Читать книгу Tyrant’s Blood - Fiona McIntosh, Fiona McIntosh - Страница 12

Freath slowed the horse to a gentle walk. It had been a long time since he’d visited the north and even longer since he’d entered Francham. The last time had been prior to Leo’s birth, when he’d accompanied King Brennus and his new bride, Iselda, on an around-the-realm meet and greet. Brennus had been keen to show off his exotic wife from Galinsea and to silence the mumbling detractors who had begun to spread word that no woman from the Set had been good enough for Brennus. Freath knew the king had hoped that by introducing his lovely young bride to his people in person, they would fall in love with her as easily as he had. His strategy had worked.

Penraven hadn’t seen anything like it since the coronation of Brennus but, as eligible and handsome as the new young king had been at the time, his ‘crowning tour’ lacked the glamour that a beautiful young woman added. And Iselda understood immediately how to achieve her husband’s aim. She had never complained once about the gruelling schedule, Freath recalled. She had chosen her wardrobe with care to ensure that everywhere she visited the people were left in awe of her glittering presence—and, Freath remembered with a soft smile, Iselda had neverneeded jewels to glitter. Her smile was full and genuine and she had managed to draw all she met into its comforting warmth. She had possessed an unwavering ability to remain cheerful despite her fatigue, and dig deep to find energy that often surpassed that of her stronger, older entourage. It was Iselda who had first climbed down from her horse to pause a while and talk to people, to kiss the foreheads of babies and allow the women to clasp at her gloved hands. At first even Freath had been alarmed but alongside Brennus he’d watched how instantly and excitedly the folk had reacted to this show of generosity that had no precedent. And then word had spread so quickly that Brennus had had no choice but to take the unusual step of insisting the royal couple greet their people on foot everywhere from there on. It had won hearts right around the realm and Iselda’s foreign status had been instantly forgotten, as had Brennus’s unusual step of not taking a wife from within the Set.

Nowhere had Iselda made greater impact than Francham. Here, hardened men, used to traversing the most inhospitable of regions, had melted in her presence, grinning like loons. Freath was sure Iselda’s popularity in this region was due to the fact that she had grasped just how tough life was on the road through Hell’s Gate, and that winning the hearts of these men would spread word even faster as they were always on the move around the realm.

She’d agreed to sampling the local liquor known rather dauntingly as ‘Rough’. To the delight of all in Francham, the new queen had stepped into an inn known as The Lookout and there she had surprised everyone by tipping back her head and swallowing a man-sized shot of the deep amber liquid. If it had burned—as Freath knew it must have—she had not shown it, having had the audacity to suggest the innkeeper pour her another ‘for good measure’ .

The silence that had gripped the inn had erupted into cheers and whistles. And as Queen Iselda had clinked glasses with King Brennus prior to downing her second shot of Rough, a rousing chorus of the realm’s royal anthem had been belted out noisily by the crowd.

As Brennus had commented to Freath later that night, ‘The queen has won more than hearts this day. In a single swallow she has guaranteed a loyalty to the Crown that feels unparalleled.’

Prophetic words, Freath thought now as he entered the main street. From that day, patriotism and genuine pride in the Crown of Penraven had escalated noticeably and not waned throughout the reign of King Brennus the 8th.

Next to him, Kirin cleared his throat. ‘Master Freath, we’re staying at The Lookout.’

It was fortunate Kirin had noticed he had been daydreaming, Freath thought, jolted out of his memories, or he’d have strolled his horse right by the inn. ‘Yes, of course, thank you.’ He looked around and noticed that the three bodyguards that Loethar insisted be sent along with him were regarding him sullenly through their tatua. ‘Master Felt and I are sharing a room. I have made arrangements for two other rooms. Work it out.’

The Green nodded on behalf of his companions. ‘We’ll take the horses for stabling. Do you need us?’

