III
BLAME THE BLACKSMITH
‘THREE DAYS LATER, we were barely moving at all. ‘Freezing. Stumbling. Nothing to eat but a few frozen mushrooms. Nothing to smoke at all. As ill fortune would have it, we’d been hit by wretched on the second day – a pair of them coming at us through the dead trees. Farmer folk – mother and son by the look, seen off by me and Ashdrinker without too much drama. But with nothing to collect their blood in, no way to cook it, I had to waste it in the snow. ‘My wounds had healed, but the thirst sat in my belly like a knot of flame now, roiling ever wider. We followed frozen banks, me staggering in front, Dior stumbling behind. The deadwood was silent, the river sluggish; a grey dress hemmed with frost. Wintersdeep was biting at our heels now, and even a river mighty as the Volta would soon freeze solid. ‘If we didn’t reach Redwatch, we’d be frozen long before. ‘Dior was huddled in my greatcoat, shivering and miserable. She didn’t complain, which was a mark in her favour, but she seemed possessed of an irrepressible need to chatter. To question. About the Silver Order. About San Michon. About vampires, the capital, anything that entered her damned head. I don’t know whether she did it to keep her mind off the cold or my mind off my thirst, or simply to torture me. But you remember what I said about the problem with most men being they never shut the fuck up?’ Jean-François nodded. ‘Oui.’ ‘Turns out that’s also true for teenage girls. ‘“How can she do what she does?” she asked on the third day. ‘“Eh?” I growled, stumbling along the riverbank.
‘Dior’s eyes were fixed on the sword at my waist. “Ashdrinker. How can she hurt the Dead so easily? When you fought that masked vampire in San Guillaume, those wretched in Winfael, it looked like her blade burned them. I thought only silver did that.” ‘“She’s magik,” I growled, breathing a cloud of frost. “And I’m talking true magik, now. Forged from the heart of a fallen star, long before the empire was
born.” ‘“She’s … impressive to watch.” ‘“You should’ve seen her when I was younger. She could cut the night in two.” I sighed, my gaze roaming the silvered dame on the hilt. “She never used to stutter, you know. But she’s not what she used to be since she broke. She gets confused sometimes now. About where we are. Or when. Truth told … I think
she’s gone a little bit mad.” ‘“How’d she break?” ‘“I pushed her down the stairs after she asked too many questions.”
‘“Is it true what Bellamy said?” ‘I sighed. “Probably not.” ‘“About you finding her in the grave of a dead barrowking?” ‘“Barrowking graves are called barrows. Hence the name. And no. Utter bullshit.” ‘“You won her in a riddle contest in the Everdark, then?” ‘“Never been to the Everdark. I’m not that suicidal.” ‘“So … you sexed some deadly faequeen so expertly that she passed out and
—” ‘“Fucksakes, grow up, will you?” ‘“Well, what about her knowing how everyone will die?” ‘I sighed again, glancing down to Ashdrinker. “That much is true.” ‘“… Really?” ‘I peered over my shoulder. “Want to know?” ‘“How I die?” Dior swallowed thickly, teeth chattering. “I … suppose s-so?” ‘I stopped and stared. “You certain? It’s not a truth you can unlearn, girl.” ‘She looked me in the eye. Squared her shoulders and nodded. ‘“Give me your hand, then,” I said. ‘Dior complied, her fingers trembling. I took hold, wrapped my other fist around Ashdrinker’s hilt. Snow fell gently about us, melting on our skin as I scowled, murmuring under my breath. Then I opened my eyes, and foretold Dior’s death. ‘“You keep asking me bullshit questions, and I drown you in this fucking river.”
river.” ‘“God, you’re a prick,” she spat, snatching her hand away.
‘“Serves you right.”
‘“For what?” ‘“Tall, dark and damaged?” ‘She scoffed. “Truth is the sharpest knife.” ‘I raised a warning finger. “I’ll have you know I’m—” ‘I gasped, doubling over in agony as a wave of flame swept up my spine.
