by Duncan Lay
“Because we did not have the power to fight the whole Empire. But you will not need to fight the Empire. You will take it over and Kotterman will accept you as it never would us.”
“But they worship Aroaril three times a day and fear Zorva,” he said uncertainly.
“They will accept whatever you tell them!” she fired back. “Only your closest advisers ever need know. You merely have to use slaves. As for the people, you tell them what you like. Tell them that the other countries are evil and must be destroyed to bring them to the light. It will be easy for you, for Aroaril has no power here. Your Hierarch could not even feel what we had done.”
“But to pledge my soul to Zorva! I will be lost for eternity!”
“Would you rather spend eternity with your brothers, talking about why you did not have the courage to take up your birthright and the throne that should be yours? You will be the greatest Emperor this world has ever seen and then you will be raised high among Zorva’s followers afterwards. Or you can spend eternity singing hymns and praying, whimpering about how you had a chance to carve your name in legend but you lacked the courage to do it. What would you rather?”
Again Durzu said nothing, although she could see the struggle going on behind his eyes and she began to fear she had not been persuasive enough and then Swane stepped forward.
“All your life you have been told that your elder brother is better than you,” Swane said into the silence. “He is more handsome, more charming, more suited to being Crown Prince. All your life you have been measured against him and been found wanting. As long as you can remember people have been whispering how lucky it was that you were born the younger and will never take the throne. Yet you know you are far better suited than your muddle-headed brother and you would be a far greater ruler.”
“Yes … how did you know?” Durzu whispered.
“I have lived that my whole life,” Swane said. “Help me get my throne and I shall help you get yours and we shall work together to make this Empire greater than anything your father or brother could hope to imagine.”
Dina hid her smile but turned her head and gave Swane a careful wink. He had been perfect and for the first time she was relieved he was there.
“That is exactly what I feel,” Durzu said slowly.
“We were born empires apart, but we are brothers of the heart. And together we can change the world,” Swane said.
Durzu reached out a hand and Swane clasped it.
“Tell me what to do,” Durzu said.
*
“What has happened, mistress?” Ely asked as the guards slammed the door shut and took up position outside her rooms.
“We have been tricked and betrayed by Durzu,” Feray snapped. “Are my sons safe?”
“Yes, mistress.”
Feray breathed a sigh of relief but knew it was only temporary. The Emperor might not name Durzu as the Crown Prince but whichever brother was given the honor would be foolish to leave Kemal’s sons living, where they could be used as a figurehead by any rebel with a hatred for the Emperor. They might live a few more years than they would if Durzu got the throne but death would follow, as sure as the moon followed the sun. And what sort of life would that be? She had to escape and give her sons a chance to live and maybe even seek revenge. Her first thought was to head further south, to her ancestral lands. Her people would surely welcome her there—but then she remembered the Kottermani garrisons and that message riders would surely spread word of their escape ahead of them. If she did run, then not just Durzu or one of his brothers but the Emperor himself would see her hunted down and killed.
And where did that leave Kemal? He would be taken back to Gaelland and quietly killed, to be mourned by the common people, who would never know he had been murdered. How could she walk away from her love for him? What could she say to her sons?
She took a deep breath. There was only one answer. They would have to escape from here and sail back to Gaelland. Kemal’s men had been made captive by the Gaelish. They had to be waiting somewhere, desperate for a chance to regain their honor. And her crew would sail through anything for her.
She rubbed her face. So all she needed to do was break out of this guarded house, find Gokmen and Gemici, round up all the sailors who were being watched by Durzu’s men, steal a ship, sail out of Adana, cross a storm-tossed sea, find her husband’s captured men, somehow free them and then free Kemal from the hands of his brothers, who were eager to remove him out of their path to the throne. Could I make it any harder? she wondered bitterly. But there was no other choice. Those evil Gaelish had done something to Kemal. The whole Empire would fall to Zorva if she did not do anything.
She rubbed her eyes. Kemal had been so obsessed with proving he was still a man that he had set in train the events that had led them into this disaster. It was up to her to clean up his mess. As usual.
“Ely, tell me, how did the Gaelish you were with escape from the city?” she asked.
CHAPTER 42
Durzu raised up the dripping heart and tossed it into the flames. His young mistress had died swiftly, although the whole city would have heard her terrified screams if they had not gagged her first.
Dina watched Durzu’s face and saw the ecstasy there as Zorva’s power flowed through him. The Prince shook with the intensity of it and opened his eyes wide, panting a little afterwards.
“There is nothing like it!” he gasped. “I never imagined it could be like that. Why does the church of Aroaril never mention anything of it?”
“Because they fear it,” Swane said. “They know that the meager rewards Aroaril grudgingly offers can never be like this.”
Durzu closed his eyes and a shudder went through him yet again. “I feel it,” he said roughly. “I can see myself ruling the world!”
“You must get us in to see the Emperor. We shall do the rest. You will be named as Crown Prince, just before the Emperor falls sick. We shall take both him and Kemal to Gaelland and there we shall sacrifice them to Zorva and begin the rise of a new Empire,” Dina promised.
