Lanaie of Roathes dropped to one knee before the Emperor, more in keeping with the ways of her people than the current fashions of the Empire, but still an acceptable showing of loyalty.
“My Emperor, may I speak on behalf of my father?”
“Yes, of course, child.” Pathra smiled and the girl rose. Desh looked on, hidden behind his hood. They had spoken briefly of exactly how well Drask had handled the situation with young Brolley. He’d have been in his rights to beat the boy or even to kill him if the boy had decided to attack. Instead he had offered a warning against further insults and accepted the boy’s apology. Even Nachia was pleased, and that was a challenge at the best of times.
“King Marsfel of Roathes wishes to thank you for the assistance you offered, Majesty.”
Pathra Krous smiled. He and Desh had spoken of this very matter. “I merely offered witnesses to assess the situation. Any actions taken were done so free of my command.”
That got her. She was looking puzzled. “But did you not send the Sa’ba Taalor to aid my father?”
“You were here, Lanaie. Drask Silver Hand made the offer to assist your father as a demonstration. You agreed to it.”
Sometimes it was good to have ears everywhere. Marsfel had indeed been grateful for the assistance, but instead of sending a note of thanks he’d attempted to take the visitors into captivity. His reasoning, according to all Desh could learn, was to have someone to blame for the deaths of over a thousand soldiers on his beachfront. It seemed there was some issue as to whether or not the Guntha had been invited to the area by the king in an effort to gain additional funds for handling the military in his area.
Pathra had been amused. Desh was a bit more worried. Either way, if the Guntha decided to take offense, it might well come down to a war.
“I thought they were sent on your behalf, Majesty.”
“No. They were sent as a demonstration of what ten Sa’ba Taalor could do. They were sent by Drask as assistance to your father. If your father would like to thank anyone, he should thank Drask Silver Hand, and perhaps King Tuskandru, the dignitaries who were gracious enough to offer your father assistance in his hour of need.”
He held up his hand and Desh moved forward handing him a small sheaf of papers. Pathra gave them a cursory glance, signed his name at the bottom of each page, and then sealed the entire affair with a wax mark. After waiting for a moment, while fanning the seal, he offered the bundle to Lanaie. “These papers offer the formal explanation to your father. I am glad that the matter has been resolved to his satisfaction.”
“But, sire, the Guntha are very angry.”
“As they should be. Over a thousand invading soldiers were killed on your father’s behest. I suspect they are very angry indeed, but now they must surely know better than to offend your father with foolish attempts at invasion.”
“Can you not offer assistance at this time, Pathra Krous?”
“If there were a need, of course, but the invading forces have been repelled. Your father’s right to rule has been made extremely clear to the invaders and he has time to redistribute his forces before any more attacks can be considered, surely.”
The girl was lovely, and her brow was troubled. She considered the Emperor’s words carefully and then bowed before leaving his presence.
“That went better than I expected.” Pathra spoke softly to Desh. There was no one else in the room, but one could never be too careful.
“All in all, this week has gone remarkably well.”
“I suspect you are to blame for most of that, Desh.”
The sorcerer shook his head. “I do what I can. Nothing more.”
“I understand you might have let a bit of information fall to Drask’s hands regarding the life offered on his behalf.”
“Nonsense. I merely let Tataya know that the good captain had placed a small wager on the decency of Silver Hand.”
“Mmm. Well, at any rate, I suspect I owe you thanks.”
“What you should consider, Pathra, is why the offer by the good captain would make any difference at all to the Sa’ba Taalor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why is he important to them? What is so very special about Merros Dulver that he could change their minds about anything at all? Why did they seek him out in the Blasted Lands? Why did one of their kings meet with him and another come back with him as an escort?”
“You ask too damned many questions.” Pathra’s brow knitted in concentration.
“I ask the questions you choose to ignore.”
“Precisely my point.”
“That’s why I’m your advisor.”
“You came with the crown. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Have you stricken that damned law yet?”
“Oh yes! No more duels to answer insults. No more duels to handle charges of assault. No more duels.”
“Good. Excellent. Now if you can change the rules regarding nephews of the Emperor drinking to excess at formal affairs…”
“The boy learned his lesson. He’s still dealing with multiple bruises from the beating Wollis March gave him.”
“You should promote that man. Him and Dulver both.”
“They’re no longer with the military.”
“You’re the damned Emperor. Pull them back into service and then promote them.”
“I wish I thought you were joking.”
Desh looked around the empty throne room. The Sa’ba Taalor would be leaving soon. They had plans to head for their distant homelands. The great skull from the thing called a Mound Crawler gleamed in the western corner of the room. Pathra was smitten with the thing and looked at it almost constantly. It fed his desire to travel. “I don’t joke about that sort of thing. It comes back to the fact that Dulver is respected by the valley folk for whatever reason. And the fact that March just spent two days showing your upstart nephew how easily he could be bested in combat. A much needed lesson in humility, I might add.”
Pathra Krous rose from his throne and stretched his back. He hated the throne. Not being the Emperor, but the throne itself. No matter how he sat or what sort of cushions he used, he always rose with a sore back. That was one of the finer and subtler magicks Desh had ever employed. No one sat there without feeling a bit of the weight of their authority. He felt it left the crown-bearers properly humbled. He had no idea if that was an accurate feeling or not, but he wasn’t about to go and change a spell that had worked for the last four hundred years. “What else is on your mind?”
“That’s it, really. I think if they have brought us allies they should be rewarded. If they have earned the attention of potential enemies – and I’m not saying they have, but we never know, do we – then we should make sure they are in positions to keep the attention of said enemies.”
“Write up the papers. I’ll sign them.” Pathra looked askance at him and moved over to the skull again. His fingers touched the gold-plated surface, skimmed over rough gems of differing values. Even without adornment, the value of the skull to the academics in Canhoon would surely have been enough to feed the army for a few months. The Sa’ba Taalor had offered a phenomenal amount as their way of saying hello. “But Desh? Make sure that’s what the men want, please. I have no desire to reward anyone with consignment into the military.”
“I’ll make sure, Pathra.” He watched the Emperor’s hand play around the eye socket of the great skull and then move down to touch a tooth larger than the blade of most swords. “I’ve asked that artist you’re so fond of, the one who handled your portrait, to render images of the Mound Crawler based on notes from Tuskandru. The work should be done soon. Tusk was very generous with the details.”
Pathra’s face lit up in a broad smile. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Sadly, that would never happen. The Emperor of the Fellein Empire would be dead before the work was completed.
Sometimes the world moves smoothly. Other times the world trembles.