Seven Deaths of an Empire

by Matthews, G R

  “Were they from the tribes?” The thought struck him, and it was spoken before he could stop himself.

  “What? No,” his grandfather said. “My parents were from the city.”

  “And their parents?” Vedrix spoke into the quiet while the older man took a swallow of wine and Kyron tried to get his thoughts into order. “Each of us have ancestors amongst the tribes who used to own the land, if you look back far enough.”

  “I don’t think they owned the land,” Kyron said, trying to untangle why the thought of possession made him uncomfortable. “At least, I don’t think that is how they think, or thought.”

  It was Master Vedrix’s turn to smile. “Perhaps not, Apprentice. However, my point remains true. The Empire conquers and absorbs. It is like the lava from a volcano spreading across the land, swamping all before it but building upon it.”

  “Lava burns and destroys,” Kyron pointed out and the only response from Master Vedrix was a slight shrug.

  “It is no secret,” his grandfather said, resting his hand on the book. “Much of the Empire’s people are from different lands, the far south, some even from the east. My ancestors were from here, from Sudrim.”

  “What was it called before it became Sudrim?” Vedrix said in quiet voice. “Even so, our ancestors all came from what we now call the tribes.”

  “I do not deny that,” his grandfather said. “Though I am not comfortable with your description of the Empire.”

  “I’ve heard it called worse,” Kyron said, “and with better analogies. Sorry, Master.”

  “No need to apologies, Apprentice, words were never my strongest skill,” Vedrix answered with a small chuckle.

  “My parents went back to where our family began,” Kyron said, a statement rather than a question.

  “I don’t remember telling you that,” his grandfather said, squinting across the table at Kyron.

  For half a moment Kyron considered telling his grandfather where the information came from, but the old man had never had much faith in magic and he was aware that the story stretched the limits of anyone’s belief.

  “I think I put it together from your stories of my father and your time in the army. Also, my time with Padarn opened my eyes a little. He taught me to see more than was there and I’ve spent some time with Emlyn, listening to her talk about the tribes,” he explained, and though the lie came easy, in his grandfather’s eyes there was a hint of disbelief. The old man had not made it to be General of the Empire’s Army without being shrewd.

  “Padarn always said you had more brains than you seemed to use. More magic too if you ever managed to unlock it,” Vedrix said. “Bordan, he deserves to know. It will affect him too. He should be prepared.”

  “What?” Kyron looked between the two men. Both had given the other a hard stare and then taken a drink from their wine.

  “Once we reach the capital and the Princess is crowned Emperor, I will be retiring,” his grandfather said. “I am too old, and the Empire needs younger blood in charge.”

  “There’s more,” Kyron said, judging the other man’s words and noting the way his grandfather’s hands clasped his cup.

  “I’ve told you what happened in the palace,” Master Vedrix said when his grandfather remained silent. “It has caused some tension between the council and the Princess.”

  “Me and the Princess,” his grandfather grunted.

  “Well, yes,” Vedrix acknowledged. “Your grandfather is concerned, though he does not say it, that you will be tainted by this tension.”

  “I want you to be safe,” his grandfather said. “It was one reason I supported your entry into the Gymnasium.”

  “Supported?” Kyron spat. “We argued every day for weeks. You tried to talk me out of it over every meal.”

  “I had to make sure it was what you wanted and…” His grandfather’s words trailed off.

  “And what?”

  “And you were more likely to do the exact opposite of whatever I said.” His grandfather sighed. “It is what young men do. I recall your father doing the same.”

  “When?”

  “When they moved west,” his grandfather admitted. “When they moved away from the capital to start their own lives, to be their own people, not the General’s son. My life comes with risks, and I wanted you all to be safe.”

  “And now?”

  “Now is the same,” his grandfather said. “I will retire, and I had hoped to keep you free from any problems that resulted.”

  “Retiring is not a problem. You’ve served the Empire all your life with honour and distinction,” Kyron pointed out.

