Tyrant’s Blood

Clovis guessed her concern. ‘Our savings will be put to good use, I promise. Besides, Freath can probably—’

‘I don’t care about money, Clovis. You are risking your life.’

‘Reuth,’ he began firmly. ‘I was a coward all those years ago. Kirin wasn’t. I have existed with the shame of my fleeing from Brighthelm to your arms. I gave my promise I would find Piven for Freath, and now that I believe I have, I intend to deliver on that promise. The least I can do is tell Freath—our only ally alongside Kirin at the palace.’

‘If that’s him!’ Reuth said, her voice almost in agony.

‘It’s him,’ Clovis said.

‘And then what will you do? Hunt him down yourself?’

‘If I must.’

She shook her head with a combination of vexation and anxiety and turned away. He put his long arms around her, and kissed her head, knowing she needed his tenderness. Finding Piven had been the only contentious part of their marriage. She had never fully understood his private crusade, although she had helped him constantly in his mission.

‘Please, my love,’ he said, turning her now to face him. ‘Please understand. I do this not for personal redemption but for all of us. Your vision frightens me. I have lost one child, one wife. I refuse to lose this family and if what you see should be allowed to occur all of us will be under threat—once again.’

Reuth’s forehead crinkled. ‘It’s a different sort of threat this time, Clovis.’

‘What do you mean?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t really know what I mean. I haven’t seen anything other than what I’ve told you but what I felt when I had that vision was cold. Loethar was ruthless and did take his crown with a bloodied hand, but he has not laid waste to our land. The initial slaughter aside, he has performed somewhat magnanimously as an emperor.’

‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ Clovis said, shocked.

Reuth shook her head. ‘Believe me, if what I sensed does come true, this new menace will make the memories of Loethar’s overthrow pale. I hope I’m wrong but I believe what’s coming at us lacks a soul. No ordinary man will be able to stop this.’

They stared at each other for several searching moments as both digested Reuth’s dire counsel. It was she who broke the spell between them. ‘I’ll pack up our things. The children and I will return immediately south to the ferry. We’ll wait for word from you from Medhaven.’

Clovis hugged her tight, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of his wife’s hair…as his belly clenched with fear.

6 (#ulink_400bb047-2bbf-5b95-9745-6c46a1118d57)

Freath slowed the horse to a gentle walk. It had been a long time since he’d visited the north and even longer since he’d entered Francham. The last time had been prior to Leo’s birth, when he’d accompanied King Brennus and his new bride, Iselda, on an around-the-realm meet and greet. Brennus had been keen to show off his exotic wife from Galinsea and to silence the mumbling detractors who had begun to spread word that no woman from the Set had been good enough for Brennus. Freath knew the king had hoped that by introducing his lovely young bride to his people in person, they would fall in love with her as easily as he had. His strategy had worked.

Penraven hadn’t seen anything like it since the coronation of Brennus but, as eligible and handsome as the new young king had been at the time, his ‘crowning tour’ lacked the glamour that a beautiful young woman added. And Iselda understood immediately how to achieve her husband’s aim. She had never complained once about the gruelling schedule, Freath recalled. She had chosen her wardrobe with care to ensure that everywhere she visited the people were left in awe of her glittering presence—and, Freath remembered with a soft smile, Iselda had neverneeded jewels to glitter. Her smile was full and genuine and she had managed to draw all she met into its comforting warmth. She had possessed an unwavering ability to remain cheerful despite her fatigue, and dig deep to find energy that often surpassed that of her stronger, older entourage. It was Iselda who had first climbed down from her horse to pause a while and talk to people, to kiss the foreheads of babies and allow the women to clasp at her gloved hands. At first even Freath had been alarmed but alongside Brennus he’d watched how instantly and excitedly the folk had reacted to this show of generosity that had no precedent. And then word had spread so quickly that Brennus had had no choice but to take the unusual step of insisting the royal couple greet their people on foot everywhere from there on. It had won hearts right around the realm and Iselda’s foreign status had been instantly forgotten, as had Brennus’s unusual step of not taking a wife from within the Set.

Nowhere had Iselda made greater impact than Francham. Here, hardened men, used to traversing the most inhospitable of regions, had melted in her presence, grinning like loons. Freath was sure Iselda’s popularity in this region was due to the fact that she had grasped just how tough life was on the road through Hell’s Gate, and that winning the hearts of these men would spread word even faster as they were always on the move around the realm.

She’d agreed to sampling the local liquor known rather dauntingly as ‘Rough’. To the delight of all in Francham, the new queen had stepped into an inn known as The Lookout and there she had surprised everyone by tipping back her head and swallowing a man-sized shot of the deep amber liquid. If it had burned—as Freath knew it must have—she had not shown it, having had the audacity to suggest the innkeeper pour her another ‘for good measure’ .

