“I don’t care,” he said, drawing out each word and jabbing one finger down on the desk. “We don’t know who they are or what they want.”
“I’ll be there, with our people, soldiers, archers. It’s our harbor, our city,” Aniska said, trying to sound reasonable. “We control everything about this situation.”
“I’m telling you, there was something strange down at the docks today. You saw it. The man in the robes, he—” Zaraki shook his head, unable to put to words the strange apprehension he felt. “I don’t know. You saw the way he looked at her. There’s something more to these people than just twenty ships sitting in our bay.”
Torn between wanting to agree with him and carrying out the orders Leisha had given, Ani grimaced. She and Zaraki had trained for years to observe and remember minute details. Of course, she noticed the same alarming things he had. “That’s why I don’t want you both down there. You pay me to be your spymaster, let me do my job the way we both know it should be done.”
Zaraki looked visibly upset now. “I’m not letting my wife go down and meet these people alone, Aniska.”
“No,” Leisha said finally, having had enough of this argument. “But you are letting your queen go down there. She’s right. If something happens, I need you here.” He had yet to learn how to keep the sides of himself separate. There were times, like this, when he needed to stop being her husband and be a ruler.
Love, I’m meeting them on our docks, with our men. She’ll keep me safe. Husband and king aside, Zaraki still wanted to be her bodyguard, but that was Aniska’s job.
He looked at her, deeply unhappy. I think you’re in danger, she heard in his thoughts.
***
Once the Tahaerin messenger brought the queen’s response, Von and his black-robed companion returned to their ship. Together, they stood outside their master’s door and waited for permission to enter as the sounds of mumbled words reached their ears. The servant returned to admit them, bowing low and whispering, “Chancellor.”
Gerolt, Kirous Visarl of the Deojrin sat at his desk, picking at the remains of dinner. Everything about the Visarl spoke of power and control: his sharp, hawkish features, piercing dark eyes and precisely trimmed beard picked through with grey. After six years spent in service to the man, Von still felt awed entering into his presence. At times, like this one, he could almost see the hands of their god as He guided Gerolt.
“Visarl.” Von bent in half, sweeping a formal bow before placing the Tahaerin’s invitation on the desktop. “They agreed to a meeting in the morning.”
“Excellent. How did you find them?” Gerolt asked as he flicked his eyes over the parchment, picking out a few words he knew before setting it aside. He spoke the Tahaerin language far better than he read it.
Von considered his answer. “They’re very cautious. Their queen came to the docks, so they brought a good number of soldiers and archers as a show of force. She’s young, confident, proud. The people with her seemed the same. What I saw of the city is much as your spies described it. It should fall easily.”
“What did you find, slave?” the Kirous Visarl asked, turning to the bald man standing behind his Chancellor.
The tall man blinked at Gerolt several times before saying, “They’re suspicious. They know we’re here for war. Also, their queen is like me, Visarl. She is one of the Cursed.”
Even knowing the man could never lie, Gerolt could not believe he heard correctly. “Impossible,” he declared, chopping his hand through the air. “Their queen? Who would allow such a thing?”
If he took offense, Edvard showed no sign of it on his impassive face. “Yes, Visarl. I heard her sending to a man and again to a woman. There’s no doubt.”
Gerolt sat back in his chair, sinking into the deep cushion, his food forgotten. A hand stroked over his beard as he tried to wrap his mind around this fact. It meant so much. “Very well. We’ll go ashore tomorrow and assess our enemy with that in mind. It certainly changes things.”
Butcher
The Kirous Visarl rose early and had his personal slaves dress him in ceremonial clothes, wanting to solemnize this occasion. Over his plain tunic, they laid a tabard, embroidered with the symbol of his office. Picked out in red thread stood a stylized yoke for cattle with ropes leading to the necks of three black robed figures. He pulled on dark grey trousers that flared at the legs and watched as his slaves tucked these into tall boots. Checking himself in a polished mirror, he approved of their choices.
Today he would start a holy war.
