The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) (17 page)

“She’s House
Prosin, you bleating sheep! They are all serpents! What did she do?”

“I was so tired. She
hugged me and told me it would be okay, and she gave me something to
help me sleep.”

“And no doubt, you
remember nothing after that.”

“I must have passed out.”

Sadrik rolled his eyes. “You
were drugged, fool.”

“No!” Kariana was
reeling. “She’s my friend! I’ve known her since we
were children!”

“It is a common tactic.
They have children from their House befriend children in the other
houses. It’s usually a source of information, but in this
case, your brother’s accident gave them direct access to the
ruler of Nihlos! How fortunate for them!”

Kariana stood in stunned
silence for long moments. Mei! Her brother’s accident, the one
she had been accused of engineering, was Marissa? It was
unbelievable!

“It can’t be,”
she said. “It doesn’t fit. Why would Marissa try to have
Aiul’s wife killed?”

Sadrik shrugged. “Who
knows? Perhaps to make it look like you were clearly out of your
mind. Perhaps because she’s not quite a perfect spy and had
some genuine feelings for you, enough to seek vengeance for you.
Does it really matter?” He shook his head in consternation.
“The attempt failed, and he’s out for your blood, and he
may well get away with killing you. You are not well liked, cousin,
and House Amrath is not to be trifled with. If Aiul manages to end
you, Narelki has the clout and the skill to get him off the hook.”

“No! He would never do
such a thing!”

Sadrik threw up his hands in
frustration. “You are empress, Kariana. It is time you gave up
this childish viewpoint. You’ve seen what Marissa is capable
of. Keep it in mind when dealing with others.” He looked at
her a moment, letting his point sink in, then reached beneath his
robe and produced a small, gilded dagger. “Keep this with you.
You may well have need of it.”

Kariana reached slowly for the
weapon, feeling sicker than she had since she had awoken. The
thought that she might shove this wicked piece of metal into Aiul’s
body was too horrific to contemplate, and yet she knew Sadrik was
right. It was time to be realistic. She reached into her own dirty
robe and placed the knife at her belt.

It was all too much. Her life
was a horrific nightmare from which she could not wake. She had no
friends at all, now, no one to trust. No one except cruel, spiteful
Sadrik. She could, she thought, trust him. He was simply too cruel
to be manipulating her. He took too much pleasure in mocking her
failures.

“I don’t know what
to do,” she whispered.

“Eh?”

“What do I
do
,
Sadrik?”

Sadrik suddenly laughed out
loud. “Why, I expect you’ll be assassinated in short
order, most likely.”

“You’re horrid! I
have nothing and no one! Tell me what I should do now!”

Sadrik shot her a sour look.
“You don’t actually think I am going to serve you like
some vizier? I have affairs of my own to manage. I’m simply
trying to help my eternally stupid cousin before she gets herself
killed. Don’t expect me to be at your beck and call.”

“You
have
to help me!” she shouted, furious now. “My whole life,
you’ve done nothing but mock me! But this isn’t just me,
it’s House Tasinal! It’s
Nihlos
!
Father never taught me a damned thing about ruling. Mei, why didn’t
you
take this job
and I could have gone on just being pretty and having fun!”

Sadrik's cruel features wavered
briefly with some undefinable emotion.
Is he feeling
guilty
?
Good!
“I had another path,” he answered, perhaps a
bit too sharply. “A more important one.”

“What could be more
important than Nihlos? It’s our birthright, Sadrik! It’s
our obligation!”

Sadrik scoffed at the notion.
“
Your
obligation
.
I accept none of it.”

“Selfish bastard!”

“Yes! Exactly!”
Sadrik shouted. “I hate almost everyone I know! I despise them
for their stupidity, their weakness! I will
never
accept responsibility for them! I'd be happier if they all dropped
dead.”

Kariana
swallowed at the lump in her throat. When she spoke, it was
difficult to keep her voice steady.
It's so strange when
you're actually feeling what you're usually faking.
She wiped absently at sweat beading on her temple.
Why is
it so hot, suddenly?
“Do
you hate me? Would you laugh to see me dead, too?”

Sadrik opened his mouth to
speak, appeared to reconsider, and his face softened. “Aye,
you have the right of it, and I am sorry, Kariana. I will not give
up my own life for you, but I will help you this once.”

“Oh, thank you, Sadrik!”

“Don’t thank me
overmuch. I’ll give you some advice, and introduce you to some
people, but I have no intention of holding your hand through this.
If you can’t find your own way out of this hole you’ve
dug for yourself, I’ve my doubts as to whether you deserve to
survive, much less rule. If you insist on continuing with this
foolishness, House Tasinal and Nihlos could be equally served by
your early demise. Do we understand one another?”

