King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  The idea to use a catapult was about as desperate as they had ever stooped. It would bring a pile of soldiers crashing into the crowd seeking out the attacker and they had to at least injure Stracker enough to stall proceedings. But Kilt wouldn’t see Lily fall to this bastard’s blade, not for any reason.

  He heard Kirin yell his love for her and Kilt’s gut twisted when he heard her anguished response.

  The crowd too had fallen silent as in a single vicious blow General Stracker cleaved through Kirin Felt’s neck. Kilt looked down at the moment of execution. He didn’t want to see the man’s head spin from his shoulders. But he knew it had occurred when the people who had gathered gave a collective groan. Swallowing, he raised his gaze to see Stracker holding up Felt’s severed head.

  “This is what we do to people who commit treason against our emperor. We did him the honor of executing him in the Denovian way. He would have suffered far more if we’d punished him in the manner of the Steppes.”

  “Thank you for your leniency, general,” someone yelled out, sarcasm cutting through the hush.

  Kilt didn’t have to look around, as those in front were, to know it was Jewd. He also knew Jewd would have rapidly changed position, melting back into another area of the crowd so that locating him would be difficult.

  Stracker kicked Kirin’s fallen body out of his way and flung the head into a waiting basket as he turned now to Lily. She looked pale and suddenly paralyzed; her mouth was forming words but no sound issued as far as Kilt could tell.

  “Bring her over here,” Stracker commanded, “I’ve got a taste for it now.”

  Kilt felt the panic rise. For what felt like the first time in his life he had no cunning plan, not even the seed of an idea. The catapult was useless in this crowd. His attempt to use the mob’s opinion as a tide of conscience, a way to make Stracker reconsider had resulted in only stalling proceedings.

  He watched, stunned into inaction, as Lily was dragged to the front of the small landing where Stracker was having his fun. She’d roused herself from whatever stupor she’d been plunged into at Kirin’s death and seemed to be finding a depth of courage he could only marvel at, shoving away the hands of her minders, lifting her chin in clear defiance of the bullies around her. And then she shifted her gaze and looked directly at him. He was devastated to see forgiveness in that look, as though she did not blame him for how events had turned out.

  In the forest Kilt’s outlaw gang used a silent sign language. He and Jewd had developed it in their youth and they’d taught it to those they trusted. Lily had been a fast learner. Kilt’s heart felt as though it was being torn to shreds as she looked away from him, so as not to incriminate him, and signed into the air.

  This is not your fault. Do not do anything that puts either of you in jeopardy.

  “What’s that she’s doing?” Stracker bellowed. “Stop her!”

  Lily burned an angry stare at the general. “I am permitted to say my final words. I choose to say them silently.”

  The crowd’s murmurings swelled in approval. Stracker gave a wave of dismissal. “Get on with it, Mrs. Felt. My sword, sticky with your husband’s blood, looks forward to being stained with yours.”

  “How romantic,” she threw at him with such damning disdain that many in the audience laughed.

  Stracker snarled at her. “Be quick. My sword is thirsty.”

  Lily yelled loudly at him. “Loethar is the head of this empire but you are its arse.”

  Delighted laughter erupted across the crowd but she paid the price of a belt around her ear for her daring. From her knees, Lily stole a surreptitious glance at Kilt as she signed. Make our deaths count and put a Valisar on this throne. I have loved you both.

  She looked at Stracker. “Do what you want,” she said as carelessly as she could. She hauled herself back to her feet. “But I will not kneel for you, Stracker. You will have to cut me down as I stand and look at you.”

  Kilt couldn’t fathom where this bravery was coming from but it inspired him. He covertly signed to Jewd.

  Ready?

  The big man nodded above the heads of others.

  Kill that bastard.

  You grab Lily.

  Kilt nodded.

  Then I might take some others down too.

