Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (25 page)

Duncan listened as the Warlord laid out the bones of it. Every night on the week-long journey from Fleet his chief had questioned and prompted him, teasing out what he actually knew to be facts from the speculative conclusions wrought in his roiling gut. Now he set it all out neatly as a pedlar displaying his wares.

The Emperor listened impassively, thick fingers laced together on his belly, and barely blinked at the mention of the Hunt. Only when the Warlord stated his intention to re-garrison the an-Archen forts did Theodegrance’s expression change. ‘Out of the question,’ he said. His wide mouth cut off the words like the jaws of a trap. ‘I can’t commit two thousand men or more on this evidence.’

Aradhrim spread his hands and shrugged. ‘How much more do you need? We caught Crainnh and Amhain warriors together at Saardost Keep and questioned one of them at length. Unless Drwyn’s deceiving his own men, his intentions are clear.’

Theodegrance shook his head. ‘Not clear enough. Where do you place your troops? How do we even know that this Drwyn will be raised Chief of Chiefs? If just one clan refuses to recognise him his position will be greatly weakened.’

‘He’d still be able to bring a sizeable force down on Arennor – more than she can contain with her own warriors. The Nimrothi have not forgiven our forefathers for breaking spears and joining the Empire, Theo.’

Theo?
Duncan swallowed, impressed.

‘It’s not enough,’ the Emperor said again. ‘I can’t commit thousands of men in the north on a hunch, not when Gimrael’s simmering like a pan of milk about to boil over. The Suvaeon Preceptor sent me a report corroborating the intelligence, returned by my own agents, that the Cult is making a nuisance of itself. Brushfires so far, but I dare say it won’t take them long to start something larger.’

His tone sharpened. ‘I know you think I’m dismissing your concerns, Aradhrim, but trust me – the rest of the Council won’t be so sympathetic. To them, you clansfolk are more than a little strange. They don’t understand your history with the Nimrothi and they’d see talk of Maegern’s Hounds and the Veil as campfire storytelling.’

‘I thought they were imperial legions, not feudal levies,’ Aradhrim returned tartly. ‘The soldiers took your shilling, Theo. They follow your standard and they answer to you, not to Belistha or Syfria or Leah or Tylos.’

Theodegrance grinned, crow’s feet crinkling around his brown eyes, but it was humourless, feral. ‘Aye, they do. But who do I answer to, eh? The Council. I need something more solid than this to convince them. The Founding Wars were fought a thousand years ago. Few people remember the truth of what happened.’

‘They should not have forgotten.
We
have not forgotten.’

Aradhrim’s voice was dangerously soft. Duncan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the air.

‘Memory fades, my friend,’ the Emperor said. ‘Most folk live their lives from birth to death without wondering what lies beyond the Veil. They worry about whether there’ll be enough rain to sprout their crops, or that there’ll be too much and it’ll spoil the harvest. That’s the beginning and the end of it for them.’ He spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Aradhrim, but there it is.’

Even Duncan, who had no familiarity with the man, could see that Theodegrance would not be moved. Though to all appearances the Emperor was a twinkling, affable soul, the sort that could be pictured dandling grandchildren on his knee or wrestling on the floor with his favourite hounds, there was a steely edge to the sparkle in his eye, a sense of solid muscle beneath the unbuttoned shirt and wine-spotted breeches.

Aradhrim obviously knew it, too, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Then I think there is nothing further to discuss,’ he said. ‘Arennor must secure her borders as she sees fit.’

‘Indeed.’ Just as swiftly the Emperor was on his feet, too. For a large-framed man, he moved like a cat. He extended a square hand. ‘I know you will do the right thing for your people, Aradhrim. I trust your judgement, as I know you will respect mine.’

He isn’t going to help us
. Duncan stood up. ‘But you remember!’ he burst out. ‘You understand. If the clans come through the passes it will fall to Arennor to turn them back. Sire, we are brave people and we will fight to the last man, but we cannot defend an Empire alone. Not with the Hunt ranged against us as well.’

