“Perhaps you should look toward your own puppy,” he said, jutting his chin at Thenna. “It looks like she wants off her leash.”
“How dare—”
“Be still!” Devenish snapped at Thenna. He turned back to Caldan. “So you’ve grown some teeth, it seems.”
“I’ve always had teeth, Devenish. I guess I’m just not as eager to use them as you are.”
At that, Devenish laughed.
“Oh, what I could have done with you,” the warlock said, shaking his head. “So tell me, what are you doing—once again—in the middle of something that you should have no business with?”
“We sensed the sorcery as well and came as fast as we could. Not in time, though. I don’t know what happened here, but I know these people. From Anasoma.”
Devenish narrowed his eyes at Caldan. Maybe he bought the story, and maybe he didn’t.
The warlock turned to Felicienne.
“You’re familiar. Have we met?”
Felicienne gave Devenish a chilly smile. “We have, Devenish, in passing. I am Lady Felicienne Shyrise, Third Adjudicator to the emperor, and I demand to see him. I assume he came with his forces?”
A flash of fear crossed Devenish’s face, gone in an instant. Devenish eyed her warily, then bowed his head in acknowledgment. “He did. And you may see him. We all will.”
Caldan didn’t like the sound of that. But with Felice as an ally, someone who clearly exerted some influence over Devenish, he felt like they weren’t in immediate danger from the warlocks. Whatever their plans for him or for Quiss and his people, there was the greater Indryallan threat to deal with. They had to know this, even as arrogant as they were. Which meant that as much as it galled Caldan, they all needed to work together.
If we don’t kill each other first.
“BY THE ANCESTORS!” exclaimed Izak. “The Quivers here are thicker than flies on . . . honey.” He turned his head and coughed into a hand.
And so are the warlocks, thought Caldan. Aside from Devenish and Thenna, there were at least ten wells in close proximity. The other three warlocks who’d accompanied Devenish had left before they got back to Riversedge, after a whispered conversation with their fellows.
Scarce words had been exchanged between them all on the way here. Caldan surmised that no one knew who could be trusted. Even Izak was reluctant to talk, and after a few attempts to engage him in conversation, Caldan had given up.
A dozen Quivers guarded wrought-iron gates set in an imposing stone wall, with more stationed at intervals along a broad entry path. Six more stood outside the front doors of a massive mansion, which were open wide. Numerous functionaries and messengers made a continual procession, both into and out of the house. And a line of petitioners snaked from the interior, over the veranda, and onto the grounds.
Devenish led the way, seemingly at home, with Felice close behind him. Thenna had drifted to the rear of their group, and Caldan could sense her eyes burning into his back. For a noble himself, Izak looked distinctly uncomfortable, eyes shifting this way and that, face shiny with perspiration.
Following Devenish’s lead, they were soon ushered into a side parlor and offered refreshments. Chilled cider and wines, along with fresh fruit and berries. There were also a few bowls and towels brought in for them to clean up, which the four of them from the hill used liberally.
Devenish surveyed them all. His Quivers arrayed themselves around the room. “Relax and have a drink. We might be waiting for some time. The emperor is very busy. Perhaps this might be a good opportunity for you to tell me what happened to you, Lady Shyrise.”
Felice shook her head. She opened her mouth to reply but paused as a woman entered the room, flanked by armed guardsmen. The woman looked old, but there was a youthfulness to her step that made Caldan’s heart ache. She was obviously important, and he knew why she felt so sprightly: it was at the cost of a Touched life, and their misery. She was impeccably clothed in a severe light-gray dress, and her skin was thin, almost translucent, but stretched tight. Exactly how old she was, Caldan couldn’t tell, but over sixty, at least. Her guards were cold-eyed and devoid of expression. Each bore a long blade in a scabbard worn from use.
She stopped a few steps into the room, casting her eyes over them all imperiously. She dominated the space with an air of command. Turning her gaze to Devenish, she spoke. “It’s good you’re here, Devenish. We were going to send for you.”
