The Skein of Lament - By Chris Wooding Page 0,138

desert in outrage. This was a better result than he could have hoped. And having Mos kidnap Reki in order to minimise the damage was just perfect; all it would take was a small leak of information, arranged by Kakre, and Tchom Rin’s response would be assured.

Kakre had gone to Mos after the beating and found him weeping and pathetic, pleading for help – as if Kakre was someone he could confess to, who might offer succour. It had been made to look like coincidence, but very little that Kakre did was without forethought. While he was with the Emperor he could not Weave, for Weaving required all his concentration and Mos would know.

He had not been able to witness Laranya’s last moments; but he had been provided with a perfect alibi that exonerated him from any suspicion of a hand in the Empress’s death. Even Mos – poor, poor Mos – had never even thought of the possibility that the dreams that sent him mad had been coming from Kakre. Kakre had been too sly; he had cut away that line of reasoning from Mos’s mind, so that it never got to flower.

‘Barak Goren tu Tanatsua will hear of his daughter’s death long before Reki reaches him,’ Kakre rasped at last. ‘And he will know the circumstances. Laranya was not discreet about her condition.’ He stirred, his hood throwing his face into shadow. ‘Her hair was cut, Mos. You know what that means.’

‘Perhaps if we have Reki, his father may pause and listen to reason.’ Mos’s words were empty of feeling. He did not really care either way. He was merely going through the motions of being Emperor, because he had nothing else left now.

‘Nevertheless,’ Kakre said, ‘preparations must be made. With your marriage to Laranya, the desert Baraks were pacified for a long time; but now that link is severed, they will react badly. They have ever been the troublesome ones. Too autonomous for their own good, within their trackless realm of sand.’

Mos gazed blankly at Kakre for a time, sweat creeping from his brow in the heat of the skinning-chamber.

‘If they come to Axekami, they will encourage the other discontented Baraks,’ Kakre told him. ‘Imagine a desert army marching through Tchamaska and up the East Way, intent on demanding satisfaction for Laranya’s death. Imagine how powerless that will make you seem.’

Mos could not really picture it.

‘You should send men to Maxachta,’ the Weave-lord advised. ‘Many men. If you must meet them, meet them in the mountains at the Juwacha Pass. Contain them there. Prevent them from coming into the west.’

‘I need all my men here,’ Mos replied, but there was no strength in his voice.

‘For what? For Blood Kerestyn? They have made only noises and taken no action. It will take them years to become strong enough to challenge you. Axekami is unassailable by any force in Saramyr at the moment; unless the desert Baraks join with those in the west, that is.’

Mos thought on that for a little while.

‘I will send men,’ he said, as Kakre had known he would. Mos had not been listening to his advisers, and Kakre had carefully underestimated the size of the forces that were being ranged against the Emperor in the wake of the gathering starvation. The signal would be sent tonight to Barak Avun tu Koli, advising him to begin the muster of the armies. The Imperial forces were dividing, and many thousands would be marching far from Axekami to meet the potential desert threat, leaving the capital weaker for their absence.

The game begins, Kakre thought, and behind his mask his ruined face twisted into a smile.

TWENTY-FIVE

Kaiku slid recklessly down the shale slope, her boots pluming dust in the sharp white moonlight. Tsata had already reached the bottom and was levelling his rifle back up it, to where the undulating rim was framed against Aurus’s huge, blotched face. At any instant, he expected to see the silhouette of their pursuer blocking out the light, for it to come raging down after Kaiku.

The ghaureg roared, a sound that was a cross between a bear and a wolf cry. It was closing on them fast.

Kaiku fled headlong past him as he covered the point where he guessed the Aberrant monster would emerge. The land around her was virtually devoid of vegetation, just a broken tangle of rocks and hard, stony soil. She made for a spot where the land slipped lower and a ridge rose up on the left. Maybe cover

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