Freath grabbed for it, swinging it perilously close to the young man’s face. He knew precisely what he was looking for and there it was, the tiny scar above his right eyebrow that had been won when he fell from a pear tree, clipping his face on a branch. He sucked in a gasp of excitement. “How did you get this scar?” he asked, pointing toward it.
He knew everyone was leaning in to scrutinize something they’d probably not even noticed before. It was tiny. Only just visible, a thin silvery blemish.
The younger man didn’t hesitate. “I fell out of a tree, hit my head on a knob of the branch. By the time the de Vis twins and I arrived at the infirmary, I looked as though I’d fought through a day’s battle.”
Freath’s lip began to tremble. “What sort of tree was it?”
The younger man sneered. “A pear tree. The fruit wasn’t even ripe and to add insult to injury I got bellyache for my trouble and then the trots. My mother was not pleased with me. She worried I would be scarred badly but I can recall you scoffing at the suggestion, Freath. Besides, I always hoped it would add a warrior’s mark to my soft appearance.”
“How old were you?” Freath persisted.
The man blinked. Freath held his breath.
“I was six. Mother had recently lost another baby so her mood made her overreact to my wound. She banished the de Vis brothers from my life for what felt like an age.”
Freath sank to his knees. “It was four days, your majesty,” he said, his voice choked with relief. “They were banished for four days.”
“They were only about eleven anni themselves,” Leo continued.
Freath nodded, his eyes glistening. “King Leon—”
“No!” Leo yelled. “You will not so much as speak my name, you treacherous, sniveling, arse-licking bastard!” He drew a sword with a chilling ring from its scabbard at his hip; even in this low light Freath recognized the sword.
He bent his head, accepting the rebuke. “I am unworthy of being slain by Faeroe, your majesty.”
He sensed Leo’s hesitation but it was Faris who stepped between them. “Stop!”
“I warned you,” Leo bristled, his voice edged with emotion.
“Just wait, your majesty!” Faris demanded. “Extinguish the lantern,” he growled at Tern. “On your feet, Freath.”
Freath felt himself hauled upright. He still couldn’t face his sovereign.
“Where’s Jewd?” Faris asked.
“Just coming up the hill now with the others,” Tern answered. “I can just see him. He’s moving quickly which means his money pouch is a lot lighter.”
“Did anyone follow us?” Faris demanded.
“No,” came the reply.
Freath dared a look. Leo had not taken his gaze from the former aide to his parents, his face glowering with such open hatred that Freath expected to feel Faeroe sliding into his belly at any moment. “Hear me out, majesty,” he risked, for Leo’s hearing only. “I might surprise you.”
Leo said nothing, simply stared at him with a deepening sneer.
The man they called Jewd finally arrived, and Freath recognized him as none other than the arrow-throwing giant from the inn. Two other men accompanied him. “It was a ruse?” Freath sputtered.
Faris nodded. “I needed to create a disturbance so that we could get you out of there with no one remembering you leave.”
“For when we kill you and leave you for the wolves,” Leo finished.
Freath inwardly sighed. He could not blame the young man. “Does he lose purposely, then?” he asked, simply for something to say that would throw Leo off his back.
“No, he does that without even trying,” Faris answered. “He was born a shocking gambler,” he added, loud enough for the giant to hear.
Jewd ignored him. “So this is our traitor, is it? Puny, isn’t he? Shall I snap him in half, your majesty?”
Leo’s lip curled. “Not yet, Jewd. I want him for myself.” Freath watched the king’s grip on Faeroe tighten.
Once again Faris calmed the tension. “Right, you men, get yourselves something to eat. Thanks for to night, you did well. No fire unfortunately this low in the woods, but tomorrow night I promise a meal of roasted meat.” The rest of the outlaws grumbled but meandered off leaving the four of them.
“Well, gentlemen,” Faris said, taking in the king and Freath with a roving gaze, “it’s time to talk. No swords needed, majesty.” He raised a hand as the king opened his mouth, no doubt to hurl more abuse, Freath guessed. “Your highness, we are going to listen. If Master Freath is every inch the slippery snake you describe him as and as cunning as you suggest, then I have to query why he would willingly put himself into a den of Freath-haters unarmed, alone, and knowing full well that he carries a death wish by walking into our lives.” He paused before adding, “We should consider the possibility that he’s innocent.”
“Innocent?” Leo repeated. “He threw the queen from the highest level of Brighthelm.” But he reluctantly sheathed Faeroe.
Freath swallowed. How? Where had he been hiding in the palace to see so much!
Leo continued, despite Faris’s warning glare. “He picked her up by her royal garments at her neck,” he said, pointing to his own, “and at her tail, and without so much as a farewell, flung her through the window so she could smash on the flagstones below. And then he turned and smiled at the hag from the Steppes.” If winter had a voice, it would sound like Leo’s.
“You saw,” Freath choked.
“Yes, I saw. I saw everything you did, Freath.”
“But you did not hear,” Freath defended.
Leo seemed unperturbed. “I did not hear what you and my mother discussed before you murdered her, perhaps, but everythi—”
Freath interrupted, no longer caring about protocol. “Because if you had been able to hear, you would have known that she instructed me to do that.”