“Lady Porhilde,” said Devenish. “I didn’t realize you were here. What—”
“I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t realize, Devenish,” Porhilde snapped. “For one, that the emperor requested your presence hours ago, but you weren’t in your tent.”
Devenish scowled. “There was the sorcery we had to investigate—”
“You have people for that,” said Porhilde. “Did it cause any damage? Was anyone killed?”
“Not that I know of. But that’s—”
“Then why did it warrant your personal attention? Bah. Spare me your explanations. He’ll determine the truth of things.”
Devenish bowed his head. “As you wish.”
Lady Porhilde wasn’t a sorcerer, but she must wield a much greater power if she could strong-arm Devenish.
“You’ll come with me,” she said firmly. “Now.”
“Excellent.” Devenish turned to Felice and Caldan. “Speak only if addressed directly—”
“Just you,” interrupted Porhilde. “The emperor will see you one at a time. Separately. Individually.”
A fleeting look of irritation passed across Devenish’s face. “As you wish,” he repeated.
“Not my wish, warlock,” said Porhilde. “His. Defy him at your peril.”
Devenish inclined his head and exited the parlor, followed closely by Porhilde and her guards.
Izak’s sigh as the door closed behind them was audible.
“Who was that?” Quiss asked Felice.
“Lady Porhilde,” she replied. “She’s the emperor’s First Concubine and Chief Advisor.”
“Concubine?” Izak said. “Porhilde’s a little . . . aged. And not like a fine wine, either.”
The depravity of what the emperor and the warlocks were doing sickened Caldan, and he poured himself a cider to rinse his mouth and settle his stomach.
“He can’t want to see me,” Izak said with a frantic edge. “I don’t know anything.”
“Calm down, Izak,” Felice said. “I’ll vouch for you. No doubt I’ll be questioned next. Just tell the truth, and you’ll be fine.”
“Should we tell them everything? What about the talon? And the lich?”
Caldan’s ears pricked up at the unfamiliar words. The way Izak said them, they sounded like appellations. Quiss went pale and flinched, as if the names had a physical weight that struck him like blows.
“It’s about time you told us more of Kelhak, and this lich,” Caldan said, frightened by Quiss’s reaction, and not a little concerned.
The sorcerer seemed to wilt. He sank onto a nearby chair, head in his hands. “Tell me what you know first,” Quiss said weakly. “I don’t know what a talon is, but the other . . . I know only too well.”
Izak looked to Felice, as if for permission. She held a hand up to stop him saying anything, though, then began pacing back and forth.
“First,” she said. “Izak, tell the emperor everything. He has to be told everything; and only tell him the truth. He’ll know otherwise. Hold nothing back. If I’m correct, the very future of the Mahruse Empire is at stake.”
But there was no time for “second,” because the door opened and Porhilde entered, without Devenish. She pointed at Izak. “You next.”
“No,” Felice said, standing in front of Porhilde. “He needs to see me next. You know who I am, Lady Porhilde. I have information he needs to know. It may save time, and possibly thousands of lives.”
For a long moment, Porhilde examined Felice. Then she nodded. “Very well, Lady Shyrise. I had better not regret this
.”
Again the door closed, leaving Izak, Quiss, and Caldan alone, aside from the Quivers positioned around the room. They’d heard what had been said, but Caldan supposed it didn’t matter now.
Izak’s turn came next, then Quiss’s, leaving Caldan alone with the Quivers. He sipped cautiously at his cider and nibbled a few pieces of fruit and some nuts, but he was too nervous to eat more. He was about to have an audience with the emperor.
And that meant being face-to-face with a man Caldan knew was the living embodiment of a lie.
Caldan shook his head and snorted to himself. So what? It’s not like I can run away. All I can do is answer his questions honestly. Devenish would have reported all he knew to the emperor and his advisors, so there was no room for Caldan to keep any knowledge to himself.
He looked up as the door opened and Porhilde entered. She eyed him sympathetically.
“Come with me.”
