by William King
“It will be on your gravestone.”
“Then put down a Kharadrean patriot.”
“A Kharadrean idiot, more like,” said Weasel. He and the Barbarian had been assigned to watch the man until the magistrate got there. The Barbarian laughed.
“Laugh all you like, moron,” said the patriot. “Your time is coming.”
With terrifying swiftness and deceptive casualness, the big man batted him right across the room. Sardec glanced at him. “That will be quite enough, soldier,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” He looked at the patriot and smiled broadly. There was no malice there, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “I may not be the brightest of men, but at least I have more sense than to tell the men who captured me that they are idiots.”
“I called you a moron, moron,” said the patriot from his place on the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth. A tooth had come loose and he spat it on the floor.
The Barbarian strolled across, picked him up one-handed, and dusted off the dirt from the man’s shirtfront. Innocent as the gesture was, it conveyed a world of menace. The patriot flinched. The Barbarian set the prisoner back on his seat, wiped his hands and grinned down at him. His gentleness had frightened the prisoner in a way that his brutality had not. His mouth was shut. At least for a moment.
“You are all going to die,” he said. “It does not matter what you do to me.”
“Every man dies,” said Weasel. “It happens to some of us sooner than others.”
“The Brotherhood will make your death painful,” said the man. Sardec began to understand him: the gaunt face, the unblinking stare, the utter certainty. The man was a fanatic of some sort.
“You know about the Brotherhood, do you?” he said softly.
“I know it’s going to kill you all, starting with your leaders, and not excepting the lowliest private soldier.”
The man was dressed like a member of the lower mercantile classes but he did not speak like one, more like a priest.
“Why do they want to kill us?” Sardec asked. “We are here to help your Queen.”
“Help? You are vultures hoping to gorge on the corpse of Kharadrea. You will find that this time you choke.”
Sardec remembered the Prophet Zarahel. He had belonged to a Brotherhood. And the Lady Asea suspected that behind that Brotherhood was the long arm of Sardea. The Dark Empire had been known to support the secret organisations with gold and weapons and sorcery. He wondered if this man was just another deluded pawn of Sardea’s foreign policy. In any case, a swift trial and hanging now seemed ruled out. Perhaps this man knew something about the Brotherhood of Patriots. Given their apparent involvement in Lord Elakar’s assassination, it seemed only right to report the matter to his superiors. He would need to make things clear when the magistrates got here. In the meantime, he might as well ask a few questions himself.
“Regardless of what you think,” Sardec said, his voice gently mocking, “we are here to help Kathea, and we are here to protect your people and country from the Dark Empire.”
The patriot laughed out loud. There was a horrible strained quality to it, and a complete lack of mirth. He was forcing himself to it. “Keep your lies for the fools who believe them. We know your sort. It’s land you want, Kharadrean land.”
“The Dark Empire will make all you humans slaves. Queen Arielle stands for human freedom.”
“Freedom to starve and labour for a pittance.” There was far too much truth in that for Sardec to disagree. He knew that in Talorea things were bad for humans.
“Freedom to own property. To vote in elections. To not be slaves.”
“To be lapdogs of the Terrarch assembly. If you own property. If you are a common man, it’s as bad as ever.”
“Humans in Talorea are better off than ever they were in Kharadrea. And a thousand times better off than they are in Sardea.” Sardec was surprised to find himself on the defensive here. It was not that he disbelieved what he was saying. He just realised that if he were a human it would have sounded inadequate.
“Things will be better here. We will have equality with Terrarchs. We will have a truly democratic government and laws in front of which everyone is equal.”
Both Weasel and the Barbarian sniggered. That seemed to disturb the patriot more than the earlier violence. “Laugh, lapdogs. Laugh while you can. A new age is coming and you will all be swept away.”
Sardec looked at the man, impressed by his seriousness. There was something more here than simple patriotism, a powerful ideal, strong enough to give this man courage in the face of death and torture. If the Sardeans were funding a movement like this, perhaps they had made a huge miscalculation. They were lighting a bonfire that might prove difficult to put out, and one perhaps to set the whole world alight.
Another more frightening thought occurred to him. Perhaps this had nothing to do with the Sardeans. Perhaps it was simply a mark of a new age, a sign of the times. If so his people were in for a rough time.
The door opened. Captain Quinal entered. With him was a Terrarch in the black uniform and silver mask of a military Magister.
“I understand this man is a member of the Brotherhood,” said Quinal. “I have a few questions to ask him. You and your men may go, Lieutenant.”
Sardec gestured for Weasel and the Barbarian to depart as Quinal and his people came into the room. Almost as soon as he left, screams started.
When Quinal was emerged from the room, he did not look pleased. Sardec raised an eyebrow.
“He died without telling us anything.”
“He had some sort of counter-spell?”
Quinal shook his head. “Some training in resisting magic perhaps, and a very strong will. His heart broke before he could tell us anything.”
“We’d better hope not all of his compatriots are made of the same stuff. Or we will have a lot of trouble.”