Holding my belly, eyes squeezed shut, just struggling to stay upright. I felt Dior’s hand on my shoulder as all the world around me buckled and swayed.
‘“Getting worse?”
‘“It only ever gets worse, girl.” ‘“… Is there something I can do?” ‘I inhaled through gritted teeth so I wouldn’t have to smell her. “Short of conjuring a nice, fat wretched and something to cook with, m-maybe shut up a
while.” ‘She chewed her lip. “I can do that.” ‘“I’ve a g-gold royale says you don’t last an hour.” ‘We staggered on, freezing and aching, the thirst clawing the insides of my skin. I’d never gone more than seven nights without sating it, but I knew what would happen when I broke. And the pure, black dread of that thought had me tied tighter than a hangman’s noose, every step, every minute, harder and harder
to breathe. ‘“Hero …” Dior said. ‘“Forty-seven minutes, girl,” I growled. “You owe me a g-gold royale.” ‘“No, look!” ‘I pawed the frost from my lashes, glanced to where she was pointing. And out in the middle of the freezing Volta, maybe half a mile downriver, I saw a sight that almost made me believe the Almighty’s favourite pastime wasn’t
spitting in my spuds. ‘“A barge,” Dior breathed. ‘She was right. A flat-bottomed boat was ploughing its way upriver, manned by a dozen crew with long-poled oars. The bargemen sang as they worked, and I could hear them now if I tried, over the rushing pulse in my ears.
‘“There was a fine maid from Dún Fas,
‘“Who had a remarkable ass;
‘“Not rounded and pink, ‘“As well you might think—”’
‘It was grey, had four legs, and ate grass?’ Jean-François interrupted.
Gabriel smiled, gulped his wine. ‘Heard that one before, have you?’ ‘It’s older than I.’ The vampire tutted. ‘River folk.’ ‘They don’t change much,’ the silversaint chuckled. ‘The Volta is the grandest river in Ossway, and folk have been plying boats along it for centuries. It was a harder way to make a living than it’d once been, but river trade had become the lifeblood of the empire since the wars grew thick. Coldbloods couldn’t fuck with it. Until wintersdeep arrives and the waters freeze solid, of course. Then the
revels begin. ‘“Oi!” Dior shouted. “Over here!” ‘I joined her shouting as best I could, my belly still burning. But I sighed with relief as one of the polecats pointed at us. The bargemen set to it, punting closer while Dior jumped and waved. The vessel was good oak, maybe seventy feet, her prow sweeping up out of the water in the likeness of a beautiful swan. Trade goods crowded her decks, but she carried passengers also; two score or more. As the barge drew closer, I saw they were refugees, no doubt fleeing the bloodlords of the Dyvok and their war for the Ossway. ‘The barge slowed perhaps thirty feet off the shoreline, the polecats watching us with suspicious eyes. An Ossian fellow with a grizzled, bearded face stepped forward, hands on hips. He had flaming red hair and was dressed as a navyman, replete with a tricorn hat and heavy duster, sea green with brass buttons and trim. ‘“Nice coat,” Dior murmured. ‘“Fairdawn, travellers,” the man called in a thick western brogue.
‘“Godmorrow, Capitaine,” I nodded. ‘“Where d’ye head?” ‘“Redwatch. But anywhere other th-than here sounds lovely right now.” ‘“Angel Fortuna smiles on ye, then. Other than here’s our destination. Ye’ve coin?” ‘I patted the purse hanging on my swordbelt beside Ashdrinker. The man’s gaze lingered on the blade, drifting now to Dior. I studied the passengers behind – grubby men and women, thin children, all watching with something between hostility and curiosity. ‘“Well, swim oot with yer purse and ye’re welcome aboard,” the capitaine declared. ‘“Swim?” Dior scoffed. “That water’s fucking freezing.” ‘“It’s also fuckin’ running, bairn. And ye must think me seven shades o’ shitewit to pick up two strangers pale as ye in days dark as these without a testin’.”
