Pathra Krous stared toward the distant Seven Forges. Really, it seemed to be about his favorite thing to do.
Desh Krohan watched him in silence for a while and finally shrugged. “Listen you can stare out that damned window for a dozen years and it won’t change a bloody thing. Why don’t we discuss what you want to do here?”
“I want this to go away. That’s what I want.” His voice was waspish.
Desh stood and stretched then looked around the Emperor’s private offices. “Much as we might want that to happen, it won’t.”
“Then what do you suggest, Advisor?” His Majesty’s voice positively dripped with sarcasm on the title.
“I suggested a good time ago that you change the damned laws. You should have.” Desh’s voice dripped nothing but frost and Pathra stared at him for a moment, shocked by the tone. He was not used to anyone taking that tone with him and for just one brief moment he forgot himself. He opened his mouth to say something he would likely have immediately taken back, but instead he looked at the expression on the sorcerer’s face and remembered that the man before him had been advisor to generations of emperors, and had powers great enough to do him grievous harm without ever lifting a finger.
“You’re right of course, Desh. But it’s too late for that now.” He looked at Desh with wide, fearful eyes. “It is, isn’t it?”
“You could change the law this instant if you so desired; you’re the Emperor. But you would regret it. You would lose face before your kings, your people, and your new acquaintances.”
“Brolley is a damned fool!”
“Yes, we both acknowledge that. That’s one of the reasons he was never much of a consideration as your replacement. His sister is far wiser than he is and also a good deal more level headed.”
“Nachia is not happy about this.”
“I can’t say as I blame her for that, Pathra. You agreed to a duel between her brother and a man who looks like he could wrestle a mountain. A man, I might add, who has made sport of hunting down and killing Pra-Moresh.”
“What have I done?”
“Doomed your younger cousin, unless you can find a way to placate Drask Silver Hand that doesn’t involve him bathing in the boy’s entrails.”
Pathra blanched. “That seems rather vivid, don’t you think?”
“I like to make clear exactly how grave the circumstances are here. You risk offending seven kingdoms with one gesture, Pathra. Seven. An Empire’s worth of enemies if you handle this the wrong way.”
“Perhaps you could reason with Drask?”
“It’s not my place to reason with anyone, Your Majesty. That falls to you and your finest diplomats.”
“You trained my finest diplomats, old man.”
“Then you are well and truly roasting over a fire pit. I am hardly a diplomat.” He sighed. “I’ll have Tataya look into what might or might not placate Drask, but I have doubts it will go the way you want it to.”
Before Pathra could answer, the doors to his office opened and in came Nachia, her face set in a rather fearsome expression of anger.
The Emperor looked to Desh. “Any help at all would be appreciated.”
“Of course.”
“That gigantic bear will eat my brother alive!”
“Very likely he will, Nachia, but what am I to do about it?” Pathra looked to his cousin and immediately there was a scowl on his face. There had always been an interesting relationship between them, one that Desh knew more about than either of them understood.
“Nachia, we’re trying to work out a way to avoid your brother’s unfortunate circumstances.” Desh tried to placate the young woman, but she fired a look his way that was pure venom. He crossed his arms and shut his mouth. She would have her say.
Pathra held his hands up. “I did not ask your brother to offend the visiting dignitaries. Nor did you. I believe, in fact, that you were telling him to shut his foolish mouth when we came into the room.”
“How could you let that beast challenge Brolley?”
“How could you let Brolley offend the guests of the Empire?” Pathra stood his ground and stared hard into his cousin’s eyes.
“Damn your logic!”
“I didn’t invite this. Brolley has done this to himself. I’m investigating how to avoid his error becoming fatal without starting an incident between nations, Nachia, but at the end of the day if I have to choose between your brother and my Empire there is very little choice.”
Nachia looked away first.
“I don’t want my stupid brother gutted by that man.” Nachia looked at the desk.
“Neither do I.” Pathra put his hands on her shoulders. “Neither does anyone.”
Desh slipped from the room as quietly as he could, which was very quietly indeed.
