Tyrant's Blood (21 page)

Roddy stared down at Clovis’s corpse. He’d lost sight of Petor and the man missing a hand. But he knew he could track them if he moved fast. Digging deep for courage, he lowered himself carefully from the tree before moving to stand over Clovis. He knew he should be revolted by the blood but he was just sorrowful for the death. If he felt revulsion, it was towards himself, for this driving need that he didn’t fully understand. Piven—as the man
had named him—was the link to what he wanted, what he now realised he was seeking.

He’d never told his mother about this feeling he’d always had, this restlessness. It wasn’t until he’d seen Piven, locked gazes with him, experienced the beauty of his magic, that he realised his compulsion had a focus. One side of him begged him to ignore it, to stay safe; the other urged him to leave his mother, his home, and follow.

Petor will provide answers
, the whispers assured him.
Petor will lead you to where you need to be
, they insisted. But another part of him hinted that to follow Petor meant only misery and pain. Roddy didn’t know which side of him told the truth, who he should trust. Up until this day he’d always erred on the side of caution, banishing the whispers as best he could. But feeling the touch of Petor’s magic had dismantled that fragile shield. Now, suddenly, he didn’t have the strength to deny his desire to learn the truth.

He closed Clovis’s eyes. There was nothing he could do except commit the man’s slackened face to his memory. Roddy hated to rifle through the dead man’s few possessions so he took the small sack and slung it around his own body. It hung low on him but its weight felt reassuring.

‘May Lo speed you to his gates,’ he whispered over the corpse and then he knelt and kissed the cooling cheek of his rescuer. ‘Thank you, Clovis, for my life,’ he said gravely, before he covered the dead man’s face with a hat he found nearby. He wasn’t sure who it belonged to but it would do and no one needed it.

He looked around to check there was nothing else here for him. As he spotted the cooked rabbits his belly grumbled. Roddy trotted over to the small fire, now just glowing ash, and retrieved the meat. Clearly no one wanted this either; it would not be stealing.

He ate as he walked. Soon he would run. He had no idea where he was going or why. All his instincts told him was that the young man Piven might provide answers. And he no longer felt as though he had a choice—not now that Piven’s magic had awoken his.

Loethar undid his shirt, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead from his exertions to return to the palace swiftly. The messenger had found him enjoying the surrounding landscape as a mist rolled across the moors, the threat of the morning sun promising to burn it away. The trio of minders had permitted the messenger through their protective ring to the emperor.

‘What is it now?’ Loethar had exclaimed, peeved by the youngster’s arrival.

The youth had looked understandably nervous. ‘Urgent news, Emperor Loethar.’

‘It always is,’ Loethar had said wearily. ‘What is it?’

‘I was sent by the empress to bid you to return to the palace immediately. It is not the child, I was instructed to tell you.’

Loethar had taken a deep breath. His wife knew better than to summon him without just cause and he was relieved there was nothing wrong with his son. He had nodded, resigned. ‘I’m on my way.’

The rider had turned immediately and urged his horse back to the palace.

‘What is it?’ Stracker had galloped back from where he’d been ranging ahead. ‘I saw a messenger?’

‘Valya has requested me urgently back to the palace.’

‘The baby—’

‘No, nothing to do with our child. Something else but she didn’t say what, other than it was urgent. She would not call me back from a ride without very good reason.’

They had ridden back to Brighthelm at full gallop, which had gone a little way towards clearing the cobwebs of tedium in Loethar’s mind. But now, as he impatiently awaited Valya in his salon, he found himself irritated by inactivity and generally annoyed at the world for no good reason.

It was his mother who had noticed his discontent, she who had suggested he leave Penraven, even leave the shores of the empire for a while. ‘Take an ocean journey,’ she’d suggested. ‘Go meet your fellow rulers in Galinsea or Percheron, or sail south to Lindaran or northwest to Briavel and Morgravia. All the sovereigns would be intrigued to meet you again, I’m sure—and on their ground, all the better.’

‘It’s tempting,’ he had replied on one of their many slow walks near the herb gardens.

‘Do it, Loethar. You’re driving everyone mad with your mournful expression. It’s clear you’re bored. The empire is running itself beautifully, you have reliable people in place, the cities are flourishing and so are your people—all of us, Plains and Set. You are not needed here, so do something!’

It was sound advice. ‘Not until Valya is pregnant again,’ he had remarked, knowing in his heart that siring his heir was truly the last obstacle to feeling his work was done. Once he had a son, or perhaps a pair of sons, he could stop fretting about the security of the empire and start to live more selfishly.

His mother had sighed and nodded, understanding. Since that conversation nearly one anni ago, his mother’s physical condition had worsened dramatically. His mother was frail now, needing two sticks to walk and requiring ‘carriers’ on hand day and night to attend to her whims and her ablutions. Now they no longer went walking together and she emerged from her chambers infrequently.
In a strange way he missed her confrontations and her controlling nature. Now he found himself surrounded by people overly eager to please. If not for Stracker, whom he could never fully trust, and Freath, who, despite being a servant, gave him the only intelligent conversations he enjoyed, life would be interminably dull. And now Freath was gone to the north. Loethar sorely missed his dry humour and wise counsel.

