Dropping the saddlebags, Aedin ran to the cart. Leif was leering at the girl, who looked furious. She knelt beside the body, clutching the dead woman’s head to her own chest, almost protectively.
“Don’t you touch me,” she spat. “Don’t even speak to me.”
“Fiery one, isn’t she?” chuckled Leif.
“She’s had a bad day,” said Aedin, stepping in between the two of them.
“Well, I know what soothes a crying woman,” said Leif, looking past Aedin and winking. “I bet you do, too—don’t you, lass?”
“Gods alive, man,” Aedin hissed. “There’ll be other patrols. Quit wasting time. Get these bodies off the road.”
“Soon enough,” said Leif, wiping the sweat off his bald head with grubby fingers.
“Want to get dragged to Tantillion?” said Aedin, stepping in and pushing his face up close to Leif’s.
“Careful, now,” growled the big man, narrowing his eyes.
“You’ve still got their ropes around your wrists,” said Aedin, ignoring the warning. “Boot marks on your ribs. Want more? Fingernails torn off and hot coals shoved up your hinder parts? Can do that for you, myself. First, let’s get the devil away from here.”
Leif’s cheek twitched with anger. But he nodded.
“Good,” said Aedin, stepping back. “Get these Sithians off the road. I’ll take the cart.”
“You’re not in charge,” said Leif, his chin jutting out aggressively. “You take care of the bodies. I’ll do the cart. And I’m keeping the horse.”
Aedin nodded at the Sithian’s slain mount. “Then drag off that dead horse, too.”
“Suits me,” said Leif. With one last lingering look at the girl, he turned and led the horse and cart away into the woods.
Aedin squatted down next to the girl, who stared at him with a fierce hate. Her kirtle was spattered with mud and blood, and her face was streaked and red from crying. She was still beautiful.
“Sorry about her,” said Aedin, nodding toward the woman with his arrow sticking out of her chest. “An accident. Aiming for the Sithian.”
“I saw,” the girl said. “She’s still dead.”
“Who was she?” said Aedin.
“My aunt Ethelind,” said the girl.
Aedin nodded. “And what’s your name?”
“Elenn.”
“Elenn,” said Aedin, “I’m sorry I killed your aunt Ethelind.”
When the girl said nothing, Aedin stood and walked to the body of the closest Sithian, Tuliyek. Grabbing it by the wrists, he lugged it into the trees, opposite from where Leif was stashing the cart.
“You’re pretty casual about all this,” said Elenn, as he walked back into the road.
“Wish this was the first time I stole,” said Aedin, “or killed. We live in bad times, Elenn.” He took Nurzod’s body by the legs and pulled it to lie beside his fellow.
“Times are only as bad as we make them,” Elenn shot back. She glared at him, and then struggled to contain a sob. “Aunt Ethelind said that,” she managed at last.
“Wise woman,” said Aedin, gathering fallen branches to cover the bodies. Glancing up, he saw Leif tying the cart-horse to the Sithian’s dead mount and hauling it away. That just left the women to deal with. Aedin sighed and covered the bodies of the Sithians with the branches.
“We have to go now,” said Aedin. “Afraid we’re taking your horse. And some of your food.” He crossed the road, walking toward the cart.
“I forbid you,” said Elenn. “You will not leave me without a mount, and without food.”
Aedin turned and found her standing. She was tall for a woman, very nearly his height. Her aunt’s body was in the road behind her, laid out carefully. Even in the presence of the man who had killed her aunt, the girl kept her composure. He wouldn’t be able to bully her into coming along. It would have to be her own idea.
“There’s worse things could’ve been taken,” said Aedin grimly. “Worse ways you could’ve been left.” He looked down at his feet. “Not a good man, I admit. But there’s worse. Some day you may be glad it was me you met on this road.”
Looking up, he saw Elenn glaring at him, the streaks of tears still evident on her face, her aunt’s life blood on her hands and smock.
“Maybe not,” Aedin said. “Either way, I’m sorry.”
“Then leave me with my food!” Elenn cried. “I’ll starve!”
