The Sleeping King (7 page)

The Emperor continued. “I banish you and your zeal permanently to Haelos to spend the rest of your days serving
me
in the Imperial Army.”

So.
The Emperor had plans for her knight. Except he was her knight no more. Sadness flowed through her.
Such a waste of a fine man.
She amended her thoughts hastily.
If Darius could be of more use serving the Emperor, then his life was not wasted, after all. Not in the least. An honor to have a Haraland man serve His Resplendent Majesty.

A … ripple … passed through the room, seeming to emanate from the throne. And a great, dark, surging power responded to the call. It felt as though a monstrous beast roused from the depths of the earth below their feet and heaved to life, spewing its evil with every breath. Alien, focused intent to destroy rolled over Gabrielle's mind like air surging from a smith's bellows, and yet her hair did not stir in the awful breeze of its passing. She frowned, and found herself blinking a few times to clear her head.

She realized with a jolt that the Emperor was speaking once more and she was not attending to him. “… beloved queen shall remain here, bereft of your protection—another shame for you to live with, Krugar.”

Shame … and a threat against her. The shackled prisoner must be a Haralander, although she could not place his face. Krugar's gaze flickered briefly toward her at Maximillian's words. He, too, had caught the implied threat. If he stepped out of line or in any way failed the Emperor, the consequences would land upon her head.

Gabrielle winced. It was not that she feared the Emperor's wrath, although she certainly did. Any sane person would. But she winced at how thoroughly Maximillian had locked this man, Krugar, into his punishment. For the barest instant something felt strange about that name, but then the feeling passed.

Maximillian continued, “You shall be sent to the furthest outpost of the Empire buried in the most remote forest of the northern colony, Krugar, where you shall impart your zeal to serve me and my empire to the Imperial Army legion there. Whether you succeed or fail, live or die, I leave to you and your own industry or lack thereof. You shall depart immediately.”

Gabrielle murmured the ritual response along with everyone else in the chamber. “So shall it be.”

Regalo touched her arm, reminding her to make her obeisance to the Emperor. She did so with alacrity.
This Krugar fellow would live, at any rate
. Not many prisoners who came before the Emperor could claim that.

“My deepest gratitude for the mercy and wisdom you have bestowed upon my house,” Regalo intoned as he bowed beside her.

A foreboding that great events had been set in motion this night filled her for a moment, but then the Emperor spoke, erasing the sensation. “Indeed,” Maximillian replied as dry as dust.

Oh yes.
Repayment for tonight's favor would be demanded. And part of it would be the agony of anticipation while she and her husband waited to learn the shape it would take.

*   *   *

Endellian turned to her father the moment the golden doors clanged shut behind the departing Haralanders and the prisoner. She murmured in alarm, “Father, we and the archdukes talked about this. I thought we agreed you would not call upon … that
thing
 … again, so soon. It has been barely a century since you released its power in the north.”

Maximillian snapped, “Have a little faith in me, Princess. I see clearly what needs to be done. This was necessary. Let us not forget I have ruled for thousands of years. I do not invoke such power lightly!”

“I worry about you—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Speak of it no more.” But his tone was more affectionate than angry. And in truth, she should accept that he was, at all times, in control of
everything
within his Empire. For a bare instant she wondered what it would be like if he were not, and a shudder of dismay rippled through her. She'd heard the stories of mad Maximillian II, and it was a bad time for Koth.

She subsided behind her father's shoulder, her worry not entirely assuaged. Great avalanches began with one tiny pebble. Then another. And before long the entire mountain was crashing down.

“As for you, Tyviden…,” her father commented, jarring her from her dark thoughts.

The High Lord bowed elaborately to Maximillian. “My gratitude is boundless that you took swift action to punish that cur, Your Majesty.”

She picked up speculation in his voice. Curiosity. He, too, wondered why Maximillian had resorted to such terrible and dangerous power to wipe out the name of a simple soldier.
Too smart for his own good, Starfire. Always looking for an angle to manipulate and harm others.