Caldan stood and placed his cup of cider on a table. He smoothed his shirt and ran a hand through his hair.
“If you’re ready?” Porhilde said with a hint of impatience.
“Yes,” Caldan replied. He steeled himself, preparing to open his well at the slightest hint of danger. He was pretty sure he could hold Devenish off, as he had done so before, but the emperor was in a different class. Caldan’s defenses would be no match, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight if it came to that.
Outside, Caldan caught a glimpse of Quiss’s back as he exited the building, before Porhilde led him along a carpeted corridor, passing squads of Quivers posted along the way, and stopped in front of wide double doors. She eyed him critically and clucked her tongue.
“I suppose you’ll do,” she said. “Some of the others looked worse off than you, especially Lady Shyrise and that Izak fellow. I don’t know where they’d been, but they smelled like a graveyard.”
Caldan only nodded, unable to focus much on what she was saying.
Porhilde raised her eyebrows at him, then opened the doors onto what looked like a ballroom commandeered for the emperor’s use as an audience chamber. Three massive chandeliers lit the room by means of countless sorcerous globes of all sizes. To the right, behind a line of Quivers standing to attention, were curtain-covered windows, presumably leading out onto a veranda or gardens.
Inside, a long line of Quivers extended from the door on the left and right. A few had bows ready with arrows nocked. Behind them, Caldan could sense numerous sorcerers with wells of all types, enough to make his skin crawl and set his teeth on edge. For such rare items, there was a heavy concentration of trinkets in the room, too. Understandable, given that in here must be gathered some of the most powerful and wealthy people in the empire.
At the end of the line of Quivers was a raised semicircular dais, probably meant for musicians, but now holding a thronelike chair padded with red velvet. And sitting on the chair was a man clad in loose white cotton clothes. The emperor. His dark skin marked his ancestors as coming from the scorched, arid regions in the south, which Caldan found interesting—there wasn’t much there except the Desolate Lands.
Surrounding the chair, a little behind and to both sides, were what Caldan assumed were the emperor’s various advisors: men and women, old and young, some sorcerers, but most not. The emperor’s multiple wells tingled at the edge of Caldan’s awareness.
The emperor looked much younger than Caldan had first thought when he’d confronted the jukari. Lithe and well muscled. Smooth skinned and clean shaven, platinum hair not yet dulled by gray. Far too young to have Lady Porhilde as a concubine.
But he knew the reason for the emperor’s appearance, and Caldan kept his face impassive at the disturbing thought.
Here was the source of the dreadful fate awaiting everyone who was Touched. The empire was built on the blood of innocents. But what empire wasn’t built on death? Wars, assassinations, conflict . . . was this any different?
Yes. It had to be, Caldan was certain.
Porhilde cleared her throat loudly, and Caldan looked up, becoming aware he’d just stood there staring at the emperor. She gestured for him to walk between the lines of Quivers and approach the emperor.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m . . . in awe.”
“As you should be.”
“He’s so . . . young. Younger than I thought he would be, I mean.”
“The emperor and his family have been blessed with long, fruitful lives. It’s because of this they’ve been able to guide the empire so successfully.”
Porhilde smiled briefly, and Caldan detected a hint of sadness.
“Come on,” she continued. “He isn’t to be kept waiting. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but be careful. The emperor doesn’t sit idle if action is needed. And suspicions can all too often lead to decisions that all parties regret later—if they’re alive.”
Caldan swallowed his fear and nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
As they approached, the emperor shifted his weight in his chair and rested his chin on one hand.
“That’s close enough,” Porhilde said firmly as they reached a plush rug in front of the dais.
Caldan halted, acutely aware of the Quiver bodyguards, and sorcerers with open wells close by. He knew better than to open his own well, for such an action would be perceived as a threat. He wasn’t sure why he’d only worried about confronting Devenish—of course the emperor would be surrounded by guards upon guards, sorcerers and warlocks. And as far as he’d come in developing his talent, as complex as his shield was, he’d likely be crushed like an ant under a booted foot by all the power surrounding him.
