“You,” said Leresy, “are relieved of command, Lord Raelor. Oh, I’m sorry… but you are not a lord anymore at all, are you?” He tsked his tongue. “That makes you… nothing. Nothing but an intruder in my fortress.”
More sweat rolled down Raelor’s face. His fingers began to tremble. “Please, my prince. My family… allow me to…” His lips shook, his throat constricted, and he could speak no more.
Leresy allowed mock concern to soften his eyes. He stepped toward the larger man and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“Your family is safe in the capital!” Leresy said. “Do not worry, my good man. The empire remembers your loyal service. And your family will remain safe; we will not harm them. Not if you relieve yourself of duty honorably. The empire allows you this great, final honor.”
Raelor’s neck bobbed as he swallowed. He stared at the floor, and his teeth ground, and his forehead glistened. When he looked back up at Leresy, red rimmed his eyes.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why, my prince? How have I failed?”
Leresy shrugged. “Because it’s my birthday. And this is what I wanted.” He gestured at the dagger on Raelor’s belt. “Go on then. Do it. Just… not on the rug.”
Raelor raised his chin. “And my family…?”
“We will make it painless,” Leresy said. “Do this now, and they will not suffer. It will be in their sleep.” He snorted. “I would have preferred to watch them broken and hear them scream—perhaps the rack or an old-fashioned quartering—but my father is more merciful than I am. Well, go on then! Don’t test that mercy.”
Tears dampened Raelor’s eyes, but he managed to keep his chin raised. He gave a final salute, slamming his fist against his chest.
“Hail the red spiral!” he said, stepped back, and drew his dagger. With a gasp and blinking stare, he shoved his blade into his neck.
Leresy stood above the dying man, watching him writhe and bleed out onto the floor and rug.
Damn it, he thought. I told him not to stain the rug.
The blood seeped and ran between the tiles. Leresy sighed. This damn tower—the whole stinking fort—would need to be scrubbed and remodeled before it was fit for a prince.
A voice spoke behind him.
“Same old Leresy… still not killing his own enemies.”
Leresy spun around and saw her there.
He grinned.
“Nairi,” he said.
A backdoor stood open by the tapestry, revealing a staircase that plunged lower down the tower. Nairi stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. A crooked smile played across her lips.
Leresy felt his blood heat; stars, he had missed her. Her short blond hair had grown a little longer, just long enough to fall across her brow and ears, but her green eyes still shone with the same old mockery. When she walked toward him, the sway of her well-rounded hips still stirred his loins. She too was dressed crudely—she wore tan leggings, a steel breastplate, and muddy boots. She carried a rough sword across her back—it wasn’t even jeweled—and a punisher hung at her waist. Only the black rose engraved upon her breastplate, sigil of her house, denoted her nobility.
When she reached him, she placed a finger under his chin and closed his mouth.
“Careful, my prince,” she said. “There’s blood on the floor, and your tongue nearly rolled that far.”
With a snarl, he reached behind her, cupped a handful of her backside, and squeezed.
“Why kill my enemies myself?” he said to her. “My blade is far too fine to dirty with the blood of pigs. And you, Nairi, you too are a pig.” He sniffed. “You stink of oil and dirt, and you’re dressed like a peasant’s daughter. Do you forget who you are? Did life here in this outpost turn you into a commoner?”
Nairi raised an eyebrow and gave him a mocking smile. “It’s true. My clothes are dirty and foul; the clothes of a warrior. Why don’t you remove them from me? I can see that’s what you want.” She patted his cheek. “Such a refined prince does not dirty his dagger…” She reached down to his breeches and grabbed him. “…or any of his blades.”
He snarled and shoved her back. He walked toward the table, grabbed the wine, and drank deeply, pig piss or not. After slamming the mug down, he walked toward the bed, sat on the mattress, and stared at Nairi. She stood with one hand in her hair, smirking at him.
Stars, the woman drips sex, he thought.
“Well?” he said to her. “Go on. Get those clothes off.”
“Somebody’s impatient!” she said. She pouted and began unbuckling her breastplate.
