laughed. “How can we refuse!”
Maximilian looked at Egalion. “We’ll bring four or five units of the Emerald Guard. They shall keep us safe enough, and make a splendid showing for the Lady Ishbel.”
“But to practical matters,” Vorstus said. “Who shall govern Escator in your absence?”
Maximilian looked at Vorstus. Not you. “The Privy Council of Preferred Nobles have my authority to take what decisions are necessary. I shall not be gone too many months.”
Vorstus gave a little smile and looked away. He was not surprised that Maximilian no longer trusted him.
No matter. Maximilian was doing precisely what Vorstus wanted anyway.
Over the next few days Maximilian busied himself with preparations for departure, as well as briefing the Privy Council. Maximilian was glad to be leaving Ruen. Ever since he’d had his confrontation with Vorstus he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Vorstus may have left him down in the Veins deliberately.
Why, Maximilian had no idea, which itself made him question whether he was wrong about Vorstus, but he could not stop thinking about it.
Seventeen years in such horror …
Maximilian had reconciled himself long ago to the loss of those seventeen years. He had thought he’d reconciled himself to the horror he’d endured during that time — the beatings, the constant darkness, the never-ending swing of the pick, over and over, the dust and humidity and heat, the cave-ins, the pain …
The loneliness, the sheer mental desperation, year after year after year.
He thought he’d put all that behind him. Cavor, the man who had condemned him to the mines, was long dead.
Maximilian could walk away from the nightmare.
But what if Vorstus had also been aware of the plot to keep him incarcerated? What if the man who had guided his rescue had also dictated the timing of that rescue?
What if the nightmare was only in remission, not dead ?
PAIACE OF AQHAT, TYRANNY OF ISEMBAARD
When there came a knock at the door, far earlier in the morning than usual, Axis was surprised to see Ba’al’uz waiting for him.
“Isaiah asked me to collect you today,” Ba’al’uz said, “so that we might meet with him in his private chambers at the tenth hour.”
“But that is two hours or more away,” said Axis.
“I thought perhaps you and I might put those hours to good use,” said Ba’al’uz. “For a chat, perhaps. Do you wish to come like that, or …?”
Axis looked down.
All he had on was a towel from his morning ablutions.
Axis grinned. “You caught me early,” he said. “Give me a moment.”
And but a minute later, clad more respectably in light-coloured trousers and waistcoat with sandals on his feet, Axis set off with Ba’al’uz.
“Isaiah tells me you witnessed his communication with the Lord of the Skraelings,” Ba’al’uz said without preamble as he led them along a corridor with huge, unglazed windows along one side.
“Indeed. It was most curious. I have many questions.”
“It was why I came early for you. I thought you would want to know more.”
“And you don’t mind answering?”
“I have nothing to hide from you, Axis. Isaiah has requested that I indulge your every question, and so I will.”
Axis doubted very much that Ba’al’uz had nothing to hide, but hoped that, under Isaiah’s directive, he might at least provide some answers to Axis’ more pressing questions.
“Who are you, Ba’al’uz,” Axis said. “What are you to Isaiah?”
“I am Isaiah’s maniac.”
“Yes, but what —”
“I am Isaiah’s brother,” Ba’al’uz said, grinning at the expression on Axis’ face. “His elder brother by some dozen years.”
“Then why is he tyrant, and not you?”
“Ah,” said Ba’al’uz. “Thereby hangs a tale. Please, if you will, step through here.”
Ba’al’uz indicated a doorway in the corridor, and Axis walked through into a magnificently tiled verandah commanding views over the surrounding countryside. Ten minutes walk beyond the palace flowed the emerald waters and reed-covered river banks of the Lhyl, and just beyond that, on the far bank, rose the massive pyramid of DarkGlass Mountain. It was covered in blue-green glass and surmounted by a cap of gold.
Axis thought it the most beautiful and yet, somehow, the most deadly thing he had ever seen. He had questions about that, too, but for the moment he was intrigued more by the fact that Ba’al’uz and Isaiah were brothers.
“Do you know of the manner in which a tyrant comes to the throne of Isembaard?” Ba’al’uz said, leaning on the railing and looking out over the countryside.
“No. I’d assumed that Isaiah was his father’s eldest son.”
Ba’al’uz shook his head. “Isaiah was his fathers twentieth son, and there were another eighteen after him. Thirty-eight of us, all told.”
Axis thought that with all the wives Isaiah’s father must have enjoyed, it was amazing he had so few sons. “By what process then, is the tyrant chosen?” he said.
“You know the throne of Isembaard is a warrior throne?”
“Yes, Isaiah told me as much.”
“Well, then, what better way to decide who to sit that throne than with individual combat bouts between the sons.”
Ba’al’uz turned a little so he could see Axis’ face. “To the death.”
Axis could not speak for a moment. He’d battled with his brother Borneheld for Achar, and killed him, but to do that so many times over? Isaiah had seen thirty-six of his brothers die so he could assume the throne?
“Why are you still alive?” Axis finally asked.
“Me?” Ba’al’uz assumed an effeminate pose and an arch expression. “Can you imagine me with a weapon in my hand! No …” he laughed merrily. “There is a strain of madness runs through our family, Axis. In every generation there is one son … not quite right. Strange.” He paused, then hissed, “Crazed Such sons do not battle. Instead we become our successful brother’s maniac. His
