Читать книгу The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf - Martin Millar - Страница 40

CHAPTER 34

Sarapen stood alone on the rampart of the small desert fort, staring out over the red sand and brooding about his future. He was pleased to have left the Empress’s palace, at least for a few days. The endless parade of courtiers, officials, supplicants and servants was distracting. Here in the vast wilderness of the desert, at least he had peace to think.

Sarapen had originally asked to visit the front lines where there were sporadic clashes between the Hainusta and Hiyasta over the disputed border. The Empress would not agree to that. She’d reluctantly agreed to let him visit some of her nearer military outposts but insisted that he return in a few days. She claimed that the spells that protected him from the hostile environment might not work if he remained in the desert. Sarapen suspected she just wanted him back in the palace as quickly as possible. Quite why she wanted him there, he wasn’t sure. As far as Sarapen could see, an association with an alien werewolf was not something Empress Kabachetka’s subjects would like.

Not that the Empress seems to care that much what her subjects think.

The Empress was an absolute monarch. She controlled the power of the Eternal Volcano. It rendered her untouchable. There had never been a successful rebellion in the land of the Hainusta.

Sarapen gazed over the hot sands. The Fire Elementals were not as frivolous or unpleasant as he’d once believed. He could tolerate their company. He did not, however, wish to spend the rest of his life among them. The great werewolf would have much preferred to return home to Scotland, or anywhere in his own dimension. According to the Empress, that was still not possible. The effects of the terrible wound inflicted by the Begravar knife would kill him. Sarapen had no way of knowing if that was true. Even if it wasn’t, he had no way of returning. As a werewolf, he didn’t have the power to travel through dimensions. No werewolf did.

Apart from my sister, thought Sarapen, and scowled. Sarapen despised Thrix almost as much as he despised Markus. It was bad enough that she’d learned sorcery. It was unforgivable that she’d used that sorcery against him. Without Thrix’s assistance, his mother and his brother would never have succeeded in cheating him out of his rightful position as Thane.

Sarapen’s thoughts turned to Kalix, whom he also hated. He shook his head. What a family. It did strike him that he didn’t actually hate Kalix as much as the others, even though she’d struck the blow that all but killed him. Kalix might be mad, addicted to laudanum and a disgrace to the clan, but she was fierce and brave. She wasn’t scared of him, though she should be. Sarapen admired that.

“I’ll meet you again, sister, and then we’ll see who wins, without sorcery and a magic knife to help you.”

Below him a troop of Hainusta began to assemble, on their way to the disputed region. The conflict remained at a low level and no one had gained much advantage. Neither side wanted the dispute to escalate into a full-scale war, but neither of them was prepared to back down. Sarapen wished he could join in. He felt ready to throw himself into battle. He had no concern about losing his life. There was nothing he would regret leaving behind.

Apart from Dominil, maybe. Sarapen wondered what his old lover was up to. Was she still in London, taking care of the degenerate twins? Sarapen swiftly dismissed them as not worth thinking about, but the image of Dominil lingered on for a long time.