One day I will kill you, he thought, wishing he could voice the words. For everything you’ve done, everything you’re going to do and for everything you will make me do. I will kill you.
The dressmaker recommended an inn near the market square where they rented two rooms, her new role requiring the appearance of propriety. He had hoped this might give him some respite but she used him again before dismissing him, straddling his naked form on the bed, sweat sheening her skin as she took the pleasure she wanted. When it was done she collapsed against him, breath hot on his cheek, fingers teasing the hair on his chest, making him put his arms around her. She always did this, creating the tableaux of contented lovers, perhaps she even believed it.
“When this is done,” she breathed, “I’ll have you give me a child.” She nuzzled his neck, kissing, caressing. “Our blood will produce the most beautiful offspring, don’t you think? In three centuries I’ve not found a man worthy of the honour. And now I find him in you, a slave from a soon-to-be-conquered land. How strange the world is.”
Morning saw them on the road again, riding now, the woman having spent another gold on two horses, a dappled grey mare for herself and a russet-coloured stallion for her bodyguard. They were sturdy enough animals and docile of nature, making him pine for his old warhorse. Master Rensial had chosen the stallion for him, black from head to tail save for a flash of white on his forehead. “Loyal but spirited,” the mad master had said handing him the reins. Frentis had named him Sabre and in time came to understand he was probably the finest mount ever ridden by a brother of the Sixth Order, an obvious sign of Rensial’s favour. He had last seen Sabre in the stables at the Governor’s mansion in Untesh, treating him to a final grooming before going to take his place on the wall, fully expecting death to come within the hour. Where is he now? he wondered. Taken as booty by some Alpiran highborn, probably. Hope he gave him a good life.
They rode north for another week, sleeping in the many way-stations to be found on this road. It was a poor thing in comparison to the Volarian wonder stretching away from Mirtesk, just a loose gravel track raising dust every time they spurred to a canter. They saw numerous soldiers on the road, all heading south in well-ordered but dusty columns. The basic kit of the Alpiran infantryman hadn’t changed since Frentis last faced them in battle, mail shirts reaching down to the knee, a conical helm and a seven-foot spear resting on every shoulder. He recognised these as regulars, with plenty of veterans in the ranks, judging from the scars and age visible on some dusty faces. The Alpirans may not have fortified the bank but the Emperor was clearly diligent in ensuring the security of this province.
“Were they good soldiers?” the woman asked. They had dismounted by the side of the road to allow a column to pass by, a cohort of about a thousand men marching under a green banner emblazoned with a red star. “The Alpirans, did they fight well in that little war of yours?”
The insistent throb of the binding told him she expected an answer. “It was their land,” he said. “They fought for it. And they won.”
“But I expect you killed quite a few in the process, yes?”
The binding continued to throb. The battle of the dunes, the arrows loosed at the Bloody Hill, the frantic struggle on the wall . . . “Yes.”
“No guilty feelings, my love? All those sons and fathers taken by your sword for the crime of defending their own land? No twinges of conscience?”
At Untesh he had cut down an Alpiran officer with a slash to the leg as he clambered over the wall. After the assault had been repulsed a Realm Guard healer bent down to staunch the wound and received a dagger through the neck as a reward. The officer was still spitting hatred at them as a half-dozen pole-axes pinned him to the stones. “It was war,” he told the woman.
The throb abated and she remounted as the last of the Alpiran column trooped by. “Well, now you have another,” she said. “Except this time you get to win.”
The evening of the seventh day on the road brought them within sight of a port city and the shimmering blue of an ocean beyond. “Hervellis,” the woman said. “Provincial capital of Atethia and home to the first name on our list, an old friend in fact. I’m very keen for you to meet him.”
The architecture of Hervellis bore some similarities to the winding streets and tree-garnered squares of Linesh and Untesh, but held considerably more grandeur. They passed several temples as they made their way from the gate towards the main square, impressive marble buildings of pillars and relief carvings, each festooned with numerous statues to the uncountable gods of the empire. The woman maintained an affable mask as they trotted through the streets, but he could see contempt in her eyes as she surveyed the temples. I pity them their delusion, he thought. But she hates them for it.
They took rooms in a boardinghouse on the north side of the square, more expensive than the others but also considerably more comfortable. She didn’t use him this night, instead telling him to get some rest, taking the pack and going to her room. He lay on the voluminous bed until darkness, unable to sleep despite the luxuriant softness that engulfed him. She’ll make me kill tonight.
The binding flared a few hours later and he went to her room, finding her dressed in black silk from head to toe, hair tied back from her face into a tight bun. She wore a dagger on each forearm and a short sword on her back. She nodded at the weapons set out on the bed alongside a silk shirt and trews, black like her own.
“Make no mistake, my love,” she said, smearing coal dust on her face. “You are unlikely to meet a being more vile and dangerous as the man you’ll meet tonight. I can afford no more nostalgia.”
The binding flared, the pain severe but just below the level when it became unbearable. Her control was absolute now, forbidding any hesitation or even thought. She would will it and he would act. He was completely her creature.
She went to the window, pushing open the blinds and clambering out onto the rooftop. She lingered, surveying the street below then ran along the tiles to leap to the rooftop opposite. He followed as she continued to make her way across the city from roof to roof, wall to wall, in a tireless display of athleticism that would have earned his grudging admiration, although the continuous flare of the binding left him incapable of any such feeling.
She led him north, away from the dense streets clustered around the main square, to the broader avenues near the docks. She stopped atop a wall overlooking a square where a small temple sat surrounded by trees. The temple was a rectangle of pillars supporting a flat-topped pyramidal roof crowned with a statue of a woman, her face hidden in her marble cowl. Unlike the other temples Frentis had seen this one was guarded, two armoured men with spears flanking the entrance. The door was closed but outlined by the glow of a fire within.
The woman rose, sprinting along the wall to launch herself into the nearest tree, catching a branch and hauling herself up with barely a leaf falling as she did so. He watched her crawl along the underside of the branch then drop onto the roof of the temple. Had the binding left any room for consideration, he would have concluded this was a feat he couldn’t match, despite all his training and years in the pits. But her will left no room for doubt and he followed without demur, running, leaping, catching the branch and crawling to the roof all as if he had done it a thousand times before.