Chapter Eleven
Herod had visited the Golden Palace on many occasions, but he had always been a visitor to the Emperor’s apartments, never the owner of the palace. Perhaps now, no one owned it – it would be dangerous to use it as a base of operations until the wards could be repaired – but merely having it under his control would give Herod the legitimacy he sought to claim the Throne and rule as Emperor. He strode through the passageways, accepting the salutes of his soldiers, and surveyed his conquest, making a series of notes about what he would change when he had the time. The Hall of Portraits, a corridor lined with portraits of long-dead Emperors, would have to go. The Hall of Weapons needed to be redesigned. The Great Library would have to be exploited, rather than leave the forbidden knowledge safely locked up in the books. When he finally reached the Great Hall, he was surprised to encounter a nervous-looking Reginald and an irate General Sayrald.
“Your Grace, the Crown Prince has escaped,” the General said, before Reginald could say a word. Herod suspected, from the way the younger man was rubbing his hands together nervously, that he had been trying to think of a way to present the news that wouldn't make him look incompetent. “Several of my men have been killed within the network of secret passages.”
Herod lifted a single eyebrow. “Killed?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the General said. “The passageway are booby-trapped with a number of traps, some magical and some more mundane. I have lost nineteen soldiers to the various traps, perhaps more unless the spells on them can be undone. Master Reginald has insisted on deploying the lesser sorcerers to pick their way through the traps and...”
“Countermand that,” Herod ordered, sharply. Reginald flushed and seemed about to speak, but a sharp look from Herod forced him to close his mouth. “We need the sorcerers working on establishing wards around the Golden Palace itself. Without the...power source the Emperor used, we’re going to have to build up new wards from scratch. I want this building as secure as we can make it before our position is challenged.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the General said, with a bow. “You will be pleased to know that the building itself is completely secure, apart from the secret passageways. All resistance has been terminated; the Royal Guard has either been killed or captured. Most of the servants tried to fight, but they were unarmed and unable to offer serious resistance. I believe that some of the younger guards wish to amuse themselves with the captured maids.”
“That can wait,” Herod informed him. He had no objection to rewarding his men by allowing them to slake their lusts with the Emperor’s maids – it was one more slap to his memory – but rape would have to come after the building was secured and the reinforcements were on their way. “How many prisoners do we have?”
The General smiled. “We captured seventy Lords and Ladies, including several Lords who were...ah, busy during the ceremony,” he said. “They have been separated from our allies and are currently awaiting your attention in the ballroom. The allies themselves have been placed in a different room. We also captured over a thousand servants of various kinds – including two hundred and seven maids – and a hundred and twelve guardsmen. Only one of the Knights of the Golden Order survived the fight.”
Herod nodded. That was not unexpected. The Royal Guard might fight for pay, but the Knights of the Golden Order fought for honour and loyalty to the Emperor. They would have carried on the fight as long as they could, but if they were all gone...that was just one less problem to worry about. Unlike some of the other Knightly Orders, there were never more than a hundred Golden Knights and most of them remained in the barracks in the Golden Palace.
“I captured that one,” Master Reginald said, quickly. Herod smiled at the delight in his tone. “We put him in the stockade to discourage any escape attempts.”
“Good,” Herod said. He looked over at the General. “Have you deployed the reinforcements?”
“The palace is as secure as I can make it,” the General confirmed. “I have also called in the forces waiting on the border, but it will be at least a day before they can arrive to assist. I do not believe that we should attempt to secure the Golden City before they arrive.”
Herod scowled. That wasn’t such good news. If Eric had made his way to the Golden City, he might try to rally resistance to the coup and convince the City Guard to oppose Herod and his men. It wouldn't work, or so he told himself, but it could prolong the agony long enough for some of his allies to start wondering if they needed him after all. Striking first had a certain element of simplicity to him, but he trusted the General’s military advice implicitly.
“Send down criers,” he ordered, finally. “Tell the Mayor and his Council that I have taken the Throne and that if they encounter Prince Eric, who I have declared outlaw, they are to send him to me in chains. If they resist, they will have no place in my Empire.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the General said. “There is one other important point.”
Herod quirked an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. “The Emperor was killed by one of the knives you provided, thrown by one of our allies,” the General said. “Someone has taken the knife from his body and we cannot find it.”
“Interrogate the prisoners,” Herod ordered, savagely. If one of the knives fell into the wrong hands, it would be proof – at least to some eyes – of necromancy. The Academy might feel compelled to intervene. They might hesitate, if they didn't know how the Golden Palace’s wards had been taken down, but the ban on necromancy was the one thing that united the Academy and its staff. “One of them must have seen who took it. Find out from them and then find the knife.”
Reginald looked up, a sulky expression on his face. “It could have been taken by the Prince,” he pointed out. “What do we do then?”
