The Blasted Lands (22 page)

“I’ll be leaving after the feast.”

“Feast? Leaving?” Andover frowned at the other, larger man.

“Ydramil tells me I must go back into the Blasted Lands. He has plans for me and I will obey.”

Andover shook his head at the notion of speaking directly to a god. The notion refused to sit comfortably. “Where will you go?”

“The feast is in your honor. You should remember to thank Tusk properly.” Drask stood up, not answering the question. “Should we meet again, after you have spoken with the gods, you may ask me more questions. Until then, Andover Lashk, the Daxar Taalor watch over the both of us.”

The man who had taught him harsh lessons tapped him lightly on one shoulder and walked away, his thick dark hair swaying with his steps.

Andover was uncertain how he felt about that. In part he felt he was losing a friend, though in truth Drask had done little that could be called a kindness.

Aside from teaching him not to die. That had been a very large kindness indeed.

Andover contemplated all that Bromt and Delil and Drask had done for him even as he ran one hand gently along his bound ribs and felt the area where the pain still flashed if he pushed. The ribs were mending. They’d felt fine when he was fighting – too busy staying alive to care about the pain and he’d been fueled on adrenaline – but now his side ached with a dull throb again.

He heard Bromt laughing and saw the man walking with a few other men of similar stature. They wore no armor at the present time, though all of them still sported weapons. He imagined this was as close to relaxed as they managed.

Delil talked with several others, men and women alike, and though Andover wanted to speak with her, he did not wish to interrupt her homecoming.

Tuskandru walked toward him. He was again taken by how large the king was, how striking a figure. One of the soldiers, who had traveled with the Sa’ba Taalor to Tyrne, a man named Wollis, had told Andover that Tusk cut a Pra-Moresh nearly in half with one swing of a sword. Despite having seen the monsters, having fought them, he did not have trouble believing the outrageous claim.

The king wore a tunic and leather breeches, the same as he had when Andover had first seen him. His necklace of teeth was wrapped twice around his thick neck, and his hair was pulled back into a heavy braid, wrapped with leather and a few small pieces of onyx. He did not carry any weapons. That fact alone was unsettling to Andover all of the armed people he had seen.

Tusk stopped before him and nodded. “Drask said you want to know what happened with your people.”

“Yes. Yes I do.” His voice only cracked a little as he spoke.

“They came for us. One of them claimed that your Emperor is dead. He said that someone killed the Emperor and said we must go back and speak with your generals.”

Andover nodded his head. He’d been on the receiving end of demands from the City Guard and in comparison to the soldiers those men had almost no authority. Certainly not as much as generals in the Imperial Army.

“They did not ask. They tried to command me. I am a king. I do not answer to your Emperor or his generals. When they would not accept that, one of them drew his weapon. I killed him.”

Andover nodded again. He could think of nothing at all to say to that.

And so instead he asked, “Tega. She flew away?”

“She spoke with the voice of her master, the sorcerer. He asked that your soldiers not attack and they did not listen.”

“So is safe?”

Tusk crossed his massive arms. “None of my people hurt Tega. She was under my protection and helped me speak with your soldiers.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“You wish to go home? To your people?”

Andover shook his head. “No. I made a promise to you and your gods, Tusk. I keep my promises.”

Tusk nodded his head. “This is good. In the morning, I will show you how to reach Durhallem.”

“You’ll show me?” His voice broke a second time. “Are you not coming with me?”

Tusks eyes looked at him hard, their light burning. “No one goes before Durhallem who does not walk alone. That is Durhallem’s demand.”

Tusk gave him an amiable thump on the arm. Andover managed to keep his balance, but it was a close call.

A moment later the king was moving away, heading for one of the fires and calling out cheerfully in his own language. Andover understood a few words of the greeting, but only enough to feel embarrassed that he had not yet learned more.

Of course he had been learning other things.

“Tusk!” He called out before he could let himself think too much.