Valya arrived in a cloud of perfume and groans at her swollen ankles, even more swollen belly and the whole tiring nature of trying to give him the son he craved.

‘Valya,’ he acknowledged with a perfunctory kiss to her hand. ‘I trust this is not trivial. My daily ride is very important to me.’

He noticed she ignored his barb but her eyes flared with pleasure at his dishevelled state. ‘I’m so used to seeing you neat and tidy, Loethar, that I forget that the barbarian lurking beneath all this finery still excites me,’ she drawled.

Unfortunately, Valya had never fired any genuine lust within him. Even at the beginning, it was more her fiery determination and propensity for revenge that had attracted him; that and her knowledge of the Set. He’d married her because he didn’t know what else to do with her. He knew that she loved him, revered him even; there were moments when he briefly felt badly about the way he did not and never could respond in the way she dreamed, but she seemed to be able to overlook those shortcomings in their relationship with ease. Loethar knew much of her ability to see only the bright side of being together was connected with the riches and power her marriage afforded her. He forgave her that. So long as he never heard of her abusing that power so that it lowered people’s esteem of him, she could do what she liked. Her only use to him now was to be a provider of sons. Set sons. And in that she had failed…so far.

‘Why have I been summoned? Make it good,’ he warned, moving her hand from his chest.

‘My darling, I have unhappy news.’

His gaze narrowed. She looked breathless and excited. Something in the cruel slash of her mouth told him she was excited for all the wrong reasons. ‘Tell me,’ he ordered.

‘It’s Freath.’

He frowned.
Freath?
‘What’s happened? Is he unwell?’

‘You could say that,’ she smirked. ‘We have news that he is dead.’

‘Dead?’ he exclaimed.

She nodded. ‘Murdered, apparently.’

Loethar blinked, not at all sure he’d heard right and hating that Valya seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. He took a moment to gather his wits. This must be some sort of mistake. ‘Who brought this news?’

‘The soldiers who escorted him. I haven’t even let them rest. They await your pleasure. Freath is in the chapel, pale and cold.’ He could see the delight dancing in her eyes at the last comment.

‘That will be all, Valya. Best you get back to your confinement. If Stracker’s around, I would speak to him.’

Valya’s lips pursed. She moved to the outer chamber and he heard her fling the door back, barking an order. She returned sullenly. ‘He’s being fetched. Aren’t you going to ask how I feel?’

‘I can see how you feel. Elated.’

She shrugged. ‘That’s most unfair, Loethar. I am about to deliver a child. I have far more important things on my mind than the death of a mere servant. I shall leave you now.’

Loethar forced himself to say nothing. He didn’t want to upset her and threaten the baby. Nothing mattered more to him right now, not even Freath’s apparent death. But he could feel his wrath gathering. How could Freath be dead? ‘Come!’ he yelled at the sounds of footsteps outside his chambers. He marched into the private salon area as the door was opened and Stracker entered.

‘I’ve only just heard,’ he admitted. ‘It seems your wife got to you with the news first.’

‘Have the other escorts sent to the chapel,’ Loethar ordered, his expression like a thunderstorm.

A man—the lead escort—was shown into the chamber.

‘Is is true?’ Loethar demanded, ignoring his obeisance. ‘Is Master Freath dead?’

The man nodded miserably.

Loethar pointed at him, furious. ‘Tell me what occurred and keep it to the point.’

The man swallowed, showing how fearful he felt. ‘Highness, we accompanied Master Freath, as instructed, into the town of Francham in the north. He was staying at an inn called The Lookout.’

‘What do we know about the inn?’ Loethar interrupted, looking at his general.

Stracker shrugged. ‘Nothing special about it. Most popular inn in the town. The population is transient so plenty of strangers are coming and going through the inn’s doors.’

Loethar’s expression darkened further. ‘Go on,’ he said to the warrior.

‘Er, my lord, we took the horses for stabling while Masters Freath and Felt went directly to the inn. To my knowledge there was nothing out of the ordinary. They ate a meal at the inn and—’

‘Wait! What do you mean
to your knowledge
? Were you not there to see with your own eyes what was going on?’

‘Er, well, you see, my lord, Master Freath told us that he had no plans to do anything more than eat a hearty meal, share a flask of wine with Master Felt and take an early night.’

Loethar blinked. He knew what was coming, felt a familiar rage rising. ‘And the trio of soldiers I sent to escort my aide into what we believed might be hostile territory were where this night? The local brothel?’

‘He insisted, my lord,’ the soldier replied.

‘Insisted what?’ Loethar demanded. He impaled the younger man with a stormy gaze. ‘What did he insist upon?’

