Authors: Tom Lloyd
The Ragged Man (15 page)
‘Yet you do so now.’ Styrax’s voice was as deep as one might expect from a white-eye of his size, but now it was a ragged growl, one Amber had rarely heard. It didn’t bode well, and the major was further discouraged when he saw Kobra, Lord Styrax’s sword, embedded a foot deep into the stone wall. Kobra was a prize plucked from his dead predecessor’s fingers, a powerful artefact, but Amber didn’t think anything but a white-eye’s rage would have the strength to drive it into solid stone.
‘I apologise, my Lord,’ Amber said with a slow bob of the head that was about all he could manage by way of a bow. Beside him Kirl did a better job of offering respect, but all that achieved was to only make Styrax focus on her instead.
‘Why are you being nursed by a Farlan Cardinal Paladin?’ he asked.
‘Ah, Horsemistress Kirl is attached to the Cheme Third, my Lord; she just helped herself to some knight’s baggage.’
He grunted.
‘An . . . an honour to be in your presence, my Lord,’ Kirl managed to say at last, bowing again.
‘I’m sure it is. Tell me, Horsemistress, do you have children of your own? With Major Amber, perhaps?’
Kirl coloured and looked down. ‘No, my Lord.’
Styrax didn’t speak again for a while.
Gods, has Kohrad’s death broken him?
Amber felt a chill on the back of his neck.
Have we come all this way only to be stopped by this?
Amber felt a chill on the back of his neck.
Have we come all this way only to be stopped by this?
‘Why not?’ Styrax asked, all of a sudden. They both blinked. Neither could think of anything helpful to say in response. ‘Well?’ he asked again. ‘Man might not look much, but he’s minor nobility, a hero of the army. You could do worse.’
‘I — I’m sure I could,’ Kirl mumbled.
‘Well then?’
‘He — Ah, he has n-never asked such a thing of me,’ Kirl stammered. The question had thrown her completely, but she dared not look to Amber for help. Lord Styrax stared straight at her, his piercing eyes fierce, his tone threatening.
‘Amber, get her with child. I command it,’ Styrax growled.
The major guessed his lord was making an effort at levity, but everything the white-eye said was laden with anger. Amber was not a man of subtlety, but he knew white-eyes well enough to know that treating the command as a joke would have been foolish.
‘What are you waiting for?’ The hostility in his voice increased a notch and Amber felt Kirl’s supporting hand begin to tremble.
‘I fear I’m in no condition at present, my Lord,’ Amber said at last.
‘You think killing white-eyes is a good-enough excuse?’ Another notch.
Amber fought the urge to take a step back as the air grew close and hot around him.
‘Kirl, could you wait outside?’ he croaked, taking his eyes off Lord Styrax for a moment. She tried to hide her gasp of relief, slipped out from under his arm and offered the Menin lord a hurried bow before backing out.
A few seconds of silence stretched into ten. When Amber could stand it no longer he took one of the biggest risks of his life. ‘My Lord, I cannot begin to imagine your grief. I mourn your Scion also.’ His voice wavered slightly. Men dealt with grief in different ways, but among soldiers great sensitivity was impossible. This was uncharted territory for Amber.
What could he say about Kohrad? ‘He wasn’t as mad as some’ probably wasn’t appropriate, but it was all Amber could think of. The impetuous youth had shown potential, but he had always been a young white-eye for ever in the shadow of one greater than he would ever be.
‘I was proud to have fought alongside him,’ he said at last.
Styrax raised a hand. ‘Spare me the platitudes, I have heard them already.’
Amber swallowed nervously. ‘I apologise, my Lord, I had not intended it to sound that way.’
‘How had you intended it then?’ Styrax snapped, straightening up. He gripped the armrests of his chair as though poised to leap up and attack the major.
‘I did not know your son well enough to say anything else,’ Amber said in a meek voice. ‘Kohrad inherited more from you than he ever realised. He was unknowable to a man like me, but he was Menin, and a soldier, too; little more than a boy making a good account of himself in a man’s world.
