Tyrant’s Blood

by Fiona McIntosh

  She pulled his arm around her more tightly and gave him a peck on his cheek, beaming widely. “Like that?” she inquired lightly, the smile not faltering as people walked by them.

  “Perfect,” he said, a little sadly. Suddenly he realized he had never loved anyone outside his own family. His closest friend had been Freath and his relationships with women were fleeting. As he walked beside Lily now, his arms tightly around her slim body, her warmth passing easily between their clothes, he felt an unfamiliar stirring of emotion.

  “Kilt Faris is a lucky man,” he murmured.

  “Let’s hope he sees it that way,” Lily replied, and somehow Kirin was sure she’d missed his point.

  Pastor Byron, when they finally had their few moments with him, looked addled and apologized before Kirin even had a chance to explain their presence.

  “Forgive me but today is not my favorite of days. I like what it stands for but it wears me out and sucks at my tolerance like an insatiable leech. You don’t even have to tell me why you’re here. It’s written plain on your faces; I can see you’re a couple in love and old enough to know it.”

  Kirin closed his mouth.

  The pastor continued, “I’ve tried to turn away so many youngsters today. They think they love one another but I can tell it won’t last. They’re too young, they still have so much to learn about themselves. But you two must both be past your third decade?” They both nodded dumbly. “Neither married now or previously?” They shook their heads. “Excellent! The ring, please?”

  Lily untied the ribbon and handed the pastor her mother’s wedding band.

  “Very nice,” he said. “I like older pieces. Your mother’s?”

  “Yes,” Lily replied. “I’m Lily and this is—”

  “No need, my dear. Forgive me if that sounds rude but I have dozens more to see today. I won’t remember your names past the next pair of lovers.” He began to bless the ring, dipping it into Lo’s Bowl at the front of the chapel. Finally he opened his eyes. “There. Now you’ll take your vows publicly with everyone else. Please be on the green at start of fourth tide. Thank you and bless you both.” Kirin patted Lily’s hand affectionately and they both withdrew. “Er, you’re most welcome to leave an offering,” the pastor mentioned over his shoulder, his back already turned to them. “Oh, and don’t forget the veil. That’s one tradition I will insist upon.”

  Outside in the sun once again, their eyes adjusting from the chapel’s shadows, Kirin aimed for a lighter mood. “Well, that was painless. Let’s go get you a veil, shall we?”

  “Kirin. You go back to the inn. I, er…” Lily shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a little while on my own and I feel a bit funny about your coming along to help me choose a veil. That’s something that the bride should do with other women. I’d rather do it alone.”

  He understood. “All right. Where and when shall I see you?”

  “I’ll meet you on the green.”

  Kirin nodded. “Lily, are you planning to run away? I’m sorry I feel compelled to ask you that.”

  She looked at him with shock. “It hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  “Forgive me for putting it into your mind, then. I could pry, of course, but I’d prefer not to, given that I’ve already gone blind today on your behalf.”

  Now Lily just looked sickened. “I’m aware of my precarious situation, Master Felt, and I will go through with this. I just have to come to terms with it.”

  He gave a small bow. “Then I shall see you shortly.” Kirin took her hand and kissed it. “For the sake of those watching,” he assured her, and then he turned and left her.

  Eighteen

  Loethar had banished everyone from the chapel, including Father Briar, who, to Loethar’s annoyance, seemed unable to contain his grief. “You may admit my mother when she is brought here,” he said to the weeping priest as he shooed him away, bolting the doors behind him.

  Finally he turned to regard the pale, thin body. He couldn’t believe that Freath was dead; realized he was holding his breath as he regarded the man who had become such an important counsel to him…someone he might even have called a friend in his innermost thoughts. Freath’s death was so random, so unexpected, so wrong! He pulled back the rest of the shroud abruptly and stared at the ugly wound. There was no doubting it had come from a sword; both sides of the wide cut were neat, the flesh had been sliced through with ease and with no jagged edges. A big sword too. Freath would have known it was being drawn, he had been facing his attacker. Loethar checked Freath’s hands. They looked like the white stone quarried in Gormand, but with a mottled pattern of blood, and they certainly felt as chill as marble. He balled one of his own hands into a fist, unconscious of the rage building because inside he felt as cold as Freath did. Cold rage, his mother often accused him of possessing.

