War is coming to Dimvein.
Emperor Wymarc’s words hung in the air, resonating with a force far more powerful than any human voice could manage. The promise of death and bloodshed loomed on the horizon—or just beyond, for the Blood Clan ships and their Hudarian Horde allies would not arrive for two days.
Two days. A shudder ran down Kullen’s spine. Far too little time to prepare for a full-scale invasion by the Karmian Empire’s oldest and bitterest enemies.
But Emperor Wymarc was determined to do his best. He whirled on Assidius, barking orders at the whip-thin Seneschal in a voice evocative of the military commander he’d been in his heyday.
“Get General Tyranus in here at once!” he snapped. “I want a full report on the state of Our Imperial Navy and the seaward defenses within the hour. Every ballista, catapult, and chain-thrower, every soldier trained to hold the seawall, every sword and breastplate and longbow at our command. All of it, down to the last arrow.” His sun-spotted hands balled into fists at his sides. “Our enemies are going to hit us with everything they’ve got, and I bloody well intend to hit them back just as hard.”
“Your will, Divine Majesty.” Assidius snapped a crisp bow and turned to depart, vanishing from the Emperor’s private study in a flurry of mouse-colored robes and slippered feet.
“Sir,” Turoc’s rumbling voice reverberated in the chamber. The Tuskigo had made no move to break free of the Elite Scales restraining him, though there was no doubt in Kullen’s mind the huge Orken could snap the two heavily armored soldiers in half with nothing more than his bare hands. “If you are allowing me, I summon the Orkenwatch to—”
“Hold your tongue!” Emperor Wymarc rounded on the Orken. Though he stood a full head shorter than Turoc—possibly two—the fire in his eyes struck Turoc like the lash of a whip. “There is no Orkenwatch. Not until Assidius can conduct a thorough investigation and prove beyond a shadow of doubt that the treachery died with your Ketsneer and Arbiter Chuldok.” He stepped forward and jabbed a stiff finger into Turoc’s chest. “You will heed my command and march yourself peacefully to Tuskthorne Keep. There, you will await my response.”
Had it been anyone else who spoke to Turoc so or poked him as the Emperor had, the Orken would have left them broken and bleeding on the floor. Kullen had seen the Tuskigo do as much on multiple occasions. But he merely stood motionless and weathered the Emperor’s anger with no more outward reaction than a pillar of stone. Save for the twitching of his huge jaw muscles beneath his bristling black beard, he could’ve been deaf for all the response he gave.
“You have served me well, Turoc.” Emperor Wymarc’s voice softened a fraction, though it lost none of its biting steel. “It is because of your years of loyalty that I do not have your hands removed and chains clamped around your neck here and now.”
Kullen saw the fear darkening the Orken’s dark eyes. To them, the only thing worse than imprisonment was losing their ability to fight. In Orken society, the strongest thrived and the weakest were trod upon. Turoc had fought his way to the position of Tuskigo, effectively commander-in-chief of all his people in the Empire. The Emperor’s threat held wickedly sharp teeth.
“Go,” Emperor Wymarc said in a voice ringing with command. “Leave the Palace now and return to Tuskthorne Keep. When the time comes, I expect you to give Assidius full access to every inch of that place. He will root out the treachery, wherever it lies.” His face hardened. “I pray to Ezrasil that it does not lie within you.”
Turoc straightened, his spine going even more rigid than usual. Kullen tensed as Turoc’s right hand shifted. He prepared to spring into motion, to put himself between the Orken and the Emperor, though he’d have little chance of holding the Tuskigo off in his current mutilated condition.
But Turoc just raised his hand to thump a fist against his banded-mailed chest. “Sir.”
