Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  She ignored him, all of us in the Jackal Tower, and kept going.

  Skeelana looked over at me though, and gave a wan smile, and I felt my stomach wrench. No one else seemed to notice, and then she was facing forward and following Soffjian to the track below.

  Hewspear was helping Commander Darzaak regain his seat, and asked. “He has done this thing, hasn’t he? Not just here, but all of them?”

  Commander Darzaak could only nod, the veins in his forehead thick and winding like gnarled roots, mouth clamped shut, face flushed.

  Braylar looked at me and said, “Well. It seems he had a faster reader.”

  I wanted to object that had he trusted me earlier, I could have made much more headway, or that perhaps he should have gathered his research in a more timely fashion. Or not killed the previous potential translator. But I held my tongue on all counts.

  Though it wouldn’t have mattered if I hadn’t—the hippodrome erupted just then. The majority of the Syldoon attending stood and began shouting, cursing, shaking their fists and pointing at the Emperor. One even started to unwind the peace string on his sword, but before he got very far his Tower Commander ordered him to stop and two of his Tower brothers grabbed him to be sure he did.

  But the Syldoon raged in near unison, all but the Commanders themselves, many of whom were still regaining their wits and sitting dumbly or with their heads in their hands.

  Cynead had just accomplished something no emperor before had done—he seized control of all the Memoridons in Sunwrack. If the displays of power by Soffjian and Skeelana were any indication, Cynead’s scope was now unchecked. No amount of cursing would undo that, and anyone who dared draw steel would find themselves blasted into madness and death before they could take one step to use it. He had somehow managed to orchestrate the largest coup in Syldoon history without shedding a single drop of blood.

  The Memoridons gathered around the dais, many looking confused or lost, glancing at each other uncertainly, back into the stands at their former Commanders, a few looking at the Emperor and looking away just as quickly. Soffjian, I noted, stared straight ahead, back rigid, eyes fixed on some section of stone directly in front of her.

  With a nod from the Emperor, the hornblowers blasted out their notes, over and over until the Syldoon finally reined their rage in, quieting again, at least enough for Cynead to be heard. “I realize this comes as something of a shock. And I apologize for not delivering this news in easier fashion. But this is the way of things now. You lords assembled here command the entire might of the Syldoon armies. You are the body of the Empire. But I am its head. Someone said an Emperor commands only so long as strong enough to do so. True enough. And I assure you, I am now strong enough to command a very, very long time. Until dead, I’m afraid. Natural causes, of course.”

  One of the braver Tower Commanders stood and said, “Thief. Coward. You stole what was ours by right, Cynead. But if you think that makes you safe, you’re mad.”

  “Oh, Commander Caruvik,” Cynead said, smiling, “No one is truly safe. But some less so than others.” He raised and dropped his arm and one of his Memoridons stepped forward, pointing at Caruvik, fingers splayed.

  Commander Caruvik dropped to his knees, covering his ears, swatting at some invisible things assaulting his head, slammed his face on the bench. Most stepped away, but two of his captains moved forward and tried to help him back to his feet. But Caruvik started wailing, swinging his arms at them, knocking them back, and the wailing grew shrill, pitch rising, “Enough,” Cynead commanded, and the Memoridon lowered her arm and stepped back into the fold.

  Commander Caruvik stayed curled up like that, body jerking, but the spasms slowed down. Emperor Cynead called out, “Now then. You are the lords of the Empire. That hasn’t changed. I would have you with me, have your support. However, what I will not have is rebellion, in word or action. The Age of Coups is over. Together, we will achieve things our forefathers never dreamed possible; we will grow this Empire to heights and greatness they never dared attempt. Together. Work with me, and your rewards will be boundless, and you will be remembered in history and song. But make no mistake at all: work against me, and I will crush you. Without thought, without remorse.

  “Tomorrow is a new day. We will walk into it together, and I will apprise you of the specifics of my plans. But for today, I trust you to lead. Speak to your Towers, tell them of the new state of things, and prepare to move forward. That is all. Dismissed.”

