“Perhaps you are not, Ez’n,” Keelan said coldly, “but I am sure.” He drew his serrated battle sword. “What is to become of them, t’pahq?”
I walked up to each man in turn looking each straight in the eye before finally returning to scar face. A sudden rage boiled up through my gut. Until that moment I had been completely unaware of the anger I still carried over the deaths of my family. Yet as quickly as the anger rose it vanished like smoke in the wind leaving only a coldness more intense than the winter so recently past.
“I would say ‘May you live forever’,” I said archly, “but you have been a stain on your nation’s integrity for ten cycles and more. To allow you to continue to disgrace your noble king, his nation and the men here gathered would only compound your perfidy and make me a part of it. I commit you to the mercy of your king,”
“And I have none I wish to impart.” Keelan said.
He felled the four in as many strokes cleaning his blade with the edge of his cloak before re-sheathing it. He stood for a moment looking down at the corpses. “Veh k’vethim. Nus’veh scordath.” He spat on each body kicking each in turn. And then, obviously for my benefit, he translated. “You are cowards, we forget you.” He hissed, spitting once more on scar face before escorting me back to the top of the Keep steps.
He turned to his men. “Be certain that evil will be its own undoing and that no betrayal of our values or sacred law will go unpunished. Now take this slevyak from my sight.
We stood in silence as the Morlans filed out of the square each pausing briefly to spit on the dead men as they passed and when the last man was gone the prisoner detail seized the dead by the feet and dragged them from the square. Keelan placed his hand on my shoulder. “I know this act can never undo what was done, t’pahq, but perhaps now your heart will shine a more favourable light on my people.”
‘‘I have already come to see your people favourably, highness, “I replied as we returned to the Keep followed by a cohort of Kyr-Garrin and Janir’s own guard.
“As has your Provost—or so I hear,” Keelan said with quietly calculated mischief. Janir and I exchanged glances. Keelan smiled at us and continued, “Quite what virtue he finds in the wilful little shovaq, demon,” Keelan offered, “that calls itself my youngest son is well beyond my understanding.”
“They have become war-brothers,” I admitted cagily. Janis shot me a nervous look. I shrugged at him. Keelan doubtless already knew everything about Kylos’ relationship with Aenar and to attempt obfuscation was foolish.
“Yes,” Keelan’s tone was hard and flat. “So Markos tells me.” Keelan glanced at his son, and sighed giving me a soft, disarming smile that I found deeply disturbing. “Still,” he said distantly,” my youngest son’s decisions and choices have always been—eccentric.”
“Forgive me, highness,” I said suddenly, “but I notice you seem to be walking with greater ease.” I was determined not to allow our conversation to travel any further along a route that could end in an execution or exile.
Keelan gave me a knowing look and followed my lead. “Indeed, Ez’n. And it is thanks to your unguent.”
We spoke then of Karyn’s skill as a healer and how the old wound on the king’s thigh had taken two applications of the paste before it finally closed.
As we reached the interior stairs leading to my chambers Keelan and his aides took their leave and as their Morlans disappeared from view Janir heaved a huge sigh dismissing his men as we reached my rooms.
“I thought we might have an incident,” the king commented as he settled himself opposite me by the ingle.
“You think the public execution of four of his senior officers was not incident enough?’’ I asked.
“You know what I meant, Meriq.”
I nodded. I knew. And I very much doubted that Keelan was about to have ‘an incident’ as Janir put it. Doubtless he knew the exact nature of Kylos’ relationship with Aenar and even more certain in my mind was the thought that the cunning old monarch was calculating a way to approve the liaison without compromising the values and sacred law of which he had spoken earlier.
“Either that or he is plotting to kill them both.”
That I seriously doubted, for if Keelan had wanted either Aenar or Kylos dead I was certain that the pair would already be so. Keelan was not a man to allow something he found unacceptable to persist for any length of time and if he had wanted to he could have slain the pair with the traitors—that or employed a kayet to despatch them.
