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FOR LEAMORA
MAJOR CHARACTERS
Steffan Dekkard Isolate, Security Aide for Councilor Axel Obreduur
Avraal Ysella Empath, Security Aide for Obreduur
Emrelda Roemnal District Patroller, sister of Avraal
Markell Roemnal Engineer, husband of Emrelda
Axel Obreduur Councilor from Oersynt (Craft), Political Leader of Craft Party
Ingrella Obreduur Legalist and wife of Obreduur
Ivann Macri Senior Legalist for Obreduur
Svard Roostof Junior Legalist for Obreduur
Felix Raynaad Commercial Aide for Obreduur
Laureous XXIV Imperador of Guldor
Johan Grieg Premier of Guldor, Councilor from Neewyrk (Commerce)
Karl Bernotte First Marshal
Jhared Kraffeist Minister of Public Resources
Isomer Munchyn Minister of the Treasury
Phillipe Sanoffre Minister of Health and Education
Lukkyn Wyath Minister of Security
Guilhohn Haarsfel Craft Party Floor Leader, Councilor from Kathaar
Saandaar Vonauer Landor Party Floor Leader, Councilor from Plaatz
Hansaal Volkaar Commerce Party Floor Leader, Councilor from Uldwyrk
Kurtweil Aashtaan Commerce Committee Chair, Councilor from Hyarh (Commerce)
Kaliara Bassaana Councilor from Caylaan (Commerce)
Fredrich Hasheem Councilor from Port Reale (Craft)
Ivaan Maendaan Security Committee Chair, Councilor from Endor (Commerce)
Oskaar Ulrich Military Affairs Committee Chair, Councilor from Veerlyn (Commerce)
Harleona Zerlyon Councilor from Ondeliew (Craft)
PROLOGUE
DEKKARD followed Councilor Obreduur, one pace back. His eyes briefly took in the rain that poured down in the early evening, spilling in sheets from the tile roof gutters that barely kept the water from touching the white stone walk … or from dampening the councilor, Dekkard, and Ysella, who kept pace with Dekkard on the right. The greenish tinge of the clouds confirmed that they were the remnants of the waterspouts that had ripped across the ocean shallows to the southeast of Machtarn in midafternoon.
Then the councilor shuddered and went to his knees.
“Ahead to the left, twenty yards, short of the wall,” snapped Ysella, her voice far colder than the lukewarm water that continued to pour down.
Dekkard drew his gladius and sprinted forward and through the downpour, half blind, because the rain, as usual with a spoutstorm, was so thick. By the time he reached a point where he could make out the chest-high marble wall that surrounded the raised topiary garden, he could see no one. He immediately sprinted back toward the covered portico where Ysella was helping Councilor Obreduur to his feet. Fearing that the assassin might have somehow circled, he still held his gladius ready in his left hand.
As he neared the two under the portico that crossed the center gardens of the square, he called out, “Did the empie head this way?”
Ysella shook her head. “There was just the one violent empblast, then nothing.”
The councilor looked to her. “Was it as bad as I felt?”
Ysella hesitated for just an instant before saying, “It was meant to be a deathblast. I blocked almost all of it.”
“Then I’d likely be dead if you hadn’t. Let’s get back to the office.” Obreduur frowned. “Did either of you mention I was going to Freust’s memorial?”
“No, sir,” said both security types simultaneously.
“Someone must have figured that I wanted to be there.”
Dekkard could have calculated that. As a Craft councilor, and more importantly, as the political leader and strategist for the Craft Party, Obreduur needed allies from the Landors, and Freust had been well regarded by the other Landors. Freust had also held some lands north of Malek, well away from his estate near Khuld and not that far from Obreduur’s district home, which might have been why he and Obreduur had become closer than was usual between Craft and Landor councilors.
But why would someone have risked a highly trained empie in a spout rain? One that had to have been illegally trained if capable of projecting the emotions of death. Who was willing to take that chance? And why?
“I’m fine now,” snapped Obreduur. “We need to keep moving. There’s no point in giving them a second chance.”
As the three walked more swiftly from the Council Hall to the Council Office Building, which held the offices of the Sixty-Six, the rain continued to sheet down around the covered portico that connected the two buildings, its intensity creating a rushing susurration loud enough to drown out any sounds from more than a few yards away.
Dekkard kept his eyes open, looking for any hint of the would-be assassin, even as they reached the end of the portico, where it joined the wider roof that protected the garden courtyard entrance to the Council Office Building.
There, two guards armed with long-barreled revolvers and black truncheons stood at their posts flanking the ornate double doors—the only unlocked garden entrance after the sixth bell, the one announcing evening. To Dekkard, their pale green uniforms looked more like sun-bleached leaves in the early-evening humidity, especially in contrast to their crisp black belts and boots. Their eyes slipped past the councilor and paused as they took in Dekkard’s soaked gray tunic and trousers … and the unsheathed short-sword he still held.