  “Things change,” his grandfather replied, “sometimes too quickly to make adequate plans.”

  Kyron’s thoughts returned to an earlier conversation. “Someone else told me something similar.”

  “They are right, listen to them,” Vedrix added.

  “Anyway, you are a magician of the Gymnasium,” his grandfather said. “You should be safe there. I hope you’ll visit.”

  “You are not telling me everything,” Kyron said, leaning forward and putting his cup on the table. “All this trouble to speak to me in private, the ward, getting rid of Emlyn.”

  “There is always more, Kyron, but to know would put you at risk. Whatever happens, Master Vedrix can assist. Only he knows who you are,” his grandfather said.

  “And Godewyn,” Vedrix pointed out.

  “I cannot rely upon him, though it pains me to say so. A High Priest cannot protect a magician. The stakes would be too high,” Bordan replied and Vedrix nodded.

  “You are starting to worry me,” Kyron admitted.

  “Good,” his grandfather said. “That will keep you alert. It may come to nothing, but it is best to be prepared.”

  “What are you all talking about?” Emlyn’s voice cut through their quiet conversation as she entered the tent.

  “About the honour guard and the journey,” his grandfather said, “And now we must let the apprentice rest. Good night to you both.”

  As the magician and General left the tent, he caught the questioning look which Emlyn directed at him. He shrugged, echoing Vedrix’s answer of earlier.

  LI

  The General

  Four years ago:

  He paced the corridor of the Gymnasium. Ever since the boy had been ushered into the room, the worry had gnawed at his belly.

  “It will be some time, General,” Master Vedrix said. “Some take only a short while, but many take much longer. They will tell us when they are done. Come, I’ve had some chilled wine set aside.”

  “They won’t hurt him?”

  Master Vedrix laughed, an honest, deep chuckle which seemed to shake the walls. “Of course not, General. We’re magicians, not barbarians.”

  “We will reach the capital tomorrow,” General Bordan said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a trick learned on the parade ground to ease the ache in his legs and back.

  “It has taken far too long,” Aelia said, not looking up from her plate of food. Thin slices of steaming meat, vegetables covered in bright red sauce, and dark olives swimming in clear, golden oil.

  “An Emperor must arrive with all due pomp and ceremony. It takes time, Your Highness,” Godewyn said from his seat at the table.

  “I need to look impressive at the head of the army, when we bring my father’s body home,” Aelia said, spearing a slice of meat with her knife and chewing on it slowly. “The grooms must prepare my horse and armour. I want them both to shine, to be seen from the walls as we crest the horizon. The people need to know who brings their beloved Emperor home and who will now sit on the throne.”

  “I will ensure the grooms do their jobs properly,” Bordan said, a niggle of pain in his lower back.

  “Excellent.” Aelia said, cutting another sliver of meat.

  “Messengers from the capital report that all preparations are proceeding on time,” Bordan said. “The populace have been notified and we expect the
m to line the streets upon our arrival.”

  “Keep them back a little. There may still be assassins,” Aelia said.

  “The army will secure the route, Your Highness,” Bordan said with a nod.

  “Master Vedrix, it will be a fine day tomorrow?” Aelia asked, pushing her plate away.

  “I expect so, Your Highness,” Vedrix answered from his customary seat in the corner, not far from the exit to the tent.

  “What use is magic if you cannot tell me a simple thing? What will the weather be like tomorrow, magician? I want the skies clear and the sun to beam down upon us as we reach the city,” Aelia said.

  “The weather does as the weather does, Your Highness. Many magicians have sought to understand and exercise some control over it. All failed,” Vedrix said, sitting up in his seat as if a thought had struck him. “There was a magician, what was her name? I forget. Anyway, she claimed to be able to make it rain whenever and wherever she was.”

  “And?” Aelia said. “Was she telling the truth? If you can make it rain, you can make it stop, surely.”

  “No one knows, Your Highness. The last record of her is of her stood on a high cliff commanding the wind to blow,” Vedrix said. “I do wish I could remember her name. Fascinating life history and quite the experimenter.”