Freath shook his head. ‘No, but your emperor seems to think I do.’ He smiled but it won no warmth in their faces. ‘The local liquor here is called Rough. Try some. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. I hear the brothel here is lively too. I will be eating in the dining room at The Lookout tonight, so I require no supervision.’ As the Green began to protest, Freath held up a hand. ‘I insist. Take your men for some relaxation. I am going nowhere. Tomorrow morning I will meet with the mayor to discuss the emperor’s new tax levy. By noon I imagine I will be hugely unpopular and will require your presence more keenly. Until then, I can survive the odd gob of spittle or harsh word.’

He thought the two younger guards grinned but then again it could have been a grimace. He knew they considered him a traitor to his own. And therefore the lowest of the low, and they hated that he had the ear of their warlord, besides. He was also sure that Stracker did his utmost to poison his men’s attitude towards any person from the Set. Stracker was still living in the past, believing that every Denovian should perish, or at least be treated like vermin. Although most of the Set had come to realise that it needed Loethar, the emperor’s charismatic hold over his horde—and his blood-hungry half-brother—was all that stood in the way of ongoing death and destruction.

As the men walked the horses off in search of the inn’s stables, Freath muttered under his breath, ‘I have to seriously wonder whether they’d even care if a blade was slipped into my gut.’

‘You can be sure they wouldn’t,’ Kirin said.

Freath nodded. ‘I think you’re right. Come on.’ He breathed deeply. ‘It’s good to smell this fresh mountain air.’

‘Is it?’ Kirin grumbled. ‘I’ve been a city lover for a long time.’

‘Wait until you’ve tried some Rough,’ Freath quipped.

‘When is this meeting going to happen?’ Kirin asked, looking around to see that they weren’t being overheard.

‘Tonight, I hope. We have to slip our guard somehow although once they begin drinking I reckon that won’t be as daring as it sounds. By tomorrow I’ll be watching my back.’

Freath led the way into the front door and his belly responded immediately to the aroma of roasting meat. Ah, he remembered now—the local delicacy.

Kirin gave an appreciative sound. ‘What a delicious smell,’ he commented, pulling off his hat and travelling cloak.

‘I’d forgotten how unique the north can be, especially this town that feels the full effect of the various cultures brought in by the merchants and the folk who travel regularly. That smell just gets better, by the way. It’s called “Osh”.’

‘Osh?’ Kirin repeated. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s mountain bear or something.’

‘And if it was?’

‘I couldn’t resist it, I don’t think.’

Freath gave a half-smile. ‘Nothing so exotic. It’s goat, ox, sheep, chicken, pig, deer. Slabs of meat are pinned onto huge skewers and roasted upright over woodfires made of flaxwood, whose embers release a special spicy fragrance that permeates the meat. The meat, I might add, is rolled in spices that we hardly see in the city: toka, ferago, leem and peregum.’

‘I’ve heard of leem.’

‘I’ve even seen leem, but not the others. The rest are found only in the mountains. When the meat is cooked, it is sliced off onto trenchers of herbed honey bread, and drizzled with oil. It’s magnificent.’

Kirin nodded. ‘I’m already hungry for it from your description.’

Freath looked over Kirin’s shoulder. ‘Ah, you must be Innkeeper Woolton?’ he said to the ruddy-faced man crossing the large reception area towards them.

‘I am,’ he replied. ‘Are you the party from the…er…city?’

‘Indeed,’ Freath said, glad that the man had taken his early warning of discretion seriously.

‘Three rooms?’ Freath nodded. ‘They’re ready and waiting for you, sir. Tillie will show you up.’ He pointed to a rosy-cheeked girl, no more than thirteen anni, who, going by the dimple in her chin, was his daughter.

Her smile echoed her father’s. ‘It’s upstairs, sirs,’ she lisped.

Their room was very large, with a big window, two beds, and a fabric screen that surrounded a small basin for privacy.

‘Nice,’ Kirin said as Tillie left.

