Tobias nodded. ‘Yup. Anyone who’ll pay a lot to have someone killed – like as not, someone else will always pay more to have them stay alive. Emperor’s bloody grateful, calls him a hero, gives him full powers to appoint anyone he chooses to all those newly vacant Imperial jobs. And the men who actually did all the hard work die as traitors. Neat, eh? And he didn’t pay us. He paid me.’
Very neat. Except from the sounds of it things were getting out of control.
‘How do you know who he is?’ Tobias said suddenly. Looked laughably alarmed.
‘How do you think? I’ve met him. He visited Malth Elelane the summer before last, around Sun’s Height. My brother paid a visit here and spent most of it trailing around after his daughter, so he got the absurd idea he might be interested in marrying her.’ His father had laughed in the man’s face, and Ti had personally laced the girl’s food with abortifacient the day she left.
Pale eyes, staring at him, filled with loathing. Like he was nothing. Like he was filth scraped from the bottom of his shoe. Marith frowned. ‘He recognized me, I think.’
‘No offence, boy, but I’d be surprised if he’d been able to recognize you. While I’m sure your divine ancestry shines in your face and all that, you were probably looking a bit different the last time he saw you. Bit less covered in blood, for one thing.’
From what the girl was reported to have gone through on the voyage home, the Altrersyr features must be engraved on the man’s heart. And he had almost certainly made something of an impression personally at the feast on the last night, after Carin’s dazzling suggestion he try mixing hatha with neat brandy as an aperitif. A memorable night for everyone else present, apparently. Marith nodded: ‘You’re probably right.’
‘So, how do we go about getting the other half of the money, then?’ said Rate. ‘This Lord Rhyl, we just turn up at his door or what?’
‘What?’ Tobias looked at him and laughed. ‘Gods, no. There is no other half of the money, lad. There never is, doing something like this. What we got up front is what we get. At least one lot of the people who contracted us should all be dead, and the others are really not going to want us hanging around.’
‘But …’
‘Charge double and only expect to collect half. It’s not that complicated.’ Tobias jangled a fat purse at his belt. ‘Ten thalers for killing the Emperor. And another fifteen thalers for not killing the Emperor. Quids in, we are.’ He handed a thaler and a silver dhol each to Rate and Alxine. ‘That’s your share for now. Don’t spend it all at once. Don’t spend it at all until we’re fifty leagues from here and still going, in fact, be my advice.’
Marith looked at him. Tobias looked back and shook his head. Rate sniggered somewhere behind him.
Anger flashed over Marith. ‘You’d all be dead several times over if it wasn’t for me.’
‘Indeed. And we’re all very grateful, My Lord Prince. You’re still not going anywhere out of my sight, though, and certainly not being allowed any money you might be tempted to spend on things, if you know what I mean. You’re a valuable asset, boy. Would you trust you with so much as an iron mark, if you were me?’
Marith rubbed his face. His eyes itched horribly. A whole thaler’s worth … Happiness. Peace. He sighed. ‘No, probably not.’ Yesterday, he’d have sworn to kill Tobias, for speaking to him like that. Maybe he would tomorrow, or the day after. I’m an Altrersyr prince, he thought bitterly. The heir to Amrath. I killed a dragon. I killed a mage. I killed more people than I can count. I could have killed the whole bloody lot of you. I still could. He stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, then, I’m going back to bed. If I promise to be good and let you lock me in again, can I at least be permitted to take something to drink up with me?’
Tobias looked at him and laughed. They all laughed. He went upstairs and drank and lay in the dark in the best bed. Images of what he’d done floated up in his mind. Staring into the darkness, his eyes open, what he had done was terrible beyond thinking. But when he closed his eyes, he felt pride well up in him, a joy and a pleasure and a hope. The darkness pressed on him, heavy and soft like falling snow. You look like what you are, boy. It was all the same, he realized, whether he looked into the dark of the room or into the dark of his own mind.
