Tyrant's Blood (2 page)

The man had been staring out of the window, watching the trees for movement but he turned at the knock. ‘Come,’ he called and waited while his private aide entered, balancing a tray. He frowned. ‘You didn’t have to—’

‘I know, my lord,’ the aide replied. ‘But have a cup anyway.’

He sighed. ‘There’s still no sign of my raven,’ he added in a grumpy tone.

‘He’ll return,’ the aide replied evenly. ‘He always does.’ He set the tray down. ‘He’s obviously very familiar with the region now, and feels comfortable to be away that long. It’s blossomtide, emperor. I imagine all birds are busy at their business.’

Loethar nodded gloomily. ‘How is it down there, Freath?’

‘Exactly as you’d imagine. Very lively—the leading families do enjoy this get-together and try hard to balance its political agenda with the equally important social binding. Even though this is the empire’s third “Gathering” there’s still that lingering tension. The Droste family is being snubbed as usual, but they’re only marginally less happy than Cremond.’

Loethar lifted a brow in a wry expression. ‘Well, at least they’re all equal now. There are no royals, other than myself. Ah, there’s that smile, Freath. What does it mean today?’

Freath bowed his head once in acknowledgement. ‘Apologies, my lord. But nothing has truly changed for the Denovian people.
There may be no royal lines acknowledged as such but the new compasses, as you’ve denoted them, are still paying homage to Penraven.’

Loethar nodded. ‘They’ve forgiven me, don’t you think, Freath?’

‘No, Emperor Loethar, I don’t,’ Freath said gently. ‘Not even a decade can fully heal their perceptions of the wrongs. But I hasten to assure that you’ve certainly gone a long way towards leaving only scars, not open, festering wounds. You’ve been a generous benefactor to all the leading families, who still enjoy plenty of privilege and status—they can hardly complain.’

‘Indeed. I’ve not interfered too much either in the running of their compasses.’

‘And that’s another reason why they appear so tolerant and will increasingly trust you, my lord. A new dynasty is about to begin and enough of them dread a second war so much that they will support your child with loyalty.’

Loethar smiled grimly. ‘I can’t wait for my son to be born.’ Then he sighed. ‘And how is the empress?’

‘Grumbly, sir, for want of a better word.’

‘Gown not right, hair not right, belly too big, drinks too sour, food too bitter?’

‘Husband too distant,’ Freath added.

Loethar’s eyes flashed up to regard his aide’s. It even baffled him at times how he permitted this dour man such familiarity. Even now he didn’t fully trust the former aide to the previous royal family, but he believed Freath was the most intelligent of all the people that lurked around him on a daily basis. He appreciated the man’s insight, dry wit, directness and agile mind. When he compared that to his brute of a half-brother, who was his Second, there was little wonder—for him anyway—as to why he not only permitted but quietly protected Freath’s position. ‘Should I be worried?’ he asked, glibly, yet privately eager to hear the man’s opinion.

‘No, my lord. But if you want your household life to be less volatile it might pay to give the empress more attention. She is, after all, with child and feeling vulnerable.’

‘How do you know, Freath?’ Loethar sighed and took the goblet that his aide offered him.

‘I spent years around a pregnant queen, my lord. Iselda lost quite a few babies but I know during her confinements she was generally irritable. She was no doubt anxious—and for good reason, having lost so many—but also worried that Brennus would stop finding her attractive.’

Loethar made a brief noise of scorn. ‘I find that very hard to believe. Perhaps if you hadn’t killed her, I could have married her!’

‘I do hope the walls don’t have ears, sir,’ Freath said dryly and Loethar gave him a wry glance, knowing they were both well aware of Valya’s unpredictable tantrums. ‘Brennus was butter around her.’

‘Is that so?’

‘“Besotted” is probably the right word. Few couples achieve such devotion.’

Loethar grunted. Freath’s counsel was no comfort at all. In fact, it served only to alienate him further. Marriage to Valya was a trial. Since the lavish wedding that he’d had to force himself to get through, she had become insatiable for power and wealth, especially the outward trappings of both. He understood why: she was proclaiming to the former Set people that while they had once gossipped and tittered behind her back at the reneging of the Valisar betrothal, now she was empress they were required to pay her homage. And once she delivered Loethar his heir at last, her position was truly sealed.

