Empire of Ashes

Chapter LIII - Ante Mortem

There was a similar group coming to meet us, except this one had a fair portion of northerners, so it was slightly more ferocious. Cattle, we could say. There were four horsemen at the head. Tem was blatantly leading, his golden, helmless head turned to talk to Fendur. On the other flank was Colloe, with the final northerner bringing up the rear.

I trekked along between Anlai, Eirac and Tom for the most part. I would have liked to sit on the gelding because my head was still throbbing and I was worn out. But my pride didn't bend far enough to ask. My pride didn't bend at all.

"Your horse is being a shit, Bladeborn," the other northerner told Anlai. And it was true — he was. He had stretched his neck out to snap at another horse, ears flat against his skull and yellowy teeth bared. Anlai swore at the gelding, caught the reins and snapped them against his neck.

"Why do they call you that?" I demanded without warning. It didn't sound like a name forged from battle, despite the connotations. I had heard of warriors called Battleborn, and that one made sense if their mothers had been labouring while swords clashed, but Anlai's seemed different, somehow.

"You are just now asking?" he drawled.

"I'm just now thinking I might get an answer."

He laughed in a bitter sort of way. But he did not deign to say anything further, and I thought I might have longer to wait, after all. And then came a throat clearing behind me, a flashing grin and a mop of red hair. Eirac — of bloody course. He would risk anyone's displeasure for a conversation with a girl.

"They thought his mother was too small to birth him," he told me matter-of-factly. "So they cut him out of her."

I had never heard of such a thing. Surely, it couldn't be done without killing the woman? A last, desperate measure, if it looked like both mother and child would die, perhaps. Or — a more horrible thought crossed my mind — a way for a husband to be sure he got a live heir out of an unwanted wife.

"She died?"

He gave a little shrug. "Aye, in agony, to hear the women tell it."

Anlai must have caught some of that, because he turned around and snarled, "You can shut your mouth, you bastard-born goat shit, or I will shut it for you."

"Hark who's talking," Eirac spat back, ever the suicidal idiot. There were times you put Anlai in his place, and there were times you just cut your losses and escaped with your face intact. "At least my father didn't pay for it."

Well, I was learning plenty about Anlai's family, if nothing else. And my theory that his father had been a woman-killing prick had just been reinforced.

Anlai spat on the ground. I got the impression that this wasn't the first time Eirac had poked this wound, since he didn't immediately throw a punch. Instead, relatively calmly, he looked at me. "Hold my horse, Lyra."

"Oh dear, Eirac. You had better make yourself scarce," I drawled ruthlessly. I had asked the first question, yes, but he hadn't been doing me a favour by answering. He had been thinking with his downstairs brain. So I trudged over to take the reins from Anlai, and I hardly even dragged my heels.

Eirac snorted — clearly, he wasn't going to run off. Even when I had the gelding's reins firmly in my hand and he was being advanced upon by someone with four inches on him and a great deal of hatred, he kept his feet planted and a smirk on his face.

It wasn't a long fight, but I enjoyed it. Anlai got a grip on Eirac's belt and pulled, shoving the archer's shoulder with his other hand. He went down like a sack of bricks, and Anlai dealt him a kick to the ribs while he was falling. Eirac groaned audibly. He seemed like he might have tried to get up, but that was when the punches started. Three in total — two to the face, one to the stomach.