Glorious Angels

by Justina Robson

  ‘I see you forgot the gloves,’ Isabeau’s drawl and a cool hand on her arm brought her around. She looked into her daughter’s composed, serious eyes.

  ‘I was in a rush,’ Tralane explained. She began to look around to get her bearings.

  ‘You’re not expected to look good,’ Isabeau said a way that was probably intended to be comforting and with a tilt of her head indicated the tables at the side of the room where Tralane recognised a lot of faces from the University crowd seated or standing talking together. They had mostly managed smartness and order but it was true, they were relatively drab compared to the rest of the room which was a euphony of colour, light, costume, drama and finery. The tables looked like a relatively safe berth at least and some confidence came back to her so that she sighed and smiled at Isabeau. ‘You didn’t introduce me to your Master, or aren’t I allowed?’

  Isabeau’s glance behind her made her turn and she saw Mazhd at her elbow his face alive with what must be the activation of his particular gifts – she recognised the glow of interest. ‘I see you’re safe so I’m going to meet my appointments. I will join you later.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it formally with a smile and then transferred the expression to Isabeau with a loaded glance, bowing to her. ‘Miss Huntingore, please convey my kindest wishes to—’

  ‘Convey them yourself,’ said a purring, voluptuous tone from behind them both.

  Tralane turned, conscious of Mazhd’s unfaltering hold on her fingers still as he also moved and revealed Isabeau’s new Master, Parlumi Night. Ah right, she thought, old mistress and old lover, ex-student and new student, and new lover… She was grateful that she really only cared about Night with regard to Isabeau’s welfare because having to face her as competition in some way would have been too much to contemplate. Night was compelling, magnetic. A stab of envy went through her as she saw Isabeau give the woman a quiet, admiring glance of respect.

  After the introductions had passed and Mazhd had delivered his wishes with effortless grace and departed Tralane excused herself politely and went to the University tables, hoping that at last she would be able to relax and rest a little. Her legs and arms had started to ache with exhaustion.

  She had said hello to her fellow engineers and professors of mathematical sciences and found a seat to rest her agonised feet and relieve herself of the anxiety of walking in the dress and shoes when something happened. She wasn’t sure what it was at first. There was a flash of some sort that lit the tablecloth and surprised her. Then the massive hubbub of voices and movement quieted and at the same moment there was a shriek of horror from a woman which sent a boltshot of pain through her own heart so strong she slapped both hands to her chest. Exclamations and a roar of outrage from the centre of the room followed immediately. She turned as one with everyone else, openmouthed, to look towards the throne.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  TORADA

  Torada found herself on the floor suddenly, a pain in her arm and a heavy weight over her which she realised belatedly in her confusion was the body of Hakka. She both felt and heard his shout, ‘Jago, up! Sound the seals!’ She tried to see but everything was dark though her eyes were open.

  ‘Hakka, what’s happening?’ Her voice was so quiet but he heard her, his body tense and vibrant as it suddenly vanished and she felt him kneeling over her, presence still very much there.

  ‘Assassin,’ he said to her. ‘As you feared.’

  She heard the horns of the alarm and then a snarling, horrible growling sound and the rise of voices all shouting stopped and screaming started, fresh shocks trawling her nerves. She remembered a brilliant flash as the growling became a spine-chilling shriek and she felt the draft and flap of wings and a rush of something taking off. She smelled Hakka’s sharp sudden sweat and drew herself into focus, travelling quickly to her still place, her spirit home, knowing that the people needed calm, whatever was going on. She must not panic. She was unhurt. With practised determination, trusting Hakka’s physical and verbal reaction that immediate threat had gone, she began to spread peace and to require calm.

  ‘Your tiger is an eagle,’ Hakka said to her, his hand keeping her down. ‘He and Jago pursue. The soldiers present have sealed the palace.’

