The Bloodforged Read Free Page A

natural suspicion of foreigners, Rig harboured a particular dislike for the Harrami, whose failure to control their mountain tribes left the Blacklands vulnerable to raids. He’d faced Harrami tribesmen in battle, and it had marked him. It had also taught him hit-and-run tactics and the rare art of true horse archery, both of which the Blackswords had put to good use in the first six months of the war. But Alix doubted he would see the positive side.
    â€œWhat’s with the shine?” Rig said, gesturing at Liam’s dress armour.
    Liam grimaced. “In honour of your esteemed selves. Most of the banner lords are arriving tonight.”
    â€œIs there a banquet?” Rig asked, brightening.
    â€œThere is,” Liam replied with considerably less enthusiasm.
    â€œThank the Nine Virtues. I’m lucky if I get a bite of venison these days. The Imperial Road is a mess this time of year.”
    â€œLooks like it,” Alix said, inclining her head at her brother’s muddy boots. He’d left a trail of it across the polished stone floor. Arnot would not be pleased. “You’d better get cleaned up. You might even consider cutting your hair.”
    Rig ran a careless hand through his coal-black locks. They were almost to his shoulders again, hanging in the same lazy waves as Alix’s. “Do you think it’ll annoy Highmount if I don’t?”
    â€œDefinitely.”
    â€œIn that case, I think I’ll leave it.”
    Liam grinned. “A man after my own heart.”
    Rudi padded over, having concluded his own sweep of the oratorium. He snuffled at Rig’s boots, but otherwise gave him a pass. “Holy Scourge of Rahl!” Rig held out a callused hand for the wolfhound to sniff. “Is that
Rudi
? He’s a monster!”
    â€œYes,” Liam said, “he is.”
    â€œI can’t believe how much he’s grown! We could use a few like that at the front. Put some fear into those gods-cursed Oridian warhounds.” Rig gave the animal’s flank a solid thump, setting Rudi’s nub wagging.
    â€œYou want him? He’s yours.” Liam started to reach for the wolfhound, but Rudi bared his teeth.
    â€œAll right,” Alix said, “out of here, all of you. I need to finish this and get back to Erik.”
    â€œCome on, Rudi,” Rig said, “let’s find something to eat.” The wolfhound trotted alongside him as happily as if Rig had reared him from a pup. Liam looked after them in disgust.
    â€œBye, Allie.” He dropped a kiss on Alix’s cheek. “See you at the banquet.”
    Alix shook her head ruefully. A banquet. In the middle of war. She understood the politics of it, but even so, it felt wrong somehow. Like a death feast. A final indulgence before the execution.
    She raised her eyes to the stained-glass window, watching detachedly as the servants tried to repair the crack. She no longer saw the symbol of Ardin’s passion. Instead, she saw the flames of war.
    *   *   *
    Erik White stood at the window of his study, gazing out over the rose garden. A light glitter of snow dusted the burlap sacks covering the rosebushes, giving them a sombre cast.
Like a rowof tombstones
, he thought. An endless row, twisting back on itself and back again, an army of tombstones in tight, ordered ranks. Was that what the graves at the front looked like?
    Don’t be ridiculous.
They have no time to erect monuments to their dead.
    Erik sighed, his breath fogging the glass. It was no good, giving himself over to grim thoughts like this. He knew it, but he could not seem to help himself. The longer the war dragged on, the less Erik could think about anything else. He was climbing the walls here in the palace, futile and frivolous, throwing banquets and convening council meetings while hundreds, thousands of his men died at the front. It was almost enough to make him long for the days when he commanded his own