The Complete Darkwar Trilogy

‘I hear and obey, master,’ said the boy and he scampered off.

Caleb faded back into the shadows and waited.

• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN •
Intelligence

TAL MOVED SILENTLY THROUGH THE SEWER.

He had no doubt about the authenticity of the message he had received earlier that day from Caleb and had been relieved to discover he was alive. Caleb had relayed messages between him and Kaspar, and now the three of them were to meet.

Tal’s only concern was the location of the meeting. He was following a filthy beggar boy named Shabeer through a river of sewage in a huge culvert under the slaughterhouse district of the city of Kesh. ‘My eyes are bleeding,’ said Tal.

‘In truth, master?’ asked the boy, concerned that if anything went amiss on this journey it would be considered his fault. The other foreign master had been generous beyond imagining and the beggar boy was desperate to keep him happy.

‘No, just a manner of speaking.’

‘You get used to it, here, master,’ said the boy.

‘How long does that take?’

‘A year, two maybe.’

Tal would have laughed, but he was trying hard not to breathe too deeply. He had been in several places over the years that he had judged to be unequalled in stench – Kaspar’s prison, known as the Fortress of Despair being foremost among them – but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming smell of this Keshian sewer.

He appreciated the reason for holding the meeting here – the slaughterhouses, tanners and other malodorous enterprises had been sectioned off near the edge of the lake, so they were far from the residential areas of Kesh, and lay on the lee side of the city so that the prevailing breezes blew the stench away. But the entire area still reeked.

They reached an outflow and Shabeer stepped on an uneven stone which was a cleverly disguised toe-hold. He levered himself into the outflow, and disappeared into the darkness.

As he was holding the lantern, Tal said, ‘Slow down, boy.’

He followed Shabeer and had to duck to stop his head from hitting the ceiling of the smaller outflow tunnel. The boy led him about two hundred yards, until they came to what appeared to be a large circular catchment area.

Several streams of malodorous fluids trickled down from above, and Shabeer motioned for Tal to stay close to the left hand wall as he inched around to a series of iron rungs set in the brickwork.

Tal following the climbing boy, until he pushed upon a trapdoor overhead. They emerged into a well-lit room. Caleb and Kaspar were already there, and sat opposite a large table. Next to them was an empty chair.

As soon as Tal had cleared the trapdoor, he heard a voice from the other side of the room say, ‘Be seated, if you will.’

The large table dominated the room. It was a rough thing of no artistry, but it was sturdy and Tal realized that its primary purpose would be to slow down those seeking to attack whoever was on the other side of it.

That person was a large man in a striped robe, similar in fashion to those worn by the desert men of the Jal-Pur, but the wearer was no desert man. He had the neck of a bull, and his head was completely shaved. His eyebrows were so fair that it looked like he had none. His age was unfathomable – he could have been as young as twenty-nine, or as old as sixty. The single candle didn’t provide enough light for Tal to guess more closely. On either side of him stood a well-armed man: bodyguards.

Once Tal had taken his seat, the man said, ‘You may call me Magistrate, an honorific given to me by those who dwell in the sewers and alleyways, and it will serve for now.

‘Your friend, Caleb, has been most generous and has bought you some of my time, my friends. Time is money as I am sure you are all aware, so let us get directly to the question: what have you to ask of the Ragged Brotherhood?’

Caleb asked, ‘Do you speak on their behalf?’

‘As much as any man can,’ came the answer. ‘Which is to say, not at all.’ He looked directly at Tal. ‘We are not like your famous Mockers of Krondor, with strict oversight and iron rule, Talwin Hawkins of the Kingdom.’

Kaspar glanced at Caleb, and the Magistrate continued, ‘Yes, we know who you are, Kaspar of Olasko.’ He pointed at Caleb. ‘You my friend, however, are known by name only, your provenance is a little murky. In any event, the Upright Man might command in Krondor –’ he put his hand on his chest and gave a slight bow, ‘– but here, I merely suggest. If it is a good suggestion, it will almost certainly be heard.

‘Now, what may I do for you?’

‘We seek the Nighthawks,’ answered Caleb.

‘From what I hear you found them a week ago. There was an unusually high number of corpses floating towards the Overn to feed the crocodiles, and a fair number of them were wearing black.’

‘We were led into a trap,’ admitted Caleb.

‘Likely,’ came the answer.

Kaspar said, ‘We need intelligence. We need to know where their real nest is.’

