He couldn’t see the man’s face in the dark but recognized the voice-and he certainly recognized the simple golden crown on the man’s head. It was Ommen Tarness, the Burgrave of the Free City himself.
Chapter Forty-Four
Perhaps there was another reason why Cutbill had chosen him as his successor. Malden did run in certain influential circles. His association with Sir Croy, one of the most glamorous and famous men in Ness, was well known. What’s more, he was rumored to be in league with the witch Coruth, the most powerful practitioner of magic in the city. And a few people knew that he had once performed a vital service for Ommen Tarness, the sole ruler of the Free City.
They probably figured that gave him some leverage. That maybe even Tarness owed him a favor. Too bad Tarness didn’t see it that way, he thought.
Malden would rather have climbed into the carriage of Sadu the Bloodgod Himself, and be taken at once down to the pit, than to have words with Ommen Tarness. But he got into the Burgrave’s carriage anyway.
It wasn’t like he had any choice.
Once the door was closed, the carriage started moving, bouncing wildly on the cobbles even though the driver wasn’t pushing his team very hard. Malden grabbed for something to hold onto but found only brocaded pillows.
“An impressive speech you gave, Malden,” Tarness said, looking out the window at the pitch-black streets.
“You were there in the crowd?” he asked, knowing the Burgrave had been nowhere near. He considered suggesting that Tarness was the most successful thief Ness had ever known, but that would be impolite.
Tarness didn’t answer his question, anyway. “Truly inspiring. Reminded me of me when I was your age.”
There were only a handful of people still living who knew that Ommen Tarness was, in fact, an idiot. A near-mindless creature who couldn’t dress himself. The man sitting across from Malden was merely a shell of a person. It was the crown that was talking to him. The crown contained the soul of Juring Tarness, the first Burgrave of the Free City. A man who had been dead for eight hundred years but lived on by possessing his direct descendants. When Juring said Malden reminded him of a younger time, he was speaking of centuries past.
Malden chose not to comment on this fact. The Burgrave had a funny way of repaying people who knew his secret, even those willing to keep it to themselves. It had only been the direct intercession of Cutbill that kept Juring from killing Malden on the spot. And now Cutbill was gone.
“I imagine you expected to see more faces around the Godstone,” Juring went on. “There used to be twice that number of thieves in Ness, didn’t there? But of course my recruiters don’t ask questions when they hand out my gold royals. They take any man with two hands and a head-whether he’s a thief or an honest workman. The past is obliterated when one signs on to my glorious campaign. Many, many of your thieves have already taken what I offer. How about you, Malden? Will you take a golden coin, and serve me by strength of arms?”
Malden shoved himself into a corner of the carriage and braced himself with both hands. He was starting to feel nauseous. “You can’t afford to pay the men you already have,” he said. Perhaps foolishly.
Juring laughed, however. “I have enough gold on hand to recruit. That’s all I need for now. But rest assured, my men-at-arms will be paid.”
Malden shook his head. “Not at that rate. Not every month. Even when you get this batch killed, the survivors will still bankrupt you. You would need to rob the royal treasury to keep those wages coming.”
“You don’t think the next king will happily pay to have his country back?”
“No,” Malden said, “I don’t. And I don’t think you’re such a fsuch an optimist to go to war on the hope that he will.” That had been close. He’d almost called the man a fool. That would have been a mistake.
Juring waved one hand in dismissal. “I didn’t actually come for you in the middle of the night to discuss my finances.”
Malden stared at the Burgrave. What was his secret plan? He must have some notion of where he’d find so much gold. If he defaulted on his promise and failed to pay even one month’s wages, his army would disperse on the spot. They weren’t professional soldiers, used to waiting for their pay. They were greedy citizens of Ness, who lived by the credo of cash in hand. “Perhaps you expect to trounce the barbarians and use the spoils of that victory to keep your army together.”
“You think I can beat them quickly enough?” Tarness asked. He sounded as if he was looking for flattery. Well, Juring Tarness had been a great general, in his time. Back before the invention of steel, or plate armor, or the crossbow.
“No, I don’t,” Malden said.
“Neither do I,” the Burgrave said with a sigh. “But enough of this.”
Malden looked up at the crown on the Burgrave’s head. You weren’t supposed to argue with someone wearing such a piece of jewelry. The Lady’s teachings said that such people were sacrosanct and infallible. They must be, since She had chosen them by hand. A crown meant A crown. Except the thing Tarness wore wasn’t a real crown, it was just a coronet. Only kings wore real crowns.
“You didn’t start recruiting until you heard the king was dead,” Malden said, because he thought he had just pieced it together. “How long will it take for his heir to be elevated?”
Juring squinted at the thief. “Ulfram’s only living child-a daughter-is fourteen years old. She can’t be made queen for another four years. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“You wouldn’t have to beg her for money to pay your troops-if you had her crown on your head already. You aren’t putting this army together to drive off the barbarians. You’re going to seize Skrae for your own. Make yourself the new king.”
“No! You haven’t glimpsed my plan at all!” Juring shouted, and lunged forward to grab Malden by the throat. He did not, however, squeeze hard enough to strangle the thief. “There will be no queen. Nor will any man call himself king. No longer. I built this city, thief. I built it for free men. I will build a nation for free men now.”
Malden’s eyes went wide. What could that even mean? The very concept was foreign to him. A country needed a king. That was what he’d been taught since birth. That was the only way he could imagine a country working.
“They’ll make me their Lord Protector, because of what I’ve given them. All those who were once villeins, or worse-all those farmers who have been slaves in all but name their whole lives-will turn to me in gratitude. And they will allow me to rule in their name.”
Ah, Malden thought. So nothing at all would change, except a few titles.
That made more sense.
Chapter Forty-Five
“I have grand plans for the people of Skrae,” the Burgrave said. “I will usher in a new age. But first I have to win this war. I need to drive off the barbarians before I can take Helstrow. And that’s where you come in.”
Malden shook his head. He couldn’t speak, not with the Burgrave’s hand on his throat.
Apparently, his voice wasn’t required. “I need a symbol, Malden. I need something that will inspire my troops. They think of me as Ommen Tarness, a peaceful and rather fat functionary in service to a dead king. Not the kind of man who can save a country, or even govern one. They need to see that I am a warrior.”
Malden shrugged. He had no idea what Juring was talking about.
“I need an Ancient Blade. And you have one you aren’t using.”
This was about Acidtongue? Malden could scarce credit it. “I don’t
… seem… to have… worn it… tonight,” he choked out.
The Burgrave released him. Malden fell back amidst the pillows, gasping for breath.
“The seven blades are puissant arms,” Juring went on. “But they are more than that. For centuries they have
