by Emma Miles
Jorrun saw Cassien looking over Tembre and his men with narrowed eyes. He didn’t blame the young man for his distrust. The Chemmen sorcerer hadn’t seemed particularly pleased to see them despite Azrael’s warning. He’d been polite enough to Osun, but wary with Jorrun. Jorrun assumed the man had his own agenda that didn’t coincide with Osun’s. For the first time Jorrun found himself having serious doubts about what he was doing. The majority of those used to power would never accept the changes they wanted to make. It would be easier to just take those who wanted a new life back with him to Elden, or to the Fulmers. But that would mean abandoning the rest.
He sighed.
‘Brother?’ Osun looked at him in concern.
Jorrun gritted his teeth. ‘Let’s get this done.’
He urged his horse forward, and they followed the long road beneath the dark boughs of the evergreen forest, the pine needles dampening the sound of their horses’ hooves. When they reached the city, the queue of people waiting to get in was wary and subdued. Many furtive glances were thrown their way and one man visibly startled when he met Jorrun’s eyes. He realised he had automatically slipped back into his guise of the Dark Man. Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing.
Both Osun and Tembre produced the official invitations they’d been given by Gerant and were ushered through, their two parties mingling as they passed under the portcullis, but spreading apart again on reaching the start of the main street.
‘Will you head straight to the palace, or find lodgings first?’ Tembre asked Osun.
Osun chewed at the edge of his thumb.
Jorrun watched his brother intently. He didn’t like the idea of handing their horses and gear over to the palace, but neither did he want to give Tembre a chance to get there first and strike a deal with Feren behind their backs. He had to bite his tongue and stop himself speaking for Osun.
His brother drew in a breath. ‘We’ll stop briefly at Arkoom inn, it’s on the way. Have you ever stayed there, Tembre? I’d recommend it.’
Tembre’s huge eyebrows lowered in a frown and he glanced at one of his sorcerous companions. ‘I haven’t, but I’ll take your recommendation.’
Jorrun relaxed a little, it seemed the Chemman didn’t want to split up either.
They left their horse and gear in the care of the lodging manager and continued on foot toward the temple district. After his time back in Elden and their achievements in the palace of Navere, Arkoom seemed even more shocking than the last time Jorrun had been here. Chem’s instability had caused an increase in poverty and slaves were crammed into small, stinking pens. Several shops were boarded up and the burned-out temple stood like a looming reprimand. Most of the outer walls still stood, but the roof had collapsed inward and little remained of the once impressive doors.
The priests were unperturbed. They stood outside like a flock of carrion birds squabbling over the remnants of the population that hurried past with bowed heads. Their gaudy coloured robes were obscene against the sooty stone, their laughter a false and sickening sound in the miserable city. Jorrun realised with shock that the only god represented there was Hacren, the god of death. He glanced around, trying to see if there was any sign of any other priests. As he looked back, he saw a woman being dragged out of the derelict building, the priest that had her by the hair was so rough she couldn’t scramble onto her feet. She was dropped and her face hit the cobbles.
Jorrun drew in a sharp breath, power coming instinctively to his fingers.
‘Jorrun!’ Osun warned him sharply, grabbing his arm.
The priest lifted the woman’s head, she was younger than she’d first appeared, perhaps still a teenager under all the dirt. Without hesitation the priest drew a knife across her throat, his eyes meeting Jorrun’s with a grin.
Jorrun froze, his eyes painfully wide. He could taste blood in his mouth.
‘Jorrun!’ Osun gripped his arm hard.
‘Kesta would have stopped him.’ Despair washed up from his stomach with his nausea. ‘Why didn’t I? What’s wrong with me, Osun?’
‘Too many years in this damned country,’ Osun snapped. ‘Come on, brother.’
Jorrun swallowed and managed to tear his eyes away from the priest’s.
The others had moved on ahead, only Cassien looking back to ensure all was well. When Jorrun glanced back briefly he saw all the priests had now stopped to watch him, a shudder went through his body from his shoulders to his feet. He put his hand up over his nose at the cloying smell from one of the incense shops. He kept his eyes on the muddy cobbles, following Osun’s feet and not daring to look into the windows of the skin shops. He swore to himself that when he got back to Navere, he would close every last one whether the owner had found a new trade or not.
