The Price of Freedom (Heirs of the Empire #2)

3. Lukas

3

LUKAS

L ukas spent most of the evening watching the mysterious Azurian party.

Their camp is close to a small scrub of a copse, on a patch of the grasslands that is dotted with large black stones. They lit their cookfire beside one of the larger ones that rises up from the grass, taller than two men.

From his hiding spot, Lukas saw the young redhead disappear into the trees with a sturdy-looking man. The young man is finely dressed enough that Lukas is sure he is some kind of noble. The older man, and all the other men of the party, carry themselves like Imperial soldiers. These are no merchants. Lukas knows the Empire when he sees it.

Lukas smirks to himself at the thought of an Azurian noble being so bold as to take a man off for luxoli with no care for the laws of Zai.

While the noble and his companion were gone, Lukas watched Inga’s Mortingale raiding party take the camp with swift and bloody force. He thought about joining them, gaining some ground in his quest to get back into the Mortingales inner circle by helping with an attack, but he didn’t. They easily had the numbers to take down the five men left at the camp. And he knows he has little he can add to any fight without a sword hand. Besides, he is more interested in the two in the trees.

Inga’s attack is over fast. The Azurian’s lie dead around their fire in easy moments. Inga loses only two. Lukas watches the trees. Would the pair have the sense to stay put? Perhaps they could be Lukas’s target.

Some of the crew start bringing out the contents of the wagon: weapons, what looks to be a chest of Azurian coin, plenty of food and liquor. Even if the party hadn’t all moved like soldiers, there is enough weaponry to suggest to Lukas that this was definitely something military, clumsily disguised. There are not enough goods for this party to really be merchants. And they are a long way from any of the usual trade routes. Is the Imperial Army planning to clear the mountains again? But there are far too few in this party for them to be planning any kind of attack.

Lukas sniffs the air. Smoke and blood. Nevertheless, he fancies he can smell something more. A mystery. What exactly was this party’s mission? He feels it prickling his skin. Something interesting is happening here.

He considers this could be the right time to come out of his hiding place with his knowledge of the two further members in the trees. Hopefully, he can persuade Inga not to kill at least one of them. One member of the party should be kept alive to interrogate.

But before he can do that, the sturdy older man from the woods reappears, dashing out of the treeline, seeming to have decided to try a suicidal attempt to take on a dozen outlaws with one sword. He is quickly dispatched and the young noble is found in the trees and brought forth.

He’s tall and slender. Young looking. His hair is a bright, fiery red, it catches in the light from the cookfire. He has a swordpoint held to his belly by Inga, but he looks defiant. Almost recklessly so.

The red-haired man has a fine handsome face and from a distance, he almost seems cocky. Perhaps this isn’t recklessness, perhaps it is wiles. His attitude could save his life if he’s smart, Lukas realises. The outlaws clearly think he’s nothing more than an amusement.

Carefully Lukas gets up into a crouch. If this bold creature can get their defences down enough to run, he would surely head back into the trees. He might make it if he’s quick and clever. The Mortingales have numbers, but they're tired. The ones who are not crowding around the captured young noble are already sitting down by the fire, sharing some of the soldier’s liquor. One of them even has his boots off. Inga ought to remind them that the raid is not done yet, but she’s too distracted by tormenting her prize.

Lukas is certain of what’s going to happen. He gets ready.

And when the young noble does bolt, Lukas is ready to catch him, darting through the dark into the trees, unobserved by the other Mortingales.

He’s delighted when the sweet-faced creature hides himself amongst the roots of an ancient oak.

Instead of dragging him out, Lukas waits. He has time. If he’s lucky his prize won’t emerge until Inga’s crew has given him up and left, leaving Lukas free to do as he wishes.

He waits for some time, hearing the sound of an ineffective search of the woods dying away, Inga barking some distant orders about loading goods back into the cart and hitching the horses to take everything back to the Mortingale base.

And then quiet.

Lukas tries not to breathe, as he waits for the hidden noble to decide it is safe to emerge.

When he finally does, Lukas strikes like a snap adder.

“Get your hands off me, you filthy wretch,” The noble yelps as Lukas slams his back into the tree, hook point to his throat.

