by Liam Reese
“So I went looking for this merchant, got him to send me some Pariah, and … well, you know the rest.”
“Did you know it was a narcotic?” Merdon asked seriously.
“Not to start with,” Besmir said. “By the time I realized what I was really taking, it had me enthralled. I knew it was dangerous and stupid, but there was no way I could stop.”
The king folded his arms across himself, self-loathing and misery mixing in a dark cloud that hung over his psyche.
Pariah would get rid of that.
The tug of need that pulled at him was so strong he almost bolted for the open cell door, running for Gazluth to seek out the man he had bought the drug from.
“I’m scared,” he admitted. Merdon stared at him in utter shock, and he grinned. “I am still human, the same as you,” he said. “I still feel fear.”
“But you’re Besmir,” Merdon said. “Slayer of Gods and...”
Besmir held his hand up. “I never slew any Gods,” he said. “What do they teach you at that university?” He grinned, but the expression fell from his face quickly. “I’m going to need your help, lad.”
“You’re my grandfather and king,” Merdon said. “You’ve got my support, sire, always.”
“Good,” Besmir said. “Because I can feel it tugging at me, pulling me to go and get some more, and I need you to stop me if you think I’m about to slip backwards.”
Merdon nodded his understanding. “I will, but you don’t have to worry; Grandmother is sending the army to wipe out those who produce this Pariah.”
Besmir felt a hollow open in his chest. So Arteera knows of the drug, too. “We should return to Gazluth,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of apologies to make.”
The king got to his feet, unsteady. “What about Emmerlin?” Merdon asked.
Flashes of memory came back, thoughts he had gleaned from within her mind when he had tried to coerce her into changing. Some of the things she had been considering had been unthinkable.
An image came to him; Arteera and Joranas both dead, the son in his mother’s arms, while Besmir himself, along with Merdon, were suspended before Emmerlin somehow. Wounds had riddled both of them, and as he watched, Merdon had died, dropping to the floor along with his father. Besmir alone had remained, hanging in the air, in the old palace where Tiernon had ruled so long ago.
“You’re right,” he said in a small voice. “I’ve got to stop her. It’s my fault she’s as she is.”
“No, grandfather.” Merdon stood as well. “Emmerlin has always had a cruel streak inside her, even when we were children.”
“Still, she’s my daughter, and I have to stop her from doing something awful.” He looked at Merdon. “Where are we?” he asked.
“Prison,” Merdon said with a chuckle. “I told everyone you had Spurgon fever and needed time to get over it.”
Gratitude filled Besmir’s heart with love and pride as he realized his grandson had been trying to preserve his reputation, even while being abused and called horrific names. He reached out and gripped Merdon’s shoulder.
“You’ll make an excellent king one day,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Lyeeta stood at the top of the stairs when Merdon led his grandfather out toward the guard’s room. She snapped to attention as soon as the king appeared, and Merdon felt a flash of desire ripple through him when he looked at her.
“Guard Lyeeta.” Besmir said suspiciously. “So you know about me?”
“Of course, sire,” Lyeeta said, making Merdon’s heart sink. “Has your fever left you?”
“Yes,” Besmir said, the relief in his voice obvious. “Thank you for asking.”
Thank you. Merdon mouthed the words to Lyeeta as he passed the woman, heading outside with his grandfather. She winked cheekily at him, a little smile playing about her lips, and he felt a grin spread across his face.
“What are you beaming at, lad?” Besmir asked.
“It’s a beautiful day, is all,” Merdon said quickly.
“Oh very good, Highness,” Lyeeta whispered.
Besmir looked from Merdon to Lyeeta, who was scanning the horizon for possible threats, a knowing expression on his face.
The prince walked over to the trio of horses that were happily munching on grass nearby, untying one and leading him to his grandfather. Besmir looked at the horse as if offended for a second.
“My apologies, majesty,” Lyeeta said. “I couldn’t find Teghime for you.”
