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

1. Lukas

1

LUKAS

L ukas is led up onto the punishment scaffold chained and dressed in filthy rags. At one end of the wide square beside Lunatum docks, the noon bells are ringing from the Temple of Zai’s Heart. The dark facade of the temple stares down at him. As uncaring as Zai ever was.

The sky is steel-grey, heavy, ready with rain.

The sunlight might be thin, but it is enough to dazzle Lukas’s eyes after so many days in the pit this city calls a gaol. His body aches from the beating the enforcers gave him the night before.

Lukas is flanked by two Imperial guards, who display him on the platform to jeers from the crowds. He keeps his face expressionless.

The head of the Lunatum enforcers shuffles forward. A meaty, well-fed man. “In the name of his Imperial Majesty Emperor Selim,” — he begins, loud voice clear, carrying well into the thick and noisy crowd — “we, Zai’s holy enforcers of Lunatum, bring you a thief for punishment in accordance with The Book of the Rules. ”

The gathered crowd roar their approval of this. Not so much an endorsement of the Book of the Rules as a gleeful lust for sadistic punishment. Lukas can see nothing but laughing faces, red-rimmed eyes bright and eager. The large crowd is keen to see a street beggar and whore ritually maimed for the glory of Zai’s justice.

I used to fight for these people, Lukas thinks.

These people who are baying for his pain and to see him scream are the people he once wanted to free from the Empire’s yolk.

The enforcer continues, “This blight on the streets of our great city, the glorious Empire’s gateway to the east, stole a valuable sword, the property of the upstanding Lunatum merchant, Gris of Pitch Lane. The miscreant was captured by our noble city enforcers and confessed to his misdeeds. Under Zai’s laws, the punishment for this crime is the loss of the hand that stole. Zai, hold his soul.”

The crowd gathered around the scaffold cheer. Lukas feels dizzy, half mad with fear. He has vomited bile once this morning and he thinks he would again if he had been given any food or water in the last day and night. His legs feel so weak he is amazed he is standing. His wrists ache in the irons that hold them tight behind his back. His whole body hurts from the heavy chains and collar he wears as a Lunatum criminal.

Behind the head enforcer stands a shirtless man in a black hood. He is holding an axe. At the front of the scaffold platform is a wooden block. It’s all ready for him.

But it isn’t until Lukas is forced to his knees in front of the block, not until his right arm is drawn out and roped down, that he believes this is really going to happen. That he is really going to lose his hand like this.

The guards step back, leaving him with one arm roped in place on the block, the other still chained behind his back and attached to the heavy iron collar.

Gris is there, standing at the edge of the platform. The head enforcer looks to him. Gris is a heavy man, bald and neckless. Lukas knows how the law works. Gris could stop this if he wished to. Gris is the victim of Lukas’s crime. Gris could grant clemency, even now.

However, reading the expression on Gris’s face, Lukas doubts that is what he is about to do. The crowd grows quiet, waiting, as Gris spits on the wooden planks in front of the block. His spittle is black. Like he chews a lot of coldleaf.

Lukas looks up from his knees. He says nothing.

Eventually, Gris looks at the enforcer. “Oh, fucking do it,” he says. “Take his filthy hand off.”

The crowd roars again.

The enforcer nods, “Criminal, do you have anything to say?”

Lukas takes a breath. As loudly as he can, he bellows, “ Death to Emperor Selim! ”

The crowd calls out approval and disapproval of this in equal measure as the enforcer rolls his eyes. “Very well,” he says as he signals the axeman.

Lukas stares at his right hand roped to the block. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears as the axeman steps forward. Time seems to speed up and slow down at once. The blade swings. A whoosh of air. A thump of flesh. Cheering.

Lukas feels numb for a moment, feels nothing. There is a crack of suspended time before a wave of pain swallows him.

His sword hand is gone and his arm is aflame.

And nothing will ever be the same again.

ONE YEAR LATER

Lukas’s room is small, a square stone cellar that was probably once a storeroom. Its tiny high windows let in little daylight even at the height of the day. Lukas has lived in much better places and much worse ones. This little cellar room is dry and it’s safe.

Safe apart from the members of the Mortingale Outlaws who still wish to kill him for his treachery. But there are less of those than there used to be.

The cellar room is more than what Lukas could have wished for in his current situation. The only trouble with that is, there is nothing about his current situation that doesn’t pain him.

Today the spring sun is warm enough that the heat has even made it down to this chamber. He can see a sliver of bright blue sky through the cellar’s tiny windows and occasional glimpses of the mortingale birds swooping in the sky. Lukas is himself a Mortingale. A Mortingale Outlaw. The Mortingale Mountains are named for the birds that live here. The Mortingale Outlaws are named for the mountains they call home. Lukas the Mortingale watches the birds in the sky as he lies in the nest of furs, wool blankets and linens that pass for his bed, arms wrapped around the familiar body of Red Wolf.