The silence that had gripped the inn had erupted into cheers and whistles. And as Queen Iselda had clinked glasses with King Brennus prior to downing her second shot of Rough, a rousing chorus of the realm’s royal anthem had been belted out noisily by the crowd.

As Brennus had commented to Freath later that night, ‘The queen has won more than hearts this day. In a single swallow she has guaranteed a loyalty to the Crown that feels unparalleled.’

Prophetic words, Freath thought now as he entered the main street. From that day, patriotism and genuine pride in the Crown of Penraven had escalated noticeably and not waned throughout the reign of King Brennus the 8th.

Next to him, Kirin cleared his throat. ‘Master Freath, we’re staying at The Lookout.’

It was fortunate Kirin had noticed he had been daydreaming, Freath thought, jolted out of his memories, or he’d have strolled his horse right by the inn. ‘Yes, of course, thank you.’ He looked around and noticed that the three bodyguards that Loethar insisted be sent along with him were regarding him sullenly through their tatua. ‘Master Felt and I are sharing a room. I have made arrangements for two other rooms. Work it out.’

The Green nodded on behalf of his companions. ‘We’ll take the horses for stabling. Do you need us?’

Freath shook his head. ‘No, but your emperor seems to think I do.’ He smiled but it won no warmth in their faces. ‘The local liquor here is called Rough. Try some. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. I hear the brothel here is lively too. I will be eating in the dining room at The Lookout tonight, so I require no supervision.’ As the Green began to protest, Freath held up a hand. ‘I insist. Take your men for some relaxation. I am going nowhere. Tomorrow morning I will meet with the mayor to discuss the emperor’s new tax levy. By noon I imagine I will be hugely unpopular and will require your presence more keenly. Until then, I can survive the odd gob of spittle or harsh word.’

He thought the two younger guards grinned but then again it could have been a grimace. He knew they considered him a traitor to his own. And therefore the lowest of the low, and they hated that he had the ear of their warlord, besides. He was also sure that Stracker did his utmost to poison his men’s attitude towards any person from the Set. Stracker was still living in the past, believing that every Denovian should perish, or at least be treated like vermin. Although most of the Set had come to realise that it needed Loethar, the emperor’s charismatic hold over his horde—and his blood-hungry half-brother—was all that stood in the way of ongoing death and destruction.

As the men walked the horses off in search of the inn’s stables, Freath muttered under his breath, ‘I have to seriously wonder whether they’d even care if a blade was slipped into my gut.’

‘You can be sure they wouldn’t,’ Kirin said.

Freath nodded. ‘I think you’re right. Come on.’ He breathed deeply. ‘It’s good to smell this fresh mountain air.’

‘Is it?’ Kirin grumbled. ‘I’ve been a city lover for a long time.’

‘Wait until you’ve tried some Rough,’ Freath quipped.

‘When is this meeting going to happen?’ Kirin asked, looking around to see that they weren’t being overheard.

‘Tonight, I hope. We have to slip our guard somehow although once they begin drinking I reckon that won’t be as daring as it sounds. By tomorrow I’ll be watching my back.’

Freath led the way into the front door and his belly responded immediately to the aroma of roasting meat. Ah, he remembered now—the local delicacy.

Kirin gave an appreciative sound. ‘What a delicious smell,’ he commented, pulling off his hat and travelling cloak.

‘I’d forgotten how unique the north can be, especially this town that feels the full effect of the various cultures brought in by the merchants and the folk who travel regularly. That smell just gets better, by the way. It’s called “Osh”.’

‘Osh?’ Kirin repeated. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s mountain bear or something.’

‘And if it was?’

‘I couldn’t resist it, I don’t think.’

Freath gave a half-smile. ‘Nothing so exotic. It’s goat, ox, sheep, chicken, pig, deer. Slabs of meat are pinned onto huge skewers and roasted upright over woodfires made of flaxwood, whose embers release a special spicy fragrance that permeates the meat. The meat, I might add, is rolled in spices that we hardly see in the city: toka, ferago, leem and peregum.’

‘I’ve heard of leem.’

‘I’ve even seen leem, but not the others. The rest are found only in the mountains. When the meat is cooked, it is sliced off onto trenchers of herbed honey bread, and drizzled with oil. It’s magnificent.’

Kirin nodded. ‘I’m already hungry for it from your description.’

Freath looked over Kirin’s shoulder. ‘Ah, you must be Innkeeper Woolton?’ he said to the ruddy-faced man crossing the large reception area towards them.

‘I am,’ he replied. ‘Are you the party from the…er…city?’

‘Indeed,’ Freath said, glad that the man had taken his early warning of discretion seriously.

‘Three rooms?’ Freath nodded. ‘They’re ready and waiting for you, sir. Tillie will show you up.’ He pointed to a rosy-cheeked girl, no more than thirteen anni, who, going by the dimple in her chin, was his daughter.