Warrior (75 page)

Mahkas gasped for breath, unable to speak because of the pressure on his throat, blood beading around the tips of the spiked scales of Damin’s gauntlet where they cut his flesh. Damin could smell his uncle’s fear, although it was clear, even now, that Mahkas could not quite comprehend the reason for it.

“Damin,
no
!” another voice cried desperately, female this time.

Damin glanced over his shoulder. Tejay had burst into the room, followed by a clutch of Raiders who crowded behind her in the doorway, torn with indecision. These men were sworn to protect Krakandar’s regent, but, more importantly, they lived to serve Krakandar’s prince. The men hesitated on the threshold, unsure about whom they should be protecting. Tejay solved their dilemma for them by the simple expedient of slamming the door on the Raiders with her foot and then she turned to confront Damin.

“This is none of your concern, Tejay,” he told her, surprised at how icily calm he sounded. A few moments ago, he’d been too angry to speak. But now, with Mahkas pinned against the wall and the breath slowly being squeezed out of him by the sharp spikes that encircled Damin’s forearm, the young prince found his voice, unaware of the chilling, terrible timbre of his words. “This is a family matter.”

“Damin,” Tejay repeated, taking a step closer, speaking in a voice that sounded as if she was fighting to keep a level, reasonable tone. “Let him go. Please.”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned back to glare at Mahkas, to breathe in the stench of his fear. Leila must have felt something of the same fear. What else would have driven her to suicide? And Starros? Had he hung in those dreadful chains, awaiting the next blow, never sure where it would fall, or when? Had Mahkas revelled in their fear the way Damin was drinking in his uncle’s terror now?

Mahkas’s eyes were wide, he was gasping for breath and his face was turning blue.

Damin’s eyes never left his uncle’s suffocating face as he answered Tejay. “He killed Leila, my lady. He damn near killed Starros. Give me one good reason why I
shouldn’t
kill him.”

“One Warlord,” Tejay said.

Those two simple words struck a note somewhere in Damin, something that pierced his veil of rage. He eased the pressure on Mahkas’s throat a little and turned to her. “
What
?”

“We’re one Warlord away from Alija Eaglespike gaining control of the Convocation of Warlords, Damin,” Rorin reminded him in a voice devoid of all emotion.

Damin glared at them both. The young sorcerer’s eyes were still dark, the whites consumed completely, as if he held onto his magical power as some form of protection against Damin’s fury.

Tejay nodded her agreement. “No matter how satisfying it might feel, Damin, kill Mahkas now, while you’re still six years away from inheriting your seat, and Krakandar will be in the hands of the Sorcerers’ Collective before the sun rises tomorrow morning.”

Damin turned to stare at Mahkas, knowing Rorin and Tejay were right. That one reason alone was enough for him to spare his uncle’s life. The fact that he could see their point, and appreciate its significance, infuriated the young prince even more. He wanted blood. That he could hesitate on the brink of wreaking righteous vengeance for Leila’s death and Starros’s brutal torture, for something as cold and impersonal as politics, made Damin disgusted with himself.

But it stayed his hand.

Slowly, he lifted his forearm from Mahkas’s throat and took a step back. His uncle collapsed against the wall, barely able to stand, his fear abating a little as it occurred to him that his nephew didn’t plan to kill him after all.

“Damin . . .,” Mahkas gasped. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but Leila’s waiting for you . .

.”

“Leila’s
dead
!” Damin yelled at him, making his uncle flinch. “And it might as well have been
you
who wielded the blade!”

Mahkas looked past Damin to Tejay and Rorin in confusion. “Dead? What’s he talking about?”

“Leila has killed herself, Mahkas,” Tejay informed him. “That’s what all that screaming was about, in case you were wondering.”

He shook his head, denying Tejay’s words, smiling patronisingly at her ignorance, as he stood a little straighter. “No, no, no . . . you must be mistaken, Lady Lionsclaw. Bylinda’s just being hysterical, that’s all. Leila’s fine. She’s waiting for Damin. They’re to be married, you know—”

“This is
her
blood I’m wearing, you bastard!” Damin exploded. “She killed herself because you wouldn’t let it go! You couldn’t let her be happy. Leila is dead because of your pathetic ambition!”

