The Fall to Power Read Free

leant over him, pouring fine red wine into his goblet, even as his eyes took in the curve of her breast, the paleness of her skin, the light tones of her hair. This girl was a captive of northern climes, these things told him. Of the Hill People.
                  She noticed his attention as she poured, and he smiled as he watched uncertainty flickering across her face, despite her best efforts to hide it. He could smell the feelings radiating out from her, just as a mortal man could smell the flavours in a pot of stew as it bubbled over a stove; he could sense the cold resentment she had for him, as master of her life now, slave to his every whim. She held onto that hatred, desperately, out of pride, but beneath it, as easily as a hand could feel the curve of a woman through thin silk sheets, he could feel her fear of him, her desire for him.
                  As she finished pouring and made to move away, she managed to catch his eyes, seeing in his twinkling green orbs the sure knowledge that he knew everything she was feeling at that moment. She turned, flushing, ashamed and angry with herself, to offer drinks to the other council members.
                  The King watched her go, ever smiling, thinking to himself that she had no need to feel such shame, for it happened to all women, no matter their background or status.
                  “You shouldn’t do that, you know. It’s cruel.”
                  Well, not all women.
                  He turned to the Seeress who sat next to him, smiling, looking deep into her ice-blue eyes, before allowing his own to rove over her form, never tiring of the sight of her long, slender curves and raven-black hair, even after nearly a century of familiarity.
                  All he could feel radiating from her was a cool confidence, perpetual amusement and a latent sexual hunger, all underpinned by a sharp streak of cruelty and malice and topped off with the tangy, unmistakable aroma of sorcery.
                  It was this potent and heady mix that so intoxicated him, keeping the sorceress never far from his side, year after year, decade after decade.
                  “My dear, forgive me, but you know I must have my distractions from time to time.”
                  She raised an eyebrow.
                  “I forget how many distractions you’ve needed over the years, my King. For an immortal you have a frightfully short attention span…”
                  The pair laughed, this scene having played out a hundred times over the years, each perfectly aware of the other’s thoughts, before the King grew slightly more serious for a moment, eyes darting meaningfully towards the section of the crowd where the Lords of the land and their retinues feasted and drank.
                  “Tell me, what do you know of Arbistrath?”
                  The Seeress frowned, not because the question was unexpected – it was her duty as leader of the Seers to survey the kingdom from afar and spy out any trace of sedition – but because of the subject of his enquiry.
                  “He’s the ruler of Pen-Tulador, a town of no real interest to the Seers – he has few troops, his garrison small, most of his land devoted to the farming of crops.”
                  The King nodded, already knowing all this, but patient. It befitted an immortal to have patience.
                  “He seemed put out by the speed at which we will construct the Beacon, is all. What is Tulador like for wealth, these days?”
                  Another voice answered this, from the other side of him, a man’s voice, deep and youthful, full of mirth, instantly likeable.
                  “Their coffers are reasonable, my king,” replied Bavard, taking a deep glug of rich wine from a golden goblet,