“Me too,” said Aedin with a shrug. “Haven’t eaten in days. The Sithians weren’t very good traveling companions.” He rubbed his wrists, which were raw and bleeding from the ropes they had used to bind him.
“You’re no better,” said Elenn. “You’re a murderer and a robber.”
“To stay alive,” said Aedin. It was true enough. “To escape torture and death. What would you have done?”
As he watched her struggle for an answer, Aedin heard Leif’s voice behind him.
“Blackberries! Very nice.”
Standing at the cart, the big man popped a handful of berries into his mouth. With the juice running down his chin, he emptied a leather sack with a dramatic flourish and refilled it with fruits, cheeses, fine smoked meats—all the choicest foods that a well-born lady like Elenn would most prize.
Elenn looked miserable, so Aedin grabbed a burlap bag off the cart. “Here,” he said, bringing it to her. “Oats. Very nourishing. A lot better than most get these days.”
“Come on,” said Leif. He stuffed the sack full of food in the cart-horse’s saddlebag, and then led it off into the trees, carrying the cask of ale under his arm.
“Farewell,” said Aedin, and he left Elenn standing there in the road by her aunt’s body. He followed Leif, who was heading northeast.
“Wait!” Elenn called. “You can’t just leave me, for the wolves and the bandits. I’ll die.”
“Stay on the road,” said Aedin, still walking. He couldn’t let her catch him too easily. The more she fought to attach herself to him, the less trouble she would be on the road.
“You act callous,” said Elenn, catching up to him, “but it troubles you that you killed my aunt. Your friend may not care what he owes people, but you do. And you owe me a blood debt.”
“Go back to Anondea, girl,” said Aedin, shaking his head.
“Let me come with you,” said Elenn, “just as long as we’re headed in the same direction. I’ll be no trouble.”
“Find another nursemaid,” said Aedin. “Just sit right here and wait. Bet you see seven wagons come down this road between now and sunset. And a dozen Vitalion patrols. You’ll be fine.”
“You want to leave me here for a Vitalion patrol to find?” said Elenn archly. “Sitting here in the road with the body of my aunt, whom you slew?”
Aedin stopped and looked at her, narrowing his eyes and exhaling slowly through his nostrils.
“It’s in your best interest to take me along,” Elenn said.
Aedin held up one finger. “One night,” he said. “Morning, we leave you with the first shepherd or woodsman we see.”
“Agreed,” said Elenn. “I’ll get my things.”
“One sack,” said Aedin. “Only what you can carry.”
Elenn nodded, ran three steps and then turned back. “Will you help me bury my aunt?”
Aedin gritted his teeth and sighed. “No time. Best we can do is to leave her on the cart, and pray. I’m sorry.”
Elenn nodded, her eyes full of tears, and ran to the cart.
“Devil take the Vitalion,” muttered Aedin. “This war makes monsters of us all.”
***
Chapter Eleven
Alone in the cavernous great hall of Tantillion Castle, Magister Corvus surveyed his evening repast. There was a standing rib roast, accompanied by a small jar of fine-ground mustard. Thin tendrils of steam rose from a loaf of milled white bread laid out with fresh cream butter and slices of candied pear. And best of all, a whole broiled lark set in a bed of greens.
With a happy sigh, Corvus ease
d into the immense carved chair and cut a slice of red roast beef. The cook had outdone herself. Probably had another niece or cousin she wanted on the staff. Hard to say no to her with results like this, he thought as he wiped away the hot meat juice that dribbled down his chin.
Hearing a polite cough, Corvus looked up to see his portly adjutore standing in the doorway, with head bowed. A frown spread across the Magister’s face as Lugotorix spoke without waiting to be granted permission.
“My lord, the imperator has arrived,” the fat little man said.
Corvus set down his knife. “Why is this the first I am hearing of his visit? I should have been told the moment his advance riders came into view.”
“There were no riders,” said Lugotorix, “to my knowledge.”
“Of course,” muttered Corvus. The man loved surprises. “No matter. We shall give the Imperator a welcome in accordance with his exalted station. Have Guerren ready the servants, and Hostilius summon an honor guard.”
“He desires to see you alone, my lord,” said Lugotorix, bowing even deeper in apology.