Lukas is sprawled on Red Wolf’s wide chest. His heated skin is pressed to Red Wolf’s heated skin. Red Wolf sighs with easy contentment, then kisses Lukas’s head. Lukas lifts his chin to look up at his lover.

Red Wolf has a half-smile on his long face. His hair glitters like beaten copper in the afternoon sunlight. Freckles dance on his strong nose. He reaches out and touches Lukas’s forearm, above the scarred, bare, blunt wrist where his hand used to be. Lukas’s belly shudders. He doesn’t like being touched there. In truth, he doesn’t like being seen without the steel hook he usually wears to cover the ugliness of his maiming. But Red Wolf prefers Lukas to remove the hook before they lie together.

Lukas pulls his arm back, away from Red Wolf’s fingers. “Don’t, Red,” he says. “Don’t touch me there.”

Red Wolf sighs in his usual over-dramatic way as he takes his hand back. “I suppose, in any case, I should be up from this bed of yours,” he says as he wriggles out from under Lukas. He stands up — long, naked body unfolding — and picks his shirt from the floor. As he pulls it over his head, he says, “Much as I enjoy lying with you, Lucky,” he continues, sounding sour, “the sulking afterwards does make me ask myself if you are worth it.”

Lukas rolls onto his back and looks up at Red Wolf as he dresses. Red Wolf is handsome, his body is very fine. Nevertheless, Lukas is not in the mood for Red Wolf complaining. He’ll sulk if he wishes. He has plenty to sulk about. “Don’t then,” Lukas says.

“Don’t sulk?” Red Wolf says fastening his breeches. “It is not me who is sulking.”

“Don’t lie with me.”

Red Wolf pads over to the door, where an annoying scrabbling sound and the occasional whine have been constant since Red Wolf entered the room and closed that door. When he opens it the small black dog he dotes on, comes bounding in, delighted her protests are being heeded and she is finally allowed into the room.

She ignores Red Wolf who has so graciously opened the door for her and bolts over to dive into the blankets with Lukas.

“Get out of my bed, you mutt,” Lukas yelps. He makes an attempt to shift away, but it doesn’t put the dog off. She bounces onto Lukas’s bare lap, sharp little claws on his belly, and nuzzles up at his face. This dog is — rather confusingly to Lukas — named Marko.

“Oh, let her be. You know she loves you.” Red Wolf clicks his tongue to try and beckon Marko to him but she has already started nestling herself in the blankets. Then, returning to his well-worn theme of complaining about Lukas, Red Wolf adds, “Can’t think why.”

Lukas gives Red Wolf a withering look. “Why go on with this charade of coming down here every afternoon? If I revolt you so?”

“Sadly for me, Lucky,” Red Wolf says with another florid sigh, “I don’t have a lot of options.” He lifts his hair and ties it back with a strip of leather.

Lukas barks with laughter. “I know that’s a lie.” He reaches out with his good hand and, against his better judgement, pets Marko. She wriggles happily, rolling onto her back and showing her belly, which Lukas scratches. “Your list of bed companions is longer than the Book of the Rules.”

Red Wolf tuts and crosses the room to a low table. He picks up a jug of ale and pours some out into two tin cups. “Perhaps I’m spying for my father,” he says. “Keeping an eye on what our dastardly pet traitor is up to.”

Lukas sits up. “That must be very dull for Abul. As now I am of no use as a fighter, I do little except fuck you. Or does he enjoy hearing about that?”

“Hardly,” Red Wolf says, coming back over and sitting down on the blankets. He hands Lukas one of the cups and strokes Marko’s pink belly. “But don’t be so sure my father is indifferent to you,” he finishes, taking a sip from his own cup.

“I cannot imagine why,” Lukas says.

Red Wolf rolls his eyes, well-used to Lukas’s self-pitying. “Despite his failing health, my father actually cares a great deal about a great number of things.”

“Does he?” Lukas says, taking a drink, “I thought his main concern was covering his new wife.”

“I believe he does wish to sire more babes on Suriel before he grows too infirm to rouse his cock. But it is not his only concern lately. He has an eye on his legacy.”

“So he can spend his last days pitting his favourites against each other to bid for the role as his successor?”

Red Wolf laughs, “That does seem to amuse him. Although, I think, in truth, my father decided moons ago who his successor would be.”

Lukas sips his ale “By rights, it ought to be you. You are his oldest living son.”

“Ah, there speaks my scion of the Rose Court. No. It will never be me. He would never leave his glorious band of outlaws to his sly son. I am not the right type.” Red Wolf speaks in a way that makes it clear those last words are his father’s. He slides a hand under the furs and places it on Lukas’s thigh. “But I have my uses. I’m a terrible fighter but I am an excellent spy. I can scout the mountains for him. Why, this very morning I found something rather interesting. So my dear father is shining his light on me for once.” Red Wolf smiles, one of those smiles that means he knows something.

