Rebellion

CHAPTER 61

Lyf tossed on his modest sleeping pallet in the kings’ temple, continually dozing and waking with a jerk after each few minutes of oblivion. Every day his servants cleansed the temple, and every night the stench came back, worse than before, but he would sleep nowhere else. By tradition the king slept in his temple whenever he was in the city, and tradition was one of the things that sustained him. That, and vengeance.

He woke in terror from his recurrent nightmare — the Five Heroes’ original attack on him in this temple — to find his shin stumps throbbing mercilessly. The sword, the terrible sword. He could have no rest until it was unmade.

Thought of it hurled him back to the terrible time of his murder, when the whole world of Cythe was toppled.

“No,” he cried, “No! Never again!”

His spectral ancestors gathered around him, soothing him.

“Grandys is stone, as ever was,” said white-eyed Rovena the Wise. “You need never fear him again. Rise above it, Lyf, and continue with your plans. Crush the upstart at Garramide, then meet with the chancellor’s envoys on your terms.”

With their support, Lyf rose above his fear. “I will,” he said. “But until peace is agreed, if it is, I’ll prosecute the war with unmitigated fury. And the first target will be Garramide. I want that sword.”