Mahkas backed away from him in shock, but it seemed more for his nephew’s ingratitude than grief at the loss of his only child. “But Damin, I don’t understand. Why are you saying these things? I did all of this for you! I’ve kept Krakandar safe, made her more prosperous than she’s ever been. Everything was for you. All of it. Even my own daughter . . .”

It was more than Damin could stand, to listen to his uncle justify Leila’s death by claiming it was done on his behalf. He grabbed Mahkas again, slamming him against the wall once more, this time with his gauntleted hand around his uncle’s throat. “You did this for
yourself
, you miserable prick! Don’t you
dare
try to shift the blame onto me for your sorry delusions.”

“
Damin
!
No
!” Tejay cried, as she sensed what little self-control he had left beginning to slip.

Damin ignored her. Instead, he focused all his anger and rage on his uncle, his grip tightening inexorably. When he spoke, his voice was steel dipped in icy rage. “So let’s clear this up, once and for all, shall we? There is not now, or
ever
, going to be a wedding between me and Leila. Do you
get
that yet?”

He slammed Mahkas’s head against the wall to emphasise his point.

“When your mother hears of this . . .,” Mahkas managed to gasp weakly.

“My mother already
knows
, you stupid bastard! I wrote to her weeks ago, demanding she finally set you straight. She should have done it years ago. She told me that herself, but she didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Well, I don’t give a pinch of shit about your feelings,
Uncle
Mahkas, so let’s see if I can state this clearly enough so that even
you
will get it through your thick, brainless skull. There never
was
going to be a wedding. You just seem to be the only person in the whole damned world who doesn’t understand that! And now,” he added, slamming his uncle’s head against the wall once more, just because it felt so damned good, “thanks to you and your sad delusions, Leila is dead and I’m going to rip out your miserable heart with my bare hands.”

“Damin,” Rorin warned anxiously. “Don’t do this.”

Mahkas was gasping for breath, choking again as Damin’s fist closed on his windpipe. The desire to crush it completely was overwhelming.

“Don’t give Krakandar away because of something your uncle did,” Tejay advised behind him.

He hesitated once more. Tejay was right, Damin knew it. In his mind, at least. But his heart wanted vengeance and it was proving an almost equal fight between the two warring factions inside him.

“Mahkas Damaran simply isn’t worth Krakandar or the High Prince’s crown, Damin.”

And that, Damin realised, was the crux of it. Mahkas
wasn’t
worth it. He was nothing—a deluded fool who couldn’t see past his own ambition. With a disgusted shove, he let Mahkas go, unable to look at him any longer.

He turned away and found himself face to face with Tejay.

She nodded her approval. “Marla Wolfblade raised our next High Prince far too well to have him falter this close to the finish, Damin.”

Behind him, Mahkas staggered to his feet, grasping his bruised throat. He snarled at Tejay’s words and then coughed painfully. “Raised him well? That’s a joke! Did you see what this ungrateful bastard just did? He . . . he tried to kill me! Guards!”

They were waiting outside the door for just such an order and burst into the study at Mahkas’s shout. The room rapidly filled with armed men, but they hadn’t drawn their weapons. Not yet, at least.

“Arrest my nephew!”

The sergeant stared at Mahkas in surprise. “My
lord
?”

“You heard me! Arrest him! He just tried to kill me!”

“But . . . your nephew is the prince, my lord,” the sergeant pointed out nervously. “
Our
prince . .

.”

“I know who he is, idiot. Now arrest him! Get him out of my sight!”

Damin faced the Raiders defiantly for a moment and then shook his head and held up his hands to show he intended no resistance. He could feel Tejay and Rorin relaxing at the gesture.

“It’s all right, Sergeant,” he assured the Raider, taking a deep breath to calm his raging pulse.

“I’m done here. All the people who are going to die in this place tonight are already dead.”

“Perhaps, if you’d loved Leila the way she loved you, my daughter wouldn’t have felt the need to take her own life,” Mahkas sneered behind him.

Damin had taken a bare two steps towards the door when his uncle spoke, and his derision sent Damin toppling over the edge of reason. He was on Mahkas before anyone could stop him.