To his credit, the man spoke evenly, confidently. ‘That we should eat where we wanted and, er, take the night for ourselves.’

‘And you did just that, didn’t you?’

The soldier looked down. Stracker’s expression now matched his half-brother’s. ‘You unreliable swine!’

Loethar held a hand up to prevent the tirade. ‘Do we know what happened?’

‘We arrived at The Lookout well before closing time, my lord. I saw Master Freath but not Master Kirin. I’m sorry to say I assumed that the Vested had already retired. It seems he had left the inn but we do not know why. We never saw him again.’

‘And Freath?’

‘He was sitting at the back of the inn, talking with someone, just another guest. I never saw the man’s face—he had his back to me—but he was not memorable by his clothing or build.’

Loethar sighed.
How obvious
, he thought.

The Red continued. Freath saw us and nodded.’ He shrugged. ‘That was enough. We knew where he was and that all was well.’

‘When did you lose track of him?’ Loethar pressed.

‘That’s just it, we don’t know. We were all watching this big man trying his luck at a game they play in the north called Arrows. Everyone was betting, the atmosphere was very lively. It was—’

‘A diversion,’ Loethar cut in, his voice weary.

The man frowned.

‘Deliberately done, I’d say. I’m sure the next time you looked for Freath he’d disappeared.’

The Red nodded. ‘Exactly so, my lord. We never saw him leave and to be honest I thought he’d escaped the noise and revelling to retire.’

‘Finish this tale!’ Loethar said, a wave of his hand accompanying his snap.

‘Yes, my lord. The next morning we couldn’t raise either Master Freath or Felt. We spent several hours questioning people and following every lead but to no avail. Then some travellers raised the alarm about a body found on the pass. It was not too deep into
the mountains—almost at the gates, in fact. It was Freath, my lord. He had been run through with a sword.’

‘He was dumped there, presumably?’

‘We believe as much. He had no reason to be in the pass, had no way of getting there and there was no blood to suggest he’d been killed where the body lay,’ the Red replied.

Loethar felt something die inside him. He already missed Freath. ‘Before you are executed, make sure General Stracker has all the information you can possibly remember about the man Freath was talking to and the big fellow you mentioned who created the diversion. He was memorable, surely?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the Red said. Stracker ushered him out.

Loethar noticed his warrior had not flinched at the news of his death and he felt a momentary prick of pride. It was short-lived, though; none deserved to live for failing in their duty to him. He wondered if the man had a family—whether any of the guards were married or were fathers. He was glad he didn’t know, but at the same time he was angry with himself for even considering their situations. Ten anni ago it would not have even crossed his mind to wonder about the real victims of his tyranny—the family members left without their husbands or sons, fathers or brothers. He hated that he had turned more Set-like—some might say soft—in his approach to life. But then again, no one could accuse his predecessors of being soft. He was following in Valisar footsteps in putting Crown and duty ahead of family and personal feelings.

‘Stracker,’ he called, halting the general as he returned to the chamber. ‘Let the Red live. He is young and was raised mainly in peace time. His elders led him down the wrong path; they were the ones who should have known better.’

‘All three were guilty of—’

‘The Red may live. Punish him however you see fit but do not take his life. And make sure the families of the other two are compensated for their losses. Pay them well.’ He saw the look of disappointment creep across Stracker’s face, laced with disdain.
Stracker pitied him. It would not be long now before his half-brother made his move. The man was bored. Bored by the fact that the realms had cleaved into empire with relative ease and were getting on with the harmonious business of being led by one man surprisingly well.

Ignoring Stracker’s badly disguised contempt, he continued, ‘Where is Vulpan right now?’

‘Heading north.’

‘Get word. He’s to set up base in Francham immediately. And you go up there and meet him. Find who killed Freath but do not kill him. Bring whoever’s involved here. Do you understand?’

‘I do. Do
you
understand that it appears soft if you allow the Red to live?’

‘Don’t question me, Stracker.’

‘Don’t push me, brother.’

‘Half-brother.’

Stracker smiled, and Loethar saw menace in his eyes. Perhaps he would have to take measures against his sibling sooner rather than later. He would have to speak with Dara Negev.

‘What do you want to do about the Vested?’ Stracker asked.

‘He’s not important to me but I would like to know what he was doing leaving the inn. Perhaps we will have some answers if we find Master Felt.’

‘You think Felt has betrayed Freath?’

‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’

‘They seemed bonded.’

‘All bonds are stretched sometimes,’ Loethar replied quietly.

‘Indeed, little brother. And sometimes they break.’

Their glances locked momentarily.
Yes
, Loethar decided, he would have to make a decision about Stracker soon. ‘Find Felt if you can,’ he said, deliberately moving away from the innuendo. ‘He’s the missing piece in this jigsaw. One more thing. I would talk to the oldest member of the party before he’s executed. I’ll see him at the chapel. You too.’