  Freath’s hands showed no sign of lacerations. So he had put up no fight, and it didn’t seem as though he had gripped the sword sticking from his belly as most people in shock might do. From what Loethar could tell Freath must have seen his attacker, did not resist him, took his death without a real struggle. Why?

  Other questions bloomed behind this. Why was he found in the mountains, not in the inn? Why did he leave the inn in the first place? If he was taken by his attackers, against his will, surely he would have put up some sort of struggle? And where did they take him? Where did Freath die? The mountain gateway was too busy, but then again that sort of activity would have provided good cover if the assailants had known how to make the best use of crowds.

  Loethar walked around the body, lost in contemplation. He circumnavigated Freath a dozen times perhaps, slowly pacing, thinking. And then he came to a final dread conclusion. Freath had known his attacker.

  A soft knock at the door distracted him. He looked up, vexed, but he knew who it would be and could not ignore it. Loethar returned to the door and unbolted it. Father Briar stood next to two servants who carried Dara Negev in a special chair Loethar had had constructed for this very purpose. She looked like one of the royals he’d heard stories about from the exotic land of Percheron, carried around in covered seats by slaves.

  “You summoned me,” his mother said, her voice cutting through the thick silence.

  “Thank you for coming,” he replied.

  “As if I had a choice,” she remarked. “Set me down and leave me,” she ordered, obviously sensing that her son wanted total privacy. As the two servants did so, Loethar addressed the priest.

  “Father Briar, you cleaned up Freath’s body, am I right?”

  “Yes, my lord. It was my unhappy plea sure to do this for him.”

  Loethar nodded. “Did you notice anything?”

  Briar blinked. “Such as, my lord?”

  Loethar blew out his cheeks. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for either. He shrugged. “I don’t really know, anything that might give us a clue as to where he was when he was ultimately attacked.”

  Briar began to shake his head. “His clothes were—.” Then he hesitated.

  “Were what?”

  Briar looked back at him. “Sorry, er, his clothes were dusty, which I’d expect from his travels, but now that you mention it I did notice a few pine needles clinging to the folds of his garments.”

  “Pine needles?” Loethar repeated.

  The priest nodded. “Is that helpful, my lord?”

  “I don’t know yet. Send a runner to fetch General Stracker, would you?”

  “Of course,” Briar said. He bowed to Loethar and nodded graciously at Dara Negev before departing.

  Loethar’s mother didn’t notice; her attention was riveted on the corpse. “I thought it was a mistake when I was told.”

  “I hoped it was,” he replied.

  “How?” she wondered. “He wasn’t young but he was barely into his sixth decade, surely, and spry?”

  “He didn’t die, Mother, he was murdered,” Loethar snapped. Angrily, he hauled back the shroud again to reveal the wound. Dara Negev’s mou
th opened in response but no words came as she regarded the deep wound. Finally, she spoke. “Who knew that Freath was going north with this news of increased taxes?”

  Loethar had to admire his mother. She had cut through all of the obvious exclamations and pointless jabber, straight to the heart of what mattered most. “No one. Only myself, Stracker and the men who accompanied him.”

  “Did his wizard go with him…if you could call him that? I’ve seen no sign of any magics with that one,” she said with disgust.

  Loethar smirked. “I think that was the point of why we allowed Freath to have Master Kirin in the first instance. His powers are so weak—if he has any—as to be negligible. But Master Kirin is intelligent and I’ve found his help around the library and with the new academy of learning we’ve established in Penraven to be extremely competent. I have no gripe with him. But you raise an important point.”

