The emperor smiled thinly. “You should choose the subjects of your ire more carefully, my lord. I don’t believe the defendant could lay his hands on two copper coins to rub together should the need arise. Is that right, boy?”
“Y-yes, m-m-my l-lord,” stammered the troubadour, whose name had been revealed to be Tamas.
“You will address His Imperial Excellency in the correct manner,” intoned a deep voice. Standing beside the throne, hands clasped before him, stood a man wearing crisp white robes. Adelmar frowned as he spoke. The air of familiarity with which the speaker carried himself irritated him. It seemed the Archon had assumed a place of high honour in his father’s court during his time away from the capital.
“Y-yes, Your Excellency,” the man said miserably.
“Not me, dolt,” the Archon sighed, before the emperor waved him to silence.
Lord Hargrove drew himself up, pouting. “Well, what about that harp he carries, Excellency? Solid silver, if I’m a judge.”
“Fortunately, I am the only judge in this case.” The emperor’s fingers tapped the arms of the golden throne impatiently. “This case saddens me on a great many levels,” he continued. “It seems to me that you both represent the very worst of what our city has become. Degenerates, both of you. Take them.” Guardsmen took hold of both men by the arms. “A week in the stocks for them both. Let them serve as a warning to all that the Crown takes a dim view of moral turpitude. Geld this one first, for his adultery,” he added, indicating the young troubadour.
Tears welled in Tamas’ eyes, while Sir Edmond’s face turned the same colour as his doublet. But before they could be dragged away, the Archon leaned close to the emperor. “A just sentence, Excellency,” he purred. “There should be no mercy for venality or wantonness. But if I may make a suggestion?” At a nod from the emperor, he continued. “There is no mercy for sinners, but for those who are willing to repent and atone for their crimes, the Order will always find a place. Perhaps we might instead take him to the Spire, to see if we can convince him to change his ways? A young man of talent could be an asset to the faith.”
The emperor considered the proposal. “Very well. I am always happy to support the Order. You shall be spared the stocks,” he told the cowering singer, “but not the shears. I pray that you find redemption.”
The young man wept openly following his revised sentence, but Sir Edmond was not yet finished. “What about my daughter?” he demanded, bridling against the rough grip of the guardsmen.
The emperor scowled. “That is the heart of the matter, my lord. She is your blood and your responsibility, not a cow to be auctioned off at market. Do what you wish with the whelp, when it arrives.”
He’s in a foul mood today, Adelmar thought. He glanced at the gallery on the far side of the hall, where Jarrod was lounging disinterestedly, surrounded by cronies. The younger prince tittered at some jest, and the sound of it carried down to the dais.
The emperor glared up at his younger son. “If the gallery cannot restrain itself during matters of state, then it will be dragged into the street and flogged.”
As contemptuous as he was of the manners of court, even Jarrod knew not to push their father when a certain mood was upon him. Abashed, the young prince slunk from the balcony, his entourage in tow.
“Ah, my son deigns to grace us at last with his presence,” the emperor said, noticing Adelmar. “I trust that you have now concluded whatever business it was that kept you from presenting yourself at court.”
Adelmar marched to the centre of the dais, to stand directly before the throne. “My apologies, Excellency.”
“Well, you’re here now, we should be grateful for that at least,” his father said testily.
The Archon stepped forward and smiled. “If I may welcome your son back to our fair city, Excellency?” The emperor waved a hand, and he continued, “It pleases me to see you among us once more, Prince Adelmar. I hope your stay will be a long one.” He bowed his head low.
Adelmar gritted his teeth, and nodded. “You have my thanks, my lord.” He knew that more was expected of him, but the words would not come.
The emperor tutted impatiently, as the Archon took his place again beside the throne. “Your journey from the provinces went well, I take it?” he asked.
“As well as could be expected, Excellency.” In truth, the thousand mile forced march from War’s End had been gruelling. Several men had succumbed to exhaustion on the journey. But the imperial summons had left little choice but to comply. Adelmar kept this to himself, however; as much as Jarrod was fond of saying otherwise, he was not entirely ignorant of court etiquette.