‘As I said,’ replied the fat man, ‘this is not Krondor and we do not have any real organization. Kesh is divided into precincts, each has its own rules and rulers. Above ground, you’ll find the street gangs, beggars, pickpockets and enforcers – I believe they are known as “bashers”, in the north, and all answer to their own leaders. Those leaders answer to more powerful figures and each of them guards his authority jealously.

‘The Slaughterhouse Gang controls the area we now occupy, and to the southwest of here are the Dockstreet Boys. There are over a hundred such gangs, all with equally colourful sobriquets: the Grab-And-Runs, the Big Plaza Gang, the Sweet Hounds, the Caravan Rangers, and many others. A thief may work with impunity in one quarter, but should he be caught in another he might be dealt with harshly; such is the order of things in Kesh.

‘Below ground, the sewers are also divided into precincts, or small cantons, and each is home to those who exist at the sufferance of the gang above them. The rest is a no-man’s-land and all are free to travel, but at some risk. There are no formal rules, but there are customs and conventions.’

‘And you?’ asked Tal.

‘My place in all of this is of little importance; I broker understanding. I am something of a magistrate among the Ragged Brotherhood, hence the honorific. If conflict occurs, I am called upon to adjudicate. I also provide services, and … information.’

‘At a price,’ said Caleb.

The man smiled, showing two teeth capped in gold. ‘Obviously. I am getting old and need to consider my future. I have a little farm on the other side of the Overn. Someday, I shall retire there and watch my servants grow crops. But I am in no hurry; I can not abide farming.

‘So, you wish to know the whereabouts of the Nighthawks’ base. That will cost a great deal of gold.’

‘How much?’ asked Caleb.

‘A great deal.’

‘And how much is a great deal?’

‘Quite a lot actually,’ said the man. ‘I will need to bribe quite a few very frightened thieves. The more afraid they are, the higher their price, and few things in this city scare them more than the Nighthawks.

‘There are several areas of the city, including the sewers below, where wise thieves do not trespass. Those who do, tend to disappear. There are the usual stories of monsters, Imperial thief-catchers and rogue gangs. But one of these areas will turn out to be the place your black-feathered birds have made their nest.

‘If we can find it.’

‘If?’ asked Tal.

The fat man nodded. ‘There are rumours of magic and evil spirits. While thieves are among the most superstitious fools in Kesh, I would not discount the rumours. If they are true, even the most stealthy of the Ragged Brotherhood might find the areas difficult to approach. There is no easy way past a ward that strikes you dead should you even gaze upon it.

‘So, I make no guarantees. Now, to the bargain. I will need three hundred gold coins to begin with, for bribes and rewards, and for my fee I’ll need another hundred. Once the information is secured, I ask ten gold coins in blood money to the gangs for each of their men killed in the hunt, and another five hundred for myself.’

‘Done!’ said Caleb, standing up.

‘Ah!’ laughed the fat man. ‘I knew I should have asked for more. But done is done.’

The others rose, and Tal said, ‘Where shall we find you?’

‘I will find you, Tal Hawkins. Kaspar guests at the palace and that is one place most difficult for us to reach, and Caleb must lie low, as he is a marked man.

‘Now, while there’s a question about an attempt upon a foreign noble at The Mistress of Luck some nights back, I think it safe to say that for at least a few days you can move about the city without fear of instant death.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Tal. ‘They weren’t afraid to try and kill me at The Mistress of Luck.’

‘Had the Nighthawks wished you dead, young lord, you would now be dead. Your prowess with a sword is renowned, so you would have received a deadly dart or a splash of poison in your drink and no one would have noticed. No, they wanted to take you alive, because they wanted to question you. No doubt in the exact fashion in which you now question their man.’

‘You know?’

‘I make it my business to know,’ said the large man, rising to his feet. ‘Do not worry; the Nighthawks are a danger, but they are few in number and their attention cannot be everywhere at once. On the other hand, I have eyes and ears everywhere.

‘Unlike the nobles and wealthy merchants in the city above, I do not walk through the day fearlessly, convinced that no harm can befall me because of my station or birth. I know there are hands in shadows and daggers in those hands. I will warn you if I learn of any trouble headed your way.’

‘And why would you do that?’ asked Caleb.

‘Because if you are dead, you can’t pay me.’ He pointed to the trap. ‘One at a time, and in this order: Kaspar of Olasko, then Caleb, then Talwin. Each of you will find a guide back to a safe exit from the sewers. I suggest you take a bath when you reach your quarters, the stench here seeps into your very skin. Now, good evening and safe journey.’