  There was an odd timbre in his voice she didn’t recognise but she felt reassured, blinking, seeing that her vision was slowly repairing itself. When it did she wished it gone again. Before her, where he’d fallen to take the shot aimed at her, lay Eth. The front of his white formal chiton over the leather plates of his armour was burned black and punctured, the thick boltshot of the burning quarrel that had killed him sticking out at an angle from his chest. A pool of blood was spreading around him, nearly reaching her splayed fingers on the dais’ carpet, but stopped by soaking into the thick wool. His empty hands lay curled. She stretched her arm out and took the one that lay just within reach. It was warm but completely unresponsive as she laced her fingers with it and held tight.

  ‘Eth,’ she whispered. But no matter how tightly she gripped he didn’t grip back.

  She tried very hard not to let her scream of horror out beyond her core and it cost her a great deal of energy, but there was no hiding it from those who were still connected intimately to her through the sisterhood. The other Empresses heard her and swiftly turned to shield her, as training made them do. Three was a strong number. It was not eight, but it was good. The remaining five did not see, did not know, at least, not this way. Meixia and Haru joined her and their conjunction of abilities informed her commands so that she was able to remain alert and in control. She was able to unknit her fingers from Eth and stand up.

  The room was in an uproar and half cleared in panic although as she was seen to stand and brush herself down this subsided into a slow round of applause that quickly built to a relieved rush of cheering. She smiled, wanting to kill every one of them if only Eth could live.

  Hakka tugged her off the dais rapidly, away from the obvious position, his gaze raking the balconies and the crowd as guards made a way for him but she pulled back against him until he stopped. His dark eyes were fierce, raging as he looked at her with a ruined passion she felt hit her like a blow.

  ‘I cannot leave them,’ she said in a whisper to him that nonetheless carried well enough across the noises of the room. ‘I must stay.’

  ‘You’re not safe.’ His reply was a groan, that ferocious stare half rabid already with the need to fight and slay, to avenge and despoil, when all he could do was hold her hand with her permission.

  ‘No, well. That has always been true and it always will be,’ she said, finding herself steadied by his hand, though where they touched there was shaking. She didn’t know whose. She simply looked at him with soft insistence until finally his eyes glanced down and he nodded in surrender to the necessity. She must stay. Over his shoulder she saw guardswomen covering and gathering up Eth’s body. For right or wrong this room had decided that assassins were fled, there was no panic. Or she had made them decide it. She looked at Hakka to be sure, relying on his unerring instincts for danger and his natural resistance to her presence but he confirmed her will. This room, for now, was clear of threat. She moved close up to him, as close as she dared without clinging or showing signs of weakness or odd affection and said with distinct emphasis for his ear only, ‘You will not do what he did. That is my command. Do you understand? You will not die for me.’

  Hakka glanced at her, just one look that could have been acknowledgement of anything as he pretended to reconnoitre the dais area again. ‘That is not yours to command,’ he said in his heavily accented murmur and escorted her back to her place, avoiding the glistening black patch on the carpet.

  Torada looked about, standing tall. She noted this time whose faces she did not see among those gathered, shakily drinking hard liquors: Borze, Alide, Jago, Tzaban, Shrazade, Mazhd. She beckoned to Night and her student, Huntingore – ah, the professor’s daughter, she thought belatedly as if in a far off part of her brain and was
astonished to find echoes in the minds of the two Empresses with her. They knew that name too.

  ‘I think I cannot now announce my marriage decision,’ Torada said to Night who had come to stand at her shoulder as commanded. Over the feathers of the fan she looked towards the University tables and saw Professor Huntingore moving with purpose, awkwardly, as if her gown was a personal enemy fighting her every step. But her direction was quite clear, she was making a beeline for General Borze who in his own focus was traversing the jabbering gauntlet of everyone between him and the dais, his gaze locking with Torada’s for a moment until he reassured himself she lived.

  At that moment the room quieted again and froze – shrill screams of horror were distinctly audible coming along the corridors that led to the mezzanine balconies. She hoped that they had apprehended whoever was responsible and dismissed it from her mind for the moment, summoning Borze with renewed insistence so that the people between them parted to let him through. As she stood firm those around her did so too. The conversation reignited. Borze found his way to her side and bowed, to her irritation – she wanted words, not proprieties.