“Good.” The emperor stood, which was quickly followed the sound of dozens of others rising to their feet in the gallery. “Come, there are matters for us to discuss.”
It was not far to the emperor’s private audience chamber. The room was surprisingly large, dominated by a long hardwood table in the centre, lined by two rows of chairs and a grander, high-backed seat at the head. It was used often for the emperor’s councils, both during peacetime and war. It was sat at this table that a teenage Adelmar was informed he was to lead the campaign against the northern rebels.
As they entered, Adelmar following upon his father’s heels, the emperor walked to a window on the far wall that afforded a view out across the city. Adelmar stood patiently, waiting.
“Jarrod told you about my decision to officially recognise the Order.” It was not a question.
“He did. I had hoped he was mistaken, or that it was one of his japes.”
The emperor continued to stare through the window, his back to his son. “It was not,” he said quietly. “The Order will save the Empire. From now on you will attend its services.”
Adelmar flushed. “You cannot ask such a thing of me. Save it how?”
Without turning, the emperor beckoned to him. “Look out there. Tell me what you see.”
He joined his father, and gazed out across the rooftops. Set atop a large hill, the palace looked down on the rest of the city’s buildings. All but one. “The city.” He shrugged. “Citizens going about their lives. Nothing remarkable.”
The emperor sighed. Obviously he was disappointed with the answer. “What, in your opinion, is most important to the Empire? Think on it, Adelmar. What is it that keeps us strong?”
Adelmar’s brow furrowed in concentration. His father was looking for something in particular, that much was clear. But what it was eluded him. “The Legion?” he offered. “Trade? Law?”
“Obedience.” The emperor gazed at him searchingly, his dark blue eyes hard and unforgiving. “Without obedience we are lost. Do you want to know what I see, when I look through this window?” He turned away, and continued without waiting for a response. “I see depravity, wilfulness. Degradation. Fifty thousand people doing whatever they please, whenever they please. Slaves to their own carnality. Lying, fighting, stealing, cheating. Fucking.” Flecks of spit formed at the corners of his mouth.
Adelmar was unimpressed. “Most obey. The courts punish those that break the law.”
“Oh? And what happens when a blacksmith does a poor job, because he’s distracted by his affair with the miller’s wife? What happens when the miller slays the smith to avenge the infidelity? What happens to your precious Legion, Adelmar, when there are no swords to arm them, or bread to fill their bellies?”
“There are dozens of smiths that outfit our troops,” Adelmar’s felt that the point still eluded him somehow. “Scores of millers...”
“A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.” His father glanced at him again, one eyebrow arched. “Think of the Empire as a chain of a million links, each one weaker and more brittle than the last. Each one capable of breaking the whole. Only the fire of obedience can temper the metal, forge the links strong enough to bear the weight.” He saw Adelmar’s blank expression, and tutted. “Let me put it in terms you cannot fail to understand. Imagine an army, mustered for battle. Lines of s
oldiers arrayed in front of a vast enemy. They are scared, but something holds them there. What?”
“Discipline,” Adelmar answered without hesitation.
“Very good. Discipline holds your army in the field, and soon battle is joined. The enemy is upon them, and men soon begin to fall. Four thousand soldiers are fighting, and most are disciplined. But there is one, weaker than his fellows. Fear overwhelms him and he runs. What happens then?”
Adelmar didn’t need to imagine the scenario his father painted for him. He had seen it happen. “At first, not much. An experienced sergeant forces that man back to the fighting, or cuts him down.”
The emperor’s eyes glittered. “And if the sergeant is not experienced, or if he finds his own discipline wavering, even for a moment?”
“Panic,” Adelmar replied flatly. “One man runs, and soon others follow.”
