Part 3 (2/2)
The Mordant swept his hand toward the campfires glittering like stars against the night. ”Surrounded by followers, I am constantly plagued with pet.i.tions and requests, why should I not hear yours?” He raised the goblet in salute. ”Especially given your princely gift.”
The young priest swallowed, his hands fumbling with the amber flask. ”I long to leave the border priests, to serve in the marbled halls of the Citadel.”
”An ambition as small as the man.”
The priest retreated a step, his face suddenly fearful. ”W-what do you mean, Lord?”
The Mordant called the Darkness, summoning the weight of his years. Darkness rushed to fill his gaze. He stared at the priest, drilling into his mind. Like a flock of starving vultures the Darkness struck, shredding the man's soul. The priest screamed. He fell to his knees, but he could not look away. The Mordant made it rape, taking what he wanted and then flooding the man's mind with visions of torture, the brutal death of a traitor. The priest whimpered a strangled sound, the smell of hot urine flooding the pavilion. Satisfied, the Mordant withdrew, burying the Darkness beneath a mask of youth.
Released, the priest crumpled to the ground, a puppet without strings. Drenched in sweat, the young man groveled at the Mordant's feet. ”Forgive me, Lord! I did not know!”
Guards rushed to surround the priest, their swords drawn.
The Mordant raised his hand, forestalling bloodshed. ”There is no danger, only a lesson. Sheath your swords and watch.”
The guards obeyed; steel sliding into scabbards.
Making his voice soft and soothing, he nudged the priest with his booted foot. ”Sit up. Let me see your face.”
Sobbing, the priest obeyed, his face streaked with a river of tears.
”It is always the weak who are first sent against me.”
”But they told me...”
”Shhh...” The Mordant kept his voice soothing. ”There is no need for words. All the answers are written upon your soul.”
The priest shuddered, a hint of hope in his gaze. ”Then you'll forgive me?”
”You know what you've done...and now you must atone for your sin.”
”But I did not mean to, Lord, I did not know it was truly you!”
The Mordant gestured and the priest fell silent. ”I've shown you the fate of traitors.”
The priest made a low whining noise, like an animal caught in a trap.
”I offer you a choice.”
Choking on a sob, the young man sat back on his heels, staring up at the Mordant, his face ghost-pale. ”A c-choice?”
The Mordant extended the goblet. ”Drink.”
The priest shrank back, his eyes wild.
”The cup or a traitor's death, yours to choose.”
”Is there no other way?”
The Mordant waited.
Trembling, the priest took the goblet, his face flushed with fear.
The Mordant hid his smile, the power of fear was intoxicating to behold. ”Drink it. Every drop.”
The priest stared into the cup, slowly raising it to his lips. Tipping the goblet, he drained it in one long draught. Empty, the golden goblet fell from his hands. A single drop of amber liquid gleamed like a deadly jewel on the young man's lips. Shaking, the priest sat back on his heels, staring up at the Mordant, his face as pale as death.
The Mordant settled back in the chair, savoring the entertainment. ”Now we'll see the true nature of your gift.”
He did not have long to wait. The priest groaned, bending at the waist. Wracked with sudden convulsions, he fell to his side, writhing like a snake. Arching his back, he clawed at his throat, fingernails gouging b.l.o.o.d.y rents in the pale flesh, his mouth contorted in a rictus of pain.
Drinking in the details, the Mordant felt his manhood stiffen.
The priest flopped like a landed fish, foam flecking his lips. His eyes rolled back in his head, his back bent to an impossible angle. Uttering a final strangled gasp, he fell still, the smell of death hanging in the air.
A hush settled over the pavilion.
The Mordant studied the faces of his guards, his voice calm. ”Treachery gains its just reward. Remember the lesson.”
The guards saluted, fists thumping breastplates.
The Mordant nudged the corpse with his boot. ”Return this to Bishop Tynes. Have the body stripped naked and staked in front of his tent, an offering to the ravens and a warning to traitors.”
The guards saluted, reaching for the corpse.
”And captain,” the Mordant smiled, ”bring me a clean goblet and find me a woman.”
The captain saluted, overseeing the removal of the corpse.
The Mordant leaned back in the chair, eager for the woman, hungry for release. Foiled treachery always sharpened his appet.i.tes. Power and youth made for such a heady combination. His hand worked the stiff ache at his loins, enjoying the vigor of a body in its prime. He had much to look forward to. Centuries of planning would finally come to fruition. This lifetime promised to be a glorious, full of retribution, deceit, and war.
A woman approached. Dark haired and dark eyed with a full and buxom figure, she was just the sort to quench his need. ”Drop your robe and kneel. I have much to celebrate.”
4.
Katherine Blaine's voice carried across the glade. Riding next to Danya, he regaled the dark-haired girl with tales of ancient battles. Zith rode close behind, leading the packhorse. Kath ducked behind her horse, fumbling with the saddle, her mind ablaze with thoughts of the coming night. Unable to resist, she risked a glance at Duncan.
He flashed her a secret smile. ”Tonight.”
Her face blazed like a sunset. Struggling for composure, she staked the stallion and rubbed him down with handfuls of gra.s.s. While the others settled their horses, she slipped downstream seeking privacy behind a bush. She longed for a proper bath, but a quick wash would have to do. Crouching by the stream, she pulled off her s.h.i.+rt, s.h.i.+vering against the biting-cold water. A small lump of amole root served as soap. Leaning forward, she peered into the water, trying to catch her reflection, but the rus.h.i.+ng stream held too many ripples. Her boots slipped and she nearly took the plunge. Regaining her balance, she laughed at herself. If she'd stayed in Castlegard her wedding night would have been so different. Scented baths, silken finery, and a sumptuous feast in the great hall...but the man waiting at the altar would never be of her choosing. Far better to wash by a stream and marry Duncan beneath the trees. Eager for the night, she finished and returned to the others.
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