Leresy leaned back and breathed deeply. Perfection, he thought as he watched her undress. Exquisite perfection. Piece by piece, she tossed aside her garments and armor, and Leresy’s smile widened. The young woman was sex in boots, and her father…
Leresy licked his lips. Her father is the most powerful, feared man outside my family. He couldn’t help but snort a laugh. Once Nairi and I are wed, even my brutish sister will fear my might.
Nairi pouted, naked before him, and crossed her arms across her breasts. “You laugh at my naked body?”
“No,” Leresy said. He stood up, approached her, and grabbed her waist. He dug his fingers into her and snarled. “I claim it. Your body is mine. Today is my birthday, and I take this castle, and I take you.”
He shoved her facedown onto the bed. When she tried to flip onto her back, he pressed her down.
“Ler—” she began.
“Lie still. Don’t talk.” He mounted her. “Scream if you like.”
He reached under her torso, grabbed her, and took her roughly, and she screamed. Stars, he made her scream, and Leresy smiled and drooled above her.
“You are mine,” he hissed into her ear. “Don’t you forget that, Nairi. I am your prince, and you belong to me.”
With a grunt, he rolled off her and lay at her side. The mattress creaked beneath him.
I was right, he thought as he stared at the ceiling. The mattress is stuffed with straw. Raelor, you bloody peasant. I should torture your family after all. I’ll start by making them sleep on this mattress.
He turned to look at Nairi. For once, no mockery shone in her eyes or twisted her lips. She looked almost shy, almost demure. He had hurt her. Good. He had made this feel like the first time, and in his bed, she now felt like a newly deflowered maiden.
And in this bed I will deflower many more, Leresy thought. As soon as I replace the mattress, that is.
“Soon we will be wed,” he told her. “I haven’t told my father yet. I will when the time is right; I’ll fly to the capital and let him know in person. I will tell your father too.”
Fire coiled through his chest, and his fingers trembled. Yes. Nairi’s father. He was perhaps an ugly bastard, all bald and lumpy skin—not nearly as intoxicating as his fresh young daughter—but he was powerful, and if Leresy craved anything more than female flesh, it was power.
His lips curled.
Soon you will fear me, Shari, he thought. When I’m married to Nairi, the son-in-law of the Axehand Order’s commander, you will fear me. Once I’m wed into the Axehand, even you will be unable to hurt me. Even you will shiver when I approach, dearest sister. You’ve tried to kill me so many times. Don’t think I don’t know this, Shari. But soon, very soon, the tables will turn.
“I would like that,” Nairi said, her voice small. She propped herself up on one elbow. “Would we fly and tell them together? I haven’t been to the capital in a year now. I would like to return.”
He spun toward her and frowned, disgusted. “The capital?” He snorted. “What do you want to visit the capital for? Nova Vita is a cesspool, all politics and rules and…”
And Shari trying to kill me, he wanted to say, but bit down on the words. No. It was best Nairi did not know about that. In the capital, there was his father, his sister, and motley nobles with daggers forged for stabbing backs. But here… here in the south there were perhaps crude mattresses, bare chambers, and peasant armor, but there was also
dominion. Here, Leresy was lord.
Once I’m wed to Nairi, I can return to the capital as a lord as well. Once Shari is killed, I will be heir.
“Never mind that,” he finished. “The capital will be ours in time. Get up. Get dressed. Don’t you have recruits to train?”
Some of the fire returned to her eyes. “Don’t you have a floor to mop of blood?” She rose to her feet, lifted her clothes, and began to dress herself. “To answer your question, yes. There’s a new shipment of fresh meat rolling in today—six hundred recruits from a southern backwoods called Cadport.” She hopped on one leg, tugging up her leggings. “Cadport! What a ridiculous name. Why does your family insist on naming everything after itself?”
He scoffed. “I’ll do the same to you, wench. Nairi Cadigus you’ll be when I’m done with you.”
And yet his belly tightened. Cadport, Cadport… where had he heard that name? He sucked in his breath, realization hitting him. Bloody Abyss. His sister had said something about flying down to Cadport; she had taken that brute Beras with her, a halfwit she had hired a few years back. Were these two events connected?