On the deck, a light breeze stirred, tugging the flag hanging from the ensign staff. The ten men he had selected to accompany him ashore waited on his pleasure and bowed as he passed them. Edvard would come, of course, as would Von. He would bring two clerks to make notes and the rest of his delegation would be military leaders who wanted to get their first look at the great Tahaerin city. They did not expect any significant resistance, but they were cautious men.
Just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, the messenger arrived to let Gerolt know he could make the trip to shore. “The Tahaerin woman is not there, my lord. But her men are in place, as are ours.”
Gerolt waved him away, not expecting their queen to descend from her castle at this early hour. She would likely make them wait, anyway. Signaling to the others, he climbed over the railing and descended the rope ladder to the small boats that would take him to shore. The others followed behind, eager to be underway.
Servants took up oars and pulled them toward the pinpricks of light showing him where the docks lay. As the sun rose, the Kirous Visarl looked at these new lands he came to conquer. Five years ago, he stood in front of his emperor and let him know their last campaign had been successful. Every corner of their continent lay under the Deojrin yoke; every soul heard the chants and prayers of their priests. Then, he asked to take war to the heathens across the sea.
When the dinghies reached the docks, Gerolt climbed out and whispered a silent prayer in praise of dry land. He and his men then knelt and he led them in a formal invocation to their god to give thanks for a successful trip with no ships lost. If he could believe their spies who visited ten years ago, this land worshiped no gods. Worse, if he believed what Edvard had said, these people allowed at least one abomination to roam free, unleashed and unchecked.
Tahaerin servants appeared to welcome them and conduct them to the large pavilion erected nearby. Each wore tabards with the silhouette of a hawk clutching a sword, riding on the back of a horse. These are free men, Gerolt heard in his mind. As ordered, Edvard would keep a running commentary going as he noted things he knew would interest his master.
Under the tent, they found a line of rather plain chairs set before a long, antique trestle table. The chairs behind the table here for the Tahaerins had high, carved backs and embroidered cushion backs. Gerolt picked the plain seat closest to the table.
With the sun shining down, a soft breeze ruffled the blue and gold banners hanging from the sides of the tent. They waited for two hours with no refreshments or chances to relieve themselves. It spoke volumes, and Gerolt expected his hosts to play this game, but as time dragged on even the Kirous Visarl grew weary of the delays.
When he heard the sounds of wheels rolling over the cobbled road, he and his men stood. He turned to watch the dark-haired queen step down from her carriage and sweep into the pavilion, angry and arrogant. Smiling, he thought Edvard knew him so well. At the end of their meeting last night, the black-robed man had said, You’ll want this one. And, yes, Gerolt did.
Usually, he did not bother because he had slaves aplenty to take to bed and men trained to inflict pain so he did not need to dirty his hands any longer. But this one. This one was lovely with her high cheekbones and delicate features. She wore a deep purple gown with vines picked out in silver thread racing up from the hem of her skirts to her waist. While Gerolt had always favored women with dark hair, he loved her proud, arrogant air and knew he would delight in break
ing her. Truly, he thought, feeling the hands of fate resting on his head. Truly, I’ve been led to this land.
Her herald announced, “Leisha, Queen of Tahaerin.” Gerolt and his escort bowed, though perhaps not as low as they might have in other circumstances.
Settling into her chair, the Tahaerin woman did not wait for him to take his seat.
“And what brings you to our fair shores?” she asked, without preamble, her tone light but not friendly.
Buried in her question, Gerolt heard it, confirmation of the truth of Edvard’s words. He heard the slight dip in her voice as she opened her mind to read his. They all did it, every one of the Cursed. He recognized it because he had spent nearly his entire life around them; using them, hunting them, torturing them. His whole life had been a study of these wretched people his god loathed. He understood them, knew their fears and pointless hopes. He knew how to turn their abilities against them so they would shout their secrets to him. He knew how to break them. Most of all, he knew he acted as avatar for his god, who hated what these people could do.
