress servants were gathering, at least a hundred of them. Quite a few were armed, and Rix saw a dawning hope in their eyes. Though the fall of House Ricinus had damaged his reputation, the old dame they’d loved had named him her heir and given him the sword, and he could hardly be as bad as these outlaws. Rix saw no uniformed guards, though, and that was a worry. Presumably Leatherhead had killed them when he’d attacked the fortress. Rix had to have guards, and plenty of them. The fortress could not be defended without them.

What would the outlaws do? If they rushed him, he might kill three or four before they overwhelmed and killed him, but kill him they would. But would they attack? They seemed like common thugs to Rix; no one had the look of a leader. It wasn’t surprising – men like Leatherhead kept order with brutish violence and did not encourage rivals.

“What are you going to do?” said Rix quietly, so they had to strain forwards to hear. He raised Maloch. “No one bearing this sword –
Axil Grandys’ enchanted sword
– has ever been beaten in battle.”

“Deadhand’s just one man,” said a toothless, brawny thug at the front. “We can take him.” He reached for the sword sheathed at his hip.

Rix leapt forwards and pressed Maloch’s tip against the man’s throat. Blood threaded a path down his dirty neck. “Touch your weapon and you die.”

The thug choked. He couldn’t speak; the tip was pressing into his voicebox. His hand froze in mid-air, inches above the hilt. Rix lowered Maloch, cut the thongs of the man’s sheath and it fell to the ground. He forced him backwards to the gate, then kicked the sheath back to Glynnie, who drew the sword.

“When we escaped from Caulderon,” said Rix, “I killed six men with my bare hands – plus a whole pack of hyena shifters.”

He paused to let that sink in. Every eye was on his dead hand.

“And even if you could beat me, where can you go in mid-winter? The fortress is armed against you now; try to retake it and you will die.”

The thugs turned, saw the great line of armed servants, turned back to Rix. “But we’re at war,” said Rix, “and I need men who can fight, so I’ll make you an offer. Swear to serve and obey me, and I’ll take you on – and any raids we make against the enemy, you get a share of the plunder.”

The servants stared at one another, then there was a furious muttering among them. They weren’t happy. Perhaps they were wondering if Rix would be any better than Leatherhead.

“But be warned!” Rix said in a booming voice. “I intend to run Garramide as my great-aunt ran it. You will live like men, not pigs, and any violence against the people of this household will be punished by exile – or death. There will be no more warnings. Well? Do you swear to serve me and follow the laws of the fortress, on pain of death?”

There was some sullen nodding among Leatherhead’s men, a few quiet affirmations, some whispered oaths.

“Aloud!” cried Rix, brandishing Maloch. “On your knees.”

They went to their knees in the freezing mud and swore.

Rix gestured to them to rise. As he studied the faces, trying to take their measure, it occurred to Rix that Glynnie was still at risk.

He gestured behind him and she came to his side. “Glynnie will be in charge of my household. You will obey her as you do me.”

One of the outlaws, a big lout of a man, round-faced, with a beard as coarse as the bristles of a boar, sniggered and made a vulgar gesture.

Rix leapt forwards and struck the man down with the flat of his sword. “Get off my land.”

“But Deadhand, this is my home,” whined the lout, struggling to his knees. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Liar!” yelled a stocky maid whose yellow hair hung in a single braid to her waist. “You slaughtered your way in last week.”

“No warnings, I said,” said Rix. “You’ve got ten minutes to be gone. After an hour, I’m giving the hunting dogs your scent and setting them loose.”

The man looked vainly for help among his fellows, then trudged in through the gates. Rix studied the faces before him, one by one. None of the outlaws met his gaze.

“Anyone else disagree with my orders?”

No one spoke.

“I asked a question,” Rix said, lowering his voice so they would have to strain to hear. “As the master of Garramide, I expect instant and total obedience. Does anyone disagree with my orders?”

“No, Lord Deadhand,” they said in a ragged chorus.

“Get this muck cleared away.” The sweep of his hand included both the offal and Leatherhead. “Then go to the bathing house and scrub yourselves clean. I’ll have no filth in this house.”

The man Rix had struck down reappeared with a thin, shrew-faced woman who was whacking him with a knobbly walking stick.

