Often times he wondered if the blade was cursed. “Does the sin of a kinslayer remain within his chosen device of murder? Father killed traitors with it... but he killed his kindred also, his very sons. Can objects truly be cursed or blessed?”
“Yes and no,” said a soft voice from a darkened corner of the room.
For a moment, Birus thought he had lost his wits – hearing things. But then he saw it; and it approached. A slender figure, ghost-like in appearance, emerged from the ashen gloom. What is this sorcery? How did she get past my guards? The silhouette approached him with purpose as well as grace, and Birus came to recognize that a cold scentless air followed in her presence. Most unnatural, he frowned. But then again, he himself wasn’t so normal a man to begin with. Shortly after that he came to know her... grey-blue eyes, skin as fair as milk, and golden head.
“You... you... traitor!” In a heartbeat, Birus Mandon reached for the scabbard beside him, unsheathed the blade and rose to his feet. The hooded slender figure was the spymaster, lady Ambrielle of Hornwood.
“Speak truth, woman!” Birus spat, planting Traitor’s bane at her neck. “Why did you betray us? Why did you betray the realm?”
“Lord,” Ambrielle replied in a soft voice, “I didn’t betray anyone. You betrayed yourself.” Her lips curled into a queer smile, as if the sword threatening her was just a toy. “Things rarely are as they appear to be. Though, I wouldn’t expect a man such as yourself to be familiar with the masks we wear. And you would know it, if you would have taken a wife by now. But it seems brothel matrons suit you better. Oh, don’t look so surprised, my lord. I have many birds that sing and many spiders that whisper into my ears. Adara is a friend of mine, as well as a good lover. I’m sure you find her the same.”
Though her knowledge of such things startled him, Birus remembered that she was the spymaster, after all. Yet the woman’s artful banter would not bate him to look the fool. “You were scheming against Hagyai Rovines. It was you and Verwick all along; and just to plant his exiled brother on the throne. When did you all bargain your souls for such stygian a purpose?”
Lady Ambrielle frowned at the accusation and raised her chin in defiance. “I and Erasmus? No, my lord; not as such.”
“Enough with lies! For your deeds speak loudest.” The hawk’s malice was brewing behind his eyes and skin; the blood hot in his veins.
In contrast to his ill-balanced humours, the lady’s lips curled; but it was a smile that hinted nothing of amusement. Her pale skin, her grey-blue eyes; they seemed to grow colder but not without purpose. “All of your claims against me are feeble, Birus Mandon; for they all stem from the tired throat of Erasmus Verwick. I know the trade of shadows. The worth of secrecy. The power of false ink on parchment. The breath and gestures of dissimulation. I’ve mastered all these things in the interest of the Empire.”
With that confession, all wickedness fled from the woman’s lips; her humours were now different – another sort of balance that spoke of greater things. She seemed less of a weak woman and more of a man. The traits of strength and confidence mixed in and with feminine grace; argument and defiance incarnate. “Verwick is the traitor, not I.”
Her words, her impertinent tone left a raw sword of fire in his chest. “Lies! You lie, my lady. You’ve a sharp mind and silver tongue... But don’t think I’ll spare shortening you by a head, just because you’re a woman. I’m well aware of Verwick’s treachery, but I am not convinced of your innocence.” He pushed the blade’s sharpness just a little more against her flesh. The stern lady, however, paid no mind to his gesture. No mind to the keen weapon’s edge that threatened her life.
“The lord chancellor,” she said, “was the tutor of the Mero brothers. They were his wards at Findar’s Keep. He cared deeply for both of them, yet Amarius had always been his favorite. Favorite because of his birthright. You do not know this, but I do. After Hagyai Rovines exiled his older brother, lord Verwick was struck with grief and had refused the chancellery. On two formal occasions Rovines offered him that great position as imperial chancellor; yet the old man refused – ”
“How does that prove your innocence!?” Birus spat, unimpressed by the woman’s claims. “Verwick did accept the office in the end, after Jorghel Sodomis died in his sleep of the sweating sickness.”
“Lord Jorghel was an honorable man. And I assure you, he did not die a natural death, as the imperial physicians have claimed. He was murdered.”