‘My fingers were trembling too badly to manage it, so I pulled off my glove with my teeth. The capitaine’s eyes widened at the sight of my sevenstar. ‘“You’re safe enough with m-me aboard, Capitaine.” ‘“Silversaint …” came the whisper among the refugees. ‘The capitaine scratched his thick ginger beard, then turned to the polecat beside him, ordering him to fetch their skiff. Dior watched the dark waters beneath us with nervous eyes as we were punted out to the barge, but soon enough, we were aboard, my shaking hand thumping into the skipper’s. “Merci, mon ami. We’re in your debt.” ‘“Nae debt, Silversaint,” the man bowed. “’Tis my honour to grant ye passage.
Name’s Carlisle á Cuinn. My brother fought with two of yer lot at the siege of —” ‘I grabbed my stomach, staggering as another wave of pain swept through me.
Dior caught my arm, Carlisle my other. “… Ye aright, Frère?” ‘I gritted my sharpening teeth, vision flooding red. “How far to Redwatch, Capitaine?” ‘“Two days,” the big fellow replied. “If we move wi’ haste.” ‘Dior looked Carlisle in his eyes. “Might I humbly request you do so, monsieur?” ‘The capitaine threw a worried glance in my direction, but he was soon barking orders. Dior and I got the hell out of the way, threading among the tight- packed cargo and refugees. They were a motley lot, empty eyes and dirty hands.
They watched with curiosity, suspicion, awe, as Dior and I made our way to the bow and slumped down near the figurehead.
‘“You look like shit,” she whispered. ‘“We look n-nothing alike,” I managed. ‘Her smile was water-thin. “Can you last two more days?” ‘I curled over into a ball, arms around my belly. “Want a bet?” ‘The girl looked at her hand, running a thumb down her forearm. I could see the vein beneath her skin, light blue, pulsing with that maddening, beautiful life.
“Maybe you c—” ‘“Don’t,” I snarled, my fingers snapping around her wrist. ‘“You’re hurting me,” she whispered. ‘I released my grip, ashamed and sickening. “I’m sorry, just … don’t ever offer me that again, aright? Don’t even think it.” ‘“Why? If it’s the choice between that and starv—” ‘“Because I’m not a fucking animal. So just promise me.” ‘She looked me over, her lips thin. “I promise.”
‘And so, it began. Two days of hell as we punted up the Volta at what seemed a snail’s pace. Carlisle came by to check on me after an hour or so, but I gave monosyllabic answers until he got the message and let me be. I was probably the first member of the Ordo Argent these folk had ever seen in the flesh, and I’m sure the good capitaine and crew were disappointed in the show I was putting on. But I was just struggling to hold myself together. I kept my head down, conscious of Dior sitting vigil beside me. The girl didn’t move an inch until the bell rang for dinner, and then she was gone only a moment. ‘“There’s a man dying back there.” ‘I blinked through the haze, looking up as she handed me a wooden bowl of – you fucking guessed it – potato stew. “What?” ‘“Back there.” She nodded. “At the arse of the boat.” ‘I lifted the bowl and forced a mouthful down. “A boat’s arse is called a s- stern.” ‘“He’s with his famille. Refugees from Dún Cuinn. All these people.” Dior brushed her hair down over her face. “The man got his leg broken on the journey. It’s turning black.” ‘I glanced down to the stern, saw the famille Dior was talking about among the mob. A snaggle-faced fellow with a slender wife, two young lasses with eyes of old sky blue. The poor bastard was laid out in his love’s lap, sheened with sweat despite winter’s chill. ‘“I can smell him from here,” I nodded. “Leg’s gone septic. He’s a d-dead man.” ‘“His name is Boyd. His wife is Brenna. Their eldest is—” ‘“You’re not contemplating what I think you’re contemplating …” ‘Dior looked down at those scars on her palm. Up into my eyes. “And what’s that?” ‘“Something that’ll get you killed,” I growled, low and deadly. “Look around.