Janir nodded turning our conversation then to my progress on the matters of the polluted land and, of course, the Treaty.
With the repairs to Polis completed and the main part of the Zetan force assembled outside the city the kings ordered a settan of festivities in celebration of our second victory over the soldiers of the Black Legion and to mark the official commencement of the Morlan-Zetan alliance. When the celebrations were over the army would march into Mederlana, join with the main Morlan force and press on with its search for the Black Legion.
It was with thoughts of the forthcoming campaign in my Mind that I sought out Maegor and Ursus with the request that that find me the best armourers available. I had a theory about the crystal blades and wanted to put it to the test.
With Maegor and Ursus occupied I sent Faedron and Thaze into the city to search out goldsmiths who could draw fine wire. And while the royal caterers planned the banquet and other celebrations I cloistered myself with the gold—and blacksmiths and armourers working on my own form of entertainment for the kings.
Ursus introduced me to four Morlan armourers skilled both in metal and leather craft. I particularly wanted their leather skills for it was my intention to produce breastplates and bracers that could resist a blow from the crystal swords.
Faedron and Thaze had not only found three excellent goldsmiths, they had also taken it on themselves to relocate the wire drawing equipment in the warehouse that had become my workshop and laboratory, and while my artisans laboured to produce gold tipped arrows and dipped as many swords as we could manage with the resources currently available to us, Karyn conscripted and a group of alchemists and healers and had divided them into three groups; the first was dedicated to producing the unguent we needed to treat any wounds, the second to developing a more potent form of the poison we had used in our battle for Polis. The last she set to work analysing the fluid from the black pools in the hope that we might find a way to neutralise the poison that was blighting the land.
“Have you thought of trying the powder?” I said suddenly, setting aside the cup of rubyspike I was drinking.
Karyn regarded me as if I had just dropped out of a tree. “The powder?”
I held up a pouch of our healing dust. It suddenly occurred to me that the dust destroyed the sludge and closed the wounds leaving no trace save a gold scar. “What if we tried throwing some of this into the ponds?”
Karyn shrugged reaching over to take a bowl of the toxic slime from one of the chemists. “Well,” she said, “nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Taking a small spoon she sprinkled some of the powder over the surface.
A light flickering of blue fire began to spread over the surface of the sludge growing in intensity and heat until it suddenly flared bright, searing white. The stone bowl shattered with a loud crack and the burning slime ooze slowly across the bench before it solidified into a slab of black glass that glowed with a strange gold sheen.
Karyn and I exchanged looks. “Well,” she said at length, “I suppose that was a success.”
“Indeed,” I answered. “I am sure the kings and the Polisians all will be pleased to know that their lands can be cleansed.”
And even as the chemists and healers set to treating the poisoned land, the men of the Kyr-Garrin also worked steadily, testing the weapons and the armour and ensuring that any flaws or weaknesses were quickly discovered and corrected. Even if I had more time to study it, I seriously doubted that I would ever be able to recreate the impregnab
le armour worn by the Black Legionnaires—and I was certain that to do so would be a mistake. If the mages who created it could make the armour impenetrable even to their own weapons, I was certain that they would have the means to destroy it far more effectively than the Alliance forces could using gold tipped arms.
Dthor-Aid’n had galvanised a group twenty of the squires dividing them into two groups half to assist with the dipping and the others to re-fix the arrowheads.
By the time the arrangements for the banquet had been completed and the seating plans finalised I had already equipped the Kyr-Garrin, a cohort of Zetan hoplites and several Morlan and Zetan archers.
The armour we had produced comprised a fine lattice of gold wire sandwiched between two layers of toughened leather. It was light and thin, flexible enough to be worn under regular battle gear and although it would not stop conventional weaponry the effect on the crystal blades was everything we hoped. And where the gear might fail under steady pressure no blow struck with force ever got through.
It was time to take our creation to the kings but first we would have a celebration of our own to mark at least the partial successful conclusion of our labourers; we still had to confirm that the powder would work on the larger areas of the poisoned land.