  Kilt signed rapidly. Split up. Kilt began moving forward but just as he was easing his way closer to the stage, a familiar sensation doubled him over. He took a couple of deep breaths and straightened but he was dizzy. It couldn’t be. His eyes roamed the square as he swayed like a drunk, trying to regain control. People began to push him. He stumbled and fell; crawling through the legs of the crowd he realized too late that he was moving back the way he came. And in fact the crowd, irritated by his behavior, had managed to shove him so far to the side that he had no time now.

  He tried to find Lily but his gaze was locked onto Jewd’s face, which was frowning at him. Kilt took deep breaths and was back in control, but already it was too late.

  Jewd glanced her way and saw that Lily was staring with revulsion at the general.

  “You’d have made a good Steppes execution with your defiance,” he laughed. “Go ahead, let me be the last person your eyes see as you die.”

  Lily turned away, searching the crowd. Jewd was torn. Was he still supposed to take out Stracker or would it be better to go to Kilt’s aid? His friend seemed to be in trouble . . . but Lily. Lily needed him! In his hesitation he lost his clear line of sight and attack; it was too late for him to take aim and fire at the general with the pebbles he always kept handy in a pocket.

  In fact, the general was already taking aim at Lily’s neck.

  Lily had closed her eyes. Jewd held his breath, transfixed with horror.

  The sword cleaved through the air with horrible certainty.

  And stopped.

  Everyone gasped.

  Stracker regarded his sword in comic confusion. It looked like a piece of tomfoolery, as though he was going to suddenly mug at the crowd and grin, winning huge applause for the jest.

  It was so silent in the main square that Jewd could hear his own ragged breathing.

  Stracker looked again at his blade, at his men, at Lily Felt’s exposed neck and back to his sword. He blinked angrily as a soft murmur erupted through the crowd, then roared his perplexion and took another swipe. Again the sword stopped just a hair’s breath from Lily’s unharmed neck.

  “Is this a jest?” Lily begged into the silence. Her voice was shaking and it was obvious that so were her knees.

  Kilt knew this feeling. But it was impossible! He heard Lily ask the question but then he began to chuckle darkly, helplessly, as someone at the back to one side of the square began to clap.

  Heads turned, searching for who was applauding in such ironic fashion.

  “Ho, General Stracker! Or should I say General Dungheap?”

  Kilt thought he recognized the voice. A fresh gasp erupted, as well as a few outbursts of laughter.

  Jewd was suddenly at his side. “What the hell is it? What’s happening to you?”

  “Not it,” Kilt groaned. “Who?”

  Jewd looked puzzled.

  “It’s one of the Valisars. The world is crawling with them, it seems,” he choked out. “It’s not too bad. I can control it. Lily?”

  Jewd’s brow furrowed. “Her head’s still on her neck. She’s fainted and safe for now. What do you mean, Valisar? Loethar or Leo?”

  “I have no idea. You have to get me away from here fast. I . . . I have to think.”

  Jewd wasted no time. He picked up Kilt as though he was a bundle of rags and ran him away, down backstreets, into the safety of anonymity.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lily had swooned into the large puddle of Kirin’s bright red blood but Stracker barely noticed her. Heads were turning to the sound of the man clapping in a jeering fashion, daring to make fun of him.

  In fact, Stracker noticed, there were two people approaching. He was so confused, though, th
at he couldn’t even respond to his men, who were looking to him for instructions. He was even ignoring the man poking fun at him. All he could do was stare at his sword, bamboozled.

  The strangers walked right up to the podium. People parted for them, falling away to ease their path up onto the structure.

  “General Stracker?” the man said.

  It was only then that Stracker came out of his stupor, and stared at the young man who stood before him.

  “Perhaps you remember me?”

  “Impress me!” the general spat.

  “I’m Piven. And this,” he said, gesturing at the man beside him, “is Greven.”

  “And what in Aludane’s Fires are you doing here interrupting me?”

  Stracker’s voice sounded as though he was in control but inside he was filled with turmoil. Piven? The halfwit! It couldn’t be and yet there was no mistaking the familiar face, still such a youth; just a few straggly hairs around his jaw but otherwise still that baby-faced boy. But that was where similarities ended; he was tall now and looked strong—his body had filled out in a way that Stracker recognized could only be achieved from manual work. Stracker blinked. It didn’t make sense. Piven was not Valisar. He realized he was staring blankly but he promised himself he would not cower to the youth, no matter what dark magic was at work here.

