Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [55]
Not so with this rebellion. The conspirator would be beholden to no one for his ascent to power. Not even Lomakh and Kardem and Olmai, and the others who did his bidding.
His ties with them were already growing strained. And the last thing he wanted was to surround himself with proven traitors. Better to find supporters among the wellfed and the content, and not have to look for the glint of a knife’s edge in every mirror.
The conspirator smiled. Soon, he thought. Soon it would all be in his capable hands. And what did it matter if some blood was shed along the way, even the blood of innocent children?
What was a council leader, anyway, if he did not spill someone’s blood from time to time? What was the use of being in the high seat if one did not hold the power of life … and death?
The Heroic Age AA’S his s’tarahk left Vathraq’s village behind, Kahless heard someone call out to him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that Morath was following on his own beast.
The younger man was only fifty meters behind and gaining. With a burst of speed, Morath closed the distance even more. But by then, Kahless had turned away again.
He wanted no part of what Morath wished to tell him.
He wanted no part of anything except oblivion.
“Kahless!” the younger man cried out again.
Ignoring him, the outlaw kept on going. But soon, Morath pulled even with him. And though he didn’t say anything, he stared at his friend with those dark, piercing eyes of his, until Kahless could take no more of it.
The outlaw glanced at Morath. “Leave me alone.”
Morath shook his head. “I will not.”
“And why not?” growled Kahless. “Why can’t you let me suffocate in my misery, damn you?”
“Because it is your fault the villagers are dead,” Morath replied. “Because it is you who murdered them.
And you cannot leave until you have made retribution for your crime.”
Kahless rounded on him, his anger rising high enough to choke him. “Me, you say? Did I take a blade to Kellein? Did I pin her father to his throne with my arrow?” His teeth ground together. “I had nothing but respect for those people. Respect and gratitude!”
Morath kept pace with him, relentless. “Then why did you allow them to become close to you, when a you could expect was the tyrant’s hatred? Why did you let them believe in your rebellion, when none of it was true?”
Kahless didn’t have an answer for that. He found that his hands had turned into tight white fists around his reins.
“I’ll tell you why,” said Morath. “To suit your purposes. To fill your belly. Or sate your lust.”
The reference to Kellein filled Kahless with a blind, consuming fury. With a sound like a wounded animal, he threw himself at Morath and dragged the man off his mount.
Before Morath knew what was happening, Kahless struck him with all his strength. Again. And again, staggering him. The hills echoed with each resounding impact.
For the first time, Kahless saw anger in the younger man’s eyes-a cold, deadly anger. The next thing he knew, Morath had taken his sword in his hand. Kahless stared at him, wondering if this was the way he was going to perish-and not much caring.
But a moment later, Morath’s rage cooled. He tossed the sword away. And, with blinding speed, dealt Kahless a savage blow to the jaw.
The outlaw spun around and nearly fell, but he put out a hand to right himself. Then, like a charging targ, he went after his friend. Nor could Morath move in time to avoid him.
They hit the ground together, clawing and pounding at one another. Kahless grabbed his adversary by the hair and tried to dash his brains out on a piece of exposed rock. But Morath used both hands to push Kahless’s chin back and finally broke the older man’s hold.
They wrestled like that for what seemed a long time, neither of them gaining the advantage, neither coming close to victory over the other. Kahless felt as if he had fallen into a trance, as if his arms and legs were striving on their own without his mind to guide them.
But there was a struggle in his mind as well-not with Morath himself, but