Why am I frowning at this notion? He said to himself. So much disloyalty. So much deceit. So many crimes. It is all possible and no less probable. Yes, indeed; the ram could have been murdered. Feeling his blade arm heavier, Birus lowered the sword to her breast. “If that’s so, why the silence? Why didn’t you say anything? Why not track down the assassin, uncover the plotters, and bring them all to justice?”
“Justice… powerful word is it not? Lord Birus, I didn’t have strong evidence to prove that Jorghel Sodomis had been murdered, let alone the boldness to point accusatory fingers at a high lord. I had only a suspicion, a woman’s suspicion. And recent events proved me right. After the tragic death of lord Sodomis, Erasmus Verwick proposed himself for the imperial office; the emperor never asked a third time, but nonetheless, his majesty accepted the old man. He had been his ward, after all. When those events occurred here, something else happened in the Lowlands.”
Ambrielle’s grey-blue eyes seemed, in the hawk’s mind, to gleam with knowledge. “The exiled Amarius Mero had gathered much weight behind his claim from the harpoolian slavers. A weight made greater by the bold and treacherous efforts of the imperial chancellor.” She put a hand over his blade, and traced the steel’s edge with two fingers. “Lord Birus,” Ambrielle spoke softly, “didn’t a great man once say, that a house divided against itself can only stand in ruins?”
That wise man had been Gaius Marius Mero, the blood of the Sunfist from the womb of an Aharo princess – the emperor who had expanded the Empire’s borders more so than any of his followers. His martial achievements were second only to those of the Unnamed Conqueror himself. Birus wondered what the great Gaius Mero would say of the poverty within the realms? What he would say about the abject and widespread treasons and broken oaths? And of his descendants, who failed to honor his legacy?
The lord of Rivermark had fought so hard to protect the realm. To protect that stubborn and naive emperor, Hagyai Rovines, and his innocent son and heir – all to be defeated from the very start. He had planned nothing, others had planned for him. And even now he felt a dark presence pulling at him through ghost strings. Birus lowered his greatsword and returned Traitor’s bane to its scabbard. The hawk’s face was sad, his humours out of balance, his soul heavy with regret.
“I’ve commanded men to their deaths, and all for naught…” he whispered in confession. “Does the god of struggle listen to fools? Does he pardon them? Does the warrior retain his honor in spite of his foolishness? A crime committed without knowledge, under a falsehood, is it still not a crime? Is there any true difference between good and evil?”
Lady Ambrielle eyed him without so much as a blink. Her grey-blue eyes were like ice shards, and her face without expression. Birus looked the other way, as if staring through the black walls of the solar. And then the lady spoke.
“You are not the only one with regrets, my lord. I fault myself for a great many. I rescued prince Yoffis and Iyleen; but sadly... I’ve lost word with my spies. After the turmoil ensued, I told Rovines to send away his son in secret. Thankfully, he listened. But Amarius Mero wants his nephew found. I hope to hear news from my servants, news concerning the prince, after things have... died down.”
Lady Ambrielle’s face had changed. Her stare was no longer cold, but somewhat warm. “Birus,” she said softly, “you are still the lord of Rivermark, the hero of the battle at Woodheart. Your honor is unstained. Soronius Mero will pardon everyone who took up arms against his landing on the sole condition that they bend their knee and swear him fealt
y.” She took a few steps towards him, and licked her lips. “Please, please, Birus,” she shivered at his spoken name, “don’t choose death by the enemy’s sword or your own. My heavy heart could not bear any more grief.”
The lady wrapped her arms around him. Her blonde hair smelled of nothing, and her skin was soft as velvet. “Please,” she whispered with water in her eyes, “please…” Her embrace tightened and she kissed him on the lips. A tiny tear of hers prolonged to his chin and vanished inside his brown beard. “Don’t die, my lord. Many have still need of you…”
“Tell me, spymaster... Who was it that opened the gates of Rivermark to the invaders? Who was it that killed my people? Who was the beast that savaged my steward in such a profane and abhorrent manner?”