  Piven made a tutting sound. “Come now, general, that’s not a very warm welcome back for me, is it? I’ve been missing for a decade. Aren’t you even vaguely intrigued?”

  “You might have intrigued my brother—”

  “Half-brother,” Piven corrected.

  Stracker snarled. “But you hold no interest for me. Throw him in the dungeon until I’m ready to deal with him.”

  Soldiers immediately moved at Stracker’s command, but he was surprised to see Piven benignly smiling.

  “Kill them, Greven. But, Greven . . . save Stracker for me.”

  And at this new order, Greven—an old man as far as Stracker could tell—began to fight. He fought ruthlessly and with no expression on his face. He made no sound other than the odd grunt. His strength was remarkable. He didn’t need a weapon; his fist was a killing device, breaking bones, crushing limbs, snapping necks.

  The most alarming fact was that no matter how many men rushed at him with their weapons, their swords could never touch him—or Piven—and their arrows appeared to bounce harmlessly away once they arrived within a hair’s breadth of their target.

  “What is this?” Stracker cried above the sound of the slaughter and the crowd’s yells of fear as it dispersed, mothers grabbing children and running for what they thought was their lives; men pushing back, ringing the square now with a collective look of dread on their faces. The square, though not empty, was suddenly cleared of the press of people.

  “This, General Stracker,” Piven said with a mirthful expression, “is the Valisar magic working.”

  “Valisar?”

  Piven nodded. “Greven is an aegis,” he said calmly while men died around him. Then he smiled and there was ferocity in it. “Now keep up, general. I know you don’t have the capacity of your brother’s cleverness but you must at least try and pay attention because I won’t be explaining this again. An aegis is the ultimate champion, available only to a Valisar.” He paused a moment. “Ah, excellent, I see the obvious is registering with you. Yes, indeed, shock upon shocks, I am a Valisar.” He tapped his nose. “Or I wouldn’t have the benefits of an aegis at my disposal. Oops, that’s at least a dozen of your warriors, general. Would you like me to stop him? The best way is for you to call your soldiers off.”

  Piven paused again.

  Stracker’s mouth moved but he couldn’t think of what to say.

  Piven began to chuckle. “You know, general, another dozen could die while you make up your mind. I suggest you give the command. There’s no point in losing many more lives this day.”

  Stracker found his voice finally. “Step back!” he shouted to his men.

  “Well done. You see, Stracker, you should have remained as your half-brother’s second. These delusions of leadership you have are ill-advised; you’re at your best when you are taking orders from a higher source.” He smiled again. “A higher source such as I,” he finished. “Greven, leave us but keep me shielded.”

  The older man removed himself to the shadows of the arches at the very back of the main square. Piven sighed pleasurably and surveyed the scene.

  Lily Felt chose that moment to moan as she came back into consciousness.

  “Would someone please pick up the fallen Mrs. Felt,” Piven commanded. “There will be no execution for her today—or indeed any day, general. From what I gathered watching your theatrics unfold, and how your audience was reacting, she is innocent . . . or at least, unworthy of execution. And she’s far too pretty to be killed off for no good reason. Now her husband I liked. Kirin Felt never did me a wrong. To be candid with you, general, I’m a little angry that you executed him. The least you could have done was offer him a trial.”

  “Who are you?” Lily Felt was sitting up, her obvious confusion reflecting Stracker’s.

  “Your savior it seems, Mrs. Felt. I am Piven, one of the Valisar princes.”

  Her eyes widened. “Piv—” She stopped herself.

  But his eyes narrowed. “You sound like you know me, Mrs. Felt, and yet I am sure I have never seen you until this day.”

  “I . . . I know of you, of course. But no, we have never met, highness.”

