As if reading her mind, he snapped, “Do I need to draw you a picture? I mean pleasure me, Lorar, as befits my status!”
“But I am promised to Ranell.” She lifted a hand to her chest, felt the thudding beneath the material. “You know this!”
He sniggered and pulled her to him, his breath hot on her cheek. His thin insipid lips clamped on hers, tasting of mindsaur and wine. “That was while your father was alive. His death changes everything, and you know this.”
She struggled in his grasp but he was too strong for her. Tears brimmed her eyes yet she did not want to show weakness and blinked them away.
“Make me happy and I will repay you well, Lorar.”
Admitting defeat, she softened in his grip and let him kiss her lips again. His tongue penetrated her mouth, like some questing eel; her stomach squirmed and her heart slithered into a dark abyss.
Savagely, he thrust her away from him. “Do not make me angry…”
Her bottom hit hard against the parapet. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her knees weak. She was very conscious of the drop to the street behind her.
He reached out, fingers wrapping round her throat. “… or you will regret it!”
Already I regret being alive! she thought.
He let go and glared. “If you do not come into my arms willingly, I will take you by force. My good nature is not unbounded!” He spun on his heel and left her trembling, gazing over the parapet to the hard stone flags below.
***
New City, Lornwater
When Ago-med Nerf had left, Olelsang wondered what he could do with this new information. Without doubt, it was of value, but to whom – and when? The king would pay handsomely to learn that his son plotted against him. Getting into the Old City would not be easy, though. A saptor sent to the queen might serve.
Whatever he decided, he knew that he must find men who did not favour Baron Laan. He must fracture this alliance somehow otherwise he would never be Great Gildmaster.
He had to tread with care, diverting down twisting turning streets to avoid the sporadic outbreaks of fighting. On his way, he noticed a watchman arresting a malcontent. He recognised him, hailed: “Ho, Watchman Banstrike, you have your hands full there, I see!”
“Aye, sir.” He snapped shackles on the miscreant, straightened. “Gildmaster Olelsang, isn’t it?”
“Yes, you and Watchman Cursh helped me a while ago over a certain difficulty with a leather trader selling inferior goods.”
Banstrike’s face hardened. “Don’t talk of Cursh, Gildmaster. The swine has defected, left the watchmen and joined the rebel cause!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, watchman.”
“Loyalty’s not what it used to be, is it, eh?” Not waiting for a response, he shoved his captive ahead of him. “Well, must be off, one more for the cells!”
***
While Prince Haltese studied maps in the Red Tellar Inn, his eunuch handed him a message.
He read it and then crumpled it in his fist and swore.
“Bad news, sire?” queried General Luascar at his side.
“Yes, General. Our General Jaray has taken the tenth toumen to the dunsaron. ‘To wait things out as he doesn’t want to be involved with fighting his own people,’ he says. Such fine scruples!”
***
Third Dloin of Fornious
The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater
The palace shuddered with a new though quite mild earth tremor. Aurelan Crossis ordered the gates to be checked. “Ensure they are still secure!”
Then he took a detail of four men from the palace guard to inspect the passageways within the palace, wondering if he could somehow use these rather frequent tremors to his advantage, to gain access to the king and slay him.
Bide your time, he told himself yet again.
It will come to pass – eventually. He had made a promise to Sno’s corpse, and he kept his promises.
***
New City, Lornwater
A group of five youths forced the doors of The House of Velvet, knocking the doorman insensible. They barged through, into a black and cerise corridor, whooping in anticipation.
At that moment, Ska-ama, the bald-headed proprietor, stepped out of his office, and shrieked, “What are you doing here?” His jowls wobbled. “Get out!”
“Not before we have our fill of your beauties, whore-son!”
As they advanced to attack him, a door on either side opened and four girls jumped out, leaping on the backs of the young men. They were quite a sight – all of them wearing leopard-patterned leggings and nothing else.
The fifth youth gaped at the unclothed appearance of the women. He was astonished at the ease with which they incapacitated his friends, beating them to the floor.
