Ruler, Rival, Exile (Of Crowns and Glory-Book 7)

CHAPTER ONE

Irrien loved the joy of battle, the thrill of knowing that he was stronger than a foe—yet seeing the aftermath of his conquest was far better.

He strode through the ruins of Delos, watching the looting, listening to the screams of the weak as his men killed and plundered, raped and smashed. Strings of new slaves walked in chains toward the docks, while already, a market in looted goods and captured peasants had sprung up in one of the squares. He forced himself to ignore the pain in his shoulder while he walked. His men couldn't see him weak.

So much of the city was broken now, but Irrien didn't care about that. What was broken could be rebuilt with enough slaves working under the lash. It could be rebuilt in the shape he wanted.

Of course, there were others who had their demands. Currently, they followed him like sharks following a trail of blood, warriors and priests and more. There were representatives from the other Stones of Felldust, chattering about the roles their masters could play in the looting. There were merchants, wanting to offer the most favorable rates for transporting Irrien's looted goods back to the lands of endless dust.

Irrien ignored them for the most part, but they kept coming.

"First Stone," a figure said. He wore the robes of a priest, complete with a belt made from finger bones and holy symbols twisted into his beard with silver wire. An amulet set with bloodstones marked him as one of the highest of his order.

"What is it you want, holy one?" Irrien asked. He rubbed his shoulder absently as he spoke, hoping no one would guess the reason.

The priest spread hands tattooed with runes that danced with every twitch of his fingers.

"It is not what I want, but what the gods require. They have given us victory. It is only right that we thank them with a suitable sacrifice."

"Are you saying that the victory was not due to the strength of my arm?" Irrien demanded. He let the threat seep into his voice. He used the priests when it suited him, but he would not let them control him.

"Even the strongest must acknowledge the favor of the gods."

"I will give it thought," Irrien said, which had been his answer to too many things already today. Demands for attention, demands for resources, a whole parade of people wanting to take portions of what he had won. It was the curse of a ruler, but also a symbol of his power. Every strong man who came begging to Irrien for his favor was an acknowledgment that he could not simply take what he wanted.

They started to walk back toward the castle, and Irrien found himself planning, calculating where repairs would be needed and where monuments to his power could be put in place. In Felldust, a statue would be stolen or broken before it was completed. Here it might stand as a reminder of his victory for the rest of time. When he had healed, there would be a lot to do.

He looked over the castle's defenses as he and the others returned to it. It was strong; strong enough that he could hold out against the world if he wanted. If someone hadn't opened the gates for his people, it genuinely could have held off his army until the inevitable conflicts of Felldust overtook it.

He snapped his fingers at a servant. "I want any tunnels beneath this place filled in. I don't care how many slaves die doing it. Then start on the ones in the city. I will not have a rat run where people can sneak without my knowledge."

"Yes, First Stone."

He continued into the castle. Already, servants were moving in the banners of Felldust. Yet there were others who didn't seem to have gotten the message. Three of his men were tearing at tapestries, pulling stones from the eyes of statues and stuffing the resulting loot into their belt pouches.