Free Dreamwielder by Garrett Calcaterra

come to my tower.”
    King Casstian narrowed his eyes. “That’s beyond your realm of jurisdiction, houndkeeper. The Emperor and I clearly came to an agreement that you had no authority to carry out investigations, try criminals, or punish them. I have it in the Emperor’s own writing that—”
    â€œThe scenario has changed,” Natarios interrupted. He stood up, hoping to give the impression he was unconcerned and aloof of the King’s protest. “I’m not asking your permission,” Natarios continued, “I’m merely here to inform you of what I’ll be doing. As a courtesy. If you take issue with the Emperor’s decree, you can discuss it with Wulfram when he returns from Valaróz within the week.”
    With that, Natarios turned and hurried out of the study. Casstian wordlessly watched him leave, then turned to glare into the fireplace. For over thirty years he had been fending off the Emperor to maintain control of Pyrthinia, but he was slowly losing, he knew. Every day it was something—some new decree that left Casstian powerless to protect his people. He sighed deeply. It was a helpless feeling, and each day more so. There had been a time when he contemplated standing up to the Emperor, but he’d foolishly thought he could persuade the Emperor to see his way with reason, or if nothing else, he could keep Pyrthinia isolated and out of harm’s way if he stayed quiet and didn’t draw attention to Pyrthinia. It was clear now he had been wrong. Casstian had known for a long time but was reticent to admit it to himself. He had been whittled down to nearly nothing—a figurehead. That’s all he was, and the little resistance he had posed over the years had been in vain. It had already cost him the life of one of his sons, his other son was in the lions’ den, and now, he feared, the Emperor was after his daughter.

9
A Voice in the Dark
    Caile downed his third ale and called for a round of spiced grain spirits from the tavern keeper. At his side, Meinrad tried to follow suit but spilled most of the ale down his chin. Meinrad was Caile’s officially appointed liaison to Col Sargoth, but Caile hadn’t been fooled for a moment by the title. Meinrad was the Emperor’s agent. Whenever Caile wasn’t attending court sessions pertaining to Pyrthinian trade matters, it was Meinrad’s task to watch over Caile; Caile literally could not go anywhere beyond his private chambers in the keep without him. More importantly to Caile’s mind, Meinrad had also been Cargan’s liaison and witnessed Cargan’s death at a tavern several blocks east of where the two of them now sat drinking. Caile had been in Col Sargoth for nearly a week now and had learned little more than that from Meinrad. The man was taciturn and rigid, but Caile had been showering him with praise and mock adoration for days, pretending to be a spoiled prince looking for nothing more than debauchery and easy thrills. The ruse seemed to be working, and each day Meinrad let his guard down a little more. It had taken a good amount of pleading and prodding to get Meinrad to escort him out of Lightbringer’s Keep and to a tavern, but Caile had won out in the end, and here they were, mingling in the noisy tavern like any other city folk. While the mood on the streets of Col Sargoth by day was somber, the people inside the dim, low-roofed tavern seemed to be having no shortage of merriment and mirth.
    The tavern keeper slammed down two pewter glasses filled with pungent grain spirit onto the table in front of Caile and his liaison. Caile clinked his glass against Meinrad’s and lifted it to his lips, silently thanking Don Bricio for the only useful skill the usurper ever taught him: how to hold his liquor. Bricio had migrated from the Old World and brought with him the technique for distilling fire nectar when he was given the throne in Sol Valaróz. The fire nectar