David Drake - Tyrant

She felt his thick chest rise and fall, twice, while he considered his answer.

Then: "It's like this, girl. A bit of vengeance is a fine thing. Useful, now and then. But I think of it like a honing stone. You just want a little, when you need it, to keep the blade sharp. And that's it. Too much and. . you'll wear the blade away in no time."

"I think that's good advice," she murmured. "And I think I'll take it from now on."

They said nothing further for perhaps ten minutes. Then Helga lifted her head again and gave Jessep's chest a little push. "Enough. Your Ilset will be getting fidgety."

Jessep chuckled. "She's not the jealous type, girl. And even if she were, I wouldn't have to lie anyway."

" 'Jealous' be damned!" snorted Helga. "I know the two of you. I should, having to listen to it every night."

Jessep flushed. Helga chuckled again. "So be off. Another ten minutes and she'll be so horny you might not survive the night. Old and decrepit as you are."

The speed with which Yunkers scurried out of her partition gave the lie to that last jibe. Not that any was needed.

Helga lay down and tried to find sleep. It wouldn't come at first, though. Jessep's advice was still rolling through her mind. Her brain seemed fixed on the image of a blade being sharpened to nothingness on a stone of hatred. After a time, the image of a blade shifted and she found herself remembering the face of Adrian's brother Esmond. A handsome face, it was. Very handsome, in fact — much more so than Adrian's, truth to tell. Even leaving aside Esmond's demigod physique, which Helga had seen more than once clad only in a loincloth, during the time she had spent as Adrian Gellert's "captured concubine."

But there was no attraction in the memory. There had always been something wrong about Esmond. Always, whenever he looked at her, something evil and hollow in the stare. As if he saw nothing in the woman her brother had taken for his own than just another hated Vanbert.

That's what Jessep's talking about, she realized. A splendid blade, worn down by endless honing. Such a waste.

But she didn't spend much time on the matter. By now, one thought following another, her mind was focused on the brother himself. Adrian Gellert, in whose arms she had spent many a night lying naked — and enjoying every minute of it.

New images came to her, then, of naked male body parts and a male face seen in focus — all of it and not just a leer. But there was no horror in these images. She thought she was done with that horror forever.

She hoped so. The problem she faced now was a problem she hoped she would always face, whenever she had trouble falling asleep. For which there was a simple and practical solution, even if she had found masturbation a poor substitute for the real thing, since she met Adrian Gellert.

Dammit, beloved enemy, if you're not there when I arrive—

I'll kill you. I swear I will.

* * *

She finally managed to get to sleep then, wafted away on new thoughts of vengeance. The methods by which she planned her possible murder of Adrian Gellert varied quite a bit, in their precise details. But all of them involved death from exhaustion.

Chapter 13

Demansk's "tomorrow" had actually turned into four days before he was ready to strike against Governor Willech. He was learning that, in political as well as military maneuvers, logistics was always the lynchpin. It was easy to plan what amounted to a provincial coup d'etat, but actually implementing the deed required time to move the needed bodies around.

Granted, there weren't all that many bodies to move, compared to the forces involved in a major military campaign. And since most of the bodies were already in the provincial capital of Solinga, there wasn't the usual endless difficulty with fodder and supplies. But those advantages were offset by the fact that the bodies in question had minds of their own — and it was a lot harder to get officers to agree to a coup than to a straightforward military assault.

Demansk's own officers, the ones in command of the three brigades he'd brought with him to Solinga, were not the problem. Those three brigades had long been under Demansk's authority. Their officers and even the noncoms down to the First Spears of all the battalions had been personally selected by Demansk.

But, if at all possible, Demansk wanted to keep those troops on the sidelines. For political reasons, things would go much more smoothly — in the Confederate capital, if not here in Solinga — if it was local troops who carried out the purge.

And that would have the further advantage of keeping the bloodshed to a minimum. The two regiments in Solinga which were clearly loyal to Willech would be less likely to resist a coup being carried out by regiments they knew well. By now, many of the soldiers in those two regiments would have formed personal liaisons with the soldiers in the other four. They would have informal ways of getting assurance that the purge wouldn't touch their own ranks — as long as they stayed in their camps and barracks. Whereas dealing with Demansk's own troops, just arrived in the province, they would have no idea what to expect.

Which left the problem, of course, of solidifying the allegiance of the four regiments he wanted to use. Yes, three of the four commanders of those regiments were his own protégés. But a commander could not simply assume that all his officers and noncoms would follow orders, when it came to something as politically risky and irregular as a coup d'etat. So, even with those three regiments, Demansk had to take the time to have quiet private conversations with at least most of the key officers.

He did not bother trying to solidify the allegiance of the fourth regiment. He was quite certain, after meeting the commander of that unit, that the man would keep his soldiers in the barracks and out of the way. Which, for the moment, was quite good enough. Edard Noonan had all the earmarks of a politically savvy officer, the type who got his command in the first place through his efforts in the corridors of power rather than the fields of war. It was clear enough that he had sensed which way the wind was blowing. The last thing Noonan would do was try to protect a corrupt governor from a newly-elected Triumvir arriving in Solinga with the authority of the entire Council behind him.

* * *

Good enough, though Demansk. And who knows? If Noonan proves capable in the field I may even let him keep his command.

He turned his attention to the three officers in the room with him. It was the morning of the fourth day since he'd told Prit Sallivar to prepare for a trip to Vanbert to explain to the Council, on Demansk's behalf, just why he'd found it necessary to remove the provincial governor and assume direct control of the Emerald lands as Triumvir.

"I'll let you decide," he said, giving each of them in turn a steely gaze. At least, he hoped it was steely and not just menacing. Demansk was finding that as his power grew, he could no longer be as certain as he once was exactly how his expressions and mannerisms would be taken by those who saw them. Both pups and full-grown direbeasts yawned, after all. The expression was cute in the first; not, in the other.

"But," he warned, "make sure — whichever one of you is chosen for the post — that you understand clearly my conditions. The new military governor of the province will be my direct representative, not the Council's. So anything you do will reflect upon me, and I will take it badly if I am embarrassed."

He left the rest unsaid. Of all the men in Solinga, these three officers certainly didn't need to have the penalties for "embarrassing" Demansk spelled out in detail. They knew the details, already — had to, since they were about to carry them out.