Tyrant’s Blood

by Fiona McIntosh

  “What did you do that for?” Kirin demanded of Lily in an urgent whisper, staring ahead.

  “I’m asking myself the same question,” she replied and he could hear in her voice that she was not lying.

  “It was stupid, Lily. This feels dangerous. What about your brother?”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  Kirin stared at her. “I’m not, I’m worried about you!”

  “Well, don’t,” she said, tartly. “So, you’re Vested?”

  He nodded. “You heard I work for the emperor,” and as he noticed her attractive face darken at his words, he added in the lowest of murmurs, “but not in the way that you think.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Not now,” he said, shaking his head. He was surprised to realize that in the last few minutes of alarm, the dizziness had passed and he was at least feeling well again, if not safe. “I shall tell you more when we’re alone.”

  She seemed to accept this. “Who’s that man with the scars?”

  “He’s Wikken. Did you understand what the soldier was saying?”

  “No.”

  “A Wikken is a seer of sorts, from the tribes. Apparently this one can ‘smell’ magic. I have little experience with them—he’s only the second Wikken I’ve seen in my time. It was my impression they refuse to leave the Steppes.”

  “Well, he smelled you.”

  “Pointless, though, I have such little skill,” Kirin lied.

  “Why’s his face like that?”

  Kirin didn’t know the proper answer to that. He turned to the soldier riding nearby; now that the men knew Kirin wasn’t planning on being any trouble, they had given the newcomers a wide berth. Kirin had to beckon the man, whom he guessed was around his own age, to guide his horse closer. “Yes?” the soldier asked, his expression quizzical.

  Kirin drew make-believe lines against his cheek. “Can you tell us why he is scarred like that?”

  The soldier smiled. “When anyone from the tribes shows genuine promise as a seer, he is cut each year from manhood. The wounds are packed with the ashes of our ancient dead, which we have kept for as long as our people have lived on the plains.”

  “Why?” Kirin asked, intrigued in spite of his anxiety.

  “We believe that the Wikken will then carry the memories of our forefathers, so that he is enlightened by their knowledge and experiences.”

  Kirin nodded, keeping his expression bland.

  Lily was not so careful. “You mean those scars are filled with the remains of cremated people?”

  The soldier grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The wounds heal and push the packing of the ashes outward and that creates those magnificent scars,” he said, awe in his voice. “They’re purple anyway but he stains them that deep violet.”

  Kirin glanced Lily’s way and she seemed to grasp his unspoken warning. “How fascinating,” she replied. “Thank you.”

  “How many Wikken are in the Set?” Kirin asked, his voice casual.

  “Shorgan is the only one now. There are only two living Wikken at present. The other is much older, far more powerful and remains on the plains.”

  “So Shorgan likes it here, does he?” Kirin added, smiling, encouraging the man to spill as much information as possible.

  “I believe he does. Our emperor sets little store by the Wikken today. He is keen that we do not dwell too much on the old ways of mystery and magic.”

  “And yet he hunts down the Set’s Vested,” Kirin commented.

  The man shrugged. “For different reasons. He wants control of the magic but he doesn’t make a lot of use of it from what I’ve heard. It’s too bad; I think I take an interest in sorcery.”

  “How come?”

  “Because my grandfather is the other Wikken.”

  “I see. And you have no…?” Kirin wasn’t sure how to phrase his question but the youngster understood.

  He shook his head. “Nothing at all.” He smiled. “I am all warrior,” he declared, banging a fist to his chest.

  Kirin was pleased to hear Lily give a soft laugh on cue. He was relieved she had grasped that they needed to be as little problem as possible to these people.

  “Why do they need my wife and myself?” Kirin asked, taking his chance and trying to make the words my wife sound natural even though they caught slightly in his throat.

  The man shook his head, made a face to say he had no idea. “Just interested, I imagine. These Vested are being transferred. I am guessing that Shorgan sensed you, and that our captain is simply taking precautions. He’ll send a runner soon enough to inquire about you. It’s likely you’ll be escorted back to the city almost immediately.”