Lukas laughs. “I think not, Lordling.” Lukas does not intend to make the sloppy mistakes of Inga with his prize. He wastes no time in forcing the young noble around, face to the tree’s bark, and roping his wrists together.

“What are you doing?” the noble wails as Lukas pulls the ropes tight. “You’re roping me?” He sounds almost offended. “What do you want with me?”

Lukas presses up close to the noble’s back. He smells of woodsmoke and the slight sharp-staleness of travel. “Your party is rather interesting,” he growls. “Too small to be any kind of attack. Too well-drilled to be merchants. What are you doing out here?”

“If you're hoping for a friendly chat about that,” the young noble says, grunting as Lukas’s body forces him uncomfortably into the tree bark, “Your manners leave a lot to be desired.”

“Think of it more as an interrogation,” Lukas says, tying off the rope and turning the young noble back around. He attaches another rope to the Lordling’s waist.

“I see,” The Lordling says, looking down at the rope. “I suppose I should be grateful you’re not stabbing me in the guts with a sword. How come you’re alone? Where are the rest of your merry band of outlaws?”

“Zai knows,” says Lukas, he tugs the rope. “Now get moving and don’t talk.”

He can do without the chatter. It’s tricky enough navigating through the dark, avoiding the tree roots and brambles. The last thing he wants now is to lose his footing and let his hostage make another run for it.

The Lordling does as he is bid, following Lukas through the dark woods. Finally, they emerge from the trees into the stone-dotted grasslands. Lukas looks around carefully for any remaining Mortingales that might try and take his prize, or worse, kill him before Lukas has extracted any useful information.

But there’s no one around. Very little is left of the Azurian camp other than bodies on the ground. “They took the wagon,” says the Lordling, mournfully. “One of my best cloaks was in there.”

“It won’t have gone to waste,” says Lukas. “It will be on the back of one of the Mortingale Outlaws by now.”

The Lordling sighs. “I hope they appreciate the fine workmanship.”

Lukas snorts in response. “What was your position in this strange Azurian mission into the Mortingale Mountains? I saw you going into the woods with one of the men. But it isn’t usual for Azurian soldiers to bring their own pillow slaves along.”

The Lordling raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m a pillow slave? Is that why you have roped me and decided to drag me back to your lair? Are you feeling lonely?”

“ Are you a pillow slave?” says Lukas, feeling quite sure his prize is nothing of the sort.

“Oh, I’m a lot of things,” the Lordling says airily. “Perhaps I could be all your dreams come true.”

Lukas looks back over his shoulder. The Lordling’s eyes are very bright green. Whoever he is, whatever his purpose, he is certainly brave. “No, sweetheart,” Lukas says, “don’t do that. That shit won’t work on me.”

“Oh,” says the Lordling. “It will.”

Lukas scowls at him. “You’re no pillow slave. In silks and fine linens like that. You’re a noble,” he says. “A noble who likes to get on his knees.”

The Lordling looks quite happy with this description, but says, “I’m actually the commander of the party that your friends have just massacred.”

“Really?” says Lukas, leading the way up onto the higher ground towards home. “Not much of a commander then. What were you doing out here?”

“Something that I’m not telling outlaws about.”

“Very well,” says Lukas. “Let’s start simple. What’s your name?”

“Elric.”

“Elric what?” He looks back over his shoulder.

Elric gives Lukas a smile. “I think Elric is sufficient for now. Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Silverhand,” says Lukas.

Elric gives a low whistle. “What a name. Is it for that deadly thing on your wrist?”

Lukas ignores this. “I want to know what was going on here. What were you doing in the mountains? You spying?”

Elric smiles. “Oh yes. Spying on handsome savages. It's a popular hobby for young gentlemen such as I.”

“I see. In that case, you’re going to tell me all about that, my dear little Lordling,” says Lukas, turning away and picking up the pace.

“Oh, don’t be so sure about that,” Elric says back, sounding infuriatingly confident about it.

