Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #19 October 2015 | Page 9

It would be dawn soon. Emperor Alliot would
want him to dress in his finery and make Sharla do the
same. He would want them to sit down to breakfast as
if everything was perfect. Mikkel drew his arm from
under his wife’s head. He pulled on his velvet trousers
and silk shirt, tying the laces with sharp movements,
then belting on the bejeweled scabbard the emperor
had gifted him. Sharla’s hair lay in a glinting waterfall
across her pillow, and her bare breasts lifted and fell
with the steady peace earned through a lifetime of
goodness. He would not wake her.

he intended.
He strode to the centre of the room and took
the boy in a tight embrace. For a brief second, the
emperor went stiff. Then he reached up and pushed
Mikkel’s chest hard enough to fling him away. Mikkel
stumbled against the bier, causing it to rock. The empress’s limp hand fell away from her chest to dangle
over the floor.
“Are you mad?” Alliot demanded, voice full
of fury. “How dare you touch us?”

He would go to the emperor. He would say…
well. He would figure it out when he got there. He
saddled his old mare and goaded her into an unaccustomed gallop. By the time he arrived at the palace the
horse was wild-eyed and lathered. He stroked the poor
beast and left her in the courtyard, reins trailing. The
guards at the door saluted him and did not question his
intent in the palace so early in the morning.

For a moment, he could not answer. He swallowed and reached down for the empress’s hand.
Mikkel steepled her fingers back together and folded
them across her breast. Poor child, Mikkel thought.
You would have made a beautiful mother.
While Emperor Alliot stared at him with lips
parted in offended amazement, Mikkel sat down in
the chair beside the empress. He remembered the first
day he set eyes on her. She wore a red gown and her
cheeks blushed scarlet as the fabric of her bodice. The
day of her wedding, she tripped over her long train and
Mikkel reached out to steady her. The empress, young
and high-spirited, squeezed his fingers as if they were
the greatest of friends. She had reminded him of his
daughter then. At her funeral, she had been too like his
daughter for comfort.

The wizard Harriman stood outside the crypt,
drawing patterns on the floor with coloured sand.
Candles flickered around the edges of his design. The
wizard chanted in the language of magic. He did not
stop to talk, but raised one eyebrow instead.
Mikkel nodded. Harriman smiled, but he did
not stop chanting.
The captain made his way around the place of
ritual and let himself into the crypt without knocking.
The smell of rotting meat and flowers hit him in a hot
wave. Alliot stood. His eyes were red from wakefulness and his beard was unkempt.

“You dare,” Alliot grated, “You dare touch my
empress?”
“Oh, stop blustering,” Mikkel said. His voice
sounded weary and sad. “Have you never heard that
Lord Death loves us all the same? We die today, we
two. She died last week. We are all equal now, emperors and empress and soldiers and peasants.”

“Captain,” Emperor Alliot said. “You should
not be here. Go home.”
Mikkel opened his mouth, and for a moment
no sound came out. He swallowed. “No. I will not.”

Alliot fell silent. In the quiet, the wizard could
be heard chanting on the other side of the door.

Alliot blinked. It was the first emotion Mikkel
had seen from his sovereign in nearly a week. “You
defy us? Today of all days?”

“I wish we had always been equals,” Mikkel
sighed. “If we had, I would have told you I loved you.
I have not only protected you all these years because it
was my duty. I have protected you because you were

“I defy you.” Mikkel’s voice was louder than

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