Tyrant's Blood (41 page)

Once they’d retrieved their belongings they abandoned the horses; they could move faster on foot in spite of being encumbered with Loethar’s dead weight. Nevertheless, Elka was surprisingly light of foot even with the man prostrate across her back, with Gavriel bringing up the rear, making sure they were not followed.

They travelled in silence, putting their energies into their exertions rather than conversation. Gavriel was surprised and relieved to note that his time in the mountains had prepared him more than well enough for this sort of terrain. Where once he might have been out of breath, he now found he could travel the steep, slippery undergrowth with ease. His stride was long and only vaguely hampered by a limp from his old injury; his muscles were ropey and strong, and his endurance matched anything the Davarigons had thrown at him. His convalescence was well and truly behind him. Most importantly, his mind was sound, his memories returning in a constant stream of enlightenment.

He shook his head yet again at the notion that the man Elka carried was the despised Loethar. Where once his personal impression had been so twisted and skewed that Loethar had seemed invincible, now the barbarian appeared every inch a mere man. Gavriel despised the way Loethar had re-invented himself, swapping so easily from all-conquering, all-slaughtering invader to magnanimous emperor that people had begun to whisper had made
the Set an easier place to live, trade, move around. The bitterest truth was realising that he had, in his ignorance, also unwittingly admired the man that he now remembered had murdered his father, among many other ruthless, unnecessary slaughterings.

Loethar groaned and Elka immediately stopped. Gavriel hung back, scowling. ‘Good. I hope it really hurts.’

She threw him a glance of reproach as she turned. ‘Let’s set him down there,’ she said, nodding at a ridge not far above them. ‘Then we’ll get a better sense of where we are and we could use some sleep ourselves. It will be dawn all too soon.’

Gavriel said nothing but took over the lead, quickly moving ahead and up to the ridge. ‘This is fine,’ he confirmed and Elka followed, Loethar now moaning softly from her back. They lay him down.

‘Give him some water,’ Elka suggested.

Gavriel handed her the skin. ‘You can do it.’

Her expression told him she wearied of his stubbornness but Gavriel remained adamant.

‘Here, drink,’ Elka coaxed their prisoner.

Loethar’s eyes flickered open. He clearly made no sense of what he saw; tried to speak but it came out as a croak. The water dribbled onto his lips and he grasped at the water sack greedily, Gavriel only noticing now, with a spike of satisfaction, how one of the emperor’s fingers stuck out at an unnatural angle.

‘Thank you,’ Loethar finally managed, seemingly unaware of his wrenched finger. ‘Who are you?’

‘Not now. Save your injured throat. You are out of immediate danger, so sleep. I’m going to cook up a brew that will ease the pain…in your hand, for instance,’ Elka said, also just noticing the dislocated finger.

‘Hand,’ he repeated, even managing to achieve a dry tone. ‘There’s so much pain, I can’t locate it to any specific area.’

She smiled gently and Gavriel’s scowls deepened.

‘I wish they’d killed you,’ he murmured.

Loethar only now realised there was another person present. He shifted his head gingerly in the direction of Gavriel’s voice, his eyes slitted in pain. ‘My persecutors would agree. Who are you?’

‘Someone with a grudge.’

Loethar rather impossibly managed a brief smile through his swollen, bruised lips. ‘Then tell me which of my enemies you are. Are you sure you know me?’

‘Oh, yes. Yours is not a face I’d forget.’ Elka looked over with an expression of irony and Gavriel could see the dark humour in his words. ‘Emperor Loethar,’ he continued, ‘we meet again.’

‘We do? I don’t recognise you.’ Loethar blinked, grimacing through obvious hurt.

‘That’s because you haven’t actually met,’ Elka explained, glaring at Gavriel again. ‘Let him rest, will you? He’s no good to you dead.’

‘No,’ Loethar urged. ‘Talk to me, stranger. Stop me from slipping into unconsciousness again. I want to remember this pain. I want to use it when I finally give Stracker the death he has long deserved.’

Elka sighed. ‘I can’t produce the brew in moments so enjoy your suffering.’

‘Can I know
your
name at least?’ he asked her. ‘Lo’s breath but you’re a tall woman!’ he remarked as she stood. ‘Wait, did
you
carry me?’

‘Well I certainly didn’t…or wouldn’t. I’d have preferred to watch you swing,’ Gavriel answered before she could.

Elka ignored him. ‘I am Elka. From the Davarigons.’