“Do you suppose that young Thaze is familiar with the expression “Too powerful a horse for one man to ride?” Maegor asked jerking a thumb in the general direction of the laboratory equipment where the cadet was offering Karyn a goblet of wine.
Ursus laughed. “Well, I for one must salute his courage.”
“Or pity his foolhardiness!” Tomas said laughing, then shouted, “Clip-clop, boy—you are already eating her dust!”
Karyn took the goblet making an obscene gesture in reply. Tomas let out a belly laugh and rolled drunkenly off his stool. “Perhaps she has an eye for the boy after all!”
“Well I wish him safe passage if he is seeking to thread her needle.” Markos laughed. “If you break that boy, woman, we will not give you a new one!” Markos shouted as the couple settled at one of the clearer workbenches.
“And t’pahq, will be very angry,” Kylos teased as Karyn shouted something I felt sure I should be glad I did not understand.
“You never know, he may find fortune and favour.” Faedron said slipping slightly as he went to settle on Maegor’s leg and the sergeant moved it.
“Then I wish him strength,” Orrin laughed. “Morlan women are rather robust in their amatory pursuits.”
Markos chuckled. “Trust a kayet to understate things.” He turned to the musicians and shouted for more music.
Dthor-Aid’n rose with me I made ready to leave the warehouse and the revels that were threatening to continue until dawn.
“My thanks for the dances, t’pahq,” he said as he helped me on with my cloak. “May I escort you to your apartments?”
“Are you unwell, Captain?” I teased, “you normally escort me whether I will it or not.”
The solider smiled and offered me his shield arm. “I like to be unpredictable, Ez’n”
Well, I had to admit the Captain was certainly unpredictable; sometimes formal and conscientious to the point of obsession and at others casual and fraternal. I was never entirely sure how the man was going to address or behave towards me—especially when we were alone.
We walked in silence along the avenue towards the Keep the only sound our breath in the night and the click and creak of Dthor-Aid’n’s armour. As we approached a shadowy part of the ambulatory leading to my tower door Dthor-Aid’n slowed and finally stopped.
“Is something wrong, Dthor-Aid’n?” I asked
“We never got to celebrate my birthdate,” he said. “The Black Legion sank my plans.”
“There will be other birthdates, Dthor.”
“There may be,” Dthor-Aid’n conceded. “But in case there are not, I would like to give you something.”
“What?”
“This.”
I stood for what felt like eternity watching as Dthor strode away across the square. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil seeming to keep time with this footfalls, my breath was hot in my chest. And even while I could still feel the pressure of his lips on mine, the strength of his arms as he embraced me and the heat and hardness of his rising excitement as he held me close, I felt myself smiling. Then as the soldier disappeared into the shadows a great emptiness struck me like a wave. I leaned heavily against the wall for a moment or to two gather my scattering wits before walking a little unsteadily to my door.
“I hope you can forgive me, Meriq.” Dthor’s voice seemed to echo in my head. “I have loved you since I first saw you, and no matter that you may not feel the same for me, or that you may now even despise me for betraying your trust in me, know that I would die for you even if it is at your hand for this presumption.” And then he placed my hand on the dagger he was holding to his heart.
I felt light, suddenly disconnected from myself and before I realised I had dashed the knife to the ground and was kissing him back.
The memory began to fade slightly as I approached my door and caught sight of Faedron and Thaze standing guard. I paused staring back to where Dthor had disappeared into the night and found myself wondering if he was still smiling as I was. The sound of Faedron’s voice brought me more to myself.
“Well, that was odd.” The corporal commented as I stood staring into the torchlight.
“What was odd?” Thaze asked pushing open the door for me.
“He did not bring Lord Meriq right to the door.” Then to me. “Are you quite alright? Is anything wrong?”
I stared vaguely at the corporal. “Yes, that is—no. I mean I suppose so. Why? How is everything supposed to be?”
“You seem—distracted.” Faedron observed.