Kariana nodded, clenching her
jaw in shame at the rebuke. Sadrik was speaking truth, unpleasant
though it was. That was what she most needed right now, cold, hard
truth, not some toady cozening favor.

“Very well then. Let’s
first consider Marissa. Here is what you do about her: nothing.”

“Just let her get away
with this?”

“Aye. Go on about your
life as if you know nothing untoward. It can be useful to have a
spy, if you are aware of what they are. She’s exposed now, but
until she realizes it, she will be
your
tool instead of the reverse. You can tell her what you like, and
she’ll dutifully report it to her masters. When the time comes
to strike back at House Prosin, she will serve as an excellent
delivery mechanism for misinformation.”

Kariana swallowed hard and
nodded again. That would be difficult, painful even, but she had
always been good at lying. “Go on.”

“You said before you had
no one to trust. I know some people. They’re loyal, as long as
you pay them on time. Some of them are Housed, but their loyalty
lies elsewhere.”

Kariana stared at Sadrik in
shock. “Assassins?”

Sadrik shrugged. “Too
narrow a term, I should think. They…solve problems. Murder is
just one of their methods.”

“How do you know such
people?”

“Does it matter? The fact
is, you know them too, now, or you will soon, at any rate. This is
not a game, Kariana. This is what it takes to rule. I say again,
cousin: It’s time to grow up.”

Yes
,
she thought to herself.
It
truly is
.

The guards at the prison took
no more notice of the silent, hooded figure than they had done any
other time he had come. Aiul smiled to himself, pleased at having
been able to use Kariana’s paranoia against her. He made his
way through the cell block and beyond the torture chamber, to the
true pits of Nihlos’s prison. There had always been those few
prisoners who could neither be killed nor allowed to ever
communicate information they carried to anyone else, not even the
damned, and a place had been provided for them as well. Aiul only
knew it existed because he had read of the design in the Great
Father’s private journals.

Little had changed since Amrath
had drawn his maps. There was a hidden door, just where Amrath
promised it to be, and the pass phrase Aiul spoke had the desired
result. A seam appeared in the solid rock of the wall, first a thin
outline of dull, red light, rising to orange, then searing white.
Aiul could feel the magic of the device crackle in the air, warm and
cold at the same time, ethereal, the wondrous power the Founders had
commanded. Within moments, the section separated and slid slowly
into the floor.

Aiul was pleased to see that
the Great Father had seen fit to care for his progeny so well.
He
must have known we would come to this, blades at each other’s
throats.

A rough-hewn passage lay beyond
the door, wide enough for five men to stand abreast. The place was
lit by small, glowing nodules that ran along the ceiling, odd
devices like nothing Aiul had ever seen. He stepped through quickly,
and spoke the closing phrase. The section of wall rose once again
and merged with the surrounding stone as if it had never come apart.

According to the book, this
section of the prison was designed not to channel sound, but to seal
against it. Aiul traveled perhaps a hundred feet, then passed
through a series of switchbacks, where the walls changed from poorly
finished stone to flat, polished, rune-graven surfaces. The mark of
House Yorn was etched there as well, as it was in almost every
magical device of true power.
Yorn himself may have worked these
walls.

He paused in the small maze and
ran a hand across the intricate patterns, marveling at the
construction and the absolute silence that it created. There were
few in Nihlos who could work such bindings as the sound wards now,
perhaps none, but in the days before Tasinal had vanished, there had
been many skilled at such sorceries. Entire guilds had flourished in
those times, when sorcery had been as honorable a profession as
medicine. He felt a great emptiness in his soul that such glory was
long gone, squandered in feuds and vendettas, until Tasinalt had
taken the draconian measure of outlawing not only the craft, but the
very religion of the founders. Mei was hardly a god of benevolence,
but what wonders his followers had brought forth following his
creed! There was, Aiul considered, genuine beauty in the narcissism
of the Meites.

Reluctantly, he turned from the
walls and continued on his way, passing through the silent labyrinth
and emerging once again into rough tunnels. Ahead, he heard shouts,
and he paused a moment, the enormity of what he was doing suddenly
heavy on his shoulders.

I
am a traitor
, he told himself. It hardly mattered if he
carried out his plan or not. Merely being here was enough to damn
him. He thought of Lara. Kariana would kill her and his unborn
child. She would try again, there was no doubt. He had no choice. He
was simply playing the game that he had been forced into. There was
victory, or death, and this was his only chance.