“Stupid, useless lump,” she shrilled. “Why I put up with you I’ll never know.” She came up to Rix, put on a sickly smile that did not approach her eyes, curtsied clumsily and said, “He’s a fool, Lord. Never opens his mouth but to vomit out his stupidity, but he don’t mean it. He’s a good man, deep down. And we don’t got nowhere to go, Lord. Please —”

Momentarily, Rix’s heart softened at the appeal, and against his better judgement he was considering relenting when Glynnie spoke.

“He’s rotten all the way through, and you’re no better. Get going.”

“You little bitch,” cried the shrew-faced woman. “I’m not taking orders from a half-grown scrag I could break over my knee.” She launched herself at Glynnie, hissing and spitting.

Glynnie sprang forwards but Rix thrust his sword between them. “Go, or your man joins Leatherhead – in two pieces.”

“Couldn’t care less if he does,” muttered the shrew-faced woman.

She gave Rix a hard glare, and Glynnie a look of fire and brimstone, then resumed belabouring her man about the shoulders, driving him down the road. But before they turned the corner she looked back, and Rix could have sworn he saw a grin of triumph. It troubled him, momentarily. Then they were gone and he put her out of mind.

Rix gestured with his sword towards the offal. Men ran to clean it up with shovels and buckets.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me,” said Glynnie quietly. “It’s bound to cause trouble now.”

“They won’t be back,” said Rix.

“Maybe not, but everyone in the fortress saw you interfere to protect me. Now they’ll think I’m a helpless girl put in a place I don’t belong. That the only authority I have comes from you —”

“If they challenge my authority I’ll put them out the door.”

“They won’t challenge
your
authority, Rix. But they’ll undermine me at every turn, and —”

“Let’s worry about that when it happens. I’ve got a million things to do and I haven’t even gone through the gates.”

Before they could pass inside a woman came hurtling out, howling like a mad thing. She wore an embroidered white blouse, a brightly patterned skirt, and despite the cold her arms and feet were bare.

Tall, she was, very tall, with a mass of chestnut hair, thick and wavy and wild, a full mouth, white teeth bared in a rictus of pain, and a proud, arching nose. She shot past Rix and Glynnie and threw herself onto the headless body of Arkyz Leatherhead, embracing it and smearing his blood all over herself.

She let out a howl of anguish, sprang up, looking around wildly, then plunged down the slope to the remains of the offal heap, where his head lay. The woman picked it up, kissed his bloody mouth then, cradling the dripping head against her bosom, lurched back to the body and fitted the head in place. Letting out another savage moan, she lay full length on the body, embracing it again, then rose and rent her garments, baring herself to the waist.

She stalked up to Rix, her full skirts swishing. She must have been thirty-five, and was by no means a beautiful woman, but even in her bloodstained fury, she was a majestic one.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I am Blathy.”

Rix knew her by reputation. “Leatherhead’s long-time mistress,” he said quietly to Glynnie, “and said to be just as bad.” Rix met Blathy’s eye. “What do you want?”

“You killed my man. I demand the blood-price.”

“Blood-price isn’t payable for self-defence.”

“My man was defending his hearth. His death is murder.”

“He took Garramide by force. I’m the legitimate heir —”

“Garramide belonged to Arkyz by right of might.”

“He’s dead,” said Rix, “and the fortress is mine, by right
and
by might. Begone.” He raised the bloody sword.

She ignored the blade. Blathy was no coward. “I won’t go, and you can’t compel me.”

“I’ll carry you to the edge of the escarpment and dump you over if I have to,” said Rix.

“According to the founding charter of Garramide, the widow of the old lord must be given an apartment here for as long as she cares to stay. If the new lord does not make such provision, his lordship is void.”

“What a load of rubbish,” said Glynnie. “You made that up.”

Blathy looked down at Glynnie, who was a head shorter, then up again, dismissing her. “Ask Porfry.”

“And Porfry is?” said Rix.

“Keeper of the Records.”

Without taking another look at her dead man, nor pulling her blouse together over her naked chest, Blathy stormed in through the gate.

He looked down to see Glynnie scowling at him. “What have I done now?”

“You’re going to regret not casting her out,” said Glynnie.

“She’s just lost her man.”

“It doesn’t make her any less of a viper, and now you’ve given her the freedom of your house.”

