From the Ashes (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #3)(159)

Chapter 31





Avanti





“What do you mean you had to piss?” Donrey Avanti’s voice rose to nearly a scream as he spoke. The vein in his forehead was throbbing and Truce knew his father well enough to know that someone would die today.

“It was like that for everyone, Milord. Even the bloody horses, Sir. Then the dragon fell and she used necromancy to turn it against us.” The man stammered. He had been one of the few survivors from the first engagement with Jala Merrodin and had already made the report to his superiors, of course.

“She attacked during a parlay, father,” Cassia added, her voice almost a whine.

Truce leaned farther back in his chair, watching, and let out a long silent sigh. His sister shouldn’t have been anywhere near the encampment, but she had insisted on seeing the Merrodin defeat. If not for Sovaesh, Cassia would still be a prisoner in Jala Merrodin’s camp. The Assassin had returned her safely the night before and Cassia had been whining non-stop since then.

“Are you suggesting to me that Lady Merrodin used magic to make you have to piss?” the High Lord asked in a low voice, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

There was a faint snort of laughter toward the back of the room and Truce glanced back at Sovaesh who was bowing his head and obviously losing his fight to remain silent.

“Do you find it funny that we are losing a war against a girl and her rabble of an army, Sovaesh?” Donrey snarled, his eyes rising from the wounded soldier to settle on Sovaesh.

“No, Milord. I find the reason they lost the battle amusing,” Sovaesh returned, his voice holding far too much amusement for the mood the High lord was currently in.

“I find nothing about this amusing,” Donrey snarled and whirled on the second man sitting before his desk. “You are one of my elites. You had support from mercenaries as well as Blights and you still lost the bloody battle,” the High Lord snarled, his face twisting in his anger.

“It was all but won, Milord. Then the dragon attacked. Milord, there was nothing we could do about a dragon,” the man explained. He was seasoned and steady in the face of the lord’s fury, unlike his comrade in arms who sat fairly quivering in his seat.

The mention of the dragon gave the High Lord pause and his attention turned to the last man in the room. The visitor was large by any standards, close to seven foot in height if Truce was guessing correctly. He stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest, a look of boredom on his face. Both his swarthy skin and scarred leather armor made him seem more like a backstreet thug than anyone Donrey Avanti might associate with. Truce had been watching the man off and on throughout the meeting, trying to determine exactly who he was and why he was here. Now it seemed he would finally get his answers.

“What color was the dragon?” the large man asked in a deep voice.

“Black with gold on the wings and neck, Sir,” the soldier replied at once.

“Do you know this dragon, Lord Margundrak?” Donrey asked, his voice slowly returning to a normal pitch.

Truce watched the stranger, his eyes roving over the tattered leather vest and the thick rawhide bracers he wore. The man certainly didn’t look like a Lord, but then his father never used a title unless it was deserved.

“Nigel Rivasa. He is a half-breed. It will be no difficulty dealing with him,” Margundrak said shrugging one shoulder.

“I would highly appreciate your doing so before this half-breed reaches my city. I was assured by High Lady Wilameir that Nerathane was on our side. I find myself wondering now, however. Is she playing both sides of the fence?” Donrey said, his tone scathing.

“As I said, he is a half-breed, and a Rivana half-breed at that. Nigel is a rebel. Surely Avanti, of all lands would understand such things,” Margundrak replied coldly.

Truce leaned forward in his seat with interest and stared at the two men. There weren’t many that would dare speak that way with his father, but Margundrak didn’t seem concerned with his father’s temper, and his father didn’t seem to mind.

“Naturally. I can see by the fact that you are here that your High Lady understands that Nerathane must take responsibility for its own. You will kill this rebel?” Donrey said, emphasizing the word rebel with a disgusted tone.

“Kill them all! She nearly killed me, daddy. If not for that drunkard knight, I would be dead now,” Cassia chimed in, her eyes going wide as she bounced forward in her chair. “They killed Jexon, daddy! I was supposed to be his wife. I should be a High Lady now and because of her he is dead!” Cassia added, her voice rising enough to make Truce wince.

That was the first that Truce had heard of Cassia being a High Lady and he turned to watch his sister as she pouted at their father. His mother had always told him that you loved your family despite their faults, because they were your blood. As he sat in silence and watched his father and sister, however, he realized how much he had failed to follow his mother’s wisdom. His father was a tyrant and his sister was a spoiled brat. Truce couldn’t even fathom how bad she would be as a High Lady. She was already petty and demanding and she was simply a child of a High House.

Donrey let out a long sigh and favored his daughter with a faint smile. “I know pumpkin. I’m sorry Jexon fell. I truly am. Merrodin would have been a country to be reckoned with had you been its High Lady, rather than the peasant mud hole it currently is.”