Her gaze turned down, and she sighed. “Does my lord truly want the truth? For the truth is often sharp, and heavy, and poisonous to the heart… as well as to the mind.”
“Not as poisonous as lies. If you know, tell me; else my conscience shall forever eat at my soul.”
She sighed heavily at his request. “Lord Alder Abelbrooke was a man of brilliance. His death is a great loss, not just for the Streamlands, but for the Empire as a whole.”
“Give me the devil’s name,” he demanded with anger in his low voice.
And her answer came in whisper. “The lord of Ironmoat commanded the slaughter of your people after your steward opened the gates. For what reason, I don’t know. Perchance a carrier pigeon from the south reached Rivermark right at the moment of your battle. Mayhaps lord Abelbrooke was simply conceding the greater battle lost in the south, whilst you were winning your minor one.”
Those words were yet another stab at his heart. Birus backed away from the woman, and lowered himself on the chair. It all seemed so strange, burdensome, and faint as well – as if all of this was a dream and most untrue. A pain throbbed from behind his eyes. And he pressed two fingers between his temples in hopes of easing the ache. When he turned to look at her, she was no more. Birus stared at the emptiness of the blackened solar for a long moment. Mayhaps it had all been in his mind – a sorcery drowning his senses. Had the woman truly been there with him? If so, how did she get past the guards?
“Did I truly press the sword against her neck? Or against a phantom’s neck? Did she truly kiss me? Did I truly feel her warm tear vanish inside my beard?” Birus reached out a hand to feel at his chin. One small spot was wet...
Chapter XXV: The Little Girl
The sea voyage was not the one they envisioned. Both of them embarked on a bentari captain’s trade-cog. Like he promised, master Omir had paid for their seats on the ship. No, not master, Akilah reflected then. No longer my master. I am the blood of the Aharo. He said so. I am to marry a prince, and some day I’ll be a queen... No, not a queen. More than a queen – an empress. Sycarus told me so.
He had promised all of that, and though it seemed so unlikely, she couldn’t help but wonder at such a life. Tables, lavish always. Servants, many and reverent. Fine attires of colour and jewels. The freedom to do everything she wanted. I can’t wait to see the great Empire of the Sunborn; to breathe the air of its green heart.
When she was living on the streets of Sand’s Port, working for Jorro, all the other children would speak of wealth. All of them wanted the life of a highborn, but they could only dream of it. The things Sycarus promised seemed a dream as well... But a good dream. A part of her believed him, but the other did not. That life awaited her, only if the mummery would convince the people at the imperial court. Sycarus told her of the Empire of the Sunborn, of its capital, Sun’s Helm, and of the emperor’s own seat of power, the Sun Throne. She couldn’t wait to see that world, the world of sunrise.
But something happened not two days in their journey – something neither of them had expected, nor the ship’s captain. During the night, they were boarded by pirates. With their features sun-battered and scarred, they were some of the most ugliest souls Akilah had ever seen. Many of them smelled of piss, and all of them of sweat. And when they opened their mouths to shout and curse at them, the stench of drink on their breath was heavy and vile. In contrast, their garments were not so inexpensive. A few of the pirates, mayhaps those with higher a station, donned beautiful silks upon their mail and leather shirts. One of the so-called sea wolves, Henry Salt, was such a man – and apart from his brethren he seemed the friendliest.
While they looted everything on the ship, the leader of the pirates took an interest in her. The towering man didn’t give his name; he only introduced himself as lord and beckoned her to come on board his longship, which he called – the Prodigious.
“Not without my brother,” Akilah had said then, pointing a steady finger at Sycarus.
“Your brother is of a different skin than yours, little one,” the pirate lord had replied then with a shrewd smile. His green eyes narrowed at both of them, while his lips shifted thoughtfully from grin to grin. The man’s skin, in contrast to that of his ugly minions, was white and unblemished. He was bald, and long black curls stretched all the way to his pauldrons. To her child’s eyes, the pirate lord appeared less of a sea dog and more of a sorcerer.
