The Ragged Man - By Tom Lloyd Page 0,44

way.’

‘How had you intended it then?’ Styrax snapped, straightening up. He gripped the armrests of his chair as though poised to leap up and attack the major.

‘I did not know your son well enough to say anything else,’ Amber said in a meek voice. ‘Kohrad inherited more from you than he ever realised. He was unknowable to a man like me, but he was Menin, and a soldier, too; little more than a boy making a good account of himself in a man’s world.

‘My father always told me that battle forged a bond between men - I might not have known Kohrad well, but I shared that with him at least, and I’m glad to have done so.’ As he finished, Amber realised that he was shaking so much he could barely keep his balance.

‘Those are your words of sympathy?’ Styrax sat back, his anger dissipated suddenly. ‘While this cancer eats away at my gut you tell me that?’

‘I am sorry, Lord. Death and duty is all I know.’

‘Why don’t you lecture me on duty too?’

‘I am yours to command, Lord.’ Bugger, that was more rude than meek.

His words prompted a momentary change in the air as Styrax eyed him gravely. ‘Do so and I’ll put your head through the wall.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

Another long pause. Amber tried to stand as close to attention as he could manage, while a thousand emotions flashed across Lord Styrax’s normally still face.

‘Why are you here?’ the white-eye asked at last.

‘Duchess Natai Escral of Byora is requesting an audience of you.’

‘And you think I care?’ roared Styrax.

He propelled himself up, and sprang forward so quickly Amber, wobbling precariously on his crutch, edged back to the wall.

‘The Gods themselves could be waiting at my door and I would not give a shit!’ he shouted, making the heavy chair shiver and the dust motes dance in the lamp light. ‘You disturb me for this? Get out of here while you still can, and pray I only strip you of your rank! You think killing Tsatach’s Chosen gives you the right to irritate me with impunity?’

Amber blinked and found Styrax’s hand at his throat.

The white-eye forced Amber’s head up so he was looking him in the eye. His face was tight with barely restrained fury.

‘All I have is my duty, Lord,’ Amber repeated hoarsely. His muscles were screaming out in agony. He felt on the edge, as if he would fall into unconsciousness, so bad was the pain.

‘Don’t think that will save you.’

‘I do not.’

‘Then choose your next words carefully.’

‘I — I cannot, Lord. What must be said is foolish. Even your commanders know what must be said, and they fear to say it.’

‘Then make your last words good,’ Styrax snarled, his grip tightening a fraction.

‘We need you.’

‘Don’t take me for a fool! That is not what you came to say!’

‘No, Lord.’

‘So talk while you still can.’

‘Kohrad was only a part of what you are trying to achieve here, Lord. You cannot stop now,’ Amber whispered.

‘Now it hardly matters!’

‘That is grief talking, nothing more.’

‘Grief is all I have.’

‘No, Lord.’ Somehow, Amber managed to bite back the pain. He rallied himself and tried again. ‘There are more Crystal Skulls to track down. There are more monuments to build.’

Styrax shook him, like a lion subduing its prey. ‘Who have you been talking to?’ he snarled.

‘Talking to? No one, Lord, but I walk in your shadow and you taught me to see the Land with open eyes. There is more to the monuments you build than celebrating victory; of that I am certain. They are too few to be of use yet - whatever use you intend to put them to. Your empire must continue to expand; the campaign is not over.’

‘And so?’

The major gasped for breath, but he managed to croak out, ‘And so ... So your vassal begs an audience, my lord, and those you rule need your intervention. A dragon ravages the Circle City, at a time when you need it to be strong and whole. Your work is not done; your grief must be put aside.’

Styrax’s grip on Amber’s neck lessened.

Amber tried to relax. ‘Only then will there be time for mourning, once the Library of Seasons is safe to walk again.’

The hand slipped away and Amber fell to the floor.

CHAPTER 5

‘My Lord,’ the servant called in a quavering voice, ‘the Duchess of Byora and her retinue.’ He stepped aside, making room for the duchess. This wasn’t the sort of grand hall which would normally accommodate such

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