“I’ve seen a great deal of death this past year,” she replied. “Dead children included. And I believe I’ve seen enough.”
“My people do everything as one, including going to war. Nor do we spare our young the horrors of the world, for they will have to face them soon enough. Custom, you see. Like silly old Tikrut and his magic gourd. I am a prisoner of custom.” He proffered his forearm, pointing to a fresh cut behind the wrist. “I blessed my sabre with my own blood and swore I would lead this clan to riches in the southlands.”
“Riches?” Lizanne asked. “Rather than victory?”
“What care we for your revolt? Win it or lose it, we’ll make treaty with whoever comes out on top. Pragmatism is also a custom in this clan. But I cannot simply pick up sticks and march off, not just because some foreign witch rides into my own camp and makes a fool of my shaman, a nice gift though it was.”
Lizanne concealed a sigh of frustration, her brow furrowing in consideration until a singular notion popped into her head. Riches trumps victory. “There’s a place,” she said. “A burning city to the south. Scorazin. You’ve heard of it?”
“The Emperor’s prison city, recently brought low.” Ahnkrit shrugged. “What of it?”
“There is a great deal of silver waiting to be dug out of it. Rich seams as yet undisclosed to any outside authority.”
The clansman’s lip curled in disdain. “My people are not miners, miss.”
“You don’t have to dig it out, just be in possession of the city when the war ends. Whatever regime holds power will be in dire need of funds and willing to negotiate, I’m sure. I also know the location of a hidden cache of silver ore, if your people require a more immediate incentive.”
“Scorazin is still burning.”
“Only the sulphur mines. Or is the Red Eagle Clan afraid of a little smoke?”
Ahnkrit’s face took on a still, expressionless aspect, his dark eyes half-lidded. She couldn’t tell if he was pondering her proposal or suffering her insult. “This People’s Freedom Army,” he said finally. “Would I be wrong in thinking that your attitude towards them is uncoloured by any radical notions?”
“You would not,” she replied. “But you would be wrong in thinking I might be enjoined to betray them.”
“I do not require your betrayal, miss, only your honesty. Give me your unbiased and unprejudiced opinion, if you would. Do you believe they will actually win?”
Lizanne’s mind traced through everything she had seen since arriving in Corvus, all the people she had met, from Hyran to the Electress. She recalled the day Scorazin fell, and what had since been dubbed the Battle of the Road when a mob of criminals and barely trained civilians had overrun the best troops in the empire. Caranis died and the great pantomime died with him, she thought. Now all that’s left is for the audience to give their verdict on the performance, and it is far from favourable.
“Yes,” she said. “I do believe they will.”
“In that case”—Ahnkrit leaned closer, smiling the brisk smile of a born trader about to strike a fine bargain—“I’ll agree to your terms. I’ll take my people off to find this silver, on the understanding that, witch or not, no corner of this earth will hide you should your words prove false. I’ll hold the smoking ruins of Scorazin until adequate compensation is paid to my clan, thereby leaving the road clear for your rebels to march on Corvus. But”—his smile became cold, his previously affable tones transforming into something entirely serious—“I require you to perform for me an additional service. And it is not a matter for negotiation.”
CHAPTER 43
Sirus
He could feel the Red’s hatred, it seemed to emanate from beneath its crimson scales like a constantly stoked fire. You want nothing more than to eat me, Sirus observed, allowing the thought to slip free of his shields. Do you?
He wasn’t entirely sure of the degree to which the lesser drakes could discern the thoughts of the White’s enslaved minions. Communication between drake and Spoiled was limited to the exchange of images, shorn of nuance or deeper understanding. He had made some tentative attempts to connect with the animals’ minds, finding the experience akin to hearing a distant echo spoken in an alien tongue. But, although a true joining of minds appeared to be impossible, the beast’s emotions were easily read. This ability Katarias at least appeared fully capable of mirroring. A shudder of revulsion ran through the Red’s huge form from end to end and it opened its jaws to cough out a thick cloud of foul-smelling, yellow smoke. The rushing air-current swiftly conveyed the noxious miasma directly into Sirus’s face, leaving him choking for several seconds as he clung to the spines on the beast’s neck.
When I free this army your death will be my delight, he thought, careful to cloud the vow in a thick covering of fear. Katarias gave another shudder, as if sensing the emotion behind the thought, a loud rumble issuing from its throat. Sirus couldn’t escape the notion that if a drake were capable of laughter, he may have just heard it.
Katarias had carried him about fifteen miles north of the Isles, describing a zigzag course across the sky until their quarry appeared beneath. Following close behind was a pack of ten more Reds, all large specimens capable of carrying heavy loads. In addition to the lone tribal Spoiled on their backs they all clutched another, bulkier cargo in each of their talons. Sirus could see the ship now, its wake a bright spear-point in the dark expanse of the ocean. Although he knew this to be a blood-burning frigate the ship moved under steam power at less than a third of its top speed.