Cethe (59 page)

journey, the shades had been drawn tightly over the windows.

He was exhausted. His shoulders ached and his wrists, shackled at his back, were chafed raw. What sleep he’d been able to

snatch these past few days had been fitful, broken up by dreams and the incessant movement of their coach.

Across the cab sat Lieutenant Brant. The Dragon had long since dispensed with his elderly peasant disguise. He did not wear

his uniform, choosing instead to attire himself in cream colored breeches with matching waistcoat, the latter elaborately embroidered

in pinks, blues and yel ows. His coat was of blue broadcloth, exquisitely tailored, and his neckcloth tied in an elaborate bow and

pinned with a large blue sapphire.

At the moment, both waist-coat and jacket were folded neatly on the seat beside him, for it was dreadful y hot inside the

coach, nearly suffocating. He seemed not to notice, however. Eyes half-closed, he rarely spoke, but Stefn noticed his lips moved

frequently. Familiar now with the sensation of working magic, Stefn knew the warrior-mage wove spel s, but what spel s, the man

refused to say.

“He’l find me, you know,” said Stefn.

There was no answer, only the merest, mocking smile.

“I said, he’l find me! He knows where I am al the time!”

“Be silent!” rasped the warrior-mage, eyes opening long enough to direct a fierce glare at Stefn. “Be silent or I’l drug you

again!”

They were on their way to Zelenov. The lieutenant had been more than happy to describe the fate Stefn could expect once he

arrived there.

The coach slowed, rounding a corner. Stefn summoned his courage. He launched himself across the cab, driving his shoulder

into the Dragon’s chest with al his strength. The man choked, breath driven from his body, and started to slip from the seat. Rol ing

onto his back, Stefn desperately kicked out, catching the mage a glancing blow on the jaw. Then, he scrambled to sit up, to reach

the door of the coach and work the handle with his shackled hands.

Words stole the air from Stefn’s lungs, ringing through his head like a death knel . His knees gave out and he fel forward onto

the floor, unable to move. After an eternity, the Dragon’s fists locked in his hair and dragged him back to the seat. Several rapid,

open-handed blows across his face sent Stefn’s thoughts spinning away.

“Bastard! Sin-catcher!” he heard. His ears rang and he swal owed blood.

The carriage stopped. He blinked through tear-fil ed eyes. The Dragon, his pretty clothes dirty and blood-stained, stumbled

out. It was dark. Stefn heard the singing of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. They were in the countryside, but where?

The knightmage returned. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Even in the dim light of the travel lamp, his expression was

one of livid rage. He hauled Stefn up by his col ar, dragging him to the door of the coach. Stefn had a confused glimpse of several

Hunters standing outside, then the Dragon tossed him out.

“Show him,” spat Brant, “Show the little whore what he’s earned for his stupidity!”

The Hunters closed in around Stefn, jeering and showering him with insults and blows. They ripped his clothes from him,

leaving him naked and screaming at them to stop. Then they dragged him through the weeds and dirt of the road-side, throwing him

face-down over a large rock. He knew then what they intended and closed his eyes, whispering a prayer.

It was worse than he could have imagined. Michael’s assault during the Binding was nothing compared to this. Their brutal

thrusts ripped him apart. Someone had pushed a piece of his torn shirt into his mouth, muffling his screams. He thought in a dim,

hopeless way there must be dozens of them, taking their pleasure with deliberate, savage force, going on and on until he could no

longer summon the strength to cry out. His body went limp, flopping helplessly as they rammed into him again and again. He began

to lose track of himself, slipping toward welcoming darkness.

Suddenly it stopped. He lay, splayed over the rock, gut afire, unable to move. He couldn’t even summon the hope that it was

over.

They lifted him from the ground and he promptly lost consciousness, waking moments later in the coach, face down on the

floor. A hand descended on the smal of his back, forcing a gasp of pain. Then warmth spread out, banishing the agony.

“If it were up to me, I’d leave you to enjoy it.” The voice of the knightmage floated somewhere above him. “But His Eminence

expects you delivered in one piece. In the meantime, you can stay down there, in the dirt, where you belong.”

His Majesty, Severyn Lothlain, laid siege to Lothmont’s Cathedral for a week before Montaigne surrendered. The king himself

rode through the gate and into the debris-strewn courtyard, past the Sanctuary, now cracked and broken from cannon fire, to the

Domicile at the back. There, under the watchful eye of Jeremy and a large contingent of Iarhlaith guard, priests huddled in sul en

apprehension. The Bishop was locked in his apartments, refusing at the last moment to open the doors. A battering ram smashed

them to splinters and the corpulent Montaigne was hauled out, screaming curses down on their heads.

Outside the Cathedral, the citizens of Lothmont watched, cheering on the soldiers who emerged, escorting their dispirited

prisoners. A rain of dirt and offal fel on the clerics, who shuffled and hunched their shoulders, doubtless glad for their mounted

guards.

When Severyn appeared, the cheers became thunderous. He stopped and raised a hand. At once, a hush fel over the crowd.

“This is your house!” he shouted, waving toward the buildings behind him. “Take it back!”

He rode on then, not looking over his shoulder as the crowd swept through the gates and into an orgy of looting.

“Why not?” he said when Jeremy gave him a reproachful look. “Do you real y think Loth cares about jeweled statues, fine

furnishings and gold? Al those treasures were col ected on the backs of the people of Lothmont. Let them take what is theirs.”

“They’l kil each other!”

“Maybe.”