The king turned to look at him. He did not walk back and it was clear that if Andover wished to speak discretely it would be he who did the walking.

Instead he called out, “Are our people at war?”

Tusk looked at him for several heartbeats and nodded. “We are at war. Fellein has attacked us. You will be asked to defend that attack before the kings of the Sa’ba Taalor.”

Oh yes. His heart hammered away in his chest and he nodded. “When?”

“First you meet the Gods of the Forges. Then you answer to their kings.” Tusk spread his arms wide in a gesture that almost looked like he wanted to embrace. Only the fact that he’d seen the gesture before let Andover know the move was the equivalent of a shrug. “You will be given the chance to prepare.”

“Can I speak to my people?”

“You have agreed to be here. Unless they send you a message, no.”

Andover nodded again and Tusk started walking. This time he didn’t try to get the king’s attention again.

Andover shook his head. He’d rather hoped to know the love of a woman before he died. That seemed less likely all the time.

Chapter Ten

The Krous family was powerful, to be modest. There was remarkably little that even the lowliest members of the family wanted for. Even the bastard children of Towdra Krous had more money than most could conceive of, and it is fair to say that Towdra cared little for any of his offspring, legitimate or otherwise.

Most of the family was quite content to stay where they were, fully aware that anything they desired was theirs so long as they behaved themselves.

There are always exceptions. Towdra himself was fine with the current situation. He and his great-niece got along well enough, though there were many members of the family who believed he felt otherwise, Nachia sitting on the throne suited his purposes.

Laister Krous was not as content. He believed that he was better suited for the throne, that his long years of making connections and preparing the way for his eventual ascension should have paid off already. For him Nachia was a nuisance and a problem. The only purpose the girl could have served in his eyes would have been as a good bartering tool to the appropriate parties. Want a country to behave? Offer them a fine looking woman to serve as obedient wife and mother of royal children and call it done. But Nachia on the throne was offensive to his sensibilities.

She was now on the throne and that was a problem, but not one that couldn’t be surmounted with the appropriate actions.

It was for that reason that the men were sitting together in a small tavern called the Adz and Axe just outside of Freeholdt. A night’s hard ride would have him back in Tyrne and no one the wiser and he had chosen his timing flawlessly. The sorcerer was gone on one of his very rare excursions from the castle. Nachia herself was too busy looking into the possibilities of war – or perhaps pleasuring herself with her new general, who could say? – to notice his absence. Brolley was, of all places with Desh Krohan on his little search for answers to what happened to the Roathians. The boy was hardly an issue in any event, especially after his public humiliation at the hands of the barbarians Pathra had invited to visit from the Blasted Lands. Since then Brolley seldom let himself be seen in public. Most likely it was Nachia keeping him out of harm’s way. She was an overprotective sibling and Brolley needed all the protection he could find. Danieca was staying well away from everything ever since she’d tried confronting Desh Krohan. Whatever the man had said to her was enough to convince her to keep herself to her self for the present time, but Laister already knew where she stood on matters. She was with him.

The rest of the Krous family was a herd of simpletons as far as Laister was concerned. They would follow whoever was leading and for the moment that meant they obeyed the whims and desires of Nachia.

The men in the room with him were not as loyal or as easily swayed. They required hard coin for their devotion and a great deal of it. Laister himself was not at the table where the negotiations were taking place. He left the particulars to Losla Foster, his personal assistant. Losla was a quiet man with a quiet way about him. Most everyone who met him forgot he was even there, which was exactly why he was so very successful in his endeavors. Losla sat in the shadows of the tavern’s western corner and spoke softly to men who were far easier to remember and much more likely to cut a throat. They were exactly as hungry for money as they appeared and they looked to be starving for the stuff.

