William King - Shadowblood

“Good,” said Sardec. “Very good. What is your name, lad?”

“Daved, sir,” said the boy, running his hand through his thick mop of curly black hair. There was something about his expression that irresistibly reminded Sardec of Sergeant Hef. It must have been the set of the features and the cast of the eye for the boy really did not resemble his father at all. He was already taller. He must have got his size from his mother.

“Do you think my father is still alive, sir? Do you think he got away like us?”

Of course, that was why the boy had summoned up the courage to approach him. A sudden pang of guilt stabbed him. This boy’s father was dead. Sardec had failed him as he had failed so many others. The boy’s intense gaze never left him and though he did not mean to accuse Sardec there was still accusation in it.

He did not know what to say. He had seen Sergeant Hef fall with his own eyes and he did not want to lie about it but there was something so pathetically hopeful about the boy’s look that he could not bring himself to speak the truth either. “I don’t know, lad.”

“He survived many a battle, my father, sir. He always told us that before he went into a fight. He also always told us that if anything happened to him I was to look after my mother and the other children and that’s what I intend to do, sir.”

There was a catch in the boy’s voice and he looked as if it was about to cry. Sardec was not sure why it moved him so much. The boy was only human after all, just like his father had been. It came to Sardec in that moment that he had relied on the father quite as much as this boy had and he just never realised that until this moment. “I’m sure your father will be proud of you.”

“Somebody needs to do it, sir. My mother tries her best but she can’t be everywhere at once and someone needs to keep an eye on Alan, Jana and Lorraine.”

“Is that what your brothers and sisters are called?”

“Yes, sir. Jana is ten. Alan is seven and Lorraine is five. I am the oldest.”

“How old are you, lad?”

“Eleven, sir.

Sardec noticed that he had not mentioned the other children, the ones who were missing and presumably dead. He had picked up that habit from the soldiers. It was only to be expected, he was a soldier’s child. “Do you think your brother and sisters might want some berries?”

“I am sure they do, sir, but I thought you should have first pick. You are a Terrarch and our leader.”

It was interesting the order he chose to put the words. Obviously respect for the Elder Race had been impressed on the boy. Sardec smiled and said, “I thank you. But now I have had my pick and I think you should share with your family.”

The boy nodded, bowed politely and scampered off. A hand fell on Sardec’s shoulder and he turned and saw Rena smiling down on him. “That was a good thing to do.”

He felt vaguely embarrassed that she had witnessed it, as he always did when he varied from the pattern of Terrarch behaviour that had been drummed into him when he was young. He was not sure his actions had been entirely seemly. He laughed out loud. The world was ending. The dead were rising and he was worried about whether his behaviour was appropriate.

“You should laugh more,” she said. “It suits you.”

“I would if I had more to laugh about,” he said.

“I am tired of walking,” said Tamara, staring at the approaching coach. Rick could not blame her for that. After a week of walking, and hiding from patrols and eluding the walking dead, he was tired too. He doubted that the coach driver would stop for them though, he was most likely scared. Aside from soldiers, they had seen very few people on the roads. Those people they had talked to had been frightened almost beyond measure. Rumours of what was happening in the capital and to the West had filled even the Sardean population with fear.

Rumours abounded and nothing was certain. There had been talk of a coup in Askander. After an attempt on the Prime Minister’s life, martial law had been declared and Xephan ruled directly in the name of the Empress. There had been tales that he had taken over the throne himself and that the Empress was imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the Palace. And other tales spoke of dark magic and sinister necromancy used to promote his power. Nobody seemed to know anything for certain.

Asea stepped out into the middle of the road and gestured for the driver to stop. He never even slowed down but kept coming directly at her, obviously intending to ride her down if she did not get out of the way. Asea never flinched. She raised her hands and muttered a word of power. The horses reared and for a moment it looked like the coach would go out of control and topple off the road. Instead it came to a juddering halt and Rik, Karim and Tamara raced forward. The coachman and the other servants sitting on top of the vehicle were swiftly overcome. The passengers were hauled out unceremoniously and made to kneel in the dirt. They consisted of two very well-dressed Terrarchs and an extravagantly dressed servant.

“What have we here?” asked Tamara. “I do believe it’s Lord and Lady Inglis. You’re a long way from home.”

The male Terrarch looked up in surprise at the sound of her voice. “Is that you, Lady Tamara? Why are you dressed like a common ruffian? And why are you impeding our progress towards the capital?”

Tamara smiled her dazzling smile. “It’s a very long story, my Lord, and I don’t have time to tell it. Suffice to say that I have greater need of your vehicle then you do. And I am requisitioning it for military purposes.”

“You can’t do that, Lady Tamara,” said Lady Inglis. “We have been summoned to Court. All of the higher nobility have. On pain of death or being outlawed as a traitor like yourself.”

Tamara’s smile did not flicker. “I have been declared an outlaw?”

“A traitor, Lady Tamara,” said Lord Inglis.

“I’m sure it’s an unfortunate misunderstanding,” said his wife. “I’m sure no daughter of Lord Malkior could be a traitor to the realm.”

“May we rise, my dear,” said Lord Inglis. “It’s very uncomfortable here, on my knees in the dirt.”

“Who are these two Terrarchs with you?” said Lady Inglis. “I’m not sure I recognise them either. Are they in disguise like you?”

“Why have you been summoned to Askander?” Asea asked.

“I’m afraid that we are wanted as hostages. It seems the Prime Minister has found resurrecting that old custom necessary after the attempt on his life. An attempt that you have been implicated in, Lady Tamara, as I’m sure you’re aware.” Lord Inglis sounded a little hostile now.

“It sounds like there has been a coup,” said Asea.

“I’ve heard it said that our dear Prime Minister has designs upon the throne himself. He intends to marry the Empress and after that no doubt she will have an unfortunate accident, if she refuses to do what he asks. So my sister wrote me in her last letter. We haven’t heard from her since then. Maybe she’s disappeared into the dungeons like so many others.” Lady Inglis sounded outraged. Doubtless she thought that only the humans should disappear into dungeons not Terrarch noblewomen.

“What exactly do you need a coach for, Lady Tamara,” asked Lord Inglis. “What mission are you on? If I may be permitted to ask.”

“If you must know, I’m on my way to the capital to finish the job I started. I fear the Prime Minister has gone a little above himself and needs to be cut down to size.”

“You mean you intend to kill him. And I suppose you intend to kill us now.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Tamara.

“I don’t suppose it would be any good if I gave you my word to say nothing of this to anyone.”