“Yes. I suppose I am.” I answered and with a brief goodnight to the pair I made my way to my rooms.
The apartment was in darkness when I arrived save for a small lantern one of the servants had left burning on the occasional table beside the couch. The lounge was suffused with a soft orange glow of the dying fire and in the hearth on a low metal trivet and jug of porter was mulling. Pouring myself a goblet I stretched out on the day bed wrapping myself in my cloak and cradling the beverage I sipped it slowly staring into the fading fire and thinking about Dthor and the days to come.
The sound of the bell of a nearby temple signalling the fourth secta of the night brought me out of my reverie and tossing the remnants of the porter into the embers I walked slowly into my bed chamber. Sleep would not come easy this night, I supposed, for even as I felt the effects of the liquor so recently consumed my mind raced with thoughts of the coming battle, the Treaty and the man who had dared to do what many others had often dreamed of. I tossed my cloak on a nearby ottoman, threw open the shutters to let in the bracing cold night air and sliding out of my thobe I climbed into bed.
†
CHAPTER 22
CURSED
IFROWNED slightly as I began to rise out of my dream. There was a sound, a quiet hush like wind through leaves or a cloak over dry grass. Someone was in my room. My hand moved quickly over the light globe. The sphere flared to life filling the room with its pale yellow glow. The darkness fled.
Standing on the back of the chair was the great black mountain owl. It blinked dizzily for a moment or two but made no attempt to fly even as I climbed out of bed and donned my cloak. It simply sat on the back of the chair gazing at me with its great topaz eyes.
“Well, it seems you are following me, bird.” I said sitting slowly on the ottoman.
The owl hopped from the chair back to the arm bringing it level with me and sat once more staring. The great luminous eyes grew suddenly huge as the twin moons. Behind me the light globe began to flicker and pulse and suddenly I was falling into the deep black pupils of those glowing eyes.
Swirling darkness enfolded me slowly giving way to a dim pre-dawn twilight and I was n
o longer falling but flying across the Medran prairie. The grassland stretched endlessly before me a great tapestry of green speckled here and there with the gold, red and blue of the prairie flowers. In the distance I could see the fort town of Illios; my home town. Smoke was billowing from the turrets; outlying farms and hamlets were burning. The grass, even the soil was black with ash. No. Not ash—soldiers. The black legion had taken Illios.
The vision swirled crazily for a moment and suddenly I was standing in a square. Nearby soldiers were pillaging and looting but these were not Black Legionnaires, these were Morlans and Zetans. A youth, a boy really of no more than thirteen cycles broke away from the group pursued by a Morlan. He sprinted towards me shouting, pleading for help. He grabbed me so tightly I could feel his fingernails digging into my chest. A crystal sword flashed in the sunlight skewering the boy where he stood. His eyes bulged and he let out a fearful scream as a geyser of fire and sludge erupted from his mouth. My own chest was burning and then as I looked down I saw that the blade had passed through him and had pierced me. My breath caught in my throat I stared up at the Morlan, Through the haze of yellow fire I could see Korlaq smiling, then all was fire and pain. The scene blistered, bubbling like flame-tortured paint before it began to fracture. There was a huge crash like thunder and the vision exploded in a blaze of white light. A thousand cords from where I stood in Illios I felt my hands go up as I shielded my eyes from the blast.
I was thrown back to my body so violently that I fell backwards off the ottoman. Hands were on me before I realised what was happening. My mind flexed of its own accord and the air was filled with shouts of alarm and the crack of splintering wood.
When I came fully to myself Dthor was holding me to his chest. Maegor, Jae’nt, Faedron and Aenar were disentangling themselves from each other and the closet at the opposite end of the room while Kylos and Markos were climbing out of the wreckage that had once been my bed.
Extricating myself from Dthor’s grip I sat up and stared around blearily. The men climbed to their feet groaning and slowly made their way over to where I sat. The owl was where it had been, perched on the arm of the carver chair by the tallboy.
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