What are you up to, Shari? She had flown to the southern port, and now hundreds of its youths were arriving here, where Leresy was staking his claim. He ground his teeth. Stars damn it, his sister was up to her own schemes; he felt it in his gut.
I’ll have to marry Nairi soon. I’ll have to grow close to her father. He clenched his fists. And then my sister will die.
Nairi fastened the last buckle on her breastplate, then slung her sword across her back. She nodded down at Leresy, who still lay abed.
“Come see them roll in, my prince,” she said and grinned. “Lots of fresh meat for you to terrify. You should enjoy that.”
Oh, but I will enjoy their fresh meat, he thought. Though not the way you think.
He had spent his love only moments ago, yet already Leresy felt his blood heat again. Yes, he would break in many of those recruits—with sword, with whip, and here in his bed. He wondered briefly whether Nairi would like to join him in his conquests, then decided against it. It was best not to share this with her; at least, not until after he wed her and killed Shari.
He left the bed and smoothed his robe.
“Are there any servants in this pile of bricks?” He nodded down at the corpse. “The thing stinks already.”
She strapped her punisher to her hip; it was clad in the blood-red leather of a phalanx commander.
“Come, my prince,” she said, “and don’t worry; I’ll send up a recruit or two to dispose of the corpse. We have no servants here, but we have thousands of youths to break, to train, and to command. They will do your dirty work. Come, let’s go introduce them to the great Prince Leresy Cadigus.”
She patted his cheek, winked, and turned to leave the room, hips swaying with reclaimed swagger. Leresy stood a moment, admiring the view, then followed.
They climbed back onto the tower’s roof. They stood in the wind, looking down at the fortress. The smaller towers, the courtyard, the grand hall, the armory, the kitchens—they all looked like stone blocks from up here. Around them rolled the forests. A single, cobbled road snaked across the land, leading from the camp’s gates down south. Leresy was a child of the north; to him, Castra Luna was as south as he could imagine. But the empire stretched even farther from this outpost, all the way to the Tiran Sea where Cadport lay, and beyond that sea to the endless deserts.
My birthright, he thought. Once my father and sister are dead, all these lands will be mine.
Movement caught his eye. A convoy was moving north along the road, heading toward the camp. Leresy counted six carts, each one wide enough to house a phalanx of recruits. A dragon tugged each cart down the road, and smoke plumed from their nostrils.
“Here they are!” Nairi said, standing beside him. The wind ruffled her short blond hair, and she smiled crookedly and clutched her punisher. “The fresh meat rolls in. Let us go greet them.”
Her lips peeled back in a hungry grin, and she shifted. Gray wings burst out from her back. Her fangs shone. She took flight as an iron dragon, roared, and blew fire at the sky.
Leresy followed suit. He shifted into the red dragon, roared a spray of fire, and flew after her. They circled above the fort, howling their flames, and waited for the recruits to roll in.
As Leresy flew, he grinned and licked his chops. His chamber perhaps was bare, and the mattress rough, but Leresy thought he would enjoy his eighteenth birthday after all.
9
TILLA
The cart trundled forward, and they were close now. Dragons shrieked ahead, fire crackled, and Tilla could feel it. After ten days in the wilderness, they were nearing their destination.
What fort will it be? she wondered, standing in the dark cart as a hundred other girls pressed against her. She tried to remember all the forts she knew within ten days of Cadport, but there were too many. It would have to be one for training recruits—seasoned soldiers didn’t share forts with recruits—but that only narrowed it down by a couple of forts.
She went over all the names she had heard soldiers speak of. This could be Castra Nova Murus, a great fortress in the east; that would be good fortune, Tilla thought, for soldiers said a benevolent lord commanded Murus. Or it could be Castra Alira, a dilapidated fortress in the west; Tilla remembered soldiers saying the rooms there were rough, but the training light.
Or it could be… Tilla swallowed and twisted her fingers. She did not want to be grim but had to consider the possibility. They could be rolling toward the infamous Castra Luna.