These are peasantfolk, girl. They don’t hold truck with magik, and they don’t believe in miracles. What they believe in is devilry, and dark sorcerie. You start opening veins and laying on bloody hands to heal folk their ills, they’ll burn you for a fucking witch.” ‘“I don’t need lectures from you, hero.” ‘“Then pull your head out your arse,” I hissed. ‘“Right, I know you’re in a state? But I’m going to need you to march all the way off my tits here.” ‘I glanced down at her thin chest. “You’ve got no tits.” ‘Dior gasped, gobsmacked with outrage. “You fucking—”
‘“Listen, you get to San Michon, you do whatever bullshit they need you to. ’Til then, keep your head all the way down. Because I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but if we hit trouble, I’m going to be as useful as a taddysack on a priest.” ‘Dior scowled and started scoffing her dinner. Pouting. Sullen. She was a piece of work, this girl. A thin streak of seagull shite with scabs on her knuckles.
Always ready for a scrap, to answer back, to spit. But, turns out there was a good soul under all that front. Eyes that saw the hurts of the world, and a heart that wanted to fix them. For a moment, she reminded me so much of my own Patience I had to catch my breath. ‘“Look.” I gritted my teeth. “Apologies. I’m shabby company when I’m thirsting.” ‘“I’ve news for you. You’re not a bucket of chuckles when you’re not thirsting either.” She glowered. “I’ve tits that’d make angels cheer, you grumpy shit.” ‘“I’ll take your word for it. But I’m not riding your scrawny arse for the fun of it. We’re in a world of enemies here, girl. Danton aside, there’s that masked bloodmage chasing you, and as far as we know, the Inquisition are still hounding your trail.” I scowled, gulping down a scalding mouthful. “Fucking Rafa. Why he and his brethren sent word to the Pontifex about you is beyond me. Augustin is a nest of vipers. Always has been.” ‘“Welllll.” Dior gave a sad sigh, chewing her lip. “The Inquisition isn’t really Rafa’s fault. Those two bitches who chased us out of Dhahaeth …” ‘“The ones I shot? You knew them?” ‘She looked at her wrist. That thin scrawl of blue, like cracks in pale marble.
“Let’s just say I don’t need a lecture on what folk do to witches these nights.” ‘“All the more reason to keep your gift on the quiet.” ‘“… Maybe.” ‘“You can’t save the world one inch at a time, girl. Believe me, I’ve tr—” ‘The thirst surged again, blood-red and stabbing. I clenched my teeth, felt them growing long in my gums, doubling over so my hair might hide my twisting face. ‘“Maybe you should sleep?” Dior murmured. ‘“Maybe you could b-beat me unconscious?”
‘“God, gladly.”
‘“Just not the f-face, aright?” ‘She sighed. “Will this do?” ‘I glanced up, saw a beaten tin flask in her hand. “Is that …?” ‘“It smells like dog shit soaked in flaming hair, but I’m fairly sure it’s liquor.” ‘I unscrewed the lid, my nose burning at the scent. “Where’d you get it?”
‘I unscrewed the lid, my nose burning at the scent. “Where’d you get it?” ‘“Six years on the streets of Lashaame, remember?” She shrugged thin shoulders. “Picked it from the capitaine’s pocket. So maybe you’d best down it quickly and …” ‘Her voice faded as I tipped back my head, guzzled the entire flask. The liquor burned like fire, but still, it helped douse the flame in my belly a little. I lay down and curled into a ball, aching and miserable, wanting only to be numb. ‘Dior sighed. “You’re a bloody mess, hero.” ‘“Don’t blame the blade. Blame the b-blacksmith.” ‘She sighed, drummed her fingers on her knees. ‘“I’ll keep watch. Sleep now.” ‘I closed my eyes, sinking into the black behind them. Searching for quiet.
The Almighty hadn’t been doing me many favours lately. And as I’d told Rafa, it was only a self-entitled fool who fancied the bastard would listen. ‘Still, I almost prayed anyway.’
