A Shattered Empire

by Mitchell Hogan

  “What are you two talking about?” Caitlyn said.

  Vasile looked around as she limped over to them, with Aidan and cel Rau trailing behind her.

  “We were just discussing evil,” Gazija said. “And the forms it takes.”

  “Evil is obvious to those who look for the signs,” Caitlyn said.

  Gazija met Vasile’s eye, then Aidan’s. “You can see evil in many things, if you look hard enough. Perhaps, Lady Caitlyn, you should look for the good in people?”

  Before Caitlyn could answer, the door to the emperor’s audience chamber creaked open, and a harried-looking functionary came out.

  The balding man looked around, annoyance on his face. “Head Trader Gazija of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern,” he said. “You’re next.”

  “Here,” Gazija said. “I’m here. I’ll go in together with the Lady Caitlyn and her entourage. She’s been waiting longer than I have.”

  Caitlyn shot Gazija a suspicious look, glanced at cel Rau, who said nothing, then shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can get to work.”

  “And what work would that be?” Gazija asked.

  “Never you mind, sorcerer.”

  The functionary came over and looked them up and down. Vasile became more aware of their rumpled and stained clothes.

  “Do you think this is appropriate?” the man snapped. “I’ve a mind to—”

  A multicolored shield sprang into life around Gazija, and the sorcerous globes brightened, each glowing like the sun. Gasps echoed around the hallway.

  “Take us inside,” said Gazija imperiously. His shield disappeared. “And keep quiet, unless I ask a question.”

  “Cel Rau!” Caitlyn said.

  The swordsman shifted his weight but didn’t make a move. “It’s a show,” he said flatly.

  The functionary’s mouth closed with an audible clack. “The emperor has warlocks defending him. You’d better not—”

  “I won’t do anything,” Gazija said testily. “Take us inside, now.”

  They followed the flustered man through the doorway and into a large ballroom. The entire space was lit by sorcerous globes attached to three chandeliers, illuminating paintings adorning the walls and sculptures in alcoves.

  Quivers lined the passage that led from the entrance door to a dais, behind which was a crowd of nobles and spectators, along with their servants and men-at-arms. Atop the dais was the emperor, sitting on a padded chair. And still, despite his longevity, no gray touched his platinum hair.

  As they entered, a dozen black-clad warlocks came toward them, forming a barrier.

  “We sensed you,” said one, a middle-aged man with a short-cropped black beard. “There is to be no unsanctioned sorcery in here, or you will be destroyed. Am I clear?”

  “It was a display only,” replied Gazija. “I find those can help with hardheaded individuals. Like your man Devenish.”

  The warlock grunted, then rubbed his chin, as if trying to decide if Gazija was a danger to the emperor.

  A voice came from the far end of the chamber. “Let them pass,” a man said, and once again—as he had been all those years ago—Vasile was struck by how the emperor sounded: resonant and profound.

  “He is no threat to me,” continued the emperor. “Though he might be to you.”

  Chuckles and titters came from the massed onlookers, and the warlocks parted to let them through.

  They followed the functionary and approached. The conversational hum, which had been loud when they’d entered, dropped the closer they came to the emperor. Then a hush fell over the room, deep enough that Vasile could have been there alone.

  Zerach-Sangur—the Mahruse Emperor—waved a hand, and the functionary who’d escorted them bowed his head low and backed away.

  Gazija took a step forward and bowed as well. Caitlyn, with a stern look at Gazija, followed suit.

  He obviously doesn’t want to annoy the emperor, thought Vasile. He took that for a good sign.

  Cel Rau dropped to one knee, and after a moment, Vasile and Aidan did the same.

  “Lady Caitlyn,” the emperor said, “you will have to wait until I’ve . . . dealt with Gazija here. I’m sure you won’t mind.”

  Caitlyn kept her head bowed. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “Come closer, Head Trader Gazija,” the emperor said.

  Gazija hesitated, and the emperor sat up straighter, fixing violet eyes on him in displeasure.

