Free Self-Made Scoundrel by Tristan J. Tarwater Page A

Ceric. His brother looked ashamed.
    “If all goes according to plan, we can go from the Sword and the Seat to the Crown and the Coin,” his father said, looking to Dershik. Hope shone in his eyes. “A sword is a cruel thing with which to rule. With your help and our careful planning, the Cartaskin household will establish a throne and a legacy in the Ten Crescents, ruled not with the wisdom of religion like Haran or the whims of its Barons. It will be a proper country with all of us helping to establish it as a small but great nation, something to pass on to our children and our children’s children.” Now the old men all looked to each other. They all had ambition on their faces. Dershik tried to keep the terror off his own face.
    “Do I have your oaths and your hand, as well as your secrecy?” his father asked.
    “You have all three of these from me, my lord and future king,” Jerila’s father said very quickly, putting his hand to his forehead in salute.
    “And from me, my lord and future king,” said Gedrix.
    “I as well.” Now all the older men looked to Dershik, seeming to ignore Ceric for the moment.
    Dershik didn’t know what to do or say. It sounded like blasphemy, but was it? A king? There had been a king in Haran but he was a King and the High Priest, head of the Holy Family. There was no Family here, only the Goddess and she needed no consort, no husband. She took on as she desired. If Dershik agreed, he was agreeing to be the future king of the Valley and he wanted that even less than he wanted to be the Baron. But if there was no legacy…there was no use standing up to him now. Dershik would find another way.
    “Yes,” Dershik said, trying to sound as confident as he knew his father wanted him to be. Darix Cartaskin actually looked surprised for a breath, then pleased. Dershik was relieved to have his father turn his attention to his brother.
    “Of course, my lord,” Ceric said. His voice squeaked when he spoke. Dershik turned to Ceric as well, glaring at his brother. Once again his brother seemed to know more than he did. Keeping an eye on other members of the clergy as well as agreeing to take the place of Cira. What would Dershik have left?
    “You all know what is at stake. We must all do our parts. Strength from Within,” his father concluded. He smiled broadly and except for the silver in his hair and the wrinkles at his eyes, Darix Cartaskin seemed the same young man Dershik remembered from his boyhood. He himself felt like a little boy, playing underfoot while the adults carried on their business. How long would he be forced under the table? As the old men came together to talk about less serious matters, Dershik slipped out of the room, needing fresh air.
    “Derry!” His brother called after him, chasing him down the hall. There were servants in the halls, swapping the tapestries on the walls for the newer ones. They featured the maned bear of the house with the silver fish in its mouth. Dershik wanted to rip them all down, but he concentrated on ignoring Ceric and made for the stairs.
    “Derry!” Ceric called again, louder. Dershik ducked into the staircase and took a step down before finally Ceric caught up, panting and tired.
    “Don’t call me that any more!” Dershik snapped. He felt the tension in his jaw, the anger in him grow. “We’re not children anymore. And I’m through with you.”
    “What? Why?!” Ceric called, following him down the steps. Dershik growled and spun around, grabbing his brother by his robes. He slammed him against the wall and pinned him there.
    “You hem chewer, you knew father meant to get Cira out of here and put you at the head of the temple. Like you could ever lead anyone. Like I need you.”
    “Der-ick” Ceric croaked. It almost sounded funny, except his face was terrified and his skin was changing colors. He tried to speak but couldn’t, Dershik crushing his throat with his arm. He just flailed his arms at his sides. Dershik held