“Where are the traitors, Primal?” the Princess snarled.
“I didn’t…” the Duke tried to say. When the man’s mouth opened, Bordan could see the broken teeth and the gaps where others had been yanked from the man’s jaw. “Didn’t know.”
“Liar!” Aelia screamed into the man’s face, her voice cracking as she drew the word out.
“He may be telling the truth,” Godewyn said, his voice quiet but carrying the length of the table. “He may not be aware of Abra’s actions towards your family, Your Highness.”
“He helped him escape,” Aelia said, rounding on the High Priest, flecks of white spit arcing from her mouth.
“Of that there is no doubt, Your Highness,” Godewyn acknowledged with a bow of his head. “However, both the Carnificina and my own Inquisitors put him to the question. We have checked and rechecked his story. He was aware that Abra was in trouble, but not the precise nature.”
“He helped him escape from my justice,” Aelia growled. “That is treason, and there can be no excuse.”
“I merely point out that he was unaware of the crime which Abra had committed, not that Primal is innocent of his own crimes,” Godewyn said.
“Priests,” Aelia said, her lip curling, “always correcting, always lecturing.”
“As you say, Princess Aelia,” Godewyn allowed. “However, in this case the distinction is important. Primal assisted Abra escaping the city. He has confessed to that. Abra himself told Primal that his life was in danger from assassins.”
“Now you jest,” Aelia replied.
“No, Your Highness,” Bordan answered, sharing a glance with Godewyn. “Abra had been speaking to Primal over some weeks, telling him that his life was in danger. Indeed, Abra has borrowed a large sum, on the surety of the merchant fleet, from Duke Primal.”
“What for?” Aelia rounded on the broken Duke. “What did he want the money for? To hire more assassins? You paid those creatures to kill my brother and mother?”
“No… Pr… protection,” Primal stuttered, still hanging between the guards, and broke off into a coughing fit.
“Primal believes his money was spent hiring guards to protect Abra’s holdings in the city, around the ports and in the north,” Bordan said, looking away from the wreck of a man who had once sat on the council.
“You haven’t finished, General,” Aelia realised, her eyes narrowing.
“No, Your Highness.” Bordan nodded and took a deep breath. “We believe, the clerks having reviewed Abra’s and Primal’s accounts, that the money has been spent hiring mercenaries.”
“Is that not what Primal said?” Aelia’s face wore a puzzled expression.
“Somewhat,” Bordan replied. “However, tracking the payments and collating information from my own resources, the Church, and Master Vedrix’s more esoteric avenues, we believe that the hired troops are concentrated on the northern plains, even as far as the city of Cesena on the border.”
“Seal the city off,” Aelia demanded without a pause. “Have our soldiers take Abra into custody and drag him back here.”
“I have issued orders,” Bordan said carefully. “However, Vedrix’s sources report that the garrison which protects the bridge across the river there is outnumbered.”
“What?” Aelia turned on Bordan. “Why? Is not Cesena our most northern outpost? Our guard against the tribes of the north?”
“And with our army in the far north,” Bordan said, “those left behind to guard the bridge are the very young or the very old. The militia have bolstered their number, per your father’s orders as he left on campaign, with retired soldiers. Even so, the garrison is weakened and less numerous.”
“They cannot take Abra into custody,” Godewyn added. “Not without entering into conflict with Abra’s own troops.”
“And that may lead to widespread alarm and destruction in the city itself,” Bordan added.
“Cesena,” Aelia muttered. “I know the name. I know that place. You have mentioned it before. Where is the map? I need a map.”
“We will have one brought,” Bordan said, nodding to one of the guards who held Primal. “However, Cesena is the crossing over the River Abhainn.”
“Is that on the route my father’s body will take?”
“It is, Princess,” Bordan agreed. “We had planned to bolster those numbers with troops from the Third Army. The trouble in the countryside and our concerns in the city delayed those plans.”
