Needs of the Empire

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Chained up?’ Shella said. ‘Fuck. And I just handed over a group of frail old pensioners to them.’

  Kalayne glared at her.

  ‘Go on,’ he said to Benel, ‘tell her the rest.’

  ‘Like I said,’ he went on, ‘I was with mages from other nations. Two Sanang men, able to heal wounds. At least twenty Rahain, though I didn’t see much of them, they were kept in a wooden pen by themselves. I saw an old Kellach woman, who could make candlelight flicker. Not very impressive to be honest, not compared to what I know decent fire mages can do. Apart from me, there was a handful of other Holdings mages, none of them from the church, just the odds and ends that slipped through the mage examinations, like me.’

  ‘What did the priests do to you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Benel said, gazing at the fire, ‘after they’d tested me.’

  ‘Tested?’

  ‘Yes, to check I was definitely a mage. Rector Tommeus, the guy in charge, read my head, and then I was put back in the cells.’

  ‘Did they say what they were going to do with you?’

  ‘They were waiting for Rakanese flow mages to arrive. They said nothing could begin without them.’

  ‘And you escaped?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy, but they underestimated me.’

  Shella took a long drink. ‘The church are looking for you, I assume?’

  ‘I’ve hidden his presence from them,’ said Kalayne.

  ‘Otherwise I would have been caught for sure,’ Benel said. He looked at Shella. ‘So, can I stay?’

  Shella narrowed her eyes. Letting the Holdings mage stay was a risk, but she felt in the mood to do something to oppose the empire and its church. An image of chained-up old mages flashed through her head.

  ‘You’d need to be useful,’ she said, ‘else you’re just an extra mouth to feed.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ he said, ‘though I’m not sure what I could do. Do you have any suggestions?’

  ‘We should have a threesome,’ said Kalayne. ‘We could take turns wearing the crown.’

  Shella and Benel frowned at him.

  ‘Go to bed, old man,’ she said. ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘I will,’ he said, standing, ‘though I’m not drunk enough.’ He picked up the bottle, then bent over and snatched the weedstick from Benel’s lips. He grinned, then staggered off to the spare room.

  Shella sat back in her armchair and watched as Benel lit a fresh stick of weed.

  ‘How did you really get out?’ she said .

  He took a draw. ‘Had to kill two wardens,’ he said. ‘I’m not proud of it. I could have let them live, but they would have seen which way I was going. I used battle-vision, and snapped their necks with my hands. The back wall was unguarded, and I scaled it, then ran to the Rakanese embassy.’ He gazed at her. ‘I’d completely forgotten you’d left for Arakhanah.’

  ‘Why did you not flee the city?’ she said. ‘You must have known you’d be hunted.’

  ‘I just thought of you, I don’t know why,’ he said. ‘Kalayne found me, hiding in the bushes at midnight, and let me stay, once I’d told him what had happened to me.’

  ‘And then the bastard made you go out for booze and weed?’

  Benel smiled. ‘Yes.’

  Shella shook her head.

  ‘You take the couch,’ Benel said. ‘I’ll grab a blanket and sleep in the armchair.’

  ‘I’m not tired,’ she said, sipping her brandy. ‘Do you want to have a couple more drinks, maybe work out how you could make yourself useful?’

  Benel passed her the weedstick, and their fingers touched.

  His gaze lingered on her for a long moment.

  Shella smiled. ‘I get the feeling you’ve thought of something already.’

  Chapter 22

  Back to Work

  R ahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 30 th Day, Last Third Autumn 506

  Daphne wiped the blood from her knife, and placed the blade back into her boot, ignoring the dead rebel slumped in the chair before her.

  Another lead, she thought. Maybe it would be enough. She walked to the back wall of the small chamber, stepping over the blood on the floor. She reached into her pack and lit a cigarette.