Leo paused, astonished, and then leaped for Freath. Jewd hauled him back. “Forgive me, majesty,” the big man growled into the young man’s ear. “We said we would listen.”
Freath rubbed self-consciously at his throat.
“Let’s be seated, all of us,” Faris said, glaring at his young monarch.
Jewd threw one of the stools in Freath’s direction. As Freath sat warily, Faris urged Leo to sit on the second stool. The outlaw adopted a crouch that he managed to make appear comfortable.
“Why don’t you tell us everything you came here to share?” Faris suggested. “Highness, during this time, why don’t you…er, respectfully, be quiet and still? Begin, Freath. If anything you say does not ring honestly to my ear, I will not wait for the king’s command. Jewd will happily snap your neck for me as easily as he might a twig.”
Freath nodded. He gave his attention to Leo. “It began with your father calling me into his salon on the day of your sister’s birth, your highness…”
Nine
Kirin had fallen into conversation with a woman traveling with her brother. “And what prompted you to go looking for such a long lost friend?” she asked, taking a sip from the water bladder that hung from her horse’s neck.
Very few women traveled with merchants and most of those, for what ever reason, chose to be carried in the carts. He was impressed she was riding, and flattered that she had chosen to speak to him. “It’s been a decade. Friends should not fall out of contact,” he answered as vaguely as he could.
“He could be married by now,” she said.
“He probably is,” Kirin replied, shaking his head at her offer of a sip of water.
“Where will you begin?”
He looked at her quizzically. “I have no idea. Why?”
She smiled. “I think it’s exciting. You’re off on a journey of discovery. You could travel the entire realm…I mean compass…before you even get a clue as to his whereabouts.”
“That’s true. And I may never get that clue.”
“That would be a shame. Think positive, Kirin Felt.”
“And so you�
�re both traveling to Brighthelm?” Kirin asked. At her nod, he added, “What are you, guards or something?”
“What makes you say that?” she asked, amused.
“Well, you’re riding, for a start.”
“Very observant!” she replied archly. “No, I’m just using the caravan for security. My brother and I need to get into the city to see some relatives but we didn’t want to travel alone. So long as we pay our tithe and follow the rules, the merchants don’t mind. They’re good company as well.”
He nodded. He’d also paid a fee that allowed him the security of the merchant caravan and their mercenary guards. “Where do your relatives live?”
“Er, in a village not far from Devden.”
He’d heard the hesitation in her voice. She was lying. Why? More to the point, what was her interest in him?
“How long will you stay?”
She grinned. “All these questions, Master Felt!”
He shrugged. “Just passing the time, Lily.”
“Somehow I feel your life is far more exotic and interesting than my boring existence in Francham.”
“Nothing boring about Francham, surely?”
“Well, I’ve been there all my life. How about you? Are you originally from the city?”
“No, Port Killen on Medhaven,” he lied, unsure why but driven by instinct now.
“Far away,” she sighed. “You’re lucky to see so much of our lands.”
“You’d like to travel?”
“Yes, of course. But it is unseemly for a woman to roam the compasses. I envy you. And I hope you find your friend.”
“Your brother is very silent.”
“He never says much. And he didn’t really want to make this journey but we feel obliged.”
“And you live together?”
“Er, yes, we do.”
The hesitation each time he asked a personal question was telling. He was now convinced her easy conversation with him was contrived. She was also very pretty, which only served to make him even more self-conscious.
“How come you’re not married, Lily?”
She shrugged, seemingly embarrassed. “How come you aren’t?”
“I didn’t say that I wasn’t.”
“You didn’t say that you were either. I’m guessing not.”
“Why?”
She smiled softly. “The way you look at me.”
Kirin bristled. “My apologies, I didn’t—”
“You misunderstand, Master Felt,” she reassured. “Married men tend to have a hungry look in their eyes.”
He stared at her, only just able to see the amused expression through the murky light of the few lanterns they hung from the carts. “And I don’t look hungry?”
“Let’s just say you aren’t looking at all from what I can tell. Perhaps I should have said the way you don’t look at me.”
Kirin swallowed. She was absolutely right. “Should I start apologizing again?”
“Not at all. I can’t be offended by your lack of interest. I’m seeing a good man,” she said, her gaze as direct as her words.
“Will you marry him?”
“That’s overly curious of you,” she admonished, looking for the first time as self-conscious as he was feeling.
It was Kirin’s turn to shrug. “Don’t feel obliged to answer—” He stopped, looking ahead. “People are coming. Quite a few.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Trust me.” As they both sat up straighter to peer ahead, the sound of hooves and the squeak and groan of approaching carts came out of the darkness.
The merchant caravan hauled to a stop.
“Emperor’s soldiers,” Kirin breathed, feeling immediately nervous. He couldn’t risk being recognized. He turned to Lily and noticed her pulling her shawl over her head, tying it under her chin. He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Just taking precautions,” she murmured. “I’m a woman, Master Felt. It doesn’t hurt to be wary.”
