Bloodchild. Anna Stephens

       CRYS

       Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

       Seer’s Tor, Krike

      Despite the presence of the southern war leader and her warriors, the reception for the Rilporians at Seer’s Tor, Krike’s capital, was less than friendly.

      Warriors picked up their approach when they were still a few miles out and by the time the group had reached the outskirts of the great circular town with the tor rearing from its centre, the Warlord’s honour guard were ranged across the main road and the gates were shut tight.

      ‘There’s something very wrong here,’ Dom muttered to Crys as they walked steadily towards the line of warriors barring their way. He rubbed tenderly at his right eye. ‘Very, very wrong. Be careful.’ He hissed in pain and stumbled and Ash caught him under the arm, helped him along a few strides until he found his balance again.

      Crys didn’t miss that Ash let go as fast as he could. Dom didn’t miss it either. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’ he asked the calestar. Dom blinked, surprised and pleased to be spoken to. Grateful just to be acknowledged. A twist of shame rose up Crys’s throat even as his palms dampened in animal instinct at the man’s proximity.

      ‘Things will not be as they seem. Truth and lies entwine like mating snakes and faith broken and put back together is stronger than faith forgotten and remembered.’ He stopped walking, stopped talking, his neck stretching long and to one side, blank brown eyes staring into the future. Crys and Ash got ready to catch him, but after long moments he came back to them and was still himself.

      ‘All right?’ Crys put his hand on Dom’s back. ‘Do you need some time?’

      Dom coughed, cleared his throat, spat, and then took several deep breaths. His right eye was screwed shut against pain that writhed across his features, but he began to walk, limping slightly. ‘Be on guard. We’re in more danger here than at any point since we fled Rilporin.’

      ‘Fantastic,’ Ash muttered, but he’d noticed the hand that Crys still had on Dom’s back and subsided. Relief, confusion and disgust warred for possession of his expression, but he matched his pace to Dom’s and the three of them moved slowly to the line of warriors in front of the shut gate.

      ‘The tor’s here,’ Crys said, though it was pretty obvious, looming over not just the town but the entire landscape, visible for miles. ‘It’s where I was born, you know. The Fox God, I mean.’

      Cutta stepped in front of them. ‘Cutta Frog-dream, war leader of the south and confidante of the Warlord, with information about the war in Rilpor and god-news for the Seer-Mother. The Trickster has returned to Gilgoras in mortal form.’

      Whatever they’d been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. The warrior who she addressed opened and closed his mouth a few times, having no idea how to answer such claims. Eventually he clicked his fingers and sent another back to the town through a postern gate. ‘You’ll wait,’ he grunted, easing the axe in his grip.

      ‘As you say, honour guard. Two-Eyed Man, are you content to wait?’ Cutta asked, voice loud enough to carry to the warriors opposing them. There were startled exclamations and Crys approved the tactic. Whatever happened here, Cutta had both named him and given him authority over her. The rumour of that would flood through the town faster than anyone could think to curb it.

      He waved a hand. ‘We’ll wait.’

      It didn’t take long. More of the Warlord’s honour guard flooded out to surround Cutta and her warriors, and then the Warlord himself arrived with the gold torc of his office glinting on his thick neck beneath his blond beard and braided hair.

      A woman who had to be the Seer-Mother followed him out, dripping in ornaments and beads and charms, tattoos around her eyes.

      ‘Rilporians are not welcome in Krike,’ the Warlord shouted, his hands on his hips next to axe and knife. ‘And liars are welcome nowhere.’

      The Seer-Mother stalked past him and up to the Rilporians standing a little ahead of the others. The Krikites who’d followed Crys stepped away, shuffling their feet like children caught stealing apples. She circled the trio and Crys’s back prickled, waiting for a knife. Even without the Fox God’s confirmation or Dom’s partial knowing, it was clear this woman was not their friend.

       Want to come out and wow them, Foxy?

      There was a feeling of amusement but no corresponding change in his nature. Still, Crys hoped he wasn’t going to have to do this alone.

      The Seer-Mother stopped in front of him and peered at his face. He arched his eyebrow and waited. So did she, but if she was expecting deference she’d be standing there a long time. ‘You have destroyed Krike’s priesthood and forbidden the old worship,’ he said; breath hissed from her. ‘You have made yourself the sole conduit between the people and the gods. That must be a heavy burden.’

      ‘I bear it gladly,’ she said, tossing her head.

      Crys indicated the bronze and brass bracelets and necklaces, the many fine beads threaded into her hair. ‘So I can see. And do you think people beggaring themselves in return for your intervention with the gods is just?’

      The Seer-Mother barked a sharp laugh. ‘You are the one who is here to be judged. You are the one whose truth is to be discovered – and the consequences of it.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Crys said softly and felt stillness gather in Ash standing at his left shoulder. His lover was readying for a fight. ‘I do not need your judgement,’ he continued, raising his voice for the Warlord to hear. ‘I am Crys Tailorson, officer, soldier, heart-bound to the Wolf Ash. I am the Fox God in mortal form, the Trickster. The Two-Eyed Man. There is rot in Krike, and though I came here to secure aid for Rilpor’s fight against the forces of the Red Gods, I will not leave before I have done all I can to bring harmony back to your land and the gods back to your hearts.’

      The Seer-Mother pounced on his words. ‘The gods, you say? The gods, not “Me”. You proclaim yourself our lord and then refuse to acknowledge your place in those hearts you speak of so lovingly.’ She pointed a finger between his eyes. ‘I name you liar.’

      ‘I name you Tanik Horse-dream, false Seer-Mother,’ Crys replied easily and a ripple of surprise ran through those gathered.

      Tanik scoffed. ‘Anyone you travelled with could have told you my name. There are no secrets among Krikites, Crys Tailorson, false prophet. I am Tanik: what of it? You think that makes you divine?’

      ‘False,’ Dom said and his teeth clicked together as he bit off the word. ‘False.’

      ‘See?’ the woman demanded, gesturing. ‘Even your accomplice agrees with me.’

      Neither Crys nor Ash were listening. ‘He’s going,’ Ash said, ‘this’ll be a full one, he’s too close to the edge after that moment just now.’ He leant in close, hands on Dom’s shoulders. ‘Let’s sit you down, Dom, eh? Come on now, right here, that’s it. Come—’

      Dom’s arms flew up and knocked Ash away and then he stiffened and fell like a tree. Crys slid in behind him and caught his shoulders, but Dom began to convulse before he managed to get him on to the floor and he wriggled, hit the dirt back-first so all the breath was driven free, and then the thrashing started, the arching, the guttural grunts.

      A spear appeared in the ground by his hip and Ash spun to face the Warlord’s warriors. ‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ he roared at them, turned away before anyone could reply, and threw himself down