  Nine days in the capital and she still hadn’t found Douanna or any of the Old Free leadership that Rahain intelligence were convinced were hiding out. She had killed eight in that time, all low-level rebels. The one in the chair was the highest ranking yet. He had been stubborn, and had refused to answer her questions, so she had scoured his mind like a wire brush, ripping the secrets out of him. After she had finished, her knife had been a mercy.

  She picked up the pack and slung it over her shoulder, then opened the door a crack and peered out. The corridor was quiet, so she slipped out and locked the door, dropping the key into a deep flowerpot, the contents of which were dried and wilted.

  She pulled a hood over her head, and strode down the passageway. She came into a busier hall, and kept going without slowing her step. The great hall had once been a municipal library, but had been turned into a doss house for the poor. It was almost winter, and the caverns of the city were cold and under-heated. The government had encouraged the poorest in society to move to warmer locations, where they could get a bed and meals, and they had obliged in great numbers.

  Rows of beds stretched across the floor, and people were sitting or lying on them, talking and mending clothes. Daphne walked between them, and with the hood up, no one paid her any attention. Most of the people were old, she noticed. She wondered how long it would take them to find the body in the back room.

  The rebel she had questioned had been hiding out among the poor. How many more were doing the same? She knew from what Laodoc had told her that the upper reaches of government and the civil service were riddled with Old Free sympathisers. He had explained that there weren’t enough qualified ex-slaves around to take up some of the senior positions, and he was relying on people he knew were ambiguous in their loyalties.

  Worse, the rebel army had disappeared. The imperial divisions had become bogged down in the mountains, facing the enemy across lines of palisades and trenches, and then one day the imperial forces had realised that the rebels had gone. Their fortifications were deserted, and the imperial soldiers were again isolated far from the capital. Laodoc had fired the commanders of the army, which was now beginning its long march home. Rumours had spread that the rebels had a supply of winged gaien from the south of Rahain, which meant their army could be anywhere, preparing to strike without warning.

  A coup was imminent, Daphne was certain. Even without the support of the ex-slave populace, the rebels had enough soldiers and conspirators to make the attempt.

  She passed a couple of Rahain priests by the door, and stepped out into a large cavern. A street led to the centre of the city, while shops and houses formed a square, where a dried-up fountain sat. She noticed her breath forming a cloud, and tightened her cloak.

  An hour later, Daphne was crouching on the roof of a low warehouse, deep in the bowels of the city. There was almost no lighting in the cavern, and the shadows were deep over the rows of identical stone buildings.

  She was a little early, and her mind drifted to Killop and Karalyn. Disappointment filled her. Despite trying every evening since she had arrived, she had not been able to range with her vision to contact her daughter. She had come close in her latest attempt, skimming the borders of Slateford Estate, before exhaustion had pulled her back.

  More practice. That’s what she needed. She should have been training ever since she found out she could range, but had never motivated herself to make the effort. And now when she needed it, she could only practise for an hour or so each night, when she should have been trying flat out for days on end. She had also tried to reach Karalyn in her dreams, but again the distance had defeated her. She hoped they were all right without her.

  She smiled when she thought of Killop, and longed to be with him again, once she had finished her wo
rk in the city. She had got used to living with him, and being apart made her realise how much she loved him. She had told him it would only be for a few days, and begrudged each extra one that passed, but she couldn’t give up, not when she was so close.

  A noise drew her attention. She gazed down into the shadowed alleyways that ran between the warehouses, and saw a lamp. She pulled on a thread of battle-vision, and looked closer. It was an old man, a janitor doing the rounds.

  She sighed and leaned back on the tiled roof.

  They should have arrived by now.

  Had she read something wrong in the rebel’s head? She went over the snatches of memory she had stolen from his mind, and re-examined the brief conversation about the meeting that was due in the cavern that night. Before midnight, they had said .

  Maybe they were already there, she thought, and focussed her mind. She sent out her vision, down into the alleyways, ranging from point to point, scanning for anything out of place. She passed the janitor, who was shaking the padlocks on a line of tall lockers, and started checking each warehouse.