Gerolt regarded this abomination, this thing which should never be. It disturbed him profoundly to see one of her kind crowned a queen, and yet he felt humbled his nameless god had chosen him for this. For all his forty-five years, he had followed the dictates of his religion with reverence. With a fiery conviction, he saw his god had paved the way for him to come to this heathen land and burn out the sickness infecting it. This kingdom, this woman, would be his reward.
Just as she wanted to listen to his thoughts, he wanted to give Edvard time to delve into hers. They would have a conversation before arriving at the heart of the matter. “Lady, I am Gerolt, titled Kirous Visarl in the language of my people. We have come here in search of our lost tribe.” Years of dealing with the Cursed taught Gerolt how to hide secrets from them. Small truths could protect larger ones. She would learn little from him.
“You sailed all this way, with twenty ships, to find a tribe of lost people?” Leisha asked, sounding unconvinced.
“Yes,” he said. “Three hundred years ago a tribe of our people sailed east, across the ocean. We have long wondered what became of them.”
“What was the name of your tribe?” she asked, though he could see she knew the answer already.
“They were Tahaerin.” Next to her, Gerolt saw the tall, dark-haired man suck in a surprised breath while the red-headed woman watched everyone with hawk eyes.
“How fortunate for you, since we are the Tahaerin people,” she said calmly.
“It seems then we have found you,” Gerolt said, smiling at her. “We are the Deojrin. Do any of your histories tell you about us or the lands your ancestors came from?”
“No.”
Her answer did not invite any further discussion, but that did not bother Gerolt. Angering her would give Edvard more chances to peer into her thoughts. “In our language ‘rin’ denotes people or an area. Your ancestors sailed away from the Tahaer province. Ours grew out of the Deoj Mountains.”
“You speak our language very well, for having traveled from the other side of the ocean,” Leisha said, allowing a bit of skepticism to seep into her voice.
The big man shrugged. “From time to time we find ships adrift with one or two of your people still alive in them. We learn from them.” He called on memories of sailors being tortured as they were forced to speak and teach their language to priests in embroidered robes.
Across the table, he saw her eyes widen and knew she had plucked the memories from him. An angry mask fell across her face. “I think the time for playing games has passed,” she said, raising her chin in defiance. “You did not sail twenty ships to my shores to explore. Take them and the army stuffed inside them and leave my lands. If you imagine I’ll be frightened by you, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Gerolt dropped his friendly demeanor just as she had. Now they were two adversaries here to negotiate the beginnings of war. Stroking his beard, a fervent fire burned in his mind. “I think not. You’ve enslaved these people.” He waved at Aniska and Andelko, then at the Tahaerin soldiers.
The woman blinked as his words caught her off guard for a single breath. By her reaction, he could see it was an unusual occurrence. He saw the red-haired bodyguard stiffen as she read the shift in tone.
“We don’t enslave people here,” Leisha said tartly.
“But it’s what you do. You’re one of the Cursed.” Gerolt spread his hands in front of him as if explaining something to a child or a simple person.
“Cursed? None of us are cursed.”
He offered her a patient, patronizing smile. “That is not the correct word. Cursed is what we call those abandoned by our god and forced to live a life of slavery. You are a mind reader like Edvard.” Gerolt indicated at the silent, black-robed man standing behind him with a nod of his head.
***
Leisha straightened in her chair, a cold sweat broke out along her neck as a shock passed through her. Face to face with another mind reader, her thoughts stumbled and rolled over one another. Her whole life she had wondered what communing with one of her kind would be like, but faced with this strange man, Edvard, Leisha wanted no part of it. She watched as he turned his impassive gaze on her and felt him brush his mind over hers. It felt foreign and threatening. She never recognized the odd sensation from yesterday, because no one had ever tried to read her mind before.
“Aren’t you?” Gerolt pressed when she did not answer. In his mind, she felt menace and danger.