Chapter Thirty
It didn’t take long to get Tam Rhyl’s men under control. Tam was down, Orhan was alive: they knew which way to turn if they wanted to live to see daybreak. The Emperor was so pathetically relieved to see Orhan take some kind of command of things that he almost collapsed in gratitude. The entire Imperial Guard had just been slaughtered and the palace set on fire. Someone had to be responsible, so it might as well be Tam Rhyl. Especially as Tam Rhyl was lying on the floor in a pool of blood in no state to argue back. The Emperor himself had been miraculously and inexplicably saved from being slaughtered or set on fire. Someone had to be responsible for that, too, so it might as well be Orhan Emmereth. Who was kneeling in front of him holding a sword, with a troop of armed men at his back. Any man with even half a brain usually believed what he was told in these particular circumstances.
Orhan had never thought so fast in his life.
Tam had betrayed him. The assassins had betrayed him. He’d lost, theoretically, since the Emperor was still alive and kicking with nervous fear. He’d just somehow won, at the same time. All the other important people in the palace seemed to be dead. Several bodies in suspiciously Immish-looking armour were lying around missing vital body parts, swords dripping with good honest Sorlostian blood.
The pressing thing now was to get the fires put out before the palace actually burnt down completely. You live and learn, Orhan thought exhaustedly, looking at the smoke. If he ever arranged a massacre again, he’d ensure he had a bucket chain waiting alongside the swords. But, to be fair, he thought, it seemed basically impossible that the palace could burn. It was the Imperial Palace of the Asekemlene Emperor of Sorlost the Golden, the only mortal man to escape the finality of death. It had stood beyond cities. Beyond empires. Beyond gods. Constant in his life, and in all human lives. It would stand when the waters rose and life ceased and the world was drowned. It couldn’t just burn down.
So he’d better get people going with buckets to stop it before it did.
What to do with the Asekemlene Emperor himself was also something of a problem, since His Eternal Eminence couldn’t leave the palace except to visit the Great Temple and even then he had to go by palanquin, his feet never touching the ground. Hadn’t really planned for this either, seeing as he was supposed to be dead. In the end, Orhan remembered the bathing house in the gardens, isolated from the main building by stone colonnades and running water and with space and comfort enough for the Emperor to feel just about at home. Space for Orhan himself, too: he wasn’t going to leave the Emperor’s side until everything was settled and his personal candidates had been selected as Imperial Secretary, Imperial Presence in the Temple and every other post down to the girl who washed the Imperial chamber pot. The Emperor, for his part, was still so terrified he’d make more fuss if Orhan left him alone than he would if he got into bed with him.
Orhan divided the men around him into two, one larger party to begin work putting out the fires and gathering the bodies, the other to accompany the Emperor to the bathing house. The great families would be bringing men up to the palace, the Imperial army would be beginning to stir. Needed to consolidate, have things clearly and securely in hand before anyone else arrived.
He came out into the great audience chamber where they had originally fought Tam’s men. Found Darath slumped on the ground.
Wounded. Oh God’s knives. He’d forgotten in everything that had happened since.
‘Let me see,’ he said urgently, running over. Darath frowned at him, then nodded reluctantly. Proud bastard. Seen him in the depths of passion, in a towering rage, asleep, drunk, taking a piss, in bed with flu, kneeling before him begging to suck his cock, but the God forbid Orhan should see him wincing in pain
after someone stuck a sword in his gut. He gently helped Darath roll onto his side. The wound was long, scoring across from the right hipbone up towards the navel, but not deep. A deeper wound there was inevitably fatal, though a man could live for days fevered and screaming first. He closed his eyes for a moment and murmured a little prayer of thanks.
‘I’ll live, then?’ Darath said, trying to sound as if he’d never been worried. He smiled at the Emperor, surrounded by Emmereth and Vorley men and staring wide-eyed at the two of them. ‘We … we didn’t quite pull things off the way we’d intended we would, I assume?’
‘The Emperor is alive, praise Great Tanis the Lord of Living and Dying, and his enemies have been vanquished,’ said Orhan loudly. ‘The palace is secured and peace restored.’ He looked around at the bodies scattered on the ground around them, men beginning to sort them into piles. His men. Darath’s men. Tam Rhyl’s men. Palace guards. Invading assassins. The Sorlostians would be buried quickly, before they began to stink. But the murderers must be displayed in full gory detail in the Grey Square.
Darath got up slowly, wincing with pain. Orhan supported him over to where the Emperor was standing ringed with Emmereth men.
