A Child of the Blood: Extract
Arvan started down the narrow stone spiral, breathing slow, moving on the balls of his feet. He wasn't supposed to be there, but he couldn't resist one final check. With him he had a comb, a flask of water and a small vial of fragrant nut oil. As he neared the foot of the staircase, the glow from the torches in the great chamber beyond bathed the steps red-gold. He made the last turn to the archway and froze.
The naked body of a man was laid out on a granite slab in the centre of the chamber as though for burial, arms crossed over the chest, eyes closed. The long blonde hair was combed back, away from the pale face, and Arvan could just see the rise and fall of the fingertips with each shallow breath.
It was not the corpse-like form that frightened him. The tall, dark figure of the head of the Family, Lord Rendail, stood with his back to the stairway, gazing down at the slab. Arvan knew that Rendail must be aware of his presence, yet the latter made no sign. Caught between fear and fascination, he watched as Rendail drew a long, curved dagger and held it up, tested its sharpness with his thumb. A thin stream of blood, glittering in the torchlight, welled from the cut and dripped onto the furs.
At the sight of it, Arvan took in a breath. Rendail didn't turn round, but sheathed the knife and beckoned.
"It's all right, Arvan. Come here."
Arvan did as he was told, but stopped a few feet behind his Lord. He sensed that he was in no immediate danger of chastisement for his intrusion. It was never wise, however, to take Rendail's mood for granted. He waited until an impatient gesture brought him forward and the two were standing side by side.
"How long this time?" Rendail's voice was soft as a breath.
"Over a year," Arvan replied, risking a glance sideways. Rendail was staring at the body, blood still dripping from his hand. "Since the frosts began, the winter before last. Don't you remember, Lord?"
"Yes, I remember. It is four hundred and twelve days. And on each of those days, you have bathed him, combed his hair, rubbed oil into his skin. Do you think Malim knows that, Arvan? Do you think, when he wakes in some far future, his first thought is for his faithful friend and servant, who keeps his body warm and waits for his return - who risks my anger so easily for his sake?"
Rendail turned, then, and looked him in the eye. Arvan flushed, but didn't look away.
"I do my duty to the blood, Lord. That is all."
"It is not all." Rendail's tone hardened. "The more you come here, the greater the risk that you are followed. You know of this place because my son could not keep it from you. I know Malim well enough to understand that he needs you with him, even when he is not aware of it. Therefore I allow it. But if you were careless - if Thalis should discover the maze …"
"Lord Thalis knows nothing," Arvan broke in. "I am always careful, Lord, I swear it."
Rendail nodded. "I know. But I should still have you flogged." He sighed. "Once every seven days, I will call you to attend me. Then, you may come to him, when I know it is safe. If I find you here at any other time …"
Arvan bowed, taking in the meaningful look. "Thank you, Lord. You honour me."
"I'm sure I do," Rendail replied. "And in the meantime, you can be assured, my son has my attention always."
Arvan couldn't help but let his eyes stray to the knife. Rendail gave a grim smile. "Yes, I have thought of it, often. When he was no more than eight days old I put my knife to his throat. I couldn't do it then and, to my shame, I can't do it now. We both know he is a monster, but much as I wish to, I cannot harm him. He has seen enough of the future to know that - and enough to know where the real threat lies. Even so, he denies it to himself. He has not the wit to see the danger. Tell me, Arvan, what do you think he is doing in that far time?"
Arvan shook his head. "I don't know, Lord. When he returns, he never speaks of it."
"It's just as well. If you knew, perhaps you would not be so eager to tend him with such love. He goes there because it is the one place I cannot follow. There is no one to restrain him, and so he does precisely as he wishes. For the moment."
Rendail turned to leave and, on an impulse, Arvan reached out and touched his arm. He felt the other stiffen at the discourtesy and stepped back.
"Forgive me, Lord - your hand …"
Rendail looked down, and raised an eyebrow as if only now aware of the neat cut along the ball of his thumb, which was still oozing blood. He smiled.
"You are right, Arvan. It looks most untidy. Perhaps you would be kind enough to see to it before I leave."
"Of course, Lord." Arvan ran a finger lightly over the cut, the torn edges of the skin closing at his touch, then damped a cloth and cleaned away the blood. Rendail gave a curt nod and strode to the foot of the stairway. There, he paused and said, over his shoulder, "It will not be long, I think, before Malim returns. When he does, pacify him, but if he gives a command, do nothing until you have spoken to me." Arvan had no time to reply before his lord ducked under the arch and disappeared.
* * *
The road snaked round the foot of another granite outcrop, and David tightened his grip on a wheel already slick with sweat. The heater in his old Nissan juddered, then cut out, and he almost veered off the road in an attempt to wipe the windscreen clear. He cursed as he wound down the window and was slapped by an inrush of freezing air. The clock on the dash showed one-thirty a.m. The road was deserted, save for the tail lights of Malim's Range Rover up ahead. He accelerated slightly, not wanting to lose the other car when it turned off the road. It wasn't far now, and he felt his numbed hands tremble, bile rise in his throat.
David wasn't a coward. Somewhere, beneath the roiling mass of terror that made his limbs quake and his bowels churn, he knew that. He'd been a lot of things in his youth, but coward wasn't one of them. He shook his head, trying to force away the memories.