The Tyrant's Law

Drakkis would take when the war was over and Morade defeated.

Inys settled, closed his eyes. Invoking the silence was difficult. His mind was unsettled. It kept racing ahead of him, toward the sinking of the island and the surprise attack. The legions of the uncorrupt holding formation against the madness of corrupted slaves. The final battle of generations of war, which he could win only by subterfuge and dishonor. Only by sending his lover and his friends to fight in his place. Only by using the schemes and mechanisms of his cleverer brother.

But at last, the silence came. Time became nothing. He became merely flesh. All the cycles and systems of his body passed into nothing, waiting only for the voice of his slave to recall him to himself.

The silence was not meant for dreams, and yet dreams came formless and unreal. He had the inchoate sense of being adrift in a windless openness, floating without effort on an open and empty sky with neither land nor sea below him, but only an endless expanse of air. Then the sense of a presence, alien and unwelcome that almost drove him up from the depth of the silence. He felt uneasy and restless, like a hatchling trying to sleep when it wasn’t tired or else too much so.

Time passed without Inys. Even the sensation of waiting was gone. Inys surrendered to not-being.

Excuse me. You need to wake up now.

Awareness, but only the faintest prick of it, there and then gone again. Easy to ignore, easier to forget. The silence washed back in.

Hey! Nap time’s over! Wake the hell up! I don’t think this is going to be that simple. Do you think maybe there’s some sort of ritual or … I don’t know. A magic drum or something?

Awareness again, deeper. And this time, there was a sense of fear in it. He felt as if he were under a vast ocean, the weight of the water pressing him down. He had fallen too far into the silence. He had swum too near to death. Inys tried to come to himself, to reach up from the abyssal depths of his body to something else. He forced his eyes to open and had the sensation of light. He was still too deep to know what the light was or what it meant. He was not even seeing. Not really. Only he knew that somewhere, there was light.

He struggled like a drunkard to gather the pieces of his shattered mind, and felt them slipping from his grasp. Felt the silence reaching up to take him again.

It’s time to wake up.

He grabbed for the voice. The words were strangely inflected, as all slave tongues were, but they existed. They were real. He could actually feel the words in the dreamed flesh of his claws, and he dragged himself along them, up into the realm of mere slumber. He managed enough awareness to know that something was wrong. He was ill or drunk or poisoned. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t let himself sleep.

You need to wake up now.

He breached from dream to the world. The light became real. A torch in a slave’s hand. And another behind it. His body felt wrong, sluggish and dim. The straw he’d slept upon was gone and he felt grime and filth on his scales and in between them. The slave was wrong too. It carried a culling blade, though. The one behind it smelled corrupt. He reached out with his mind and felt Morade’s weapon writhing in the slave’s blood, but it didn’t move to attack.

“Drakkis?” Inys managed, and his voice sounded weak and cracked in his own ears.

The nearer slave shook its head.

“I’m Marcus Wester. That’s Master Kit.” It was the same voice. The one that had called him back.

“Morade,” Inys said. “Does Morade live?”

“No,” the slave said. “I’m going to have to go with no on that.”

Inys felt the relief pour into his soul. He tried to rise, but his body felt so weak. So heavy. The air smelled of rot and ice and the sea. He shook himself, trying to bring his mind to bear, and reared up on his haunches. Every muscle in his body was stiff, slow, and unresponsive. The sense that something was wrong grew.

“Where is Erex?” he asked. “And Drakkis? What’s become of Drakkis Stormcrow?”

“Well,” the slave said. “I may have some bad news about that.”

Dramatis Personae

Persons of interest and import in The Tyrant’s Law

IN SUDDAPAL

The Medean bank in Suddapal

Magistra Isadau, voice of the Medean bank in Suddapal

Kani, her sister

Jurin, her brother

Salan, his son

Merid Addanos, her cousin, and

Maha, her daughter

various cousins and servants of the house

Cithrin bel Sarcour, apprentice to Magistra Isadau

Yardem Hane, personal guard to Cithrin, also Enen

Roach (Halvill)

Kilik rol Keston, a merchant

Samish, a rival of the bank

Karol Dannien, a mercenary captain

Epetchi, a cook

IN IMPERIAL ANTEA

The Royal Family

Aster, prince and heir to the empire

House Palliako

Geder Palliako, Regent of Antea and Baron of Ebbingbaugh

Lehrer Palliako, Viscount of Rivenhalm and his father

House Kalliam

Clara Kalliam, formerly Baroness of Osterling Fells

Barriath

Vicarian, and

Jorey; her sons

also Sabiha, wife to Jorey, and

Pindan, her illegitimate son

and various former servants and slaves, including

Andrash rol Estalan, door slave to House Kalliam

Benet, a gardener

Alston, a guardsman

Steen, a guardsman

Vincen Coe, huntsman formerly in the service of House Kalliam Abatha

Coe, his cousin

House Skestinin

Lord Skestinin, master of the Imperial Navy

Lady Skestinin, his wife