Kings of Morning by Paul Kearney Read Free Book Online

itself. There was no other option.
    And yet, watching Kouros’s powerful jaws champing his food, Ashurnan’s heart sank. The empire, clamped in those dour jaws. At any other time, it would knuckle under the Black Kefre and his mother, go on as it always had; but this was not any other time.
    Malakeh leaned close, leaning on his ebony staff of office. Gaunt as blackthorn, the old Vizier had run the clockwork of the court for a quarter of a century.
    ‘Lord, the western messengers have been fed and are waiting.’
    ‘Where are they?’
    ‘On the Ivy Terrace. They have spoken to no-one.’
    ‘Good. I will go to them, Malakeh, alone.’
    ‘Lord –’
    ‘Alone, Malakeh. We are not to be disturbed – no Honai. But tell Dyarnes.’
    The Vizier bowed. Ashurnan almost thought he could hear the old man’s spine creak. He rose, holding out a hand to keep the assembled diners in their seats. Even after all these years, he still felt a flash of impatience at the protocol of the court. He had pruned away as much of it as he dared, but a Great King needed some pomp and mystery about himself, even among those who knew him well.
    Kouros stood up despite the gesture, setting down his cup. Ashurnan hesitated a moment, and then motioned his eldest son to follow. He did not have the strength or the patience to put Kouros in his place in front of the whole table.
    Or did he? Ashurnan turned, and said to Malakeh, ‘Have Prince Rakhsar join us.’
     
     
    T HE I VY T ERRACE was on the northern edge of the gardens, half a pasang away under the starlit trees. Ashurnan’s father, Anurman, had built it, as a place to sit and drink wine with his friends, his comrades-in-arms. Anurman had been a fighting king, a man who made and kept friends with an ease Ashurnan could only marvel at. He had drunk under the ivy there with Vorus, the Macht, and Proxis, the Juthan, both of whom had loved him like dogs, both of whom had betrayed his son. Proxis had taken Jutha out of the empire and now it was an independent kingdom. Vorus had let the Juthans leave at Irunshahr when the utter destruction of the Ten Thousand was teetering in the balance.
    There were charcoal braziers lit on the terrace, and a few lamps. The three figures rose from their seats at the Great King’s approach and went to their knees. Ashurnan studied their faces. All three were Kefren of high caste. Two, he did not recognise, but the third was a familiar face.
    ‘Merach,’ he said. ‘It has been a while.’
    The grey haired Kefre smiled and looked him in the eye. Merach had been his personal bodyguard. They had ridden side by side at Kunaksa. There were few people in the world Ashurnan trusted more, for Merach was utterly devoid of ambition. He was a soldier, simple and pure. But he was also an Archon of the western army.
    ‘Despatches?’
    Merach looked at the ground, opened his palm and gestured to a leather-topped scroll-bucket on the table.
    ‘Enough to keep a man reading for a month, lord.’
    Kouros was already breaking the seal on the bucket and rifling through the scrolls within, like a pig rooting for truffles. Rakhsar stood to one side, face in shadow.
    ‘Suppose you tell me yourself, Merach,’ the Great King said, though it was already written across the Kefre’s face, which was as grey as his hair.
    Merach looked up. There was weariness carved bone-deep in his features, and the grease of a hungry man’s meal on his chin.
    ‘The Haneikos River was a disaster, Lord. He came at us through the water with his line and we held him on the bank. We had good ground, as good a position as I’ve ever seen men hold. But his cavalry broke the left. He has five thousand armoured horsemen – he calls them his Companions, and they are both Kefren and Macht. Lord, he has Kefren of our own caste fighting for him!’
    Kouros looked up from his scroll. ‘Impossible! You are overwrought, Merach.’
    ‘Lord, I saw them myself. They destroyed our flank –’ Here Merach’s voice