Chapter Fifteen
“I win… and guess what? You lose.” Blaise’s voice held that excited, joyful lilt that always left Durg itching to slap him.
The effect it had on the Raiyis of House Vayawand could only be guessed at, for L’gura had himself well in hand. The strain of the past weeks had written their passing on his face. Where once he had been gaunt, the face was now skull-like, but Durg had to admire the force of will that kept the prince erect and serene even as he faced his executioners.
There was no hope of escape, and L’gura knew it. Those most loyal to him had long since been jumped and then killed or discredited by Blaise. The guards observing the tableau would not embrace death on behalf of this wounded wolf.
No blame could attach to the Raiyis for not suspecting, understanding, or knowing how to counter Blaise’s powers. The fatal error had been basing their test of wills on Blaise’s oratorical skills. L’gura should have selected a Takisian forum in which the native could excel. Instead the Raiyis had allowed Blaise (coached carefully by Durg) to goad him into a public debate and to make the throne the prize to be won.
Demagogue, thought Durg dreamily. It was a word without equivalent in Takisian, and Blaise had used this alien power to exhort and thrill until the members of House Vayawand were roaring their support and enthusiasm. A few hot and gusting words, and they fancied themselves the rulers of Takis. The decision of the House was plain — they wanted Blaise to lead them to this new order. But it would be Durg who would translate words into reality.
“You’re an excellent argument for the wisdom of a controlled breeding program,” said L’gura conversationally.
A flush blossomed in the boy’s cheeks, and Durg held his breath. The internal struggle was obvious. Reason conquered anger, and Blaise shrugged. “My dear old granddaddy used to say that one healthy outcross was worth a thousand line-bred fools. For once he was right about something.”
L’gura scanned the nobles arrayed around his desk. “You are all quite determined on this?”
Elidan nodded. “The Raiyis sighed and leaned back. “It can be painless,” Elidan said.
“No, I’d rather have it messy.” The sharp gray eyes were turned to Blaise. “You should have to clean up the chair.”
Durg moved, but he was too late to stop the flick of the forefinger across a seam on the arm of the chair. The wingback detonated, exploding L’gura’s head. Fragments, both organic and inorganic, pattered across their faces like a disgusting warm rain. The body collapsed forward, the ruined head continuing to bleed onto the surface of the desk.
With a jerk of his head Blaise indicated to Durg. The Morakh crossed to the chair and threw aside the body. Blaise followed and, swinging out the chair, seated himself. The Vayawand nobles watched in horrified fascination as blood and brains smeared into the boy’s dark red hair.
“Impressive, half-breed. But your mistake was assuming I would allow a mongrel like you to rule the House Vayawand,” Elidan said.
“I never assume anything, Elidan,” Blaise replied.
Several things happened very quickly. Blaise slumped, almost losing consciousness. Elidan grabbed the crystal wine goblet on the desk and shattered it. Durg signaled the guards, whose loyalty had been carefully purchased days before, and they, together with Durg, held the other nobles at gunpoint while Elidan proceeded to cut his throat with a jagged piece of glass.
Blaise was screaming. “No, no! He’s killing me! Ancestors, save me!”
When the windpipe was severed, Blaise again slumped, gripped the arms of the chair to still the shaking of his hands, and watched as Elidan choked and bubbled on the floor before him. A few more seconds and it was over. The shaken nobility of the House Vayawand eyed their creation, and Sekal slowly bowed to Blaise.
“Raiyis.”
Blaise accepted their homage with appropriate grace. Durg was relieved — it would have been so like the young monster to gloat. The men filed silently out of the office, and Blaise held out a hand to Durg. The Morakh assisted him to his feet.
“The hardest thing is enduring the pain… concentrating through it to time the return jump,” said Blaise as he shoved a toe under Elidan’s body and rolled him over. The neck wound yawned up at Durg like a ragged, toothless grin.
Blaise suddenly lifted hooded lids and gave Durg the full force of those strange dark eyes. “My dear pet,” he said using the Vayawand diminishing word for a Morakh. “You haven’t given me proper obeisance yet.”
It startled Durg. His entire focus had been directed toward making Blaise Raiyis of House Vayawand. Having succeeded, it hadn’t occurred to him the boy would take it seriously. A lack of imagination was a terrible impediment to a Svengali, Durg thought as he felt, like the briefest lick of a whip, the touch of Blaise’s coercive mind control.
Durg hurried to his knees and noted that the pleasure in his victory had gone sour.