His mood darkened further when he saw they’d reached the gates to the palace. Cassien had fallen back to walk beside Osun, his hand on his sword hilt. They showed their invitations and were allowed through, one of the guards hurrying ahead to warn of their arrival. Jorrun couldn’t help exchanging a nervous glance with his brother. Their plan was to try to keep the peace a while longer to buy themselves more time. What he wanted to do was tear the city to the ground.
The palace gardens, once immaculate and brightly lit, were dreary, untamed, and buried beneath mud and fallen leaves. A part of him felt satisfaction, a garden should be a natural place, not all straight edges and invisible cages. A smile pulled at his lips when he saw a whole wing of the palace was still in ruins. He wondered if his father were still buried somewhere beneath it.
They were taken to the main entrance and Jorrun’s heart skipped a beat when the doors banged shut behind them. Several guardsmen lined the walls of the corridor they were taken down, eyes downcast but for nervous glances. Jorrun wished he had Kesta’s knowing. He wished he had Kesta. Other than his brother and Cassien, he was still uncertain of everyone’s loyalty. This confrontation would be won or lost by Osun’s acting skills, or his own power.
Some gilded double doors were thrown open and Jorrun saw beyond them was a room with white marble pillars and a blood-red carpet running down the middle. On a raised dais stood a circle of fifteen seats, one of them taller and higher than the others. Six of the seats were occupied including the Seat of the Overlord. Several warriors stood at the edges of the room, all armed for battle. The hairs rose on the back of Jorrun’s neck.
‘Welcome!’
The man in the Overlord’s seat stood. He would have been as tall as Osun, maybe even Jorrun, but he had developed a slight stoop. His lined face was still unmistakably Dunham, although his eyes were more grey than blue and his long hair, tied back in a tail, was a silver-grey.
‘I believe the two of you are my great-nephews?’ He looked from Jorrun to Osun and back again.
‘We are, and pleased to meet with you at last.’ Osun gave a slight bow and smiled warmly.
Jorrun saw several of those seated exchange glances. The warriors around the room shifted their feet, their eyes mostly firmly on Feren, and on his hands.
Jorrun immediately drew up a shield and Osun turned to him wide eyed. Cassien had seen it too, felt it instinctively as only one who had faced death every day could have.
‘Trap!’ Cassien yelled as he drew his sword.
Tembre and his party moved away from them as Feren’s sorcerers sprang to their feet, calling their own power. Feren lowered his head and grinned at Jorrun even as Osun raised his hands, shaking his head. ‘No, this is some misunderstandin—’
‘Tembre!’ Jorrun turned to their supposed ally who had backed toward a corner, shielding his own men. Jagna stepped forward into a fighter’s crouch, his eyes darting from one person to another as he anxiously protected Osun and Cassien alone.
‘Tembre, are you with us?’ Jorrun demanded, heat rising to the surface of his skin and his muscles tensed in anger. ‘Tembre!’ he bellowed, calling flames to his hands.
Tembre tore his eyes away from Feren and straightened up, stalking slowly forward to stan
d beside Jorrun, who turned back to his uncle just in time to meet the flames he hurled at him.
Cassien grabbed Osun, pulling him behind him, Jagna groaned, his face reddening as he strained to hold his shield against the combined attacks of the Arkoom sorcerers. Jorrun passed them, letting his anger consume him, he drew power through his body and wrenched the seats from the stone that held them. As the heavy, metal chairs bowled Chemmen off their feet, Azrael launched himself from a lantern to consume those whose shields had faltered. The smell of burning flesh made Jorrun want to vomit, but he forced himself to draw air in through his flaring nostrils. Feren was battering Jagna but Tembre still held back, waiting to see which way the tide would turn. His cowardice drove Jorrun’s fury and he had to force himself to unclench his fists and allow the magic to flow.
