Tyrant's Throne

by de Castell, Sebastien

  For the first time I saw his confident, urbane mask slip, revealing nothing but the deep-down anger I recognised all too well: a red-burning rage that could melt even the ice of this frozen hell. After all, I’d found it many times in my own heart.

  ‘This is what you have done for your country, First Cantor.’ He spat in my face.

  To Kest he said, ‘What is it you would plead for, Kest Murrowson?’

  ‘For mercy,’ he replied.

  The Magdan held me up, his stare somehow commanding my own eyes to focus upon him and his superiority. I could feel the heat coming off him, warming me as if he were a God come to grant clemency upon the icy damned.

  ‘Very well. I think we’re all sick and truly tired of holding you up anyway.’

  He let go and walked away from me, the snow crunching beneath the soles of his boots. After a few steps, he stopped; he must have realised he hadn’t heard me fall.

  Very slowly, very carefully, so as not to lose my balance, I turned to face him again. My rapiers were on the ground at my feet but they might as well have been a thousand miles away. I raised my fists in front of me, trying to remember not to squeeze too hard, for fear of hurting my hands on what they held in each palm.

  It took almost everything I had to remain on my feet, and even more to cough out my next words. ‘We’re not done yet.’

  ‘Falcio, no!’ Brasti shouted, and Kest caught my gaze and shook his head – he understood what I was doing and wanted me to know it wasn’t worth it. He was probably right.

  The Magdan smiled and let his glaive fall to the ground. He started back towards me, his own fists closing so tight I could almost imagine I was watching the blood fleeing his fingers. ‘I could not adore you more right now were you the Goddess of Love, Falcio.’

  The first blow struck my ear and a ringing filled my head. It didn’t dissipate. The second caught me just below my right eye, the blood and swelling blinding me. By then I was desperately grabbing onto his coat to keep me upright. The third blow caught my lower lip, leaving me gagging on the blood that was pouring down my throat. The cold was completely overtaking me now, destroying my sense of touch. The world retreated further and further away, but somehow I stayed on my feet as the Magdan beat me senseless.

  Brasti was crying, I knew – I couldn’t see it or hear it, and yet I felt it just as truly as I did Kest’s heart breaking when I finally held up my now empty hands and dropped to my knees in the snow.

  ‘Enough,’ Kest said, pleading, to the others. ‘He’s given up. It’s enough.’

  ‘One last thing,’ the Magdan said, coming up behind me. He tore the coat off my back and dumped it in the snow, then stood over it – I think he was about to piss on it, until he realised what poor taste that would be.

  ‘Burn it,’ he ordered. Okay, so being tasteful wasn’t the issue.

  I smiled up at him – or at least, I think I did. ‘You can have it. I’m done with it.’

  I let myself fall back in the snow for a moment, but someone came and lifted me back up. I didn’t care. I was tired, and I’d done what I’d come to do. Neither Kest nor Brasti looked as if they understood why it had taken me so long to fall, but if I’d been able to speak, I would have told them that I lost this fight yesterday, when I’d allowed myself to be tricked into coming up into these mountains, to a place my body was not adapted for, where I had no hope of winning.

  What I had to do now was win tomorrow’s fight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Unexpected Cellmate

  I drifted in and out of consciousness for a while after that. I was still trying to keep my one good eye open for more than a few seconds when two Avarean warriors grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me through the compound. Looked like none of my fellow Greatcoats had wanted the job.

  ‘Your people have an unusual way of escorting prisoners,’ Kest said, looking back at the guard behind them; he was resting the end of his sword against Kest’s right shoulder as they walked; Brasti’s guard had positioned his blade the same way.

  ‘An Avarean technique; it’s extremely effective,’ the Magdan said chattily. ‘No matter how much you might try to hide your intentions, the muscles in your shoulders will tense before you make a run for it – the guards will see that, and it’s child’s play to pull the sword back a few inches and stab you before you move.’