When they get closer to the base, Lukas stops. He opens the pouch on his belt. He came equipped for this. Along with ropes, he brought a strip of rag. He takes a step closer to Elric and shakes it out. “I’m going to take you somewhere. In the unlikely event you one day return to your sweet life in the Jewel of the Empire, I don’t want you knowing where.”

Elric looks sourly at the rag. “A blindfold? Isn’t that going to make the journey to your secret hideout rather arduous?”

“Only for you,” Lukas says, tying the rag over Elric’s eyes.

They cross the hillside. It takes some time. Elric cannot move fast with his eyes covered and his wrists roped behind him. But eventually, they reach the mountain base of the Mortingales.

His self-imposed exile to Lunatum excepted, Lukas has called this place home for the last twenty years. The main building, an old temple, isn't much more than a ruin. A grey shell. Put to the torch by the Azurian army like most buildings in the Mortingale Mountains during the purge. But stone doesn’t burn and nor did the many underground structures that lie beneath it, extending back into the mountains behind. Some of the smaller stone buildings that surrounded the temple also still stand. Some whole enough to live inside, others have been used to create new shelters, repaired with wood and oiled cloth and woven grasses. Lukas looks around warily as they approach. He doesn’t want to run into anyone who might question what he’s doing bringing an Azurian lordling back here.

There’s no one on watch, but Lukas can see firelight and hear sounds of revelling coming from behind the temple building. There ought to be some men out front, but Lukas knows that if Inga’s party came back with a wagon full of liquor and food, they would probably have abandoned their posts to join the celebrations. And that is certainly to Lukas’s advantage tonight.

“Not a fucking word,” Lukas hisses back to Elric as they get close to the buildings. “You scream and the only people who will come will be ones who would see you dead for knowing about this place.”

Elric, seeming willing to obey, nods his head.

Lukas leads Elric over to the stone hut that belongs to Red Wolf. The one in which Red Wolf has generously allowed Lukas his cellar room since he returned from Lunatum. The small building seems empty. No sign of Red Wolf, or anyone else, as Lukas leads Elric through a small archway and, with some difficulty, down the steps to his cellar.

It’s dark in the small room. Only lit by the single candle Lukas left burning on a table beside his bed. Lukas pauses and pulls the blindfold from Elric’s eyes.

“Oh, how kind of you to welcome me to your charming abode,” Elric says, looking around and clearly noticing the shabby bed linens in the corner and Lukas’s few items of clothing heaped on a chair.

Lukas leads Elric to a second wooden chair in a corner of the room. “Sit,” he says.

Elric gives Lukas a glance but does as he is bid. Lukas moves around behind the chair and uses the rope from Elric’s waist to bind him to it. He loops it back around and ties each of Elric’s ankles to the chair’s legs.

Elric looks down at Lukas, crouched on the floor. “You seem to know what you’re doing with rope,” he says.

Lukas looks up, wondering if he ought to gag him too. He finds Elric looking at him with an expression of amusement. As if this situation does not bother him at all. Lukas can’t help wondering what kind of life he’s had that being tied up in a cellar, facing torture, with the rest of his party dead is nothing more than entertainment.

Lukas decides not to bother with the gag. Much as he’d welcome the peace, he needs this Lordling to talk.

He takes a moment to light the torches on the walls of the room from the stuttering candle on the table. Then he fetches the other wooden chair, tipping his clothing from it before dragging it over and setting it to face Elric’s.

In the light from the torches, Lukas can see Elric’s face more clearly. His hair is strikingly bright red, his skin milk-pale and dotted with freckles. His eyes are green and his face is thin. He has high cheekbones and a slightly over-large pointed nose. He looks distinctly aristocratic, but Lukas can’t decide if that’s down to his features or simply his bearing. He also reminds Lukas of a strangely attractive rodent.

As Lukas observes him, Elric blinks sweetly like a concubine.

Lukas rolls his eyes. “Stop that, you whore. I told you it won’t work.”

“Are you sure?” says Elric, blinking sweetly again. He is quite alarmingly pretty when he does it.

“Quite sure,” Lukas growls back. Although he fears it may be working already. He feels a little prickly, a tiny thread of desire uncoiling within him. He needs to get a hold of himself.