“She’ll take another man within a fortnight, and once she does I’ll see her gone.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“I don’t follow.”

“There are women who will only have one man, and if they lose him they never take another. I think Blathy is such a woman. You’ve got to get rid of her.”

“I took a vow to protect vulnerable women. I can’t cast her out in the middle of a war, in mid-winter.”

“She’s no more vulnerable than you are,” Glynnie said furiously. “And… and you’d better watch out. She’ll be after you next.”

“You just said she’d never take another man. You’re rambling, Glynnie.”

“And you’re stupid. You can’t see what’s in front of your own face.”

Rix’s wrist gave an agonising throb. He looked up at the brooding sky, and the fortress he must make his own against all opposition, then prepare it for an enemy attack that was bound to come before he was ready. Suddenly he felt exhausted, and unaccountably irritable.

“What makes you, a girl of seventeen who’s lived all her life in one great house, so wise about the ways of the world?”

It was a stupid thing to say, for all kinds of reasons. The great houses were miniatures of the world, with all its lessons in close-up.

She sprang away as though he’d slapped her, rubbing her cheeks with her hands. “I’ll never be anything but a maidservant to you. Someone to be dumped on the first doorstep, and never to be taken seriously. Never to be treated like a woman.”

“Can we talk about this later?” said Rix. “I’m —”

“Don’t bother, Lord Deadhand.”

Swelt, the castellan of Garramide for the past thirty years, was five feet high and four feet wide, and had the appearance of as greedy a man as ever lived. From the middle of his triple chins bulged a goitre the size of a melon, his fingers were so fat that he could not bend them around his spoon, and his eyes were little black dots swimming in seas of lard.

But appearances were deceptive. Rix’s great-aunt, a clever and perceptive woman, had trusted Swelt implicitly and by letter had recommended him to Rix before her death.

Swelt was also the most well organised man Rix had yet encountered. Swelt had every detail of the fortress, its staff and its resources at his fingertips.

“You want a healer for
that
?” said Swelt, frowning at Rix’s dead hand and shaking his head.

“Surely Garramide has a healer,” said Rix.

“We have three – Oosta and her two assistants. And some of the men can poultice an infected wound, or saw off a smashed limb at need. But there’s no one here who can help you with a mage-grown member.”

“Does no one in Garramide know magery? No one at all?”

“I dabble. And Blathy can work a fine curse when she needs to – only against her enemies, though, and those who have injured her…” Swelt gave Rix an assessing glance. “But as for healing magery… well, there’s only the witch-woman, Astatin, though I wouldn’t trust a healthy member with her, much less an ailing one.” Swelt’s gaze skidded off Rix’s grey hand. “You’d need to go to Rebroff or Swire for that.”

“How far are they from here?” said Rix, whose knowledge of the geography of the area was patchy.

“In dry weather, on a fast horse, you can reach Swire, in Lakeland, in three hard days’ riding, and Rebroff a few hours longer. But in winter, with rain and snow —” Swelt inflated his quivering cheeks, “— you might not do it in a week.”

“Then I’ll have to put up with it,” said Rix. “I can’t waste a day on a hope that’s probably forlorn, much less a fortnight there and back. Now, to business.”

“Indeed. Was it wise to take on Leatherhead’s men, after all they’ve done here? It hasn’t endeared you to the servants.”

“To defend Garramide I’ve got to have experienced fighters. There was no other way to get them in a hurry.”

“After all they’ve done here you’ll have to work damn hard to get the people on side. And make sure your thugs keep to their barracks.”

“I meant what I said,” said Rix. “I plan to run Garramide the way my great-aunt did. I expect you to advise me on that.”

“I will,” said Swelt. “What are you going to do about Blathy?”

“She said she was entitled to remain in Garramide. Is that correct? Or should I ask Porfry?”

“I wouldn’t bother.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a fanatical Herovian. He sees you as an upstart who has just discovered his true heritage and plans on using it to his advantage.”

“You don’t like him?”

“His first loyalty isn’t to Garramide,” Swelt said simply.

Rix put that aside for later. “You tell me, then.”

“Blathy quoted the founding charter correctly – the widow of the previous lord is entitled to remain here…”

“But?”