  The Syldoon, angry, sullen, and teeth-gritting to a man, watched their Emperor climb down the dais and mount his horse, throwing the long cloak out of the way before it draped across the flanks of the beast. The hornblowers blew one final note, and then the imperial procession started making its way out of the stadium, Emperor first, leopard handlers second, the Memoridons a short distance after, and the soldiers, charioteers, and musicians lining up to take the rear.

  Commander Darzaak looked at his captains, splotches of red around his prominent sideburns. “Well. That was unexpected. Come on. Got some planning of our own to do.”

  He started down the stairs with us filing in when we heard a voice from behind us. Sibilant, slithery. Oddly suggestive and sexual. We all turned and looked. A woman was standing there, her close-cropped fair hair even lighter in the sun, a leopard pin on the breast of her ash-gray jacket, a scarlet sash visible around her tunic underneath.

  Braylar said, “Rusejenna. Looking severely lovely as ever, I see.”

  Rusejenna looked him up and down and replied, “Captain Killcoin. Looking… precisely as you always do. Your presence is required. Your men as well.”

  Commander Darzaak said, “Busy itinerary today, our Emperor. Where does he expect us?”

  Rusejenna smiled, cold, edged with what I couldn’t help suspecting was a hint of cruelty. “Oh, my mistake. I should have been more clear. Just you, Commander Darzaak, and your Captain Killcoin there and his cohorts. To the Circus. The rest of your captains and crew may go.” She returned her gaze to Braylar. “And do try not to be late. One thing to keep an Emperor waiting when he is leagues and leagues away. Quite another when he can hear you dawdling.”

  “You and my sister have a great deal in common,” Braylar replied. “The two of you will conspire like cats.”

  “So very droll. I am sure the Emperor will be endlessly amused.” Then Rusejenna turned and left without waiting for a response.

  It was difficult to tell if the other Jackal Tower captains were more irritated by the exclusion, or relieved.

  One with thick purple lips and a weak chin said, “That haughty bitch. Acts as if sucking the Emperor’s cock makes her special. Just makes her an expensive whore.”

  “And a powerful one,” Braylar said. “And perceptive. Don’t forget to add that your list, Belvick. Whatever else you say about Imperial Mems, know that there is a very good chance they will eventually hear you.”

  Belvick scowled at Braylar and managed a half-hearted harrumph. “I don’t need etiquette lessons from the likes of you.”

  “No, just survival lessons. But suit yourself. Denigrate the Mems as much as you like. But wait until I am several streets over, yes?”

  Belvick looked away and said something to another captain. But nothing else about Rusejenna, I noted. So perhaps he wasn’t as large a fool as he seemed. Perhaps.

  The other Jackal captains looked eager to get back to their Tower as quickly as possible.

  Commander Darzaak might have been hiding his anger at being ordered about behind clenched teeth, but he always seemed to have them clamped tight, so it was difficult to tell for sure. “Guessing we’re all about to get fucked in the ass by a big angry horse. Nothing for it but to put a bit in your mouth and take it. You heard the snow snake. Best get moving.”

  We walked away from the Imperial Hippodrome, continuing north while the rest of the small Jackal contingent walked south back toward their Tower. They didn’t look back at us, and we didn’t at them. Except for me, swive
ling my head around looking at both like a simpleton.

  Our small group moved down side streets away from the hippodrome and most of the traffic that clogged the main avenues in Sunwrack. Here and there we ran into some Thurvacians, and a few stray dogs, but otherwise the path we picked wasn’t congested at all.

  Mulldoos said, “Got to hand it to the cagey bastard. Really got a flair for the dramatic, he does.”

  “Indisputable,” Braylar replied, marching forward.

  Commander Darzaak was in the lead, keeping a fast pace despite short legs and being bowlegged, heading toward this encounter with far more stoicism than I could muster. I’d never been within one hundred yards of a king, and now I was not only about to be in an audience with an Emperor, but one who likely had very bad things planned for us. I couldn’t stop myself from asking, voice lowered so not to arouse any anger from the Commander several steps ahead, “Do you think he, Cynead that is, suspects your affinity for Thumaar?”