‘Duncan,’ Aradhrim warned.

Theodegrance held up his hand. ‘No, let the lad speak. You have my attention, young man. Say your piece.’

Except now that the Emperor’s eye was fixed on him and the room was silent but for the sleepy murmur of the fire, Duncan couldn’t find any more words. The expectant emptiness of the air was too great to fill with one voice. Embarrassment scorching his cheeks, he dropped his gaze. ‘Forgive me, sire. I spoke in haste.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Duncan, sire, of Clan Morennadh.’

‘My cousin,’ Aradhrim supplied. The relationship was several times removed, but from the Warlord’s chagrined expression, not far enough.

‘I see.’ The Emperor spread his legs and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You were at Saardost Keep when these scouts were captured.’

‘I was, sire. I helped to question one of them.’

‘So you believe, as your cousin does, that this threat from the Nimrothi clans is real? That these Hounds are real?’

Taking a deep breath, Duncan looked him in the eye again. ‘Aye, I do.’

‘They couldn’t just be wolves, say, or mountain cats?’

‘I have ridden the plains all my life, sire. I have seen what wolves and cats can do to a herd and they do not kill for sport the way these Hounds do. If Kael was here, he could tell you.’

‘And Kael is . . .?’

‘One of my men. He has seen a Hound up close – it killed his horse under him and tore open his face.’

That gave Theodegrance pause, but only for a moment. ‘Creatures from myth. Children’s stories. Excitable clansmen. That’s all the Council will see. Even if your friend Kael were here and I could bring him before them . . .’ He shook his head. ‘My decision stands.’

‘My lord—’ Duncan began, then fell silent when Aradhrim laid a hand on his arm.

‘I’m sorry to shatter your illusions, Duncan of Clan Morennadh, but this Empire works, and has worked for eight hundred years now, because my predecessors and I do not act as if we are in sole charge. Consensus,’ the Emperor boomed. ‘Compromise. The wagon rolls much more smoothly when all the oxen pull in the same direction.’

He dropped a wink, his soft-footed steward materialised from somewhere in the shadows to open the door and the audience was over.

As the door to Theodegrance’s private apartments closed behind Duncan and Aradhrim, two armed sentries in imperial green snapped to attention in the presence of their Warlord. He barely glanced at them, setting off down the panelled corridor with long, loping strides. Duncan had to hurry to keep up.

‘Forgive me if I shamed you, cousin,’ he said, when the guards were out of earshot. ‘I spoke out of turn. We’ve come all this way and to have nothing to show for it—’

‘Don’t trouble yourself with it.’ Aradhrim’s tone was offhand but he did not look Duncan’s way.
More angry than he wants to let on. Slaine’s stones, I should have held my tongue
.

His cousin’s strides grew quicker and at the end of the corridor he descended the stairs two at a time, boot-heels rapping on the polished marble. Clerks and servants scuttled out of his path.

‘So what now?’ Duncan asked.

‘Get some sleep – I have quarters here you can use. In the morning you ride back to Fleet. The chiefs will be assembled in a day or two – you know what to tell them.’

‘And you?’

‘I’ll follow you with another legion as soon as I can.’

‘You’re taking the troops anyway? But—’

Aradhrim rounded on him, face hard enough to crack stone, the silver-frosted hair over his ears fit to bristle. ‘Don’t “but” me, Duncan! Theodegrance told me to protect Arennor and by Slaine’s hairy stones that’s what I intend to do. I will not put the safety of my birthland in jeopardy for the sake of a thrice-cursed
committee
.’

‘It’s the imperial Council!’

‘I don’t care!’

A liveried maid with an armful of linens squeaked and pressed her back to the wall as the storm-faced clansman strode past her.