There were four of them, all from the east. It seemed all the best mercenaries came from the east, normally from Elda or even farther away. Laister did not listen to the negotiations. Instead he concentrated on his surroundings and seeing everyone in the room. There were the five men concentrating on their shadowy business. There was the fat sow of a tavern keeper’s wife, a woman who had long since moved from buxom to unpleasant, though at the right angles a ghost of her old beauty lingered. There was the tavern keeper himself who was even larger but had an infection smile and a pleasant attitude. The two of them made sure customers were happy and otherwise stayed out of the way. There three others in the place, two road-weary men who looked like they would be finishing their meals and then taking rooms upstairs, and a woman who might or might not have been an aging whore. She was attractive despite her peasant’s clothes and her common features, but old enough that Laister wouldn’t bother even if he were so inclined. Whatever the case she paid him no attention and aside from noting her presence he returned the favor.

The biggest danger, in other words, was that Laister would grow bored enough to find the whore an interesting notion.

Losla saved him from that fate by nodding and rising from the table. The men with him did nothing to indicate that they much cared one way or the other and Losla left the tavern after gathering his cloak and saying a few words to the tavern keeper.

Laister would wait a few minutes before meeting him outside. He had no desire to be connected with anyone in the place. The inquisitors tended to investigate when dignitaries died and Laister had already endured enough polite questions regarding Pathra’s death. They were always polite when dealing with the Krouses. It was in the best interest of everyone to avoid offending the Imperial Family.

When the tavern’s owner started talking with the men Losla had spoken with – nothing untoward, merely pleasant chatting as he cleared away a few emptied mugs – Laister slipped outside.

It was time.

He met up with Losla on the road back to Tyrne, riding in the darkness with relative ease. If he could say nothing else for Pathra he could agree that his dead cousin had managed to keep the roads well tended.

Laister asked, “The situation has been handled?”

Losla nodded his head, looking away from the road ahead long enough to eye the surrounding area for possible bandits. They rode at night and that meant a certain element of danger.

“They are good at what they do. Your cousin will be dead soon enough.”

Laister shook his head. “Pity. I always rather liked Nachia. I just don’t see her as the sort who should run an Empire.”

“She’s a lovely girl. I made them promise she’ll feel no pain.”

“Poison?”

“Likely. Their leader is a man I’ve dealt with before. He does excellent work.”

“Have you had a lot of people poisoned before, Losla?” He already knew the answer, of course. The man had worked for him for over fifteen years.

“Me? Hardly. I’m just a facilitator. All I do is answer correspondences and occasionally make certain appointments are kept.”

“Must be hard work.”

Losla smiled. “My employer can be demanding from time to time, but he pays well enough.”

Laister snorted. Losla was paid handsomely indeed. He kept his mouth closed and he handled everything Laister did not want to handle. For that reason he was worth every coin he earned.

“When will it happen?”

“Your cousin has been very good about letting herself be seen. Probably the next time she goes out in public.” The light from the tavern grew brighter, highlighting the side of Losla’s face and the back of his head.

Laister looked, wondering for a moment if the hired cutthroats had decided the offer of coin would be better handled as a reward for turning in the men who planned to kill the Empress. Stranger things had happened, true enough, but neither Laister nor Losla were foolish about these things. They were wise enough not to pay much in advance, only enough to whet appetites.

There were no lanterns following them, nor men on horses charging to find the traitors. Instead the tavern was burning, the roof of the place fully aflame and lighting the night sky.

“Gods, man, what happened?” Laister’s words were out before he even thought about it.

Losla looked over his shoulder and frowned. “Perhaps they decided it best not to leave witnesses. Dead tongues cannot tell secrets.”

Laister nodded his head. Sometimes innocent people had to die in order to accomplish goals. He did not have to like it, merely to accept the fact of it. He’d always liked Nachia well enough. She was one of his favorite relatives, but she stood in the way and had to be removed as an obstacle. The burning tavern merely proved a proper reminder of that fact.

As he looked back toward the road the roof of the Adz and Axe collapsed in on itself with a faint groan and a gout of fire danced toward the Great Star.