‘My Lord Eminence, light of the world,’ said Darath, hissing in pain through clenched teeth, ‘my heart rejoices that I have been injured doing service to you and your Empire. I will look upon my scars with pleasure, that they were incurred to save your immortal life. My only regret is that I could have suffered greater pain to spare you greater suffering.’ He bowed awkwardly and blinked at Orhan: I would prostrate myself, but I fear I would offend My Lord’s eyes by collapsing in agony if I did.
They got the Emperor settled in the bathing house with relative ease, cleaned up and changed into a half-decent robe salvaged from the Imperial bedroom; sent a man to the kitchens for food and wine. The gates and entrances were all secured by Emmereth and Vorley men, and most of the fires were out. Silk and carved wood panelling burnt quickly and savagely but not deep. Might even have the Emperor back on his throne by the morning, if they could get the bloodstains scraped off the floor. Finally, exhaustedly, Orhan was able to attend to Darath, cleaning and binding his wound and kissing him with deep and passionate relief.
Then the other lords began to arrive, and the real work started. March Verneth with twenty armed men, Holt Amdelle with fifteen. Lesser families too, the city’s leading merchants, ranking officers from the Imperial army, all crowding around shouting and arguing, the Emperor sitting dazed and exhausted, Orhan by his side watching it all. Holt and Mannelin Aviced could see which way the wind was blowing and leapt at it delightedly. March looked profoundly sceptical.
‘Tamlath Rhyl attempting to assassinate the Emperor?’ His eyes bored into Orhan and Darath.
‘Tamlath Rhyl is unconscious and under guard,’ said Orhan smoothly. A sword in the stomach and a dose of hatha syrup tended to have that effect. ‘Should he recover, he will be subjected to careful questioning to ascertain the truth of what has happened here.’ The knowledge of what he would have to do sickened him.
‘But that’s about what it looks like,’ Darath followed up brightly.
March grunted and nodded at Holt and Mannelin. ‘Can’t argue with the four of you, I suppose.’
‘Five,’ said Darath, as Elis entered the room with ten men at his back. ‘We would appear to have the advantage on numbers, My Lord Verneth.’ Most of the High Council, now Tam was dying.
March’s gaze moved from Orhan to Darath to Holt to the Emperor. Holt shifted but remained standing near Orhan. A long pause, their weary eyes watching each other. Orhan’s hand itched for the hilt of the sword he still wore at his hip. Now we see. Now we see if we can hold them, even for a little while.
And … No. Of course we can’t. March turned and strode out of the room, shouting orders to his men as he went. Cammor Tardein followed him; after a moment, Samn Magreth did likewise, as did a couple of the more minor lords. So it begins, thought Orhan wearily. He’d hoped for a brief while that the Verneths’ long-standing quarrels with the House of the Sun in Shadow would swing them towards him. But there’d be looters on the streets by now too, he shouldn’t wonder. And any moment now—
And any moment now, one of his men burst into the bathhouse, face cut and bloodied, to report that the Great Temple had been attacked, several women and temple slaves were dead, the High Priestess herself was missing.
Chapter Thirty-One
God’s knives.
The Emperor turned paler than ever, a choking sound coming from his mouth. Gasps of horrified astonishment from several of the men present.
God’s knives.
‘This … This …’ Orhan struggled to regain control of his mind. ‘This goes far deeper than I had … had feared. I knew … I knew Lord Rhyl intended harm to the Emperor, but I did not suspect … I did not suspect … I …’ Great Tanis. God’s knives. Questioning Tam would be worse even than he had thought, if he had this to worm out of the man too. Still a halfway decent man, are you, Orhan? a voice whispered in his heart.
God’s knives.
And so more orders were drawn up, disposition organized, Amdelle men sent to the Temple, Aviced men sent to take charge of Tam’s house and household, soldiers called out and sent to patrol the streets. March Verneth to worry about. Most people were keeping indoors but armed men were out searching for invaders and looters were emerging; a fight breaking out near the Temple; fighting in the streets near the House of the Sun in Shadow between Tam’s men and his own.
God’s knives. God’s knives.
It had been a long night. Going to be a long day ahead too.