“We’ll see,” Elric chimes happily. He looks Lukas up and down.“I have to say, I adore the hook. Very fitting for a roguish outlaw. You make having a missing hand look rather dashing.”

“I’m so happy that you like it. I could put it in your guts if you like,” Lukas says lightly.

Elric raises an eyebrow. “You can put something in my guts.”

Lukas sighs. “I told you, don’t bother with that. I’m already well aware you believe you can suck your way out of this, so let me be clear, I have no interest in putting you on your knees. Or in any of the luxoli you want to offer me.”

“Is that right?” Elric smiles. “I’m sorry to hear it. Are you a religious man then, Silverhand? Devoted to Zai?”

“Zai?” Lukas scoffs. “Not at all. Zai is a tool of the corrupt Empire to crush the spirits of all Azuria.”

“Oh. I see.” Elric looks like he might laugh. “That got intense. Although, intense does seem to be your style.”

Lukas narrows his eyes. “I can assure you, Lordling, devotion to Zai is not the reason I won’t be pressing my cock between your whorish lips. I simply have no interest in your clumsy offers of lovemaking.”

“I see,” Elric says sweetly. “So is this how you plan to torture me? Telling me you don’t want me?” He arranges his face into a pretty pout. “How cruel.”

Lukas sits down in his chair. “I suppose that would be torture for a lascivious creature like you. Why don’t you tell me about your mission? What was your party of Imperial soldiers doing in the hills?”

“My mission?” Elric says sweetly. “Why, I know nothing about any Imperial soldiers, Silverhand. I am just a wandering whore, as I’m sure you have deduced. Just travelling through the mountains exchanging sucks for crusts of bread.”

Lukas almost laughs. “You’ve already told me you were the commander of those soldiers.”

Elric pouts again. “You tricked me into saying that.”

“Did I? So why not tell me more?”

“If I do, will you admit that you find me pretty?”

“No,” Lukas says this flatly, no matter what his traitorous heart might be saying about that.

“Then your torture methods, whatever they are, won’t be getting much out of me.”

Lukas stands up and steps forward. He looks down at Elric — who remains defiant despite how hopelessly vulnerable he is — as Lukas moves close. He touches Elric’s pale cheek with his hook. “And what do you know of torture, Lordling?”

Elric’s eyes are steady. But his voice has lost its flirtatious edge when he says, “More than you think, sweetheart.” He still sounds cocky but his voice shakes a little. This close Lukas can see the fear under Elric’s clever, studied, mask of bravado. He’s not without fear. He’s acting. It's a good act. But it isn’t perfect.

Slowly, Lukas says, “After the attempted assassination of Emperor Selim five years ago, the Azurian army blazed a trail of blood and death through these mountains. They meant to wipe out the Mortingales.”

“I know about the purge.” Elric nods. “And what did you think would happen after you broke into the Rose Palace and tried to kill the Emperor? A Hero’s Gala?”

“They burned down villages and massacred anyone they found,” Lukas says in a low, steady growl, “according to the Empire anyone living in these mountains could be a Mortingale Outlaw or a sympathiser sheltering them. People died horribly. Many were burned alive in their homes, cut down when they fled. They meant to eradicate the Mortingales forever.”

Elric looks a little pale. “And yet, here you are.”

“We hid,” Lukas says.

“And you think my mission was to find where the Mortingales hid to survive the purge?” Elric tips his head back and looks up at the chamber’s ceiling. “Seems like I’ve done rather well on that score.”

Lukas nods. “I think you’re a scouting party. Meant to assess our numbers. Are the Empire’s forces planning to return to try and wipe us out again? If they are, I suggest you tell me.”

Elric’s expression is suddenly harder. “Oh, I’m telling you nothing you fucking brute.”

“Brute?” Lukas raises his eyebrows, “you think I’m a brute? I’ll have you know I am as well educated as you, Lordling. Would you like me to prove it? Shall we discuss the history of the Empire? Magaar poetry?”

“You speak Magaar?” Elric says in clumsy but serviceable Magaar.

“I do,” Lukas replies in kind. “We can speak Magaar if you wish. Or Juran. Or Ambolk.” Lukas’s grasp of both Juran and Ambolk is not strong, but he knows enough words to trot out each language offer using the respective tongue.