But she wasn’t afraid. Though he was round of belly, tall, wide of shoulders, armored in gold and crimson, with a scimitar in his hand – Akilah didn’t feel his presence all that intimidating. Somehow, this pirate lord, this man... had a strange aura about him. He didn’t smell like the others; didn’t shout and didn’t curse. He spoke with a warm curious voice. And in spite of his grin, his eyes seemed wanting... Of peace, perchance? She couldn’t be sure.
“He is my half-brother,” Akilah lied with a stern nod. “I want to come and see your ship, my lord. But I wish you would take my brother along as well.”
The leader of the pirates tilted his head to one side and nodded. She could see plainly the approval in his eyes, which shone like ghostly emeralds in the moonslight and starlight. “Your wish is my command, little one.”
And with that, they crossed the gap between the trade-cog and the Prodigious; while the bentari captain and his small crew were left to float at the mercy of the winds, without sails, without provisions. The pirates had claimed that such ragged sailors were of no use to them. At least, they didn’t take their lives, Akilah had reflected with sadness, as the small cog faded in the distance, in the dark waters of the night.
The strangest thing was the pirate lord’s vessel. It was large, beautifully carved, and strangely scented; and it was scarcely populated with crewmen. The ones she saw appeared as queer thralls, silent and most obedient – with eyes of empty white. Unlike the other ships she was familiar with, the Prodigious had its oars come out from inside the hull. The most strange thing about the ship was that it... talked. She could swear she heard the wooden floors breathe and whisper between cracks and blemishes; as if something beneath was hearing itself think out loud. But that had been last night, and this day was a new one.
The spacious cabin moved from side to side and up and down. It was a strange feeling. Sometimes Akilah could not tell whether or not the ship was moving or staying still, though, that was not the right word for it. Everything was nailed to the floor, walls, and ceiling. She and Sycarus had been offered the privilege of sharing the captain’s quarters. The lord’s servants had prepared two mattresses stuffed with seaweed; and oddly enough, the beds had been placed on the opposite sides of the cabin. Between them, a large bookshelf stood. The books were laid safely behind a thin layer of clear glass. The shelf’s lock was in the shape of a human skull; the bone was polished, its teeth made of gold. Two handles came out of the skull’s eye sockets – they were long and curbed, made of ivory.
When she asked the pirate lord who did the skull belong to, he answered, “One of my uncles, the eldest of them; if I remember correctly. I must say that he looks far better now than when he was alive.” He chuckled at his own words. “Look at how shiny the bone is. I polished it myself. I’m quite good at smoothing out edges.”
The pirate lord grinned, and his eyes flickered towards her. “Little girl, you’ve heard your brother’s question. Can you guess the answer?”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin, my lord.”
“Well do try to begin from somewhere. I get few chances to speak with people, especially with children. I’m quite fond of children, for I consider myself as being a child still, with the open seas as my playground. Go on, now. Take a wild guess.”
Sycarus gave her a look, as if trying to say, ‘Do as he says, girl’. Akilah nodded and locked the tall man with her gaze, without so much as an eye blink.
“You’ve said that he looks better now... dead. I would guess that you weren’t too fond of your uncle when he was alive. I would guess you killed him; and then taken great pleasure in cutting off his head, taking the brain and eyes out, cleaning and then polishing the skull.” Akilah had seen how the butchers did it in lord Omir’s kitchens. Though she saw only animals being cut open, she could very well imagine the knives and hammers working upon a human head, instead of a pig’s.
The pirate lord chuckled at her response, and patted Sycarus on the shoulder. “Your little sister is very quick.” That was what she had claimed; that she was his sister – both of them the bastards of some merchant from the Streamlands, whose made-up name Akilah had already forgotten. The pirate lord turned to her – his expression seemed thoughtful, as he traced his mustachio and beard with thumb and forefinger. “Good answer, little one. But I asked you why I did it, not how.”
“Vengeance,” she replied at once.
The lord’s eyes widened and his lips curled into a smile of satisfaction. He grabbed her in his arms and raised her so she could touch the thing. Akilah felt the bone’s smoothness; the skull’s golden teeth were quite beautiful. Afterwards, he put her down.
An Empire Of Traitors (Of Hate And Laughter Book 1) Page 29