Kirin’s puzzlement deepened. Lily was not traveling alone. Apart from the fourteen or so travelers alongside them both, she was with her brother, who was armed. Why would she feel so suddenly nervous? Kirin felt his earlier suspicions confirmed. Lily was not only hiding something, he could tell she wanted to hide herself along with it. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Let’s not talk.”
“I’m sure you have nothing to fear from these men.” The soldiers, he could see, were escorting two carts holding people, none of whom bore tatua or looked at all like tribal folk. The man at the front waved a hand, asking the merchants to move to one side of the road. Kirin watched the leader of his caravan gladly acquiesce, obediently waving the group to shift as best they could.
“Who are these people?” Lily spoke softly for his hearing only, although the question was clearly rhetorical.
Kirin shook his head in reply but as he did so felt an assault on his mind. Though this had never happened to him before, he instinctively shepherded the probing magic, deflecting it he knew not where. It was gone no sooner than it had arrived and, startled, he wondered if he’d imagined it. His curiosity pricked, he risked a very small trickle of prying magic. He had been practicing this over the last seven anni, teaching himself how to control the flow with precision, never allowing it to rush from him. It had taken much of his courage to risk the headaches, the nausea, fainting, and loss of his rationality that accompanied the use of his talent and he had learned that to let it flow from him too fast—no matter how small the trickle—was to invite pain and sickness. Using it still meant repercussions but he knew now how to control it with exquisite care so that he knew exactly how much it took from him to wield it.
He cast as gently as he knew how, stealing over time and distance, through flesh and bone, creeping invisibly into the mind of the man bearing the tatua of the Green who seemed to be leading this strange group. And in this man’s jumbled, slightly angry, definitely alert thoughts, he thought he sensed what he sought. He pulled back with equal care and stealth and took a long slow breath to stem the inevitable rush of dizziness.
“Whoops, Master Kirin,” Lily warned, reaching for him. “What’s wrong?”
Kirin closed his eyes to steady the swaying sensation. “Forgive me, I feel a bit unwell.”
“Nothing to forgive,” she said, sounding worried. “Can I help?”
He pushed the heel of his palm against his forehead. “No,” he replied tightly. “This is probably the effects of the wine I drank in rather hefty quantity this afternoon.”
“Then I no longer feel quite so sympathetic,” she whispered, not unkindly.
He forced himself to focus. “Lily, have you heard of the Vested?”
She shot him a glance as the soldiers’ group began to advance again. “Yes. Why?”
“I think the people ahead in the carts are Vested.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
He tried to shrug. “I think I recognize one or two of the folk. I’ve—”
“You!” the lead soldier yelled, pointing.
Kirin looked over and noticed with a rush of fright that the man pointed at him. “Me?”
He watched the man consult with another, who was not a soldier but wore distinctive scars, painted violet, that marked him as Wikken, a so-called seer of the Steppes. The Wikken whispered something to the soldier.
“Name?” the soldier demanded.
Truth was best, Kirin decided. “I am Kirin Felt.”
“From?”
“Penraven.”
“Traveling from Francham?”
“Yes. I had business to conduct there.”
“What sort of business?”
“The emperor’s business,” Kirin replied, hoping his cutting tone would dismiss further questions.
The man appeared unnerved but once again listened to his scarred companion. He nodded, then asked, “Where are you going?”
“Heading back to Brighthelm.”
“Your
business is done?”
“Yes.”
“And who are you to the emperor—what ser vice is it that you perform?”
“Nothing of such importance,” Kirin began, trying to deflect attention that he had any relationship with Loethar. “I am simply a man of letters,” he added, starting to craft a lie but realizing instantly it was an error as the Wikken leaned across from his horse and whispered again.
“Good, we will ask you then to accompany us.”
“What?” Kirin exclaimed. “No, I cannot, I’m afraid. I am expected at Brighthelm.”
“We will get you there.”
“But why must I come with you?”
“We could use your help as a man of letters.” Sarcasm had crept through into the soldier’s tone.
Kirin shook his head. “I’m sorry but I am supposed to go—”
The man laughed. “These people we carry wield the magic of the Vested,” he said, untroubled by sharing this information with the whole caravan of traders. “But my companion here is Wikken. He has ‘smelled you,’ Kirin Felt. You too are Vested.”
So it was the scarred man who had assaulted his mind, Kirin realized.
“Who is this woman you travel with?” the soldier demanded.
Before Kirin could respond, Lily spoke up. “I am his wife.”
Kirin turned and stared at her, taking care not to betray his shock. What was she up to? Why would she take such a risk?
“Are you Vested?” the soldier asked her.
“Yes.”
Kirin could not tolerate this. “This woman is—”
“Both of you will join us then,” the soldier said, waving a hand and urging his horse forward.
The merchant leader looked helplessly at Kirin and shrugged. He guided his horse to him. “You’d better go, Master Felt. I’m sorry but I suspect they mean no harm.”
“Do you?” Kirin glared and then softened. It wasn’t the trader’s fault. He nodded sheepishly. “My apologies, sir.”
“None needed. Go safely with Lo.”
There was nothing for it but for Kirin and Lily to turn their horses and join the group of soldiers, who coalesced around them without crowding them.
Tyrant’s Blood Page 11
