Tyrant’s Blood

by Fiona McIntosh

  “Should we stop them?” she whispered.

  “No. Let them kill each other. I’ll enjoy watching him die; he might already be dead. He looks it.”

  Elka looked back as the men picked up the slumped, unconscious captive; she’d only recently heard her friend’s chilling description of all, that this very man had inflicted upon his family, his friends and, more widely, his countrymen. The Davarigons, after all, had been spared the effects of the push for empire. And though she understood that Gavriel had suffered much at this man’s hands, all she could see now was a helpless man who had been beaten senseless by thugs and was now about to lose his life.

  “Gavriel,” she began, as the warriors dragged Loethar toward a nearby tree. “This is what it looked like when the imperial guards were beating you. I sat in the shadows just like this and I made a decision to help you.”

  “We’re going to watch him swing.”

  “No.”

  He glared at her. “Did you not hear anything I told you on our journey here?”

  She laid a hand on his arm, feeling the tension beneath her palm. “Listen to me a moment,” she urged. “Everything we’ve heard back from the Set in the last five or six years has been positive, has it not?”

  He looked away, scowling, but she knew he was listening.

  “If not for your memory returning, you would be none the wiser about this man. You would feel as outraged as I do that he is about to go to his death with no fair trial, no way to defend himself—”

  “He has no defense!” Gavriel hissed beneath his breath. “He doesn’t deserve a def—”

  “He deserves to die, I agree, but perhaps he should be given the opportunity for a formal execution. He is an emperor.”

  “He is a usurper.”

  “He is a king in his own right. And his former cruelties aside, we’ve had many a conversation back home about how the Set has begun to flourish under his rule. You know the trade routes have opened up for us directly as a result of Loethar’s new policies.”

  “Elka—”

  “No. Ask yourself, now that you’re a Set man again, whether you want to be ruled by that evil-looking thug of a brother,” she said, stabbing a finger in Stracker’s direction.

  Gavriel turned sourly to regard Stracker. “Half-brother,” he corrected, shaking his head.

  “Right,” Elka said. “So we are not going to permit Loethar’s death today, even if we have to take him as our own prisoner.”

  “Are you going soft in the head?”

  “I would have thought bringing Loethar as your captive to present to your king would be a fine homecoming,” she baited.

  Gavriel clearly couldn’t dismiss her logic. She watched him consider, and hoped the Valisar king was still alive, and still in these parts. He finally nodded. “What do you suggest?”

  Relief coursing through her, Elka reached behind her. “We’ll stun them,” she replied, pulling her catapult from her belt with glee.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Bleuth,” Stracker growled in Steppes language.

  “General,” the Green began reluctantly, “I would advise you against this action.” Loethar hung limp between the two men. A third Green was throwing a rope over the chosen branch.

  “Haven’t got the stomach for it?” Stracker taunted.

  “I think it is a rash move that you may regret. I am your friend; I hope I can say this to you without recrimination.”

  “We are friends but you are also my subordinate. And you will follow orders.”

  Bleuth nodded. “I will indeed. But I am first trying to prevent you…”

  “What?” Stracker demanded as the Green trailed off.

  “This is murder, Stracker.”

  The general laughed, pasting a feigned look of confusion on his face. “That is no stranger to me.”

  “Murder of tribe. Murder of family. Murder of a brother. Murder of a king. Murder of the emperor. Most of all, the murder of a man who spared your life once.”

  “And has treated me like his servant ever since!” Stracker raged. “I was prepared to walk in his shadow if he’d become an emperor I could be proud of. Instead, he has turned us into Denovians. Our blood is being diluted, our culture is being lost, our very memories of who we are and what we stand for are being diminished. He has let us down.”

  “What will you tell people?”

  Stracker shrugged, uncaring. “Anything I like. My brother left the palace, grief-stricken at the loss of his child, rode into the north and was never seen again. He says he told no one where he was headed and I believe him; my brother is secretive. His disappearance can become one of the empire’s mysteries.”