  “I like to move these old bones as little as possible, Your . . . Imperial Majesty,” Gazija said, tapping his canes on the floor. “I’m sure you’ll also forgive me if I don’t kneel.”

  The emperor smiled. “Of course. I’m told you are the one to thank for the mercenaries who appeared on the river, and who have been instrumental in our fight with the jukari. So . . . you have our gratitude.”

  “You are most welcome, Your Majesty. My mercenaries—”

  “Will be handed over to my commanders by tomorrow.”

  There was a long pause. “As you request,” Gazija said eventually. “The jukari are a nuisance, but I have every confidence they’ll be dealt with in short order. It’s the Indryallans that worry me, and their leader, Kelhak. There are a multitude of reasons why he should be our focus.”

  The emperor laughed. A brief, fleeting sound. There was answering laughter from the assembled crowd. But Vasile could sense an edge to their response, as if they had no idea how the emperor would react.

  “Perhaps,” the emperor said, “you should give some thought to your own business affairs and leave the Indryallans to us. The warlocks have Kelhak well in hand, and I bloodied his nose the other day. He’ll be no trouble to be rid of.”

  Vasile held his breath. Lies. The emperor was lying. He didn’t believe the warlocks were able to do anything, and he hadn’t defeated or damaged Kelhak. Vasile’s heart pounded in his chest.

  Gazija inclined his head. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

  Zerach-Sangur paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. “As I say,” he repeated. “Now, tell me, First Deliverer—”

  Gazija jerked at the title, as if stung.

  “—will you and your fellow sorcerers do your utmost to assist the warlocks with defeating Kelhak?”

  Another pause from Gazija, who looked to be choosing his words carefully. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The emperor smiled, teeth white and even. “Good.”

  “And after?” Gazija said.

  “After is for after,” came the emperor’s reply.

  “That’s not good enough,” Gazija said.

  Horrified gasps came from around them. A thump sounded behind Vasile, and he turned to see that a noblewoman had fainted.

  “I want assurances,” Gazija continued, “that after we assist you—the warlocks, I mean—against the multitude of threats that Kelhak represents, you will allow us to go in peace. We will not be beholden to anyone, not the warlocks . . . or even you.”

  “First Deliverer Gazija,” the emperor said, his voice at once cold and hard, and grating with violence. “You do not make demands. Not here. Not with me. All bow to my will, as it has been since I came to power.”

  “May you live forever . . .” muttered multiple people around Vasile.

  “If you do not obey, then I shall bring such devastating sorcery upon you and your people that the flesh shall be scorched from your bones. Your buildings will burn. Their stones will crack and shatter. The gold you’ve taken pains to amass will run like water through the streets. And anyone who escapes, I shall hunt to the horizons! You will be wiped from existence, your memory a shadow dissolved by the sun. Men will tremble when considering your fate.”

  Vasile shuddered, rattled by the emperor’s vehemence. He’d told the truth, and Vasile’s soul shrank from the rage and the power behind the man, and from his very certainty that he’d be able to do as he said.

  But Gazija withstood the verbal onslaught. He weathered the violence of th
e emperor’s words without wilting, without bending.

  “As you wish, Your Majesty,” Gazija said. “We are here to help and offer our assistance without reservation. Kelhak must be defeated. I believe we both know this.”

  “What you shall do, Gazija, is go to the warlocks. You shall answer any questions they have. You shall hand your people over to them, and they shall obey the warlocks’ commands. And you shall make sure they understand they need to give full cooperation to the warlocks, or else they shall be cleansed from the earth. And after, then we shall talk. I would welcome one such as you into our fold, along with your people. Together, we can ensure that the might of the Mahruse Empire endures.”

  Lies, the emperor’s words fairly hissed to Vasile. Gazija was as good as dead.

  “Now,” the emperor said, “Lady Caitlyn. You’ve been gracious enough to wait.”

  Caitlyn rose to her feet slowly, grimacing in pain. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ve brought with me Aidan and Vasile, the men I told you about.”

