Free Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) by David Hair

each other. They’re all vying for control.’
    Gurvon stared. ‘What? But Alfredo Gorgio—’
    ‘—is dead,’ Rutt interrupted. ‘On the day Portia Tolidi gave birth to Francis Dorobon’s son, Alfredo rode to the cliffs and hurled himself into the ocean. They never recovered his body.’
    ‘ Rukka mio , I was only gone for a month!’ Gurvon downed the wine and poured another. ‘Is Constant still emperor? Is Mater-Imperia still a bitch? Does Luna still float in the heavens?’
    ‘They say the whole Gorgio court is in terror of Portia Tolidi.’ Endus licked his lips. ‘She has the gnosis now – through pregnancy manifestation – and no one to teach her how to use it. By the sound of it she’s completely out of control. Send me up there, Gurv. I’ll straighten her out.’ He sniggered like a college boy. ‘The hard way.’
    ‘No, Endus. Hytel is irrelevant. They’ve no magi.’ Gurvon studied the map thoughtfully. ‘Let Betillon worry about them. Anyone he sends to bring them into line will be away when we strike. I’m more concerned about the Jhafi – there are more than five million natives in Javon. I know most have no military value, but the Rimoni-dominated cities of Riban, Forensa and Loctis worry me, especially if they act in concert. Dealing with Cera and Timori Nesti is crucial .’
    Endus Rykjard looked at him ironically. ‘You let them go, Gurv.’
    ‘I’m lucky I had them as a bargaining chip, or I’d not be here,’ he replied, while inwardly acknowledging that Endus was absolutely right. He tapped the map. ‘Endus, I’m sorry, you urgently need to turn your men round and send them back to Baroz. We must control the trade routes. Can you leave immediately?’
    ‘Of course.’ Rykjard stood and finished his wine. ‘Keep me posted, Gurv.’ He gave a sloppy salute and swaggered out.
    A good man, but he spends too much energy on whoring and drinking.
    He turned to Rutt. ‘I want you to pull everyone we can spare out of Yuros and fly them here, to Javon.’ It was a chilling thought that of all the magi-agents he’d brought to Javon, Elena had killed them all except Rutt, who’d be dead too if he wasn’t a Necromancer.
    ‘But boss,’ Rutt replied, looking worried, ‘everyone left in Yuros is in deep. Some of those plays you’ve had running for years.’
    ‘Rutt, this is a kingdom we’re talking about. Those swindles I’ve got running in Rondelmar are nothing compared to this. Right now we need our people, badly.’
    ‘But most of them aren’t fighters, boss: they’re thieves and courtiers and assassins. And you’ll still need ears in Pallas.’
    He’s right: I’m overreacting . But the nagging feeling that this was going to get worse before it got better persisted. He’d have to compromise.
    ‘All right, let’s bring those outside Pallas at least: I want Sylas, Brossian, Veritia, and their apprentices. And Drexel too: he was apprenticed to Elena for a time – perhaps he can get close to her where others can’t. That’s what, eleven magi? Tell them I’ll double their money.’ He added, ‘You too, Rutt. Double the money, backdated to the start of the Moontide.’
    ‘I don’t do this for the money, Gurvon. You know that. But I’ll take it, of course,’ Rutt added, with a faint smile. ‘I’ll find some staves and contact them immediately.’
    ‘Bring me one too, will you? I suppose I’d better speak to Betillon.’
    Brochena, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia
    Rami (Septinon) 929
    15 th month of the Moontide
    Tomas Betillon had been enjoying such an excellent morning that it was only to be expected that the day would go downhill in the afternoon. Nothing good lasted in this Kore-forsaken place. Radiant heat throbbed up from the stones and down from the skies. In the distance the dried-up salt-lake, which was apparently full for only a few months after the annual rains, was eye-blisteringly white.
    He’d been presiding over an execution: some crime-lord