  Damn it, she thought, seeing a footstep in the dust by a back door. They must have arrived earlier, and she had missed them. She examined the door, and found a keyhole. She concentrated, and sent her vision through into the building, and down a corridor, until she saw the flickering light of a lamp coming from a room. She was already at the limit of her powers, ranging off a dozen points, and through a keyhole, and she sighed at the sight of another one. Cursing her lack of practice, she strained and went through.

  Douanna.

  The Rahain woman was sitting at the head of a long table, with a dozen other people arranged on benches down each side.

  ‘…a day of bloody reckoning, when debts will be repaid in full,’ she was saying. ‘All of you have worked for this, and I thank you for your faith in my leadership. Everything is now ready, all of our plans are in motion. The orders have been sent out to seize the organs of government, while our army…’

  ‘What about the assassins?’ a man asked.

  ‘What about them?’ she said. ‘They may have killed a few agents, but they haven’t come close to discovering us, and now it’s too late.’

  ‘But where is Jareov? He was supposed to be here tonight.’

  Douanna glanced at the empty space at the table and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’re right. We’ll cut this meeting short, we’ve covered all the main points. You each know your role tonight. If fortune favours us, the next time we are all together, it will be in the High Senate, with the flag of the old Republic flying from its towers.’

  She stood.

  ‘And the chancellor? ’

  Douanna smiled. ‘Laodoc’s head will be parted from his shoulders within the hour. By that time our soldiers will be in the centre of the city, and the traitor’s regime will be over.’

  The rest of them got to their feet, and Daphne’s strength failed, her vision snapping back to her body. She doubled over and vomited down the roof. Gripping her stomach, she rolled to her side and lay still, panting, her head and ears throbbing, her teeth aching.

  She reached for the flask in her backpack, unscrewed the lid and took a gulp of hot black coffee, thick with sugar. She gagged, but kept it down. She fumbled in the pack for a smoke, and found a stick of keenweed. She lit it and lay down, closing her eyes as the pain receded.

  Her relief faded as she went over the meeting she had witnessed in the warehouse. Her hatred for Douanna had returned, after being submerged for so long while she had been in Plateau City, and she felt an urge to hunt her down and kill her. She took another swig of coffee. It would take a few minutes before she would be capable of doing anything. Her frustration grew, and she took a long drag of keenweed.

  Douanna was getting away as she lay recovering on the roof, but Daphne knew how fast she could move once she switched into battle-vision. She would catch her, now that she had seen her.

  She remembered Laodoc.

  She screwed up her eyes and swore. She had failed. The coup was about to go ahead, and she had not been able to stop it; the conspiracy was too entrenched for her to defeat it on her own. She downed the rest of the coffee and finished the weedstick.

  ‘I’m coming, Laodoc,’ she muttered.

  The corridors and hallways around the chancellor’s apartments were deserted. The usual guard posts were abandoned, and no servants were in sight as Daphne lowered herself from a ceiling panel. She landed on the carpet, and sprinted towards the front door of Laodoc’s quarters, battle-vision powering her steps .

  The door was already open, and she raced through. A crossbow thrummed and a bolt sped past her face. She leapt to the right and punched the rebel soldier in the throat with her left arm guard, crushing his windpipe. She was running before he had toppled to the ground, passing the bodies of two slain servants in the reception hall.

  She heard motion from the large office ahead and kicked down the door, drawing her sword at the same time. Five soldiers were dragging Laodoc across the floor, his body limp. Daphne sliced her way through the group before they could turn, pushing her battle-vision to its fullest speed. Blood arced through the air, splashing onto the ceiling and walls as her razor-sharp blade cut down the rebel Rahain.

  As soon as the last fell she sheathed her sword and knelt by Laodoc.

  He was awake, weeping silent tears, his body shaking.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, cradling his head. She listened for more noise, but heard nothing.