  “I have to say this: I don’t want to be a part of murdering our emperor.”

  “I am not giving you a choice.” Stracker looked over at the man with the rope and added, “Put it round his neck and hoist him. He’s near enough dead now. He’ll be none the wiser.”

  Stracker saw the three guards share a glance. “Are my orders to be disobeyed?” The two other men shook their heads, clearly more scared of their general than their broken emperor. “Bleuth?”

  Bleuth gave a wry half grin. “I know you’ll kill me if I don’t.”

  “You can choose to stick by your principles if that’s more important to you than loyalty to your general, to your people, to your culture.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “Not in my eyes. We fight for leadership on the Steppes.”

  “Only when our tribal ruler dies.”

  “He’s going to die very shortly.”

  “By murder.”

  “Choose your side, Bleuth!” the general ordered, tiring of the debate.

  The man hung his head. “I won’t defy you, Stracker.”

  “Coward!” Stracker said, laughing. “Hang our prisoner!”

  Slowly, the two Greens hoisted Loethar into the tree.

  “That’s it, boys,” Stracker urged, “get his feet right off the ground. Good.” He clapped. “Now tie him off. Farewell, brother.”

  Elka took the leader out first, her pebble hitting him in the temple expertly. He dropped like the stone that struck him, his body crunching heavily to the forest floor. The three guards looked surprised and the pair holding Loethar above the ground had their mouths open comically when the other took the next stone, collapsing like his general with a shout of pain.

  The two other guards let go of the rope but it had already been tied off and Loethar swung, his toes just missing the ground. Elka shot another stone, felling one of the remaining guards. His companion shouted in fear, drawing his sword. Elka, aware of her distinctiveness, remained hidden. “Cut him down!” she called to Gavriel from behind the trees.

  The guard thought she was speaking to him and backed away from Loethar, shaking his head. “I have orders,” he stammered in Set. Gavriel emerged from the trees as Elka took aim with her fourth stone. The man began to babble at Gavriel, wondering where his slingshot was, but without pausing, Elka hit him in the thigh and he screamed and fell over. “I didn’t want him to have a slash at you,” she said to Gavriel. “Quick, get him down.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he growled over his shoulder.

  Elka ignored Gavriel, and reloaded her catapult.

  “Please,” the guard urged, still at Gavriel. “You don’t need to—”

  “Oh, but I do,” Elka murmured to herself. She squinted, took very careful aim and let the sling hurl the stone straight at the man’s temple. He made no sound but keeled over sideways.

  “Is he alive?” she asked, finally emerging to help.

  “I hope not.” Gavriel had cut the rope and Loethar’s body had slumped once again to the ground. “Another high body count, I see,” he said conversationally as he undid the rope from Loethar’s neck.

  She looked around. “Last time I left men dead. I didn’t want to this time. But they’ll have horrible headaches, possibly split skulls.”

  “How can you be sur
e they won’t die?”

  “Lots of practice,” she said, looking at her catapult before she put it away. “Now, let me look.” She pushed Gavriel aside and placed her head close to Loethar’s chest. Finally she looked at him. “Bad news for you. He’s alive.”

  “Lo’s wrath!” Gavriel replied. “A half-dead emperor and my sworn enemy and now I’m stuck nursing him back to health. Is that your plan?”

  “I nursed you.”

  “I wasn’t a war-mongering murderer.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know that. You could have been.”

  “This is typical of you, Elka. You think your calm reasoning will always win.”

  “It usually does.”

  “I wish you’d lived through what I had to. You wouldn’t feel this way about this animal.”

  “With him alive and captive, perhaps you give your king some bargaining power.” She shrugged. “This way Stracker will know that someone witnessed his treachery, that he didn’t clean up his tracks well enough. Even in their language I could see that this older soldier was not thrilled about killing the emperor.”

  Gavriel nodded. “So, before the thugs wake up, what do you suggest?”