“Fear has a way of spreading, if left unchecked. What happens when a few men begin to flee? Soon it becomes a dozen, then fifty. A hundred. A thousand. All it takes is for one man to forget his discipline, his obedience, and the battle is lost. And this is an army we speak of, made up of professional soldiers, yet still it happens. The Empire is made up of commoners, peasants, tradesmen, farmers. Drunkards and whores. There is one truth for all men. Do you know what it is?” Adelmar shrugged and shook his head. “A man will act as badly as he believes he can get away with.”
“I... think I understand,” Adelmar replied slowly. “But what is to be done? We can enforce the laws, but you cannot control people.”
A faint smile played at the edges of his father’s thin lips. “Perhaps. For now.” Before Adelmar could reply, he went on, “All that you need to know is that the Order will bring the Empire together under a shared faith, a common cause. Even with the Legion we are too weak, spread too thin. If our enemies were to bring their full force against us...” His eyes closed, as if contemplating the thought. “It is imperative that the common folk are converted. We must be of one mind, one path if we are to survive. We saw how vulnerable we can be during my father’s time. Our biggest threat is already within our borders. I will not allow complacency and immorality to destroy us!” Spittle flew from the emperor’s lips as he shouted the words. Then, he brought his temper under control once more. When his father spoke again, his voice was steady. “The longer your defiance goes on, the harder it becomes,” he told his son. “This is not a matter for debate. You are my heir as things stands, but do not imagine for a moment that that situation cannot change. You will fall into line or you will be disowned and the succession will pass to your brother.”
The thought of Jarrod inheriting the imperial throne made Adelmar flinch. He glared silently at his father, but the cool blue stare was firm. Finally, he bent his head. “As you wish, Excellency,” he said, his voice stiff. “I will attend the services. But I will not wear the Order’s trappings.”
“It will serve, for a start.” The emperor smiled again, more warmly this time. “Now, to other matters. How fares the north?”
“Restless,” Adelmar replied, scowling. “I brought most of our forces with me, as ordered. But I did not do so willingly. We have only a token number remaining to hold War’s End and our other strongholds. Barely a century, in total, and most of those raw recruits or veterans too old to march. I would not want to pit them against the clans in battle. Our northern possessions are vulnerable.”
“The north is a whipped cur and for now presents no threat.” The emperor lowered himself into the high-backed seat at the head of the table, and gestured for Adelmar to take one of the other chairs. “Even if they gathered together enough of a rabble to take a fort or two, we would smash them again as soon as it entered our minds to do so. I am reliably informed that their chieftains are aware of that fact, and remain reluctant to strike the blow that would necessitate reprisals.”
Adelmar glowered. “Why must we risk losing the north at all? With a full complement of troops it is not hard to secure it.”
“There are other priorities.” The emperor leaned back and regarded his son over steepled fingers. “You are needed in the south. The Tenebrian defences are proving more... resilient than expected.”
The rumours had travelled all the way to War’s End. Adelmar had been loath to believe them, yet it appeared there was truth to the whispers after all. Half the Empire’s navy reduced to cinders in the Calladorian Channel. He grimaced. “It was a mistake to place our forces under the command of a callow stripling still wet behind the ears.”
“Both myself and the Archon felt that the honour of leading the Legion forces in the south should go to a man of the faith.” The emperor’s expression was hard. “Sir Willem Galvarey was a true believer, and a highly promising general.”
He was also highly expendable, said a cynical voice in Adelmar’s mind. The Galvareys of Baelforge were an old family, and influential. They were also plentiful. Like their mines, which when forged produced the Empire’s strongest and most durable steels, the marriage of Lord Oland and Lady Felicia had been productive for many years, and heirs were not in short supply. They had no doubt sent young Willem, their ninth son, off to war with their blessing, having long run out of ideas of what to do with them all.
“The rumour I heard told it that he insisted on wearing his full plate for the crossing,” Adelmar said. “They say that as the flagship began to burn, he leaped into the water and did not resurface.”
The emperor’s emotionless eyes searched his son’s, looking for traces of mockery. “A sad loss,” he said at last. “It has, at the least, opened my eyes to the merits of experience. You will assume Sir Willem’s command.”