Merdon watched his grandfather’s eye go distant for a few seconds, and knew he was looking for the massive daasnu he rode. “She’s out there,” Besmir said. “But frightened to come back.
“I’ve never known her scared of anything,” he added, mounting the horse with difficulty. “I didn’t think she felt any.”
“What’s she scared of, grandfather?” Merdon asked.
“Me,” Besmir said, with a note of despair. “But I don’t know why.”
“I’m sure she’ll come back,” Merdon said, hoping he was right. “Let’s head back to the Ninse camp.”
His grandfather nodded, and they set off for the far side of Ashorn, sun warm on Merdon’s skin as he rode.
11
Commander Ronistar was nothing like the rabble Emmerlin had first encountered in Port Vartula. Impeccably presented, uniform with buttons polished, and hat sitting at the perfect angle, the man was the epitome of a Gazluthian officer, and one she actually felt a little proud to be associated with.
He had welcomed them into his office, saluting her and offering refreshments as well as accommodation. “You must have my room,” Ronistar said. “It would be my honor, Highness. I will have my possessions removed immediately.”
“You’re too kind, Commander,” Emmerlin had said with a demure little smile.
“The least I can do, highness,” Ronistar said. “And your guard can bunk with my men and me.”
“Senechul stays with me,” Emmerlin said.
She watched his eyebrows flick down into a slight frown. Just a quick change in expression, but she had seen it before the commander managed to hide his opinions. “He guards you as you sleep, your highness?” Ronistar asked.
“Something like that,” Emmerlin purred, grinning when he swallowed nervously. “Tell me, Commander; how defensible is this fortress of yours?”
“E-extremely,” Ronistar replied with uncertainty..
“And if I said my father had lost his mind and was on his way here to try and kill me, what would you say?”
Ronistar spluttered, obviously confused and worried that his king might make an appearance, especially to kill her.
Emmerlin stood and walked around Ronistar’s simple desk. She trailed her fingers along the edge as she passed, disturbing his neatly stacked and ordered piles of parchment, spilling some to the floor. Ronistar looked up into her eyes when she reached him, his own wide with uncertainty and fright.
“He taught me this,” Emmerlin said, grabbing Ronistar’s head in both hands.
Ronistar’s eyes rolled back into his head as she invaded his mind, planting thoughts and feelings that had never existed there, his heels drumming on the flagstone floor when his legs started to tremble. Emmerlin broke the contact and let the commander go, watching as he slumped back into his chair, unconscious.
“There we go,” she said brightly to Senechul. “All done. We can leave now.”
“Leave?” Senechul asked. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” she said, tickling his chin with one finger. “You’ll see.”
Senechul shrugged and followed her back out into the main citadel.
“You!” Emmerlin caught the attention of one of the men who scurried about like mice at her appearance. “We need food, provisions, and fresh horses, now.” Her tone left no doubt what the consequence would be if he did not carry her orders out.
“At once, Highness,” he said, saluting before dashing off.
Emmerlin walked outside into the salty air, ignoring
the salutes she got from any and all who passed her, and crossed to sit on a wooden bench facing the posts that several men had been tied to.
Nodding to another soldier, she watched with delight as he lashed the backs of the men who had led her here with a bullwhip, their screams a sick aphrodisiac to her. Lust and desire grew hot inside her as she watched the welts and blood appear across their backs.
“Harder, Captain,” she called to the whip man. “If they can’t wear my colors with pride, they’ll not wear them at all. Take the skin from them.”
“Highness!” the man barked, lashing the whip at the closest man. Emmerlin listened to the loud crack as the whip did its vicious work, the victim’s scream rolling out across the parade ground.
“Beautiful day, eh, Senechul?” she asked between whip-cracks.
“Lovely,” he agreed, wincing with each scream.
Emmerlin chuckled at his expression. “Are you worried it might be you one day?” she asked.