  “And where are these people headed?”

  “I haven’t been told. I just follow the leader.”

  “They’re safe, though?”

  The man frowned, slightly bemused. “I wasn’t here for the overthrow—I was just three moons too young as Loethar only allowed men who were two decades and older to march—but I hear it was a bloody one. I accept that those memories do not easily fade.” He gave a small bow that touched Kirin’s heart. “But our emperor does not want a massacre. We should not be feared as murderers.”

  “He did a pretty good job of it ten anni ago.”

  The man nodded and sighed. “War is ugly. But now he wants everyone to be loyal to the empire and to get on.”

  Kirin felt his own treachery quicken his pulse. This man riding next to him was either terribly naive or one of the most sincere people he was likely to meet. If only he knew that the companion he was talking so freely and openly with was part of a long-held plot to tear down the very empire he admired so much.

  “If he wants that he should not treat these innocents as prisoners.”

  The warrior frowned. “Do they look like prisoners?”

  Kirin looked over at the eight or so people he counted chatting amiably in the carts. One was telling a tall tale, it appeared, and even the soldiers riding alongside were joining in the laughter.

  “No, but they’re not free, are they?”

  The man shrugged. “What is freedom? Are you free?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, do you answer to someone?”

  “We all answer to someone.”

  “Then none of us is free.”

  Kirin’s eyes narrowed. “Let me say it another way. I didn’t want to join this caravan but against my will I am being forced. To me that is not the choice of someone with freedom. These people would presumably not choose to be moved.”

  “On the contrary,” his companion said, “they all volunteered to move into another compass.”

  Kirin blinked, surprised. “Why?”

  “I guess the emperor wants to put their skills to good use in another part of the Set.”

  Kirin didn’t think Loethar would relinquish control of anyone possessing magic but he let it pass. Whether or not these Vested had volunteered did not solve the dilemma of him and Lily being absorbed into this group, or him being dragged further from Clovis’s trail.

  “We do keep a record of the Vested, of course,” the soldier added.

  “Oh?”

  “It’s a new method but very effective, transportable, and knowledgeable.”

  “Knowledgeable?” Kirin queried. “How can a list be discerning?” He watched the man’s brow crease in puzzlement at this word. “Er, how can a list think?”

  “Ah, I see. It doesn’t have to. It’s not a list.”

  It was Kirin’s turn to be baffled. “Not a list? What is it, then?”

  The soldier laughed. “It’s a man. His name is Vulpan. He’ll want to taste your blood, too,” he said, waggling a finger.

  Kirin felt a thrill of fear spike through him. “What?”

  “You’re both Vested, aren’t you? He’s based at the next town. That’s where we’re headed. Everyone in the group will be recorded then.”

  No one had interrupted Freath
as he’d told his terrible story. The tallow candles had long ago guttered their last and now the foursome was illuminated in soft moonlight, shaded by gossamer cloud. Grave, thoughtful expressions had claimed their faces and they were as still as the trees that encircled them.

  It was Leo who broke the silence. “My father asked you to do this,” he stated, as though needing to set straight in his mind all that he’d just heard.

  “He could not know what would unfold but he certainly asked me to play the role of traitor if the Valisar throne was usurped. It was not a role I relished, your majesty, but I would deny my king and queen nothing, least of all my life. I loved both of them but I revered your mother. She was truly the most magnificent woman I have known and I have never, your highness, ever come to terms with the manner of her death. But she demanded it of me.” He looked down.

  Leo stood, his expression one of distress mingling with disgust. “I’ve thought you treacherous for all of this time. I have hated you, dreamed of sticking my blade in your belly or dragging my dagger across your throat. I made a promise to myself that I would kill you at the first opportunity.”