Elric gives Lukas a withering look. “Ambolk? You wish to converse in Ambolk. The language of the men of the Amber Forest?”

“Why ever not? Don’t you know that Ur-Ambolk is the oldest language in the world?”

Elric shakes his head “You do not speak Ur-Ambolk. And, in any case, it isn’t the oldest. That’s Old Magaar. I thought you were claiming to be well-educated.”

“The people who came from The Cradle spoke Ur-Ambolk,” Lukas says, annoyed to have his knowledge questioned by this whelp. “The first men ever to live in Azuria.”

Elric shrugs one shoulder as far as the ropes allow. “The first men. But the fae spoke Magaar before men from The Cradle even came here,” he says sweetly.

“The fae?” Lukas looks a little surprised. “You think that the fae lived in this land before men claimed it. What would a Rose Palace Lordling know of such things?”

“I know a lot,” says Elric confidently. “It is well known that there are still fae living in the frozen lands north of the Starlight Sea beyond Ismagaar.” He cocks his head to one side. “And it's true that the fae once ruled all these lands. You can see old fae ruins everywhere. Those black rocks on the grasslands where we camped. Those are fae ruins.”

“Fae ruins? That’s interesting talk for a noble from Attar. Aren’t such claims heretical under the laws of Zai?”

“Oh, Zai,” Elric says. “You really think someone like me would be faithful to a cruel God like that?”

“Isn’t it the law of Azuria to be faithful to Zai?”

Elric drops his voice. “It is, Silverhand. So I hope you’ll keep my terrible secret. I’m a filthy heretic.” He smirks.

Lukas looks at Elric. For a moment, he simply holds his gaze, wondering how he got quite so off course.

“So,” Elric says, “You have shown you have some kind of noble education. I take it you were not raised in these mountains like some kind of daedon. Which is interesting. How did someone who was properly educated end up living with these outlaws?”

“How about,” Lukas says, placing the point of his hook on Elric’s temple, “you stop with all these distractions and answer my questions.” Elric makes a soft swallowing sound. Lukas drags the hook down Elric’s cheek and slowly, along the side of his throat. Not hard enough to draw blood, although he keeps the hook sharp enough to do so easily. He uses just enough pressure to worry the skin and leave a thin white line in its wake. Elric shudders. “I need you to tell me why you were here in the hills? Did the Rose Court send you?”

But Elric seems quite unphased by the hook at his throat. “I’m still rather hurt that you’re not going to use luxoli to force me to talk.”

Lukas plays the tip of his hook over the delicate pale skin of Elric’s neck. “Are you really?” he says softly.

“Oh yes,” Elric says breathily. He bites his lip. “You do know how to tease your captives, don’t you? You’ve already got me bound and helpless. You're tormenting me with your deadly hook. Are you sure you don’t want to strip me naked and force my legs open? I might be more compliant that way.”

“You would, would you? That sort of thing torture for you, is it?”

Elric swallows against the hook pricking his throat. “I suppose not, but it would alleviate the boredom. You’re not much of a conversationalist.”

“And here’s me thinking we were having a delightful time,” Lukas says quiet and low.

At this, Elric laughs. “Are you sure you’re a torturer?”

Lukas isn’t. Even when he was a high-ranking Mortingale, a member of the inner circle, this kind of work would normally fall to Little Lamb. Or a combination of Little Lamb and Inga. Inga to ask the questions and Little Lamb to make sure they were answered.

But if he’s ever going to get back inside that inner circle, he needs this. He needs to be the one who uncovers the truth here.

Elric looks at him. His expression is playful. “Really, if all you’re going to do is scratch me with that hook, I’m not going to tell you anything. Call this torture? You haven’t even hit me?”

Lukas sets his jaw. He needs to get a hold of this situation. He slaps Elric in the face and storms out of the room.

Lukas goes back outside the hut and follows the sounds of revelling around behind the main temple building, but before he reaches it, he runs into Red Wolf, swaggering back toward the home Lukas has just left.

