James West - Reaper Of Sorrows

“How generous of you,” Sanouk smirked. “With that out of the way, attend me.”

Following Lord Sanouk to a large vellum map hung on one wall, Treon hissed in Rathe’s ear, “This is not over.”

Rathe put on an exaggerated expression of innocence, resisting the urge to tell Treon that he fully agreed, and that by no measure conceived in the minds of men or gods was their score settled.

“In light of the plainsmen attack,” Lord Sanouk said tersely, eyeing the two officers, “it occurs to me that blood should follow blood.”

“I do not understand?” Treon said. “We routed those beasts-”

“You merely pricked the fingers of a lone band, Treon. For their assault on the realm’s law-abiding citizenry, they must lose a hand or two. To do that, we will root out their collaborators.”

“Collaborators?” Rathe echoed. “Surely no man is fool enough to treat with the plainsmen.”

“As a man of the hospitable and civilized southlands, you would believe so. But along the feet of the Gyntors, all men are made beasts, and behave as such. Here-” Sanouk stabbed a finger on the map “-in the village of Valdar, a certain cohort of malcontents have made a pact with the plainsmen. In exchange for peace, these mongrels supply information on the comings and goings of merchant caravans and my patrols. Reeve Mitros has been good enough to apprehend these traitors, and I require a patrol to fetch them.”

“I will put them to the question,” Treon promised.

Sanouk shook his head. “I want them brought to me, and treated well. Honey, I have found, often works better to loosen a tongue than the lash. In my own manner, I will extract the information I need.”

Something about the way Lord Sanouk said that last troubled Rathe. In truth, the entire situation made no sense. Unless things had drastically changed, plainsmen did not commonly have dealings with those not of the clans.

“Treat them well … of course,” Treon agreed, his thin lips turned down in disappointment.

Lord Sanouk smiled broadly. “You leave on the morrow, and I expect you back within a fortnight.” His smile faded, and a ghost of unease showed in his eyes. A moment more, and it was gone.

“A fortnight, no more,” Treon agreed again.

Rathe thought about that shadow of disquiet he had seen in Lord Sanouk’s gaze, but counted it as a lord’s burden of responsibility. Though Sanouk was an outcast, he ruled in the north of Cerrikoth. If he failed in his duties to protect northern trade routes, the king would send a legion to quell the violence and instill order, perhaps even take away what little power Lord Sanouk held.

“You may take your leave, lieutenant,” Lord Sanouk said abruptly. “Treon and I have a few matters to discuss about the forthcoming mission. He will give you the details he deems necessary.”

“Of course,” Rathe said, saluting. He turned on his heel. Behind him, neither man said a word as he left Sanouk’s solar, but without question, they watched his every movement.

“You are disappointed?” Lord Sanouk asked lightly.

Treon paced, boots slapping against the stone floor. “It’s not my place to say,” he answered, anger making his voice more of a rasping hiss than ever.

Sanouk glided behind his desk and sat, fingers steepled before his eyes. “You seem to have a startling dislike for Lieutenant Rathe.”

“I detest him!” Treon spat. “With his every action, he thinks to raise himself above all others, yet he was born a commoner.”

“As were you,” Sanouk pointed out.

“Just so,” Treon said, eyes narrowed to slits. “That’s my point. He’s no better than I, yet he believes he is. You told me yourself that he killed a Prythian soldier under his command for attempting to take spoil granted by the king-your own father. Then he had the audacity to sleep with Lord Osaant’s concubine … in the lord’s own bed! ”

“The Scorpion is audacious,” Sanouk chuckled. To his mind, such a man could prove invaluable. Of course, such innate boldness could also become troublesome, so he must tread with care in regard to molding Rathe to suit his needs.

“He’s a blithering fool!” Treon retorted, lips flecked with spittle.

“Long have I been away from Onareth, but not so long to have forgotten that few fools march within the ranks of the Ghosts of Ahnok. Fewer still have ever led them. Rathe has a recklessness about him, to be sure. However, I believe he will prove to be an asset to myself and Fortress Hilan.”

Treon’s features molted from purple to ash. “By all the gods, you cannot be serious?”

“You forget yourself,” Sanouk cautioned, growing weary of the captain’s tantrum, and more so of his easy insolence.

“Forgive me, milord,” Treon said, biting off each word as if he were anything but repentant. “May I speak freely?”

Sanouk spread his hands, relenting. Treon had his uses-trustworthiness, an abiding fealty, and his penchant for cruelty being the highest qualities-and as he planned to do with Rathe, Sanouk had carefully harnessed Treon’s valued traits, and would continue to do so, as long as they served his ends.

Treon began pacing again. “I believe he may suspect that the three Maidens of the Lyre came north with his outcasts who, I am sure, he has seen by now, along with the Hilan men.”

“He has no reason to ever suspect the women were brought here,” Sanouk said. “As to the outcasts, Rathe has likely learned by now that you lied about them dying in the battle. Trust that he will suspect you did so as a means of breaking his spirit.”

“So I did, but he will likely seek retribution,” Treon said, looking uncharacteristically anxious. “He behaves as if there is no grudge, but I see it in his eyes.”

“Ah,” Sanouk said in understanding. “Hate does not fuel your anger against him, but fear.”

“I fear no man,” Treon said, gripping his sword hilt as if he meant to demonstrate his considerable prowess with a blade.

“It’s of no matter,” Sanouk said. “So what if he detests you for the deception? He was the captain of the Ghosts of Ahnok, and surely knows such tricks are tools used in tempering recruits. As for the Maidens of the Lyre: I say again, he will never learn their fate.”

“What if one of the outcasts mentions what really happened … or a Hilan man in his cups?”

Lord Sanouk teeth flashed in a predatory grin. “Rest assured, none of them will utter a word-even among themselves-about the women they brought to me.”

“How can you know?”

“Would you agree that there are worse fates than death?” Sanouk countered. Treon nodded slowly. “And so, too, do they know … chiefly because I described a number of particularly gruesome dooms that will befall them, should they betray my trust.”

“What of the girl who escaped?”

“By now, she’s with child or dead-both ends meted out by the plainsmen.” Sanouk waited then, knowing Treon’s next question before it came.

“What did happen to the Maidens?” He shook his head, showing his greater confusion. “I do not understand why you wanted me to capture anyone in the first place. In truth, had the Maidens of the Lyre not crossed our path, I would have been forced to raid a merchant caravan to find what you required.”

Sanouk stood slowly. “What I now show you can never be revealed to another. Stand by my side in this and all future matters, and one day you will rise above a mere captain of this forsaken outpost….” He let that vague promise hang between them, trusting Treon’s lust for authority to fire his imagination. By the glassy light in Treon’s eyes, he was already dreaming of becoming a lord, or more.