Valaran had brought him the unwelcome news of Caergoth’s fall to Tol and the landed hordes. Ackal V cursed Wornoth in between gulps of wine, damning the governor for his lack of backbone. For squeezing taxes from peasants and keeping the high-nosed residents of Caergoth in line Wornoth was adequate, but faced with real opposition, he wilted instantly.
“How was it done?” he asked.
Valaran replied, “Accounts differ, sire, but it seems some or all of the Caergoth garrison went willingly over to the other side.”
“I want their names, all of them! Their families will suffer for this treachery!”
Valaran nodded, but vowed to herself that none of the families would face the emperor’s vengeance.
The emperor asked about troop strength. “According to my spies, he has twenty to thirty hordes,” she replied. “If every man in the Caergoth garrison joins him, he will have fifty-four hordes.”
In fact, the information she had received by messenger pigeon that evening gave the total figure of forty-four hordes. Valaran exaggerated for Tol’s benefit.
Ackal flung the empty cup at the wine steward. The man wasn’t nimble enough and failed to catch the heavy golden vessel. It clanged loudly on the tiles. The steward cringed, knowing he’d just earned a flogging.
“Even if he had a hundred fifty hordes, he couldn’t break into Daltigoth!” Ackal V declared.
Their conversation was interrupted by Prince Dalar. He suddenly began hammering away at the ranks of toy soldiers with a brass rod. Red and gray riders alike went down under his blows, some of the figures splintering.
He’d never been violent with his toys before, and his mother spoke sharply to him. Ackal V laughed.
. “That’s the way, boy,” he said. “In ten years you can do that to real enemies!”
Valaran stood abruptly. “Is that all you require, Majesty?”
“Yes, go. And send Tathman to me.”
She wanted Dalar to come with her, but Ackal V told her to leave the boy where he was.
“I’ll not have the crown prince subjected to the company of that vile mercenary!” Valaran said.
“That vile mercenary is utterly loyal-unlike you, lady.”
She protested, but he stepped closer and took her chin a painful grip. “I know you would like nothing better than to see me dead, and the pig farmer standing here in my place,” he murmured. “You can consign that dream to the vale of night. It’s the farmer who’ll be dead, and that handy trinket he carries will be mine. As you are, lady. Forever.”
She pulled free of him, eyes flashing in anger, then the import of his words sank in. He knew about the Irda millstone? How could that be? How long had he known? Awful thoughts formed in her mind. Was it possible he had known of her plot to bring Tol to Daltigoth, but had done nothing to interfere, just so he could get his hands on the nullstone?
He laughed and kicked Dalar lightly on the rump. “Go with your mother, boy,” he said. “Tathman may not have eaten yet and I’d hate to see him dine on you!”
The five-year-old scampered after his mother, sending toy soldiers skittering over the tiles.
In the corridor outside, several lackeys awaited the emperor’s pleasure. Valaran gestured to one, a lower chamberlain named Fudosh. She relayed the emperor’s summons of the Wolf captain. Fudosh paled, but bowed and hurried to find Tathman.
When Tathman arrived, the emperor was seated at a stone table in his bath chamber, his head resting on his folded arms. His youngest wife, Lady Halie, was anointing his many bruises with a soothing unguent. She could apply the balm as well as a healer, and was far prettier than any acolyte of Mishas.
Ackal V did not look up until Tathman cleared his throat. Coming from a man his size, the sound was like a panther growling.
“Captain,” the emperor said without moving. “Farmer Tol is in Caergoth.”
“Shall I go there and kill him?”
Ackal’s shoulders shook with mirth. “That’s the spirit! No, that won’t he necessary. He’s coming here-with forty thousand warriors.”
The leader of the Wolves regarded his master stolidly. “Better to kill him far away,” he rumbled.
Ackal V glanced at his young wife. Halie knew Tolandruth only as a name. She wouldn’t betray her husband.
He said, “I want this army of traitors to come as close to Daltigoth as they dare. I want them to think success is in their grasp. Then, and only then, I want the farmer captured and brought before me. I will make such a lesson of him that all those country lords will take up priest’s robes!”
Tathman bowed his head, the long braid of his hair falling forward. “Your Majesty is most wise.”
“When the time comes, I may ask you to do things you won’t like,” Ackal V warned.
“If Your Majesty commands, I will pluck out an eye and eat it.”
This declaration, spoken with such conviction, made young Halie pause in her labors. The emperor shrugged his shoulders, signaling her to continue.
“Patience, Tathman. Your time approaches. The prospect of facing the legendary Lord Tol worries you?”
The question was a half-joking one, but Tathman’s reply was deadly serious. “No, Majesty. He bleeds like any man.”
The emperor smiled. Yes, he did bleed. Ackal V had seen Tol bleed. It was a memory he relished.
He ordered the Wolves back to the Inner City to receive instructions, training, and new equipment. When he explained his idea, Captain Tathman finally showed surprise.
“Objections?” asked the emperor.
“No, Majesty.”
Once Tathman had withdrawn, Halie paused her ministrations to renew the balm on her hands.
“Is Your Majesty in danger?” she asked diffidently.
“No.” Ackal put his head down again on his folded arms.
“But if you speak of what you’ve heard here, I’d have to cut off your head.”
His young consort smoothed the white unguent across his hare shoulders.
“I would never speak of it, sire. Better my tongue should be cut out!”
Now there was a possibility, Ackal mused. And Valaran liked to believe she was the smartest of his wives.
Chapter 23
The cells beneath the gray citadel of Caergoth were much like the city itself-wide, light, and surprisingly clean. Everything about them was double the norm: the width of the central corridor, the size of the cells, the height of the ceiling. The walls also were twice as thick as usual. Tol and Egrin walked down the central passage, looking at the open, empty cells. Wornoth had sent all the prisoners to the big cages erected in the city’s main square to make room for extra soldiers and supplies for the citadel. With the overthrow of the governor, the dungeon was empty. An unnatural quiet had settled over the place. Only a few of the candles in the wall sconces were lit, so Tol carried a lantern.
The four levels of the dungeon held only a solitary occupant. No guard stood at the massive bronze-plated door to the prisoner’s cell, as the dungeon itself was considered proof against escape. Tol leaned into the deep doorway and rapped on the door to announce their entry. Once Egrin had thrown the heavy bolt and pulled the door open, Tol thrust his lantern into the grayness beyond.
It was a large room for a single prisoner, illuminated by a single candle. Cut into the far wall was a stone niche designed for a bedroll. Here, former governor Wornoth sat slumped. He did not look up as they entered.
“If you’ve come to assassinate me, I curse you both!” he said hoarsely, sniveling into the sleeve of his dirty robe.
Egrin grimaced in disgust. “Sit up, man,” he said. “Show some dignity!”
“We’re not here to slay you,” Tol said. “We’ve come to tell you about your trial.” Wornoth lifted his pale face, blinking in surprise. “You will be judged by a jury of nine warriors, chosen by lot.”
Such a procedure was unknown in Ergoth, where justice was dispensed from on high by imperial officials. At the pinnacle was the emperor, whose utterances were law. The marshals enforced this law, ruling over provinces known as “hundreds”-a term that had once referred to the number of warlords serving the marshal, but was now merely a geographical term. Each marshal was attended by wardens, whose number in each hundred varied according to the strength of the population. The Eastern Hundred, Tol’s homeland, had one warden. Caergoth had four.