“Very well,” said Corvus, with a tight smile. “I shall receive him in my privy chamber.”
Lugotorix grimaced. “He requires your presence in the study.”
Tapping his fingers on the table, Corvus took in a deep breath and slowly released it. “Is there anything else he requires?”
“A plate of food, he said.”
“Have Guerren prepare a plate,” said Corvus, standing, “and bring it to us in the study.”
Lugotorix winced, and sucked in his breath slightly as if in pain. Corvus slapped his palms down on the table, feeling his face growing hot despite the portly adjutore’s courtly deference.
“What now? Out with it, man.”
“Your pardon, my lord,” said Lugotorix, “but the Imperator specifically asked that you bring the plate yourself.”
Corvus narrowed his eyes at the impertinence. Worse than being robbed of the opportunity to display his lavish hospitality, worse than being ordered about in his own castle, the Magister was ordered to perform a servant’s duties—by another servant! He ground his teeth at the insult.
“You may go,” Corvus growled at last.
Lugotorix fled.
Mastering himself, Corvus heaped a plate high with generous portions of his own dinner and marched out with as much dignity as he could muster. As he walked to the study, the halls were, thankfully, empty. Perhaps Lugotorix, or Guerren the steward, had spread the word to the servants so that there would be no witnesses to this latest humiliation.
Still, there would be talk—which was of course Strabus’s intention. Ever since the Senate had sent a new Imperator to Deira, Corvus had tried to receive him graciously, but it was impossible. The man failed to announce his visits with letters, and apparently was no longer even using advance riders.
And of course Corvus was expected to drop whatever he was doing and come running like a lady’s maid. It was intolerable. Everything Strabus did seemed calculated to communicate, in the most offensive way possible, that he was Corvus’s superior.
Still fuming, Corvus reached the heavy oak door to the study—his study!—carrying a heavy plate of food—his food! He took a deep breath. It was a tactic. The Imperator needed him off balance because his own position was precarious. Corvus smiled, and opened the door.
“Theodoricus Aelius,” Corvus said warmly, “I trust your journey from Anondea was a pleasant one?” Corvus spoke Vitalae as well as Deiran. Perhaps better. His father had chosen a Vitalion nursemaid, and instructed her to speak only her native tongue around her charge. Laird Pugh had been a forward-thinking man.
Strabus sat in Corvus’s chair, at Corvus’s desk, looking through a book that Corvus recognized as the castle’s financial ledger. He was a great bear of a man, about fifty years old and powerfully built. He had a bushy moustache and was bald on the top of his head, but covered with thick blond hair everywhere else. His meaty hands and thick fingers seemed ill-suited for turning pages, and the pair of spectacles perched on his nose were almost comical. He did not look up.
“I have told you before to address me as Imperator Strabus,” said Strabus, his voice a low rumble. “Please do not make me remind you again.” Although Strabus had been born a Vitalion citizen, he still spoke the language with the barbarous accent of Baiohaemum.
Strabus continued to read, his lips moving silently as his finger traced its way down the page. Behind him stood Guerren, his thin face impassive as always. When their eyes met, though, Corvus perceived an air of wounded pride. Guerren’s family had been stewards of Tantillion for generations, and he seemed to have a very proprietary feeling about the castle and its grounds, as if he were an innkeeper and the current Laird merely a temporary guest. Winning his loyalty had been one of Corvus’s first tasks after taking residence at Tantillion.
Corvus gave Guerren a polite nod, and Guerren bowed slightly in return.
“You may set that plate down anywhere you like,” said Strabus. “I find I am not hungry after all.”
Corvus maintained his smile with difficulty. “Of course, Imperator. As you wish.”
He stepped forward, but before he could set the plate on the desk, Strabus held up his hand.
“One moment,” said Strabus. He looked up at Guerren. “You. Are you hungry?”
Guerren, surprised to be so addressed, shook his head.
“Of course you are,” said Strabus. “I interrupted your dinner. Don’t be shy.” He waved his hand at Corvus. “Go on, give it to him.”
The gaunt castle steward shrank back from the plate, his eyes downcast. There was nothing wrong with the food, of course, but to take it from the hand of the Laird of the castle was unthinkable.