Severyn was not yet official y king of Tanyrin. The coronation required an Archbishop and the current one was fleeing across

the Midders to Zelenov as fast as his horse could take him. The Advisori, however, had met in emergency session and approved the

transfer of power. He was king in al but name for the moment. But then, that had been true for some time.

At least Arami was buried. The ceremony had been private, attended only by Severyn and his friends. Eleanor had been

interred in the mausoleum near the royal tomb; Severyn had refused to dishonor his brother by burying her with him. Even so, there

were times, late at night, when he woke in the dark, the image of her mutilated corpse before him, tel ing of more rage and hate than

he had believed Arami capable.

The Royal Guard control ed Thaelrick bridge again. Hunters, most of the foot-soldiers, at least, had melted into the city by

simply casting aside their uniforms. Severyn wasn’t interested in them; he wanted the officers. He suspected more than a few priests

had abandoned the Cathedral, as wel , but the resentment of the people would make rounding them up easy.

Out in the countryside, it was a different matter. In spite of making a show of Petitions and lawful procedures, the Church had

been quietly augmenting its troops for several years. Some towns were firmly in the hands of renegade clerics and Hunters. It would

take time, lives and money to root them out, but root them out he must. Until the West was firmly in his hands, the new king couldn’t

even think about bringing the lands east of the Midders under control.

Reaching the gate, he was pleased to see Auron and Forry.

“Your Majesty!” cal ed Auron, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re looking especial y king-like today, if I do say so.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” retorted Sev. “How has your morning gone?”

“That pesky group of Hunters holed up in the Treasury?” Forrest made a chopping motion with his hand. “Several of them

were officers whose families, I daresay, wil be more than happy to pay for their release.”

“We’l see. The royal treasury can surely use al the funds it can get, but not at the expense of loosing dangerous men back

into the kingdom.”

The three rode on through the bridge and out onto the long span to the island. More Guards were there, their numbers

bolstered by militias loaned by members of the Advisori who could spare them.

In the palace, Severyn was greeted by Lord Damon. The duke fel into step with him, headed toward the prince’s private

apartments.

“Is Gabriel here yet?” asked the new king.

“He just arrived.” Arranz nodded to Forry and Auron, both of whom bowed, more intimidated by the duke than by their king.

“My grandson has arrived, as wel .”

“Already?”

Arranz smiled, but he didn’t look particularly pleased. “As a parting gesture, it seems that Locke has stolen his cethe.”

“Eldering? They’ve taken the earl?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Pity.” Severyn tried not to notice the way his heart lifted. “How fortunate we stil have Remy in our possession.”

“Hmm.”

Severyn looked sharply at him, but Lord Damon stared straight ahead, tension in the set of his jaw. Nevertheless, the prince

was delighted to hear Mick had arrived. He’d not expected his friend for several days yet.

Guards at the doors to his apartment sprang to attention, hurrying to open them. Severyn quickened his pace as Michael,

seated on a sofa near the open window, rose quickly to greet him. “Mick! Damn, it’s good to see you!”

“And you, too.”

They embraced warmly. Severyn set him back, gaze devouring him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, my friend! There’s one hel

of a lot to do, not the least of which is to return to Shia and bring back your troops.”

“Mine?”

“With Arami dead, Shia belongs to the Arranzes again. Uncle Damon says you’re to live there. How does an extra title sound to

you? Say… Earl?”

“There’s already an earl,” said Michael, “and he’s in the hands of the enemy. Sev, I need some men to go after him.”

Severyn could not help darting a look at the duke whose mouth tightened. Michael saw the glance and shook his head. “I

know he’s being taken to Zelenov. If we move fast, we can cut them off. I need him, Sev!”

“You don’t,” retorted Severyn, throat tight. “Loth, man! I’ve stil got Remy locked up downstairs. You can have him any time you

want him! I need you here, with me! We have a kingdom to set to rights!”

“You have grandfather and the others. You have Storm,” replied Michael doggedly. “Remy isn’t the same. He doesn’t give me

enough power and we’re not bound. Besides, it’s not fair! We cannot simply abandon Eldering to them! He was our comrade! He

worked at our side!”

“Because he was forced to,” interrupted the Duke. “Damn it, boy! Listen to your king! What is the life of an Eldering to the

good of Tanyrin?”

“Mick…”

“Just a handful of men, two or three, that’s al I ask!”

“God, Mick…”

“Eldering deserves our help!”

“They’re likely holding him for use as a hostage. I’ve had reports of two other lords who are missing. We’l hear from Zelenov

soon enough.”

“But you can’t be sure!”

“You sound like you’re in love with the damned sin-catcher!”

Mick went stil . His expression cut Severyn to the soul.

“Look. Give it some time,” Severyn urged, his own heart aching. “Let’s see what happens. I’m sending a messenger to

Zelenov anyway. I’l put in a demand for his return. It wil start the negotiations. In the meantime, I need you.”

Michael swal owed visibly. He nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing.

It was like getting slapped in the face. Severyn wanted to shout at him, to remind him who he was, who they were, and what

they had always meant to each other. Instead, he said, “Thank you.”

“Michael,” said the duke in a forbidding voice. “A word?”

Severyn recognized that tone and shot a quick look at Lord Damon. That face, so similar to Michael’s, was stone cold. Michael

lifted his head in response, meeting his grandfather’s icy stare without flinching. “There is no need for a scold, grandfather. I

understand the situation perfectly wel . If you please, my lords, sire, I wil go at once to prepare for the journey back to Shia.”