A roar burst from Jorrun and he hurled Feren off his feet, the old man hit the marble floor hard. Jagna took the moment of reprieve to strike out at one of the other sorcerers, breaking the man’s shield. Cassien cried out in alarm as Osun ran forward to finish the man off with his sword, Cassien threw his own body between Osun and a fireball that sped toward him; Jagna deflected it just in time, breathing hard, his power waning. Several of the Arkoom warriors that had been circling the edges of the battle saw Jagna’s weakness and took the opportunity to go for Osun and Cassien.
They hadn’t expected them to be such ferocious swordsmen.
Osun and Cassien fought back to back, slicing the Arkoom men down. Almost spent, Jagna stumbled, wildly casting out wind to turn aside a blast of flame that came from one of the remaining sorcerers. As the robed man raised his hands to strike again, Azrael wrapped him in a fiery embrace. Jorrun tensed at the sound of the screams.
Feren threw fire and then the broken chairs at him, scrambling backward to get to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Jorrun saw that Tembre and his men had finally stepped in, attacking the remainder of the Arkoom warriors. Feren managed to stand and with a growl he launched himself toward Jorrun. Jorrun braced himself against his uncle’s whirling tornado, pushing back with all his strength. Taking in a deep breath he stepped aside, dropping his shield. Feren went stumbling past him and Jorrun struck him from behind, pinning him to the floor with magic. He drew a dagger and grabbed a handful of Feren’s coarse, greying hair, lifting his head to expose his neck. Jorrun hesitated, his pulse rushing loudly in his ears. With one swift movement he slit his great-uncle’s throat. Hot, sticky blood spilled over his hand and he dropped the dagger, swallowing and breathing hard.
He straightened up to survey the room, but had no time to move or speak. Unbearable pain split his skull and a fog seemed to force itself down through his brain, pressing into his eyes and choking him. He tried to cry out, but the force building in his throat was too strong. Sight was torn from him, he reached out blindly, feeling heat against his skin before he collapsed to the blood-red carpet.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Osun; Covenet of Chem
‘Jorrun?’ Osun watched in horror as his brother crumpled to the ground. He looked around quickly, seeing that all of Feren’s men were dead. ‘Get those doors secure!’
Instead of obeying, Cassien leapt over the body of a fallen enemy to stand at Osun’s side, his sword ready. Jagna stumbled over to join them, eyes wide.
‘There’s not enough of us to Hold Arkoom,’ Tembre panted, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
Azrael shot toward the Margith Chemman, making himself huge. Several of Tembre’s men staggered back, crying out in fear. The fire-spirit hissed. ‘If you betray uss, Tembre, every Drake in Shem will force their way through your melted eyess and burn through your blood slowly until you are asshes!’
Tembre swallowed and held up his hand. ‘I won’t betray anyone.’ He gestured at his men and they split up to check the doors.
Osun quickly knelt beside Jorrun, relieved to see the slow rise of his chest.
‘Did he try to channel too much power?’ Jagna asked.
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Osun glanced up at him with a shrug. He checked Jorrun’s pulse, it was rapid, as rapid as Osun’s own.
‘What do we do?’ Cassien asked in a whisper.
Osun drew in a deep breath and stood up. Only one of the fifteen Arkoom seats still stood in its original place. He spotted Gerant’s broken body and felt not an ounce of sympathy for the man. ‘Okay. Does anyone know what Seats those men held?’
‘Well, Feren held Harva of course,’ Jagna said.
‘I recognise Veron there.’ Tembre pointed. ‘He held Letniv, and Backra there held Darva.’
‘So, there’s ten seats we’re not sure of.’ Dread made Osun’s skin feel icy cold. ‘They could be on their way, they might have been defeated already before we got here.’ He looked down at Jorrun. ‘Why didn’t he let me tr—’
‘It was a trap.’ Cassien jumped to Jorrun’s defence. ‘I don’t think any amount of talking would have worked.’
‘Too many people know you kill Dunhams.’ Tembre looked Osun in the eye. ‘Too many people fear your changes in Navere.’
Jagna snorted. ‘Whatever you think, Tembre, those changes are working.’
Tembre held up his hands placatingly and gave his head a slight shake.
Osun placed his hands on his hips. ‘We bluff it out, like we did in Navere. Get me a guard in here, a servant, anyone!’ He waved a hand toward the door.