The three moved as instructed and were soon on their way back through the tunnels, each hoping that they were on their way to turning the tide of this struggle at last.

Turgan Bey stood motionless. He was wearing the ceremonial torque of his office, a magnificent creation of polished stones and enamelled metal set in gold.

He was presenting Kaspar to the Emperor, even though the question of his asylum had been decided weeks earlier. Kaspar would swear an oath of fealty to the Empire and in exchange they wouldn’t hang him, flay him alive, or throw him to the crocodiles.

For the first time since losing his duchy, Kaspar of Olasko looked upon Diigai, the ancient Emperor of Great Kesh.

A frail man, Diigai still held himself erect, but his movements barely hinted at his once formidable prowess as a hunter. Like his ancestors, he had hunted the great black-maned lion of the Keshian plains. His shrunken chest still carried scars from those hunting triumphs, pale though they might be.

The throne he sat on was made from ivory set into black marble, and behind the Emperor a bas-relief of a falcon with its wings outstretched was carved into the wall: the great seal of Kesh. Before it stood a wooden perch, upon which rested a live falcon, who preened and watched the inhabitants of the room from hooded eyes.

The Master of Ceremonies stood next to the foot of the dais – a thirteen-step ivory-inlaid mass of carved stone – his great headdress was resplendent with rare feathers and gold badges. Around his waist he wore the traditional golden belt of his office as well as the plain linen kilt, but rather than baring his chest, he was permitted to wear a leopardskin over one shoulder.

Not that he needs any more indication of his status, Kaspar thought; the headdress looked as if it might topple off his shiny pate at any second. Still, in typical Keshian fashion, the introduction and offering of the petition had been relatively expedited, taking only half an hour so far, and already the man was nearly done.

Kaspar had stopped listening after the first five minutes, turning his thoughts to the coming confrontation and the events that had led up to his own overthrow. While he harboured no love for the Empire, its ruler was a man without stain on his honour and he deserved better than to see his empire ripped away from the rightful heir.

Kaspar also knew that the hand behind all this trouble was not really an ambitious prince, but a mad sorcerer who had also played a large part in Kaspar’s downfall. The paths of the two rulers might be different, but the end result would be the same: more chaos in the region and an advantage for those who served the forces of evil in this hemisphere.

He relived the events that had led to his downfall – the insinuation of Leso Varen into his household, his influence over Kaspar, which was subtle at first then overt later, and finally his ruination. Despite having reclaimed a portion of his misplaced humanity, and finding his moral compass at last, Kaspar still thirsted for Varen’s blood.

Years of enduring court etiquette asserted their influence as he then realized he had just been introduced. He reverted his attention to the present and stepped forward to bow smoothly, as if he had been hanging on the Master of Ceremonies’ every word.

He had been presented to the Emperor twice before, first as Crown Prince when he had first travelled to Kesh with his father while still a boy, and then later as the young Duke of Olasko.

But this time he was here as a suppliant, seeking haven from retribution, or at least that was the story Turgan Bey had devised to win over Lord Semalcar, the First Chancellor and Master of Horses – the title given to the head of the Imperial Cavalry. His petition for asylum had also been endorsed by Lord Rawa, who was the leader of the Royal Charioteers.

Kaspar noticed that the two princes, Sezioti and Dangai, were absent from the court.

Kaspar looked up and as custom dictated, he said, ‘He who is Kesh, I crave the boon of your shelter, succour against injustice and a haven to call my own. I pledge to you my loyalty and swear to defend you with my life and honour, if it pleases the Empire.’

Diigai smiled and waved his hand. ‘It is done. Is that you, Kaspar?’ he whispered. ‘We haven’t seen you in, what? Twenty years!’

‘Yes, Majesty,’ said the former duke.

‘Do you still play?’

Kaspar smiled, for while the Emperor was old, his memory seemed intact. They had played a chess match when he had been a boy and Kaspar had managed five good moves before being soundly defeated. ‘Yes, Majesty, I do.’

‘Good, then have Turgan Bey bring you to my apartments after the evening meal. We shall play a game. Just the two of us.’

‘It would be my honour, Majesty,’ said Kaspar, bowing as he backed away from the throne. When he had reached the appropriate distance, he turned and walked towards the main entrance, where Pasko waited patiently.

‘After the evening meal, I’m to play chess with the Emperor,’ Kaspar said as Pasko fell in beside him.

