The Gathering Storm
Page 35

“What answer do you make to these accusations?” he asked, struggling to keep contempt out of his tone. It was remarkably easy to believe that Zacharias had done these vile things. The frater never acted like a real man. Whatever drove him—and he wasn’t without courage—he so often faltered, recoiled, and hid. Nor had he ever truly become a full member of Sanglant’s court. He loitered on the fringe, not quite accepted, never able to push himself forward to join with the others.
To the prince’s surprise, the frater wept frustrated tears. “All true,” he gasped. “And worse.” His expression was so bleak that pity swelled in Sanglant’s heart. “I’m sorry, Hathui. Scorn me if you must—”
“Sorry for having been a slave for seven years to this monster?” She dropped Zacharias’ arm, took three steps forward, and spat into Bulkezu’s face. The Quman chieftain flinched back from her anger, surprised rather than scared. “I will lay my case before the prince and demand full recompense. And for the crimes you committed against my brother as well.” She did not wait for his response. “Come, Zacharias. It was foolish of you to come down here, but I suppose you were afraid that I would turn away from you if I knew the truth.” Her anger hadn’t subsided; it spilled out to wash over her hapless brother. “I would never turn away from you. What a man suffers when he is a prisoner and a slave, under duress, cannot be held against him. Come now, let’s get out of this stinking pit.”
Zacharias croaked out her name, broken and pathetic, but he followed her obediently up the ladder. Malbert’s face appeared.
“My lord prince?”
“I’m coming,” said Sanglant, turning to pick up the two halves of the spear.
Bulkezu wasn’t finished. “She wore the badge of an Eagle. Are all the king’s Eagles also his whores?”
“A weak thrust, Prince Bulkezu, and unworthy of you.” He set a foot on the lowest rung, stretched, and handed the broken spear to Malbert, then passed up the sword as well.
Bulkezu’s lips had a way of quivering, almost a twitch, that Sanglant had learned to recognize as a prelude to his worst rages. “What weapons do you give me?” he asked in that voice, as soft as feathers but poisoned at its heart.
“I’ll give you a spear, as I promised, once you have guided me to the hunting grounds of the griffins. On that day you’ll go free—”
“And until that day? You’d have done better to kill me if you’re so afraid of me that you must shackle me, as a dog must a lion. At least Zach’rias is an honest worm. You call yourself a man but you act like a dog, slinking and cowering.”
Sanglant laughed. That surge of restlessness that had driven him from Ilona’s bed swept back twice as strong. For two years they’d made their slow and circuitous way eastward, delayed by blizzards, snow, high water, rains, and bouts of illness in the troops and the horses. He had never seen as much rain and snow as he had in the year and a half since the battle at the Veser. Rain had drenched the land, causing floods and mildew in the grain, and snow had buried it for two winters running, as if God were punishing them for their sins.
But God’s hand alone had not caused all their troubles. They had also been delayed by the necessity of making nice to King Geza, whose lands they had to cross. He didn’t like Geza nearly as much as he’d liked Bayan, and Sapientia’s presence was a rankling sore, a constant source of frustration.
Or perhaps it had just been too long since he’d had a good fight.
“Malbert!”
“Yes, my lord prince.”
“Throw me down the key and pull up the ladder.”
“My lord!”
“The key!”
Cursing under his breath, Malbert hauled up the ladder through the trapdoor, then threw down the key, which Sanglant caught in his left hand. Bulkezu did not move as Sanglant unlocked his wrists and tossed the key to the wall, but he struck first, still quick after months of being chained. Sanglant ducked the blow. Catching wrist and arm, he drove his foe headfirst against the stone wall. Staggered, Bulkezu dropped to his knees, only to dive for Sanglant’s legs. They went down together, rolling and punching, until Bulkezu sat for an instant atop Sanglant’s chest. Bulkezu’s hands closed on his throat, but he twisted out of the choking grip, flipped the Quman over, and sprang back to his feet, laughing breathlessly, flushed, his heart pounding in a most gratifying manner as he allowed Bulkezu to crawl back to his feet in grim silence.
Above, the lantern rocked as men crowded around the trapdoor to stare down. He heard their whispers as they laid wagers on how many blows it would take their prince to lay the prisoner out flat.