Chapter 12: The Bloodhound
The military wing of the Sunless Throne was a stark contrast to the opulent beauty of the rest of the palace. It smelled of hot iron sweat and old blood. The walls were bare stone lined with racks of heavy broadswords and spiked maces.
Lysander hated this place. He hated the noise the dirt and the brutal men who inhabited it. But desperation had driven him into the belly of the beast.
He stood at the edge of the central training arena. In the center of the sand pit stood General Draven Morvath.
Draven was a massive mountain of a man. His arms were thick with corded muscle and his torso was covered in a chaotic web of thick white battle scars. He was currently sparring with three elite guards simultaneously. He wielded a massive iron greatsword with terrifying speed. With one brutal sweeping strike he knocked all three men into the dirt.
"Pathetic," Draven roared spitting onto the sand. "Get up and run the perimeter until your lungs bleed."
The bruised guards scrambled to their feet and began running. Draven turned his massive head and locked his dark furious eyes on Lysander.
"What is a painted whore doing in my armory?" Draven growled resting the heavy greatsword on his broad shoulder. He marched toward the edge of the pit his heavy boots crunching in the sand.
Lysander forced himself to stand tall despite the primal terror screaming in his mind.
"I bring you an opportunity General," Lysander said projecting his voice over the clatter of armor and weapons. "Captain Thorne is dead. The City Guard is in chaos. The Queen is looking for someone to blame."
Draven stopped just inches from Lysander. The general smelled of raw violence.
"Thorne was a fool who got caught playing politics," Draven spat. "He deserved the dungeons. But the man who put him there is a different story. My spies tell me the new consort orchestrated the entire thing. A soft little poet from the south humiliated my military."
"He is not a poet," Lysander said his voice trembling with genuine hatred. "He is a demon. He wants to dismantle your control over the City Guard. He wants to replace your officers with men loyal only to him. If you do not crush him now he will turn the Queen against you."
Draven narrowed his eyes studying Lysander’s terrified beautiful face.
"You want me to kill him for you," Draven rumbled a cruel smile touching his scarred lips. "You are too weak to hold your own territory in the harem so you come begging the wolves to hunt your prey."
"I am offering you a target," Lysander countered desperately. "Silas is arrogant. He thinks he is untouchable because he shares the Queen’s bed. Crush him Draven. Show the court that the military does not bow to a consort."
Before Draven could answer the heavy iron doors at the far end of the armory swung open.
The noise in the training hall instantly died. Every soldier stopped what they were doing and stood at attention.
Silas walked into the armory.
He was not flanked by guards. He walked alone. He wore a simple dark tunic but he moved with the absolute confidence of an apex predator entering a new hunting ground.
Lysander felt his blood run cold. What was Silas doing here? This was the heart of enemy territory.
Silas walked directly toward the training pit stopping just a few feet away from Draven and Lysander. He looked at the massive general and then shifted his dark calculating gaze to Lysander.
"Lysander," Silas said his voice smooth and perfectly calm. "I see you are making new friends. How wonderful."
Draven gripped the hilt of his greatsword his knuckles turning white. "You have a lot of nerve walking into my armory boy. Men have died for less."
Silas did not flinch. He looked up at the towering general his expression completely blank.
"I am here on the Queen’s orders General," Silas replied holding up a rolled parchment bearing the royal seal. "Her Majesty has noticed the sudden lack of leadership within the City Guard. She has asked me to review the promotion candidates to replace Captain Thorne."
Lysander gasped. It was a masterstroke. Silas had convinced the Queen to let him choose the next commander of the City Guard. He was literally stealing Draven’s army right out from under him.
Draven’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. He stepped forward towering over Silas.
"You will not touch my men," Draven snarled his voice shaking the weapons on the racks. "I command the military. Not some pretty little toy who spreads his legs for the crown."
Silas did not back down. He stepped closer to the furious giant.
"You command the military because the Queen allows it Draven," Silas whispered his voice dropping to a cold lethal cadence. "And right now the Queen is very disappointed in your ability to keep your officers from committing treason. If I were you I would focus on cleaning your own house before you threaten the man holding the broom."
Lysander watched in absolute horror. Silas was not just provoking the general. He was dissecting him. He was using the Queen’s authority as an impenetrable shield while simultaneously stripping Draven of his power.
Draven raised his massive fist trembling with the urge to strike Silas down. But he could not. Striking an emissary carrying the Queen’s orders was immediate execution. Silas knew it. Draven knew it.
Silas smiled a cold victorious smile. He handed the parchment to the furious general.
"Have the candidate files sent to my quarters by evening," Silas commanded turning his back on the most dangerous man in the empire.
As Silas walked out of the armory Lysander realized the terrifying truth. Silas had known Lysander would run to Draven. Silas had timed his arrival perfectly to humiliate the general in front of his own men and in front of Lysander.
There was no escape. Silas was not just playing the game. He was the board the pieces and the rules. And Lysander was completely out of moves.
