Free Kings of Morning by Paul Kearney Page B

Maidek for sense, and Saryam for companionship.’
    ‘I could not have put it better myself. And you, brother?’
    He smiled. ‘I go alone.’
    ‘Is there no-one –’
    ‘That I can trust? I am the younger son, Roshana. If Bel himself took me into his embrace, I would check my pockets afterwards.’
    ‘Perhaps that will change, when we are elsewhere.’
    ‘Perhaps. We have the whole wide world to escape to, but there’s barely a corner of it that does not know the imprint of the empire. Places to hide in may not be easy to come by.’
    ‘And is that all you mean to do – hide?’
    ‘I mean to survive, sister, by any means necessary. I am young yet. The world changes – the Macht are invading, the Jutha are in rebellion. Who knows what fractures and alarms and opportunities tomorrow may bring?’
    Roshana hugged herself as though suddenly cold.
    ‘I just wish it were done, and we were away.’
    ‘One way or another, that part will be over soon enough.’ Rakhsar looked down on the bed, at the face of the sleeping boy. ‘In the end, I wonder if there is much we can do to influence our fate. They took this boy’s manhood last night, all his hopes for posterity, and then shoved him from the wings onto the stage of history. I hope he profits by the exchange.’
     
     
    I T WAS THE cooler air that woke Kurun. It blew on one side of his face, and he was moving against it, but his right cheek was resting against warm flesh.
    And then the pain.
    The groan mushroomed out of him, seeming to leave him not through his mouth but by every pore of his tattered body. He writhed.
    Immediately a pair of arms clutched him close. He was gagged, but not bound. He tried to wriggle free, ignoring the pain that seemed to flood his frame from the waist down. The arms clamped him tight against a huge, muscled chest, broad as a door. He might as well have been a kitten in the coil of a python.
    ‘Be still, you little fool,’ a deep voice said. ‘Mistress, he is awake.’
    ‘Open your eyes.’ A woman’s voice.
    He saw a blur of white in dark, and eyes above it, bright as shards of window-glass catching the moons.
    ‘You are among friends, boy. My name is Roshana, and I will not let any more harm come to you. Nod if you understand.’
    He recognised the perfect Kefren of the Court, smelled perfume tinting the night air, and nodded. Her fingers fumbled at the back of his head. They were cool, and the light of Anande the Patient glittered on her painted nails. The gag came off, leaving a sourness in his mouth.
    ‘My name is Kurun,’ he said doggedly, forcing down the pain, determined to make himself known. He would not die nameless.
    ‘You must make no noise – do you understand me? Not a sound, if you wish to live. Be brave for me now, Kurun.’ The cool fingers traced a line down his cheek for a moment, and then she had turned away.
    Kurun raised his head slightly, and saw the jowled underside of a broad, hairless face, dark as walnut. ‘What’s happening?’ he whispered.
    The arms crushed him closer, and a dull grunt of agony left him.
    ‘No noise,’ the deep voice above him said. ‘You make another sound, and I will break your neck.’
    Kurun went limp, fighting the pain, the dark swirl of confusion. He could smell damp earth, and growing things. They were in the gardens, padding quickly and silently from shadow to deeper shadow, while above them, pale Anande shone down in a sky spattered full of stars. He blinked his eyes clear and tried to focus.
    They halted, and there was a tense, frozen time of waiting. They were in among the trees, crouched like assassins. In addition to the ebony giant who held him and the komis-wearing lady, Kurun identified a hufsa girl, plainly clad as if for journeying, and a thin Kefre with a face as bonily angular as that of a mantis. Both bore packs too large for their frames.
    Then another joined them. A masked Kefre who bore a naked scimitar. He dropped his komis to reveal a long,