  “He’s badly injured. But we have to get away from here. He’s not even conscious to chew some seeds so he’ll have to put up with what ever pain we cause.” She hoisted Loethar onto her shoulders. “Ah, this feels familiar.”

  Gavriel scowled. “Let’s go, wherever we’re going.”

  Thirty-Two

  “…and that’s all I know,” Sergius concluded. “I have no idea where she is.”

  Night had closed in around them. Sergius was shivering from its cool embrace.

  You see, Ravan—may I call you that?—how devious your friend is? My father was no better. He planned my sister’s death and yet it was all a ruse. He allowed my mother to hold a dead baby and think it was her own daughter. I was there when my father discussed it with the de Vis family.

  Who was the little girl who died?

  Who knows? Whoever she was, she was killed expressly to trick everyone—but especially the queen and so ultimately Loethar—that the princess had died moments after birth. But my father did not do this terrible deed with his own hand. Oh no, like all cunning men, he had another carry out his dirty deed. He chose Corbel de Vis; asking him, when he was not that much older than I am now, to kill a child that would be passed off as my newly-born/newly-dead sister, while my real sister was secreted away to your friend, Sergius. You know the rest. My father carried out this secret, murderous work, convinced he was doing it in the family’s best interests and for the Crown. But he never considered the human cost—someone’s child killed, Corbel having to carry a child’s murder in his heart, Regor de Vis losing a son, my mother being tricked into losing her baby. She lost so many children in her journey to have Leo and myself and still my father forced her to declare me an unwanted orphan, convinced himself that risking my mother’s sanity was worth the good for the Crown. She held on long enough just to defy Loethar but I can recall now how she whispered to me that it wasn’t worth living any longer—not without her husband or her son. She loved me but I wasn’t enough, not trapped in my madness. Death was a welcome visitor to Queen Iselda and she went to it believing all her three children were lost to her…when in fact we all survived.

  Sergius had been permitted to hear this exchange over the seam. Ravan, my role is for the Valisars. I am loyal to them.

  The bird hopped over to his friend. You told me it was in an observer’s role.

  Ah, well, he lied to you again there, Piven announced. I suspect Sergius plays a far more subtle game. I think his role has little to do with the Valisars themselves but everything to do with their magic. That’s what he observes—the use of the magic: who has it, who is wielding it, and how.

  Is this true? Ravan asked his old friend.

  Sergius nodded. Piven is young but he is either well informed or incredibly sharp. The magic must not be wielded in a situation that is out of control.

  Piven began to laugh. But it is! It is under no one’s control but mine and no one controls me! The poor befuddled orphan invalid was blessed with all the power.

  Sergius said nothing.

  “Is there anything else you wish to tell us, Sergius?” Piven said, switching to real speech. “Perhaps how you plan to bring my sister back.”

  “I cannot.”

  “I’m sure that’s a lie.”

  “I told you, I have no clue to her whereabouts. The destination was chosen by de Vis. Even if he did so unwittingly, it was his mind that guided them.”

  “Is Corbel empowered?”

  Sergius shook his head. “Not a skerrick. But the magic still permitted his navigation.”

  “Your magic.”

  “I suppose,” Sergius replied grudgingly.

  “Then your magic brings her back!”

  “Only if she wants to return. I cannot contact them.”

  “So we have to make them want to come back. Perhaps I’m better off leaving them where they are. It’s been ten anni after all.”

  “And she is none the wiser; your sister likely has no knowledge of her power.”

  Piven considered this, a soft smile playing around his lips as he looked directly at Sergius. “I sense that you are lying to me again.”

  Sergius shrugged. “Believe what you want. You’re the one with the power here.”

  “Why don’t you hurl some of your magic at me, Sergius?”

  “Apart from the fact that my magic doesn’t work that way, what would be the point? You have an aegis. You are protected from magic that can harm you.”

  “But not other forms of magic?”

  Sergius shook his head. “If it doesn’t want to harm you, you have nothing to fear from any other form of magic.”