Ska-ama snorted and sluggishly walked towards him. Pudgy fingers forming a fist, he delivered a fierce punch into the youth’s nose. Blood spurted and the youth fell to the floor unconscious.
“Thank you, girls,” Ska-ama said, bowing. “I am most grateful.”
The girls sat upon the four youths, twisting arms up backs.
“I suspect these fools did not anticipate enjoying your attentions in quite this manner!”
***
Underground
Stealthily, now, U-Gath urged Sos; the Myndrachon leader’s words had been thoughts, not sounds.
Perhaps one day he too would be able to “speak” with his mind instead of his tongue. He signalled agreement and raised a sharp knife. Behind him, the four others bunched up, carrying short spears or bows and arrows.
U-Gath raised his head, sniffed the air. I fear we are too late.
Sos smelled nothing unfamiliar. Heightened senses, he supposed.
Moments later, Sos caught the sickly stink of singed flesh.
Ahead was the glow from a fire reflected off the mica walls of the cave, to one side of the tunnel they trod along.
Low guttural sounds carried to Sos and he also smelled the stink of Nhyrachons.
Attack! U-Gath commanded.
Running over the rough tunnel floor at U-Gath’s side, Sos sensed an uncanny exhilaration fill his frame. If Telicia could see me now, he thought. He let out a warlike cry and his words echoed.
The eight Nhyrachons were unready, squatting round their fire, roasting meat on a spit; behind them in the shadows lay the trussed-up figures of four whimpering women.
Sos collided into a Nhyrachon before the man could rise; he plunged his knife deep into the throat and was splattered with dark blood. Stumbling over the shuddering corpse, he attacked another. But this one was now prepared and swung his axe in a vicious arc. Sos knew his knife was no match for that weapon. Instinctively, he hooked his foot under a burning log, kicked it at the Nhyrachon. The axe-man emitted a scream as the burning ember hit his face, red sparks flying. Sos rushed in, slicing again and again at the axe-man’s midriff, exposing his innards.
On either side of Sos, U-Gath’s men shouted and fought, metal and wood resounding, echoing.
A Nhyrachon pushed past Sos and jabbed his sword at U-Gath. Sos kicked his victim aside and threw his knife at the back of the Nhyrachon before he could stab U-Gath again.
Weaponless now, Sos glared around, his heart pounding.
It was all over.
U-Gath and one Myndrachon had been wounded; all eight Nhyrachons were dead, and one of the captive women had her throat slit in a last futile bid at reprisal. But that was not the worst of it. Sos felt his stomach roil.
The four women had each had a foot removed, leaving only a blood-caked cauterised stump at the ankle. He turned away and groaned. “Ye gods, what have they done?” Then he realised that the meat on the spit was the feet of the women.
He gave a start as U-Gath laid a hand on his shoulder.
“They remove a foot so the women can’t easily escape,” U-Gath whispered. “They find the small toe a great delicacy.”
“That’s disgusting! The Nhyrachons want destroying for
following such evil ways!”
“Not all Nhyrachon groups treat their female captives this way, Sos. This is a particularly nasty group, an abberation, following a twisted dogma.”
Please, U-Gath, kill us! the three surviving women wailed, the pleas echoing in Sos’ head.
He stared. “Why do they want you to kill them?”
U-Gath shook his head, his eyes riven with sadness. “The Nhyrachons raped them, and their seed has been planted, and they have experienced twinge of conception.”
***
Third Dloinma of Fornious
Lornwater
Accompanied by an armed bodyguard, Gildmaster Olelsang made his way through the litter-strewn streets, checking the addresses as he went. The fourth on his list was water gildsman Vamir Wei.
He was made welcome, while his bodyguard remained outside.
“You honour me by entering my dwelling,” Vamir said, leading into a dark living space cluttered with rickety furniture and assorted rugs.
“Times are fraught, gildsman. I seek to apply myself to bringing peace and order to our disturbed streets.”