  Kest stared straight ahead, but I knew how his mind worked. They’d taken his weapons, and Brasti’s too, and their coats, so there weren’t exactly a lot of options for resistance. ‘And yet, if the prisoner were to take a more unorthodox action—?’ Kest quickly lifted his hand to grab the sword while taking a small step backwards; it should have prevented the guard from withdrawing the blade, but the warrior was too quick for him.

  For an instant I feared Kest was about to be stabbed through the back, but the guard just struck him lightly on the top of his head with the flat of the blade before resting it once again on Kest’s shoulder.

  The other guards laughed.

  ‘Forgive their manners,’ the Magdan said, ‘but this is a game Avareans play as children.’

  Kest gave a nod. ‘So, an unconventional means of control to everyone but their own people. Surprisingly effective.’

  ‘No doubt if you had more practise, you’d be able to evade the sword,’ the Magdan said, giving Kest a friendly slap on the back.

  Brasti snorted. ‘Isn’t that sweet? We’re all becoming fast friends again.’

  We passed twenty or thirty cannons lined up down the centre of the main hall of the fort, each one with its accompanying small cart on heavy wheels. They were all filled with leaded balls and small barrels, which I assumed must contain pistol powder.

  ‘What do you plan to do with us?’ I asked. My throat was barely able to conjure more than a hoarse whisper. I wasn’t expecting an honest answer, of course, but sometimes the choice of lie can be instructive.

  The Magdan stopped and turned to face us. For a moment I saw the old Morn there, though I didn’t like it any more than the new one. ‘You’ll be our guests for a long time, I’m afraid: you’ll watch as we do the things the Greatcoats should have done years ago, and when it’s all over and you’ve seen what we’ve accomplished, I’ll set you free.’

  ‘That’s decent of you,’ I said.

  It would be, if it were true, only I was fairly sure it was nonsense intended only to reassure the other Greatcoats.

  ‘I apologise in advance for the accommodations,’ he said as we reached a long hallway barred with a heavy iron gate. I didn’t need to examine it to know it would be easier to cut through the wooden frame than to attempt to break through the gate itself. Inside were ten cells, each sealed with more bars.

  All right. Time to get on with it, I thought, and prayed to no one in particular that I could summon the strength for what had to happen next.

  I slumped, not even bothering to attempt to hold myself up – the two warriors holding onto me were doing a good enough job of that – and the instant I felt their guard dropping just a fraction, I used their shoulders to help me propel myself at the Magdan. I got one half-decent blow, tearing at his coat and screaming, ‘You don’t deserve to wear this, you bastard!’ before he grabbed me by the neck. Despite my injured throat, I’d shrieked so loudly I’d actually made him wince.

  I kept pawing at him even as he slammed me back against the wall. ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘You’re testing my patience, Falcio.’

  I spat in his face – it seemed only fair, after all he’d done to me – but more importantly, it made him throw me to the floor by the bars. I lay there for a bit, showing them all that I was finally spent – and because I was, in fact, completely spent. I had no idea how I’d managed that last effort. Now I just wanted to sleep for a year.

  ‘Saints, his head is bleeding,’ Brasti cried. ‘You’ve killed him—!’

&
nbsp; ‘Stop being so damned melodramatic, Brasti,’ the Magdan said. He kicked me with the toe of his boot. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Falcio. All those stories people tell about you back home? The only thing you appear to be any good at is getting hurt.’

  Despite how horrible I was feeling, I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. You can say that again.

  One of the guards took out a heavy key with four different lengths of teeth on it and used it to open the iron gate.

  I kept silent as two men dragged me into the hall of cells.

  ‘Just like being back in Tristia,’ Brasti muttered as he entered behind me. ‘Who says our two peoples are so different?’

  The hall grew darker as we moved away from the gate. There was only a single torch lighting the space at the end.

  ‘I wish it didn’t have to be this way,’ the Magdan said.

  Sure, I thought, only you pretty much engineered it to all happen just like this.