Drask Silver Hand stared into the fire as his hands moved, carefully sharpening the edge on his axe. The weapon had seen a great deal of combat over the years, and if he could be said to have a favorite, the great double bladed axe was it.
Tataya knocked and slipped into his room. He caught the scent of her musky perfume and allowed himself a small smile.
“You are here to plead for the boy’s life?”
“No. Not exactly.” She slipped closer to him, but did not touch. The whetstone sang softly as it scraped along the edge of the axe’s blade.
“Then what is it I can do for you, Tataya?”
“Desh Krohan asks that I see what will satisfy your honor, short of killing a foolish boy.”
“Should the boy prostrate himself before me tomorrow, I will allow him his life.” He examined the blade and then turned the axe around. The whetstone met with a dab of oil and then again began its soft song along the edge of the weapon.
“That is all?” Her voice was mild, but he sensed the reproach. “All you ask is that a man of royal lineage fall to his knees before you and beg forgiveness?”
“He offended me. He offended my people. He offended the Seven Kings I serve.” He watched the stone caress the blade. “What else would you have me do?”
“How would you handle the situation in your homeland?”
“I would have killed him where he stood.” Drask looked up at her, stared into her eyes. They were an odd color, like her skin, like her hair. She had the colors of autumn locked within her flesh and that puzzled him a bit, as all of his people held the color of stone and steel and ashes.
“Are your people that unforgiving?”
“My people are direct. The boy spoke of me and mine as if we were not supposed to hear him but he did it with deliberate volume. He did it to offend as much as he could, to gain face while causing me to lose face. He called me to combat with his words.” He chuckled. “It was for the sake of diplomacy that I did not gut the child where he stood.”
“And yet you have said it yourself. He is a child.”
“Then why did he dine with warriors?”
“The only warriors at that table were your kin.”
“Has this Brolley ever been in real combat? Has he even been forged once?”
“What do you mean? What do you mean has he been forged?”
“Every life is forged. We start as raw materials and we are made stronger by the forgings of life. Like the tempering of steel. Andover Lashk is not the boy he was before his hands were shattered. That was his first forging.”
“Brolley Krous is not Andover Lashk. He has lived a sheltered life.”
“Then his family has done him a great disservice.”
“Will you consider his inexperience when you deal with him?”
“He has but to apologize. He need only bow before me and withdraw his words and I will let him live.”
“And if he does not?”
Drask sighed and set his axe aside. The blade was so sharp that he could shave with it should he so desire.
“If he does not apologize, I still demand satisfaction. Perhaps I will kill him. Perhaps I will break his bones. Perhaps I will cut out his tongue to remind him that only a fool wags an appendage if he wishes to keep it.”
“You understand that he is cousin to the Emperor?”
Drask stared at her for several long moments. “I did not know this.”
“Does it change anything?”
“I will speak with Tuskandru. I will seek his wisdom on this matter.”
“It’s late. Will you need time to discuss this?”
Drask shook his head and smiled behind the veil. “You and yours are a subtle people. Had you wished more time for the boy and his family to prepare, you simply could have asked.”
Tataya smiled and her hand touched his shoulder, her fingers unconsciously tracing the scars that crisscrossed the flesh there. “Would you have granted it?”
“Possibly. We will never know.” He stared into her eyes for a moment. “Two days. I will take two days to consult. At the end of that time, if the boy prostrates himself and apologizes I will spare him. Should my king make other demands I will change my mind.”
“You are kind, Drask.”
“No, Tataya. I am sensible to the political winds. Nothing more.”
She slid in closer to him and her lips pressed against the scars on his shoulder. Her lips were warm and soft and soothing.
He allowed himself to be soothed.
Pella came to him in his room. She knocked and waited for him to answer, then stepped into room. Wollis March looked at her for a long moment, puzzled that she would be there.
The room was large and airy, and yet as soon as she entered he felt the area suddenly cramped and the atmosphere stifling. She was distracting him from his plans to do as little as possible.
“What can I do for you, Pella?”
“You tried to prevent the disastrous events from happening.” Her dark eyes regarded him carefully, staring into his.