CHAPTER 43
Fallon glared at the pair of young soldiers before him. “And you never thought to tell anyone before this?” he growled.
“He was the dressmaker,” one said defensively. “He looked harmless!”
Fallon closed his eyes briefly. Keverne was the only prisoner left alive and, with his jaw shattered in several places, he wasn’t doing much talking. But the scroll he was carrying told them everything they needed to know. Dina had reached out and tried to finish them. She had failed and had also revealed she was using King Aidan’s old network of informers at the same time. It should have counted as a victory but instead Fallon was just enraged that Kerrin and Bridgit had been placed in danger. The two men who had been on guard were dead, so they could not be punished. These two had come forward to say they had escorted Bridgit’s dressmaker out of the cells after he had wandered in, claiming he was lost. The traitor had to be Munro.
“Nobody is harmless,” Fallon said, as angry at himself as at these guards. “Anyone wanders into the cells again, you arrest them and send for me. Now get out of here and get some sleep, because you’ll be on night duties in the cells until the next full moon.”
They saluted and walked out.
“They are so young. You can’t expect too much from them,” Bridgit said.
Fallon sniffed. “We were saved by Kerrin last night and you say those lads are too young?”
She did not smile. “That was too close. We were all fooled by Munro.”
Fallon gritted his teeth at the thought.
“I’ve sent Devlin and a company of men to his shop. But I doubt he’ll be there, unless he’s a complete idiot and he’s already proven himself to be far from that. Do you think he had a hand in getting Kemal out of here?”
She shrugged. “We will probably never know but it seems likely. There are too many people getting out of supposedly secure rooms in this castle for my liking.”
“And I want Kerrin to sleep in our room,” Bridgit added.
“What?” Fallon gasped. He had been enjoying the Bridgit who had come back from Kotterman, happy for him to lock the door each night. That would all come to a screeching halt with Kerrin there in the room.
“You said it yourself, we can’t trust anyone. And we can’t risk him being elsewhere.”
“But that will never happen again. And look at how he did last night, he saved us—”
“Fallon, he was out wandering the corridors in the middle of the night, in this freezing weather. I can’t risk it. And there is plenty of room for him. He can even have that dratted dog with him.”
“But we were enjoying the time we had together,” Fallon said, putting extra warmth into his voice. “It was almost like when we were first married.”
She looked at him sideways. “Don’t give me that blarney. I have known you too long. You can keep your pants on for a few nights at least. Or don’t you think your son is worth it?”
Fallon winced at being so neatly trapped. Inside he was swearing furiously but he had no choice but to paste a smile on his face and nod. “Of course. I’ll get Brendan to help me drag the bed around later. After we’ve hunted for the leaders of Swane’s men in this city.” He stood, seething with anger again. Yet there was also hope. Catch Swane’s man and he could find out where Swane was hiding.
*
Munro’s house, a three-story home in a busy street, was empty. The ground floor was the dress shop, while only one other room looked like it was lived in. But there were some interesting things left behind, including empty bird cages and many empty rooms.
“So this was how he was talking to Dina and getting his orders,” Padraig said, inspecting the cages.
“Magicked birds, or trained?” Fallon asked.
“Probably both. In this weather you would need magicked ones to get anything done.”
Fallon looked at the window at the raw sky. It wasn’t snowing but he wished it would. The clouds hung heavy and a bitter wind whipped through the streets, biting into any exposed skin. “Anyone find anything else?” he demanded.
But the place had been cleared out.
“It’s not even worth talking to the neighbors,” Padraig grumbled. “Dress shop on a busy street, people would have been coming and going all the time.”
“We talk to them anyway,” Fallon said flatly.
But the neighbors had nothing useful to offer and Fallon’s mood was made even worse when a crowd began to gather.
“Get rid of them, unless they claim to have known Munro,” he said irritably.
But it swiftly became apparent they were not there to admire what Fallon had done to free them.
“We need more food!” someone shouted from the back.
“You get your ration and nothing more. It is fair for everyone,” Fallon shouted back.
“Ain’t fair!” another took up the cry. “You’re sending food out to feed the easterners. Wagons of food that should be in our bellies!”
“Not true!” Fallon bellowed back but he was drowned in a cheer for the man’s words.
“And those in the castle are having parties and feasts while we shiver and starve out here!”
“Even the Kottermanis are eating better than us!”
The complaints were coming from all different directions, each one of them getting a small cheer and stirring up the crowd even further.
Fallon beckoned to Devlin and Padraig.
“This is too convenient. We turn up here and next thing you know there is a crowd here spreading lies about us. I reckon it’s full of Dina’s informers,” he said.
“What do you want us to do?” Padraig asked.
“Make my voice louder. I’ll talk to them while Devlin spreads a net around this crowd. When I give the signal, we’ll get in there and round up the leaders. Rosaleen can get the truth out of them and then we might be able to unravel their little plot.”
They nodded and hurried away, letting him turn back to the grumpy crowd. Many were obviously ordinary people but he was sure some of the faces glaring at him were Munro’s men. He would have most of them after today, he vowed. And then some bastards would pay.