Adelmar nodded thoughtfully. He was not unhappy at the thought of it. “Very well. I will ready the men. We will depart for The Vigil in two days.”
“You will leave in a week and not before,” the emperor said sharply as his son stood. “The Spire nears completion. The final bricks are to be laid any day now. Your presence will be required at the dedication ceremony. When that is concluded, you and your men may depart.”
Adelmar hesitated, for a moment appearing as if he wanted to say something. The emperor noticed his reluctance and added, “This will be your last campaign, Adelmar. You are no longer a young man. When you return you will appoint a new Legion Commander to take your place. You know how to lead... the time has come for you to learn how to rule, as befits my heir.” The emperor waved his hand. “Now, leave me.”
When Adelmar returned to his own chambers, his wife and daughters were waiting for him. The latter let out high-pitched squeals as he entered. He went down on one knee to embrace them as they ran to him. Ellara followed in their wake, shimmering as she moved. She wore a golden gown, into which scores of sungems had been delicately stitched. His eyes travelled up this to the necklace of milky deepwater pearls around her neck. Where the light struck them, their colours changed subtly, their surface shifting from white to green to purple, and back again.
She caught his gaze and laughed. “Do you like it?” she asked. The hem of the gown lifted as she twirled in place.
“It looks... expensive,” he managed. “You had an enjoyable morning in the merchants’ quarter, then?”
“Wonderful,” his wife sighed happily. “I’m having others made, but this caught my eye and I simply had to have it. It was so nice to be surrounded by beauty after hardly setting foot outside that dreary fort for two years. I could have spent all day there, but the girls began to fuss.”
“Thank you,” he hissed in his daughters’ ears, in a stage-whisper loud enough for Ellara to hear. He patted their heads affectionately, and they scampered away giggling to their bedchamber. “Amelie grows so fast,” he said, standing, as the door slammed closed. “Rosalynd too.”
“They seem to channel all their energies into developing height rather than breadth,” his wife said, smiling. “They are still very young, though, for all that. You were fortunate, dear-heart, another year or two older and we would have return
ed with far more. Milly was very taken with a particular bracelet, but I managed to persuade her it would be better to wait until her birthday.
Adelmar’s face paled. “Perhaps it is as well that we will be leaving soon.”
“Leaving?” Ellara looked distraught. “But we’ve only just arrived! I was going to take the girls to the Winter Gardens, and it’s less than a fortnight until Comtesse Broulliard’s Ice Ball. Milly and Rose will be so upset to miss that. Why must we leave?”
Adelmar took his wife’s hands. “By orders of the emperor,” he told her. “It seems the war goes poorly, and I am to take command of the campaign. We must stay to see the Order’s tower completed, and then we depart for The Vigil.”
“So we’re to once more don chainmail and march with your army, the girls and I?” He smiled at Ellara’s tendency towards the dramatic. The three of them had in fact been carried south in the most luxurious carriage the north had been able to provide. “Can we not remain here? What use would we be in yet another gloomy fortress?”
The idea of his wife and daughters roaming unchecked through the streets and boutiques of Ehrenburg made his blood run cold. Even worse was the thought of leaving them unsupervised in his brother’s company. “It would affect my ability to command, without you by my side, you know that,” he said. “My mind would be distracted.”
It was the right approach to take. Ellara demurred, though was obviously still not overjoyed at the prospect of leaving the capital so soon. With a sad smile, she kissed his cheek and disappeared into their bedroom, to change back into her more comfortable day-clothes.
Adelmar watched her as she left, the dark mood that had settled heavily upon his shoulders all morning lifting at last. Aside from his disagreement with his father over his attendance at the next service the Archon would deliver at Ehrenburg’s grand cathedral, he was pleased with the morning’s outcome. It would feel good to march to war shoulder to shoulder with his troops once again. As badly as the campaign had started it was not lost yet. He had spent the last two nights poring over intelligence reports, and was looking forward to turning his mind towards plotting a way of penetrating the enemy defences.
Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) Page 33