  “I don’t fear anything, old man. Now, what else have you to share with us? Ravan still needs to be fully enlightened.”

  “Only that there’s an aegis for each of you.”

  “Ah, I’m supposed to feel threatened by that. Except I don’t because I doubt very much whether my brother or sister will look for theirs; they probably don’t know much about it.”

  “How is it that you know so much?”

  Piven shrugged. “The curse of my affliction. I was able to move among many without their caring about my presence. People spoke freely in front of me and I absorbed a lot of information that was useless at the time but is now highly valuable to me. I know about the power of an aegis. I doubt my brother does.”

  “You should never be so sure.”

  “I agree. Others could inform him. And perhaps you would make a special trip from this Loforsaken spot of yours to enlighten him, bad eyesight or not.”

  Sergius’s lips thinned. “Perhaps I might,” he shot back.

  Piven stretched and stood. “Which is why we can’t let you live.”

  Greven looked up, alarmed, but Sergius didn’t flinch.

  “I see you were expecting that,” Piven continued.

  Sergius shrugged. “You will do what you will do. I am helpless.” He pointed to his bird. “Ravan, be warned. Piven is no friend to you. The only friend you have here is about to be murdered. Flee, my long-time companion. Find a way to tell allies what this boy—nay, he is no boy; he thinks and talks like a man—has in store for them. Go, Ravan!”

  The black bird swooped angrily overhead. What are you doing?

  Piven sighed. “I’m sorry, Ravan. Greven, throw Sergius off the cliff, would you?”

  Sergius closed his eyes. “Farewell, Ravan.”

  No! the bird yelled into their minds. No, Piven!

  Greven moved reluctantly toward Sergius.

  I have made my decision. Sergius must die.

  Ravan hopped toward him. Sergius has walked this land for centuries. He has known all the Valisar kings. He traveled with the—

  Neverthless, he must die now.

  Why did I ever trust you? Ravan hurled with fury at Piven,
watching helplessly as Greven grabbed Sergius. Fight back, Sergius! he begged.

  No point, old friend. Sergius gave a soft sigh as Greven picked him up easily with a strength infused by magic.

  “Forgive me, Sergius,” Greven mumbled.

  “You are a slave. I understand.”

  “Oh, get on with it. Throw him to his well-deserved death!” Piven said, bored. “You see, Ravan, I’ve given up fighting my dark inclinations. I’m giving in to them fully instead, now. Let’s see where this new attitude leads.”

  Let him live! Ravan screeched.

  He is my enemy.

  Then you are now my enemy.

  So be it. Piven looked over at Greven, who stood at the cliff edge. Sergius balanced in front of him, looking not down over the perilous drop but out to sea, to the far horizon, his eyes closed, lips moving in what appeared to be silent prayer. Scream to your god if you want, Sergius, it may help, Piven offered mockingly and then nodded at Greven.

  With a sigh of deep regret, Greven pushed the old man, who disappeared quickly over the lip of the cliff to the sounds of screams—not his own, but the cries of despair from a bird.

  Piven moved to the edge to join Greven and, illuminated by thin moonlight, they watched Sergius’s body bounce down the cliff face, coming to rest broken and bloodied on the rocky foreshore of the beach.

  “Good,” Piven said. “Let’s go. Coming, Ravan?”

  The bird swooped past him, violently raking his clawed feet through the boy’s hair. I will see you dead for this!

  Piven touched the injury on his head, pulled his hand away to stare at blood that appeared black in the moon’s silvery light and smiled. “Looks like it’s just us then, Greven.”

  The former leper finally tore his eyes from the sorrowful scene on the beach and glared at his charge.

  Piven looked bemused. “Stop scowling. He threatened me. Your job is to keep me safe.”

  “He was an old man.”

  “He was a god’s tool and a king’s pawn, and far too dangerous to let live now that he has marked me and knows me for what I am. And you know it. Come, I think it’s time we returned to Brighthelm and let everyone understand that a new ruler is about to take his crown.”