‘Ah, I’ve so longed to meet your people. The famed giants of the mountains. You are elusive…and generous, it seems. Thank you, Elka.’

‘Hardly giants. Just tall,’ she conceded.

‘And strong,’ Gavriel reminded for Loethar’s benefit. ‘So don’t try anything.’

Loethar wheezed a laugh at the very suggestion. ‘Are you always so brave with your tongue when your female bodyguard is near?’ Loethar baited.

Gavriel took a breath of calm. ‘Be careful, Loethar. I’m the one with the sword, remember, and I wield it easily. I won’t hesitate to plunge it into your belly.’

‘Easy to say when I’m lying here helpless. I’ve obviously personally offended you, stranger. And yet while I never forget a face, I don’t recognise you at all and why would I, for your friend has confirmed we have not met. So who in your family have I injured?’

‘You killed my father, amongst many others.’

Loethar tried to nod, winced, and closed his eyes. ‘I killed many people when I overthrew the Denovian Set. But since being crowned emperor are you aware that I have killed no one by my own hand? And the only deaths I’ve ordered have been those who have disobeyed imperial orders—either Set and Steppes?’ He sounded breathless but his voice was improving.

‘No, I doubt my companion is aware of that,’ Elka said, fanning the flames of the small fire she’d been coaxing to life. ‘He harbours a lot of hate for you.’

Loethar sighed. ‘Why did he rescue me, then? So that he could have the pleasure of killing me himself?’

‘You were rescued only because Elka insisted,’ Gavriel replied.

‘And so your brother wants to kill you,’ Elka interjected.

‘Half-brother,’ Loethar and Gavriel corrected together. Loethar looked over at Gavriel, bemused. ‘Who
are
you?’ His efforts set off a coughing fit and he winced.

‘Be still!’ Elka commanded both of them. ‘Focus on the pain and tell me where it is,’ she told Loethar.

Loethar was breathing shallowly. Through gritted teeth he said, ‘Ribs, mainly. My hand, as you pointed out, my throat, for obvious reasons, my head…even my arse hurts.’

She nodded. ‘You’re going to feel a lot worse, I promise you.’

‘I’m rather enjoying seeing you in this state, Loethar,’ Gavriel added. ‘Your imperial guards treated me in very similar fashion a decade ago. Ask Elka how badly beaten and broken I was. In fact,
you’re getting off lightly. They were just going to hang you—and while you were already unconscious. Your animals broke both of my ankles just as a prelude to their fun, so that I was appropriately hobbled and at their mercy, fully conscious. If not for Elka I’d be long dead.’

‘Or rotting in the gaol,’ Loethar suggested.

‘No, definitely dead,’ Gavriel confirmed. ‘You would not have let me live.’

‘I’ll ask again, why?’ He sounded exhausted now.

‘Tell him,’ Elka growled at Gavriel. ‘You remember the pain; he’s going through the same and I don’t know how he’s still got the strength or inclination to talk.’

‘Force of will, Elka. It’s a powerful thing,’ Loethar said, resting his head back and closing his eyes again. ‘Come on, man, who was your father? Would I even remember his name? The invasion was a mad time. I killed a lot of noblemen and I can hear from your voice you are no peasant.’

‘You’d remember his name, all right. His death was probably your most cowardly. He was Regor de Vis.’

Loethar’s eyes snapped open. He tried to sit up but Elka’s large, very firm hand, urged him back. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Gavriel nodded smugly, taking much pleasure in Loethar’s shock. ‘Believe it.’

‘Which son are you?’

‘Gavriel.’

Loethar turned to Elka. ‘Is this the truth?’

‘Can’t you see how much he’s enjoying your discomfort?

Gavriel continued, ‘I carry ten anni’s worth of vengeance.’

Loethar shook his head. ‘Lo rot you! I never understood how you slipped our guard.’

‘It was easy,’ Gavriel lied. ‘In spite of Freath’s treachery.’

‘Freath is dead.’

Gavriel gave a small whoop of delight. ‘Don’t expect me to mourn him. How did he die? Painfully, I hope?’

‘Yes. A sword wound. His body was found at the entry to Hell’s Gates.’

‘Here in the north! Why was he here?’

‘Imperial business. I presume you’ve heard of the outlaw Kilt Faris? We’re hunting him down. And we’re so close now he can probably feel our collective breath on his collar. Freath was working on finding him.’

‘That cowardly turncoat was—’

‘Curiously enough, my friend,’ Loethar finished, ‘I miss him already. I will find his killer and I will have Kilt Faris’s head on a spike outside Brighthelm.’