‘Well, Valya’s had a lot of unhappiness in her life. And not falling pregnant for so long has been a heavy burden for her. But that is changed now. Perhaps our son will bring her enough joy to leave her darkness behind.’

Freath straightened. ‘You told me once that our empress had bravely defied man, beast and nature to find you on the plains but I cannot account for the significant gap of years between Brennus deserting their troth and my lady re-appearing in Penraven a decade ago.’

‘It is of no harm for you to know, I suppose. Valya’s father blamed her for Brennus’s rejection, even though she hadn’t seen her husband-to-be for more than a year. The king sent his only daughter and heir to a convent that nestled within Lo’s Teeth, all but imprisoning her with the nuns. She admitted to me a long time ago that she was sure she turned mad for a while—several years probably. And while time scarred over her wounds, it never quelled her fury.’ He stretched, reached for his glass on the weaven table nearby. ‘She escaped.’ He yawned. ‘And then came looking for the Steppes people. She made it through those mountains alone. Impressive.’

Freath paused, considering this. Loethar waited, sipping his wine. ‘So…’ the aide began, frowning. ‘Was the attack the empress’s idea, my lord? This is old history now—it can’t matter if you share it.’

‘It was no one’s idea in particular,’ Loethar lied. ‘I was a rebellious man, not satisfied with leading the Steppes people and wanting a whole lot more than the scrubby plains and the occasional visit from Set traders who felt they were superior to us. And then along came this striking woman out of nowhere, half-starved and with a rage to suit my own. She gave voice to what I was already thinking.’

‘And history was made, my lord,’ Freath said lightly.

Loethar sipped his wine again and turned away to regard the view out of the window. ‘Seems hard to believe it was a decade ago that we stormed Brighthelm. I feel as if I belong here.’

Freath blinked. ‘You do, my lord.’

‘We’ve integrated well, don’t you think, Freath?’

‘Yes, my lord, surprisingly well.’

‘So many mixed marriages,’ Loethar continued. ‘I’m very glad to see that the mingling of bloods has begun.’

‘General Stracker might not agree,’ Freath added, conversationally.

‘He’s short-sighted, Freath. Most of the Denovian people would be enriching the soil if it had been left to him. There’d be no one left to make an empire,’ Loethar replied, yet again wishing his half-brother had even a fraction of his aide’s insight. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he nodded at Freath’s enquiring look.

Freath opened the door and spoke briefly. Then closed it again, turning to Loethar. ‘It’s time to go, my lord.’

Loethar began buttoning his midcoat. Freath dutifully held out the jacket. ‘I hate all this formal wear, Freath.’

‘I know you do, my lord, but it’s necessary. Can’t have you looking like a barbarian.’ They both smiled at the quip. ‘What news from the north, sir?’

Loethar shrugged, allowing Freath to quickly do up his jacket while he struggled with his collar. ‘All quiet for now. We’ve had patrols moving through the forest. The notorious highwayman and his daring minions elude me but we’ve silenced them for a while. There’s been no activity in the region for several moons.’

Their conversation was interrupted by a bang at the door.

Freath frowned but Loethar inclined his head. The aide moved to the door and opened it.

‘I need to speak with him,’ a brusque voice demanded.

‘It’s General Stracker, my lord,’ Freath announced, as the other man pushed past him into the room.

‘Stracker. Speak of the devil!’ Loethar said amiably. ‘I was just telling Freath here that you were up north and all was quiet.’

Stracker grinned a sly smile. His green tatua slid in tandem, widening across his round, thickset face. ‘Not so quiet any longer.’

Loethar stopped grimacing at himself in the mirror and turned his attention to his general. ‘What’s occurred?’

‘We might have our elusive outlaw.’

Loethar’s mouth opened in surprise and then he too smiled. ‘Tell me.’

Freath quietly set about pouring the two men a cup of wine, unobtrusively serving it and then melting back into the room to stand silently. Though he wasn’t intruding Loethar was aware the aide could hear everything. It didn’t matter. He would discuss most of this with Freath anyway.

‘I can’t confirm what you want to hear—not yet anyway—but one of the men, and we are almost sure it’s one of the outlaws, took an arrow wound.’

‘Faris?’

‘We think it could be.’

‘So he’s wounded and got away,’ Loethar demanded.

‘That’s the sum of it,’ Stracker confirmed, seemingly unfazed by the emperor’s intensity.