  “They don’t concern me.” A lie, knew Vasile. “They’re under your authority now. If they step out of line, you’ll deal with them. In the coming times, we’ll need everyone to do their part.”

  The menace in his tone was unmistakable. Vasile’s hands trembled, and he clasped them together.

  “I’ll make sure Aidan doesn’t stray again,” Caitlyn said. “And I could use a man with Vasile’s talents. They’ll do what’s right or suffer the consequences. We must fight evil—”

  “Yes, of course. And Kelhak must be our focus now. We’ll summon you for further duties, but there’s another reason I called you here.” The emperor snapped his fingers, and a warlock with long dark hair moved to his side. She held out a vial the size of a thumb, filled with a dark red liquid. Surprised murmurs filled the room. They trailed into silence as the emperor looked up.

  “This is my reward to you,” he said. “Drink it. Here. Now. In front of me.”

  The warlock approached Caitlyn and held out the vial. Vasile noted many of the nobles’ eyes were fixed on the vessel, and not the emperor. A few expressions were openly desirous, while others were irritated.

  They want it, thought Vasile. And some wonder why the emperor is giving it to Caitlyn. What is it?

  Caitlyn frowned with puzzlement. “A potion?”

  “Does my gift not please you?” the emperor said.

  Caitlyn inclined her head, a pleased smile on her face. “Of course, Your Majesty. But there’s no need to reward me. Fighting evil is its own reward.”

  Vasile could have sworn the emperor suppressed a smirk. Caitlyn was . . . unsure. She didn’t know what its effect would be—but the nobles did, and they were jealous.

  “You’ll want this gift,” the emperor said. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

  “No,” Caitlyn replied. “Of course not.” She took the vial and unscrewed its silver stopper. With a glance at cel Rau, she brought it to her lips. Her hand trembled as she drained the contents. Caitlyn’s mouth twisted at the taste, then she forced her expression neutral.

  The warlock took the empty vial back and retreated.

  The emperor smiled. “You get used to the taste. And you’ll enjoy the benefits. For you to have suffered in your lifelong pursuit was tragic. I hope my reward shows how much I value you. Your writ will be returned to you. Be careful not to lose it again.”

  Half-truths, thought Vasile.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Caitlyn said. “And if I may ask, what does the potion do?”

  “You’ll see. Go,” the emperor said with finality. “We are done here.”

  Gazija coughed, then bowed low. Tapping his canes against the floor, he turned and gestured for Vasile and Aidan to follow, as if he, and not Caitlyn, were in charge of them. “Come,” he said softly. “The emperor is right.

  “We are done here.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Amerdan woke and found himself shirtless, his chest covered in scratches as if he’d run through a patch of brambles. He clasped his hands over his head and rocked back and forth. Not again. Not now. Dirt crusted his fingers and was jammed under his nails, as though he’d been digging barehanded. He’d need to give them a hard scrubbing to get rid of the filth. At least he still had his pants and boots.

  He reached for his trinket, his heart in his throat. Without it, how would he become what he was meant to be? Without it, he would be lost. Undeserving vessels would be everywhere, and he’d have no way of absorbing them. His fingers touched the chain and followed the links around until he had the trinket in his hand, closing his eyes with relief. Then he checked for Dotty. She was where he’d left her before falling asleep, tucked between the folds of his blanket. One of his greatest fears was that he’d lose the rag doll during these episodes. It had been years since he’d had one this bad.

  Why now?

  What he did during his blackouts, he’d never been able to find out. Except that one time in Meliror, in the Sotharle Union of Cities, but only because it was all anyone could talk about. They’d never found who’d gone on the killing spree. He chuckled at the thought, though the memory was many years old.

  His eyes flicked open as a grunt sounded outside his shelter—probably a wild pig or some such. He was in a shallow cave in a small section of cliff carved from the side of a hill. It stank of animal, though whatever had used it was long gone, leaving dry, old shit and scratch marks in the dirt. Half a loaf of bread and some preserved sausage lay on a cloth, along with two bottles of water. He’d taken the food and drink from a farmhouse a few days ago. The bottles had contained raw spirits, and he’d emptied out the disgusting drink and replaced it with water from a stream. His only other comfort was the blanket.