‘My father always told me that battle forged a bond between men - I might not have known Kohrad well, but I shared that with him at least, and I’m glad to have done so.’ As he finished, Amber realised that he was shaking so much he could barely keep his balance.
‘Those are your words of sympathy?’ Styrax sat back, his anger dissipated suddenly. ‘While this cancer eats away at my gut you tell me that?’
‘I am sorry, Lord. Death and duty is all I know.’
‘Why don’t you lecture me on duty too?’
‘I am yours to command, Lord.’
Bugger, that was more rude than meek.
Bugger, that was more rude than meek.
His words prompted a momentary change in the air as Styrax eyed him gravely. ‘Do so and I’ll put your head through the wall.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
Another long pause. Amber tried to stand as close to attention as he could manage, while a thousand emotions flashed across Lord Styrax’s normally still face.
‘Why are you here?’ the white-eye asked at last.
‘Duchess Natai Escral of Byora is requesting an audience of you.’
‘And you think I care?’ roared Styrax.
He propelled himself up, and sprang forward so quickly Amber, wobbling precariously on his crutch, edged back to the wall.
‘The Gods themselves could be waiting at my door and I would not give a shit!’ he shouted, making the heavy chair shiver and the dust motes dance in the lamp light. ‘You disturb me for this? Get out of here while you still can, and pray I only strip you of your rank! You think killing Tsatach’s Chosen gives you the right to irritate me with impunity?’
Amber blinked and found Styrax’s hand at his throat.
The white-eye forced Amber’s head up so he was looking him in the eye. His face was tight with barely restrained fury.
‘All I have is my duty, Lord,’ Amber repeated hoarsely. His muscles were screaming out in agony. He felt on the edge, as if he would fall into unconsciousness, so bad was the pain.
‘Don’t think that will save you.’
‘I do not.’
‘Then choose your next words carefully.’
‘I — I cannot, Lord. What must be said is foolish. Even your commanders know what must be said, and they fear to say it.’
‘Then make your last words good,’ Styrax snarled, his grip tightening a fraction.
‘We need you.’
‘Don’t take me for a fool! That is
not
what you came to say!’
not
what you came to say!’
‘No, Lord.’
‘So talk while you still can.’
‘Kohrad was only a part of what you are trying to achieve here, Lord. You cannot stop now,’ Amber whispered.
‘
Now
it hardly matters!’
Now
it hardly matters!’
‘That is grief talking, nothing more.’
‘Grief is all I have.’
‘No, Lord.’ Somehow, Amber managed to bite back the pain. He rallied himself and tried again. ‘There are more Crystal Skulls to track down. There are more monuments to build.’
Styrax shook him, like a lion subduing its prey. ‘Who have you been talking to?’ he snarled.
‘Talking to? No one, Lord, but I walk in your shadow and you taught me to see the Land with open eyes. There is more to the monuments you build than celebrating victory; of that I am certain. They are too few to be of use yet - whatever use you intend to put them to. Your empire must continue to expand; the campaign is not over.’
‘And so?’
The major gasped for breath, but he managed to croak out, ‘And so ... So your vassal begs an audience, my lord, and those you rule need your intervention. A dragon ravages the Circle City, at a time when you need it to be strong and whole. Your work is not done; your grief must be put aside.’
Styrax’s grip on Amber’s neck lessened.
Amber tried to relax. ‘Only then will there be time for mourning, once the Library of Seasons is safe to walk again.’
The hand slipped away and Amber fell to the floor.
CHAPTER 5
‘My Lord,’ the servant called in a quavering voice, ‘the Duchess of Byora and her retinue.’ He stepped aside, making room for the duchess. This wasn’t the sort of grand hall which would normally accommodate such a meeting, but the Fist was a fortress and lacked such amenities.
The duchess entered the dark room slowly, taking a moment to grow accustomed to the light before she curtseyed stiffly. She was not used to paying obeisance to others, and sitting for an hour at the gates of the Fist hadn’t helped her disposition, but the white-eye seemed neither to notice nor to care.
