The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

your treatise. I find it compelling.”
    “Would that I had known
you were here. I would have placed it in your hands instead of
Michael’s.”
    “No matter. It comes to
the same end. My brother is right. He can ill afford to have any
appearance of instability when we…convince my father to
retire.” Philip paused, staring out the window as his brother
had just done, contemplating the same matters. For a moment, Yazid’s
heart sank, certain that he had already seen the end of this play.
“But he is also ignorant of some things,” Philip
continued, and Yazid dared to hope. “Your treatise rings true
to me. In Erikar, we encountered a small village of Elgar cultists,
who spouted much the same things you note in your work.”
    “Indeed? What did they
say?”
    “The end of the
millennium, Elgar rising, that sort of thing.”
    “Xanthius wrote of
Carsogenicus saying the same things before his execution,”
Yazid said, excited now. “‘The scion of Elgar will rise
from the blood of Tasinal, the Eye about his neck, in the City of
Nothing, and the world shall become as ash.’ Can there be any
doubt, now?”
    Philip answered with a grunt.
“There is always doubt.” He drummed his fingers against
the windowsill, his square jaw working as he considered. “Knowledge
is a weapon, and I am a warrior. I will have all the weapons I can
find. If I give you the century you asked for, will you lead it?”
    “I will! I will leave
this very moment! But how will you avoid the questions Michael
worries about?”
    “I have men in Aviar, my
personal retinue, on leave since we returned. You will not find
finer soldiers or more devout servants of Ilaweh in all of Xanthia.
And you will, as you say, go now. I will prepare a letter. I expect
you to depart within the day, and be quiet about it. I can beat my
brother into agreement if he hears of our arrangement, but I’d
prefer to avoid it.” Philip flashed a broad, honest grin. “He
hits damned hard, even as thin as he is. He’s quick.”
    “I will tell no one until
I reach Aviar,” Yazid promised.
    Philip turned as if to leave,
then paused, and turned back. “Perhaps Michael is right, and
this is a fool’s errand. So be it. I will expect a map of the
entire coast of Prima. But if he is wrong, I will expect more.”
He began counting on his fingers as he spoke, tapping each one as he
listed his points. “I will expect a map of this ‘city of
nothing’, and I will expect troop strengths, defenses, the
disposition of the civilian populace, the strength of their resolve,
how much hardship they will endure in defending their city. I will
know the political factions, who they hate, who they are allied
with. I will know the weapons they can bring to bear.”
Finished with his counting, Philip pointed a single finger at Yazid.
“And understand this: you are all expendable, save the man who
brings me that information. Do not waste your lives, but do not
hesitate to give them up if necessary. Ilaweh be with you.”
    “Ilaweh is great,”
Yazid said with a nod. He hammered a fist against his breastplate,
and left without another word.
    The desert sun gathered him in
a warm, friendly embrace as he exited the long, narrow entrance of
the Rock of Xanthia. His young acolyte, Ahmed Justinius, was waiting
for him on the steps outside, prowling back and forth like a caged
lion, his white tunic darkened and clingy with sweat. Hard muscle
rippled beneath his almost black skin as he paced, impatience
radiating from him like heat wavering on the sand. His right hand
hovered close to the hilt of the sword he wore at his belt, as if
battle might be joined at any moment. We will fight soon enough,
boy.
    But, no, that was the wrong
word anymore. Yazid felt both the swell of pride and the emptiness
of loss in his chest to look upon his young ward, the sense of
inevitability as his heart acknowledged what his eyes could not
deny: the boy he had raised was truly gone forever. Here, in his
place, was