‘A personal invitation to visit the Emperor in his quarters tonight?’ the old servant asked, with eyebrows raised.

‘Yes,’ said Kaspar with an annoyed expression.

‘You do not seemed pleased, m’lord.’

‘I’m not,’ said Kaspar, keeping his voice down. ‘The old gentleman is a non-factor as long as he lives. It’s only his death that is important.’ They rounded the corner and headed back to the apartment they had been given in the guest quarters. ‘And if anything is likely to get me marked for death, this visit would be it.’

‘Why?’

As his boot heels rang out on the marble floor, Kaspar whispered, ‘Because in Kesh, everyone belongs to a faction, and if I have the Emperor’s ear but am not a member of your faction …?’ He shrugged.

‘You must, then, be a member of the opposition.’

‘Exactly. Expect at least two social calls this afternoon, and have my finest garments cleaned and ready for tonight.’

‘You’re already wearing your finest, m’lord.’

‘You know, Pasko, there were times when ruling your own nation had its advantages, and a prodigious wardrobe was one of them. See if you can find a tailor in the city who can fashion me trousers, a shirt and a jacket in the Olaskan fashion by sundown. And find me a bootmaker, too. I can’t have new boots made in one afternoon, but I can have these repaired and polished. And a hat, I suppose. You know what to do.’

Pasko bowed and said, ‘I know what to do, m’lord,’ and he departed.

Kaspar hoped Pasko did, because at the moment, he hadn’t the remotest idea what to do. He trusted that something would come to him by that evening to guide him.

The prisoner slumped down on the chair. ‘Revive him,’ said Tal.

Amafi came to stand before him and said, ‘Magnificence, I have been applying my arts for two days now. This man is conditioned to die rather than betray his clan.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious man. ‘I am a killer by trade, Magnificence. There are those who enjoy this sort of undertaking, but I do not. However, I find that torture, like everything else in life, can be done well or poorly, so while I do not enjoy this, I still take pride in my skills.

‘He should be ready to speak if we let him rest for a while. We must find a cell in which to isolate him and let him awaken with no one around, to let him recover and restore himself a little. Uncertainty is our ally at this point.’

‘We don’t have time,’ said Tal. ‘Revive him now.’

‘Magnificence, I shall do as you bid, but he will only tell us what he thinks we wish to hear, without regard for the truth.’

Tal was frustrated. He had no doubt that Varen’s forces were on the offensive after the ambush that had killed half of Caleb’s forces, and the attempt to take Tal prisoner. He agreed with Kaspar’s assessment that if Varen’s goal was to plunge Kesh into chaos, a major coup d’état attempt at the Festival of Banapis would present the perfect opportunity.

Tal considered what Amafi had said, then nodded. ‘Do what you can, but if Leso Varen is in this city, I want to know where he is. I won’t ask Pug or Magnus to come here unless I know for a fact that the sorcerer is in Kesh.’

‘Magnificence,’ said Amafi with a bow. He motioned for two of the guards who had been there since the warehouse had been secured and said, ‘We must move him.’

Tal knew there was risk in taking the Nighthawk prisoner to another location, but if Amafi was correct, any hope of gaining information from him was now dependent upon withholding torture as much as on applying it.

Damn thought Tal. He turned his back on the proceedings and headed for the door. He would make his way to another inn, where another barman would take another message and see that it somehow got to Sorcerer’s Isle the next day.

Nakor hurried into the study.

Miranda and Pug sat at a small table speaking of the day while enjoying their midday meal. ‘I have news,’ announced the wiry little gambler.

‘From Caleb?’

‘No. From Talwin Hawkins. He suspects that Varen is in the city of Kesh.’ Nakor looked at the message that had arrived in a special cylinder created to transport such missives quickly, and handed it to Pug. ‘Caleb is well, if a little damaged from springing a trap.’

Miranda looked concerned. ‘Damaged?’

‘He got himself wounded, again,’ said Nakor with a serious expression. He shook his head. ‘He’s amassing a fine collection of scars. Still, he is well and I will tell Marie only that, and leave out the part about the scars.’

‘That would be wise,’ said Pug as he scanned the report. ‘Kaspar has made contact with Turgan Bey as we expected, and Caleb thought he had found the Nighthawks, but apparently, they had found him instead.’

‘Should we go down there?’ said Miranda. ‘If Varen is in the city, those three have no protection against him.’

Pug shook his head. ‘That’s not entirely true. I have sent some people down there to keep an eye on our three agents, and we can be there in minutes if we must.’