“Two points.” Swelt studied his sausage-like fingers. “The intent of the provision was to provide for the widow of a
legitimate
lord – not a passing bandit who seized Garramide by killing everyone who opposed him.”

“And the second point?”

“In law, before becoming a widow, it’s necessary to be a wife. Mistresses don’t count.”

“So I can get rid of her…”

“Why do you hesitate?”

“It feels like a dishonourable thing to do… even knowing that she’s hardly better than Leatherhead.”

“Honour can be taken too far, Rixium.”

“The fall of House Ricinus has given me a new appreciation of its value,” Rix said drily.

“If you want to take the place of your great-aunt, you’ll have to take the hard decisions.”

“I’ll think on it. What’s the state of the fortress?”

“You tell me. You’ve just spent all afternoon inspecting it.”

“The defences are in good condition, apart from the gate itself. I’ve ordered the carpenters and masons to begin strengthening it in the morning. But I wasn’t talking about the walls.”

“Depends what you plan to use Garramide for,” said Swelt.

“I didn’t come here to hide.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. Why did you come?”

“To fight for my country. I’m going to raise a small army and harry the enemy every way I can.” Rix studied Swelt’s round face, expecting him to demur. He did not have the look of a fighter.

Again Swelt surprised him. “Your great-aunt would have been proud.”

“It’ll put Garramide in danger,” said Rix.

“As one of the oldest Herovian houses in the land, built by Grandys himself, Garramide is already threatened. We can either fight, and probably lose, or hide like craven cowards and gain another few months. Either way, Lyf is coming.” The tiny eyes drifted around the room, then settled on Rix again. “But you’ve just shortened the time by weeks.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You sent Tordy and his wife away with nothing.”

Rix frowned. Glynnie had said the same thing, but he was so tired he could not think straight. “Yes?”

“Tordy’s a moron, but his wife is stiletto-sharp, and she’ll sell the news for a high price.”

A throbbing pain in Rix’s belly matched the agony in his wrist.

“In two or three days,” said Swelt, “Lyf will know where you’ve gone to ground, and he’ll come after you.”

“How long have I got?”

“Perhaps a fortnight.” Swelt’s gaze drifted back and forth across Rix before settling on his face.

“Where’s the best place to cut them off?” said Rix, cursing his poor judgement.

“Tordy’s been hunting in the rainforest all his life. You’ll
never
find them.”

“Damn! Well, give me your report.”

Swelt produced a set of hand-written inventories which he passed to Rix, then proceeded to recite them word for word and number for number – the entire contents of the pantries, larders and cellar, the number and state of the arms in the armoury, the kinds and numbers of the beasts grazing in the outer yard and on the many farms.

“Enough!” cried Rix, his eyes glazing at the thought of so much book learning. “Just give me the gist.”

“Which particular gist would that be, Rixium?”

“What we have plenty of for a siege, what we lack, where our strengths and weaknesses lie, the state of the treasury —”

“Ah,” said Swelt. “The treasury.”

“What about it?”

“It was most handsomely endowed when your great-aunt died, but since then…” Swelt spread his pudgy hands.

“You’re the damned castellan,” Rix said savagely. “You’re the man in charge.”

“I was when your great-aunt was alive. But after you inherited…” Swelt peeled off a piece of torn thumbnail.

“Get on with it!” cried Rix, the pain in his wrist growing by the second.

“You weren’t of age, and Lady Ricinus did not entrust the job to me.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. “She sent in a factor of her own, a fellow called Scunlees…”

The name meant nothing to Rix. His mother had employed dozens of factors. “And?”

“Scunlees’ instructions weren’t to manage your estate, but to strip it.”

Rix studied Swelt, wondering if he were lying and had stolen the treasury for himself. But he did not think so. It fitted too well.

“Go on,” he said.

“It appears that the stories about House Ricinus’s vast wealth were exaggerated, Rixium… but I don’t think that comes as news to you.”

“It doesn’t,” Rix said slowly. “Mother spent staggering sums on bribes to get us into the First Circle of families. And Father squandered an even greater amount training and equipping the Third Army.”

“An army that was wiped out in the first hours of the invasion of Caulderon.”

Rix shook his head, trying to clear his memories of that horror. “By the time of the Honouring we were on the brink of bankruptcy. Tell me the worst,” he said grimly.