  Piven spun around on his heel like a child, laughing. “Highness?” he repeated and then he ran up onto the scaffolding and helped Lily to her feet. Without turning he addressed Stracker. “Don’t try anything, general. I should warn you that I cannot be killed. And for each attempt from now on I will have ten of your Greens slaughtered before you. Are we understood?”

  Stracker paused. He was so angry he could feel himself shaking. But Piven didn’t notice, wouldn’t even look at him. He was staring at Lily.

  “Do you understand, Stracker?” he repeated.

  “Yes!” the general roared.

  Piven ignored him, kissed Lily’s hand and stared into her eyes. “Thank you for paying me the courtesy of my true title. You are the first to utter it.”

  The woman found a tentative smile and despite the streaks of dirt on her face and the blood over her clothes, she inclined her head politely. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Piven grinned, his face young and full of mischief. “It was nothing,” he said, waving away the thanks. “Forgive me for not acting sooner. Your husband was killed as we arrived into the square—shame on them for making you kneel for his death—but I could hear all the shouting as we were approaching. Just a few minutes earlier and . . .”

  “Please, your highness, don’t say it.” She looked down at her blood-drenched clothing and gagged. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  “No,” Piven replied gently. “I knew him in childhood and he was a decent man. But he is dead, Mrs. Felt, and there is nothing to be gained from dwelling on it. Come, let us get you out of those clothes, bathed, rested. We shall talk shortly.” He looked around. “You, Father Briar.”

  “Is it really you?” the man stammered.

  “No one else,” Piven replied. “Now, take Mrs. Felt and see to it that she has all that she needs.”

  Briar nodded dumbly, seemingly awestruck by Piven.

  As Father Briar and Lily helped each other away, Stracker rounded on Piven. “He was helping her to escape in the first place!”

  Piven regarded Stracker. “So what?”

  “They are traitors to the emperor.”

  Piven cocked his head to one side. “And you’re not?”

  Stracker remained silent.

  “Keep doing as I bid, general, and perhaps we can work together. You have to stop occupying your very small reasoning capacity, Stracker, with people who don’t matter. I can tell that Mr. and Mrs. Felt have offended you on some level but they are merely pawns.” He took a
step forward and Stracker actually flinched. “They are unimportant people often sacrificed by the more important players in the deadly game of power, but whose deaths are meaningless in the greater plan.”

  “What is the greater plan?”

  “Ahh, now we come to it, general. Why, to rule.” Stracker felt shock run through him like ice water. Piven chuckled and continued, “But people like Father Briar, Kirin Felt, his wife, are unimportant.”

  “Who is important, then?”

  Piven smiled wolfishly. “Clear the square, order your men away and get this scaffolding dismantled. There will be no more executions for the time being.”

  Stracker regarded the young man for a long time. Piven didn’t so much as blink beneath the scrutiny, patiently waiting until Stracker made his decision. At last, Stracker barked orders in Steppes language and soldiers leaped to his command, immediately dragging away Kirin’s corpse, herding onlookers away and summoning carpenters to take down the makeshift stage.

  “Good,” Piven said, “that was your first wise move. Walk with me. I will answer your questions.”

  Stracker fell in alongside him like an obedient dog. The aegis, Greven, followed at a short distance behind.

  “Tell me about him,” Stracker said, thumbing over his shoulder.

  “He’s not much fun, as you can tell. But he’s the father who took me on when you and your half-brother decided to kill mine.”

  “But you’re adopted,” Stracker said.

  Piven sighed, loudly theatric. “That was the ruse, General Stracker. I am Valisar.”

  “Valisar?” Stracker queried, totally lost. Then he gathered his thoughts, punching the air with a finger. “I may not have the cleverness of my brother but you were a halfwit last time I saw you.”

  “Yes, now that probably is the best secret of all. Not only was lucidity hidden from my family but it was hidden from me for many years. Unhappily for you, Stracker, I am far from the smiling monkey boy I think I once overheard you refer to me as. It seems I am Vested and Valisar. Hmmm, that is a potent mix.”