‘Glad you approve,’ Freath said, setting down his small leather bag. ‘So, down to business. A message will be delivered to us but I don’t know—’

A tap at the door interrupted Freath. ‘Yes?’ he called but Kirin moved to open it.

‘sorry to disturb you, sirs,’ Tillie said, the words accentuating her lisp as she curtsied. She was carrying a vase of mountain flowers.

Freath was irritated by her re-entry. ‘Pollen makes me sneeze,’ he said.

Kirin glared at him. ‘Over here, Tillie. I’ll keep it on my side.’

She smiled gratefully, closing the door behind her as she entered the room, which irritated Freath all the more.

‘Was there something else?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Yes,’ she said clearly, her lisp gone. ‘You are Master Freath, are you not? From Brighthelm?’

Kirin glanced at Freath, shocked. Freath had no choice. If worst came to worst, he decided in that moment of alarm, they could overwhelm the girl. ‘I am,’ he replied, masking his fear.

She nodded, her composure surprising him. ‘Thank you, sir. I was asked to give you a message.’

‘I see,’ he said, clearing his throat of the relief that was clogging it. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m to tell you to be ready for when the games begin.’

‘Games? Ready? For what?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve given you the message I was told to deliver, sir. There was nothing else.’

‘But what games?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

He nodded, resigned. ‘All right. Keep that information to yourself.’

‘I have and I will continue to do so.’

‘Do you know who we are?’ Freath asked.

‘No, sir. Nor do I wish to. I’m being paid to do this and the man who paid me frightened me. I do not want to be involved.’

Freath nodded and she quickly left the room. He looked at Kirin. ‘What do you make of it?’

Kirin gave him a look of disdain. ‘You know what I think. Freath, you’re a household servant of the palace and I am a man of the Academy who has also spent his last decade as a curious sort of servant to the ruler. But we’re acting like spies or assassins or something equally clandestine and, even worse, we’re pretending we know what we’re doing. What is in our heads?’

‘Loyalty’s in mine,’ Freath replied with equal disdain. ‘But I’m scared too, Kirin. There’s no shame in it. If anything, it will keep us sharp.’

‘For what? Our own deaths?’

Freath smiled humourlessly. ‘A long time ago Clovis told me you were the one who convinced him that the throne of Penraven and the honour of our Crown was worth rallying for…worth dying for, in fact. I’m sure he said that.’

Kirin grimaced. ‘I’m sure he did.’

‘Dying is easy, Kirin, my friend. Staying alive—especially in our situation—is much harder, and far more honourable.’

‘I’ll carry that thought with me as a blade enters my belly,’ Kirin said, scowling.

Freath sighed. ‘I suppose chasing here after hopes and shadows means we could be missing out on word of Piven.’

‘Clovis will get more word to us when he can.’

‘Piven will be almost fifteen anni. Imagine that,’ Freath commented, awed by the thought.

Kirin’s voice dropped to a low murmur. ‘And our king, if this idea of yours bears fruit, will be a man. I’m sure in your mind you see the boy.’ Freath nodded sadly. ‘Well, he’s going to be twenty-two anni, more than old enough to fight for his crown. Have you considered that?’

‘I have,’ Freath admitted wearily.

Kirin gripped his arm. ‘We’ve probably aged twice as fast in living our lie at the palace all these years. Leo is likely brimming with bitterness that is fuelling his anger and passion.’

Freath looked at his friend. ‘He’s kept it well under control or someone has helped him to. But,’ he sighed again, ‘the time is nigh. Valisar must rise again or be lost forever.’

‘Have you also considered that this peace we enjoy might be a better alternative?’

‘What?’ Freath said, pulling away.

Kirin raised his hands. ‘Hear me out.’

‘No. I can’t believe you’re thinking like this.’

‘I don’t care for bloodshed, you know that. What we went through a decade ago—all those deaths. Just think about those boys we personally had to witness being killed to save one life. What about the queen giving hers so cheaply to ensure your safety?’