“Lieutenant, I think we are already in a lot of trouble.”
Sardec did not disagree.
Chapter Fifteen
Rik looked up at the painting on the wall of the Palace library. It showed Terrarch knights doing battle with Elder World horrors that looked like monstrous worms. Books lined the walls. Scrolls filled niches. Ladders were needed to reach the upper bookshelves. From the point of view of his former profession the books here were worth a fortune. Someday he hoped he might have a chance to work his way through them.
Asea sat down at a reading desk. He and Karim stood over her. “Watch the door, Karim,” Asea said. “Do not let anyone enter unless they come from Lord Azaar himself.”
“As you wish, mistress,” said Karim. He left the room as quietly as he had entered it. Asea spoke the words of a warding spell. The sounds from outside became flat and distant in the now familiar way.
“I think it’s time that you and I talked about some things, Rik.”
“And what would those things be?”
“I think I have solved a murder.”
“I thought the death of Lord Elakar had you baffled.”
“No. I suspect I know who committed it. I suspect I know who killed your mother. I suspect I know who killed the Old Queen Amarielle.”
Rik looked at her opened mouthed. “You have come to a lot of conclusions very quickly. If you know who killed Lord Elakar, don’t you think you should tell Captain Quinal and the High Command?”
“I don’t. This is a matter I wish to resolve myself.” There was something in the way she said it that chilled Rik’s blood. At that moment, she looked every bit the arch-demon that Tamara claimed she was. He forced his voice to calmness.
“Who killed my mother?”
“The same Terrarch who was responsible for the death of Amarielle.”
“And Lord Elakar?”
“No - that was someone else.”
“Now you have me confused.”
“Lord Malkior was present in Sorrow during the period your mother was killed. He was part of an embassy from Sardea. There were more killings - or should
I say ritual sacrifices - during the embassy’s visit. They stopped when it left.”
“Why was nothing done?”
“The Queen and her Parliament did not want war with the Dark Empire just then. What could be done? It might have been coincidence or an attempt to discredit the embassy.”
“They did not want war just then?”
“More preparations were needed. Our army needed to be built up.”
“This war has been a long time coming, Milady.”
“There’s no need to sound so disapproving. Our forces had been allowed to run down in the long peace following the Treaty of Oslande. We could not afford a war with both Valon and Sardea which is what would have happened then.”
“You are saying that the Chancellor of Sardea is a black sorcerer and a multiple murderer,” he said.
“I’m rather afraid the former Chancellor is.”
“And you came to this conclusion when you saw Lord Elakar’s body.”
“I have suspected something like it for awhile.”
“For how long?”
“Since I started investigating your history, Rik. Since I found out that the Shadowblood are still with us.”
He looked at her. A lot of things started to make sense. “That is why you have kept me with you.”
“One reason. The other is, and you are welcome to disbelieve me, that I am genuinely fond of you and grateful to you too.”
“What makes you think Malkior killed my mother?”
“It’s circumstantial, Rik. He is the only member of the embassy old enough to remember Al’Terra. There were others who could have the training in sorcery, but he’s the only one old enough to be an Al’Terran Shadowblood.”
“That is not evidence that would stand up in a court of law.”
“You can see why I do not want to tell Captain Quinal. There is another reason. Take a look at that picture. Take a look at the central figure.”
“The tall knight with the glowing sword?”
“Yes. Does he remind you of anybody, Rik?”
There was something familiar about that central figure. He heard something clink on the table behind him. When he turned around he saw a small beauty mirror there. Asea held it up to him, reflective surface facing in his direction.
“No,” he said.
“Yes.”
He looked into the mirror, fascinated as if it were a snake. There was a resemblance.
“The knight in the picture is Lord Malkior. This painting was commissioned to celebrate his triumph over the Deep Lords at the Battle of Pelagia in the year 189 of the Conquest.”
“That was nearly 800 years ago,” Rik realised that he was pointing out the obvious but he could think of nothing else to say. “You are saying I am his son.”
“I believe that to be the case.”
“What makes you think that he killed the Old Queen?”
“He was there. He was in a position to do it, if he had the powers of a Shadowblood.”
“If...”
“There are many other things that can be explained if he is, Rik. Old defeats and old betrayals. The Princes of Shadow were always suspiciously well informed about our plans on Al’Terra. Many traitors were found, but not all of them, it seems.”
“Anything else? It still seems a very slender theory to me.”
“To me, too. But I have waited for almost five centuries to put this together, Rik, and this is the closest I have ever come. I think Lord Malkior killed Queen Amarielle. He certainly benefited from her death. He became Empress Arachne’s closest councillor.”
Rik did not like the intensity in her voice. There was a trace of madness there, of insane obsession. He reminded himself that this woman was more than two thousand years old, and she had brooded on this thing for centuries. That could twist a mind in ways he simply could not comprehend. Perhaps she was not insane. Perhaps this was simply the way of ancient Terrarchs. That was a frightening thought.
“But you are not certain...”
“No. Rik. All I have is a theory. But like all good theories it is subject to verification.”
