“Life will be the reward. Death the punishment for liars.”
“If someone bought hundreds of slaves, they would have invested a great deal of money.”
“Let them seek the ones who sold our servants.” It paused a moment, then brought one hand from the folded flesh of its “robe.” The hand held one of the heavy gold coins that the Grakhul left for every soul stolen away. “One hundred coins for the slavers who took our servants. Bring them to us alive.”
Beron nodded his head slowly. “I will let all of the slavers know of your generosity.”
Frankel spoke up, which was surprising as he usually only spoke in public when Beron had given him a script.
Frankel said, “Perhaps it would be best to call for a council meeting, Beron. That way the words of the Grakhul cannot be misunderstood.”
Beron stared at the man for a moment and kept his face neutral. Frankel would be taught his place again but not today.
“An excellent idea. Would you like them here tonight? Or do you prefer the morning?”
Frankel opened his mouth to speak, but the Grakhul spokesman interrupted. “Tonight. Time is limited. There are great forces at play. The gods want this handled.”
“I will summon them immediately. We will meet here within the next two hours.” Beron turned and headed for the door. The king was a puppet. He had served his purpose.
The Grakhul did not bother turning to follow his progress, but instead spoke calmly in the unsettling quiet. “Until we receive our servants, this city is not safe. There is a great storm coming that will wash Saramond away if we are not satisfied.”
Beron stared into the darkness where a face should have been and nodded slowly. He did not like threats. “Well then, I expect we should find your satisfaction.”
Without another word he was on his way, and without his plate no less. There were more pressing concerns.
Twenty minutes later he was back at his offices and roaring orders to Argus. “We have been cheated. Get the children on their way now.” Argus nodded and scribbled a note on paper, with a coal stick. “The very finest women are to be separated out. Prepare them for travel, set them in cages and set the cages on wagons. The rest of them must be hidden as best we can. Find places where they can be locked away. Find places where they can be tied together and gagged if need be. I will not lose a fortune over a lie.”
“Why the urgency?”
“They belong to the Undying. We will not give them back. They are bought and paid for.”
For a moment Argus looked like he wanted to argue, but finally he nodded his head. No one wanted to fight the Undying. Easier to face off against kings, as they already knew. Frankel was given his fill of women and the powders that made him happy. In exchange he followed orders. The Undying might not feel the same way. They weren’t even human. Having seen them, Beron now understood that.
“Put out the word. That big bastard and his salesman. Brogan McTyre and Harper Ruttket. They are to be found and brought to me. I will take back what they received through their lies. Then I will skin them alive.”
Argus nodded. “Where are you going?”
“I have to meet with the others. We have to prepare for a confrontation. The Grakhul…” A sigh. “The He-Kisshi will not get what they want from us without a fight.”
“They are called the Undying, Beron.”
“I don’t intend to kill them. I intend to lie to them and if that does not work I intend to bring the Slavers’ Guild down upon their heads and wrap them in enough chains to hide them from the sun forever.”
Argus nodded, but Beron could see that he was not convinced.
Not that it mattered. Argus served. Beron ruled. There was a reason for that.
* * *
Their capture was inevitable and they did not resist.
Brogan and the rest of his band hid the bodies as best they could, and hid their treasures in a different spot.
The guards took their weapons, as they were not idiots. Not one of the four looked anything less than dangerous.
“This will go poorly.” Harper was being optimistic. There was a very strong chance they’d be dead within the next few hours. Bron McNar did not send twenty men out after four unless he planned to honor them, or see them in chains, or beheaded. Brogan did not think the men they’d encountered had been an honor guard.
Brogan nodded his head. The men with them were silent and grim. They’d asked the same questions as the previous group and all that Brogan answered to was his name. The rest, he’d declared, would be discussed with the king. There were areas where that sort of response would end with a pike through the guts, but Stennis Brae wasn’t one of them. Mostly at least. A man spoke his mind if he was so inclined and lived to tell the tale. The kingdom was not known for diplomacy. It was known for strong people who worked hard. That was enough to earn respect from most who lived in the area.
It was a long ride, several hours, to get to Journey End. It was not really a sizable town, but unlike most of the other settlements in Stennis Brae it came with a very large castle. Stoneheart lived up to its name. It was built of stone and it lay at the very heart of Stennis Brae, a massive affair built to house thousands if it came to that. Guarded by enough soldiers to keep the king safe and to defend against any who would attack. Brogan had never in his life had reason to step past the stone walls surrounding the castle. In a different time he might have been impressed, but he had seen palaces and castles before and then he had reason to study them. They were tales to tell the children and his wife. Now? Now he was here because his king demanded.
There were no chains. Had any of them resisted the second group – and had they been defeated – the four men would have been bound in irons, but as they offered themselves freely they were allowed to enter as free men.
The men who led him along did not wear their own colors. They wore the colors of the king. Some might have been related, but all were in his service. They were clean and they were uniformed. In comparison Brogan, Harper, Mosely and Sallos had been on the road for a long while and all looked forward to the idea of bathing away the dirt and sweat of their journeys and finding cleaner garments.