‘Well, why not just go now?’ she asked, always the protective mother.

‘Because if I appeared in Kesh and Varen got wind of it, he might eschew subtlety and try to blow up the city just to kill me. He also knows you, Nakor, and Magnus by reputation so it is just as dangerous for you to show.’

‘What’s keeping him from doing that now, then?’ asked Miranda.

Nakor shrugged. ‘If he wanted to plunge the Empire into chaos, that would work, but the effects would be short-lived; an external threat would bring them together and make them put aside their differences. If one side gains pre-eminence in the Gallery of Lords and Masters, especially if there’s bloodshed, then that is another thing entirely, and would cause years of turmoil in Kesh.

‘If there’s enough bloodshed in the capital, the frontiers could become unstable. The governor of Durbin might feel confident enough to declare himself the ruler of a free city, or the tribes of the Jal-Pur might be encouraged to rise in rebellion. And it’s almost guaranteed that some of the client states in the Confederacy would rebel.

‘Varen wants evil to linger, not a quickly resolved conflict.’

Pug said, ‘Our mandate is to ensure that Varen doesn’t get what he wants.’

Miranda said, ‘I want him dead.’

‘It’s keeping him dead that seems to be the problem,’ said Nakor.

‘What about that death rift in Opardum? Does that hold some answers?’

‘I think so,’ said Nakor. ‘The problem with the way our universe works is that all the necromancers are working for the other side. If we could find one who would work on behalf of good—’ He shrugged.

Pug said, ‘The rapidity with which Varen has managed to jump from body to body leads me to believe that he must be using a vessel of some sort to house his soul.’

‘I thought soul jars were only a myth,’ said Miranda.

Pug shrugged, looking annoyed. ‘I have seen too much in my life to assume anything a myth. It is usually just something I haven’t seen yet.’

Miranda looked at her husband and frowned. ‘I meant the ones in the stories.’

‘Were based on fact, apparently,’ said Nakor. ‘There are many ways to possess another – your mother, for example, became very good at it. But she was vulnerable; if the body which she inhabited died, then she would die too.’

Nakor had never told Miranda that he had been the one to destroy the spirit of the woman who had been his wife and her mother. Miranda believed Jorma – also known as Lady Clovis – had died when the demon Jakar had taken over the Emerald Queen’s army.

‘But Varen survives the death of his host and is able to find another body. This must mean that his spirit, soul, mind, whatever you wish to call it, must rest somewhere else, and that part of it is tethered to something – perhaps a soul vessel, or another object. It could be a paperweight on his desk as easily as a true urn.’ Nakor shrugged. ‘It’s somehow related to that death rift he was fashioning. That is why I think it’s important that we keep trying to trace it back from that rift thing we discovered west of Maladon.’

‘Our son?’ asked Miranda impatiently.

‘I will send Magnus,’ said Pug. ‘He’s due to return from Kelewan shortly, and as soon as he does, I’ll send him down to Kesh to confer directly with Caleb. Tal’s report is certainly not comprehensive enough.’

Miranda looked only slightly mollified. ‘I’d rather go myself.’

Pug laughed. ‘First, Kesh is a culture where women of any rank whatsoever do not venture out after dark alone, and secondly, Magnus has a much more even temper than you, my love.’

She glared at him but said nothing.

‘I’ll go down with you if the time comes to do serious harm to Varen,’ Pug added.

Miranda seemed satisfied with that. ‘Very well, but I want to know as soon as we hear from Caleb.’

‘Yes, dear,’ said Pug as he looked at Nakor. The little gambler grinned.

Kaspar waited surrounded by Imperial Household Guards.

Each man was physically impressive – not one of them was shorter than six feet, and many were closer to seven. All were dark-skinned, suggesting their lineage, if not Trueblood, came from the closely-allied tribes around the Overn. They wore the Trueblood linen kilt, and belts of bronze-studded leather. Their sandals, Kaspar noticed, were closed-toed, and he suspected they were designed for combat, not comfort. Each carried a long, curved blade at his hip and they all wore battle torques of silverdecorated iron.

Servants led Kaspar and his escort through gallery after gallery, many adorned with fountains or exotic birds, until he found himself in a gigantic room, dominated by an enormous bed. The bed easily measured twelve square feet, and it sat on top of a dais in the centre of the room.

The room, however, looked more like a pavilion, hung with many curtains that could be moved as privacy dictated. Currently, they were all thrown back, affording the Emperor a stunning view of the palace below and the city beyond, in every direction.