“Are you all right, Councilor?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Obreduur’s warm intonation definitely carried the feel of thanks. “Dekkard scared off the intruder.”
But that voice is one of the reasons why he’s a councilor. Not that Dekkard would likely ever be a councilor, although there was no law in Guldor forbidding an isolate from holding office. Only empaths and susceptibles were so prohibited, although isolates were regarded warily because their emotions couldn’t be read by empaths.
Dekkard opened the heavy bronze door, holding it for Obreduur and Ysella, then followed them into the wide hallway inside, with its green marble floors. Once inside, he sheathed the gladius. The walls were also tiled in green marble, up to the chair rail, above which the walls were a light cream.
The hallway was only partly illuminated, with only every third bronze gas lamp lit. Later in the evening, half of those now lit would be extinguished. Obreduur led the way to the wide green marble staircase, edged with matching green marble balustrades and bright bronze bannisters, a staircase that rose to a landing halfway up to the second level, from the ends of which slightly smal
ler staircases extended the remainder of the way. As a councilor not in the majority party, Obreduur had offices on the second level, those of the senior Commerce Party councilors being on the ground level, and the offices of Council clericals and routine functionaries being on the third level. There was no central staircase to the third level. Strictly functional staircases at each end of the building served the clericals and functionaries.
As he followed the councilor up the stairs, Dekkard couldn’t help wondering about the attack.
From the marble-railed area around the open staircase, Ysella led the way down the long corridor, roughly thirty yards, to the polished golden oak door with a bronze plaque set on the wall to the right side, two-thirds of a yard above the marble chair rail. The plaque stated simply: COUNCILOR AXEL OBREDUUR.
Ysella stepped up to the door, standing there for a long moment, then unlocked it and turned to Dekkard.
Knowing that she had sensed no one inside, Dekkard unsheathed the gladius once more, opened the door, and stepped into the large—and dark—outer anteroom, where he twisted the key on the wall lamp beside the door and pulled down on the compression lighter. The lamp flared into light, a light he utilized to confirm that the anteroom was empty. Then he walked to the side door to the staff office, opening it and finding no one there. Closing that door, he moved back to the door into the councilor’s private office and opened it and then lit the wall lamp beside the window before returning to the anteroom, where Ysella and Obreduur waited.
“Thank you both,” said Obreduur, before making his way into the private office and closing the door behind himself.
Once Obreduur was secure in his private office, with the door firmly shut, and the two were alone in the outer antechamber, lit by the single gas lamp, Dekkard turned to the councilor’s empie and asked in a low voice, “Was that more than the usual empblast?”
Ysella nodded.
“But…” Dekkard shook his head. The training for an empie to learn the feelings of agonizing death well enough to project them killed most empies who underwent it—which was one reason why it was forbidden by every government in the world. Officially, anyway.
“She was stupid … or she’s a fanatic—”
“A fanatic?” Dekkard wasn’t that surprised that the empie had been a woman, not considering that, while empaths were rare, three out of four were women, but most women tended not to be fanatics.
“A political fanatic. What other kind is there?”
Dekkard nodded, but the question remained. Why would anyone risk so much to target a Craft councilor, even the second-most-senior one?
1
The giant corporacion Eastern Ironway apparently used its contacts and influence to illegally gain underpriced coal leases in the protected Eshbruk Naval Coal Reserve, according to a letter sent to the Imperador and Premier Johan Grieg. The leases were granted to Eastern Ironway by the Minister of Public Resources, Jhared Kraffeist, late last year, despite the fact that corporacions are forbidden by law to obtain coal or any other resource from such reserves …
… Eastern paid the absurdly low price of 200,000 marks, as well as a “commission” amounting to 10 percent of that sum. According to the letter, an investigation by the Justiciary Ministry found that all records of who had received the commission have vanished …
Obtaining those leases, also according to the letter, allowed Eastern to quickly begin mining operations and to obtain fuel for its locomotives at a far lower cost than coal obtained elsewhere …
Minister Kraffeist refused to comment on the allegations …
The signature and title on the copies of the letter distributed anonymously on Eastern Ironway stationery to newssheets all across Guldor and to all councilors were removed, but it appears to have been written by an official of Eastern Ironway privy to all the details of the leasing procedure …
Given the seriousness of the charges, Minister Kraffeist was summoned to the Council Hall to meet with Premier Grieg …
At the request of the Imperador, the Premier has ordered the Council not to take up any legislative matters while the Palace and Premier review the matter …
Gestirn, 13 Springend 1266
2
Duadi
14 Springend 1266
DEKKARD woke suddenly in the darkness of his small room above the garage, a garage housing the most recent of the modest dark green Gresynt steamers that were one of the hallmarks cultivated by the councilor. Keeping with Obreduur’s penchant for avoiding obvious ostentation, the garage was only large enough for a pair of automobiles, one the larger eight-seater used by the councilor, and a smaller six-seater driven by his wife the legalist to and from her office and elsewhere.