“The treasury is almost bare,” said Swelt. “Had I not hidden part of it, Scunlees would have taken every last
chalt
. And he sold half the flocks and stores a month ago; more than we could afford to lose.”

“Where is the bastard?” Rix said furiously. “I’ll wring his miserable neck.”

“When the news came of House Ricinus’s fall he was gone within the hour – with everything he could cram into his saddlebags. The great dame would weep.”

“I don’t remember her being the weeping sort,” said Rix.

“Just an expression,” said Swelt. “She would have nailed his head to the barn door.”

“Go on with your gist. What about men to man the walls?”

“With the fortress servants, the labourers from our farms and stables, the bakers and brewers, masons and smiths and so forth, we can muster three hundred men at need. Though only a handful are experienced fighters.”

“Plus Leatherhead’s fifty. I’ll knock them into line and start training your folk in the morning. How many other people are there?”

“Another few hundred. Plus children, nursing mothers and pensioners.”

“That’s a lot of mouths.”

“We’ve stores in the fortress to withstand a siege, though they won’t last for months. And if winter gets any harder we’ll have to feed half the serfs on the plateau, or see them starve.”

“We won’t see them starve,” said Rix. “We’ll all tighten our belts.” His eyes slipped to Swelt’s astounding middle.

“Some more than others,” Swelt said drily, though Rix sensed approval. “Your great-aunt would have said the same.”

“And after Scunlees was gone?”

“Leatherhead turned up the next day. He knows these mountains – he’s been terrorising them for a decade. He stormed the gates, hacked the guards to death and burst in. Within a day he had turned this lovely old fortress into a slaughterhouse, a tavern and a brothel.”

“What’s your view of his men? They’re experienced fighters and I need all I can get.”

“A third of them are worthless scum who’d cut your throat for a pair of boots —”

“But I dare say they’ll follow if I beat them into line.”

“I dare say they will – if you prove you’re as tough as Leatherhead. And if Garramide is attacked, they’ll fight for it, since they’ve nowhere else to go.” Swelt shook his head. “The rest are recent recruits, men who lost everything when the war began and had no choice. I expect you can make something of them – with the right leadership.”

That word again. “I’m not sure leadership is my strong point.” Rix hadn’t even succeeded with Glynnie. He lowered his head into his hands.

“Then you’d better learn fast. No one else can do it.”

“If I lead, will you follow?”

Swelt snorted. “I loved the old dame I served for thirty years, and she thought highly of you. I’ll do my best for you, Rixium, and so will most of the household, but be warned. You have enemies here, and they’ll do everything they can to bring you down.”

“I grew up in an adder’s nest; I think I can handle —”

“It’s one thing to know your enemies. It’s entirely another when you can’t tell who’s holding a dagger behind their back.”

“Perhaps even you?” Rix asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“You don’t know me either.”

“I wasn’t allowed to manage my inheritance a year ago, but I made proper enquiries about my castellan.”

“Might I ask what they reported?” said Swelt, not entirely hiding his anxiety.

“A gross and greedy man at the dinner table.” Rix met Swelt’s eye. “But honest, and fiercely loyal to Garramide and the old dame.”

“So I am. But I don’t give my loyalty to fools or knaves.”

“And I am?” said Rix.

“More fool than knave, since you ask. We’ll obey your orders, Rixium, because you’re the lord of Garramide and we believe in fighting for our house and our country. But you’ll have to
earn
our loyalty – and you come with a handicap.”

“The evil reputation of House Ricinus,” said Rix.

“Just so.”

The pain was back, worse than ever. How could any man overcome such a disadvantage?

“On the other hand,” said Swelt, “at a blow you’ve freed us from a vicious tyrant, and the old household thanks you for that. You’ve made a good start – apart from one decision…”

“What’s that?”

“The maidservant you put in charge of the household servants. It was a mistake to raise her above her station. Only anger and resentment can come of it.”

“Glynnie has many fine qualities.”

“I don’t doubt it, and her green eyes and charming smile not the least of them. But the servants will never accept her orders. It’s quite impossible.”

“They accept mine.”

“You’re the heir, and from birth you were trained to command. Glynnie has no right, and it shows. Persist in this decision, Rixium, and you’ll lose far more than you hope to gain from her… whatever that may be.”