She is momentarily troubled by this. Usually the song chooses an innocent, some pale-faced youth stolen from a slaughtered hill tribe or identified by the overseers in the training dens. She had liked to play the benefactor, the kindly mistress come to offer them deliverance from this place of endless fear, enjoying the desperate hope in their eyes, even granting them the mercy of a swift death by way of reward.
Now it is different. The song speaks of a loathsome soul and it’s this that stirs her hunger. Was this you, beloved? she asks him. Did you change me so much? Despite her unease she knows this shell must be sustained, the Messenger having related how quickly a stolen shell can sicken, the demands of multiple gifts drain them so. She starts for the nearby stairwell but pauses as two Kuritai approach, dragging a red-clad figure between them and providing a welcome distraction.
“Council-man Lorvek,” she greets the red-clad. “It’s been so very long. I’m glad to see the years have not withered you one bit.”
The red-clad appears to be a man in his mid-thirties, though she first met him some eighty years ago when he first rose to Council, in this very chamber in fact. He had been triumphant then, she recalls, preening with satisfaction at having secured fabled immortality. Now he just seems to be what he is, a scared man, cowed by torture and expectant of death.
“I . . .” he begins, swallows, a faint trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. “I . . . humbly regret any offence caused to the Ally or his servants . . .”
“Oh, there you go again, Lorvek,” she says, shaking her head with a sad smile. “Always saying the wrong thing. What was it you called me that day in Council, oh, twenty years ago? You remember, the day I came back from my excursion to the realm of the slant-eyed pig?”
Lorvek hangs his head, summoning the will to plead further. “I . . . I said . . . unwise words . . .”
“Murderous whore to a pestilent phantom.” She takes hold of his hair and pulls his head up. “Yes, that was unwise. And now you call me a servant. I do wonder how you ever rose so high with such poor judgement. After everything the Ally has given you.”
A wave of weariness sweeps through him and his eyes grow dim for a second. She assumes he has exhausted his ability to beg, but then he draws breath, a light coming back into his eyes as he spits blood into her face. “The Council will not stand for this, you vile bitch!” he hisses.
“Evidence of corruption is hard to ignore,” she tells him, finding a glimmer of admiration for this final flare of courage. “I’m afraid the vote was unanimous. Besides . . .” She moves closer, whispering, “Just between the two of us, the Council won’t have to stand for anything soon.” She presses a kiss to his cheek and steps back.
“Back there,” she tells the Kuritai, jerking her head at the tunnel leading to the pits. “Give him a sword and throw him in. Tell the overseer I want to know how long he lasts.”
He screams as they drag him away, more defiance, dwindling again into contrite pleas as they enter the tunnel and his voice fades. She summons the song once more, seeking out the cell with the dark note and making for the stairs.
? ? ?
Frentis came awake with a shout, despair and grief doubling him over. He felt tears flowing and covered his face with his hands, sobs tearing from his throat.
“Boy?” Master Rensial reached out to touch him, hand tentative on his shoulder, bafflement in his voice. “Boy?”
Frentis continued to weep as the mad master patted his shoulder, aware that the others had stirred from their tents, that they stood outside looking on in amazement, but he found he couldn’t stop. Not until the morning sun rose and all chance of sleep had safely faded.
? ? ?
“My blood grandmother had many dreams.” Davoka’s eyes were intent on his face as she rode alongside, though her tone was light, her usual growl absent this morning.
Frentis gave a tired nod and didn’t reply. Breakfast had been a mostly silent affair, Thirty-Four passing him a bowl of porridge with a troubled frown, Illian and Arendil unable to meet his gaze, and Draker staring, bushy brows narrowed in concern.
Tears from the Red Brother, Frentis thought. They forgot I was a just a man . . . Perhaps I did too.
“She saw stars falling from the sky to shatter the land,” Davoka went on. “And floods high enough to drown the mountains. One day she gave away her pony and all her goods because a dream told her the sun would explode at twilight. It didn’t and people saw just a mad old woman with dreams, and dreams mean nothing.”
They are not dreams, he wanted to tell her, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples as fatigue swept through him. “You think I am not fit to lead?”