Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (24 page)

It was time for the next spectacle of the celebratory games. It was time to raise a legion of the dead, to impress the breadth of his powers upon his subjects, and to eradicate any thoughts of sedition or revolt. Kavrazel did not want to rule from a place of fear; he didn't want his subjects to be terrified of him, but on this occasion he was hoping that they would be suitably amazed and cowed so that they wouldn't attack en masse when he freed Lyssia as they watched - more than that, as he made their betrothal public.

From all that he had witnessed himself, she had the regard of the people, but respecting her as the king's blood slave and accepting her their queen were two entirely different extremes. If monarchs had dallied with their slaves before, it had been done in secrecy. Certainly, Kavrazel could not think of an occurrence in the histories that he remembered of a monarch ever taking their slave as consort, and he intended to go further than that. He intended to treat Lyssia as his equal. That she was not native to Vuthron would not be an issue, many royal partners had been crowned by virtue of advantageous marriages, but none had ever claimed descent from the lands of the far south.

With the ring a solid weight against his heart, and with the enormity of the consequences of intended actions pressing on his shoulders, Kavrazel left his chambers to meet Lyssia for the journey to the Field of Tears. Given the history of the location, it was expected that thousands of his subjects would be present. If he could repeat the performance that had resulted in the defeat of the giants, many people would have the opportunity to see their long dead ancestors. He could animate the dead well enough for them to fight, which meant he could imbue them with some intelligence. There was a good chance that families would be able to speak with relatives who had been lost to war and earth. The prospect had elicited much excitement and anticipation across the land. There would be no faster way of proclaiming the news of his betrothal, than to make it public on this day, at this event.

Kavrazel fervently hoped that he and Lyssia would see the sunset of the day together, alive and whole.

Chapter Twenty-Three

She had hoped never to have to visit this particular portion of Vuthron again, but it would have been churlish for her to refuse to take part in the very spectacle that she had suggested. Lyssia knew well how Kavrazel felt about making an exhibition of himself and his abilities, so despite her nervousness and the nauseating memories that the bleak moorland evoked, she would stand at his side. Indeed, the only way that she would have been persuaded to visit this miserable and soulless place again was at the king's request, and in the assurance of his presence. They would lean on each other; both had their reasons for wanting to be anywhere other than this scrubby, undulating field, where the mist still clung to the hollows despite the sun being at its zenith for the day as well as the year.

If Sensha sensed her mistress's reticence, she was playing her own part in the day by ignoring it. She could have pranced and fought the bridle, but she obeyed every command with patient ease. Lyssia was glad that she didn't have to calm a nervous horse along with her own facing pulse. Even Korost, usually so spirited and temperamental, was the very picture of staid obedience. Lyssia wasn't sure whether to ask Kavrazel if he hadn't found himself another horse, the mirror-image of his stormy mount, but the mood was not one for jesting.

Her clothes reflected the sombre mood that pervaded their party and their journey to the place that she now knew was aptly named the Field of Tears. Shinu had procured a complicated outfit. The bodice was structured and fitted in a way that allowed no opportunity to slouch. The skirt was cut and split to allow her to ride astride, but appeared as a wide-skirted dress when she had dismounted. Overall, much of her skin was covered, a comfort that she was glad of, but whilst the sleeves were tight to her arms, from the elbows they were flared and the cuffs cut wide so that her wrists were still readily accessible.

Kavrazel was wearing an outfit in matching dark material, something equally tailored and formal, very like his usual attire. This day was the first time that Lyssia had ever seen him wear his crown. He had not explained the embellishment, and he had not needed to; today was the day that he would remind his subjects that he was their king, and that he occupied the position by virtue of a great and terrible power. It was not a crown to wear often, not by a monarch who wished to earn the regard of his people. It was made of bones. A spine, a line of tiny yet perfect vertebrae, formed the base. The upper arches were small ribs and jaw bones with the teeth still in place, some fearfully pointed and - Kavrazel had assured her - still sharp. The polished ivory shone in the light, looking more like metal than the remnants of some vicious creature. The only decoration that Lyssia wore was her intricate platinum collar, which Shinu had ensured was in blatant view when he had arranged her hair in a pile of curls.

