The Tower Broken(61)

Sarmin looked to the low vizier, still face down on the floor. ‘Rise,’ he said at last, and the man stood and pressed himself against the wall, staring at the injured chief. Sarmin half wondered whether Banreh might be dead already. ‘You went against my word in Fryth, General. For that I should have your head. Instead, you offer me the head of the Windreader chief.’

‘His is prettier – or it was, Magnificence,’ said Arigu, standing to show a broad face and a friendly grin. ‘But it is also worth more than mine, for the time being. You have in your great wisdom entered into an alliance with the Duke of Fryth. Yrkmir approaches and a pattern mage will serve us well. But the man is passionate and unpredictable – the kind of man who, in the midst of peace negotiations, might take to cutting throats. But this one’ – Arigu nudged Banreh with his foot – ‘will keep him in line.’

Sarmin considered Arigu’s description of the duke. He had not seemed like that kind of man at all. ‘How?’

‘They are close, Magnificence, blood-brothers and more. The duke set Banreh to escape across the dunes, but I chased him down. The duke thinks his friend is free – but now here is Banreh to hold against his uncertain loyalties. If the duke should prove unreliable, hold a knife to this one’s throat, or send him to the temple of Herzu – the nature of the threat does not matter. The duke will do as you wish.’

‘You are wrong about one thing, General.’

Arigu raised his eyebrows. ‘Majesty?’

Sarmin turned Banreh’s limp body so that his hands were visible and pointed at the mark on his wrist. ‘Didryk knows that Banreh is here.’

Arigu’s mouth twisted behind his beard as he studied the mark. ‘It will still work in your favour, Magnificence.’

‘Your army wants him dead.’

‘I can handle my army, Your Majesty,’ said Arigu with a conspiratorial grin, ‘if you can manage the duke.’

‘Walk with me.’ Before leaving the room Sarmin turned to the low vizier. ‘Have him taken to Mirra, but keep it secret.’

‘Yes, Magnificence.’

Sarmin walked the gleaming floor towards the back stairs that led to his apartments. The spiral stair had been grander, but now it was broken, and in any case, Arigu had seen it before. Any awe Sarmin might have inspired by leading the general up that way had long since been used up by his father Tahal. ‘Yrkmir approaches, planning an attack upon our great city.’

Arigu raised a hand to his beard but did not speak.

‘You will command our defences.’

‘As you wish, Your Majesty. I will meet with Lurish immediately to coordinate our efforts. Except …’

‘Spit it out, General.’

‘Except that Yrkmen attack like cowards. They cast their evil spells, then set their archers upon those who remain.’

Sarmin looked down at the big man. ‘Were you in Mondrath then, General, when Yrkmir attacked?’

‘I was.’

‘And how did you survive?’

For a moment Sarmin thought the general would not answer, but finally he said, ‘The duke had put a mark upon me, Your Majesty. I’d been cut and he meant to heal me, or so he said. It’s a foul thing, wearing the marks, but it saved me.’

‘Well then, General, I am glad for it.’ Being marked had protected the general just as it had protected those in the marketplace attacks. At his door Sarmin said, ‘Azeem will arrange a room for you in the palace.’

‘With your permission, Your Majesty, I will sleep in the barracks.’ Arigu bowed and walked back the way he had come. He was the greatest general in Cerana, as well known for his political manoeuvring as for his battle strategy, and the man his scheming mother had favoured. There would be no private game between Sarmin and Didryk now. Arigu had thrown in his chips for a game between three, or four, if he counted Banreh.

Sarmin leaned against the doorjamb and spoke to his sword-sons for the first time in an age. ‘If Azeem comes, tell him that I need history books. I want to know about Satreth the Reclaimer.’ His own history book had been destroyed by the false Beyon, using his hands, and anyway, it had contained little of military history. He wanted to know exactly how the Yrkmen had attacked so many years ago, and how the Reclaimer had defeated them. The sword-sons nodded and he shut the door.





27



Farid


Grada had left Farid before the great doors of the Tower. He knew she expected him to be able to make his own way from here, but in truth he did not know whether to ring the bell or try to pull at the brass knobs. He was, after all, wearing the robes of a mage – but the doors were heavy and likely required real magic to open, and he had none of that. He turned back towards the unusual woman, only to see her disappear through the arched gate. He had never met a female like her, one who spoke frankly and carried herself more like a warrior than anything else.