  “All perfectly understandable, your majesty. If I have managed to convince Loethar of my disloyalty to your family, what chance did you stand watching me from afar?” He gave a rueful smile. “It seems I have fulfilled what was asked by my ruler.”

  “How could my mother ask such a thing of you, Freath?”

  “She never actually said the words,” Freath admitted, noticing the flare of fresh anger in the young man’s face. “But she conveyed just as well what she expected of me. She was so brave. I am glad you did not have to hear her shrieks, your majesty, for they were false and for the barbarians’ benefit alone. She was not afraid to die, your highness. She was, however, afraid to live to see her precious children come to harm. If it is any consolation, majesty, she was aware that you had not been found. We couldn’t be sure where you were but we knew you were safe—if I may dare use that term loosely.”

  “And then you decided to find Leo for Loethar,” Faris finished, obviously impressed by Freath’s incredible tale.

  Freath nodded. “It was either that or allow him to kill hundreds of boys, majesty,” Freath said sadly. “I am yet to recover from the self-loathing of that incident but the awful plan kept the body count to nine, when it could so easily have become nine hundred or nine thousand.” He sighed. “I see each one of those nine boys’ faces in my nightmares. Tomas Dole—the one we used as you—even talks to me in them.” He gave a soft anguished cry that sounded like a choked sob. “Says he forgives me.”

  “What made you think Leo was with us?” Faris asked.

  “Who else was there?” Freath challenged. “I know the king came north not long before the wars began in the Set. At the time I remember thinking how odd it was that he came here without Regor de Vis. I traveled with him as far as Berch; he needed me alongside taking notes on what needed to be done before war arrived. You see, he was already making plans for the potential overthrow and I now realize he must have come and found you, Master Faris.” He looked at the outlaw. “I didn’t realize this at the time, of course. But the king was traveling extremely light—his horse, Faeroe, two soldiers, that’s about all. And the day I left to return to Brighthelm, so did he, plainly clothed and this time with only one soldier. The other escorted me.”

  Faris nodded. “Yes, we saw him leave his man behind from miles away. He left Faeroe for his son and a locket that belonged to Iselda so that Leo would know it was no ruse.”

  Freath looked amazed. “The locket. I had the castle searched room by room for it. The queen was devastated by its loss. We believed it stolen and it has irked me ever since that a thief was among us.”

  “My father wanted me to understand that he had been here, that Faris was not lying to me.”

  Freath looked at the king. “How clever of you, majesty, to work it out.”

  Leo shrugged. “I was raised on secrets, Freath. My father was a shrewd Valisar—it seemed he did not need magic to be a clever and cunning king.”

  Freath understood. “You do not require it either, highness, to claim back your throne. And you can be as cunning and ruthless as he was,” Freath replied. At Leo’s glance of surprise, he raised his hands. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Are we not all trying to put the rightful king back onto the Penraven throne?”

  “Leo’s not sure whether anyone wants that anymore, Freath,” Faris sighed. “He thinks Loethar is doing a good job.”

  “He is. If I didn’t know better I’d say he not only took up where your father left off, your highness, but he has continued in a way that would make your father and Regor de Vis proud.” He watched Leo bristle. “Forgive me, but I speak only the truth. I despise him each day of my life but for every moment that I despise him, I also admire him. It is a war that rages within me constantly.”

  Faris glanced above his head to Jewd. Freath wondered if that was the signal to snap his neck. “You confuse me, Freath. What was your intention in coming here?”

  “I came to warn you. I also ran out of patience with my own patience! I needed to know if we still had a Valisar king or whether my endeavors were in vain.”

  “To warn us about what?” Faris demanded.

  “Loethar seems to think one of your men took an arrow-wound recently. I was worried that it was you, Faris. They seem to be very hopeful it was you but I can see that you are well. And your giant friend behind me is also able, as is that man you called Tern. Presumably they were mistaken or it was—”

  “What of it?” Leo snapped.

