Godblind. Anna Stephens

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       CRYS

       Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

       Commander’s quarters, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

      ‘So, Captain Tailorson, it appears you have led a varied and interesting career in the last two years with the North Rank. Any particular reason for that?’ Commander Durdil Koridam eyed him from behind his desk.

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Demoted to lieutenant for brawling with common soldiers, a month in the cells for smuggling a family over the border into Rilpor, promotion back to captain for outstanding gallantry under fire … Outstanding?’

      ‘Major Bedras found himself surrounded by the Dead Legion. It seemed appropriate to save him.’

      ‘From the Dead Legion? Alone?’ Durdil’s grey eyebrows rose a fraction.

      ‘There were five of them, sir, youngsters on a blood hunt to prove their manhood.’

      ‘And how did they manage to surround the major?’

      ‘Couldn’t say, sir.’

      ‘No, though I note from General Tariq’s subsequent report that the major is no longer a major.’

      ‘As you say, sir.’

      ‘And the family you allowed into our country?’

      ‘A woman with three children, starving and filthy. Husband killed by the Dead, fleeing to save her children’s lives. It was … it was the right thing to do.’

      ‘You are a soldier, Tailorson. Right and wrong is for your superiors to decide.’

      Crys met his eyes. ‘Right and wrong is for every man to decide. Sir.’

      Durdil leant back in his chair and pursed his lips. Crys stared past his left ear, palms clammy. ‘There is a pattern here, Tailorson. You have talent, you have intelligence, you have flair. You could be an outstanding officer. And yet every time you reach captain you do something to get demoted. Are you afraid of being a leader?’

      Crys’s left eyelid flickered. ‘Sir.’

      ‘Was that a “yes, sir” or a “no, sir”, Tailorson?’

      ‘It was an “I don’t know the answer to your question, sir”, sir.’

      ‘Well, you’re honest, at least. You’re to join the Palace Rank, Tailorson.’ Durdil shuffled some papers. ‘But because I’m curious about you, you’re to be under my direct command.’

      ‘Sir.’

      The corner of Durdil’s mouth twitched. ‘Normally I’d assume the “Sir” was agreement, but with you I’m not so sure. South barracks. Report to Major Wheeler at dusk for the night shift. Dismissed.’ Crys saluted, spun on his heel and marched to the door. ‘And, Tailorson? Turn up hungover in my presence again and you won’t be demoted; I’ll flog the booze out of you myself. Off you go.’

      How does he know? How can he possibly know? I’ve had a bath, a shave, a change of uniform. Crys was still pondering it when he exited the palace and was slapped in the face with a gust of rain. He shivered and hunched his shoulders against the wet. His scarf and cloak were in the barracks in the second circle of the city, a good half-hour’s walk away. The palace crouched at the centre of the city, surrounded by walls like the heart of an onion.

      He made his way through the gate into the fourth circle, walking fast and trying not to gawk. The palace in Fifth Circle was awe-inspiring and suitably royal, but Fourth Circle was home to the nobles. Real people lived here, albeit rich and powerful ones, in houses that were ridiculous confections of wood and stone and paint and carved plinths, all set in lavish grounds that could have accommodated three times the number of houses but seemed to serve no purpose except to look pretty.

      Rich men and their rich fancies. Never mind the slums in First Circle and the beggars holed up in the tanneries or the slaughter district. Still, it was wide open and defensible and another layer of protection between the palace and any invaders.

      Crys СКАЧАТЬ