Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(163)

“Why?” he managed after a long pause.

Adiv shrugged. “Who can know the heart of a murderer? Most likely he resented your family’s ancient connection to the goddess. The man was an upjumped peasant with delusions of his own importance. He preached openly that Annur should be guided, if not ruled outright, by priests rather than Emperors. Your father agreed to meet with him in secret, leaving the scum an opening for his treachery.”

Kaden’s head ached with the thought; he wanted to hide his face behind his hands. This was not a time, however, for boyish weakness. It occurred to him, in a bleak flash, that there might never again be a time for either boyishness or weakness.

“How did the empire take his death?”

“Uneasily,” Adiv replied. “As long as you remain away from the Unhewn Throne, there will be worry over the succession. Meanwhile, the Urghul take this opportunity to press our northeastern frontier.”

That last comment brought Ut into the conversation for the first time. “Nomadic waste,” he grated. “We will sweep them aside like chaff.”

“Annur is at war with the Urghul, then?” Nin asked, his brow furrowing.

“It comes,” Adiv replied. He spread his hands. “It is regrettable, but it comes. Something has stirred them up. Some chieftain or shaman who has begun to unify the tribes. There are tales of his power. He may be a leach.”

“Leaches die just like other men,” Ut interjected, his jaw set. “We will put the Urghul down as quickly as they rose.”

“You speak as though they will be easy to defeat,” Tan said. They were the first words Kaden’s umial had offered all night, and as he turned to face the Aedolian, Kaden was struck by the similarity between the two men, the similarity and the difference. Both were hard, but Ut’s was the hardness of worked metal, hammered and annealed to its purpose. Tan, on the other hand, reminded him of stone, of the emotionless, unyielding firmness of the cliffs and the peaks themselves.

“The Army of the North will deal with them quickly enough,” Ut replied.

Tan’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at the soldier thoughtfully. If he was intimidated by Ut’s bulk or manner, he didn’t show it. “I have met the Urghul,” the monk began. “The children are taught to ride before they can walk, and the most inept among them can hit a man in the heart with an arrow at fifty paces from the back of a galloping horse.”

Ut dismissed the objection with a snort and a wave of his hand. “Individually they are strong, but they have no discipline. The Annurian soldier, on the other hand, is trained from the day he enlists to fight as part of a unit. He drills with the other men, eats with them, sleeps with them. If he takes a shit, his brother holds his spear. If he wants a woman, the others guard the door. You have not seen Annurian infantry take the field. They move, thousands of them, tens of thousands, as though controlled by a single hand. The Urghul,” he shrugged, “they are dogs. Vicious dogs, bloody dogs, but dogs.”

Adiv nodded regretfully. “Sanlitun, bright were the days of his life, never wanted to engage them. In fact, he planned to sign a treaty. There is nothing on the steppe to justify the expense of a major military expedition. The Urghul have no cities, no wealth, no arable land to tax. They are a nomadic, horse-herding rabble.”

“And yet, it is said the Emperor planned to move in force across the White River,” Scial Nin responded in his quiet voice.

The Aedolian looked at the abbot, a hard, searching look. “You are well informed here, on top of your mountain at the end of the world.”

Nin shrugged. “The Urghul are the closest group to us. When they are in their winter pasturage, they come to trade from time to time.”

Adiv’s voice was smooth as the silk he wore. “As I said, the empire would have preferred to leave these people alone. And yet, for the last ten years, they have persisted in attacking our border forts.”

“Forts you built on their side of the river,” Tan countered.

Adiv spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “More than Annurian forts are at issue. Their people are taken with some strange prophecy, the usual inanity about saviors rising and yokes being thrown off. Every conquered people has such stories and legends—the Annurians themselves did, during the tyranny of the Kreshkan kings. Normally such tales are harmless, but this new chief has galvanized the Urghul, breathed fresh life onto old tired coals, and suddenly they are mad for war.

“Unfortunately, they must be put down. This is rebellion—even if they are not a part of the empire—and rebellion encourages rebellion. Sporadic raids on the frontier a thousand leagues from Annur, we could tolerate. But what if Freeport is reminded of its ancient history and the Vested get it into their heads to look south of the Romsdal Mountains, to Aergad or Erensa? What if Basc decides the Iron Sea can protect it from Annurian navies once again? That would not do, not when we fight an ongoing war with the ever elusive Tsa’vein Karamalan and the jungle tribes of the Waist. No,” the councillor said, shaking his head, “resistance must be put down, even if we would prefer otherwise.” He turned to Kaden. “It is partly for this reason that we must make such haste to return you to Annur to take your father’s place on the Unhewn Throne.”