‘Don’t you dare—’ Freath began but Kirin overrode his protest.

‘And Genrie? How about her agonising death to—’

‘stop!’

Kirin held his tongue and had the grace to look abashed. He sighed. ‘The point is, Freath, we have peace. You yourself admire Loethar…you’ve expressed that to me on many occasions.’

‘I do—I even like him in a strange sort of way. But that doesn’t mean I would ignore who rightfully owns the throne of Penraven. My loyalties have not changed.’

‘But does it matter anymore? Does it really matter what you or I, or any loyalist, wants? We feel it more because we were right there, wading through the blood. But look around you, Freath. Everyone’s getting on with life. Penraven continues to be as prosperous as ever, the Set thrives and the realms seem more in tune with each other than ever before—surely you would admit that?’

Freath felt his lips thin. He refused to reply, hating Kirin for not only stating the obvious but for reminding him just how well the new empire was functioning. He knew it. He did not need it rubbed in his face.

Kirin continued, his tone now peppered with bafflement. ‘The thing is, Freath, what we’re pursuing now is more bloodshed. Is this what we want? Loethar has achieved what felt like the impossible all those years ago: peace, cohesion, dare I say harmony between not only the realms, including Droste, but also the Steppes people. We are truly part of an empire and are considered as such by kingdoms as far away as Percheron and Galinsea. We’ve had an envoy from Pearlis in Morgravia on behalf of the Triumvirate to lavish good wishes on Emperor Loethar’s rule and I’m sure its ally Tallinor would gladly support that if it could ever make such a massive journey. Seriously, Freath, our people are strong and protected and peaceful—’

‘If not happy,’ Freath interrupted sourly.

‘Who says they aren’t?’ Kirin countered. ‘You are not happy perhaps. And I may not be happy, and a very small band of rebels that we think might include a Valisar king are likely not happy. But think of the greater folk of our lands. They are content. Do you really think after what they’ve survived they care anymore who is on the throne? The fact is they live in peaceful, prosperous times and Loethar seems to have defied us all and got it right. I know I’m risking your fury saying this, but he’s a good ruler. He’s been frightening in the past but he’s fair and his touch is light and if not for the hideous empress, life could almost be considered sweet in the palace. Yes, he took his crown from a sea of blood but he’s made it up to the people of the Set ever since.’

‘Damn you, Kirin! Don’t you think I know it?’ Freath’s anger bubbled over. ‘I work alongside him every day. And every day I have to temper my admiration with memories of how he drove Queen Iselda to demand her own death, how he forced our king to suicide and let’s not forget how he roasted and ate Brennus in front of the queen and Piven. You conveniently forget he butchered thousands of good people on his way to claiming this throne, and—’

‘I haven’t forgotten!’ Kirin growled back at him. ‘I just don’t want to live through it again and that’s what your plotting is consigning us to. War again, when this realm and this Set has finally settled into peace. We want peace, Freath. Not more bloodshed.’

Freath waved a hand angrily. ‘Then go, Kirin. You are no use to me.’

‘I’m not sure I ever have been.’

Freath’s head snapped up. ‘How long have you felt like this?’ he asked, shocked.

Kirin shook his head, clearly angry with himself. ‘Why can’t we just accept life as it is? Why are we pursuing something that we know will provoke war?’

‘Because there’s a king out there,’ Freath all but hissed, his finger pointing beyond the window. ‘A rightful king whose throne has been usurped by an intruder. I gave my word to King Brennus that I would do everything in my power to work against Loethar and that somehow, someday I would help his son wrestle back his crown. I will not break that oath. I made it in blood.’ He raised his palm to Kirin to show the scar.

Kirin looked back at his companion of a decade and his sorrow was evident. ‘Look at us, Freath. Truly, what can we achieve? I have a talent but you’ve already seen what it does to me. I am near enough blind in one eye and a finger now twitches incessantly.’