“Get word to them, to the honour guard,” Aelia ordered. “We cannot lose my father’s body to Abra. I must be Emperor.”
“We are commandeering ships, though the fleet is depleted. It appears Abra had ordered many to the southern continent on trade missions, to take the message,” Bordan replied. “Messengers will ride with all speed to find the honour guard. Though, I must warn you, Your Highness, it may not be in time.”
“Send more riders. Give them orders to be resupplied with fresh horses on every stop,” Aelia said, a pleading look entering her eyes.
“They will likely be stopped at Cesena or picked up by Abra’s troops,” Godewyn said. “It is likely, and appears from the records, that Abra has been building up mercenaries and others in the north ever since your father’s untimely passing.”
“However, we have already sent riders with such orders,” Bordan replied. “We will not let your father’s body fall into Abra’s hands.”
“And you didn’t know? The General with all his talk of spies in households,” Aelia accused. “Where was the information when we needed it.”
Bordan took a breath, stilling his heart and dampening his own anger. “I failed there, Your Highness. Every precaution was taken, but Abra appears to have been much cleverer than I gave him credit for.”
“I do not think it is prudent to lay the blame at anyone’s feet. Princess Aelia,” Godewyn said, stepping forward. “What matters now is your father’s body and whatever Abra has planned.”
“I’ll not forget,” Aelia said, her voice sullen but untouched by anger. The Princess leaned forward, placing her hands flat upon the table and bowed her head before jerking up and turning a gaze filled with hope towards the magician. “Vedrix, you can contact the magicians with the honour guard? We don’t need the riders and the ships. This is why my father protected your Gymnasium, to serve the Empire.”
“Ah, well, Your Highness,” Vedrix bumbled for a moment, “we have tried to contact Master Padarn—he is the magician accompanying the honour guard.”
“Tried means failed,” Aelia snapped.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Vedrix answered. “The last contact we had mentioned some of the tribes were intending to attack the guard. A small number only, not enough to pose a risk to the guard itself. Since then, we have heard nothing and cannot re-establish contact. We believe, that is to say, our best information is, that Master Padarn is no longer with us.”
“He has become a traitor?” Aelia’s body went stiff, and Bordan saw the young woman’s hands clench into fists.
“He is dead,” the General said. “Killed in the skirmish. There is, I understand,” Bordan swallowed, “an apprentice with the honour guard.”
Vedrix nodded. “There is, a young man named Kyron. However, whilst we believe him to be alive, he has not had the training necessary to speak to us across such distance.”
“Mobilise our troops, General,” Aelia said, swinging her gaze back to the old soldier. “We are riding for Cesena and the bridge. I will not allow a city to fall to mercenaries or my father’s body to be desecrated by Abra.”
“They are gathering as we speak, Your Highness. Provisions are being sought, and ships commandeered,” Bordan answered. “We will be ready to leave in two days.”
“One day, General,” Aelia snapped.
“If we leave the supplies behind,” Bordan replied, “however, I would not advise such an action. We may face a siege or a protracted battle.”
“I do not care,” Aelia commanded, her tone cold and final. “
We leave tomorrow. The supplies can be brought up to us the day after. We cannot allow my father’s body to fall to Abra.”
Bordan swallowed his reply and settled for a bow. “Of course, Your Highness. And what of Duke Primal?”
Aelia turned slowly to face the Duke. “Crucify him on the hill. I want the people to see what becomes of those who stand against me. I want them to see his tears and witness the fate of all traitors.”
“No…” Primal wheezed. “My Princess… I did not know… I…”
“Take him away,” Aelia waved to the guard and focused upon Bordan. “One day, General. No longer. We ride to save the city and the Empire.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Bordan said, his shoulders feeling the weight of every year, of every battle ever fought, and every death. Now even more would contribute to the bowing of his back, the pain he felt upon rising, to the guilt which encircled his heart.
XXXVIII
The Magician
Six years ago:
“He doesn’t seem to be like the other priests,” he said, watching the carriage vanish into the rain and dark.