“Peace, ha! It is not safe to go out at night, I fear.”
Olelsang sneered. “That is the curse of Baron Laan, I suspect.”
“The baron says he is reluctant to foment revolution, but there seems no other way.”
“Alas, gildsman, in future ballads, they will sing of treachery. No noble should align with rebel forces!”
“The king has brought it upon himself. If even his son is against him, then that says something, no?”
“They – Laan, Haltese, and the rebels have chosen the wrong path. If they win, then they will write our history, won’t they?”
“It is ever thus. What do you want, Gildmaster Olelsang?”
“Allegiance. I have been talking to other gildsmen who are not happy to be led by Baron Laan.”
“You want us to split from the others? A schism of gilds? That’s unheard of; nobody will win, then. We will forfeit our power.”
“Religions have sundered before, yet they thrive,” Olelsang said, his tone persuasive. “Why not our gilds?”
“I will give it some thought. It is a serious matter.”
“Don’t dwell on this too long, Vamir Wei. I repay loyalty well, but disloyalty earns a different coin.”
***
Epal villa, New City, Lornwater
“Who is it?” Lorar responded to the rapid forceful knock on her bedroom door. Her heart fluttered as she pressed her hands against its solid wood, the crossbeam secure in its brackets.
“Your agnate, who else?”
Her throat felt dry. “I have retired,” she croaked. “It is late and I have a headache.”
“Do not try my patience, Lorar. Open this door or I shall get my men to break it down – and disrobe you into the bargain!”
Her heart pounded. She clutched at her nightgown, and looked over her shoulder at the basic furniture – bed, coarse linen, no windows, a single wardrobe, a small table and two chairs. No possible escape, no chance of rescue. Ranell had more pressing things on his mind, and there was nobody else who would come to her aid. “All right,” she whispered.
“What did you say?”
She lifted the wooden bar, dropped it to one side; it fell noisily on the tiles. “All right!” she snapped, though the words were faint. She took two steps back, holding her arms across her torso for meagre comfort.
Blood drained from her face as he opened the door.
He was barefoot. As he strode in, his ermine fringed silk robe gaped; he wore nothing beneath.
She trembled, flesh cold with fear; the heat of life deserted her.
Epal Danorr licked his lips. “That’s more like it. If you show willing, I will be gentle with you.”
He kicked the door shut behind him.
She swallowed with difficulty.
Gesturing towards the bed, he said, “Go, get prepared to welcome me.”
Head bowed, she backed towards the bed. Tears pricked her eyes but she fought to blink them away. She vowed not to cry, or scream; she had a chilled inkling such behaviour would only goad him more.
Her lip was bloody, by the time he had finished, as she bit down hard to restrain cries of pain and anguish. Her palms were cut by her nails as she clenched her hands into fists. If only she had the strength to use those fists on him.
Afterwards, she knew that her heart was truly broken. He had discarded her as he would a soiled napkin after a feast, and left her bereft on the rumpled sheets. As he had slipped into his robe, he’d said, “You did not disappoint me, Lorar – but I expect more feeling in future. Or I will have to resort to excruciating chastisement.”
She was tempted to kill herself.
Or better still, kill Epal first. And only then destroy herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SARDAN
“A brave soldier is not violent.
A skillful fighter does not lose his temper…”
- The Book of Concealed Mystery
(Ascribed to Lhoretsorel)
Third Sufin of Fornious
The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater
“Sire,” said Sergeant Bayuan Aco, bowing to the king, “I bring you interesting news.”
“I would rather have good news, Sergeant,” snarled Saurosen. “Tell me the foolish rebellion has been quelled. Tell me that Nemond Thand is in your custody.”
Bayuan Aco quailed, glancing from the king to the queen and then to Sister Nostor Vata who stood to one side beside a glass vase that exuded orange and green vapour. And then he straightened, his tone emboldened. “Sire, your son is meeting with the rebel leadership in the Red Tellar Inn.”
“Haltese?”