The line of Ammertus thrived on others' despair and fear, operated from a place of chaos and rage. While her father was a pillar of strength and control, of will over all, Ammertus and his demi-scion son were the polar opposite. It was no surprise that Ammertus had earned the honorific “Dread.” It fit him … and his son.

Unease settled in her stomach that Starfire and the line of Ammertus had come into play at this particular moment in time. It made an already-complicated situation even more complicated. Why the escalation of events, so many and so sudden? This confluence of disturbing threads was unlike anything she'd seen in her long existence to date.

She turned her attention back to Starfire fidgeting before her father. No matter how hard he tried to disguise it, she felt the frustration roiling within him. He'd wanted blood from Haraland's man. Did he not understand that taking away a man's identity, a man's place in history, a man's
hope,
was worse punishment than death? Her father had proven that over and over through the centuries of his reign by doing the same to entire nations, entire races. It broke them more surely than the most devastating war upon them.

A flash of Maximillian's thoughts came to her mind.
Ammertus and Anton Constantine were cut from the same cloth
. She had to agree. At the end of the day, they were greedy, lustful, self-indulgent, self-aggrandizing thugs. The old warden, Henrik Volen, had been firmly her father's man, but Anton was … not.

“Have I not served you well, Your Resplendent Majesty—” Starfire started.

Maximillian cut him off, his voice resonating with irritation. “I know who got me my Black Ships.”

Her eyebrows lifted. Her father rarely slapped a noble—metaphorically—so openly. He must be more annoyed than she'd sensed. For his part, Ammertus seemed to soak up the tension in the chamber like a thirsty sponge.

Maximillian leaned forward, his voice growing in anger as he addressed Starfire. “By what right do you involve the Heart in a scandal at
my
court and potentially strain our ancient relationship with them? And then you anger the king of a powerful nation and a good friend of this throne? He is
my
subject to do with as I will.”

Endellian contained a flare of amusement. Would Starfire be subtle enough to understand he'd just been told not to play with the Emperor's toys? That he was replaceable, and he had shown himself not to be entirely and loyally her father's man? She doubted it.

Her father continued, glaring, “You went too far this time, Starfire.”

Ammertus blustered, mayhap just now realizing the depths of his liege's ire, “He's young … impulsive … a small prank—”

Starfire added hastily, “My apologies, Your Majesty. I did not mean—”

Maximillian cut them both off. “You have offended the throne. Embarrassed yourself. Created tension and bad feelings with the Heart that I shall have to repair. For this, I am sending you away.”

“Where to?” Starfire managed to croak.

“Go south. To Georwell. Traverse the Bridge of Ice.”

Starfire and Ammertus stared, appalled, as well they should be. Although many Kothites had crossed the Bridge in search of fame and fortune, none had ever returned from the other side. The Bridge was not actually made of ice; rather, it was always covered in ice. It was made of titanwood and stretched south into the Sea of Glass as far as the eye could see. Given that it was giant made, one could assume it stretched across the entire sea to some unknown location. Being sent across it was tantamount to a death sentence.

Maximillian was speaking again. “Bring me back something … interesting … from the other side. New. Powerful. Impress me.” The real meaning of her father's words hung unspoken in the air.
Not only must you survive this test, but you must prove to me that I should reinstate you in my good graces at court
.

“But Your Majesty,” Ammertus spluttered. “First my daughter, and now my son? I cannot bear the loss—”

Maximillian cut him off sharply, but with a certain sympathy. “I would have annihilated any other high lord who acted so egregiously toward one of my kings. It is out of consideration for your loss that I spared your scion.”

Starfire stared thunderstruck and, for once, entirely speechless. Although she contained her reaction better than the High Lord, Endellian shared his shock.

What game did her father play at, now? Even the Emperor did not lightly sentence a demi-scion to death. They were the grandchildren of the greater beings, children of the scions of the greater beings, and immortal themselves unless brought to an untimely death by some special means.