“How?”
“There is a family resemblance between you and Tamara. Even Lieutenant Sardec spotted it the other night.”
Rik shuddered. “Sardec?”
“Yes, even the good Lieutenant saw a resemblance.”
Rik felt a little sick. Asea continued as if she had not noticed.
“Lord Elakar was killed shortly after she arrived. By a Shadowblood. I am certain.”
“It might be Lord Jaderac. Or one of their entourage.”
“It might be. But none of them fit my theory. She does.”
“You said you were going to test your theory.” Rik could see where this was leading and he did not like it in the slightest.
“I am going to take her into my custody.”
“Do you have the power? She is an Ambassador.”
“There have been many kidnappings and assassinations recently, Rik. This will be one more.”
“Kidnapping or assassination?”
“Most likely both. She cannot be freed once she knows who we are.”
“We?”
“I doubt Her Majesty would approve of what we are about to do. I doubt our army commanders would either. So it will have to be us, and a couple of your old friends from the regiment. You know the two I mean.”
“Weasel and the Barbarian?”
“Yes. They will keep their mouths shut. There is still the matter of the forbidden books you stole from the Prophet Zarahel. The Inquisition would not make life easy for them if they found out.”
“That is a business I have had cause to regret,” said Rik softly.
“Meddling with forbidden knowledge always gives you that, Rik. Trust me, I know.” Her voice was soft and dangerous. Nonetheless, Rik felt compelled to oppose her will.
“This is madness. What if we are caught? Three humans trying to kidnap a Terrarch noblewoman? It would be the stake for us, after torture.”
“Then you had better not be caught.” She held his gaze easily, and he found he could not meet her burning stare nor match her implacable will. She was utterly serious about this and she did not care who got hurt if they got in her way.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you so driven?”
“Because Amarielle was my friend, as well as my Queen, and I failed her, and I am still Terrarch enough to want revenge. Because I am sick of being beaten by the minions of Shadow. Because if I am right and the Shadowblood are here, more than the lives of a few people are at stake.”
Her words chilled him. He looked at her silently. She seemed to feel the need to convince him because she went on. “Look at what’s happening, Rik. Look at what you have seen with your own eyes. Ancient cults summoning demon gods. Obscene sorcery of the sort that created the Nerghul. The Imperium shattered by civil war. It’s starting to look like the last days of Al’Terra all over again.”
“Why not tell the authorities this? Why not let people know?”
She paused for a moment, as if considering saying something. When she spoke, he was convinced that she had been about to say something different and then stopped. “I have told people my suspicions, Rik. Azaar shares them. So does Queen Arielle. But at the moment, all they are is suspicions, and now is not the time to make them public.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, people would think it was merely black propaganda against the Sardeans. For another, the humans…” Her voice faltered in uncharacteristic uncertainty.
“If humans started to suspect that Terrarchs were in league with the Princes of Shadow, there would be revolution,” Rik said.
“At the very least it would undermine the fabric of our society at the very time when we needed to be united. You can see why I need to be certain, and why I need to deal with this quietly if I can. I want to know exactly how far the rot has spread.”
“What
will you do to her when we capture Tamara?”
“I will make her talk.”
“She will be able to resist your sorcery if she is a Shadowblood.”
“There are other ways than sorcery to make people talk.”
Rik knew exactly what those methods were.
“Bloody cold tonight,” said Weasel. They sat huddled in the front of a cart in a roadway on the street of the Palace in which Jaderac and Tamara dwelled. It was a large place, brilliantly lit, disturbingly close to the Grand Cemetery. The wind was cold. A mixture of rain and snow filled the air and reflected the sorcerous street-lights on the cobbles. Rik pulled his cloak tight around him but still he felt chilled right through to the bone.
“You call this cold,” said the Barbarian. “You’ve obviously never been in the Northlands.”
“And I hope never to go there,” said Weasel.
Worry gnawed at Rik. He worried about the effect of the damp on the pistols in his belt. He worried about whether Tamara had spotted them as they had spied on her for the past week and would somehow be prepared for them. He worried about what he was going to do when he faced her, what would happen when she talked to Asea. There were things that they had done, and deeds they had discussed that he would not care for his patron to know about.
He considered whether Tamara should have an accident before she could talk to the sorceress. His pistols could easily go off accidentally. The truesilver bullet in one of them would kill her whether she was a Shadowblood or not. That might be for the best, certainly from his point of view. He was not sure he could do it.
Asea might be wrong about Tamara. She was planning to have her abducted and killed just to test a theory. Rik was surprised that he could still be shocked by something like that. He considered himself cold-blooded but Asea was being cold-blooded on a scale that he would never aspire to. He supposed she had her reasons. Tamara might be able to inform them about a conspiracy that threatened their entire world.
But, if Asea was right, Tamara was his half-sister. It ought to mean something but he did not really care about that. He had not known her before Morven. They had not grown up together. She was a stranger who had come of age with every privilege the Dark Empire could provide while he had scrambled to survive on the streets of Sorrow.