Something slammed at the end of the room, making Hanara jump. Footsteps filled the room. Lots of footsteps. Faint but growing louder. He found himself leaning forward to get a better view between the columns, and felt the guard jerk his arm to pull him back.
When the white-faced men marched into sight the room seemed to grow cold.
He couldn’t help admiring them for that. The barbarian race of Kyralia had come a long way.
Hanara recognised King Errik and the face of the magician at his right. An Elyne stood on the king’s other side. The other men around the king were also familiar from battles. One face jolted him with recognition. The face of the man who had given him freedom and a job. Lord Dakon.
The magician hadn’t seen him. His eyes were on Takado. His expression shifted from horror to anger and back again.
King Errik slowed to a stop several strides from Takado, his eyes moving from the supine man to the emperor. He waited until the rest of his army of magicians stopped and quietened before he spoke.
“Emperor Vochira. This is a strange way to meet a conqueror.”
The emperor smiled. “Does it please you, King Errik?”
The king eyed Takado, his lip curling with hatred and disgust. “He is alive. You expect that to please me?”
“Alive and helpless, near all his strength taken from him. A gift to you, or perhaps a bribe. Or a trade.”
“For what?”
The emperor rose, slowly and gracefully, and stepped down from the throne. “For the lives of my people – at least those whom you haven’t yet taken. For the lives of my family. For my own life, too, perhaps.”
The hoarse, rasping sound of laughing drifted up from the floor, sending a shiver down Hanara’s spine.
“Who is the traitor now?” Takado coughed. “Coward.”
Emperor and king looked at the supine man, and then back at each other.
“Why should I let you live?” the king asked.
“You know I did not initiate the invasion of your country. If your spies did their job well, you should also know that I tried to stop it.”
“But you did endorse it, eventually.”
“Yes. It was a necessary deception. The army I sent was meant to split in three, two parts held in reserve to overcome this...” the emperor sneered down at Takado, “this ichani rebel when he was at his weakest.”
“It looked, to me, as if your intention was to take over at that point, and claim victory for yourself,” the king said.
From Takado came a weak cry of triumph. “See?” he rasped. “Even the barbarian king sees through you!”
“Yet you didn’t,” the emperor reminded him. He looked at the king. “Would you prefer I kill him, or that you do it yourself?” He smiled. “As no doubt you will have your magicians do now?”
The eyes of the king became cold and hard. Then his mouth curled into a smile.
“A foolish ruler bases his rule on magic alone.” His hand moved to his waist and slipped inside the long-sleeved tunic he wore, then came out gripping a long, straight blade. “A wise one bases it on loyalty and duty. And rewards those, magician or not, who serve him well in whichever way suits them best.” He glanced over his shoulder. “All of them have earned my loyalty and gratitude, so I find it impossible to choose who should have this reward.” He turned back to face the emperor.
The king took the blade of the knife between his fingers and held it up to one side. “Whoever takes the blade may make the kill.”
Hanara saw the magicians behind the king hesitate and exchange glances. A tall young magician stepped forward, then hesitated as another followed suit. The young magician turned to stare at the second man in surprise. Hanara’s heart skipped as he saw the other was Lord Dakon. The older magician’s face was dark with unreadable emotions. He stared at the younger man, who bowed his head and stepped back again.
Lord Dakon grasped the handle of the knife. The king let go of the blade, and as he turned to see who had taken it he, too, stared in obvious astonishment.
“Lord Dakon . . .” he began, then frowned and did not continue.
As the magician who had given Hanara freedom stepped up to Takado’s side, Takado hissed.
“You? What joke is this? Of all the Kyralians you choose the most pathetic of all to kill me?” He shook his head weakly. “He won’t kill me. He’s too squeamish.”
Dakon nodded. “Unlike you, I don’t relish killing. I asked myself many times why I joined in this invasion of Sachaka, why I said nothing against the unnecessary slaughter. Now I see it was to get to the necessary slaughter. And I find I’m not squeamish at all.” He dropped to one knee and raised the knife above Takado. Hanara felt the hand on his arm tighten. He realised he had begun to move forward.
“I only did it to help our people,” Takado shouted, straining to look at the emperor.
“Don’t we all,” Dakon replied, and his arm jerked downwards.
Then it was just like Hanara’s nightmare, yet all the details were wrong. His imagination had conjured far more gruesome and magical deaths for his master. Not this one, clean stab.
As Takado gasped and spasmed, Hanara cried out. He strained against the guard’s arm, but didn’t struggle. His eyes took in every twitch Takado made, how his muscles slowly relaxed, how a thin stream of blood spread across his chest and trickled down to pool on the floor. He felt liquid run down his face, as if in mimicry. He knew that several of the magicians had turned to stare at him, but he didn’t care.
Dakon rose and waited, then as Takado stilled he leaned forward and removed the knife. The king reached for it, wiped the blade on a cloth he’d produced from somewhere, then stowed it back in its hidden sheath. Dakon returned to his place behind the king.
Errik looked up at the emperor and smiled. “You and your rebel have, through seeking to conquer us, made us stronger than we have ever been. Without you we’d have remained weak and uncooperative, distrustful of each other. You forced us together, forced us to make magical discoveries that we will be refining and developing for years to come. I would not be surprised if the Sachakan Empire is eventually forgotten, eclipsed by the new age that begins in Kyralia.”
The king’s eyes narrowed, though he kept smiling. “And for me you have done a great favour. Before this war I doubt my people would have accepted a king with no magic. But now I have proved that a king can still lead, still defeat an enemy, still
The emperor’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, I know it,” he said, his voice low and dark. “I
“I accept,” the king replied.
Someone muttered something. The two leaders frowned and turned to look at the other magicians. The one who had always been at the king’s side shook his head.
“We can’t trust him. He most likely has the power he claims he holds. While he does he is dangerous.”
The king spread his hands. “He has surrendered. Must I force him to give us his magic as well as his power? It is too much to ask.”
Hanara stared at the king in surprise. The emperor was regarding his conqueror with a knowing look.
“Yes,” the Elyne replied. “But there is another way. Have him transfer his power into the storestone. Not directly, of course. Someone should take it from him and then transfer it.”
“What if he attacks the one transferring it?” someone asked.
“If he hasn’t attacked us already, why would he do so during the transfer?” the Elyne reasoned.
“I volunteer to do the transferring.” The young magician who had stepped back so Dakon could take the king’s knife stepped forward.
“Thank you, Lord Narvelan.” King Errik nodded. “Do it.”
A strange scene followed, in which the young man took the emperor’s hand in one hand, and the Elyne’s in the
