Read Online Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) by David Hair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Hair
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controlling Lassaigne’s body. But Rutt was nothing if not loyal, clinging tenaciously to his ‘life’ so he could continue to serve Gurvon. At least Lassaigne was a pure-blood, as Rutt had been before losing his body.
Worryingly, in the way of pets coming to resemble their masters, Lassaigne’s body now bore a real resemblance to the original Sordell: the once toned, healthy-looking courtier was now florid, anxious and flabby. And he was drinking far too much.
‘Gurv, it wasn’t Marklyn’s fault,’ the Hollenian snapped, protective of his man – once he wasn’t around to hear.
‘Then is it your fault, Endus?’ Gurvon shouted. ‘If you hadn’t been spending all day screwing Jhafi whores, maybe you’d have been able to brief them better? Or maybe you’d have even been there!’
Rykjard’s affable face hardened. ‘Don’t you tell me how to run my lads! Marklyn and Jesset knew their business. But an Inquisition ship, Gurv? Who knew—? Did you?’
‘Of course not!’ Gurvon snarled. He hurled the crushed goblet into the corner of the room, and was abruptly thirsty again. ‘ Shit! I wanted Elena locked up in that damned fort! I wanted her contained !’
Rutt raised a cautious hand. ‘We’ve only got eight more skiffs – there’s no way we could have stopped a warbird, Gurvon. And those snakemen . . . well, you know what they can do.’
Gyle shuddered. These impossible creatures Elena had somehow magicked up had not just ambushed a full maniple of Rykjard’s men, but killed them all – every single soldier: five hundred men!
He seldom lost his temper, but he could feel himself fraying at the edges as the stakes rose. With an effort he cooled down. ‘I’m sorry, Endus. I misspoke. Marklyn did well to get out alive. Tell him I said so.’
‘It’s hard to nail Elena down,’ Endus said. ‘You know that better than anyone.’
Meaning that I was nailing her for twenty years and still couldn’t control her . ‘I do,’ he conceded. ‘I presume she’ll make for Forensa.’
‘We can’t stop her,’ Rutt put in, ‘but perhaps others can? Betillon has a few warbirds in Brochena.’
Gurvon grimaced at the mention of the Governor of Hebusalim. While he’d been Elena’s prisoner Mater-Imperia Lucia had lost confidence in him and sent Tomas Betillon to Javon to fix things. Yes, the Crusade depended upon supplies from Javon, so he could just about understand Lucia’s concerns. But Gurvon had little reason to love Betillon: they’d been on opposite sides of the Noros Revolt twenty years ago and seeking his help tasted bad. But Rutt’s idea had some merit.
‘We’ll give it a try, I suppose. If he can intercept that damned warbird and bring it down, so much the better. We can’t afford a three-way conflict.’
‘Sure, but what next?’ Endus asked. ‘The rest of my legion are marching up from Baroz; they’ll get here in a few days. Do we still plan on taking that hill fort, what’s it called – the Kiss-my-cock?’
‘Kiskale,’ Rutt replied, prissy as ever. ‘We should teach that emir a lesson at the very least,’ he added. He’d been in Lybis when the emir had revolted, and he took such things personally.
‘Pointless. The emir can keep his Kore-forsaken hole for all I care.’ Gurvon got up and went to the map, unrolled on the table and weighted down by a selection of priceless goblets and decanters. He poured more wine and poked the map. ‘Betillon is in Brochena with a legion of Kirkegarde, and presumably now controls the Dorobon legions, some fifteen thousand men. We’ve got twenty-five: Adi’s legion at the Krak, your lot in Baroz, Staria with her ten thousand at the Rift Forts and Hans Frikter’s legion near Riban. Plus we can bring the Gorgio legions down from Hytel, provided they don’t throw in with Betillon.’
Rutt blinked owlishly. ‘Haven’t I told you? I scryed Hytel last night: the Gorgio family are falling apart: Alfredo’s bastards are at war with
Worryingly, in the way of pets coming to resemble their masters, Lassaigne’s body now bore a real resemblance to the original Sordell: the once toned, healthy-looking courtier was now florid, anxious and flabby. And he was drinking far too much.
‘Gurv, it wasn’t Marklyn’s fault,’ the Hollenian snapped, protective of his man – once he wasn’t around to hear.
‘Then is it your fault, Endus?’ Gurvon shouted. ‘If you hadn’t been spending all day screwing Jhafi whores, maybe you’d have been able to brief them better? Or maybe you’d have even been there!’
Rykjard’s affable face hardened. ‘Don’t you tell me how to run my lads! Marklyn and Jesset knew their business. But an Inquisition ship, Gurv? Who knew—? Did you?’
‘Of course not!’ Gurvon snarled. He hurled the crushed goblet into the corner of the room, and was abruptly thirsty again. ‘ Shit! I wanted Elena locked up in that damned fort! I wanted her contained !’
Rutt raised a cautious hand. ‘We’ve only got eight more skiffs – there’s no way we could have stopped a warbird, Gurvon. And those snakemen . . . well, you know what they can do.’
Gyle shuddered. These impossible creatures Elena had somehow magicked up had not just ambushed a full maniple of Rykjard’s men, but killed them all – every single soldier: five hundred men!
He seldom lost his temper, but he could feel himself fraying at the edges as the stakes rose. With an effort he cooled down. ‘I’m sorry, Endus. I misspoke. Marklyn did well to get out alive. Tell him I said so.’
‘It’s hard to nail Elena down,’ Endus said. ‘You know that better than anyone.’
Meaning that I was nailing her for twenty years and still couldn’t control her . ‘I do,’ he conceded. ‘I presume she’ll make for Forensa.’
‘We can’t stop her,’ Rutt put in, ‘but perhaps others can? Betillon has a few warbirds in Brochena.’
Gurvon grimaced at the mention of the Governor of Hebusalim. While he’d been Elena’s prisoner Mater-Imperia Lucia had lost confidence in him and sent Tomas Betillon to Javon to fix things. Yes, the Crusade depended upon supplies from Javon, so he could just about understand Lucia’s concerns. But Gurvon had little reason to love Betillon: they’d been on opposite sides of the Noros Revolt twenty years ago and seeking his help tasted bad. But Rutt’s idea had some merit.
‘We’ll give it a try, I suppose. If he can intercept that damned warbird and bring it down, so much the better. We can’t afford a three-way conflict.’
‘Sure, but what next?’ Endus asked. ‘The rest of my legion are marching up from Baroz; they’ll get here in a few days. Do we still plan on taking that hill fort, what’s it called – the Kiss-my-cock?’
‘Kiskale,’ Rutt replied, prissy as ever. ‘We should teach that emir a lesson at the very least,’ he added. He’d been in Lybis when the emir had revolted, and he took such things personally.
‘Pointless. The emir can keep his Kore-forsaken hole for all I care.’ Gurvon got up and went to the map, unrolled on the table and weighted down by a selection of priceless goblets and decanters. He poured more wine and poked the map. ‘Betillon is in Brochena with a legion of Kirkegarde, and presumably now controls the Dorobon legions, some fifteen thousand men. We’ve got twenty-five: Adi’s legion at the Krak, your lot in Baroz, Staria with her ten thousand at the Rift Forts and Hans Frikter’s legion near Riban. Plus we can bring the Gorgio legions down from Hytel, provided they don’t throw in with Betillon.’
Rutt blinked owlishly. ‘Haven’t I told you? I scryed Hytel last night: the Gorgio family are falling apart: Alfredo’s bastards are at war with
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