  He’d stumbled onto the cave on his second day outside of Riversedge. The city was too dangerous for him now. Amerdan didn’t know what the emperor’s warlocks were capable of, and he wasn’t foolish enough to stick around and find out. His best option was to lie low for a time, then sneak back in and find Caldan. And then the emperor. He’d thought Bells would be his key to gaining access to the emperor, but she’d lied to him.

  It was good he’d killed her.

  What Amerdan knew for certain was that there was much talent on offer. His for the taking. His for the absorbing. And now, with his wells and newfound knowledge of sorcery, he was nigh unstoppable.

  Amerdan stood and adjusted his plums. They ached, for no reason he could determine. Ah, there was his shirt, crumpled and discarded to the side. He picked it up and shook dirt from it, then slipped it over his head. With careful strokes, he brushed it down and removed a few burrs and tiny twigs stuck to the material. Uttering a satisfied sigh, he tucked Dotty inside, close to his heart.

  Another grunt from outside, and a rustle of bushes and dry leaves as something moved around.

  He reached for his knives and drew them both. He tilted his head and listened. The shuffling and grunting continued. A thick branch snapped with a crack, and a growl reached his ears—a deep guttural sound.

  That’s no pig.

  Amerdan stood and stepped toward the narrow entrance. He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the bright light outside. After a few moments, he left the cave.

  Its back was to him. It was a great hulking gray-skinned thing with black bristles on its head. The creature held a sword in one hand, but the thing’s huge size made the weapon look like a dagger.

  Without waiting, Amerdan leaped at the jukari and planted a knife in its back. As it howled, his other blade drove deep into its side. He clamped his arm around the jukari’s torso, plunging his blade into its neck, again and again.

  Eventually it stopped thrashing and collapsed to the ground, dropping its sword. A thick black liquid poured from its wounds. Its clawed hands scratched in the dirt, gradually slowing until it was still. Amerdan stepped away from it, frowning at his dirt- and black-blood-covered hands.

  Filthy beast. He made his way to the stream at the bottom of the hill,
where he could wash his hands. Dry leaves and twigs blanketed the ground on the way down. Amerdan took care to avoid making loud noises, but some sound was inevitable. At the stream, he took his time, scrubbing his hands and arms to the elbow with sand and repeatedly rinsing them. He washed his face and neck as well before drinking his fill.

  Hoots and a low moaning call echoed from the cliffs. Someone, or something, had found the dead jukari. Likely another of its kind. Well, he was sick of staying in that cave, anyway, and had decided to move on.

  Amerdan stood and turned . . . and came face-to-face with another creature. He frowned, opening his well and clutching his newfound power. He was confident his shield crafting would protect him, if he needed it, but he was concerned he hadn’t heard the creature approach. It was shorter than the jukari, darker and somehow more sinister. Gray dreadlocked hair matted with muck fell past its shoulders. Its skin was wrinkled and spotted, signs of age. It wore rings and medallions, all covered with sorcerous runes. Amerdan found he could almost decipher some of them, but they were strange, unlike the shape and form of what Bells had taught him.

  Then he discerned its well. Sharp edged, like a rent inside its mind to another place. It felt . . . artificial.

  “I . . . sensed you,” hissed the thing, surprising Amerdan. Its speech was hard to understand. Disjointed sounds, like the beast was gargling water. But he could comprehend it, and that left him an interesting dilemma.

  This must be a vormag. Should I kill it now, or should I wait to see if it has something interesting to say?

  For the time being, Amerdan stayed his hand. He tilted his head and took a closer look at the beast. Its eyes were set close together, but there was an intelligence in them. Its hide clothes were well made, double stitched and functional, though stained and dirt-encrusted. Metal buckles showed that it had access to metalworkers or stole what it needed.