  “Well, he’s the first person you should interrogate. I can’t say I’ll be mourning Freath, Loethar. I don’t like traitors and the man betrayed his own with barely a look over his shoulder.”

  “You know as well as I do how valuable Freath has been to me.”

  “I’ve never quite let go of the notion I had when I first met him that he was not entirely honest. He struck me as being more than simply a man arriving where the wind blew him.”

  It was an old Steppes saying and Loethar nodded. “I’m sure he wasn’t, considering that barbarian invaders were spilling through the stronghold of the famed Valisars.”

  “No, it was more than that, son. Freath was calculating. He was charming and eloquent, his intelligence was vast, but he was a man of shadows.”

  Loethar shrugged. “Any man who betrays his king would have to become careful. He hadn’t given me any cause this past ten anni to consider him anything but committed to the empire, if not necessarily devoted to us.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “So if no one but you and Stracker, the wizard and his escort knew of his arrival in the north, who could spring such an attack?”

  His mother’s suspicions were talking directly to his own. The whole notion of a random attack felt less and less likely.

  “In fact,” she continued, “for him to be found anywhere but where he should be…am I right that he was discovered out in the open?” When he nodded, she continued, “Well, it suggests to me that in the first instance, that what ever reason he was outside of the inn and perhaps beyond the town’s center, he was there willingly.”

  Loethar’s eyes narrowed. “That’s how I feel. My suspicions are that Freath went willingly from the inn where he was supposed to be staying. In fact—” He paused as Stracker entered. “Ah, there you are.”

  “Mother,” Stracker said, “you look well today.”

  She gave him a look of disdain. “I’m eighty-one anni, son. This is how I look.”

  Stracker’s tatua moved as he grinned. He glanced briefly at Freath. “I’ve got the eldest of the trio of escorts outside.”

  “Go ahead,” Loethar said.

  Stracker paused. “I had no time for Freath but I’m angry anyone under our escort is dead. That said, I have no reason to mistrust his escorts and neither have you. All of them are handpicked and reliable. At Freath’s bidding they took a couple of hours’ relaxation before returning to The Lookout. The Blue checked with the staff and according to them Freath and his sidekick did not leave the inn during that time. They emerged later from their shared room for an evening meal. We even know what they ate. As you heard, our men returned to the inn during the evening and saw Freath. There was nothing untoward, nothing unusual.”

  “He was talking to a stranger,” Loethar reminded him.

  “Yes, but in broad view of everyone. The serving girl said they didn’t seem to know one another. From what she could remember, they simply began passing the time of day as she offered to refresh their ales.”

  “Perhaps that’s how it was meant to appear,” Loethar said.

  “Our men only left him alone a short while.” Loethar frowned and opened his mouth but Stracker held up a hand. “And before you ask, the time between when they last noticed him and noticed he was gone was just moments. The time it took to take a few sips of ale.”

  “So he was bundled out of the inn, possibly?” their mother offered.

  “I doubt it,” Stracker replied. “Imagine trying to steal a man away in front of dozens of others in a busy inn! His reluctance to go would create a disturbance. And they didn’t drug the ale; our men tasted what was in Freath’s cup. It’s just not feasible to get him out of the inn easily—”

  “Unless he wanted to go,” Loethar finished.

  “Well, yes,” Stracker conceded, frowning, “but why would he want to go?”

  “I can’t tell you, I wasn’t there,” Loethar replied, his tone bordering on acid. A glare from his mother wiped away the scowl he had directed at his half-brother.

  Stracker didn’t seem to notice either of them. “All right, then. But how would he leave without our men noticing him?”

  Loethar sighed. “I told you. They created a distraction. It’s the oldest trick going. What were they doing when this was occurring, sitting around a table chatting?”

  Stracker shrugged. “Let’s ask.” He walked to the door, opened it and mumbled something.

  Loethar recognized the experienced, senior member of the Blues who entered. “Hello, Jib,” he said, the man’s name coming to him.