Aiul entered the holding area,
making no attempt at stealth. His footsteps announced his coming
long before he arrived, and the voices fell silent.

The prisoners, twenty in all,
were secured in a large cage in the middle of the room. He had read
of them in Amrath’s writings, seen their brutal handiwork up
close, but neither had even remotely prepared him for the reality.

They are even darker than I
imagined.
Their glaring, hate-filled eyes, narrow with distrust,
hovered above clenched jaws, contempt the only emotion the prisoners
were willing to allow him to see. They showed little sign of
deprivation, though surely they had been fed little or nothing since
their arrival a week past. Aiul shuddered to imagine what an entire
nation of such warriors could accomplish.

One, presumably the leader,
called out, “Where is Yazid?” The voice was deep,
brutal, frightening, the accent hard to follow, but he spoke words
Aiul knew.

Aiul removed his hood and moved
as close to the cage as he dared, mindful to stay out of arm’s
reach. “The one the Empress interrogated?”
Cool
and businesslike. No condolences. These are hard men. They will not
appreciate a soft touch.
“He
is dead.”

Curses and threats erupted from
the prisoners, but the leader held up his hand, and the rest grew
quiet once again. “How did he die?”

With a blade in his throat,
a smile on his lips, and Kariana’s sanity clutched firmly
between his teeth.
“He died well.”

The leader nodded and raised
his eyebrows in wary appreciation. “I would not expect a
barbarian to understand our ways.” The others nodded and
murmured amongst themselves.

“I am a doctor, and a
historian. I know a little about your people. You are honorable
warriors, yes?”

The prisoner nodded. “A
dishonorable man has no right to call himself warrior.” He
slammed a fist against his chest.
Some kind of salute
. “What
is your name, doctor and historian?”

“Aiul, of House Amrath,”
Aiul answered. He did his best to emulate the salute, striking his
own chest hard, as the prisoner had done.

The prisoner raised his
eyebrows in surprise. “Truly, you are the blood of Amrath?”

“You know of him?”

“A good soldier must know
his history.” The Southlander stretched languidly and extended
his arms through the bars, smiling.
I’ll want to stand well
clear of
his reach.
“It
is said amongst our people that Amrath was as wise as he was
wicked.”

Aiul shrugged and gave a brief
nod at this. It was a fair judgment
.
“You offer me no
name in return.”

“I am Brutus Samir,
Tribune of Prince Philip’s legion, and servant of Ilaweh.”

Aiul nodded again, his mind
racing to think of the right words that would compel these hardened
warriors to work with him. “How do you feel about dying here,
in this cage?” he asked at last.

Brutus spat on the floor as an
answer, and drew his arms back into the cage to fold them across his
chest.

“I thought as much. I
have grim news. Our empress has gone completely mad since you have
arrived. She has slain all of the men who know of your presence
here. She will likely slay you as well, and soon.”

Brutus’s face grew dark
with anger. He slammed his fists against the bars of his cage. “For
what crime?”

“Espionage, I presume.”

“We are no spies! We
deserve ransom as soldiers!”

Aiul sighed and nodded. “You
do not deserve to be imprisoned at all, that I have seen. But you
must understand, Nihlos is not a place of justice now.” He
struggled to keep from choking as he spoke, feeling his face
hardening and jaw muscles clenching. Something jagged seemed to poke
at the soft places in his mind, prodding and provoking him toward
deeds that, until recently, would have shocked and horrified him.
“It never was.”

Brutus was unimpressed. “Do
you think I am an idiot? Now you will offer us mercy in exchange for
cooperation, eh?” He spat through the bars at Aiul’s
feet. “Fool. We will die screaming before we serve you and
your bitch queen. We are here to
destroy
your evil, not aid it!”

Aiul struggled against the urge
to scream at the man, knowing he could not lose control, or he would
lose everything. Trembling with suppressed rage, he spoke as
carefully as he could. “I have just as much to fear from her.
I come not to offer you mercy. I come to offer you the chance to go
free, or at least die in battle, if you will join me to slay her!”

Brutus blinked in shock at
this, and stood in silence for several moments, gauging the
sincerity of Aiul’s offer. The rest of the prisoners, most of
whom had only been half listening, were suddenly quite interested.
They looked back and forth at one another, raising eyebrows and
returning subtle nods, but Brutus remained inscrutable.

“Well, damn you, would
you fight with me or not?” Aiul asked at last.

“You seem very bold for a
doctor and historian,” Brutus said. His features were still
impassive, but his voice had an edge of accusation.