Together, she and Kavrazel made quite the regal pair, she supposed. The king had assured her that he had told no one of their engagement, and yet it seemed Shinu had dressed her with the role in mind. She had worn a collection of beautiful and extravagant garments since the celebrations to honour Taan had commenced. She didn't think Shinu could possibly consider such quality as suitable attire for a slave, not even a slave to the king. Either the Blood Father suspected something, or he had been plotting in his own way.

Lyssia had known that the number of people present would exceed even the numbers that had packed the amphitheatre for the jousting, but she was shocked by the volume of the crowd. As they began to encounter the outliers, whispers and shouts announcing the arrival of the royal party began to ripple and surge through the throng. When they could no longer weave between the knots of people, the dense mass began to part like a flowing river around an obstinate rock. Girogis rode behind them, with Multha at his side. The rest of Kavrazel's advisors and commanders were arrayed in various order behind them, so that the royal party was a substantial caravan in its own right. Kavrazel did not say anything, but he held his hand out to Lyssia. Without making any reply, she took it, and they rode side-by-side, hand-in-hand, through the multitude.

There was no particular designation to the spot in which they dismounted. No thrones had been arranged, no barriers erected. It felt as though it might be approximately the middle of the open space, but there were so many people, gathered as far as the eye could see, that Lyssia could not be sure. Kavrazel released her fingers, and dismounted from Korost, but as she was arranging herself to dismount from Sensha, he appeared at her aside to assist her. His help wasn't necessary, but she would never say that she was sorry to feel the firm grip of his hands about her waist, or the strength in his arms as he all but lifted her to the ground. She certainly wasn't sorry to be trapped between Sensha's steady flank and Kavrazel's solid body.

"You'll come with me?" Kavrazel asked. Lyssia knew that she was the only person in the world at that moment who could see the uncertainty in the king's eyes. Others knew of the rage that had fuelled his power when he had faced the giants, but only she knew of his worries that he would not be able to repeat the act with her safe and content by his side.

"Yes."

"I don't need your blood."

"I know. Regardless, I will be at your side."

"Thank you." He kissed her, a chaste press of lips that lingered just long enough to set Lyssia's blood to simmering. They were still very much hidden by their horses, and by the masses of Girogis and Multha still astride their mounts, but one or two people must have snatched a glimpse of the moment. A curious murmur began to float through the people, no more substantial than the mist still lingering on the field.

The entire objective of the exercise was for the king to exhibit his powers without first making the blood toast, and when the crowd realised that such was the case, the curious murmur grew into a rumble of disbelief. As Lyssia and Kavrazel took their place in the empty circle that the crowd had made for them, the king squeezed her fingers more tightly before letting go of her hand. Lyssia gave him a nod of reassurance. She was confident in his abilities, even if he doubted himself. He had done it before, and he would do it again; he had only needed the anger of her abduction to make him even think that such a thing might be possible, to give him the arrogance to even attempt it.

She scanned the crowd as Kavrazel made himself comfortable in the centre of the clearing, and filled his lungs with deep, even breaths. Their comrades and guards were at the front, watching and waiting along with everyone else. Girogis caught her eye and inclined his head in a barely noticeable motion. If Kavrazel had not vocalised his concerns to his guard, it was only because he had no need to, only Girogis above all others would understand what this moment meant to the king. She did not renege on her promise to stay by the king's side, but she kept clear distance between them. This show of strength had to be entirely about him and his power.

The king stood still as a stone, his arms by his sides, his head bowed. Then, as he lifted his chin, he stretched his arms out wide and called, "Taan, strongest of gods, heed my call."

Lyssia remembered that he hadn't needed such words before, but this was an exhibition, and part of the purpose was to embed the king's devotion to Taan. She had been filled with terror and pain the when Kavrazel had last raised the dead that rested below this earth. She had been held captive by the anonymous warriors, and had been more concerned about her fate at their hands, and of her king as he faced the Queen of the Giants, than of the finer details of that day. She remembered the ground shaking and trembling as it was doing now, but she hadn't remembered the way that the earth rippled like the surface of a pond when many rocks were tossed into it. The ripples began to mingle and merge until all the earth was shuddering, and then the surface of the field began to break apart. The dense crowd began to gasp and shout and move apart as bodies crawled from the beneath the scrub. Lyssia remembered the horror of the different parts finding their whole, but it was not so on this day. When Kavrazel had returned his warriors to the earth, he had done so whilst they were in the whole state, and so they had remained, and so they rose now.