They did not look their best when they were brought before their king. They remained tired, road worn and dirty from their labors.
Bron McNar was their king. They respected him. He had earned their respect by building roads and keeping the peace in the area against all enemies. He was an honorable man, or, as Harper put it, as honorable as a king could be. He charged taxes but they were not too heavy, and he listened to complaints from his people with fair regularity.
The king was a big man. Not a giant as he had been described, but certainly a man of presence. He had fought hard to be where he was. There had been a time when the Mentath to the west of the mountains had tried their luck at taking Stennis Brae. That time was long past as a result of the king. He was a warrior, a diplomat and a good and wise ruler. He was also, currently, an obstacle.
The king sat on a throne carved from a single piece of the Broken Swords. The base was hard, brown stone, but, higher up, skilled craftsmen had carved one of the pieces of crystal into a wide seat. From what Brogan had heard, the stone took ten horses to pull from the mountains to the castle. The throne room was large and wide, built of granite blocks. The fires from hearth and torch alike offered light to the throne and made it glow with warm illumination.
Bron McNar leaned forward on the furs that lined his throne’s seat. Heavy arms rested on knees that were bare. Like most of the men in the area he preferred a kilt to standard pants. He wore the same colors as his guards, but no one looking at him would have mistaken him for one of his followers. He was larger than life and even if he had not been a big man, he would have dominated with his presence.
He nodded as the men came forward, but his lined face was not kind under the heavy brown beard.
“You are Brogan McTyre?”
Brogan nodded his head.
“I like a man who owns his name. I like a man who tells me truths and comes of his own volition when his king calls.”
“I am honored that my king calls, but puzzled as well. What have I done to gain your attention?”
The king rose from his throne and stood to his full height, which was nearly eye to eye with Brogan himself. He stepped forward, his dark eyes locked with Brogan’s.
“We’ll be discussing that.” He looked to Harper next. “You are Harper Ruttket.”
“Yes, my king.”
“I know you. I’ve met you before. I knew your mother and father. They were good people and I was sorry to hear of their deaths.”
Rather than actually answer, Harper merely bowed his head in acknowledgement of the words. He was not comfortable with the passing of his parents or how they died.
“Do you know what makes you different among your peers, Harper Ruttket?”
Harper looked at his three companions and shook his head. “I do not, my king.”
“You have not trespassed where you were not permitted.”
“I do not–”
“Two scryers have told me what I need to know.”
Harper shut his mouth immediately.
“You were smart to come peacefully. Your friend was not as wise.”
A quick gesture of his hand and two of the guards brought Laram from where he’d been sitting in the shadows. He was in chains, his hands and ankles manacled and his face swollen from several blows. That he did not look pleased was a given.
Laram stood on his own feet, but he wobbled a bit.
Brogan shook his head. “What have your scryers claimed?”
The king didn’t seem to take any offense at his lack of formality. Brogan knew he wouldn’t. He was not the sort of man who measured another by their use of pretty words. It was one of the things Brogan respected about the king.
“They’ve told me that you have been busy, Brogan McTyre.” The king’s eyes were hard as he moved in front of Brogan, pacing like a war dog barely kept to heel. There had been a time when the man was called the Dog of Kinnet for a reason.
“Way I hear it,” he continued, “you’ve gone to the far north and tried to stop the Grakhul from handling their tasks.”
Brogan nodded but said nothing and after a moment, the king continued: “There are laws in all five kingdoms about the Grakhul. Those laws are passed down from ruler to ruler and they cannot be broken, not even by kings or queens. They must be obeyed.”
“Why?” Brogan looked back just as hard, unflinching before his king. It was not bravery. It was anger, rage, a slow-burning fire in his chest that grew hotter every time he thought of his Nora.
The Dog bared his teeth and growled low in his guts. “Because it has always been that way, you damned fool! Because centuries ago the kingdoms all made arrangements with the Grakhul to keep the world safe from their gods.”
Brogan took in a deep breath and held his tongue.
Harper did not. “My liege, the Grakhul–”
“Were upholding their part of the bargain!” The king’s voice was a harsh bark that echoed through the chamber. Several of the men sitting around the room – men who were, no doubt, important if only in their own eyes – stirred nervously at the tone.
“What possible reason could five of my people have for breaking sacred laws?” Bron McNar skewered each of them with his gaze, his large, scarred hands curling into fists as he walked in front of them.
“There was one scryer I have met before who came to me and offered up her tale of Brogan McTyre breaking the sacred laws. And another who came and told me there were more who rode with him. Free men, guards and others like him, mercenaries, travelers who are seldom home, but lived under my laws and my rules.” He paced, the king, and as he paced Brogan understood how it was that men would fear him. He was a large man and his confidence in what was right and wrong was absolute.
The scryers served all the kingdoms. According to Harper their sole purpose was to make certain that the laws of the Grakhul were honored.