“I have little choice but
to be bold,” Aiul answered. “She tried to murder my wife
and my unborn child this very morning. That motivates a man. Worse,
she’s had the entire contingent of guards who met you killed.”

Brutus’s face grew taut
as he grasped the implications of the news. “So, we have
become a state secret, eh? Does Caelwen live? Did he betray us?”

“He lives. For now.”

“But not for long, if I
understand your meaning.”

“He doesn’t think
so, no. He called himself a loose end. And he did not betray you. As
far as I know, he is incapable of such a thing. I suspect that's
half the reason the Empress had his men killed.”

The prisoners’ eyes were
wide with shock and loathing, and their curses and threats to
Kariana echoed from the walls. At their outburst, Aiul felt, for all
his anger, a rush of gratitude and a sense of hope that he had not
expected. He was, by any reasonable definition, their enemy, and yet
they felt for him, clamored to strike at Kariana as allies.

Aiul felt his cheeks burning
with shame at the thought that he had come here to manipulate them,
only to discover that simply asking for their help would have been
more than enough. They were far better men than he could ever hope
to be. Was it any wonder that they were so strong, when they had
such conviction and integrity to stand upon? He blinked back tears,
and cleared his throat while he waited for Brutus to answer.

“Why should we trust
you?” Brutus asked once the shouting had passed.

“You shouldn’t,”
Aiul answered in a husky voice. He removed the key from his robe and
stepped toward the cell door. “So I will trust you.”

His hands trembled as he
fumbled to place the key into the lock, visions of all the ways
things might go wrong rushing through his mind. He imagined Brutus
lashing out and spinning him around, smashing his head against the
bars. He could almost feel the heat of the Southlander’s
powerful arms clamped around his throat like a python, crushing the
life from him.

The door swung open, and Aiul
stiffened, awaiting a charge, but none came. The Southlanders nodded
approval, but made no move toward him.

Aiul pulled back his robe and
revealed the mace. “I have only this. I have no doubt that it
will serve better in your hands than in mine.”

Brutus lifted the mace from
Aiul’s belt and hefted it, testing its weight and balance,
then nodded and took it as his own.

Aiul continued, “There
are six guards at the post, and a small armory. If we can take them,
we’ll have all the weapons we need. If not….”

With his free hand, Brutus
clapped Aiul on the back hard enough to stagger him, a grim smile
flickering across his lips. “This will be enough.”

The guards at the outpost
looked up as Aiul opened the door, then turned back to their card
game. Moments later, one gasped in surprise as the Southlanders
burst into the room and rushed toward the table. Brutus crashed the
mace into the head of the nearest guard. Another Southlander flipped
the table over onto the two men on the opposite side, while still
more grappled the remaining three and relieved them of their
weapons. Steel flashed and bit into flesh. Blood and screams filled
the air.

Aiul marveled at their
efficiency and teamwork. In less than ten seconds, the Southlanders
had secured the area without losing even a single drop of their own
blood. Standing amongst them, the carnage all around, Aiul suddenly
felt very small. He was, to be sure, three inches taller than most
of them, but they were
thick
men, he realized, dense of bone and muscle. Beside them, he felt
like a fragile skeleton covered in pale skin, a shade in loose
clothing, desperately trying to give the impression of substance.

The Southlanders lost no time
plundering the small armory, and shouts of delight rang out amongst
them as they discovered their own weapons stored here. Most seemed
to prefer a stout shield and as heavy a blade as they could swing
with one hand, though the odd few had pole arms or crossbows.

Brutus retrieved his own
weapon, a heavy, curved blade engraved with strange symbols, and
returned Aiul’s mace. “You’re certain there is no
one above?” Brutus asked.

“Not unless someone has
come since I passed. It’s a skeleton crew at night.”

Brutus nodded and pulled a
Nihlosian chain shirt over his head experimentally. There was
clearly no accommodation between his own barrel chest and the shirt
that was intended for a more lithe figure. “I think this will
not work,” he said with a sigh. The others, having no more
success, nodded agreement. “We will need wear our own armor or
none at all, and in either case we will have to cover ourselves if
we are to travel in the city. We do not look like your people.”

Aiul pointed at a coat rack.
“Will their cloaks do?”

Brutus took one of the several
cloaks hanging on the rack and tried it on. Closed and with the hood
pulled, it covered everything but his hands. “Aye, as long as
we’re not observed too closely. We’ll keep our hands in
our pockets as much as we can, and we’ll be fine. Now, have
you a plan for how we reach this mad empress of yours, or do we just
charge in?”