There were shocked exclamations and shouts of surprise. Random calls became recognisable names. The corpses could not be mistaken for living people, but nor did they resemble the rotting dead. Families began to identify their ancestors as the shambling bodies responded to their salutations.

Then screams that were borne of fear began to rent the air.

The giants had not been able to take their dead with them. There had been far too many of the immense bodies to carry, and the invaders had fled swiftly to save their hides. The Vuthroans had burned the massive corpses, as tokens to the God of Fire, and as a way of ensuring that their corruption did not poison the earth. The ashes had been left to the wind, but now Lyssia could see that they were coming together swirling in pockets of smoky fog, which became thicker and thicker, until what looked like columns of mud were coalescing from the ground. The columns began to take form, began to take shape into limbs, torsos, and heads. Kavrazel had again raised the dead giants, but these were not now the immediate casualties of battle, he was raising massive bodies that had been immolated to dust and left to the elements for two moons.

The crowd had been a happy mob, but now fear was the prevalent thread of their mood. Lyssia looked at Kavrazel; he was sporting a grim smile, and well he might. There could be no one who bore witness this day who would dispute that he owned the royal bloodline, that he was a force to be reckoned with, a power not to be taunted. The danger now lay in the possibility of stampede as the living sought to escape their undead enemies.

Kavrazel flung his arm out, and shouted "Stop!" It wasn't clear if his exhortation was aimed at his living subjects or the undead, but both heeded him immediately. The living bodies froze, as did the corpses of the Vuthroans. The reanimation of the giants ceased. The columns of mud and earth had the look of half-finished sculptures.

The king flung his arm to one side in a slicing motion. The half-formed golems of the giants began to melt, down and down, until they were once again composite with the land. Since she could feel no wash of power, Lyssia wondered if Kavrazel's motions weren't for effect for the common observers, but such details mattered little, especially when he smiled and nodded, in an apparently subtle signal that enabled the Vuthroan dead to move once more. The miasma of fear had dissipated; it had been replaced by an awed reverence. The crowd was quieter now, still jubilant, but more subdued. Their king could not only raise foreign dead from long dead ashes, his power could differentiate and command, to fine detail, between native and outsider. From the astounded expressions on the faces of Kavrazel's closest friends and advisors, she could tell that no such display had been witnessed before.

Lyssia was filled with pride for him, not simply because he had proved himself in so comprehensive a fashion, but because he had proven his own abilities to himself, and had ensured that anyone who might think to slit his throat in his sleep would think twice, lest the king himself come back from the dead. When he held a beckoning hand out to her, she obeyed his command, his request, and went to him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Is that what you envisaged?" he spoke into her hair, "When you suggested this little scheme?"

"I was thinking of something a little less... ostentatious, but yes." She looked up with a smirk. "I think you have proven your point."

"Good. I don't intend to have to do it again."

"I don't think there's any fear of that. I think rumours of today will spread far and wide. As rumours do, they'll grow with the telling. By the time the stories leave the shores of this country, Vuthron will be as secure as she's ever been."

Girogis, Multha, and others not occupied with speaking to long lost ancestors had gathered round. All reiterated their agreement with Lyssia's point of view, and added their own opinions, and congratulations. Kavrazel was relaxed as he chatted with his compatriots, and she could feel in the set of his body that he was content, but he kept her close. She wasn't sorry about that. They had spent the previous night wrapped innocently in each other's arms, for all that she had tried to persuade the king otherwise. He had laughed and counselled patience, lest she become sore. She now found herself at the limit of any reserves of that virtue that she might have possessed. She had managed to get her own way, to some extent. It had been satisfying to bring the king to his climax, to revel in that power she had over him, but now she felt restless and impish. Watching him at his most powerful, exhibiting such a quiet yet irrefutable strength, had been incredibly potent. She was almost panting with the need to feel his skin on hers, to make him moan and crave her touch, and to feel him dominate her in his turn. Since they were still in full view of all the crowds, and still enacting their duties, she would greedily take what she could.