“Well, yes. I would rather not see a war.” He stood up, unsettled by her scrutiny. He didn’t like that the woman could stare at him and make him the least bit uncomfortable. It made him feel like he was being unfaithful to Dretta, though he’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
“It might happen anyway.”
Wollis shrugged. “I can hardly stop a foolish boy from getting himself killed.” Why in the name of the gods was he blushing now? He could feel the color creeping up his face.
“Do you think you could teach him to defend himself?”
“In two days’ time?” It hadn’t taken long to hear about the delay. “Against Drask Silver Hand? Not the least bit of a chance.”
“Enough to let him save face in front of his uncle, the Emperor?”
“I’m not a teacher, Pella. I’m a mercenary.”
“Desh Krohan wants someone to teach the boy.”
“He carried a sword. Surely he’s had better teachers than me already.”
“He has never been in a fight.”
“There are soldiers aplenty here, Pella.”
“They cannot be seen teaching him. It would be embarrassing for Brolley.”
“I think I embarrassed the lad enough when I called on him to still his tongue.” He shook his head. The last thing he needed was to involve himself in the work of nobles and dignitaries. He was a soldier, a mercenary and a bit too old to get embroiled in the politics of the Empire.
“We need your help, Wollis. You know how to fight. You’ve seen Drask in combat.”
“I have, which is why this would be foolish. Drask will kill the boy. That’s all there is to it.”
The woman stepped closer to him her dark eyes searching through him as if observing his very soul. For all he knew she was.
“Do this small thing, Wollis March. Do this, and help the boy save face.”
“It’s not saving face if Drask carves his face away. And the man can do it, Pella. You saw him, too. You were there when he took on the Pra-Moresh.”
Damn, but he couldn’t look away from her eyes. She stepped closer still and he felt himself flush again. She made him feel young and foolish.
“Fine. I’ll do my best for the boy.”
“That is all that anyone could ask, Wollis.” She stepped back and her lips and her eyes united in a smile. “You have my gratitude.”
A moment later she was gone without another word.
Wollis sat at the edge of his bed and closed his eyes and reminded himself that he was a married man, faithful to his wife, and not the least bit interested in other women. That was Merros’ specialty.
With Pella gone from the room he could almost believe his own words.
Of course, now he had to train a boy to fight like a man. Or at least die with dignity.
Nachia and Pathra looked at Brolley with barely veiled anger. Desh stared indifferently. The boy had never been much of anything in his eyes. He lacked common sense, maturity, skill of any sort… oh, and longevity. He most decidedly lacked longevity. Unless something could be done to avert disaster.
“It was the wine.” Brolley’s voice was very small. He was a strapping lad, really, solidly built if a little on the heavy side. And he knew his way around a practice arena well enough. Now, however, he was supposed to fight a trained soldier, who in turn was supposed to prepare him for a death match.
“Perhaps if you consume enough spirits in advance you’ll find it easier to grovel for your life?” Nachia’s voice was winter-cold.
“Nachia, don’t be that way.”
Pathra Krous looked down his nose at his cousin and shook his head. “You have no idea of the situation you’ve put us in, you damned fool.” Brolley flinched. Pathra seldom spoke in a harsh tone to his relatives. He was a man who genuinely loved his family despite the politics of running an Empire. And in his entire life, Brolley had never heard the man sound angry. Brolley was young; he was only newly considered an adult.
“Please, Pathra.” Brolley blinked his eyes.
“You’ve offended visiting dignitaries!” Pathra rose from his seat, his face reddening with anger. “Your little flapping mouth has caused me no end of humiliation! And in order to placate the visitors, who, believe me, I want to have placated, I have no choice but to either order you to fight to the death, order you to grovel for mercy, or go back on my word as the Emperor and lose face before an entire nation!”
Even Nachia, who usually was the first to defend her little brother, looked at Pathra with wide eyes and silence.
“What would you have me do, Brolley? You called them a race of pigs in front of their king! What choice does he have? What choice do I have?”
“I will fight if you want me to.” Brolley blinked his eyes fighting against tears that threatened to fall. Desh felt a small amount of pity for the boy, but it was very small. “I’ll fight. Or I’ll beg for mercy. Whatever you decide, my Lord.”