Herod turned and headed out of the Great Hall, down towards the stables. “If that is the case,” he said, as he walked away, “we may have a problem. I think that...”
Something flew right at him and slammed into his wards. The flare of light startled him, but training and experience told him that he wasn't in any danger. The tiny knife – a woman’s weapon, if ever there was one – bounced off his wards and fell to the ground. Herod lifted his hand, reaching out with his Sight, and located the thrower hiding in an air vent. A moment later, his magic had grasped her and pulled her out helplessly into the open air. The young woman – no more than a girl, really – struggled and thrashed against his power, but there was no hope of escape.
“Princess Eleanor,” he said. The Princess’s struggles refused to abate. “It is a honour to meet you at last.”
Eleanor’s eyes flashed fire and she lashed out with her magic, battering against his restraints through sheer raw power. Herod held her effortlessly, waiting patiently for her to exhaust her power, even though he could have crushed her in an instant. He’d fought enough duels in his Academy days against opponents who were stronger, but less practiced; the secret to beating them was to force them to expend their power uselessly. Eleanor was nowhere near as strong as Herod – or any Master Magician – and her power drained rapidly. The waves of fire and light died away, leaving her floating helplessly in a bubble of his power.
“I sent a platoon of men to secure the Princess,” the General said. He sounded rather surprised. “I thought that they would be enough to handle her...”
“I killed them all,” the Princess spat. Her face was twisted with enough hatred that, if looks could kill, to leave them all piles of ash on the floor. “I killed them, just as I am going to kill you!”
She resumed her assault on Herod’s power, but her power faded rapidly. “If you keep draining your power like that,” Herod told her, as calmly as if he were ordering dinner, “you will eventually do permanent harm to yourself. I suggest that you rein in your power before it is too late.”
His calm tone seemed to provoke her to a final assault, after which she just floated there, helpless. Herod studied her with calm amusement, considering the s
econd level of options that had opened up in front of him. Eric, his father and his bride had all had to die, of course, but Eleanor was a different story. As a Royal Princess, she could never take the Golden Throne herself, yet the man she married would have a very strong claim to the Throne. Herod’s own claim was stronger, but if he married Eleanor, he would bind their claims together.
She was breathing hard, tears of frustration running down her face, when he finally lowered her to the ground. Herod expected her to hurl herself at him and try to hurt him physically, but instead she just stood there, quivering. He took a moment to study her body through his Sight and was relieved to see that she had escaped permanent damage, although she had drained herself pretty dry. She would need a good meal and several hours of sleep before she could hope to work any magic again. Herod focused his mind, wove a complex series of wards around the young girl, and then straightened up.
“You will return to your rooms and await my pleasure,” he said, flatly. She might have drained herself, but she would have sensed him weaving his web around her, even though she was defenceless. “The spells I have wrapped around you will keep you within the Palace. I suggest that you don’t try to leave.”
He clicked his fingers and two guardsmen came forward. “Escort the Princess back to her rooms and ensure that she is not disturbed,” he ordered. The social niceties couldn't be expected in the wake of a battle. Eleanor would be safe enough under their care and neither of them would dare to touch her themselves. Herod wouldn’t touch her either, at least not for a few years. It would take time to unlock all of the secrets within the Emperor’s Bloodline and Eleanor was the key. Hurting her would be useless, or worse. “General, you may lead me to the commoner prisoners.”
The General took the hint and remained quiet as they walked down two flights of stairs into a massive chamber that had once been used to muster the Royal Guard. The prisoners had been stuffed into the chamber, their hands bound firmly behind their backs, and were guarded by two platoons and a handful of sorcerers. A couple of piles of ash on the floor marked where some of the former servants had tried to fight and had been killed for their pains. The remainder were just sitting or lying on the stone floor. A number had been injured and the wounds had been left to fester. No one would have bothered to give a commoner any medical care unless there was something in it for him.
Herod’s gaze swept over the prisoners, ignoring the looks some of them were directing towards him. Many of the maids looked as if someone had taken the chance to grope them before throwing them into the chamber; the men looked as if they had been battered once they had been secured. The handful of soldiers, placed to one side of the chamber, were staring at him with murder written on their faces, while the older servants were rocking backwards and forwards, as if they couldn't believe what had happened. Their families would have served the Emperor and his family for generations. They had served him and, in exchange, he had protected them from the outside world. Now the outside world had broken in and destroyed their lives.
“They’re all under various loyalty spells,” Reginald said, eager to impress after his early failure. Herod nodded, studying some of the older servants. They were just commoners, utterly unimportant in the grand scheme of things. A few of them might have had the talent for magic, if they had ever allowed themselves to develop it. “We could never trust them.”
Herod nodded, looking at a golden-skinned maid from Sind. “No, we couldn’t,” he agreed. He looked over at the guards. “Take the maids into the other barracks and hold them there. Leave the men in this chamber.”