Freath turned, indignant. ‘I haven’t asked you to use your magic once in the last—’

‘You’re missing the point. My powers, though strong, are limited by the weakness of my being just a man. It will destroy me faster than I’ll be able to help you—that’s what I fear. I know you’ve been sparing. But once this new fight begins, you will call upon me again and again,’ Kirin said wearily. ‘I would wreck my body gladly if I thought it could last.’

Freath waved a finger at his friend, hating this schism when he most needed Kirin’s loyalty. ‘Listen to me. You can leave now if you don’t want to be a part of this. Don’t go back to the palace, just disappear and be free. I’ll think of something to tell anyone who asks. But don’t expect me to do the same. I cannot—will not—relinquish my loyalty to the Valisars.’

Kirin nodded sadly. ‘Where is the army to come from, Freath, that will go up against Loethar? Where is the aegis that you believe will protect Leo? No amount of our searching has proved fruitful. What is the future for your new king when you have set off a fight that will lay this realm and others to waste?’

‘I don’t have the answers you want. I don’t have any answers! But I fear I cannot do this without you. I have no allies in the palace without you.’

‘Freath, we are pathetic.’

‘I know. But we have to try, don’t we?’

Kirin spun away, looking angry but also torn. Freath looked at the grey silvering Kirin’s hair. It was only a few strands but they had not been there a year ago. He’d watched the lines in the younger man’s face deepen; he’d witnessed wisdom and maturity replacing youth and energy in this man who could no longer be considered young at thirty-three anni. He wondered who Kirin would be had he been allowed to grow into his role at the Academy in Cremond, instead of facing the fear and bloodshed he had. He could wonder that for all of them, though. They would all be very different if their lives had not been scarred by Loethar’s marauding horde.

He couldn’t lose Kirin. Even though he had just urged his friend to leave, he would be devastated if Kirin walked away now. He had to find the right words to make his friend remain. He knew what to do.

‘I think you need some time. Don’t disappear, my friend. Instead, go and find Clovis for me. Get away from all of this. Who knows, perhaps you’ll find Piven.’ As he said it, Freath realised this plan was wise, far more sound than what he’d originally had in mind. ‘Meet the boy on safe territory somewhere. Get a feeling for who he is now. Work out a line of communication between us so that we can talk without revealing ourselves. And while you’re doing this, think about your role, Kirin. Consider how much I need you, how much the Valisar boys need every loyal soul we can muster.’

Kirin nodded. ‘I will take this time you’re offering. Ever since word came through about Piven I’ve felt excited and I’ve needed that after years of feeling hollow. But I don’t want to use Piven to win back a throne. I’ve realised my excitement is for the fact that he’s alive, not that he offers potential.’ Freath bit back the retort that threatened to fly from his mouth. ‘You follow Leo,’ Kirin continued. ‘I’ll find Clovis and we’ll take it from there.’

Freath didn’t know what to feel. He was glad that Kirin wasn’t deserting him entirely, but the separation felt bitter nonetheless. ‘When will you leave?’

Kirin shrugged. ‘Immediately. The note said Clovis was heading to Minton Woodlet. I’ll start there.’

‘What if he should send more news?’

‘He has no more pigeons. He would have used the one you gave Reuth all those years ago; he never had one of his own. I reckon with a horse and some money I can find him faster than he can try and re-open the lines of communication.’

Freath nodded reluctantly. ‘Money’s no problem. We’ll buy you a horse, though, from here. I don’t think you should take a palace beast, just in case.’ There was suddenly nothing more to say. ‘So you’ll leave, just like that?’

‘Freath,’ Kirin began gently, then sighed. ‘Yes. I promise I will get word to you somehow.’

‘Won’t you at least share a plate of Osh with me?’

Kirin gave a soft grin. ‘Do you always have to win?’