The House of Sacrifice. Anna Smith Spark

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СКАЧАТЬ but a good leader of men, as many older men are. He had been with them since the beginning of everything, had fought in every battle, had lost his son and his brother in battle, but still Marith felt something like shame around him, who had seen him as a child, been a young man armed and shining when Marith was a child staring up in awe.

      Valim got down on his knees before Marith. ‘Ansikanderakesis Amrakane. My Lord King of Arunmen.’

      ‘I was already King of Arunmen.’ So unnecessary. All of this.

      ‘Come on, then,’ said Osen. ‘Let’s go and have a look, see what they’ve left us.’

      ‘Tell the men three days,’ said Marith. He looked at the snow falling. ‘Try and make sure they don’t burn absolutely every building down.’

      Valim nodded.

      ‘Have they found the ringleaders?’ asked Marith.

      A look of irritation. ‘We will.’

      ‘You hope,’ said Osen. Marith gave him a look.

      They went into the palace together, Marith and Osen. Marith’s footsteps rang very loud on the tiled floor.

      Hated this part, somehow. Walking through halls and corridors, walls closing around him, on and in and in. Smell of smoke. Servants’ faces. Dead faces. Dying faces. So many times, we’ve done this, he thought. But always so strange.

      ‘I thought Valim said it was clear,’ said Osen. He kicked a slumped body, one of their soldiers. It groaned. ‘This isn’t clear.’

      They came to the throne room. Servants and nobodies in grand rich clothing, faces grey with terror, trying to protest with every fibre of their being that they’d always worshipped Marith Altrersyr as their true king. More bodies. Marith’s soldiers and the Arunmenese soldiers who had tried to fight them off.

      Why? Marith thought. Why did they try to fight them off? It’s an old wooden chair.

      The walls of the throne room were made of amber. Thick and drowning: Marith stared at the walls, looked through the amber like looking through water, there were flowers trapped in it, insects, encased in the walls. He put his hand on the amber and it was almost warm. It felt like skin. Not cold, like stone. The throne on its dais: wood, twisting patterns in the grain, red canopy old and cracked and dusty, that was said to be the skin of a sea beast that a king of Arunmen had once killed. The steps of the dais were thick with gold paint.

      Tasteless. Like every single bloody one of them. Power awe glory power wealth! Bloodstains on the wood that nothing could scrub out. Marith climbed the dais. Sat down on the throne.

      ‘The King of Arunmen!’ Everyone kneeling, Osen, the soldiers, the servants and officials of the palace who had surrendered to them, all kneeling with their faces pressed on the stone floor. Gold-coloured skin in the amber light. Like they were all yellow and sick.

      Yellow light and smoky, bloody chambers. Marith closed his eyes. Panicked fear he was going to throw up.

      Arunmen had surrendered to him. Made him sit here once already, king and master, all enthroned in yellow light. Filthy poxy place in the middle of sodding nowhere. No desire in him then ever to come back.

      ‘Marith?’

      Marith opened his eyes. Osen was staring at him, everyone else still prostrate heads down, crouched beetled staring at the floor. Pile of dead bodies. Dying bodies. Valim Erith had said the place was clear. Here I am seating myself on my throne in a room full of corpses. We don’t even try to pretend it’s anything else any more.

      ‘Get up,’ he said. Creak of armour. Creak of old men’s bones. Some of these servants must have turned their coats three times now, from the dead king Androinidas to Marith Altrersyr to the pretender who’d rebelled against him to Marith Altrersyr again.

      He said, ‘Kill these people. All of them.’

      Osen tried to smile at him. ‘You need a drink and a hot bath, Marith.’

      Marith took the flask from his belt, discovered it was empty. ‘I do.’

      ‘I sent riders. Thalia will be here in a few days, I should think, unless the snow gets much worse. So cheer up. Look, let’s go and get you clean.’ ‘Don’t kill them,’ he saw Osen mouth over his shoulder at his soldiers.

      They went up to the king’s private rooms, up in a tower above the throne room. The bedchamber had windows of green glass, the light cool like the light beneath trees. Marith felt easier here, breathing in the green. The walls were hung with leaves and flowers, preserved by magecraft fresh and perfect as the day they were first picked. The bed had curtains of silver tissue. The ceiling was set with fragments of mage glass to mimic the stars. Three weeks, he had spent here before, when he first came to Arunmen. Kept Sun’s Height and the feast of Amrath’s birthday. Days of peace and sweet, joyous nights.

      He went over to the window, pressed his face against it. His face felt so hot. Through the window he could see trees, distorted by the ripples in the glass. A hot wind rattled the window, bringing the stink of smoke. Turned back to the room and there were bloody smear marks on the green glass window. Bloody footprints on the floor.

      I remember the Summer Palace in Sorlost, burning. The smell of it. The heat of it. A column of fire, the walls were running with fire, I’ve never seen fire move like that, before or since. Not dragon fire, not banefire, nothing. It was like all the gods of the world were in that palace, consuming it. It moved like breath. I remember the people dying, the Emperor’s guards, the servants, I have no idea how many we must have killed. The Emperor on his gold throne, with a yellow rag around his head, soiling himself. A servant girl with her face opened up like a flower, throwing herself through a window to escape. Old men pleading for mercy, cowering behind piles of tattered books. The palace walls flowed with fire, my sword was red with blood, my hands ached from killing. My whole self stripped down to killing and death.

      ‘They’re getting a bath prepared for you,’ said Osen. A girl came running, offered wine in gold cups. She bowed her head to Marith. Her body leaning forward so that he could see down her dress. Sweat, running down inside her dress. Reached out and took the cup and his hand shook and the cup fell. Wine stain over the blood. The cup rolled on the floor. He stared at it. The girl stood very still.

      Marith opened his mouth. Felt himself about to scream. A choked dry shriek came out of him.

      ‘Get out,’ said Osen. ‘Everyone. Out. Now.’

      A man who was perhaps a senior servant, the master of the bedchamber, dripping in silk and jewels, fat face fat hands, fussing about, ‘The mess, My Lord, My Lord King, the mess, I’ll have the girl whipped, I—’

      Osen said, ‘Get out. Now. Everyone.’

      ‘You’re not injured, somehow?’ Osen asked when they were alone.

      ‘Of course I’m not injured. Don’t be absurd. I’m just tired.’ Marith rubbed his eyes. ‘Three assaults in four days. Tiring.’

      A strange look on Osen’s face. Osen said, ‘Good.’

      ‘Of course I’m not injured. How could I be injured?’

      ‘I said, good. How could you be injured? I was just СКАЧАТЬ