It’s truly irritating how Red Wolf can always get Lukas’s interest. “I thought you had to leave?” he says, hiding the fact he is keen to know exactly what Red Wolf found while scouting.

“I do, dearheart. I do. But don’t you want to hear about my morning’s scouting?”

Lukas drinks more of the ale. “I suppose,” he says as if he doesn’t mind whether Red Wolf tells him or not. “What is this great find that has pleased your father?”

Red Wolf grins. “Ah, the truth comes out. Sometimes, I fancy you want me in your bed so I will give you information.” He drains his cup. “You know, if you are bedding me for information, the old Lucky would render me more loose-lipped by covering me again and making me scream with pleasure. Who knows what I’d reveal in the heat of such delirium.” Red Wolf moves his hand higher. He strokes Lukas’s soft cock.

“Don’t,” Lukas says. “I am but a human man. Nothing more is happening there this day.”

“When you were younger,” says Red Wolf, dropping his voice to a familiar, seductive growl, “and I was Abul’s innocent son you were corrupting, you would have thrown me down on your furs and taken me a second time. And a third and a fourth until I begged you for mercy.”

Lukas laughs. “I am not that younger man. Neither of us are. And you were quite well corrupted before I ever bedded you.”

“Even so,” Red Wolf says, “am I so uncomely I cannot rouse you again?” He flashes Lukas a wide, big-toothed smile. Because Red Wolf is very comely and he knows it. Any member of the Mortingales would be delighted to have him in their bed. And many of them regularly are.

Lukas sits up and pulls Red Wolf into a long kiss, leaving him panting before Lukas says, with his lips still pressed to Red Wolf’s, “You said you had to go. And you know very well, you are not uncomely.”

Red Wolf pulls back a little. “I’m glad you think so, Lucky.” He strokes Lukas’s cheek. “But I miss the man you were before you left us for your adventures in Lunatum.”

As do I, Lukas thinks, but he says, “That man is gone along with my right hand.” He sets down his cup. “And if you’re not going to drop that subject you can leave.”

“You’re so touchy, by all the Sidu, Lucky.” Red Wolf leans over. He puts a finger on Lukas’s chin, leaning in as if to take a kiss.

Lukas pulls away. He slips his hand around the back of Red Wolf’s neck and takes hold of the hair tied at Red Wolf’s nape. “There are other ways to get information out of you,” Lukas says with a soft snarl in his voice.

Red Wolf takes a short gasp of a breath. His hips twitch. “Oh yes,” he says, “there’s my old outlaw lover.”

“The scouting,” Lukas says, darkly, keeping his grip tight. “Did you find anything?”

Red Wolf whispers, “I’ll tell you if you kiss me.”

Lukas smiles thinly. “Tell me and I’ll kiss you.”

Red Wolf swallows. He gazes at Lukas with lust-lidded eyes “Very well, you have tortured my secrets from my lips. I came upon an interesting party this morning, half a league southwest of here. Small, in Azurian colours. Just half a dozen men and a wagon. They might be merchants, but they’re well-armed.”

“And what did Abul say about that?”

Red Wolf laughs. “He says if they fly Azurian colours they are ours to take. Inga is leading a raiding party out tonight. Send the Empire a message about coming back to our mountains. Perhaps a decent prize from their wagons will endear me to my poor ailing father.”

“I see.” Lukas presses his lips to Red Wolf’s. Hard. He uses his teeth to nip at Red Wolf’s bottom lip.

After Red Wolf leaves, Lukas gets up from the bed. He puts on his breeches, then straps on the chest harness that holds his hook in place, he buckles the pauldron to his shoulder and slides the sleeve over his handless arm. He tightens every strap. It used to be a clumsy struggle to do this one-handed. Now it’s so familiar it’s like breathing. A ritual remaking of himself. He fixes the hook into the hole at the end of the sleeve and secures it in place with two narrow straps, checking it’s firmly held. He picks up the mirror on a silver chain he wears around his neck and puts that on followed by his shirt, pulling it over his head.

As he dresses himself, he thinks on what he learned from Red Wolf. A small Azurian party coming through the mountains is quite mysterious. If they are merchants, that is not a matter of concern, just a surprise. Because what merchants would dare come this way flying Azurian colours? However, if they are not merchants…

They could be a scouting mission. If there was any indication that the Imperial Army was returning to the mountains, it would be cause for alarm. The Mortingales do not yet have the numbers to fight another purge. Could this be the start of one?

Lukas decides to investigate this mysterious party for himself. Perhaps he will be able to assist Inga’s raid. He could certainly do with finding some way to gain favour with Abel’s fiery daughter.

And perhaps there will be something at the heart of this mystery that will lead him to the bargaining chip he needs to finally buy his way back into the inner circle of the Mortingale Outlaws.