  ‘Majesty…’

  ‘Are we secure?’

  ‘Yes, Majesty. Five arrests have been made. Others are in progress. The palace is sealed and the guard vigilant. Every bit of space is being searched by sight and by instrument for any further evidence or devices. Bombs have gone off in the city at various points and there are casualty numbers coming in. I will keep you as informed as I may.’

  She nodded. It had been her intent with this flagrant event and at Shrazade’s suggestions to draw her enemies from the woodwork, and she had succeeded, at least for those sent or provoked by foreign agents. ‘Proceed with our plans.’ She saw Professor Huntingore approach and hesitate, a look of intensity on her face sufficient to make her beckon quickly to the woman. ‘Yes, Professor, you have something you wish to say? Please reveal it as expediently as you may.’ She made a sign with her hand to Hakka and he bulldozed a clearance zone around the three of them, though she permitted Night and the junior Huntingore, Isabeau, to remain.

  ‘I flew over the eastern plains beyond Highbrook today,’ the professor said. ‘There was an army a day’s hard march from the Altos pass. They wore the tower colours and sign. I was looking for the general to speak with him personally…’

  Torada waved her silent. ‘Of course, one could not trust the man blackmailing you or his minions and anyone else in this climate does prove uncertain.’

  ‘You know about that?’ Huntingore put her hand over her mouth in apology for interrupting.

  ‘I do,’ Torada said. ‘We let rats run while they may and notice where they bolt to. But this army is news to me. How strong, what have they?’

  ‘I would say about a thousand people. They had heavy weapons and some devices in covered carts that I might be able to identify if I hadn’t come straight here. I have a recording.’

  ‘Isabeau,’ Torada said. ‘Return to your home and bring whatever your mother requires in order to display these records directly to me. Hakka, see that she has a guard cohort and make them ride at all speed.’

  She turned back to the professor who had gone paler than before. ‘Is there more?’

  ‘Yes. While I was out there a storm came down from the north, a twister. They were forced to abandon their camp when it turned to their direction. I saw them scatter towards the Altos hills. The tornado took the camp’s edge. Some of their equipment was surely destroyed.’

  ‘And you have come directly here of course,’ Torada said, smiling for a brief moment as her gaze took in Huntingore’s windswept face and damp, curling hair. ‘Borze, what make you of this?’

  ‘One of the arrested men here bears a tower tattoo,’ he said. ‘But we take no sign as proof until you question him. Tattoos are easy to make. An army of a thousand… Did you see any others with them, Professor?’ He looked at Tralane.

  She shook her head. ‘If you mean mercenaries or other groups, then no.’

  ‘Shrazade has agents with them,’ Torada said. ‘I assume that explains their campground being located in a poor position, though it does not explain why no word was sent of their impending arrival. Can we deal with them, Borze?’

  ‘There would be a siege,’ he said. ‘My emissaries suggest that there have been messengers heading to various points and intercepted messages have been decoded – this army is probably the catalyst for our nearer neighbours to raid or join the assault. It was, alas, only a matter of time.’

  ‘Very well. We will allow until noon tomorrow for recovery from the night’s activities. At that point you will sound the recall and ensure the withdrawal of the larger population within the greater wall with all speed. Nobody and nothing is to be left outside. You will inform everyone that Jagorin of the Spire moves treasonously against us.’

  ‘Majesty,’ he was startled by the extremity of her actions and the nature of her plan as it became clear to him but she wasn’t interested in his objections or whatever he had to say. He might cavil at being kept underinformed but she had not already leapt so far to fall back now.