Maximillian had taken a series of quick, forceful actions in the past few minutes that were entirely unlike him. Normally, he was thoughtful and deliberate in his decisions, diabolically so. Moreover, she got the distinct impression he was not finished, yet, this night.

Perhaps the oracle's prophecy of the end had shaken her father more than he'd initially let on. Now was probably not the time to share what else Laernan had shown her, the other things the oracles had been revealing about this nameless threat destined to emerge from the wilds to threaten the Empire.

*   *   *

Anton fretted every second the Emperor was absent.
So close.
He could taste the heft and weight of yon iron key in his palm. His impatience to officially be the governor was almost too much to stand. He itched to examine his new swords more closely, but it would not be seemly to do so in front of the assembled court. Let them see him accept such a shockingly extravagant gift as casually as if it was his due.

A veritable eternity after he'd disappeared, Maximillian finally reappeared in the doorway behind the throne, accompanied by Princess Endellian. Anton barely refrained from scowling at her for her untimely interruption earlier.

“Now where were we?” Maximillian said. “Ahh, yes. A governor for Dupree.”

Anton took a deep breath and held it as the Emperor continued.

“I hereby appoint former warden Henrik Volen to be the first governor of the colony of Dupree.”

What? What is this?
Anton exhaled so hard he nearly expelled the contents of his stomach as well.
A joke. That's it. The Emperor jested.
The old warden looked nearly as flabbergasted as Anton, and shocked silence echoed in every far-flung corner of the Golden Throne Room.

“Come forward, Volen,” Maximillian ordered. The warden stumbled to Anton's side, and the Emperor reached out to wrap the man's gnarled fingers around the key already resting in his aged palm.

The Emperor's voice lowered so the court at large could not hear his next words. “I sent you a prisoner some years ago with orders never to let him see the light of day. Do you remember?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Volen croaked.

“See to it he remains in the dark and never walks free.”

“So shall it be,” Volen muttered.

A seed of rage took root in Anton's breast, growing rapidly into a living thing invading every corner of his mind. Why the colors presented to him? Why the cursed swords? Was this all an elaborate plan to
humiliate
him?

“Anton Constantine,” Maximillian said formally, “I hereby appoint you First Advisor to the Governor of Dupree.”

First advisor? The unfortunate whoreson who does all the grunt work, wades through endless piles of paper, attends to all the minutiae and gets
none
of the glory?
None
of the wealth?
None
of the power of a virtual king?

“Tread carefully, Anton!” the Emperor snapped.

Maximillian then devolved into a lengthy series of orders for the new governor regarding resource development, production, guild participation, and who knew what else. Anton jerked back to attention when the Emperor mentioned something about Volen naming guildmasters.

That was supposed to be
his
privilege. He'd spent weeks in consultation with Ammertus devising his list of appointees.

Volen mumbled, “I have given no such thing a thought, Your Resplendent Majesty.” The old bastard turned to him and had the gall to say generously, “You may name a guildmaster if you wish, First Advisor.”

“Kenzarr,” Anton blurted. “He shall be Master of the Slaver's Guild.”

Volen frowned faintly but nodded his assent readily enough.

It wasn't much. But the appointment would have to be enough. With his man in the Slaver's Guild, Anton would have access to manpower. A little extra income skimmed on the side. Retainers here and there with specialized skills. And eventually, an army. It was so little in the face of what he could have had—

His enraged gaze lifted to Endellian. Two seconds. Had she delayed a miserable
two seconds
interrupting her father earlier,
he
would have been the governor of Dupree and not that doddering old fool Volen! Seething fury ripped through him as he stared at the great key now hanging from Volen's hip, winking at him in the candlelight as if this had all been a great joke upon him. That key should have been
his
. Overwhelming desire to snatch forth one of his new short swords and bury it in the princess's bosom roared through him—