The big guard’s eyes rolled down to meet hers, and she could see a little fear in them. Good, you should fear me. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Senechul,” she said, walking her fingers up his thigh. “As long as you keep me happy, that is,” she added with a chuckle.
Before them, one of the whipped men had either died or lost consciousness, and Emmerlin felt a lick of boredom cross her mind. “We should go and see the commander’s quarters,” she said eagerly. “It’d be rude not to use his bed, when he’s going to the trouble of clearing the place out.”
Senechul nodded and stood up, but looked a little less enthusiastic at the prospect of tumbling her again. A ripple of displeasure broke inside her.
“If you can’t be bothered, I’ll find someone else to share my bed!” she shouted before storming off towards the citadel once more.
Emmerlin could feel her face flaming as she entered the cool interior, embarrassment at his reaction coloring her cheeks. Has he tired of me already?
Emmerlin had listened to the servants and maids talking about their men and how many of them had wandering eyes, always looking for a younger, prettier girl to bed. Am I ugly?
Disdain made her lip curl as she looked out at Senechul, who was helping untie the unconscious man from the whipping post. Was that the reason he did not want to bed her? Because of the whipping?
I’d never do that to him, though. Yet as she looked on, Emmerlin realized Senechul did not know that.
The clatter of hooves drew her attention, and she saw three horses being led across the yard. Leading them was the soldier she had demanded them from, still pale and shaking from the sight and sounds of his comrades being whipped.
“Highness,” he stammered, bowing as she walked back outside. “The horses and items you requested. I-I couldn’t find any female clothing inside the barracks, so I put some of the smaller uniforms in for you, Princess.” He stared at the floor, unwilling to meet her gaze.
Emmerlin smiled at his fear. Younger than she was, by the looks of him, the lad trembled as she stood there in silence, waiting to see what he would do. After what felt like an eternity, the boy looked up, flicking his eyes swiftly away when he saw she was watching him.
Emmerlin giggled almost girlishly and reached out to stroke his furry cheek gently. “Good job,” she said. “And thank you for the clothing. I’m all sweaty and hot from travel.”
Emboldened by her words, the young soldier spoke again, “There’s a bath house, highness,” he said eagerly. “If you wanted to wash.”
Emmerlin gave a mock gasp, as if shocked by his suggestion. “What? So you can spy on me naked?” she demanded in a tone of outrage.
His face changed from the red of embarrassment to ghostly white, his lips thin and pale as he struggled to speak to her. “No!” he blurted, pleading with his eyes. “No, I’d never do anything like tha...”
“Why not?” Emmerlin cried, putting her fists on her hips. “Is there something wrong with me?”
Mirth rolled through her as she watched the youngster squirm, his eyes flicking to the bloodied mess on the ground by the whipping posts. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he stood there, sending a wave of contempt up through her.
What kind of man was this to be part of her troops? Bored, she dismissed the lad and swung up in the saddle, steering her new horse across to where Senechul stood watching her.
“Coming?” she asked, dropping his reins and riding off without waiting for an answer.
Behind her, Emmerlin heard him mount up, the additional hoof beats clattering and echoing from the walls as he trotted to catch up with her. A smile spread across her face as she rode through the gates and back out into Port Vartula.
Merdon watched his grandfather as he almost effortlessly explained to the Ninse chancellor why he would now have to leave.
“I must apologize,” he said. “This fever has taken a greater toll than I first thought. I have, however, left instructions to give you any help and support you may need. Can I also say how happy I am to hear you’ve managed to rescue so many of your countrymen and women?”
Xaurin smiled, obviously proud they’d saved as many Ninse as they had. Merdon had heard the story from one of the Gazluthians who had been there when they had made the breakthrough.
“We’d been digging for ages,” he said, when the prince had asked him about it. “Honestly, I never thought we was going to find anyone alive under all that mud. Especially when we’d been pulling nothing but dead bodies out since we got here,” he said bluntly.
