He knew that she was his to claim.
“How long ago did Olmarg attack the Courts of Tide?” he asked.
“He was to have sailed in at dawn,” Rialla answered, “under the orders of King Anders of Crowthen.”
“But the Courts of Tide are heavily defended. Are you sure that Olmarg can take them?”
Rialla breathed heavily as Raj Ahten’s magics wreathed about her. “He was...my spies tell me that Gaborn Val Orden has fled to do battle with reavers in the Underworld, and commanded all of his warriors to come here. The coasts were left defenseless.”
“So what do you plan?” Raj Ahten asked. “Your map shows lords from the north riding to the aid Carris. Will you fight them?”
He held her hand, and Rialla Lowicker clutched his in return, not willing to let him go.
“Until I know what you and Anders are up to, I can’t decide.”
“King Anders?” Raj Ahten asked.
“He’s a slippery one—plots within plots within plots.”
“And...you don’t like him?” Raj Ahten asked.
“I was afraid to stand against Gaborn after what he did to my father. I wrote to King Anders and told him that any deals my father made died with him. In response, he sent messengers south, claiming to be the new Earth King. He says that Gaborn has lost his powers, and the Earth has called him in Gaborn’s stead.”
Raj Ahten laughed aloud. “First Anders claimed that Gaborn was no Earth King, and now he claims that Gaborn was an Earth King, but Anders is a better man still?”
“In my experience,” Rialla said, “when a man cannot choose between the lies he loves, it is because there is no truth in him. Mark my word, there is no more dangerous man in Rofehavan than King Anders.”
“I’m in Rofehavan,” Raj Ahten said, still holding her hand.
“And do you claim to be more dangerous than he?” she teased.
Passion filled her eyes now, and laughter, and lust. Raj Ahten decided that he liked this woman. Her boldness was tempered with caution, and he sensed a streak of cunning and cruelty in her.
Raj Ahten reached up with his right hand and smoothed back her drab brown hair. Rialla closed her eyes and grasped his hand, held it to her cheek.
There was nothing lovely about her, but at the moment, Raj Ahten felt an excess of wholeness. So many endowments of stamina had been vectored to him that he felt as if light and life were oozing from every pore. If he did not plant his seed in a woman soon, the desire to do so would become pure torture.
“Let the lords of the north ride into Carris,” Raj Ahten suggested. “The city is indefensible, and they will die together, leaving all of the north and west of Rofehavan vulnerable to attack. Orwynne, Fleeds, and even South Crowthen could be ours along with Mystarria and Heredon. Meanwhile, I suggest that you hold your army here and I will keep mine in the hills to the west, until after the reavers finish Carris. Thus, we will have them boxed in against the lake. Only then will we muster our armies and drive the reavers back to the Underworld.”
Raj Ahten held her eyes, and Rialla moved in closer.
“You think we could do it,” she asked, “with only three hundred thousand men between us?”
“Reavers,” Raj Ahten said, “frighten easily when their leaders are stripped from them. They become confused. And I have brought with me from Maygassa a few surprises that even the reavers have never seen before. Once I slaughter their fell mages, our men will strike fear into them.”
“What do you want out of the bargain?” she asked.
“Reaver curses have blackened the land through all of the southern kingdoms of Indhopal. My people need food to last out the winter.”
“The stores at Carris won’t be enough to do much good,” Rialla argued.
“It will be enough to ensure that the strong and the cunning survive,” Raj Ahten said. “The rest can starve.
“Beyond this,” he continued, “I’ll need Dedicates to grant me endowments. Any lords that I capture in Rofehavan will become mine, spoils of war.”
“And what do you offer in return, if I grant your request?” Rialla asked.
“In a year’s time I will rule as king of all Rofehavan, and you shall rule beside me as my queen.”
Rialla was breathing hard. Now she stepped back, and though her lust had nearly overpowered her, her face took on a calculating look. Indeed, Raj Ahten realized that she had been playing him as much as he played her. He had just revealed his heart to her. Now she revealed her heart to him. “You have many wives in your harem. If I’m to rule at your side, there must be only one.”
Raj Ahten liked her pluck. “They are not wives, merely baubles, toys. I had but one wife, and Gaborn took her from me as surely as he took your father from you.”
“If your wives mean nothing to you,” Rialla said, “kill them for me.”
Fire whispered within him, “Yes, let her have them. Thus will I make her mine.”
“Better than that,” Raj Ahten said, “I will give you a knife, and let you kill them yourself.”
He waited to see if she would flinch or back away from the deed. Instead, Rialla Lowicker, the future Queen of Rofehavan grabbed by him the throat and pushed him to the floor as she struggled to tear off his clothes.
Shortly after dawn, a bloody sun rose over Deyazz. The roosters crowed loudly in the streets of Ghusa, as if they were seeing the sun for the very first time.
Raj Ahten’s facilitator Turaush Kasill trudged down the streets of the city, until he found an old ramshackle hut behind the brickyard. The hut was a lean-to made of sticks angled against an ancient stone wall. Hides atop the sticks served as a roof to keep out the rain and the noonday sun.
The smoldering ashes of a campfire still burned before the hut. The smell of human waste was everywhere. Turaush wrinkled his nose in disgust, and clapped his hands twice.
“Balimar?” he called. “Balimar Mahaddim?”
A young man quickly thrust his head out from behind a hide flap of the lean-to. His eyes were red, as if he had been weeping or had lain awake sleepless the whole night.
Surely he had been searching for his little sister and brother, the beggars from the market. Now, worn from a lack of sleep, his wits would be dull. At least, Turaush hoped that they would.
“Yes?” the boy asked. “You called”—he glanced at Turaush’s fine robes and lowered his eyes in respect—“O Great Kaif?”
“I called,” Turaush said. “Your little sister and brother were found begging for food in the markets last night.”
“You know where they are?” Balimar asked with a tone of relief.
“I do,” Turaush answered. “Would you like to see them?”
The boy Balimar pushed himself out from under the flaps of his lean-to, and grabbed onto the wall for support. Turaush could see the white weal of a scar on his hip, and the boy’s leg was still bandaged, but he looked to be mostly healed. He had a brawny build, with a thick neck and strong biceps, but his eyes showed no intelligence. He was a facilitator’s dream—brawn, stamina, perhaps even grace. Such a young man had a wealth of possibilities.
“Where are they?” the boy asked suspiciously.
“They sold themselves for food,” Turaush said.
“As slaves?” the boy asked, his voice thick with disbelief.
“As Dedicates,” Turaush said. “They now serve our lord Raj Ahten.” Turaush put all the power of his voice into this last, hinting by his tone that theirs was a noble service, something to be desired.
“I...” the boy’s voice faltered. Words failed him. “I’ve never met the man,” he apologized.
“He is a great lord,” Turaush said, “the greatest who ever lived. Not two days ago, they say he slew a great reaver in Kartish, the Lord of the Underworld. And even now he rides to defend our realm from the evil kings of Rofehavan. You should be proud of your brother and sister. They render a great service to our lord.”