“The Church is in good hands there,” the old man said. “He was a soldier once, one of my best officers.”
“Why did he leave?”
“The Holy Flame called him to service, lad,” the old man said, looking down at him. “Service and duty are the bedrock of the Empire. Never forget that.”
They had left the main track south long ago, and without the sun to gauge the time, Kyron was worried they had walked forever. Perhaps Emlyn was taking them to a place they could be ambushed, captured, tortured, and killed. He shook off the sour mood and bitter thoughts. She had her parents to consider and had shown no desire to betray them before.
“How much further?”
“Not too far,” she answered. “The markers have been consistent, and the track is well used.”
“Markers?” Borus asked from behind.
“The signs the tribes use to give directions,” Emlyn replied, not turning. “As you’ve no doubt realised, you can’t see very far in the forest and unless you know the tricks of surviving out here it is easy to get lost. So, we use markers to help us navigate.”
“I’ve not seen any signs,” Kyron said, scanning the trees around him.
“And you won’t,” she said. “That’s the point. They are for us, not you.”
“Can you teach us to read them?”
“No. Even if I could, even if I wanted to, it wouldn’t help,” she answered.
“Why not? If I could read them, I would know where I was going and how to get there?”
“Because you would have to learn a new language,” Emlyn replied, following the trail around a corner, “and some of them are lies.”
“Lies?”
“In case someone who wasn’t of the tribes ever learned the language, we put in traps to catch them out.” There was a matter of factness about her tone which made him believe the traps were a more serious threat than just being sent in the wrong direction. “Borus, keep your men’s hands away from their weapons from now on.”
“Why?”
Kyron looked back to see the three soldiers looking confused.
“Because we are being watched and you are from the Empire. I suspect a few of the watchers would like an excuse to put an arrow through one of them,” she answered. There was a loud chuckle from amongst the trees and a startled gasp from the soldiers. “You too, Kyron. Don’t even think of drawing that sword.”
“I won’t,” he promised, peering intently into the shadows beneath the trees.
“You won’t see them unless they want you to,” she said without pausing in her steps. “You’ll just strain your eyes.”
Sweat trickled down Kyron’s back as he followed her down the trail. Every second he expected an arrow to sail out of the leaves and strike him down, just as one had Padarn. The cold wind which had picked up just yesterday had grown in strength and even sheltered by the trees, it chilled him.
“Just ahead,” Emlyn said, pointing to a gate that Kyron would have sworn was not there a moment ago, so carefully constructed and camouflaged against the trees that it had seemed part of the forest. “Borus, it will be better if you let me do the greetings. They’ll know who you are and why you’re here, but there are some formalities.”
“Will this village have contributed to the army that faced us?” Borus said.
“One or two, maybe,” she replied. “If you don’t want to come in, you can stay by the gate. However, if you are permitted entrance you are safe. We have traditions and rules about how we treat guests.”
“Murder them in their sleep?” Borus asked.
“Only those who insult us,” Emlyn answered. “The village isn’t one the Empire merchants visit often, but trade is still important. You’ll be safe as long as you don’t do anything stupid and insulting.”
“We can be polite,” Borus said.
“Good.”
The gate grew as they walked until it towered over Kyron, forcing him to crane his neck to see the top. He looked left and right, noting the fence and palisade of sharpened logs that vanished into the trees.
“Well protected,” Borus said.
“It isn’t just the Empire we fight,” Emlyn said, stopping a few paces from the gate.
“Oh,” Borus asked. “Who else?”
“Other tribes, mostly,” she answered with a shrug.
The gates swung open to reveal three warriors dressed in the same clothing Kyron had seen at the battle, though the blue woad was missing from their faces. Just behind stood three more people, two men and a tall woman with red hair caught up in a ponytail.
Emlyn raised an open palm and called out in the language of the tribes. Kyron held his breath, hoping that she was greeting them and not asking for them all to be killed so she could escape, head back north and free her parents.
