The general slapped Jeroen then, hard. "My bloodline has served this Empire for sixteen generations!"
Jeroen dabbed at the blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. "I have no issues with your bloodline, sir, you know that. You know that I am right, however. The nobles would chafe at your rule. Your own men would plot to overthrow you and take the throne for themselves. The common people of the Empire would not accept you. They would ask themselves what it is that gives you the right to rule them."
Mehtar turned away angrily. He didn't want the throne, but this boy had too many answers for him. Too much of what he said was right. "And it would be different if Nanak takes the throne by force?"
"Indeed it would, sir," Jeroen said. He kept a careful check on his enthusiasm; he couldn't afford to alienate the man just as he seemed to be getting through. "My uncle has always helped the people. He is a legendary commander, a hero. Now he has sided with the people against the emperor. He is not taking the throne by force. He ridding the Empire of a tyrant." Jeroen didn't know what role Tebrey had in his uncle's plans, and wasn't going to mention what he suspected. The general would only scoff at the idea that a Lawbringer had come back to the Empire.
"So your uncle would be taking the throne humbly, is that it?"
"Yes," Jeroen said, "that is how it will be perceived."
Mehtar nodded slowly. "Maybe you are right, at that."
"Sir, you know my uncle better than I. You have no reason to trust me. Trust him. He knows what he is doing. You know that he would never have considered this if he had any other choice."
"Guard!" Mehtar called suddenly. "Ask Praetorian Hamal to attend me here."
"Sir." The guard turned smartly away.
Jeroen stiffened. What was the man thinking? Was everything a lie to pull more information from him? Jeroen slumped in his chains, defeated.
The emperor's praetorian guardsman was a tall, well-built man in his thirties. He looked ruthlessly capable. The general's guards stood back as the man entered.
"What is this about? My orders, direct from the emperor, were that no man should speak to this swine," he said, indicating Jeroen.
"Little change of plans, Praetorian," the general announced.
The man grunted as the dagger hidden in the general's hand flashed out and buried itself through his throat, pinning his mouth closed, its point ending in his brain. He fell slowly to his knees and then landed face down in the dust, twitching.
Jeroen stared at the man in horror and then caught the look on Mehtar's face.
"I've changed my mind, boy. Let's go help your uncle."
"I don't know what you said to the general," Captain Vareth said, "but I thank the gods it got through to him." Vareth rubbed the gall marks on his wrists from the chains he had worn the night before.
Jeroen smiled at the captain. "I have to be honest and say that I was just as surprised as you are. The general is an intelligent and honorable man. He listened to the truth and accepted the inevitable. And," he added, "he was brutally decisive once he made up his mind."
"General Mehtar isn't noted for his subtlety." Vareth leaned close to Jeroen. "I heard he personally killed the praetorian. The rumor is all over the camp."
"It is true," Jeroen said. "Scared me to no end. He put his dagger into the man's head."
"Good way to make sure the man couldn't fight back," Vareth said, nodding approval.
"There is that," Jeroen said. "I'd never seen a man killed in such a manner." He shuddered again at the memory of twitching limbs. The smithies had been called in to strike the irons from Jeroen before the body had even been moved. That was probably where the rumors came from. Not that they had been very discreet about removing the body.
"Death is never easy, my lord."
Jeroen nodded. "How long is our trip likely to be?" he asked. He wanted to think of something else, anything else.
"We should make the capitol in two days, if the weather holds," Vareth replied, scanning the sky for clouds. It was a cool morning; the sky was clear and blue. It looked to be a good day to be on the road.
"The men look fit for the march," Jeroen replied. "Let's hope that my uncle is still in a position to help when we arrive. We need to get through the gates. I'd hate to fight a pitched battle under those walls."
"Aye, the murder holes in the gate towers would make short work of us." Vareth shook his head. "We'll make it into the city, my lord. Never fear that. With these men, the fight to take the palace cannot last. I still hold out hope that the final two divisions will join us, but it matters little either way. We will win the day, now."
"I hope you are right, Captain. Are the rest of your men to meet us?"
"No, lord, I am leaving them to guard the people at the marquess' manor. I sent a man to notify them that you had been successful. If we were outguessed about contacting the other commanders, our enemies may have thought to send someone to make an attempt on your friends' lives. Or worse," he added, "capture them."
Chapter Sixty-One
Rumors of his presence had spread faster than the fires through the city. Even the marquess' men were looking at him askance. Tebrey and Hunter had returned to the fortress as the sun set behind the walls. Smoke hung over the city and reflected the light of the fires as darkness fell. The whole city was tinged red from the light.
Tebrey tried not to take it as a forewarning.
"Marquess."
"Ah, my Lawbringer. You exceeded my expectations," François said.
"I take justice very seriously. I trust you'll make a good emperor."
The marquess met his eyes and smiled. "You'll have no need to dispatch me, if that is what you're worried about."
Tebrey smiled back. He'd just wanted to get his point across. "Don't worry, François, I don't intend to stay around after this all goes down. I would like to go home eventually. You know I'm not interested in ruling here."
