‘I am noble born,’ said Shabag, sweat gleaming on his face. ‘You cannot maim me.’
‘I am the Emperor,’ hissed Gorben. ‘My will is the law!’ Shabag fell to his knees. ‘Kill me cleanly, I beg of you . . . cousin!’
Gorben drew a dagger from the jewel-encrusted scabbard at his hip, tossing the weapon to the ground before Shabag. The Satrap swallowed hard as he lifted the dagger and stared with grim malevolence at his tormentor. ‘You may choose the manner of your passing,’ said Gorben.
Shabag licked his lips, then held the point of the blade to his chest. ‘I curse you, Gorben,’ he screamed. Then taking the hilt with both hands, he rammed the blade home. He groaned and fell back. His body twitched, and his bowels opened. ‘Remove . . . it,’ Gorben ordered the soldiers close by. ‘Find a ditch and bury it.’ He swung to Druss and laughed merrily. ‘Well, axeman, the deed is done.’
‘Indeed it is, my Lord,’ answered Druss.
‘My Lord? Truly this is a night of wonders!’
At the edge of the camp the last of the Naashanites died begging for mercy, and a grim quiet descended. Bodasen approached the Emperor and bowed deeply. ‘Your orders have been obeyed, Majesty.’
Gorben nodded. ‘Aye, you have done well, Bodasen. Now take Jasua and Nebuchad and gather Shabag’s officers. Promise them anything, but take them into the city, away from their men. Interrogate them. Kill those who do not inspire your confidence.’
‘As you order it, so shall it be,’ said Bodasen.
*
Michanek lifted Rowena from the carriage. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he smelt the sweetness of her breath. Tying the reins to the brake bar, Pudri scrambled down and gazed apprehensively at the sleeping woman.
‘She is all right,’ said Michanek. ‘I will take her to her room. You fetch the servants to unload the chests.’ The tall warrior carried Rowena towards the house. A slave girl held open the door and he moved inside, climbing the stairs to a sunlit room in the eastern wing. Gently he laid her down, covering her frail body with a satin sheet and a thin blanket of lamb’s wool. Sitting beside her, he lifted her hand. The skin was hot and feverish; she moaned, but did not stir.
Another slave girl appeared and curtsied to the warrior. He rose. ‘Stay by her,’ he ordered.
He found Pudri standing in the main doorway of the house. The little man looked disconsolate and lost, his dark eyes fearful. Michanek summoned him to the huge oval library, and bade him sit on a couch. Pudri slumped down, wringing his hands.
‘Now, from the beginning,’ said Michanek. ‘Everything.’
The eunuch looked up at the powerful soldier. ‘I don’t know, Lord. At first she seemed merely withdrawn, but the more the Lord Kabuchek made her tell fortunes the more strange she became. I sat with her and she told me the Talent was growing within her. At first she needed to concentrate her mind upon the subject, and then visions would follow – short, disjointed images. Though after a while no concentration was needed. But the visions did not stop when she released the hands of Lord Kabuchek’s. . . guests. Then the dreams began. She would talk as if she was old, and then in different voices. She stopped eating, and moved as if in a trance. Then, three days ago, she collapsed. Surgeons were called and she was bled, but to no avail.’ His lip trembled and tears flowed to his thin cheeks. ‘Is she dying, Lord?’
Michanek sighed. ‘I don’t know, Pudri. There is a doctor here whose opinions I value. He is said to be a mystic healer; he will be here within the hour.’ He sat down opposite the little man. He thought he could read the fear in the eunuch’s eyes. ‘No matter what happens, Pudri, you will have a place here in my household. I did not purchase you from Kabuchek merely because you are close to Rowena. If she . . . does not recover I will not discard you.’
Pudri nodded, but his expression did not change. Michanek was surprised. ‘Ah,’ he said softly, ‘you love her, even as I do.’