  I heard the Magdan’s sigh carry along the corridor. ‘Despite everything you’ve done, I still have one gift to give you, Falcio.’

  ‘Is it a set of lockpicks?’ Brasti asked.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Something Falcio wants even more.’

  Now I could see the two cells at the end weren’t empty; each held one prisoner. Both had their wrists bound with thick rope attached to chains above their shoulders, and a noose around each neck was connected to a pulley attached to the ceiling and then out into the hallway, where the ropes were wound around hooks – a handy contraption allowing you to pull on the ropes and choke them without exerting too much effort yourself. One of the prisoners, a young man, was so covered in filth and bruises I doubted his own mother would have recognised him.

  The other had also been beaten, although not nearly as badly – but it was by her voice that I recognised her the instant she spoke.

  ‘Hello, my lovely tatter-cloak,’ Trin said. ‘Did you really come all this way to rescue me?’

  The guards didn’t even bother to lock us in our cells. They just closed the iron gate behind us with a great clang that echoed down the hallway.

  ‘You see, Falcio?’ the Magdan said. ‘I told you I’d give you everything you ever wanted.’

  Trin looked at me, and despite her playful words I saw that she was, for maybe the very first time, truly terrified.

  So I suppose it wasn’t all bad news.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Familiar Smile

  You would think that the sight of my worst enemy would have sent my heart pounding and my muscles clenching in anticipation as my mind started wrestling with my orders to bring Trin back to Aramor for trial and my deep-seated desire to kill her the moment I laid eyes on her.

  Maybe I did feel all those sensations – but I can’t be quite sure, because it was around then that I finally passed out completely.

  When I awoke the next day, someone had bandaged me extensively, and from the tingling sensation all over my body, I guessed the Magdan must have graciously allowed Kest a jar of black salve to patch me up. By the time I’d risen unsteadily to my feet, I’d half-convinced myself that I’d only imagined seeing Trin inside that little cell.

  Nope, I thought, staring into the endless cold of those eyes. That’s definitely her.

  Kest and Brasti joined me and the three of us stood in silence, looking at her. None of us wanted to speak our thoughts aloud – we could see the guards just beyond the gate and it was a safe bet that at least one of them spoke Tristian. After a few moments, Kest helped me into one of the cells midway down the hall. It was almost completely dark inside, but I hoped it was far enough away that the guards couldn’t hear us.

  ‘Morn wants us to kill her,’ Kest said.

  ‘Well, that works perfectly for us, doesn’t it?’ Brasti asked. ‘Because I’d rather like to get on with killing her myself.’

  I peered out into the dimly lit hall. I could see the two ropes, each attached to a hook outside the cell door. I could almost feel the rough texture of the rope in my hands, the way the muscles in my fingers and palms and wrists would tense as I secured my grip. I’d taken a bit of a beating, true, but I was not so shattered that I wouldn’t be able to string her up and watch her twist and dance in the air. How much pain had her family brought into my life – into the lives of so many others, so many innocents?

  I found myself trying to work out what I would say to her just before she died.

  ‘Falcio,’ Kest said softly, ‘Morn wants us to kill her.’

  Brasti threw his hands in the air. ‘And again I ask: why is that a problem?’

  ‘Why doesn’t he do it himself?’ Kest asked. ‘Why is it so important that we do it?’

  I thought about the village back in Orison, and the long march. I thought about old Clock and his running commentary about everything political. Those people didn’t hate Trin; they hated us. They’d been well served by Duchess Patriana, and it sounded like they’d supported her daughter’s efforts to win the North. ‘The Magdan wants the people of Orison and Hervor to support his plans,’ I said finally. ‘Killing her might create bad blood between him and the people he wants to rule.’

  ‘But if we do it—’ Brasti began.

  ‘—then he can lay the blame squarely at our feet.’ I thought about it for a moment longer. ‘In fact, he can drag us back to Orison and summarily execute us in front of the locals, which will make him a hero in their eyes. I imagine he’d like to be seen as a hero instead of a traitor.’

  ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out, my love.’ Trin was doing an excellent job of burying her fear beneath that sweet, melodic voice of hers, every syllable as clear as if it had come trickling from a silver flute. I staggered out of our cell, grabbed the rope hanging outside hers and gave it as hard a yank as my screaming body could manage. I watched her body stretch up towards the roof and it took every ounce of self-control I had in me to stop from lifting her off the ground by her neck.

  ‘Stop!’ a thin voice shouted from the cell next to hers. ‘Touch her and I’ll kill you, I swear I will!’

  The raw innocence and determination in that voice lit a flicker of guilt in my chest, but it was Kest’s hand on my arm that brought me back to my senses. ‘You can strangle her any time you want,’ he said gently. ‘Just make sure you do it for your reasons and not Morn’s.’

  Slowly, reluctantly, I eased my grip on the rope. Kest took it from me and tied it back round the hook.

  ‘Ah, I’ve missed you Falcio,’ Trin said, her voice scraping a little. ‘I’m so glad you finally arrived.’

  ‘You sound as if you have been expecting us,’ Kest said.

  ‘Well, of course. When that fool Kragven – that’s the first Warlord I tried to hire; I assume he’s dead now – failed to keep control of his own warband, I knew Morn would want me dead. But how to do it? The Avareans dislike executions; they prefer bloody combat to the death – but little old me? Why, there isn’t a man or woman in this whole damned camp who would find rokhan in fighting me – and more importantly, there are a great many people from Orison and Hervor here, and they like me. If Morn were to have me killed, he’d lose more than half of them. No, he went about killing all the birds clouding his sky with a single stone the right way, by revealing my presence here to Valiana. Now that you’ve given her that preposterous title, obviously the puffed-up little girl would send someone to bring me back to Tristia so she could put me on trial before the entire country and show her absolute commitment to justice. And who else would she send but you, my noble, beautiful Falcio. My oft-fated companion: my hero.’

  I had a hard time resisting the overwhelming urge to grab the rope again and shut her dulcet tones up once and for all.

  Trin shook her head at me. ‘Don’t give me those nasty looks, Falcio. You need to concentrate and find us a way out of here – although t
hat might have been easier had the three of you not been so foolish as to lose your little coats somewhere along the way.’

  ‘We fully plan on escaping,’ Kest said. ‘I wonder, though, why you would think we would bring you with us.’

  ‘Not just me, silly.’ She pointed towards the cell opposite. ‘You’ll bring my charge and me safely back to Aramor.’

  ‘Why would we do that?’ I asked.

  ‘Why do you do anything? Because I have information about Morn that your precious Realm’s Protector will want to hear. Because you’ll believe it’s the right thing to do. But most of all, because of the question you’ve yet to ask me.’

  ‘Who is this boy you’ve got with you?’ I asked.

  ‘Why don’t you go and see? The cell door isn’t locked, is it? He doesn’t bite.’

  I took the torch from the wall and shuffled slowly into the other cell. Her companion was shaking, but he didn’t say a word. I checked him first, in case he might have a weapon of some kind – his hands were bound, but there might have been a knife-edge on his boot soles, or some other means of doing me grievous harm . . . but all I saw was a scrawny figure trying hard to pretend he wasn’t shivering in fear.

  ‘Who is he?’ Kest asked.

  ‘His name is Filian,’ Trin replied.

  ‘Your new lover?’ Brasti asked from behind me. ‘Looks a little rough. You’ve come down in the world; Duke Perault was a good deal more handsome.’

  Brasti was right: beneath the blood and the bruises, the face staring out at me wasn’t anything particularly special. Filian was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. Though his eyes struck me as full of intelligence, he was a little plain-faced – his nose was sharp, as were his features. He blinked a good deal, and his mouth twitched a little, as if he were embarrassed and maybe trying to say something funny or clever. After a heartbeat his lips settled into an awkward smile, as if he hoped we might be friends.