‘You should get some sleep,’ Darath said gently. ‘There’s nothing more anyone can do tonight.’
Orhan shook his head. He knew exactly what would happen if he released his control on things. And if Tam woke when he was sleeping … ‘Later,’ he said dimly. ‘You sleep, Darath. You need to heal.’
Darath nodded. ‘I’ll leave Elis here with you.’
Wonderful. The man seemed to have come straight from a brothel. Hadn’t even managed to get his shirt done up properly. What use he’d be, Orhan couldn’t imagine.
Darath drew him into a corner, away from the guards and the sleeping Emperor on his couch. ‘Then maybe you can explain to me what exactly you’ve done at the Temple, when I wake up again. Unless you still don’t trust me to know.’
Oh for Great Tanis’ sake … ‘What did you think we were going to do,’ Orhan replied tetchily, ‘bribe the High Priestess to identify the right baby? It was the only way.’ He almost laughed. ‘And I never told you, or anyone, because you might try to stop it. Even most of the men we hired didn’t know about it, the man Skie was bound to strict secrecy, too.’ Rumours that Lord Emmereth was responsible for an attempt on the Emperor would be one thing. The slightest hint he or Darath had been involved in an attack on the Temple, however … If he was to be damned, he’d be damned in private, without Darath being dragged into it. ‘And so Tam never knew to stop it. And so we now have this absurd situation to resolve, on top of everything else.’ The sheer cost of arranging for the red lot to be drawn had been crippling, and for little apparent purpose if the woman was simply missing and then turned up again. And so more things to do. More pain. More damnation. More death.
The grey hour before dawn was the worst. Not as ill-fated as dusk, but still a perilous time, a time of passing and change, neither living nor dead. Things had settled down, exhaustion finally overcoming excitement. Elis and Holt stayed in the bathing house, curled up on chairs and dozed. Everything calm, sleep pulling at Orhan, but a sense of fear hung over him, like birds screaming overhead. A sound of weeping. A scent of blood in the air. So much still to do, so much still so open to collapse. He felt like the palace itself, shaken and burnt. Why did I do this? he kept thinking. Why?
Orhan was dozing himself when a man shook him violently awake again. Tam Rhyl had recovered consciousness. He went quickly to the sm
all storeroom where they were holding the dying man, giving strict instructions to be fetched if anything happened or anyone came.
Tam lay on the floor covered in a bloody cloak, his face clammy, his breath rasping in pain. Orhan was half surprised he was still alive at all. Don’t you dare die on me now, he thought with shame. Not until the Emperor and March Verneth have heard your confession. He knelt down and carefully untied the bandage he’d wrapped around the man’s flabby belly. The wound underneath was beginning to stink.
‘You … won, then?’ Tam whispered. His lips were very dry. Orhan gave him a little water from a jewel-encrusted cup.
‘Just about. We’re both on the border between living and dying, Tam. You’ll die soon whatever. I need you to save me. You know what I’ll pay if you do.’
Tam nodded slowly. ‘I tried to make it too complicated.’ Speaking to himself as much as to Orhan. ‘I tried to play everyone … But you shouldn’t have won …’
‘Where’s the High Priestess?’ Orhan pressed his hands down hard on the wound, breaking the clots and feeling hot blood well up.
A gasp of pain. Tam’s face white. ‘What … are you talking about?’
Orhan pressed harder, feeling sick to his core. ‘I won’t save her, Tam. I’ll let them all burn alive. Your wife. Your son. Your daughter. Your boy. Where is she?’
‘Who?’ Despair in Tam’s eyes. ‘Who? You can’t let Liseen die. Please, Orhan … Not after … what I made her do. That vile boy, Tiothlyn Altrersyr … He crippled her. She was pregnant, Orhan, and he … I made her bed him … My own daughter … She loathed him … But I wanted … You can’t let her die, Orhan.’
Don’t tell me, thought Orhan. I don’t want to hear this. I can’t bear to hear any more pain. ‘Where is the High Priestess, Tam?’ he asked. ‘Where?’
‘I … I don’t know what you’re talking about. Liseen, Orhan … Please, save Liseen …’
‘Where?’
The Court of Broken Knives Page 23