  Freath hesitated, surprised. “Er, well, only that whoever took that wound—if one of your band has—is now a marked man.” He watched Faris steal a glance at the king and heard Jewd move around to face him as Leo and Faris stood. Freath swallowed. Something was clearly wrong.

  “You’d better explain that,” Faris said.

  Freath looked at his captors. “It’s as I say. The wounded man is marked—or so I’m assured. They will hunt him down and I feared that if they can find this man, they might find you, Faris. And no disrespect to you and your men but my real concern was for Leonel. I didn’t want his security threatened.”

  “Loethar thinks he’s dead.”

  Freath nodded. “Loethar has no reason to suspect otherwise. It hasn’t entered his mind that there is anyone who threatens his imperial authority. Those loyal to you, highness, heard of your escape into the woods third-hand. We couldn’t know for sure if it was you. We simply had to hope and pray that it was.”

  “And how did you convince Loethar I was dead?” Leo asked.

  “Magic, your majesty. The man that your protector here threatened to have killed not so long ago saved you from being hunted down all these years…saved all of us from an early grave. His name is Kirin, sire. Kirin Felt. He is Vested but pays a hefty price for his skills.”

  At their quizzical glances he explained quickly how Kirin had used his magic to make Lily and Father Briar identify Tomas Dole as Prince Leonel.

  “And so Felt will die?” Leo asked.

  Freath shrugged helplessly. “I suppose so, eventually. He has already lost some sight in one eye. We have spared using him and he has been teaching himself how to control his magic but it will destroy him bit by bit as he uses it. Yes, your majesty, it will kill him. It is this uncanny Vested magic that has Loethar on your trail, Faris, and confident of hunting you and your men down.”

  “I see. And why were you permitted to come north?”

  “He wanted to send warriors into the woods and hills of the north but I suggested a more subtle way of finding you was to tax the north heavily. I assured him that the quickest way to capture you, without having to use brute force or bloodshed to compromise the magnanimous profile he is building, was to allow the northerners to yield you.”

  “By taxing them?” Faris queried, incredulous.

  “Yes. I said if he taxed them, blaming them for the money you
steal, they would yield you.”

  Faris pointed his finger. “What makes you think—”

  “I don’t!” Freath snapped. “It was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment. He was already sending men, including his brutish brother, who likes nothing better than the sport of bloodshed. It was the only way I could stop them sending enough warriors to saturate the north and find the wounded man. I was desperate, Faris. I needed to give you time to either bundle him off on a ship somewhere, or kill him. But what ever you decide, don’t let him remain close, not even within a few miles of you or the king. If you ignore this warning you will be found and killed. He wants your head on a spike and he has the means to do so.”

  Freath was surprised by the frigid silence that followed his comment.

  “You’re that certain?”

  “I can only tell you what I know and what I know best these days is Loethar. This is a man not prone to emotional outbursts. For him to be so animated, so open about his potential success is unusual. I suspect this means he is awfully confident of hunting down the man who took the arrow. He would never reveal so much if he weren’t utterly sure of his position.”

  “How can he be that confident?” Jewd asked, the sudden rumble of his deep voice making Freath flinch.

  “Because he’s using magic!” Freath spat. “Why aren’t any of you taking this seriously? Loethar’s in control of virtually all of the magic that once existed across our realm. He’s clever,” Freath said, shaking his head. “When he arrived he thought that he could literally consume the magic, endowing himself with it by eating people. I know now he was confusing this with a far more ancient and very specific practice available to only a handful of people. But I only discovered very recently that he no longer kills the Vested as he used to. Newly born Vested he protects. He rewards parents for owning up to their skilled children—provides housing, wages, all sorts of benefits. He looks after them. And in return, he knows where they are at all times.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell us that it’s because of this Vested that we should feel uneasy?” Leo asked.

  “Uneasy, your highness? No, you shouldn’t feel uneasy. You should feel terrified. If what Loethar has said is true, then he has harnessed a skill with which any man or woman can be hunted.”