Diigai sat on a curved chair a few feet in front of the bed. Upon a table before him rested the most splendid chess set Kaspar had ever beheld. The Emperor waved him closer and said, ‘Sit, boy. Let us play.’

Kaspar sat and looked around. All around the chamber stood young women of stunning beauty, dressed in the scant Trueblood fashion. Not a man given to being swayed by a pretty face or ample bosom, even Kaspar was impressed by their exquisiteness and sheer number.

The Emperor waved his hand and said, ‘I wish as much privacy as possible, my loves. Go away.’

The girls left with whispers and giggles, and servants drew gauzy curtains so that only one view of the city was left open.

‘This is as much privacy as I’m allowed, Kaspar,’ said the Emperor, dropping the formality of speech used in public. ‘I’ll give you white.’

Kaspar nodded and picked up a pawn.

The board appeared to be carved from rosewood and had been crafted with eye-catching precision. The squares appeared to be ebony and ivory and were framed with tiny bands of gold set so perfectly that the surface was completely smooth. The pieces were not only made from the finest black onyx and white chalcedony, the carvings were also works of art. Kaspar picked up the white queen and beheld a face of regal beauty. Each crown was made of gold, and as he inspected the other pieces more closely, he could seen the tiny gems set into the priest’s sceptre and that the horseman’s sword was fashioned from platinum.

‘Move, boy,’ urged the Emperor, and Kasper pushed his king’s pawn forwards. He smiled. It had been many years since anyone had called him ‘boy’.

The Emperor leaned forward and said, ‘I wager you’re wondering about all those pretty girls.’

Kaspar laughed. ‘I must confess, Majesty, I was nearly overwhelmed by their beauty.’

The Emperor grinned, and Kaspar was struck by how strong and white his teeth appeared against his aged, dusky skin. ‘What is the saying? “I’m old, but I’m not dead yet”?’ He chuckled. ‘They are only here to spy on me. I think each of them works for some different minister, general, nobleman or guild in the city. They’re all presents, you know?’

‘Slaves?’

‘Hardly. No slave would be permitted within a hundred paces of the imperial personage. And Truebloods can never be slaves. If you break the laws enough to deserve slavery, we toss you to the crocodiles instead.’ He moved his own pawn. Then, lowering his voice even more, he said, ‘One of the benefits of rank. I bed one now and again and even if … nothing significant occurs, I do hear things.’

Diigai motioned for Kaspar to lean closer and whispered, ‘They think I’m senile.’ He chuckled, and Kaspar saw a light in his eyes for the first time since he had been a boy. ‘And I let them think so.’

Kaspar said nothing, wondering why he, a renegade outlander was being admitted … no, not admitted – dragooned – into the Emperor’s inner circle. Kaspar moved again.

The game continued slowly, until Diigai said, ‘Kaspar, I suspect that at this time next year I will not be alive.’ He surveyed the board, and added, ‘Perhaps not even this time next month.’

‘Someone plots against you, Majesty?’

‘Always. It’s the Keshian way. My sons all died young, and only one had a son of his own. If I had a reasonably intelligent granddaughter, I’d marry her off and make her husband emperor, just as I was named when Leikesha married Sharana to me.’ He smiled as he moved a piece. ‘Now, there was a woman. Did you ever sleep with her?’

Kaspar chuckled. ‘I never had that honour.’

‘You may have been the only ruling noble to visit Kesh who didn’t.’

‘I believe I was only fifteen years old at the time, Majesty.’

‘That wouldn’t have stopped her. She was probably too busy bedding your father, then.’ Before Kaspar could respond, the Emperor continued, ‘I have it on good authority that she took both the princes of the Isles to bed. But it was before we wed. Ah, Trueblood women of power; there are none like them in the world.’

‘I can easily believe that,’ said Kaspar.

‘Sharana was a strong-willed, opinionated woman with an unforgiving nature. There were times she wouldn’t speak to me for weeks if she was mad. I must confess I grew to love her after a fashion.’ He sighed. ‘I still miss her after forty years.

‘If I had a granddaughter like her, I’d marry her off to you, Kaspar.’

‘Me, sire?’ said Kaspar, genuinely surprised.

The Emperor took one of Kaspar’s pieces and said, ‘Four moves to checkmate if you don’t pay attention. Yes, you, and it’s not because I like you particularly, because I don’t. You’re a murderous bastard with no remorse in your soul, but that’s exactly what it takes to run this empire.’