  “What happened to her?” Godewyn asked.

  “We believe a gust of wind caught her robes and she fell from the cliff,” Vedrix answered. “Either way, the weather is too big for magic. Only the Holy Flame has that much power over the world, Your Highness.”

  “It is good of you to recognise such, Master Vedrix,” Godewyn said, inclining his head in the magician’s direction.

  “One must always know where one stands and the limit of their power,” Vedrix replied.

  “Just so,” Aelia agreed. “I am sure the General agrees with you. Don’t you, Bordan?”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” Bordan answered, gritting his teeth. “I understand perfectly.”

  “Have the army in full battle dress,” Aelia said, her knife hovering over the plate of vegetables before stabbing a morsel of choice.

  “Formal dress,” Bordan said, “cloaks, shields and armour polished.”

  “That is what I said.” Aelia rolled her eyes as she spoke.

  “As you say, Your Highness,” Bordan answered, biting down the words, knowing that to argue the point would serve no purpose.

  “General,” Aelia said in the tone of a much younger child, reticent and unsure. “The plot to kill me, to steal my throne. It is over, isn’t it?”

  “From everything that we,” and Bordan waved a hand to encompass the High Priest and the Master Magician, “know, yes. However, it is best to proceed with caution and security.”

  “Did you enjoy killing Abra?” The question was sudden and Bordan almost stepped back, catching himself at the last moment.

  “I’ve never enjoyed killing, Your Highness,” Bordan answered, struggling to find the right words as the Princess stared at him with wide eyes. In them the General could recognise the need for reassurance and the fear that swam just beneath the surface.

  “You are a soldier,” Aelia pointed out. “Killing is what you do.”

  “No true soldier wants to kill, Your Highness, they want to live to an old age, have children, and retire in comfort,” Bordan replied, measuring his words as if embarking on the most delicate of recipes.

  “But you did kill Abra,” Aelia stated, though Bordan recognised it as a plea.

  “I did,” Bordan agreed. “Abra is dead.”

  “What did it feel like?”

  “Feel like?” Bordan repeated, sharing a glance with the High Priest, as he searched for the right words, realising he would have to settle for half a lie. “Justice and an ending, Your Highness.”

  “He killed my brother, and my mother,” Aelia said, and Bordan could see the young woman’s eyes were elsewhere.

  “He is dead, Your Highness,” Bordan said, treading carefully. “You will be Emperor in just a few days, and you can honour your family.”

  “I wanted to kill him, Bordan,” Aelia shouted, her eyes snapping back to the present and she slammed a clenched fist down upon the table. “I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to die slowly, to feel every drop of his life drip from his wrecked body. I wanted him crucified where I could watch the pain in his eyes as his fate consumed him. I wanted crows to peck at his wounds, flies to lay eggs and maggots to erupt from the rotting tears in his flesh. I wanted him to beg, Bordan. I wanted him to cry out for death and do you know what I’d do?”

  Bordan stood motionless, but from the corner of his eye caught Vedrix’s movement, the simple act of closing the book he was reading and, in that gesture, he glimpsed the future. It scared him.

  “I’d tell him no, General,” Aelia continued, her voice calming and lowering almost to a whisper. “I wanted him to suffer, General. Just as I have. I wanted him to know what it is like to have everything taken from you.”

  “Believe me when I say this, Your Highness, it would not have helped,” Bordan croaked and was forced to work his jaws to bring moisture to his dry mouth. “The desire for revenge can destroy a person or fuel them for a time, but revenge fulfilled is an empty thing. In the end, it is how we deal with our losses that defines and guides our futures.”

  “You’ve lost people?” Aelia said, her voice losing its anger, replaced by a deep sadness.

  “Comrades, friends, my brothers and sisters, my parents,” Bordan said, feeling the familiar lump in his throat and tightness around his eyes. “My own children.”