He sat back to watch as the guards helped the maids to their feet and urged them out of the room, pushing them along with pushes and kicks if any of the maids hesitated. Some of them were clearly terrified; others were being separated from their sweethearts among the male servants, or perhaps the guards. Herod didn't care. Commoner relationships – even commoner marriages – had no validity in the eyes of the law. The Emperor had been willing to encourage the commoners to become uppity, but all of Touched would pay the price.
That is about to change, he thought, and opened up his third eye, studying the spells binding the servants to the Emperor. As he had expected, they were voluntary spells and therefore impossible to remove without the Emperor’s blessing – and, now that the Emperor was dead, that loyalty would have gone to his son. It wouldn't matter anyway. At his command, the servants were pushed and shoved into the centre of the chamber, separating them from their guards. Herod reached within his cloak and produced the black knife from his belt. The knife seemed to jump and twist in his hand, eager for blood.
“Stand back,” he ordered, and held up the knife. The incantation was long and complex, but it grew easier every time. As he said the last words, he slashed down with the knife and the servants convulsed in agony, before they died. Herod laughed aloud as the rush of energy flew into him, wave after wave of sheer power pouring into his wards. He barely heard the screams of the dying. He was intent on sucking out every last tiny particle of power into his soul. The wave of power abated as the last servant died, but the rush refused to fade.
“Done,” he said. The black knife didn't feel satisfied – it wanted more blood – but he pushed it back onto his belt. “It is done.”
He turned to the General, feeling the waves of power bubbling around him. The power would eventually settle, allowing him to use it without risking absolute chaos, but until then he had to be careful. The servants might be dead, yet their bodies could still be of use to him.
“Have the guards transfer all of the bodies out of the Golden Palace and leave them in the courtyard,” he ordered. “Master Reginald can see to spells that will prevent them from decaying. I want all of the dead bodies deposited there.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the General said. Herod could sense his concern about his master’s use of necromancy, but he said nothing aloud. There was nothing to say. The General was loyal and would always be loyal, whatever his master did or became. Master Reginald was staring at him with pure envy. His real motive for joining Herod’s plot was to learn how to summon and control such vast power himself. “I will see to it at once.”
Herod left the room and walked upwards, back towards the Emperor’s private apartments. They would have to be checked, of course, just in case the Emperor had left any nasty surprises behind him, but for the moment they would serve as a place to rest and recuperate. The two guards who the General had placed outside the door looked at him and stepped aside hastily, fear written in their faces. There was so much power burning through him that they, men without magic, could still sense it shimmering on the air. It was beautiful...and deadly. Herod nodded to them and stepped into the Emperor’s apartments. He had wondered if the Emperor kept a pleasure slave, yet the quarters were empty. He was alone.
Sitting on the Emperor’s chair, Herod stared down at his hands without truly seeing them. The waves of power burning through him were hard to control, but he had had practice in controlling vast amounts of magic over the years. Prince Eric might have escaped, yet how could he and his wife stand against the power he had drawn into his soul? Let him run, let him hide...eventually, Herod’s power would reach out and reshape the world. His allies, the Lords and Ladies who had feared the Emperor’s plans to create new noble families, had no idea of what he had become. One day, one day very soon, they would discover that they needed him, but he didn't need them. And, on that day, the true Emperor would be born. Touched would be united under his rule.
He chuckled again, feeling the power washing against his mind, demanding to be used.
Not long, he thought, compressing the power back down into the back of his mind. Learning Control had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, when he’d first entered the Academy, but he was grateful to the tutors who had insisted that he work and work at it until he had mastered it completely. The darker magic arts were hard to master – they often mastered the magician instead – yet he had successfully
mastered necromancy. No magician in the world could stand against him. Soon, they would all learn what he had become...and then they would know the meaning of fear.
Chapter Twelve
Once, three years ago, Eric had donned a disguise and stayed for two nights in one of the inns in the Golden City, using it as a cover to meet with various important personages for the Emperor. It had been an interesting experience; when people didn’t know that he was a Royal Prince, they treated him differently, even if he had the money to buy the entire inn several times over. He’d posed as a trader, without even a single drop of aristocratic blood to his name, and watching how he was treated was an eye-opening experience. He hadn’t been mistreated, not with the amount of money he was paying for each night, yet he hadn’t been fawned over either. His father, when he’d told his father about the inn, had laughed.
“You were born into rights and responsibilities, boy,” he’d said.
The thought of his father made him wince. His father was dead, struck down by treachery, and all Eric had been able to do was flee. Cold logic told him that flight had been the only logical course of action, but cold logic was nothing compared to the sense of desolation and despair. He’d wanted to throw himself on his enemies and fight to avenge his father, but that would have been suicide. His father should have handed over the throne and then retired, enjoying a happy retirement or even remaining at the Golden Palace to advise his son, the new Emperor. He should not have been killed by treachery.
The Black Knife Page 11