Tilla clenched her jaw, remembering the stories. They whispered that Luna was not only the cruelest fortress in the south, but in the entire empire. They said obsidian tiles covered the old bricks of Castra Luna, as black and cold as the heart of its commanders. They said recruits were broken there—physically and mentally. Tilla had once met a soldier who had, they said, trained in Castra Luna; the man had been a mute, grim killer, a demon in human flesh.
Her own brother had trained at Castra Luna. He had never come home.
Tilla sucked in her breath.
No, she thought, the odds are against it. It won’t be Luna. Please, stars of my fathers, don’t let it be Luna.
She moved through the crowd of girls, heading toward a cart wall. Two days back, the cart had overturned, and a crack now opened in the wall, too high for the other girls to peek through, but just the right height for Tilla. She jostled her way forward. The other girls moved aside, mumbling prayers. Tilla reached the crack, stood on her toes, and peered outside.
Her heart sank.
A snowy forest rolled around her, the trees bare and dark. Above the branches, still about a mile away, Tilla saw black, glimmering walls.
Obsidian. Castra Luna.
A hand tugged at her sleeve.
“Tilla, what do you see?”
Tilla turned to see Mae peering up at her. The baker’s daughter bit her trembling lip. Other recruits gathered around and peered at Tilla, all whispering.
“What do you see?”
“I hear dragons flying, are we close?”
“Tilla, where are we?”
In darkness, Tilla thought. At the gates of pain. In a world we might never escape.
She raised her hand.
“We’ve reached a fort,” she began.
“Which one?” demanded Erry Docker. The scrawny waif’s short, brown hair lay in tangles, her knees were skinned, and her eyes flashed. “Tell us the bloody fort’s name, Tilla.”
“Are we at Castra Murus?” called another girl. “My brother trained there.”
Mae Baker began to weep. “But I want to go home! I don’t want to go to any fort. I want to go back to Cadport… Please… My father will be so angry, he’s going to come save me…”
Tilla had to shout over them all. “Be quiet! Don’t make noise or Beras will hear. You know he hates noise. We’ve reached the fort of Castra Luna.” The girls began to whispe
r and weep, and Tilla raised her hands and spoke louder. “You will be safe here! I promise this to you. I know men who trained at this fortress, and I will protect you.”
“How will you protect us?” Erry said and spat onto the floor. “You’re just a pissant recruit like us. Bloody bollocks, I could take you in a fight, I reckon.”
“No you couldn’t, Erry!” said Mae, tears in her eyes. “Tilla is stronger than us, and she’s about twice your height, so be quiet. And stop cussing; my mother said a girl should never cuss. Princess Shari liked Tilla too, you all saw it, and even Beras was a little afraid of her.” She clung to Tilla and her lips wobbled. “Tilla is going to look after us here.”
Erry rolled her eyes and groaned.
The shrieks of dragons grew louder, and Tilla peered out the crack again. She cursed under her breath. Two dragons were circling above the fortress, blowing pillars of fire. One was red, male, and long of fang. The other was female, and her scales were an iron gray. Both sported gilded horns; these ones were nobility.
And they are cruel, Tilla thought. I can see it in their fire. They will try to break us. She clenched her fists at her sides. But I will not be broken. Whatever horror awaits here, I will survive it. I will see Cadport and Rune again.
The cart kept trundling, and the black walls grew closer. Cannons lined their battlements, and soldiers in leather armor manned each gun. Tilla had seen cannons before, long and narrow things along Cadport’s boardwalk; not far from the Old Wheel stood the oldest cannon in Requiem, a rusted sentinel watching the sea. But these cannons dwarfed Cadport’s like greatswords beside daggers. Each gun was long as a dragon; she could have climbed into the barrels.
She swallowed. These cannons were not built to blast ships, she thought. They were built to slay dragons.
“Tilla, bloody dog dung, what do you s—” Erry began, but Tilla hushed her and kept staring outside.
The gates of Castra Luna rose ahead. From where she stood, Tilla could only see half of one door. That door loomed twenty feet tall, its oak engraved with carvings of the red spiral. The sigil also appeared upon black banners that draped the walls and fluttered from the tower tops.
Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels Page 38