  “And you carried on?” Aelia looked up from her seat into Bordan’s eyes for the first time.

  “We all have to,” Bordan answered. “Killing Abra would have done little to assuage the grief, Your Highness. I am sorry.”

  “I don’t blame you, General. You did what I’d ordered and secured my father’s body.”

  “Thank you,” Bordan answered, bowing to cover nascent tears in his eyes, wiping a sleeve across them as he stood straight once more.

  “What did he say?” Aelia said after a moment’s silence.

  “Say, Your Highness?”

  “Abra, when you killed him? Those officers you had report to me all told me of the duel,” Aelia said, the smile still creasing her face. “It is famous in the camp already. The Old General kills the traitor.”

  “It was not much of a duel, Your Highness,” Bordan replied, rubbing the bandaged cut on his forearm.

  “You do yourself a disservice, General,” Aelia said, smiling up at the old man. “They tell me it was a great duel. How you fended off his attacks with your shield, protecting the men around you. How you were wounded by a coward’s trick and drove your sword, despite your grievous wound, into the traitor’s body.”

  “I fear they have embellished the events somewhat, Your Highness,” Bordan said. “It is a tendency of stories and battles. He was not much of a swordsman and I am too old for battles.”

  “Yet, you killed the traitor, General?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “And you spoke to him as he died,” Aelia continued, leading forward.

  “A few words only,” Bordan agreed.

  “What did the traitor have to say for himself?”

  “He begged for forgiveness, Your Highness,” Bordan answered, finding the lie coming easy to his lips. “Dying soldiers often ask for forgiveness. They fear the judgement of the Holy Flame.”

  “As they should, General,” Godewyn said. “Abra will burn forever in the Flame. His agony will last a thousand lifetimes and more.”

  “Thank you, General,” Aelia said, pushing her seat back. “I think I needed to hear of his death. I will go and sleep. Make sure the soldiers are looking their best in their formal dress,” a faint smile crossed the Princess’s lips, “when we approach the city.”

  Bordan bowed, as did Godewyn and Vedrix, the magician rising from his chair to do so.

  “I will, Your
Highness,” Bordan said. “They will shine in a reflection of your glory.”

  The Princess paused for a moment and nodded. “I like that, General.”

  “I did not know you had such a gift with words,” Godewyn said after the Princess had left.

  “She still has a long way to go, Godewyn,” Bordan said, sighing and taking a seat at the table. The Princess’s half-eaten food before him, but any appetite had long since fled.

  “She speaks with the wisdom of youth, Bordan,” Godewyn assured him.

  “I hope you can guide her,” he said, reaching for the wine and pouring a measure into a clean cup. “My advice will be rarely heeded I fear.”

  “She still looks up to you, Bordan. She appreciated your words tonight. They brought some comfort I think.” The High Priest took the other free chair at the table. “Aelia knows you served her father honestly and dutifully. I think, like all young people, she is scared and worried.”

  Bordan grunted as he took a sip of wine. “It has been a long time since I was a young man.”

  “But you raised two of your own, Bordan,” Godewyn answered. “Both a credit to you. The boy cannot be much younger than the Princess.”

  “Not much,” Bordan said, sipping from his wine. “How fare the preparations from your side?”

  “The church is being prepared for the coronation,” Godewyn said. “The ceremony can be held the day after we arrive.”

  “Good. The sooner, the better.”

  “We need to secure the throne, General,” Godewyn said. “Princess Aelia is insistent she is ready to build on her father’s legacy and bring safety to the Empire. For the Church and the Emperor, we desire the old Emperor’s flame be freed to join the everlasting Flame and the paradise which awaits him. He has waited far too long.”

  “On that we agree.”

  “Will your staff be ready?”

  “Maxentius has it in hand,” Bordan said, tilting his cup from side to side, watching the rise and fall of the wine never letting any spill. “The city is secure and there will be no trouble. I’ve been told the route from palace to church is being cleared and decorated. We will have everything in readiness.”