Free Kingshelm (Renegade Druid Cycle Book 1) by George Hatt

both at court and in the boudoir. She is a danger only to   herself and whomever she drags along with her to perdition.”
    The Emperor nodded and smiled. “I know this well about the duchess. Duke Philo?”
    “Philo is interested only in securing his own position and income. Governor Kodric would be a fool to send him on a mission of political adventure.”  
    Mithrandrates nodded. “Unless the adventure came at no risk to Kodric.”  
    “Risk is a constant companion in Hastrus,” Garon said. “Kodric is in no position to seek any more of it.”
    “Does that ever stop any of my governors from warring on each other?”
    “No, Emperor. It does not.”
    “Watch them all closely. It will be interesting to see which ones vote against the Accord of Peace this year.”
    “My people send me reports daily on all of the envoys’ movements.”
    The Emperor stood. “Good. Let us see how the preparations are coming along for the tournament.”

    A fortnight later, racing chariots thundered round the coliseum in Mergova to the cheers of thousands of spectators. Centuries had passed since war mages had ridden them in battle, blasting the Empire’s foes with bolts of deadly energy and sorcerous fire, but the obsolete war machines still cut a bright swath of glory through the lore and culture of the Empire. These days, the chariot races were the opening spectacle of a week of celebrations, feasting and deeds of martial skill ushering in   the month-long Imperial Council every year.
    The chariot races would be followed by other contests more suitable to the modern battlefield: archery contests, cavalry demonstrations, duels and force-on-force combat complete with wooden fortresses and siege engines built in the arena. All combatants used blunted weapons lest any blood feuds erupt amidst what was supposed to be a unifying national ritual.  
    Each day of contests would begin with a dawn worship service culminating when the sun crested the eastern wall of the coliseum. These services filled the arena with true believers seeking blessings from Mahurin—a different crowd altogether from those who would fill the seats later in the morning to swill watery ale and cheer the contests.  
    Mithrandrates and the provincial representatives watched from the Emperor’s Box, a columned, roofed platform jutting out from the stands near ground level in the northern end of the great arena. It was large enough to accommodate the Emperor and the Council, their guards, and the various servants bustling about and seeing to their wants. The Emperor sat in the middle of the platform on a stone replica of the Imperial throne. The six representatives sat in portable but splendidly adorned wooden chairs, three to each side of the Emperor.  
    The Council passed the first morning’s races in silence save for applause at appropriate times and the Emperor’s lofty words honoring the winners. He wore a stony demeanor to make clear to the representatives that theirs was not to enjoy the spectacle, but to be part of it. They were to be living extensions of the coliseum and the embodiment of the Mergovan Empire.
    After the chariot races and midday meal, Mithrandrates allowed himself a smile when the trumpets sounded for the pass-in-review. The great portcullis at the opposite side of the arena rose, and a band of pipers and drummers from the Imperial Guard led a procession of mounted warriors from each of the provinces and great mercenary companies competing in the tournament. Banners depicting each faction’s arms streamed in the clear afternoon air. The Imperial eagle led the way, followed by the golden sun of the Temple Guard, the coiled adder of Aternis, the mermaid of Draugmere, the winged sword of Balgroth, the griffin of Relfast, the axe of Hastrus and the winged horse of Brynn. Men-at-arms from the Black Swan Company, Demon Company, Radic’s Reavers and the Battle Hags, an all-woman mercenary company known for its ferocity, represented the