‘What makes you say you almost have him, then? Simply because you’ve wounded a man who
could
just belong to his cohort!’ Loethar gave a sound of disgust and drained his cup.

‘Not so fast, brother. Hear me out,’ Stracker said, cunning lacing his tone. ‘My men tell me that the wounded man took the arrow in the thigh. Now I’m sure even you would agree that in this situation it would be every man for himself.’

There was an awkward pause until Loethar grudgingly nodded. ‘What of it?’

Stracker grinned. ‘Not in this instance. Our soldiers confirmed that the renegades rallied around the wounded man, almost setting up a human shield. They half-carried, half-ran him away from our men. They’re clever and fast, I’ll give them that, and they know the ways and means of the forest better than our men ever could. They disappeared faster into the shadows of the great trees than our soldiers could scramble up the hill.’

‘What’s your point?’ Loethar hated sounding so thick-headed and he knew it was disappointment making his comprehension sluggish.

Stracker clearly delighted in his slowness. ‘Ask Freath, I’m sure he understands.’ He casually took a long draught from his cup.

Loethar glanced at Freath, who obliged, tension in his voice. ‘I suspect, my lord, that General Stracker is implying that the man was important enough for the others to risk their own capture or death.’

‘Exactly,’ Stracker followed up, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.

Freath sounded awfully alarmed, Loethar thought, but he turned back to Stracker.

‘But you let them get away,’ he said, his voice quiet and suddenly threatening.

‘No, I didn’t, brother. I wasn’t there. Had I been, I would have given chase until my heart gave out, but the captain in charge decided it was prudent not to venture deeper into the forest with only five men. He knew we would want this information and so I now have it and have brought it to you. But in the meantime I had Vulpan taken to the spot.’

This time Loethar had no struggle in understanding his brother’s meaning. ‘Inspired.’

‘Thank you,’ the huge man said, deigning to incline his head in a small bow.

‘I’m impressed, Stracker. So what now?’

‘We wait for news. We will find him, brother. Trust me.’ Loethar did not resist his general’s friendly tap on his face, for it was meant affectionately, but he despised it. Carefully, however, he kept his expression even as the general excused himself.

‘Enjoy the nobles,’ Stracker said, smiling ironically as he left.

Loethar stared at the open doorway absently until Freath closed the door. ‘Freath, have I told you about Vulpan yet?’

‘No, my lord. Perhaps you’ll enlighten me now,’ the aide said, returning to his previous task of brushing lint from the emperor’s shoulder.

‘He’s one of our Vested. It’s a strange talent but he only has to taste a person’s blood to know that person again.’

Freath stood back from Loethar, his forehead creased in amused puzzlement.

Loethar held up a hand with helpless resignation as he swung around. ‘I know, I know. But there’s no accounting for these Vested. Some possess enchantments that defy imagination.’

‘You mean his taste of blood works in the same way that a dog can trace a smell?’

Loethar grinned. ‘I suppose. He never gets it wrong, Freath. We’ve tested him time and again…even tried to trick him.’

Freath frowned. ‘So he has tasted the blood of the wounded outlaw.’

Loethar nodded. ‘Why would they rally around the man unless it was Faris? There is no one else of any importance in that cohort.’ He noticed Freath blink, but continued, ‘And some day the outlaw will slip up and Vulpan will deliver him to me. I am a patient man.’

‘Incredible,’ Freath remarked, shaking his head as he stacked the cups on the tray. ‘And this Vulpan is loyal, sir?’

Loethar shrugged. ‘The magic is not in doubt.’

‘Is Kilt Faris that important?’ Freath asked, reaching to do up the emperor’s top button.

Loethar raised his chin. ‘Yes. He challenges me.’

‘He did the same to Brennus before you, sir.’

‘Is that supposed to reassure me, Freath?’

The aide straightened his lord’s jacket, moving behind him. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I meant only that Faris is a gnat—a vexing irritant—who thinks stealing the royal gold is somehow not the same crime as stealing from the good folk of Penraven.’

‘Precisely, which is why I wish to hunt him down.’

Loethar’s eyes narrowed as he heard the aide suck in a breath that sounded too much like exasperation.

‘If you’ll forgive me, my lord? May I offer a recommendation?’

‘You usually do, Freath. Make it quick.’

Freath cleared his throat as he returned to face his superior. ‘Let me escort you down, my lord, we can talk as we walk. We really must go.’