Seeing Guerren so completely aghast, Corvus smiled. Strabus had miscalculated and discomfited the steward, which gave the Magister an opportunity to further cement the man’s allegiance. Stepping around the desk, he put the plate in the thin man’s hands.
“My lord?” said Guerren hesitantly.
“Go ahead,” said Corvus gently. “You heard the Imperator.” He smiled. “And I know you love larks.”
“That I do, my lord,” said Guerren. He took the proffered plate. “Thank you, my lords.” He tore a wing from the broiled lark and took a small, crunchy bite.
Corvus nodded magnanimously. “Not at all.” He smiled.
Strabus shut the ledger and dropped it on the desk. “Well, I think this place will do,” he said, stroking his moustache. “Corvus, we’ll have to put you somewhere, of course.”
“Imperator?” said Corvus.
“I’ve decided to make this castle my center of admin-istration,” said Strabus. “I’ve named Manius Puponius Procurator and left him in Anondea to keep an eye on things while I get this place properly ordered.” He glanced up at Guerren, who froze with the other lark’s wing halfway to his mouth. “You can go now,” said Strabus. “I’ve got all I need from you.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Guerren, bowing low. As he did, Strabus relieved him of the plate of food. The steward hurried from the room.
“Properly ordered?” asked Corvus. “What do you mean?”
“Suddenly I’m starving,” said Strabus, ignoring him. He rolled up a slice of roast beef and dipped it in the mustard. “Mmm. Excellent.”
“Imperator?”
“We’ll have to put you in the steward’s chamber,” said Strabus. “Which means we’ll need a place for him.”
“Imperator Strabus,” said Corvus carefully, “Guerren is the castle steward. He may be a commoner, but his position is vital to the—”
Strabus held up his hand. “Do not presume to educate me,” he said, his moustache bristling. “I have been a colonial administrator for twenty years. I know how important these functionaries can be, and how difficult they can make things when they are unhappy.”
“Of course,” said Corvus.
“You can be sure that it is not my idea to remove hi
m from his quarters,” said Strabus, leaning back in the high-backed chair that Corvus had chosen because of its imposing, regal qualities. He smiled, cruelly. “It is yours.”
“My lord?”
“You heard me,” said Strabus. “You will present this idea as your own.” He leaned forward. “I need to know where your loyalties are, Magister Corvus.” His lips twisted as he spoke the title, as if he found the word unpleasant to the taste.
“My loyalties are with the Empire,” said Corvus quickly.
“We shall see,” said Strabus. “You may leave me now. Deliver the news to the steward however you like. But by tomorrow noon, I want you in his chambers, and him somewhere else. I would suggest displacing the adjutores, but I’m curious to hear your ideas.”
Corvus frowned. “As you say, unhappy functionaries can make everything difficult. My preference would be to disrupt as few men as possible.”
“Then perhaps the culverhouse,” said Strabus lightly. “No men there. Just ravens.”
Trying to hide the reaction which he feared was painted on his face, Corvus bowed. “As you wish, of course, Imperator. But the space is cramped and ill-suited to the steward’s office.” What was Strabus hinting about? Did he know?
“What, then, is it suited to?” Strabus asked. “I have heard some interesting rumors about what you and those ravens do in that old culverhouse.”
It was a poorly kept secret that the culverhouse was where men were sent to be tortured for information. Corvus did nothing about the rumors. They only enhanced his fearsome reputation, paradoxically making it easier to get information without having to resort to violence. Still, it was unseemly for Vitalion nobles to engage in torture.
“Imperator,” said Corvus hastily, “although at times the process of interrogation can become, for lack of a better word, vigorous, let me assure you that I have never myself participated in anything so indecorous as—”
“Enough,” said Strabus. “Torture does not bother me. I am no Vitalion patrician, too delicate to dirty his hands.” He clasped his massive hands together, cracking his knuckles loudly. “Hands at work build the Empire. What bothers me is hands that lie idle, or that squander their effort in trivial labors. What bothers me is eyes not focused on the business of the Empire, but instead engaged in flights of fancy. This is my house now. Do you understand me?”
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