“We only have one son, dear,” snapped Queen Jikkos. She lanced the sergeant with a penetrating glare. “How did you come by this information?”
“A gildmaster loyal to the king, your majesty. He has a spy in their midst.”
“Loyalty is in short supply it seems,” Nostor Vata commented.
Queen Jikkos darted a baleful glare at the Sardan woman.
“I speak only the truth, your highness,” said Nostor Vata.
Looking askance at the Sister, Jikkos said, “You are friends with Nemond Xara, so how do we know that you don’t have a conflict of interest here?”
“I serve the king first, your highness, as should all loyal subjects.” She jabbed a finger at the sergeant. “Loyal people like him.”
“Sister Vata, you’re a wise woman,” said Saurosen. “Advise me about my son. Will he stand shoulder to shoulder with me if this rebellion gets worse?”
Jikkos gasped. “Our son would never rise against you, Sauri – sire!”
Nostor let out a heavy sigh. “Your motherly love is misplaced, my queen.”
“How dare you!”
“Be still, my dear,” urged Saurosen. “Let the Sardan speak.”
Nostor moved her hands, palms down, over the vase, dissipating the vapour. “Prince Haltese will seek the throne, sire. It is his birthright.”
“No!” exclaimed the queen.
“Yes,” snapped the king irritably, “but when?”
Nostor shook her head. “Sooner than you would like, sire, while you yet live.”
“No!” shrieked the queen. “I won’t stand for this drivel. Haltese is an honourable man and would never usurp his own father!”
Saurosen bit his lip. “Sergeant, take Nostor to her rooms.”
“Aye, sire.”
“And Nostor, come to me when you have something more definite. At present, I need facts, not supposition.”
“It will come to pass,” responded the Sardan, her brow riven as if by dark thoughts. Escorted by Sergeant Bayuan Aco, she left through the big doors.
Queen Jikkos squeezed Saurosen’s hand. “Thank you, Sauri.”
***
Epal villa, New City, Lornwater
Epal wiped his mouth with a napkin at the end of yet
another agonising dinner. Lorar flinched at his action, her memory stirred by her allusion when he first took her.
He stood and walked to her side.
Sweat soaked into her waist-band; she felt it on her upper lip.
Roughly, he grabbed her left arm, twisted it back and raised it, the pain agonising. “My agnate, please!”
The knife slid out from her sleeve and fell to the floor, making a ringing sound.
“Why would you want to hide that away?” He continued twisting her arm until tears streamed over her cheeks. “You might cut yourself.”
“Please let me go, you’re hurting me!”
He released his grip, flung her arm down. Her hand hit the table top without her volition. Her arm was numb. She sobbed, and with her good hand raised her napkin to her eyes.
He leaned next to her ear. “I must ensure you are safe. At all times.”
Safe? With him invading my room every night?
“You will have a sentry in your rooms.”
“No! That is an invasion of my privacy!”
“By now, you should know that you have no privacy. If I order it, your sentry will use you as he sees fit, as a lesson to you!”
“No, you wouldn’t dare!”
“Do not anger me, Lorar!”
“I do not mean to, my agnate…”
“So, that is better… To ensure you do not attempt any self-harm, the sentry will be in attendance until I visit your room. Out of consideration for your sensibilities, he will withdraw as I enter you.”
“Oh, please, no… Spare me this humiliation!”
“I will think about it – when you learn to bend to my will!”
***
The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater
Aurelan Crossis was doing his regular rounds of the palace guards and grounds with three soldiers, when he stopped, surprised.
Before, there’d been a man-sized niche with a statue standing here. The most recent tremor must have toppled the statue and the wall in the niche had given way, leaving a gaping hole.
He ordered the men with him to clear the rubble from the broken statue and the blocks of stone.
When the access into the dark gap in the wall was clear, Aurelan stepped forward, grabbing a shagunblend torch from its sconce in the passage wall. “Two of you come with me.” He pointed to the third: “You stand watch while we investigate.”
Floreskand_King Page 22