  ‘Where are your staff and guards?’ she said. ‘We need to get you out of here. The coup’s begun.’

  She hauled him to his feet, putting her right arm over his shoulder.

  ‘Try to walk,’ she said. ‘We have to move.’

  Laodoc put one foot ahead of the other, but staggered and swayed, and Daphne strained to keep him upright. She thought of all the ways in and out of the chancellor’s residence. She knew half a dozen that would get her out of the building in minutes, were she on her own. If she had to carry Laodoc all the way, then her options narrowed.

  ‘Upstairs,’ she said, half-cajoling, half-dragging Laodoc along. The reception room was still empty, excepting the three bodies lying sprawled on the floor, and she pulled Laodoc to the stairwell at the rear of the apartment.

  Daphne let her battle-vision take over, and carried the old man up the steep flight, passing the attic level, until they reached the hatch to the roof. She put Laodoc down, and punched the lock off with her left knuckle guard. She flung open the hatch, then picked up Laodoc and pushed him up and out onto the roof. She staggered, and leaned against the wall, panting, then hoisted herself up, closing the hatch behind her .

  The air was chill and dark in the huge central cavern where the chancellor’s residence was located. There were cries and shouts from the streets below, and the thud of marching boots. Smoke was belching out of the upper windows of the old City Council building, and she could hear the sound of steel from over by the Senate.

  She glanced at Laodoc, who was lying on the roof next to her, his eyes staring at the smoke rising to their right.

  ‘The Council’s burning,’ he whispered.

  ‘I know. Listen, I’m going to leave you for a few minutes. There’s a service hatch in the roof that I can reach, but it’s too high for me to carry you up.’

  ‘Leave me,’ he said. ‘Save yourself.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Laodoc,’ she said. ‘I’m getting you out of here, trust me. I just need to fetch some rope from one of my supply dumps up there, and then I’ll be able to help you climb into the service tunnels, where we’ll be safe.’ She reached into her pack for a flask of water. ‘Have some of this. I’ll be back soon.’

  She clambered to her feet, and sprinted for the hatch.

  Several hours later, Daphne sat in the light of a single candle, watching as Laodoc slept. He looked old, and worn out. She had checked him for injuries when they had arrived, but
he had none worse than a couple of bruises. She had then left him sleeping in the service tunnel alcove, and taken a look down at the city. Old Free soldiers were swarming through the central caverns, and the imperial flag had been torn down from the Senate building. The rebels had brought in a mass of armed peasants from out-lying rural areas, and they had taken bloody revenge on any ex-slave they had found in the streets, which were awash with blood.

  Laodoc stirred, muttered, and woke. He shot upright, staring around.

  ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘We’re safe. You rested?’

  ‘Miss Daphne,’ he said, ‘where are we? ’

  ‘Above the Quartz Caverns.’

  ‘We need to get to the Senate…’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  Laodoc blinked.

  ‘The Old Free have taken control,’ she said. ‘Their soldiers are patrolling the streets, along with armed mobs of peasants.’

  ‘Then I’ve failed,’ he said, hanging his head.

  ‘I failed you. I couldn’t stop the coup. I’m sorry.’

  Laodoc shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault. I should have asked for your assistance earlier, when it might have had a chance of succeeding, but I was too proud.’

  ‘I saw Douanna tonight.’

  ‘Did you kill her?’

  ‘I saw her through range-vision,’ Daphne said. ‘Wasn’t close enough. If what she said was right, then she’s in charge of the city.’

  Laodoc’s face rippled with anger. He clenched his fists.

  ‘Here,’ Daphne said, passing him a flask.

  He took a swig, the brandy flushing his cheeks.

  She lit a smokestick.

  ‘I’ll be ready for another burst of battle-vision soon.’

  ‘Do you have a plan?’

  ‘We’re getting out of here,’ she said. ‘Fly back to Slateford, if we can.’