the Rigante sent a slashing riposte. Voltan leapt back from it, then chuckled. 'I have no time', he said, 'to give you another lesson. Kill him,' he told the guards. The men spread out and advanced.
At that moment there came the sounds of running men, booted feet pounding on the stairs. Scores of soldiers came into sight, weapons drawn, filling the corridor from both ends. Rage moved into view.
Jasaray, his hands clasped behind his back, looked at the treacherous guards. 'Put down your weapons,' he said, 'and your deaths will be clean and swift. Hold to them and I will see that your eyes are burned out, but not before you have seen all your relatives and friends, loved ones and children slaughtered.' His voice was not raised, but venom dripped from every syllable. The three guards, their faces grey, released their weapons, which clattered to the floor.
Voltan stood alone now, sword in his hand. 'Clever, clever Scholar,' he said. 'I underestimated you.'
'Most men do,' said Jasaray. 'Put down your sword.'
'Perhaps I would prefer to die fighting,' said Voltan.
'Of course you would,' said Jasaray. 'And I will arrange it – if you give me evidence against Nalademus. I will let you die, sword in hand, in the arena, before the crowds. Otherwise I will order my men to take you alive. Your legs and arms will be hacked off, and you will be released, to end your days begging for food as a cripple in the streets. Make your choice!'
'I could just kill you and be done with it,' said Voltan, his pale eyes gleaming.
'You could,' said Jasaray, 'but my order would still stand. Can you see yourself begging for crumbs?'
Voltan stood very still for a moment, then tossed his sword to the floor. Soldiers ran forward, pinning his arms and leading him away.
'Wait!' he said, as they came alongside Rage. 'I need to speak to this man.' The guards glanced back at the emperor, who nodded permission.
'What do you want?' asked Rage.
'Orders have been given to arrest Cultists. Hunt teams will set out at dawn. Get Cara away from the villa.'
'Cara?'
'She is one of them. She was with the Veiled Lady yesterday.'
'Thank you,' said Rage softly.
The guards led Voltan away. Jasaray summoned an officer. 'Secure the palace. Relieve all guards and send them to their barracks. Let no-one know what has happened here tonight. And find me a scribe. I need to send several messages.'
'Yes, Majesty,' replied the man.
'And fetch a surgeon for my young friend here.'
The officer saluted and moved away. Jasaray pushed open the door to his apartments and gestured for Rage and Bane to follow him inside. The emperor seated himself on an elegant couch, beautifully yet simply made, and covered with polished black leather. He leaned back against an embroidered cushion and closed his eyes.
'You must be tired, Majesty,' said Rage. 'Perhaps we should let you rest.'
Jasaray gave a thin smile. 'Not a night for rest. Come, seat yourselves.' He glanced at Bane. 'There are towels in the rear chamber. Cover your wounds. I do not want to get blood on my furniture.'
'Might I ask a question?' enquired Rage, as Bane went off in search of towels.
'Of course, my friend.'
'If you suspected Nalademus of treachery, why did you allow him such power?'
Jasaray thought about the question. 'The answer will be difficult for you to comprehend. You are an honourable man. You do not seek high office or power. Men who do are ruthlessly ambitious. They have great belief in themselves. This is what makes them so effective. Men like that are necessary. No empire can grow without them. They mirror nature, my friend. In the wolf pack there can be only one leader, but around that leader are a score of other males seeking to replace him. I do not blame Nalademus for his treachery. What condemns him is that he failed. Now he will suffer the consequences. However, the man I choose to succeed him will also be utterly ambitious. He too will one day seek to overthrow me. It is the ambition of such men that gives Stone its vitality, and purpose.'
'What you are saying is that you surround yourself with future traitors,' said Rage. 'This is a perilous way of life, Majesty.'
Bane returned, a white linen towel draped over his shoulder. At that moment a scribe entered, carrying some thirty sheets of blank paper, and a small box containing pens and ink. The man bowed low. Jasaray rose and walked to his desk by the window. 'You have done me a great service, gentlemen,' he told Bane and Rage. 'I shall not forget it. Come to me tomorrow, and ask of me anything. I will grant it. But for now return to your rooms. I will send the surgeon to you.'
Bane was tired as he made his way along the corridor and down the stairs to his own apartments. He had reached the door before he realized Rage was not with him. Inside several of the lanterns had guttered and gone out, but one was still gleaming brightly. There was a jug of oil in one of the closets and Bane refilled and relighted the lanterns before settling himself down on the bed. He was tired now, and the wound in his shoulder burned like fire. An army surgeon entered, followed by Rage. The surgeon, a small, balding man, peered closely at the talon wounds.
These need cleaning,' he said. 'The claws of big cats carry some kind of poison. I've seen it before on campaigns.'
'Not the claws,' said Bane, 'the fangs. Rotted food clings to them and this infects wounds.'
'Rotten food,' said the surgeon scornfully. 'Where do you tribesmen get such ideas?'
'A better question might be why do we not suffer infected wounds,' said Bane. 'Just stitch it. The flow of blood will have cleaned it.'
'On your head be it,' said the surgeon.
The wounds took eleven stitches, and the surgeon also added two stitches to the torn wound in Bane's side. 'You need to rest for at least two weeks,' he said. Bane thanked him and the man left. Rage sat down on the bed.
'Well,' he said, 'it may not be the way you planned it, but Voltan is now under sentence of death. Your quest is over.'
Bane looked into the old gladiator's dark eyes. 'It will be over when I walk across the arena sand and cut his heart out.'
Rage sighed, and placed his hand on Bane's uninjured shoulder. 'You are a fine and brave man, a brilliant swordsman and fearless in combat. But you can't beat him. He is a freak of nature, big and yet lightning fast. I understand why you needed to see him dead. He killed someone you loved. But he is dead, Bane. Why throw away your life on someone whose fate is already decided?'
'Because I swore I would kill him. I have lived for nothing else.'
'I am sorry you feel that way, boy.' He fell silent for a moment.
'You never had a father, and I never had a son. I think, in some small way, we have filled a gap in each other's lives. Like any father, I do not want to see my son die needlessly. Think on what I have said.'
The dungeon walls were damp, the air fetid and clammy. Built to house twenty prisoners at the most, more than fifty were wedged into the dank, airless room. Norwin sat hugging his knees in the corner. Beside him Persis Albitane sat quietly, his face and clothes filthy, a large red abscess upon his neck, his face marked with bruises, a swelling, angry lump over his right eye. Norwin reached out and gripped his friend's arm. No words were exchanged, but Persis gave a weary smile.
The former slave closed his eyes, recalling the day he and the others had been taken while at a prayer meeting in the woods north of Goriasa. Soldiers had rushed in, carrying clubs and cudgels. Some of the thirty Cultists had tried to run, but they were caught and beaten badly. Then they were bound and hauled off to spend the night in Goriasa's jail. The following morning they had been brought, en masse, to the Court of Magistrates, where a Crimson Priest had been sitting in the Chair of Judgment. Norwin had looked around, and seen the public gallery packed with people. Some of them he knew were Cultists like himself. Others were simply there for the dubious entertainment of seeing men and women sentenced to death.
The prisoners had been herded to stand before the Crimson Priest, and told of their crimes against the state. One man tried to speak, but a Knight cuffed him on the ear, splitting the skin. 'Silence!' roared the Crimson Priest.