Tembre’s men looked startled, but one of them opened the door and shouted, ‘Hey, you! Come here!’
A moment later a worried looking guard slipped through the partially open door, his mouth falling open at the state of the room.
‘You!’
The man jumped at the sound of Osun’s voice.
‘Don’t stand there like an idiot!’ Osun frowned at him. ‘Get these bodies cleared away and disposed of, then get these chairs fixed. And we want something to eat and drink.’
‘Y–yes, master!’ The guard bowed and backed out of the door. Moments later he appeared with some of his fellows and two male slaves. They hurriedly picked up the dead Chemmen and carried them away. Tembre and his men seemed to relax a little, Tembre even sitting in the one good chair. Osun’s own tension refused to alleviate, his stomach a tight knot of apprehension. Azrael’s frantic fluttering above Jorrun wasn’t helping. Osun took off his cloak and laid it over his brother. Taking his cue, Cassien also unclasped his cloak and folded it up to place carefully under Jorrun’s head.
‘Do we hole up and make our stand here?’ Jagna asked quietly, indicating the room before running his hand over his stubbled head.
‘No,’ Osun replied just as quietly. ‘That will seem too desperate.’ He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to think. ‘We use Jorrun as an excuse. There are two towers in the palace, I believe they are both used as living quarters. We pick one to defend, although it will also mean we are trapped there.’
Jagna winced, but he nodded.
Someone knocked at the main doors and, with a nod from Osun, Tembre’s men opened it. A wide-eyed and well-dressed servant entered and gave a low bow. He looked around at them all, his eyes finally settling on Osun, despite Tembre being sat in a Seat.
‘We have refreshments, master,’ the man said. ‘May we bring them in?’
‘Of course!’ Osun feigned impatience. ‘And my brother is injured. Where are the best rooms in this palace?’
‘The Overlord’s rooms overlook the gardens at the centr—’
‘What about the towers?’
‘Well.’ The poor servant shifted his feet and rubbed his hands together. ‘They haven’t been used in a while, but the western tower was always given over to the favoured guests.’
‘Good.’ Osun smiled at him. ‘Have them made ready and bring in those refreshments.’
As the man moved away to beckon in his fellows, Cassien whispered urgently, ‘Should we get a healer for Jorrun?’
Osun swallowed and shook his head. ‘We can’t trust them and must hide e
very weakness.’
Osun tried to relax his muscles and look comfortable and confident as the servants walked in with trepidation, some of them veiled women. After being in Navere he had to bite his tongue and stop himself from thanking anyone as he took a glass of wine and some bread with ham and melted cheese on it. He winced and shoved at Cassien when the young man made eye contact with a servant and opened his mouth to speak to him.
‘Who is your Captain?’ Osun asked one of the guards.
‘Capsen, master.’ The guard gave a hasty bow.
‘Why hasn’t he presented himself?’ Osun glared at the man. ‘Go and get him!’
The guard gave a frantic nod, backing up and almost running from the room. Osun turned to see Cassien grinning at him.
‘Cass! Wipe that smile off your face!’
Cassien blinked at him, his face reddening a little, but the young man straightened up and gave a slight nod.
Osun could feel the tension in the room but, unlike Navere, he doubted kindness or explanations would get him anywhere, not in the short term. They had to establish dominance and control, and quickly too. Jagna looked pale and swayed a little on his feet, Jorrun still hadn’t stirred. He watched Tembre for a moment, lounging in his chair. He had Cassien, and he had Azrael, not much against the whole of Chem.
The guard he’d sent out came scurrying back in, following after an overweight man in an ornate but impractical uniform.
‘I am Captai—’
Osun dropped his glass and punched the man hard in the face, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling back against the carpet.
‘Why were you not here at once?’ Osun roared, feeling an artery pulse in his neck and his face warm with the rush of his blood.
The captain dragged himself back a bit, stuttering a reply, ‘I … I stay out of the business of masters!’
‘What’s the point of guards who don’t guard? I might as well have you all killed! Get up!’ He waved a hand at him, aware of the complete silence in the room. ‘Ensure the palace is secure, no one but servants bringing essential supplies gets in without my say so. How many other masters have come here recently? How many did Feren kill?’