"I know, and I'm not going to betray you," François said. "Now that we have that out of the way, we can move forward with my plans. Come look at this." François was standing over a map of the city.
"Okay," Tebrey said. "We're here. The imperial palace is here. Do you know where the emperor will be in the palace?"
"No. You're going to have convince a palace servant to tell you that once you've gained entry."
"I think I can do that."
"Good. My men will be there to assist you, but this is your show. I'm relying on you to be able to pull it off. You have your weapons?"
"I do."
"Including the one that makes lightning?"
"That's not what it does, but yes, I have that one, too. I'd rather not use it unless I have to."
"I agree. I want the emperor alive for trial and execution."
Tebrey sighed. "It's not really a trial if he is prejudged."
"I'm sorry, but it would be difficult to find a magistrate who knows nothing of what has been happening. We know the man is guilty. We merely need to make him face his peers and be sentenced."
"What peers?"
"The heads of the ruling houses and the marquess from each quarter of the city. Also, all of the senators still alive after the riots. Trust me, it will not be arbitrary. If I speak as if it will be, it is because I'm confident of the outcome."
"What is the proper form of execution for his crimes?"
"There isn't one," François said. "The emperor would have tortured someone for days and then had them impaled. We aren't like that. Something quick and final would be fine with me."
"Sounds like you have things all lined up."
"Almost everything. You could always carry out the sentence."
"Me? I'm no executioner."
"Right now you are more than that, my friend. You are a symbol of hope to the people. If you were to carry out the order of the senate, none would question the rightness of the execution."
"I won't torture, maim, or otherwise drag things out. If the senate orders his death, I'll do it my way."
&
nbsp; "That is agreeable."
What are you doing? Hunter asked him.
What I think is right.
"Well, we have to get him before we worry about that," François said. "With that in mind, I took the liberty of having some things put together for you."
"What things?"
"You need armor," François said. "And you need a sword. Jeroen said that you were very good with one."
"I'm okay." Tebrey shrugged. "I admit that it isn't my first choice of weapon."
"You may change your mind when you see this one," François said. "See for yourself." He held a long wooden box out to Tebrey.
The box was worn and chipped in a few places, but was immensely old. How old, Tebrey couldn't tell. Tebrey undid the clasps and opened the box. It was lined in a rich red velvet. A sword lay within. The sword was easily a hundred twenty centimeters in length, contained in a well-oiled but ancient sheath of leather. It looked nothing like any of the swords Tebrey had seen on Cedeforthy.
He raised it out and drew it from its sheath. The blade felt like an extension of his arm. It was only a few centimeters wide and millimeters thick. The grip was easily large enough for two hands, even his. There was no hilt, just a flare to stop the hand from sliding onto the blade. The silvery blade curved along its length and had script carved into it, and Tebrey felt apprehension as recognized the designs. It was similar to that on the strange spheres that had been found at the dig site, but at least it wasn't like the script from the ruined city. That would have been too much for him.
"This is a very fine blade, François," Tebrey said. "What is it made of? Where did it come from?"
"A hundred year ago, when the city was occupied, my grandfather's grandfather was a member of the resistance. It is how my family came to power. The resistance took refuge deep in the catacombs under the city. In a secret room, my ancestor came across a cache of swords like this one. There were seven. This one was used in the war of liberation by the first Lawbringer. It was said that even the smallest wound resulted in death when he used the blade. None have used it since. No one knows what became of the other blades."
"Do you know what it is made of?"
"No. A metalsmith once told me that he thought the blade might be platinum, for it is very hard and does not tarnish. I don't know."
"It's amazing."
"It's yours," François said.
"I couldn't. This is much too rich of a gift."
"Think of it more as payment for your service. It is the blade of the Lawbringer. It will be recognized. Use it to dispense justice."
"I will," Tebrey said, returning it to its sheath. "You mentioned armor."
François stood and gestured for Tebrey to follow. "I had a suit of mail made to your size. I told them to leave it black from the forge for you."
Tebrey grinned. "Thanks, but I don't even know how to move in armor like that, much less how to put it on."
"It isn't that heavy. I'll help you."
François slipped the thick leather gambeson over his head first, and then strapped it in place. It was followed by the heavy, riveted mail hauberk. The mail reached to Tebrey's knees and was split in the front and back to his crotch; the sleeves were wide and came to his elbows. Thick leather bracers and greaves followed. It was finished off with a stout leather and iron helmet with an open face.
Tebrey moved around the room, swinging his arms and getting used to the weight. "It's not that bad," he said. How do I look? he asked Hunter.
Bigger. It's not as intimidating as your powered armor, but not bad.
"What ever happened to the last Lawbringer, anyway?"
"He and his beast were betrayed by the emperor's grandfather when he ascended the throne. They were burned alive in the palace courtyard after many days of torment."
"Great. That fills me with loads of confidence."
The marquess' men already had the grate open to the catacombs, and a fetid stink came from the dark tunnel. There were ten men in the party, each of them hand-picked by the marquess for the mission. They were just outside the high walls of the palace. The men were all seasoned veterans, but they blanched at the thought of entering the catacombs.
