Valour

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

LYKOS

Lykos stood on the battlements of Jerolin, looking out over the lake, which glistened under a wan winter sun.

The lake bristled with ships. His ships. They were full of warriors, their families, slaves for rowing, merchants and traders from the Three Islands, all gathering to him.

Over two thousand warriors. They had arrived slowly, over a matter of moons, so as not to arouse suspicion or panic. And during the same time he had ordered Fidele to send off the bulk of the eagle-guard that had been stationed at Jerolin to various distant locations in Tenebral, where they could be of little threat to his plans. Now only a few hundred remained here at Tenebral’s capital, so his Vin Thalun warriors outnumbered them almost ten to one. And that was not all that he had brought to Tenebral.

Housed on the ships in the lake were his pit-fighters, as well. On the plain between the fortress and the lake a wooden construct was taking shape, circular tiers rising high, supported by huge timber beams. A new type of fighting pit. He smiled to himself.

Finally, after so many years, it is happening. He turned to look over the dark stone buildings of Jerolin, the sharp spike of the tower overshadowing them all.

This is all mine now, he thought. Jerolin is the heart of Tenebral, and it belongs to me. By proxy. His fingers dipped inside his cloak, seeking the effigy of Fidele. He felt a moment of fear, a weightlessness in his gut as his fingers searched. Then he felt it, smooth clay and brittle hair. Such power. With Fidele a puppet in my hand I rule Jerolin, and with it, all of Tenebral.

Riders appeared on the road to the north, eight or ten of them. Lykos watched them draw closer, until he could see the white eagles embossed on their cuirasses and shields.

Peritus has returned, then. And the first thing he will do is seek an audience with Fidele.

A chill wind blew out of the north along with them. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter. It is warmer on the Islands. But I have Fidele to keep me warm here.

He felt a stirring in his blood, just at the thought of her. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, could still smell her, a residue on his beard of rose petals and sweat. With the thought of her fresh in his mind he turned and made his way towards Jerolin’s tower.

People looked away as he passed them, none brave enough or stupid enough to give him the black looks he had once become accustomed to. At first, when Fidele had announced him forgiven of his crimes and welcomed into the heart of Jerolin he had still received those looks, but as the days had passed and with them demonstration after demonstration that he could do as he wished without consequence the angry glares had turned away. Initially a horde of people complaining too loudly had been dragged to the dungeons, and that no doubt had helped to silence the complainers, but Lykos could still sense the animosity. These people were not cowed, yet. A stronger lesson was needed.

He passed a roped-off courtyard with bloodstains still on the flagstones. He had already begun the pit-fighting, on a small scale. A few contests in makeshift rings in the lakeside town at first, then moving to the stronghold. There had been an outcry, of course. Petitions had been sent to Fidele by the wainload, but, under his control she had just ignored them. And people had come, had watched, had bet silver and gold. A trickle at first, furtive looking, trying to stand in the shadows, but more had turned up with each bout. Soon he would spread the entertainment throughout Tenebral, but not until the arena on the plain had been finished. We will need more slaves soon, else we’ll run out of fighters.

The spoils of war would supply that need soon enough.

He found Fidele in her chambers high in Jerolin’s tower. She stared at him with such a look of hatred and contempt that he smiled — he had seen that look before, on the recently conquered, warriors he had made his slaves. In time the look would pass, would merge into other things. First would come despair, then acceptance, then servitude. He reached a hand into his cloak and her expression changed, became fearful. That made him smile as well.

‘Speak your mind,’ he said.

She opened her mouth, not trusting her voice. ‘My son will kill you for this,’ she breathed, beginning little above a whisper. She looked surprised that her thoughts had aligned with her words.

‘I don’t think he will,’ Lykos said. Soon enough he will have more on his mind than the governance of Tenebral.

‘Then I will kill you,’ she said, her voice rising, her back straightening, as if control of her vocal cords gave her actual strength.

‘Enough,’ Lykos commanded. Or your guards will hear.

A struggle took place within the confines of her face and behind her eyes. She was clinging to her freedom of speech, refusing to let it go. Her mouth opened, lips twisting, but nothing came out. A few more moments passed as Lykos watched, entertained. Then her shoulders slumped, her body sagging.

‘You will have a visitor soon,’ he began. .

There was a knock on the door.

‘Enter,’ Fidele called.

She was sat in a high-backed chair, wrapped in a cloak of darkest sable contrasting with her milky skin, her lips a deep red.

I shall have her when this is done, thought Lykos. He was standing further back, half in shadow. Deinon stood the other side of Fidele’s chair. Other Vin Thalun were hidden about the dark edges of the room.

Two men walked into the chamber: Peritus, the old battlechief, and Armatus, his childhood friend and also first-sword of the dead king, Aquilus. They were both older men, the wrong side of forty, Lykos guessed. Both had deep lines in their faces and more grey than black in their hair. They both had a reputation with their blades, though, and Lykos was not one to underestimate an enemy.