“This is a hard winter!” he called out. “King Aidan left us with little. But we are doing all we can to help you through it. If you know of rich people still living like kings on hoarded food, tell me who they are and we shall share everything out fairly,” he called, his words echoing off the surrounding buildings.
He was not surprised when nobody could volunteer a name. He was sure there were rich bastards who had cellars stuffed full of treats, still sending servants out to claim their rations, but finding them was the trick. He stared around at the crowd, forcing them to either meet his eyes or look away. It was making them quiet down.
“And there’s food being sent out to other towns. We feed everyone else and go hungry!” someone cried, and the crowd sparked up again, adding their agreement.
“Do not listen to these lies! There are agents of King Aidan still among us, who seek to destroy all we are building here. We are making sure all is fair for you!” Fallon shouted, keeping an eye on where Devlin was. The farmer looked to be in the right position, so he raised his hands.
“We shall catch these traitors and show you that they lie. And we shall get them now!” he cried, dropping his hands.
Instantly, Devlin and a score of men plunged into the crowd, searching for the big talkers. Fallon hefted his shillelagh and went in himself, a pair of soldiers at his shoulder.
But then it all dissolved into chaos.
“Save yourselves! Run!” someone bellowed and the crowd, raised from birth on how brutally King Aidan’s soldiers crushed dissent, instantly scattered. Screaming women and shouting men ran in all directions, while children howled and wailed. A man swung a punch at Fallon and he swayed back and cracked the man briskly across the head with his shillelagh and he went down like a sack of potatoes.
“Don’t let him get away,” he ordered a pair of his men and searched for anyone else who looked suspicious.
But the crowd was fleeing in all directions and his men were struggling to find anyone who looked like an organizer. People were covering their heads and racing away, rather than trying to fight back and while half a dozen men had been rounded up, the rest were gone.
As Fallon inspected the haul, he suspected that the men he wanted had got away, sprinting off at the first chance, and now he had merely a collection of the unlucky and stupid. But he was not about to take a chance.
“Take them back to the castle and have Rosaleen and Gallagher talk to them. If we have got one, then send a runner to find me,” he told Devlin.
“And where are you going?” the farmer asked.
“They were saying the rich had hoarded food. I plan to find out if that’s true or not,” Fallon said grimly.
*
But three turns of the hourglass later, he had merely found more trouble. As he had done in Meinster, he went straight for the biggest houses, suspecting that anyone living there would be used to living richly and would be trying to either find extra food or hold onto it.
It seemed that they also had the money to pay for really good hiding places, because he had found no great stores of luxuries. There were a few things squirreled away that he took back to the warehouses, in the face of furious complaint from the owners, but it was small beer. In fact he would have been delighted to find a little beer, because all the shouting was giving him a headache.
“I bought this three moons ago! You have no right to take it!” one plump man screamed in his face.
Next moment the merchant shut his mouth, because Fallon’s shillelagh was an inch away from his nose.
“I can do what I like,” Fallon told him coldly. “But if you want to keep doing anything, I reckon you need to shut up. Now.”
That gav
e him a little satisfaction, seeing the fat man deflate so rapidly, but his relief was swiftly washed away in a new tide of complaints. A growing crowd seemed to follow them around, shouting out complaints and then scattering when he turned his men loose. Another dozen men were grabbed but, like the others, Fallon doubted any of them were useful. The smart ones who were behind this were at the back and close to boltholes. Only the fools were being grabbed.
“That’s enough for today,” he finally told his men, after another fruitless attempt to catch their tormentors. “Back to the castle for some peace and quiet.”
*
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Bridgit roared.
Fallon rubbed his forehead. “I might do, if you yell at me anymore,” he grumbled.
She shook her head despairingly. His tale of what he had been up to that day had left her horrified, both at the knowledge there were people out there working to undermine them and that Fallon had played into their hands.
“Have you forgotten we planned another Petition Day tomorrow?” she asked, more softly this time.
He groaned. “That was tomorrow?”
“Aye. And I think we both know what is going to happen. It will be just like the ones in Meinster and Lagway and the other places.”
He sighed. “Well, should we postpone it?”
“No!” she cried. “We’ve got to hold faith with the people. We will have to sit there and listen to their whining and smile in reply.” She shuddered at the thought but there was no way around it.
“Can we even hold a Petition Day? The Ruling Council has all but dissolved. It’s just you and I really,” he pointed out.
Bridgit closed her eyes. Nola was still deeply upset over what had happened the last time they spoke together. Yet it was not as easy as ordering Brendan to throw away his hammer. When Keverne and his traitors had been outside their door, she had been delighted to see Brendan scattering them in all directions with his monstrous hammer. People were scared of him and he was worth a company of men in that respect. More, perhaps, the way things were going. Men and women who would happily jeer and shout at a line of armed men all shut up in the face of Brendan and his hammer. There was something dangerous about him, a sense that he did not care who he hurt and it quietened trouble like nothing else.