But leaving his well closed meant he was vulnerable to them. Coercive sorcery could take him with no resistance.
And that was probably the point.
Caldan licked his lips.
He kept his gaze on the floor and bent to one knee. What the protocol was, he wasn’t sure, but this was better than standing there. Porhilde’s hand touched his shoulder.
“Rise,” she said.
Caldan did so, glancing at the emperor. He averted his gaze as he saw the man appraising him with penetrating, pale blue eyes. Caldan stood still, not daring to move or raise his head. Waiting. The silence lengthened, the only sounds in the room those of fidgeting courtiers and Quivers, the rustle of cloth and creak of armor. Someone coughed.
“Devenish told me about you,” the emperor said. His words rolled off his tongue like honeyed thunder, deep and resonant. “I’d like to hear your story in your own words. As a newly raised warlock, you will work to my desires to help build a better empire.”
So Devenish had told him lies.
Caldan didn’t know how much—or even what—the emperor knew, but given Felice’s warning, he decided to tell the emperor the truth about himself.
He met the emperor’s gaze. “My parents were in the service of the empire. One or both was a sorcerer, possibly a warlock, but I don’t know. One or both was Touched. They left the empire for some reason . . . and they were found and murdered.”
Hisses and exclamations of surprise rose at his words. He felt Porhilde stiffen at his side. The murmurs increased in volume. A number of the Quivers looked to the emperor and his advisors, waiting for a sign to intervene. Caldan tensed, his mind on the edge of his well in case he needed it.
Nothing happened.
Caldan swallowed, throat dry, but pressed on. “I was raised as an orphan among the monks on Eremite. They . . . cast me out for injuring a noble’s son, and I traveled to Anasoma. The Protectors took me in. Master Simmon, who . . .” Caldan’s voice caught. “Who died during the Indryallan invasion, was my teacher. I fled to Riversedge, where I learned I was not only a sorcerer, but one of the Touched.” He expected a reaction from the emperor or his advisors, but the room was still.
So Devenish had told them that much, at least.
“Devenish saw that my talents would be useful,” Caldan continued. “So he tried to make me a warlock.” He decided to finish there. If th
e emperor wanted more information, he’d have to ask for it.
Abruptly, the emperor stood. Any background rumblings faded quickly. He was tall, a good few inches taller than Caldan, and the pedestal only added to that height. He looked down on Caldan thoughtfully.
“Your honesty is . . . refreshing,” remarked the emperor with a slight smile. “The bones of a story, without much meat, though. I often have to stop people embellishing their tales. Here, I find I’ll have to do the opposite. Your parents, what were their names?”
Caldan’s heart clenched in his chest, and he had to school his expression into neutrality. There was danger here, and he wasn’t sure of his position. One false move, one perceived insult, and he might very well end up imprisoned, or worse.
“Our family name is Wraythe,” he said carefully, a tinge of fear in his gut. “And from what I’ve been told, at least one of my ancestors, Karrin Wraythe, was in your service. She was presented with a trinket, which I now wear.”
The emperor’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. “And the ring on your finger is all you have of them? Nothing else?”
He was asking about the bone ring, just as Felice had in Anasoma. “Your Majesty, this is all I have left of my family. On the island of Eremite, my parents and my sister were killed when I was young.”
The emperor blinked slowly. A slight smile curled the corners of his lips. He looked past Caldan to the mass of people in the chamber. “An end all traitors can look forward to,” he said loudly. Then softer, “Though I regret your sister died. She would have been as you are. Useful.”
For a long few moments, Caldan didn’t trust himself to speak. Blood roared in his ears, and the room spun. Emotions warred within him: rage and hate and fear, and a need for vengeance. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. When he mastered his emotions and spoke, it came out as a croak. “The good of the empire is paramount.” He felt sick as he said the words, but nothing would be accomplished if he lashed out here.
“Indeed it is,” the emperor said. “So, tell me, Caldan, young warlock, Touched—what do you desire?”
A Shattered Empire Page 27