  ‘Professor,’ Torada turned to the woman before her, an easy twenty years her senior and fully accomplished in every way. ‘We must expect the worst but try for the best. Tomorrow you will go to the dig. I have sent word ahead that you are to be obeyed absolutely as my voice and presence. You are to gather the research teams and recover, record and obtain as much information about what you find there as you can. I am informed we cannot rely on security and the situation is quite dire. Whatever happens you are not to allow any of that material to fall into other hands. No other hands but mine. At any cost. Are we quite clear?’

  Huntingore paused. Torada could see she was not used to this situation. She allowed a moment to pass. ‘Professor.’

  ‘I should not preserve the site, if it seems to be taken over?’

  ‘If the takeover is by other humans or magekind, then yes. Lose or destroy it.’

  ‘But…’

  Torada waited again, her own patience and conviction enough to push Huntingore into thinking the unthinkable for a woman of her scientific, academic persuasion. Destruction of rare, unfathomable knowledge. She waited and watched, wanting to be sure that her faith in this person was not misplaced. Others had similar instructions but she had less conviction in their abilities to execute the orders, willing or not. ‘Obviously if there is any hope of saving it without it being stolen, then you will preserve it.’

  ‘Majesty, do you know what is there?’

  ‘I do not understand the details, but I have staked our lives on it,’ Torada replied calmly, the decision taken long ago for her. She had known the information stolen from her dreams, plans made by the others, right from the start, years ago. For Huntingore and most people it was all fresh, new, immediate.

  She watched the other woman, fascinated as her face reflected states of thought and calm and reasoning in flashes of mercurial change. ‘Empress, are you going to move—’

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly, cutting off the rest in case any lipreaders were watching. ‘And your daughter will do the honours. Your family is coming into its own, Huntingore. Other cities have Sircene remnants, but nobody has three.’

  ‘You mean Isabeau!’

  ‘She is more than capable, I judge it,’ Torada said simply. ‘The socialite girl…’

  ‘Minnabar.’

  ‘Will remain as head of your household in your absence.’ She didn’t necessarily mean this as a threat but she let the implications linger.

  ‘Empress, did you send Mazhd?’

  The question momentarily floored her. ‘I did not.’ She watched that mind reflected in that beautiful face and wondered what it was like to be so attractive; from what she had gathered, Professor Huntingore had no interest in beauty. Like Isabeau, if she saw no use for it then there was no use. Night had laughed with Torada about it when she first took the girl on as student, at the folly of not understan
ding its power. Send Mazhd. What for? Knowing Huntingore’s business was trivial – it was open viewing, as it was with most obsessives and Torada was confident that her intelligence was good.

  Borze cleared his throat in the pause and took a personal slate out of his dress jacket inner pocket. ‘This may help. Professor Loitrasta asked me to pass it to you.’ He held it out to Huntingore but looked at the Empress for permission.

  Torada nodded.

  ‘I assume you read it,’ Huntingore said, but without much rancour. She took the slate and looked at it in a troubled way.

  ‘Much of what it contains is a mystery,’ Borze said. ‘Engineering and other technical data. We were unable to understand it.’

  The professor held it close in both her hands. ‘I must read it immediately then. I— Empress I am so sorry for the loss of your guard.’

  Torada bowed her head. ‘We must be glad it was no worse here. There are many more dead in the larger city. Let us hope the attack is over. Borze, you must be on full alert for saboteurs now. They will be expecting that army to arrive before long. I wish to be sure we are not here when they do.’

  Huntingore stared at her. ‘Are we alone now?’

  Torada flexed her empty hand, knowing that the professor spoke of the eight cities. ‘It is probably best to assume so, for now.’

  ZHARAZIN

  Mazhd was in one of the mezzanine rooms, secluded, the door closed, in private conference with Horad Alide as he’d been instructed. His lateness had not been noted which he took as the first sign that Shrazade’s suspicions and information on the man was correct. They putatively discussed the progression of the dig and portals, the contents of the former so much more than Mazhd had expected that it briefly threw him. Alide spoke confidently about his plans to return and engineer significant projects just using what had already been recovered, although for reasons beyond both their comprehension the majority of the discovery must remain in situ.