He stayed silent as the conversation continued, aware of the weight of the sword on his hip. As precaution he began to draw in the motes of magic from his surroundings, unsure of the most appropriate construct but holding them close just in case.
Emlyn glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes before turning back and speaking loudly to the villagers. There was a laugh from the group behind the warriors and the tension eased from the confrontation.
Kyron sagged, releasing the magic, as the warriors parted and the unarmed villagers behind beckoned Emlyn and Kyron’s party into the village.
“They’ve named you guests,” Emlyn said, turning on them all with a sudden vehemence in her voice. “Don’t do anything to ruin that. I’ve vouched for you all and it would be my duty to mete out the punishment if you mess up. You carry your own lives and those of my parents on your good behaviour from this moment until we leave. You had best believe I will not do anything to risk their lives.”
Kyron gulped at the fire in her eyes and the determination in her words. His feet felt like heavy lumps of stone as he stepped forward to greet the villagers.
“Chief Doirean,” Emlyn spoke with the tall woman in the centre of the three, “may I present, Cohort Borus, Foot Noster and Foot Esdras, of the Empire’s army.”
“You are welcome in the village as our guests,” the chief said in a voice deeper and warmer than Kyron had expected. “And this young man?”
“Apprentice Magician Kyron,” Emlyn said.
“You have our welcome too, young man,” the chief said. “We have met a few of your magicians before. They come to study the tribes, our ways, and have always been gracious in the past. I trust that will not change.”
“No, your…” He looked to Emlyn for assistance.
“Chief Doirean,” she supplied.
“No, Chief Doirean,” Kyron said. “My master told me he had travelled the forests to learn of them.”
“A wise man, your master, for life is about learning. The moment we no longer seek new knowledge, we stop living and contributing to our communities,” Doirean replied wit
h a smile. “Perhaps, Emlyn will take you to meet our priests and you can continue your master’s lessons.”
“I would like that, Chief Doirean,” he replied, sketching a small bow to cover the disappointment on his face. Spending the afternoon talking to old men and women about religion was the last thing he wanted, but then again discussing the price of flour and meat would not be the most exciting way to spend his time.
“Excellent,” she said, clapping her hands. “Cohort Borus, if you and your men would follow me. I speak your tongue well enough to discuss trade, as do some others in the village.”
“You speak it much better than I speak the language of the tribes,” Borus replied.
“We felt it an advantage to learn. It prevented any misunderstandings on the price of certain goods.” She smiled again. “Some merchants were not, we discovered, as entirely honest as we first thought them to be.”
“It is a skill and a fault they learn all too easily, Chief Doirean.”
“Indeed. Emlyn, take young Kyron to the priests. I fear you will need to stay and translate some of what they speak of,” Doirean said. “You may also find their counsel reassuring given your predicament.”
“Thank you,” Emlyn said. “Come on, Kyron.”
He stood still for a moment as Doirean led Borus and the soldiers away to a large hall built amongst the trees. With a last glance, he turned and followed Emlyn along the tracks between small homes which were often built around the trunks of trees. Here and there he spotted ladders and ropes leading up to platforms built amongst the branches.
“What are those?” he asked, pointing upwards.
“Food stores for the most part,” Emlyn answered. “Wolves, bears, and other animals are not good climbers and it keeps our stores safe. They also make good platforms for archers if the village is ever attacked.”
“Was your village ever attacked?”
“Twice while I was growing up,” she acknowledged.
Kyron ran four sentences through his head to try to offer his sympathy, but all sounded weak, so he settled on silence. The path she followed led them through small clearings where children, dressed in shorter versions of their parent’s clothes, sat on the earth grinding seeds, or tending fires. A few played, throwing stones in the air and catching them on their knuckles or palms, giggling when one fell to the ground. The adults watched him with guarded expressions as they passed, but though many had knives in their hands or close by he did not feel threatened.
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