Gavriel refused to look at Elka. ‘I’m just glad another of my enemies is dead.’

Loethar smiled. ‘And yet it seems our destinies remain entwined.’

‘Don’t feel so confident about that. They won’t be for long.’

‘I wonder where you will find another king? The alternative of my half-brother is surely unthinkable. And the Valisars are all gone, with pickings from the other former realms equally unpalatable.’

‘Again, you may presume too much,’ Gavriel replied with a sneer.

Loethar’s gaze narrowed. ‘Is that so? Then perhaps the de Vis family has delusions of grandeur that went unnoticed in your father’s era?’

Gavriel stood and drew his sword. ‘My father was the most loyal of all Valisar followers.’

Loethar nodded. ‘I’m sure he’d turn in his grave to know his son slaughtered a wounded, unarmed man.’

Gavriel sneered. ‘My father has no grave. Do not speak of him as though you would know anything about him, or how he would feel. You forget, barbarian, that you too slaughtered him as an unarmed man, who came in good faith to parley with you.’ He advanced on Loethar, murder in his eyes.

‘Gavriel!’ Elka warned, standing. ‘You fall right into his trap if you do anything but let justice take its right course.’

He knew she was right; her caution echoed his instincts. Pride aside, no matter how his father died, Regor de Vis would likely not have praised his son for ending a man’s life this way.

‘You are so much better than this,’ she muttered for his hearing only, directing her glance down to the broken man who lay prone before them. ‘He’s going nowhere but to where you decide and as your prisoner.’

Gavriel nodded. ‘Give him your brew. I need to walk!’ He turned and strode away.

‘He has good reason to hate me,’ Loethar said, sipping from the proferred bowl.

‘Yes, he does,’ Elka replied quietly.

‘And lots of good reasons to keep me alive—thank you for making him see that.’

‘Be assured, I did you no favour.’

Loethar drained the brew, his bruised, swollen lips slick with the dark liquid. ‘How does a Davarigon become such a close companion and ally of a noble from the court of Valisar?’

‘I suppose in much the same strange way that the barbarian warlord from the Steppes finds himself in similar company.’

‘And what is that way?’

‘For someone who is so battered, you are very talkative.’

‘Answer me. It takes my mind off the pain.’

She tipped out the dregs of the pain-killing liquor and wiped the bowl with some leaves, then slung it back in her sack. ‘Circumstances.’ She shrugged. ‘We all make decisions, take pathways, choose our way forward. I chose mine, Gavriel de Vis chose his, and our paths crossed.’

‘Fate?’

‘Yes, something like that.’

‘My presence here is not fate. Even my condition right now is not fate.’

‘So you wanted to be beaten and killed by your brother?’

‘My half-brother is predictable. I certainly factored in that he would do what he did.’

‘And still you came to him. Why?’

‘Honour.’

Elka, who had been re-packing a few utensils back into her pack, turned to stare at him now. ‘Honour?’ she repeated. ‘Yes, I heard you spouting about that.’ She expected a wry smile, or a sarcastic response, but she got neither. Loethar stared back at her gravely. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ she asked.

‘Do you think I am not capable of it?’

She shook her head. ‘Not from what I’ve heard.’

‘You should listen again, then, and be sure that you are hearing only words you can trust. The truth will reassure you that I am a man of my word.’

She sneered. ‘So you are honourable to yourself, you mean.’

‘No, I didn’t say that. But a man who keeps his word is honourable. A man who gives promises and keeps them, swears oaths and follows through on them, or remains true to himself, is honourable. I am all of those things.’

Elka shook her head. ‘What was the honour in coming here to knowingly risk death at the hands of your half-brother?’

‘I was bringing our mother’s ashes to him. Stracker was close to our mother and though she could see his faults—of which there are plenty—he was her flesh, and she did love him.’

Elka faltered. ‘When did your mother die?’

‘Yesterday…I think. I fear I’ve lost track of time. She was poisoned by my wife, I believe. I cremated my mother and felt it was right to bring her to my sibling. It was my duty to give him the opportunity to pay his respects, and for us to scatter her ashes in an agreed spot. It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t clever or even brave, but it was the honourable way.’

‘I want to say I’m sorry but I don’t believe you deserve any sympathy after all that you’ve perpetrated on my friend and on the
Set. I do, however, respect that you have lost a parent and for this I appreciate your sorrow.’