He was getting it. He was beginning to truly understand the gravity of the situation.
Desh cleared his throat. All three looked his way. “I have done what I can. I’ve asked that Drask consider the politics involved here and speak directly to King Tuskandru before deciding anything.” He held up a hand before anyone could speak – all three wanted to – and continued. “As near as I can tell, we’re dealing with a people who solve most of their problems with the sword. They came here making good faith gestures, and they’ve been deeply offended.” He looked at Brolley and the boy stood his ground but his lower lip trembled again. “Deeply. This might not end without bloodshed. To that end I have asked one of the mercenaries who went on the expedition to train you, Brolley. You have a two-day reprieve. During that time you’re going to have to either learn to fight or prepare to die.” He sighed and shook his head. “Or crawl on your hands and knees in the arena and beg for forgiveness for the insult you cast. It’s exactly that simple. All we managed was to buy you time to decide.”
Brolley shook his head. “No. My Emperor decides.”
Nachia’s eyes were dry, but her face spoke of wanting to shed tears.
Pathra stared at his younger cousin for a long moment. “Prepare for your fight. While you do that, I’ll decide what I expect of you.”
Without another word the Emperor left the room. Nachia stared after him and then looked at her younger brother. A moment later she left the room, too.
There was only the boy, and Desh Krohan, the advisor to the Empire. The sorcerer who could, according to many, perform miracles.
“Can’t you do something, Desh?” The boy spoke softly.
“Possibly. If the Emperor demands it.” He left a chill in his voice, expressing his disapproval for the situation.
“I’ve heard that you… that you can make me a better fighter?” The boy’s eyes expressed his desperation.
“It’s possible, but that sort of magic requires sacrifices.”
“What sort of sacrifices?” Was that a glimmer of hope in the boy’s eyes? Of course it was.
“Nothing comes for free, Brolley.” He could see the boy practically reaching for his coin pouch. “No. Not that sort of cost. I mean the skills have to come from somewhere. I can’t manufacture knowledge and years of practice. If I were to offer you that sort of skill, it has to come from another.”
“So I could borrow someone else’s talents?”
“No.” Desh shook his head. “No. It doesn’t work that way. I can’t simply ask someone to loan me their knowledge and then give it back. It has to come from somewhere and it can’t be given back when you’re done with it.”
“Can you do it? Can you make me a warrior?”
Desh stood up. “You’re not understanding me. Someone would have to die for you to have their skill, their knowledge.”
“But you could do it?” Ah, desperation. The boy was desperate. The boy wanted an easy way out of his predicament. Desh Krohan was disgusted.
“Could I? Yes.” He looked down at the boy. “Will I? No.” And then he left the room.
And wondered exactly how long he would have to wait before he was summoned by another member of the royal family, and which member it would be.
He did not have to wait for long.
He was not surprised by who, exactly, summoned him.
Merros Dulver looked at the palace and felt an odd thrill. He had never been past the gates, but as soon as he and the Sa’ba Taalor reached the edge of Tyrne they found an entourage of men in armor waiting to escort them the rest of the way. He felt every grain of sand and dust that stuck to him as he rode, and around him the people of the valley sat up straighter in their saddles, the great beasts below them eyeing the crowds lining the street with wariness.
And through the elation, exhaustion crept along the edges of his being. They’d ridden hard to get back, stopping only once for a few hours’ rest. Now that the ride was over, even the thrill of entering the great palace was only small, hardly enough to keep him from wanting to sleep.
Desh Krohan was waiting for him as he slipped down the back of Saa’thaa. The wizard was impossible to miss. His robes shimmered and moved, and his face was lost in shadows darker than sin. All around him the Sa’ba Taalor looked at the sorcerer and eyed him with the same sort of wariness their mounts had displayed on the street. He was an unknown quality.
Tusk and Drask waited nearby and welcomed their brethren. And before Merros could say or do much of anything, the Emperor himself stood in the courtyard, his lean face smiling warmly. The smile did not reach his eyes, which looked worried. Very worried.
Merros had planned on sleep.
His plans fell apart very quickly.