“But then I heard this great big cheer come from inside the tunnel, and all these little Ninse came running out. I went forward to see if I could help, and they were crawling out through this hole in a stone wall that had been uncovered.”
Merdon could tell the man was becoming emotional and thanked him, patting him on the shoulder.
“Thank you King Besmir,” Xaurin said. “It’s a far better result than any of us believed possible, and some of the royal family managed to escape as well.” Her voice was a mixture of relief and happiness.
“What’s the next stage?” Besmir asked, even though Merdon knew he was desperate to leave.
“Keep digging, I suppose,” the little chancellor said. “We have to get everyone out before even thinking about rebuilding or moving.”
“Surely you’re not going to live beneath Ashorn again?” Merdon asked in surprise.
His grandfather gave him a warning look that Xaurin caught. She smiled bitterly. “No, young Prince,” she said.
“Ashorn is naught but a grave now. I imagine we will relocate to some new place and set up there.” She examined the backs of her fingers, as if the answers were there.
“Still, I am glad you are well, Majesty.” her eyes rolled up to meet Besmir’s. “And sad you must leave, but grateful you came in the first place.” She smiled warmly.
“Ninse has been an ally to Gazluth, and to me personally, for years,” Besmir said. “If there is anything more I can do to aid your recovery, you have but to ask.” He stood, offering his hand to the smaller woman.
Xaurin ignored his gesture, darting in and hugging the king around his waist briefly before leaving the tent. Merdon looked at his grandfather, who was already reading the letter the queen had sent him for a second time. He reached for quill, ink and parchment as he spoke to Merdon.
“I want to leave here by noon, I have to write to your grandmother, and see if I can get Teghime to come back before we leave, but I need you to get a pair of good horses and a few supplies for travel. I want to travel light, so stick to the basics,” the king began to write.
“Sire,” Merdon said. “Where are we actually going?”
Besmir looked up, his sharp eyes fixing on Merdon’s and holding his gaze as easily as a fish in a net. “Emmerlin is going to Port Vartula to gather her troops and try to overthrow me.”
Merdon saw a flash of pain as if the admission hurt his grandfather, and his anger at Emmerlin increased. I’m going to end you, witc
h!
Merdon nodded and reached for the tent-flap but Besmir stopped him again. “You can bring your little guard, if you want, but no more than her.”
Merdon paused in the doorway, his eyes flicking over the ground outside. After a few seconds, he carried on without turning and left for the center of the camp.
Lyeeta. Should I bring her, or will she get hurt?
Her large, dark-brown eyes appeared in his mind, framed with her auburn hair and pale skin, the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and upturned nose. Something inside him ached, and he knew he wanted her close to him. He felt oddly protective when it came to Lyeeta, even though it was her job to protect him.
At the horse corral in the middle of the camp, repairs had been made and the horses long since rounded up again. Merdon went to the chestnut mare he had ridden here, the horse turning to nuzzle at him when she recognized his scent.
“Hey, girl,” he said softly. “Ready for another long trip?”
The prince grabbed a handful of oats from a sack and held them out for the mare, smiling as she nibbled at them with her thick lips. Another tent sat beside the corral, the oiled canvas keeping the worst of the weather from the saddles and tack. Merdon ducked inside and grabbed his saddle, stepping back out to put it on his horse. Lyeeta stood there, dark eyes watching him.
“Going somewhere, Highness?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“My grandfather thinks Emmerlin is going to the south of Gazluth and plans to follow,” Merdon said, torn as to whether he should tell her to come along.
“I see,” Lyeeta said, helping him cinch the straps that would hold his saddle in place. “Shall I rouse the guards?”
Merdon paused, his fingers shaking as he tried to thread the buckle he held. “No,” he said after a few seconds. “The king wants to travel as fast as possible, so the guards are to return to Morantine.”
He shoved the strap through the buckle so hard the leather made a slapping sound. Far better she stays safe.