‘I’ll send a rider down to Yelda tomorrow and bring up one of the Syfrian legions in reserve. It will take time to muster the supplies and equipment, especially in winter, so until we arrive you’ll have to make the best shift you can. The Fleet garrison commander, Brandt, knows what he’s about – let him worry about the troops while you take care of the clans. Post scouts at every pass, every goat trail across the Archen Mountains. I want to know where Drwyn pisses before the first drop hits the ground!’

15

GONE

Aysha knelt above Gair on the disordered bed. She straddled his thighs, tawny as a tiger in the glim-light. He watched her hands move over her breasts, teasing, tweaking, and she watched him want her. Dark nipples ripened to peaks under her fingers, but when he reached for her she leaned away.

Not yet. Not until I say
.

I want you
.

I know
.

But you’re still going to make me wait?

I enjoy seeing you like this, in thrall to me
.

I always have been. You know that
.

Eyes sparkling, she rocked forwards onto her hands and kissed him, then pulled back before he could capture her in his arms. Fingertips trailed down his chest, his belly, dancing past the part of him that ached for her caress. His hips bucked.

Witch!

Laughter shivered through his thoughts.
Is that what you think I am?

She made another circuit of his belly, close enough this time to brush the length of him with the back of her hand, making him bob and twitch with desire. He bunched the sheets in his fists to keep his promise not to touch.

Goddess, you’re killing me!

She smiled, slow and sultry as the last days of summer. Her eyes never leaving his, she reached into the shadow between her legs. His pulse hammered. It should be his fingers sliding between those silky folds, dipping into the heat of her. His touch that made her breathing quicken. Her pelvis rocked rhythmically, pressing her sex onto her circling fingers, and the drums in his blood beat louder.

His own arousal was a physical pain. He wrapped his hand around himself; a few strokes would finish him, but release alone was not enough. What he craved was her. To be inside her, deep inside, when she reached her orgasm and her Song folded around him and bore them both into flight.

Grasping her waist, he pulled her to him.
I can’t wait any longer
.

She was slick and ready; he plunged into her, needing her too much to be patient. Yes. Oh, saints, yes! He withdrew, thrust again and she gasped.

Don’t stop
.

Her thoughts tumbled into his, wordless, joyous, and he knew that she wanted this, wanted him, as much as he did her. Colours swirled around him, white and blue and a red dark as wine, sweet like the sweat shining on her breasts, twice as intoxicating.

She gripped his shoulders hard; her fingernails bit into his skin but he welcomed the pain – it meant she was close to what she sought. Maybe this time she would find it. Maybe this time she would come in his arms and afterwards everything would be different.

But the dream ended as it always did, with the click of a closing door. Sweating, breathless, Gair stared up at the filmy drapes, pale as ghosts clustered around the bedposts. He’d lost her. He shut his eyes. Goddess, he’d lost her. Pressing the pillow in his arms to his face, he tried to conjure up the scent of her skin, but all he smelled was stale linens and dusty feathers that tickled his nose. Not a breath of her perfume remained.

Opening his eyes again, he let the pillow fall onto his chest. He should have been able to remember her as she had been. After their time together, first as teacher and pupil, then as lovers, she had become almost a part of him, but without something tangible with which to conjure her, all he could see was how she had been at the end, broken and bleeding in his arms.

A sob clawed its way up through his chest. All teeth and talons, it trampled on his lungs, scrabbled for purchase in his throat on its way up to the air. He gritted his teeth against it. His shoulders shook, but he would not, could not, let it draw breath. Instead he smothered it with the pillow crushed between his hands, held it tight until the jerking and struggling ceased and the sob died.

Only when he was sure it was gone did he push the pillow aside and lie staring up into the dark. He was exhausted. His body ached for rest but he couldn’t sleep for more than a couple of hours – he hadn’t been able to sleep the night through for almost a month. There were always too many dreams, too many memories waiting for him. Things that should have been sweet turned sour, things that should have lived turned cold and empty and grey.

Unbidden, an image rose up of the vaulted crypt beneath the chapel, lit by chains of clean white glims, and the goodwives of Pencruik with their sleeves rolled up and kerchiefs covering their hair, washing the dead.