Instruments of War (Iron Kingdoms Chronicles) Read Online Free PDF Page B

open dusk. A large encampment stretched before them, hundreds of tents, all flying the proud banner of House Balaash. Housing thousands of soldiers, thousands of slaves, and dozens of beasts, it was more of a mobile city than an encampment. Makeda roughly kneed the ferox in the ribs, pointing it toward the nearest set of lanterns.
    The guards rose immediately to challenge her approach. Just because she was flying the banner of Balaash did not necessarily make her an ally, especially here in Muzkaar land.
    “Who goes there?”
    “Makeda, Second Born of Telkesh.”
    The nearest guard shifted the grip on his spear. “Makeda is dead.”
    Makeda reached up and removed her helmet as the ferox padded closer to the lantern light. The sudden wind felt cool on her scalp. “Silence, imbecile. Take me to my father.”
    The guards looked stunned. “She lives!” One of the soldiers gestured a direction. The ferox snapped at him, and the dagger-like teeth missed his wrist by less than an inch.
    A smarter guard pointed with his spear. “Forgive us. The archdominar’s tent is over there.”
    Makeda looked at the tent. That was not her father’s tent. That was Akkad’s tent. There was a sudden pain in her heart, an unfamiliar feeling. “Ha!” She kicked the ferox hard. It reached Akkad’s tent within three bounds. Makeda slid off of the saddle and walked quickly inside. These soldiers immediately bowed and moved out of her way.
    Despite being a huge affair which needed several of its own pack animals to move anywhere, the inside of Akkad’s tent was crowded with warriors of rank and lineage. Makeda recognized many of her father’s advisors and officers. They all wore solemn expressions which turned to shock when they saw her. Whispers radiated outward as all eyes turned to see.
    “Where is my father?” Makeda demanded, but already knowing the answer.
    Heads were bowed. Feet were studied. A scribe hurried to the rear of the tent and disappeared beneath a flap into the sleeping quarters.
    Abaish was the first to speak. He was of the paingiver caste, but was one of her father’s closest advisors. Only his narrow chin was visible beneath the traditional mask worn by all paingivers. “Forgive our surprise, Tyrant Makeda. We were told that your cohort had perished in battle today.”
    “Not today. Perhaps next time. Now where is my father?”
    Abaish shook his head with exaggerated sorrow. “I am afraid mighty Telkesh is dead.”
    Makeda’s knees turned to water. She tried not to let her emotions show. Telkesh had not been archdominar for long. Vaactash had only been dead a year. This was inconceivable. “How?”
    “A sudden illness,” said one of the Cataphract. “He was overcome with fever.”
    It seemed impossible, a skilled mortitheurge, a house leader with mastery over energies which controlled the flesh or could withstand death, to be taken by a simple fever.
    “The chirurgeons could not find a cure in time,” Abaish added apologetically. “For that failure Akkad had them executed.”
    It was as if saying his name had summoned him, but it had more than likely been the scribe, because the same flap opened and Akkad entered. Tall, broad and powerful of build, his features were sharp and strong, his eyes narrow and intelligent. When the artisan caste attempted to capture skorne perfection in a work of sculpture, it usually looked something like Akkad, except of course, for the one ruined stump of an ear.
    He surveyed the room expectantly. All of the assembled officers and functionaries went to one knee and dipped their heads. The act should not have surprised her. Akkad was after all, now the archdominar of House Balaash.
    “Sister,” Akkad seemed as surprised to see her alive as she had been to find out their father was dead. However, he was better at concealing his emotions. The paingiver Abaish rose from his knees and placed himself at Akkad’s right hand. Akkad’s smile seemed forced. “It is good to see you.