Anna Stephens - Godblind

Jud brayed a laugh. ‘You hear about those Watchers? Ever met one? I hear the men all stick each other up there. Ever see that?’

‘I haven’t served in the West Rank yet,’ Crys said, uncomfortable. It was all anyone could talk about of late, the rumours coming from the west; General Mace Koridam, son of Durdil Koridam, the Commander of the Ranks, increasing patrols and stockpiling weapons and food. ‘And that sort of business is against the king’s laws,’ he added belatedly.

‘Strange people, those Watchers. Civilians, ain’t they? Take it upon themselves to patrol the border. Why? They don’t get paid to do it, do they? Why risk your life when the West’s there to protect you?’ Poe asked. He seemed in no hurry to get on with the game. ‘I mean, West’s best, or so they say,’ he added with an unexpected touch of malice.

‘I know why,’ Jud said, laughing again. ‘It’s ’cause their women are all so fucking ugly. That’s why they fight, and that’s why they stick each other. Nothing else to do.’

‘Wolves fight, Watchers don’t,’ Crys explained. Jud frowned. ‘They’re all from Watchtown, it’s just they call their warrior caste Wolves and the Wolves have little or no regard for the laws of Rilpor. As you said, they take it upon themselves to fight. And there are Wolf women as well, I hear,’ Crys said as he flicked his cards again, letting the happy drunk mask slip for a moment. West is best? Maybe you don’t need all that coin weighing you down, Poe. ‘Fierce and just as good as the men,’ he added.

‘She-bears. ’Bout as pretty too, they say.’ Jud emptied his cup, helping himself to more as Crys eyed him. ‘They’re all touched with madness, those Watchers. Fighting for no pay, letting their women fight. Women! Can you imagine? What’d you do if you had to fight a woman, Captain?’

Crys licked his teeth. ‘Try not to lose,’ he said. ‘It’d look awful on my record.’

Poe laughed and slapped the table, but Jud had lost his sense of humour all of a sudden. ‘Look at his eyes,’ he hissed, waggling a finger in Crys’s direction and heaving on Poe’s arm.

Fuck’s sake, and it had all been going so well. Crys put his palms on the sticky table and leant forward, opening his eyes wide and staring them down in turn. ‘One blue, one brown, yes. Very observant.’

He sat back and folded his arms, the soggy cards tucked carefully into his armpit where they couldn’t be seen. Old habits. ‘But I had thought you wealthy, sophisticated merchants of this city and as such not susceptible to the superstitions of countryside fools. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps I’ve been wasting my time here tonight.’

Jud and Poe eyed each other, clearly uncomfortable. They were nothing of the sort and all of them knew it.

Poe’s foot tapped and he managed a nonchalant grin. ‘But of course. A topic of conversation only. You must hear it a lot in the Ranks, no?’ He drained his mug and ordered a flagon. About fucking time, too .

Crys forced a mollified note into his voice, at odds with the irritation mention of his eyes always engendered. Splitsoul, cursed, unlucky. He knew them all. ‘I do, sir. Men either stick to me like bindweed thinking I’m lucky, or they refuse to be anywhere near me. It’s a real pain in the arse, has dogged me all my life.’ Poe tutted in sympathy. ‘Still, what can a man do?’

‘Cut one of them out?’ Jud honked and laughed into his cup, spraying Crys with froth. Crys unfolded his arms and watched him.

Poe thumped him in the arm. ‘Forgive my friend, Captain. Too much ale. He’s got a sword, you fucking idiot,’ he hissed to Jud, who was clutching his arm and whining.

Crys drew out the moment, but decided against it. ‘Come on then, let’s play,’ he said and Poe slumped in relief, thumping Jud again for good measure.

‘You heard the good captain. Play.’

‘Two,’ Jud said sulkily.

Excellent. And about bloody time . ‘I call,’ Crys said and plopped his cards face up, watching the others reveal. He’d lost by a dozen, as expected. Poe had the winner and scooped coins and ale to his side of the table, baring yellow snaggle-teeth in something that might have been a smile. On a bear.

Crys groaned and drank; he topped up the cups of his companions with fatalistic good cheer. Poe collected the cards and Crys watched him shuffle: not even an attempt to separate the already played cards through the deck. He dealt and Crys knew he’d have a poor hand. No matter, he wasn’t ready to win just yet.

Gods, that meal was heavy, he thought as he made his first bet, but it was doing its job of soaking up the ale. Jud was red in the face and giggling, superstitions forgotten against the prospect of winning Crys’s money. He’d be the first to get sloppy and Crys and Poe could clean him out in a few hands. But then they’d need another third. No, better to bide a while longer and then take them both for a little too much instead of everything. Crys had no need of an enemy on his first day in Rilporin, and some men preferred to blame the man instead of their luck when it came to cards.

Plan decided, Crys sucked down some more ale and proceeded to lose another three hands.

Crys had found a lucky streak from somewhere. Strange, that, how his fortune had changed so suddenly. He’d won back most of what he’d lost but was still some way behind the others. Still, it was all running smooth—

‘I’ve been watching you. You’re a cheat.’

Crys lurched up from his chair and fumbled for his sword as Poe and Jud gawped, faces twisting with drunken outrage. The light fell on the speaker and Crys gasped, released the hilt and dropped to one knee. ‘Sire. Forgive me, Your Highness. You startled me and I – I simply reacted. I beg your pardon.’

Poe and Jud grabbed their coins and fled, not looking back, leaving Crys to the mercy of the Crown and seeming glad about it.

‘Shut up, stand up and pour me a drink.’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘Sire or milord will do, soldier.’ Crys straightened and Prince Rivil took the proffered mug and sipped, made a face and sipped again. ‘Awful. I note you haven’t denied my accusation.’

Crys’s knee buckled again but he hoisted himself back up. ‘Your High— Milord may say and think anything he wishes, Sire,’ he said in a rush, staring anywhere but into Rivil’s face and so looking at his crotch instead. He blushed, straightened and snapped into parade rest, staring over the prince’s left shoulder and through the man behind him, one-eyed, well-dressed, a lord if Crys was any judge.

‘Oh, for shit’s sake, man, stop that. You think I’d be in a dockside tavern if I wanted pomp and ceremony? Sit the fuck down and have a drink. I’m here for relaxation, not to have my arse kissed.’

‘I – yes, Your … Sire.’

Rivil folded long legs under the small table and leant forward, oblivious to the ale staining the elbows of his velvet coat. ‘This is Galtas Morellis, Lord of Silent Water,’ he said, jerking a thumb at the man seating himself beside him.

Crys’s head swam. Galtas, Rivil’s drinking companion and personal bodyguard. Crys was in it up to his neck and it didn’t smell sweet.

‘Teach me your version of cheating at cards,’ Rivil said abruptly. ‘I’m not familiar with it.’

Oh, holy fuck . A bed and a razor, that’s all he’d wanted. All right, maybe a woman, but was that so much to ask when you’d been stationed in the North Rank for the last two years, negotiating border treaties?

Crys swallowed ale, wetting his throat, giving himself time to think, not that he could see a way out. ‘It would be an honour, Sire. Would you care to use my cards?’