  “Emperor,” Jib said, nodding politely. “Dara Negev,” he added, bowing to the old woman. His fist went to his heart. “General Stracker.”

  Stracker nodded. “Jib, tell us what was occurring when you and the men arrived at the inn.”

  Jib shrugged as though it wasn’t worth even mentioning. “The usual sort of Denovian recreation. It was crowded and the mood was jovial. Everyone was drinking, even Master Freath. He had finished his meal and was sitting not that far from us across the chamber at the back.”

  “He was not alone, though,” Loethar confirmed.

  “It was crowded, my lord, and he was near a lot of people because of the happy mob. At one point he exchanged a few words with the man next to him, who had his back to us. From his gestures I think he looked to be explaining the game that was underway.”

  Loethar nodded at Stracker, who took up the questioning.

  “From what you told me before, nothing was unusual and Freath appeared relaxed.”

  “Yes, general. He raised his mug to me to acknowledge us as we entered. We pushed through to the counter, ordered some ales and then moved to a table.”

  “A table?” Loethar quizzed.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “If it was so crowded, how could you so easily find somewhere to sit?”

  Jib nodded. “It’s true, it was shoulder to shoulder in there because it is the most popular watering hole in the town. But everyone was on their feet watching a game of arrows. I haven’t seen this game before; I think it’s only played in the north. A big man was taking his turn, and doing very badly. He was very amusing and everyone was betting against him.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, my lord. We only watched, we didn’t gamble.”

  “I see, and then when you moved to find Freath he was gone?”

  “Yes, my lord. When the contest was over and everyone was moving back, I decided I should work out the plan for the next day with Master Freath, but he had disappeared.”

  “All right, Jib.”

  The man glanced over at the shrouded body, only now perhaps fully realizing who was laid out and covered. He looked instantly sorrowful. “I’m sorry that he slipped us, my lord. We were diligent and I’m at a loss to imagine why or how he got past us.” The emperor nodded. “You may go.”

  Jib stole a glance at Stracker and bowed to the emperor and Dara Negev before leaving.

  Once the door had closed Loethar rounded on Stracker. “Let them all live. Even our men sense that Freath went willingly. He used the words slipped us.�
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  Stracker looked incensed. “They let you down.”

  “And nothing will be achieved by executing them,” said Loethar.

  Stracker threw an I-told-you-so glance at his mother, then returned his attention to Loethar. “So you believe Freath deliberately sneaked out of the inn, using the contest as a diversion?”

  “Of course. I have no other explanation. The question is why? Who was he going to meet? How does he know these people? Why are they important to him? Exactly what was Freath up to in the north? Clearly not taxes!”

  “A romantic tryst?” Dara Negev offered, then laughed. “I jest, of course. Freath was like a dry old stick.”

  Stracker sighed. “I’ll leave for Francham now.”

  “Find the Vested,” Loethar repeated. “Master Kirin must know something. Why else isn’t he dead alongside Freath?”

  “We’ve got the realm covered. We should be able to place him within a few days.”

  Loethar considered this. “He was initially brought here against his will. I worry that the lure of freedom is seductive.”

  Dara Negev gave a sound of derision. “That man of magic seemed happy enough here.”

  “He did,” Loethar agreed. “I always liked him, to tell the truth.”

  “What magic did he possess anyway?” she demanded.

  “Low level stuff. He could judge people relatively well. I know that sounds vague but apparently that was his skill. He was based at the Academy of Learning in Cremond to match students with the right sort of education. As he put it, someone might present as a person who wanted to study the stars but he would know very quickly that the student would make a better adept as a physic, or perhaps as an architect.”

  “How odd,” she commented. “Nothing really useful, then?”

  “No, and that’s why we didn’t need him or fret about his connection with Freath in those early days. He didn’t give Freath anything back when I wasn’t in a position to trust him. That’s what is so galling. I trusted the man!”