Yesterday on the docks, Edvard heard her speaking to Zaraki and reported it to his master. Even now, Edvard would be speaking into Gerolt’s mind, telling him her secrets. It unnerved her, for she had never needed to protect her thoughts from others. “I am,” she said calmly, because he already knew and lying served no purpose here.
Gerolt regarded her for a moment, as she sealed her own fate, the punishment for her sins spelled out centuries ago. He relished the opportunity to do the bidding of his nameless god. “Leisha, so-called Queen of Tahaerin, you are one of the Cursed and you’ve corrupted the whole of this kingdom.” Gerolt’s voice took on the tone of a fanatic. “Our god turned His eyes from your land. It cried out and called me here, across the ocean, to free its people from you. I will destroy you and all the things you’ve built here. I will paint my name on the walls of this town in your blood.” He raised his hand and flicked two fingers at Edvard.
In Leisha’s mind, the bell chimed, the sound, the warning. It came from Edvard and he stared at her, capturing her with his gaze. Once more, Leisha felt the odd sensation of hands roaming over her and then, she felt the weight of his mind invading hers. Foreign and alien, his presence violated her, and because she had never needed to defend herself against one of her own kind, she could not stop him.
A rush of images and memories flooded past, threatening to overwhelm her as she tried to absorb the onslaught. Leisha saw brutal, vicious deaths. These people worshiped a savage and bloodthirsty god who demanded the enslavement of mind readers. For centuries, the Deojrin kept her kind subjugated, any act of rebellion, any revolt, no matter how insignificant, they punished with blood and pain and suffering. Leisha understood she was anathema to everything their god spoke for—a mind reader unleashed, unshackled, left to run wild. The Deojrin feared her kind and what they could do if not enslaved, their abilities caged somehow.
Leisha shrank away from the sadism the man showed her, but could not shut Edvard out. Again and again, he thrust images of torture and rape and murder at her. Men and women, flayed, branded, bound and flogged in front of cheering crowds who drowned in religious ecstasy, or taken to dark cells to scream and bleed for their supposed sins.
Edvard spoke to her. This is what awaits you, Queen of the Tahaerins—a death no one should wish on another. He will make sure you linger for weeks until your throat can no longer scream or beg. He’s done this before and now he would do it to you.
When the black-robed man withdrew from her, like
a snake slithering away, Leisha felt plundered and defiled. His retreat left a stain, a contamination she could not rid herself of. She wanted to run, to get as far away from these people and the death they showed her, to bolt from the tent, find Zaraki and the safety he always offered her.
But duty held her fast and trumped the fear. She would not surrender to it. As calmly as she could, Leisha spoke around the cold hand gripping her chest. “I invite you to try, Gerolt. You’ll find me a formidable opponent.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ll enjoy it.” After a slight pause, he added, “Tell your husband he should take his pleasure from you before I do.”
Andelko surged to his feet. “Enough,” he roared, and the Tahaerin guards took this as a cue. Weapons sprang to their hands, eager for blood, as they prepared to defend their queen. The Deojrin reacted in kind and all around the tent, armed men stared at each other.
In a chaotic fight in the middle of a tent, it would be a simple matter to kill an unarmed woman. Before the situation got out of hand, Aniska reached out to pull Leisha to her feet and step in front of her. “Take your empty threats and go,” she snapped. “I have more than enough men here to turn you all into corpses.”
Gerolt rose and offered a mocking bow first to the red-haired woman. “But you won’t.” He turned to Leisha. “My mind reader can do all the things you can, Your Highness. I’m sure we all know who his first target will be. I suggest we both keep our people on a tight leash.” Signaling to his men, he inclined his head and turned to leave.
The air in the tent seemed so thin as Leisha panted for breath and tried to still her racing heart. It felt as if a fist held her lungs and she struggled to breathe around it. Standing behind Ani and Andelko, she watched as her men moved forward, herding the Deojrin out and back to the dock.
It took several seconds for understanding to sink in. Edvard was a mind reader and he could kill people with a thought—just as she could.
As Dragons from Sleep (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 2) Page 4