  Hewspear said, “Oh, you can be sure he is well aware of our affiliations. The Jackals supported Thumaar’s own coup, and were staunch supporters during his entire reign. And I’m sure Cynead knows we would gladly welcome him back, if such an opportunity presented itself. What he might or might not suspect is that we are actively plotting to make it so.”

  “When Emperors seize power by force, don’t they, I mean, wouldn’t they—?”

  “Destroy those factions supporting the previous ruler? Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” Hewspear took a few more steps and added, “More often, they simply keep a vigilant eye on them.”

  “To prevent them from doing whatever it is you are doing to bring Thumaar back to power?”

  He looked down at me, smiling, again a kindly grandfather. For the moment. “Just so, Arki.”

  “So he probably knows, then? Or strongly suspects?”

  Before Hewspear could respond, Mulldoos turned around and said, “Shut your yaps. We’re here.”

  We had stepped onto a broad avenue, and a little further down was a domed building that was gigantic, easily the largest construction in this district, with multiple smaller domes flanking a massive dome in the middle that was hundreds of feet high and brilliant in color, with numerous panels of stained glass. Much of the outside of the building was covered in scaffolding, and workers were lying or standing on platforms at several spots, though it was hard to tell what they were doing exactly, they were so high up.

  The marble colonnaded entrance was bracketed by statues of what I assumed were Emperors or other noteworthy Tower Commanders, looking suitably somber, forbidding, and stately.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  Vendurro said, “Great Circus, they call it. Name like that usually sets up a place to be real disappointing like, but I been there a time or two, and it’s actually something to see.”

  We passed into the interior of the front hall that led to the domed sections further in. The grey and pink marble walls were broken up by large windows with latticed screens of mahogany, and stone benches between matching copper urns, and as we walked down the broad hall, I couldn’t help but notice that the building was mostly empty, except for some dusty workers we passed.

  I said, “I take it with the work being done, this place will be—”

  “Deserted,” the captain replied. “I expect that was no accident.”

  The hall ended and we entered what must have been one of the smaller domed rooms. The entirety of the inside of the domed ceiling was painted, and while some murals were cracked and badly in need of repair, they were still magnificent, and the apse at one end no less so, with spectacular mosaics and paintings, grottos with Syldoonian champions from ages past, mullioned windows with stained-glass depictions of battles, gardens, a profusion of animals, scholars, priests, merchant princes, and so much color it was dizzying. The entire room had an epic grandeur, speaking of conquest and artistry, rebellions and subtle line and contour, excess and so much exquisite detail it was stunning.

  Another short hall and then we came to three wide arched openings. We stepped through, and even realizing we were entering the large central domed portion of the building, I still wasn’t prepared for the immensity of the space. We passed towering bleachers, and my eyes were immediately drawn up. While the hippodrome was colossal, it was open to the air, whereas the dome was not. Well, mostly. At its highest point, several hundreds of feet up, there was a sizable circular section open to the sky, and several portions of the dome had panels of stained glass with the scenes and characters writ large enough to make out from so far below, where the entirety of the space was flooded with alternating color and shadow.

  The floor changed from marble to parquet, alternating squares of dark and light wood, and it was only then I noticed that the interior wasn’t completely deserted. A figure was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the floor, with three figures standing behind. I was also surprised to see that there were some acrobats practicing, two of them dangling in the air from what looked like two long ribbons suspended from some apparatus on the ceiling, though the acrobats were well out of earshot. And then I saw the Imperial Syldoon further back on all sides, in the shadows against the walls, backs to the endless murals and statues that rimmed the entire room.

  Commander Darzaak slapped his meaty hands on his thighs. “Well, let’s get this over with.” He started for the center.

  Braylar said, “I always enjoy a private audience. So very quaint and personal.”

  We followed the Commander across the floor toward the group, and though hardly shocking, it became clear that seated figure was Emperor Cynead, and the three standing were the Memoridons Rusejenna, Soffjian, and Skeelana.

  The Emperor was leaning back in his chair, and he had given up the white (and no doubt filthy) cloak, but otherwise was dressed the same as he had been a short time ago in the hippodrome, in rich cloth, but nothing ostentatious. Even his plaque belt of alternating sunbursts and leopard heads was fairly subdued. You might have thought we were meeting a rich merchant and not the leader of the greatest empire in the world.