‘My lady,’ Peritus said, bowing to Fidele. Then he saw Lykos. A look passed between him and Armatus.

‘Welcome back to Jerolin,’ Fidele said to them both. There was little warmth in her voice. ‘How are things in the north?’

‘Quiet,’ Peritus said. ‘The giants’ raids have all but stopped. It was good to be home. I have returned early, though, because I am hearing strange things. About Jerolin.’ He paused, looking uncomfortable.

‘What things?’ Fidele said.

‘Where is Orcus?’ Armatus asked. His eyes had seen Deinon standing in the shadows.

‘I gave Orcus a leave of absence. There was illness in his family.’

He does not believe her, Lykos thought, watching Armatus.

‘What strange things do you speak of, Peritus?’ Fidele continued.

‘May we speak alone?’ Peritus asked, eyes flickering to Lykos.

‘No, we may not,’ Fidele said. ‘My son, your King, trusts Lykos, and so do I.’

‘You had a different opinion the last time that I saw you.’

‘Opinions change.’

‘But, the fighting pits. The dead, the boy dragged up from the lake — Jace. They were facts, not opinions. Lykos and his kind are murderers. You know this.’

Fidele stared at Peritus. Muscles in her face twitched. She opened her mouth but only a breath hissed out.

Lykos squeezed the effigy concealed in his hand and Fidele groaned.

‘Are you well, my lady?’ Peritus said to her, stepping forwards.

‘Stay where you are,’ Lykos said, moving out of the shadows.

Peritus froze, but Armatus moved forwards now. ‘The last time I was in Jerolin, the Vin Thalun didn’t give orders to the battlechief of Tenebral,’ he said.

‘Things have changed,’ Lykos replied. He smiled at the two men.

‘How so?’ Peritus said. There was an edge in his voice now, one that Lykos recognized. Of violence restrained.

‘Because I have willed it,’ Fidele said, breaking a taut silence. ‘We must move forwards, not backwards, and grudges and outdated rules cannot hold us back. The alliance with the Vin Thalun is vital to our cause. Lykos has given us great aid.’

‘Outdated rules?’ Peritus breathed. ‘Since when has the punishment of murder become an outdated rule?’

‘I have decided to forgive and move on,’ Fidele said. Her tone was angry now. Only Lykos knew that that anger was not roused by Peritus’ questions.

‘Fidele,’ Peritus said, ‘you are not in your right mind. How can you say such things? You saw the pit at Balara — the dead heaped in piles.’

‘Enough,’ Lykos barked. He was losing patience with this now. ‘Tell him all of it,’ he said to Fidele.

‘To honour this new beginning, games are to be held. A celebration. I have commissioned an arena to be built. Tenebral shall watch our enemies fight to the death.’

‘Pit-fighting, in Jerolin,’ Peritus hissed. ‘You are out of your mind, or under a spell.’

Fidele’s body jerked at that, her eyes screwing shut.

‘What is wrong with you?’

Strong-minded bitch, thought Lykos. How can she fight this? He gripped the effigy tighter, and willed her to obey.

‘Nothing,’ Fidele said with a shudder.

‘Something ails you,’ Peritus said. He looked at Armatus, something passing between them. ‘You are not in your right mind, not able to rule, at present.’

In a blur of motion, faster than anything Lykos had anticipated, Armatus had drawn his sword and was holding it levelled at Lykos’ chest.

‘As battlechief of Tenebral I claim the regency while you recover,’ Peritus said. He was watching Deinon, who had taken a stride closer, his sword half-drawn, but had frozen now.

Fidele’s gaze drifted over Peritus’ shoulder, just a flicker of her eyes.

Peritus whirled, drawing his own blade; the Vin Thalun who had stood hidden in the shadows fell on him. Peritus managed to stab one in the shoulder, but there were six Vin Thalun, four of them pit-trained. Within moments Peritus was on his knees, half stunned. He was dragged to his feet and a blade held across his throat.

‘Put your sword down,’ Lykos said to Armatus.

The warrior had hesitated, just for a heartbeat, and that was all it had taken for Peritus to be overwhelmed. Lykos had not moved.

‘Put it down,’ he repeated.

‘Kill him,’ Peritus slurred. Blood ran down his face from a blow to the head.

The dilemma warred across Armatus’ features. Lykos saw the decision in the man’s eyes before it reached his limbs. He lowered his sword.

Immediately Deinon surged forwards, holding his own blade at Armatus’ chest.

‘Weak fool,’ Lykos said. He stepped forwards and punched Armatus in the throat, the old warrior dropping to one knee, gasping for breath.

‘He should have killed me,’ Lykos said conversationally to Peritus. ‘My Queen,’ he said to Fidele. ‘If I am not mistaken, I think we have just witnessed an act of treason. What is the punishment for such a crime in Tenebral?’

Fidele struggled, paused and then answered through clenched teeth. ‘Execution.’