The four men with him looked his way. Ultimately, Brogan knew, the answer had to be his. He was the one who’d called to them and placed them in this position.
“The other men here, they came when I asked. They followed. I led. If someone must be punished let it be me.”
“That’s not for you to say, McTyre! You’ve broken laws not easily ignored! You’ve put my kingdom at risk for your foolish notions! By rights I should lay the lot of you down on your funeral pyres and burn you alive!”
Brogan reached into his belt, and the king’s eyes flickered down and watched. He did not tense, but he watched. A wise man knows to look for weapons.
They had been stripped of their weapons, of course. They had hidden away their newly acquired wealth. The one pouch Brogan had not worried over was the one he knew no self-respecting soldier would ever touch.
It was said that to steal the coins of the Grakhul was to risk their wrath. No one willingly angered the Undying.
Brogan held the coins in his hand and one by one he tossed them to the ground before the king. The first fell and he said “Nora.” The second fell and he called out, “Sherla.” The third, “Leidhe.” His eyes were wet but he did not shed the tears that stung them. Finally, the last coin. “Braghe.”
“What?” The king’s eyes widened in horror.
“My wife! My children! The whole of my family! All at once! Taken by your precious fucking Grakhul!” His body trembled with fury.
Bron McNar looked from coin to coin and then slowly he looked up at Brogan.
“Tell me you would have done differently! Tell me man to man, husband to husband, and father to father that you would do anything differently to save your family!”
And there it was, the secret shame. Brogan did not have to say a word, he made no accusations, but many claimed the families of the kings and queens of the Five Kingdoms were spared by the Grakhul as part of that ancient bargain.
“I was trying to save my family!” Brogan’s teeth clenched and he did his best to force his jaw open, that he could speak clearly. “I called in every debt I had in this world, every favor owed, every coin owed, and I asked that those who call me brother help me in my time of need. I still lost them. I saw them slaughtered. I failed!”
Bron McNar, the king of Stennis Brae, looked at Brogan McTyre and slowly nodded his head.
“I’d have done the same.” His voice was low and soft.
Brogan did not relax. He was not so foolish as to think he was free of punishment, but perhaps he had saved his friends.
“I would have done the same, Brogan McTyre. I would ride to the Edge of Star End to save mine from that sort of fate and so I understand your actions.” He looked away for the barest second, eyeing the rest of the would-be saviors. “I ache for your loss, lad. But I cannot forgive your sins without my kingdom paying the price.”
“I will take all the fault.”
“If I could I would let you. I cannot. But I will not kill a man who sought only to protect his family. I am a bastard, but not that vile.”
Bron McNar gestured to the ground. “Take the coins. I’ve no desire to see them. Put them back in your purse and get out of my sight. Leave this kingdom, Brogan McTyre.”
The king sighed, not happy with his declaration.
“You are banished. You may never return. You have until sunset tomorrow. All your lands are stripped from you. Any titles you may have are taken from you. Your families may stay, if you are fortunate enough to have any left, but each of you men is banished. It is done. Leave me before I regret my mercies.”
They nodded their heads, even Laram, and as Brogan took his coins from the ground, the guards removed the chains from Laram’s limbs.
McNar looked at the guards. “Give them back their weapons. They are free to go. Should they be seen after the sun sets tomorrow, they are to be killed without question.”
And so it was that Brogan McTyre became a man without
a country.
* * *
The Plains of Arthorne were not a kind place to begin with, but the women felt the heat more than most and their skin was not the sort that took in sun well. They did their best to cover themselves with what they had managed to scavenge or steal.
After ten days, Myridia thought they would all surely die, but the gods offered them relief in the shape of a river. They’d have missed it completely but the horses knew better and left the trail they’d been following.
The horses trotted to the waters, completely ignoring the riders on their backs. To be fair, the riders were too busy holding on for dear life to consider protesting or trying to rein them in, even if they’d known how.
The horses were large animals and much healthier than those they had known in Nugonghappalur. These animals carried them with ease and the women did their best not to anger the beasts. So far none of the horses had thrown them. It was the best they could hope for.
Back to the north and east, the storms roared and the skies were black with the fury of the gods. The only saving grace from that anger was the sweet waters washing across every gully and crevasse to be found. Streams became rivers. Rivers became flood zones as the water fell from the skies.
They rode through a desert that was taking in water like never before. The heat of the area had gone from arid to humid and the winds from the east blew colder than they had in lifetimes.
The gods were angry and, in their anger, kept their children safe from the worst of the desert’s threats. The river was all they needed to survive.
Lorae dropped into the waters and spread her feet, getting her balance. She stood still after that and only moved when a fish came by. At those moments she was so fast that she blurred. Each fish she caught was thrown to the shore, where it gasped and danced and slowly died. The river was fast and the fish were careless. In minutes she had enough for all of them to eat.
When they were sated the lot of them moved into the river downstream from where the horses continued to stand and occasionally drink. The waters were sweet and soothing and they cleaned the grit from the ride off their bodies.
The Last Sacrifice Page 9