"The tunnel is going to be slippery," Tebrey said. "Worse than ice. Be careful down there, especially you men with torches. Hunter and I will lead the way. Stay close behind me and do what I say."
"Are there demons in there?" a man asked. His sergeant growled at him to be quiet.
"I encountered nothing but mold and stale water when I was down there before," Tebrey said. "The ancestors of the marquess hid out in the catacombs to avoid persecution from the Faithful when they occupied the city. No harm came to them."
The men nodded, considering what he'd said. He was sure that it was the information about the marquess' ancestors that convinced them, and not his own experiences. The men lowered a rope ladder into the tunnel. It was time.
Tebrey let Hunter jump in first, and then quickly followed him by climbing down the ladder. The tunnel looked much the same as the other in the light of Tebrey's hand lamp. The other men followed him down, cursing softly as they slipped on the smooth surface of the tunnel. The last man down drove off the horses, dropped the ladder into the tunnel, pulled the grate into position and dropped down. The other helped back to his feet.
"Stay close to me and each other," Tebrey said quietly. "These catacombs are vast, and if you get separated, no one is going to come looking for you. Our job is to get into the palace and capture the criminal who is calling himself emperor. We move fast, and we don't take any other prisoners. Kill anyone who sees us before they can give the alarm, or we're all dead and this is all for nothing."
Nice motivational speech, Hunter thought.
Shut up.
"Any questions?"
There were none.
"Then follow me."
Chapter Sixty-Two
The catacombs were even more complex than Tebrey had imagined. The tunnels branched in every direction. There were sudden shafts so deep that Tebrey's light couldn't find the bottom, forcing the party to find other paths to the center of the palace complex. Nothing was direct. He couldn't imagine what the tunnels had originally been used for, but he didn't think they'd been intended as storm drains.
Whether the tunnels had been intended to hold water or not, they did now. The air was thick with moisture, and condensation formed on every surface, making surfaces even slipperier. The only sound was that of their breathing, the crackle of the torches, and the steady drip of water. As before, the material of the tunnel seemed to absorb all sound.
Tebrey could tell that the men were spooked by the strange environment, but they followed him without hesitation. They were good men. Still, the emotional pressure of their fear began to get to him, and it was all he could do to keep from running through that nightmare underground.
It was easy to get turned around in the tunnels, and even Tebrey's neural computer had difficulty keeping track of the path they took. Eventually, they came to a large open room hundreds of meters across, with many openings in the ceiling. At one time in the unimaginable past, the room must have held machinery of some sort. Now there were dark pits in the floor that corresponded to the holes in the ceiling. A mix of cold and warm air blew through the room.
"We'll go up here," Tebrey said. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of these catacombs." Tebrey directed his hand lamp up into one of the holes in the ceiling. There was a grate over the opening, maybe five meters over them. "Any ideas?"
It's too high for me to jump. Sorry, Hunter thought.
"There may be another way," the sergeant said. Tebrey didn't remember his name. "Many of the larger manors have stairs leading into the catacombs."
"Okay," Tebrey said. "Spread out and look for a way up. No one leave this room, and stay within sight of each other. You're looking for stairs or a ladder, or even just a hole in the ceiling without bars over it."
The pits in the floor all held water. Some of them
were clear, with glints of metal in the bottom like coins or those metallic spheres found at the dig site. Other pits held stagnant water in which bones and rotting flesh could be seen. People had been brought down there and thrown into the pits to die. It was horrific, but it gave Tebrey hope at the same time. Whoever had killed those people must have gotten down there somehow. It seemed most likely that they had come from the palace itself.
"We've got something, sir." The message was relayed to him by one of the soldiers; no one wanted to shout in that place. Who knows what might come to investigate? Tebrey shivered at his thoughts and followed the torches over to the western wall of the room.
"What do you have?"
"Rungs set in the wall, sir. They're a bit rusted, but I think they'll hold us."
Hunter?
His companion tested the rungs. They bent a little under his weight, but held.
I could go up these, he replied. But I'd want to do it fast. You should all go first.
Tebrey nodded to the sergeant, who climbed up into the darkness.
"Can you shine that light of yours up here, sir? I think we have a problem."
Tebrey climbed up after the man, who moved over on the rungs. He shone his lamp up where he could see another iron grate.
"Why would there be a grate over this?"
"Hinges, sir," the sergeant said. "There is a lock over here."
Tebrey pointed his light.
There was a thick iron padlock, badly rusted, holding the grate shut.
"Hold the light."
Tebrey drew his combat knife, slipped the blade into the hasp of the lock, and twisted sharply. The beryllium steel blade cut through the iron like it was thick clay. The hasp parted with a sharp clank, and the lock fell away. The sergeant applied oil to the hinges before pushing the grate open. If he thought it strange that Tebrey had a knife capable of cutting through iron, he kept it to himself. Tebrey took back his light and climbed through the hole.
He found himself in a storeroom of some kind. Piles of rotten fabric and rusted metal lay heaped in the corners of the room. There was a stout wooden door, slick with slimy black mold. It looked to be the only way out of the room. He gestured for the sergeant to bring his men up.
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