  “Welcome, men of Jackal Tower. I do appreciate you meeting me on such short notice and,” he gestured about the huge empty dome, “in such an unusual locale.”

  Commander Darzaak bowed slightly, though not so much as I would have expected. “Begging your pardon, Your Imperial Majesty, but I don’t imagine we had much choice in the matter.”

  Cynead laughed, rich, unforced, the sound of a man clothed in more power than any one person should possess. “I must say, Commander Darzaak, it is such a wonderfully ironic pleasure to see one of the most cunning and duplicitous Towers led by a man so extraordinarily direct.”

  Darzaak bristled, his thick jaw clenched tight enough threaten his own teeth. “Again, begging your pardon, but surely you didn’t summon us here simply to dart insults at us. I mean, you could have done that anywhere, and probably enjoyed it more with a big audience in the Citadel. So, seeing as how you value directness, maybe you’d like to engage in some. Why are we here?”

  Cynead crossed his legs, leaned back further, tapped his chin twice and looked at Rusejenna, laughing again. “You see. I told you this wouldn’t take all that long.” He turned back to Darzaak. “You are correct, we are not in the Citadel for a reason. There are many ears, and here,” he surveyed the Circus Dome, and I looked past him and the Memoridons, to the acrobats in the far distance. “It is only us. Perhaps one of the few places in this teeming city where that is the case.”

  The Emperor shifted and faced Braylar. “So then, in the interest of directness, let’s begin with you, shall we, Captain Killcoin? Word on the wind is you have been quite the busy adventurer in Anjuria.”

  I expected Braylar, gifted liar that he was, to delay, distract, or downplay, but perhaps following his Commander’s lead, he said, “I have indeed, Your Majesty. All in the name of Empire.”

  “Ahh, yes. But of course. The question remains though, whose Empire?”

/>   The captain didn’t falter in gaze or delivery. “Why, Lord Emperor, I do hope it was in the cause of every member of the Empire, great and small.”

  Emperor Cynead slapped his thigh. “Yes, see, this is the manner of directness I am more accustomed to. Sly and self-serving. But as much as I enjoy the dance, I will follow your good Commander’s lead and mince no further. You were in Anjuria carrying out Thumaar’s initiatives—” Commander Darzaak started to speak, but Cynead overrode him. “Do not dare interrupt your Emperor, especially only to beg pardon you shall not be granted. They were Thumaar’s, there is no disputing that. At the time, I allowed you to, so they defaulted to mine, and I’m not especially concerned with ownership there, but with what else you were doing in the region.”

  Commander Darzaak waited to be sure he wasn’t interrupting, and then said, “Captain Killcoin was there following orders. Which you endorsed.”

  “Yes, yes, to be sure.” He looked over his shoulder. “And what else was the leal captain doing in the kingdom, Rusejenna?”

  She grinned, vulpine. “Oh, he was trying to do what you were, Your Majesty, only slower and more clumsily.”

  Emperor Cynead smiled and nodded. “I suspected as much before. There were a few factions who were searching for the secret to mastering the Memoridons.” He waited for protests or hot denial, but getting none, continued. “Oh, yes, I know of your little excursions to libraries and crypts and other dusty holds. That much has been confirmed. And while I sympathize with your covert efforts to research ways of controlling the Memoridons, obviously guilty of it myself, only more efficient, I am well within my rights to invoke the Fifth Man. You broke fealty by conducting the research without informing me, as it violates one of the most basic tenets, the Memoridon Doctrine, codified almost from our inception.”

  Darzaak started to speak but Cynead overrode him. “Yet there is more. Your man there, Commander Darzaak, broke into a tomb and looted a memory weapon out of our mystic past, but did not report it. That same man enlisted the aid of rogue witches in order to cure himself along the way, again in direct violation of the Doctrine. And when I recalled him from Anjuria, instead of opting to obey immediately, he and his little band chose instead to scurry across the kingdom on their own initiative. And it is known the Jackals have endured my reign, but never supported it.”