Lukas takes Red Wolf by the shoulders and pushes him against the wall of the temple for a kiss. When he pulls back, Red Wolf looks at him a little breathless, “Greetings to you too, lover. What’s brought this on?”

“Can’t I be pleased to see you?” Lukas says with a little pout.

Red Wolf looks at him shrewdly. “I suppose. But you can’t blame me for being suspicious.” He narrows his eyes. “You’ve had a good evening, haven't you? What have you been doing?”

Lukas smiles. No harm in telling Red Wolf. “You know that party you told me about? The one you saw passing through the hills?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Inga took them,” Red Wolf says dismissively. “She took a crew of a dozen out. Turns out they were merchants. We got a lot of nice wares from them. I’m in good standing because of it too. Terrible fighter, excellent spy.”

Lukas shakes his head. “But they weren’t merchants. They were too well armed and they had Azurian colours.”

Red Wolf smiles. “You went out yourself? I thought you might.”

“Did they tell you one got away?”

“Inga said a redhead bolted into the woods. According to her, he was half-dressed and covered in spend. Sounds like your type.” Red Wolf laughs. Then stops. “And you found him, didn’t you?”

Lukas nods. “That redhead is a jumped-up noble, calls himself Elric. No last name yet, but I’ll get there. He’s got to be someone. He was their Commander, even though he’s a welp.” He lowers his voice. “I have him in my room. I’m interrogating him.”

Red Wolf looks Lukas up and down. “That explains why you’re feeling so amorous.”

“Is that right?” Lukas says, pressing Red Wolf back against the wall. “He could have vital information,” he says in a soft voice. “If he turns out to be a scout then we may need to be ready for another battle with the Imperial troops.”

“You really think they’ll try again?” Red Wolf runs a hand down Lukas’s arm.

“I don’t know. But I mean to find out.”

“Sounds important.” Red Wolf’s voice drops to a soft growl. “And are you planning to rush back to your prize immediately?”

Lukas shakes his head. “I’m done with him tonight. Thought I’d let him wait awhile. Right now I just need some place else to sleep.”

“Sleep, is it?” Red Wolf says in a distinctly seductive purr.

“Eventually.”

Red Wolf leans close enough to whisper in Lukas’s ear. “Oh, Lucky, it’s charming how the prospect of a little light torture has enflamed you.”

“Is that something you are hoping to take advantage of?” Lukas says back. There’s no reason not to wait until morning to return to Elric. No reason not to go to bed with Red Wolf, use this strange prickly sensation he’s feeling about the situation for something enjoyable. It could be sweet. A night of satisfying fucking before he spends a morning extracting the truth out of that wretchedly beguiling noble creature.

Before Red Wolf can reply someone calls out, behind them in the dark, “Wolf, Red Wolf, where have you got to?” The voice sounds distinctly tipsy. “I’ve got the rope,” he adds in a playful sing-song.

“Ah,” says Red Wolf, a little awkward. “I must apologise. I forgot about him. I wasn’t sure you were available this evening.”

A man Lukas knows as Colen swings into view. A strapping Mortingale who had been part of Inga’s raiding party earlier.

“There you are,” says Colen, swaggering over, seeming not to notice Lukas until he gets close.

Red Wolf swings out of Lukas’s grip and moves to kiss Colen on the cheek, “Here I am. I was just discussing something with my old friend, Lucky.”

Colen looks at Lukas suspiciously. “Silverhand,” he says in a gruff kind of greeting.

“Colen,” Lukas replies.

“Colen and I were just…” he tails off into a shrug.

“It’s fine,” says Lukas. “I don’t want to keep you from,” — he eyes the loops of rope Colen is holding — “your fun.”

Red Wolf smiles indulgently. “Indeed. See you in the morning, my prince,” he says, taking Colen’s hand.

Colen nods at Lukas again and the pair of them vanish into the dark, heading back towards Red Wolf’s hut.

Lukas stays where he is for a short while.

He hears Marko yipping before he sees her, scampering out of the dark, clearly, she too is looking for Red Wolf. Lukas bends down and scoops her up, “Nevermind him,” Lukas says to her fur, “he’s abandoned you too for that lump of gristle. Don’t worry, let’s find a bed for us both.”