It didn’t take much to slake his need for retribution. He delivered one savage blow, one short, sharp jab with his gauntleted fist. Mahkas was quick enough to dodge the punch, but not quick enough to get out of its way completely. He turned his head at the last instant and the blow glanced off his chin and grazed his throat instead, dragging the gauntlet’s sharp spikes across his windpipe. Blood gushed from the wound but when Mahkas opened his mouth to cry out, nothing came out but a wet, bubbling noise.

Damin stepped back, shaking off the Raiders who’d attempted to restrain him, satisfied that if he couldn’t kill him, he had silenced Mahkas at least.

In stunned disbelief, everyone—even Tejay and Rorin—fell back out of his way as the Prince of Krakandar strode from the room, leaving the regent lying on the floor, covered in blood, fighting to draw breath through the hole in his windpipe, his severed vocal chords robbing him of the ability to give voice to his pain.

It was days before Elezaar could bring himself to return to Marla’s townhouse. In the intervening time he wandered blindly through the plague-infected city, not caring about his own welfare; tempting fate, begging it to offer him a release. Unfortunately for Elezaar, just as the rat drive in Krakandar had kept the plague at bay, so it had begun to have an effect here in Greenharbour. It seemed as if the tide had turned and the first tenuous signs of recovery were already visible. He didn’t catch the plague and no cutpurses attacked him and beat him to death. It was as if the gods wanted him to suffer, so they allowed him to roam Greenharbour’s normally dangerous streets with impunity.

Denied even an accidental death as an avenue of escape, Elezaar eventually faced the fact that he could not walk away from the consequences of his betrayal so he made his way back home.

The least he could do for Marla—the
last
thing he could do for his mistress—was warn her of the danger he’d placed her and her whole family in.

It took him another day to gather the courage to do what must be done, but finally, after pawning the silver wolf’s head brooch that held his cloak together, Elezaar was able to buy what he needed from an apothecary in the merchant quarter. The herbalist was one of the few who could see the first signs of recovery and he was anxious to sell his medicines and perhaps claim some credit for plague cures that he’d actually had nothing to do with. The man didn’t question Elezaar as he made his purchase. He simply took the money, handed over the small vial to the dwarf, and went back to mixing his potions.

Elezaar drank the contents of the vial down before he turned and finally headed for home.

Marla hurried into the hall when she heard Elezaar was back. She was clearly worried about his disappearance and expected a satisfactory answer about where he’d been. Elezaar was ready for that.

He intended to tell her the truth.

He’d told all the lies he was ever going to tell.

“Where have you been!” the princess demanded of him, as soon as she laid eyes on him. “Look at you, Elezaar! You’re filthy! I’ve been out of my mind with worry. We all thought you taken by bandits, or become a victim of the plague!”

And she would have been worried, he knew. She cared about him, perhaps even loved him, in her own way, although in all his years in her service nothing sexual had ever passed between them.

Nobody had ever cared about Elezaar the Fool before Marla Wolfblade came along.
Yet I
betrayed her anyway
. . .

“I
am
a victim, your highness. But only of my own weakness.”

Marla looked at him oddly. “Is there something you want to tell me, Elezaar?”

He nodded. “Something I must tell you, your highness. I certainly don’t want to do it.”

“You’re being terribly cryptic. What’s going on?”

He was starting to feel a little nauseous as the contents of the vial began to take effect. “Can we sit, your highness? I’m not feeling well.”

Marla nodded her permission and allowed him to take a seat on the cushions around the low table normally reserved for visitors of her own class. She seated herself opposite, curious and a little concerned perhaps, but with no inkling of the devastating blow he was about to deliver.

“Now, out with it,” she ordered. “Where have you been? And what is this thing you must tell me?”

“I have a brother.”

Marla smiled. “Well, I can see I shall have to have you whipped for keeping that from me.”

She was still beautiful, he thought, as he studied her face. She had turned forty last year but still managed to look five years younger. A combination, the dwarf knew, of being able to afford the best, never having to work outdoors and picking the right mother. Marla came from a long line of women who aged well.

“You may wish more than that on me, your highness, by the time I’ve finished my tale,” he warned ominously.