‘Lord Styrax,’ she said while her retinue filed into the gloom behind her, ‘I thank you for granting this audience. I can only imagine — ’
‘Correct,’ Styrax growled, ‘you can only imagine it. Do not waste my time with sentiments you do not understand.’
‘My Lord,’ the duchess exclaimed in genuine shock, ‘my robes of mourning are no mere affectation! I myself lost my husband in the clerics’ rebellion.’
Styrax made a dismissive gesture and she bit her tongue as her still-raw grief raged at his arrogance. She gave the room a cursory inspection and guessed it was an officers’ mess, with doors on each wall and a fireplace in front of her big enough to heat the entire room. Lord Styrax sat with his back to it, wearing a black uniform emblazoned with his Fanged Skull emblem. He was unshaven and looked exhausted, and in the dim light the Menin lord looked old, as though his unnaturally long span was at last catching up with him.
‘Major Amber,’ the duchess said, inclining her head graciously to the soldier at Styrax’s right hand. She noted how he winced as he acknowledged her greeting. He was not in full uniform. One leg was splinted and stretched out on a stool; one arm was cradled in a sling. His bruised and bloodied face and the broken line of his nose put her in mind of Sergeant Kayel.
There were two other Menin, a man and a woman, in the room and she felt her breath catch at the sight of them. They sat to one side and were clearly not going to be part of the discussion, but they were priests of the War God and their presence made Natai’s hands tighten.
The bastard priests were at the very heart of Byora’s problems, from the murder of her husband to the fear that permeated its very streets. The religious district in Byora remained closed since the failed coup, and Natai had not been in the same room as a priest since the Gods had struck down two who tried to murder her and Ruhen. Even the sight of their robes made her want to order Kayel to draw his sword — Though that pair looked like no priests she had ever met, with their weatherworn faces freshly scrubbed, their boots —
She stopped.
No priests wear boots like those
.
.
The duchess looked at the Lord of the Menin.
You bastard, dressing up your troops as priests to see how I would react . . . Did you think perhaps I would not notice?
You bastard, dressing up your troops as priests to see how I would react . . . Did you think perhaps I would not notice?
‘My Lord, let me make known to you my advisors,’ Natai said softly as she gestured towards Lady Kinna and the Demi-God Koteer.
‘One of them looks a little young,’ Styrax said. In the weak light his white eyes were even more apparent. She felt their heat on her skin.
‘My ward, Ruhen.’ She looked around and realised there was no seat for her. This was a studied insult, a major breach of protocol.
‘You will not be staying long enough,’ Styrax said, seeing her reaction.
Ruhen took a sudden step forward, slipping from Kayel’s unresisting hands to grasp the duchess’ skirt. He tugged it and she looked down at him, smiling.
‘I’m tired,’ he complained. He shook his head and his carefully brushed hair fell over his eyes, deepening the shadows in them.
‘There are no seats, sweetheart,’ Natai said, ushering him back to Kayel.
‘But he has one,’ Ruhen protested in rare annoyance, pointing a little finger at Lord Styrax. There was a collective intake of breath even as Natai shushed the boy and pushed him back into Kayel’s charge.
‘I apologise, Lord Styrax,’ she said, trying not to show her fear. ‘He is only a child.’
‘An allowance can be made,’ Styrax said in an oddly hollow voice. ‘Ruhen, come over here. You may sit on my knee.’
Before Natai could react Ruhen had again slipped Kayel’s grasp and trotted across the room. He was the size of a six-year-old, and he looked tiny in comparison with the seven-foot-tall white-eye. Though his head was no higher than Styrax’s knee, he did not appear in the least daunted. When he was close enough he reached up his arms to be picked up and with the gentleness of a father the mighty Styrax obeyed the unspoken order, sitting the little boy on his thigh, supporting his back with one huge hand.
Finally, Styrax looked at Natai. ‘Now, duchess, present your petition,’ he said.
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