Read Online Tower & Knife 03 - The Tower Broken by Mazarkis Williams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mazarkis Williams
Ads: Link
her dead. Govnan had grieved for her as for a daughter – and yet, here she was, her white robes tied with a gleaming blue sash, approaching the Petal Throne. She was younger than Mesema had expected, and short, her head coming only to the captain’s shoulder. Her eyes contained the brightness of the sky, and she did not focus on anything in the room but rather, seemed to look through it all into a world beyond.
Mesema was so intent on the mage that she noticed the prisoner only when the captain pushed him to the floor. His hands were tied behind his back and when he landed on one knee, the other leg pushed out awkwardly to his side. A burlap sack hid his face and draped over his sun-cracked leather jacket.
The mage and soldier came forth to make their obeisances. A grin danced over the captain’s lips. He must have known this was a great opportunity.
‘Rise, and speak,’ said Sarmin. Only his fingers, pressed into the petals on his armrests, betrayed his fierce interest.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the captain, ‘I have recovered the mage Mura and captured the man who held her.’
‘Where did this blessed event occur?’ asked Azeem, dislike heavy in his voice. Azeem valued humility over many other virtues.
‘He was attempting to sneak into the city, Grand Vizier.’ With a wide smile Yulo returned to his captive. ‘It is the traitor, Majesty,’ he said, untying the sack. ‘The horse chief who betrayed us.’ As he lifted the man’s head, Mesema saw a pointed chin, a scraggly beard, two eyes green as grass, and then a shock of golden curls. She took a step forwards and stopped herself. She must control her face and her beating heart, for it was Banreh on his knees before her.
9
Sarmin
Sarmin settled onto the throne in the private audience chamber. Removing the Windreader chief from the commotion of the throne room had been the only choice, but the council was seething at being refused immediate vengeance. ‘Let us kill him now, Magnificence,’ General Lurish had said, his sword out, and Dinar had crept behind the chief, a terrible grin on his face, as if he meant to claim his prize at once. But as much as Sarmin had loved his brother, this was not Beyon’s court; he would not allow open violence. This had furthered the rift between himself and High Priest Dinar, but that was a matter for another day.
He signalled his sword-sons and they opened the doors. In spilled the smug Captain Yulo dragging the Felt captive, the wind-sworn mage, Azeem, the Empire Mother and finally, Mesema. Of course his wife would not stay away, but for the first time he was tempted to dismiss her.
Sarmin turned his attention to Yulo. ‘You will be rewarded,’ he said. ‘And you are dismissed.’ He could stand no more of this peacock captain.
Yulo’s mouth opened as if about to protest – he had expected to be allowed to tell his story, to receive public accolades. But he thought better of speaking and bowed low before retreating from the room.
Sarmin took a deep breath and watched the Felting man, the man who had taught Mesema to speak Cerani, who had won her heart, the crippled scribe who had humiliated the White Hat Army of Cerana. Chief Banreh met his gaze, horse-chief to emperor. The books called the Felt barbarians, there to serve the empire or be wiped out by it, and of little importance otherwise. But Mesema was important, and this man refused to be trivial either. Sarmin could not deny his curiosity.
Azeem leaned close. ‘I have called for Govnan, Magnificence.’
Sarmin did not reply. His eyes locked with the prisoner’s. At last he shifted his attention to Mura. ‘When last we heard of you, you were in Fryth. Could you not speak on the wind and tell us of your situation?’
Mura turned her face his way, showing blue eyes over high cheekbones. Her robes lifted around her as if blown. ‘I could not, Majesty. I was prevented.’
‘This man prevented a mage of the Tower from speaking on the wind?’ Sarmin
Mesema was so intent on the mage that she noticed the prisoner only when the captain pushed him to the floor. His hands were tied behind his back and when he landed on one knee, the other leg pushed out awkwardly to his side. A burlap sack hid his face and draped over his sun-cracked leather jacket.
The mage and soldier came forth to make their obeisances. A grin danced over the captain’s lips. He must have known this was a great opportunity.
‘Rise, and speak,’ said Sarmin. Only his fingers, pressed into the petals on his armrests, betrayed his fierce interest.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the captain, ‘I have recovered the mage Mura and captured the man who held her.’
‘Where did this blessed event occur?’ asked Azeem, dislike heavy in his voice. Azeem valued humility over many other virtues.
‘He was attempting to sneak into the city, Grand Vizier.’ With a wide smile Yulo returned to his captive. ‘It is the traitor, Majesty,’ he said, untying the sack. ‘The horse chief who betrayed us.’ As he lifted the man’s head, Mesema saw a pointed chin, a scraggly beard, two eyes green as grass, and then a shock of golden curls. She took a step forwards and stopped herself. She must control her face and her beating heart, for it was Banreh on his knees before her.
9
Sarmin
Sarmin settled onto the throne in the private audience chamber. Removing the Windreader chief from the commotion of the throne room had been the only choice, but the council was seething at being refused immediate vengeance. ‘Let us kill him now, Magnificence,’ General Lurish had said, his sword out, and Dinar had crept behind the chief, a terrible grin on his face, as if he meant to claim his prize at once. But as much as Sarmin had loved his brother, this was not Beyon’s court; he would not allow open violence. This had furthered the rift between himself and High Priest Dinar, but that was a matter for another day.
He signalled his sword-sons and they opened the doors. In spilled the smug Captain Yulo dragging the Felt captive, the wind-sworn mage, Azeem, the Empire Mother and finally, Mesema. Of course his wife would not stay away, but for the first time he was tempted to dismiss her.
Sarmin turned his attention to Yulo. ‘You will be rewarded,’ he said. ‘And you are dismissed.’ He could stand no more of this peacock captain.
Yulo’s mouth opened as if about to protest – he had expected to be allowed to tell his story, to receive public accolades. But he thought better of speaking and bowed low before retreating from the room.
Sarmin took a deep breath and watched the Felting man, the man who had taught Mesema to speak Cerani, who had won her heart, the crippled scribe who had humiliated the White Hat Army of Cerana. Chief Banreh met his gaze, horse-chief to emperor. The books called the Felt barbarians, there to serve the empire or be wiped out by it, and of little importance otherwise. But Mesema was important, and this man refused to be trivial either. Sarmin could not deny his curiosity.
Azeem leaned close. ‘I have called for Govnan, Magnificence.’
Sarmin did not reply. His eyes locked with the prisoner’s. At last he shifted his attention to Mura. ‘When last we heard of you, you were in Fryth. Could you not speak on the wind and tell us of your situation?’
Mura turned her face his way, showing blue eyes over high cheekbones. Her robes lifted around her as if blown. ‘I could not, Majesty. I was prevented.’
‘This man prevented a mage of the Tower from speaking on the wind?’ Sarmin