Dekkard quickly rose, shaved, and took a brief lukewarm shower, then dressed in his duty security grays—a gray military-style tunic and matching trousers, with a black belt for his truncheon and gladius … and the concealed brace of throwing knives. Out of habit, he wound his watch, then left his room and took the rear staircase that served the staff. Once on the main floor, he took the back corridor to the kitchen and the small staff room where he, Ysella, Rhosali the housemaid, and Hyelda the cook all ate … or could talk or gather in their infrequent free time.
The staff room held only Rhosali. That scarcely surprised Dekkard, since the family, except for Obreduur himself, was not known for rising earlier than required and since the same was true of Ysella, and sometimes even Rhosali, while Hyelda was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast, both for the four staff and for the family, those in residence at the moment, since the eldest son was in his second year at the Military Institute in Veerlyn.
Dekkard knew breakfast would be simple—café, orange juice, and heavy croissants, with a slice of quince paste, or, if Hyelda was feeling cross, tomato jelly. While waiting for Hyelda to set out the large tray from which the staff helped themselves, Dekkard poured himself a mug of café and took a sip. He was about to take a second sip when Hyelda appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“The Ritten wishes a word with you.” The cook gestured.
Dekkard immediately stood, nodding to Rhosali, before leaving the staff room. From there, he walked through the dish pantry, opened the service door to the breakfast room, closing it behind him, before coming to a halt several paces from the table, where the mistress of the house presided over her end of the table. She had been a legalist long before marrying Obreduur, but he seldom mentioned her present or previous practice, and Dekkard felt he wasn’t in a position to ask about specifics unless others voiced them. Just as he hadn’t been about to ask why she had spent two weeks in Gaarlak, when she had no family there. But then, she had traveled to various cities in Guldor during the two years Dekkard had worked for Obreduur. Dekkard had gathered that she still did legalist work for various guilds and other clients, and that might be why the Obreduurs could live in East Quarter, given that councilors weren’t paid comparatively that much.
Ritter Obreduur sat at the other end, sipping café as he read through the morning newssheet. The title, which had originally been given only to landed nobility, now also applied to councilors and their spouses, not only while they served, but thereafter, although it was not hereditary. Except for Obreduur’s white linen jacket, and whatever scarf Ritten Obreduur would wear over her outerwear, the two were dressed for the day.
“You’re always so formal, Dekkard, I’m sure you already know what I need.”
“Lighting off your steamer, Ritten Obreduur?”
“Exactly. You can finish your breakfast first.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Dekkard inclined his head. “Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
“I’ll need to leave a sixth earlier, Steffan,” said the councilor without looking away from the paper, a paper held in his left hand, the one with the bent and twisted little finger and the one adjoining, a legacy from his much younger days as a stevedore.
“Yes, sir.” Ten minutes earlier wouldn’t be too b
ad.
The councilor did not reply, nor look in Dekkard’s direction, not that Dekkard would have expected it, and the isolate slipped out of the breakfast room and headed back to the staff room. His lighting off Ritten Obreduur’s steamer would save her only a few minutes, but if that was what she wanted, he was happy to take care of it.
Ysella had arrived in the staff room in Dekkard’s absence, crisp as always in her duty grays, identical to his, except that she carried only a personal-length truncheon, and she looked up from her plate as Dekkard returned. “What did she want? For you to light off her steamer?”
“Of course.” Dekkard seated himself and immediately added more café to his mug and took a swallow. He noted that Hyelda had provided slightly larger slices of quince paste than usual. He appreciated that, because, as the son of Argenti parents who had fled the cold and the altitude of the Silver Heights—and the comparative lack of opportunity for artisans—he’d been raised on more substantial breakfast fare. After a little more café, he drank the small glass of orange juice in one long swallow, then split the croissant and slipped the quince paste in the middle, and began to eat it like a sandwich.
Ysella shuddered. “I still don’t see how you can eat so much sweet in the morning.”
Dekkard swallowed the mouthful he’d been chewing, then replied, “I’ve told you. Quince is bittersweet, not honey-sweet.”
The empie just shook her head, as did Rhosali, who took a last swallow of café, then rose and hurried off to begin her day.
“We’re leaving a sixth earlier this morning,” Dekkard said. “The councilor didn’t say why.” He almost winced when he realized how unnecessary the second sentence had been.
“You always say something about his never explaining,” replied Ysella. “By now, you should know I understand that.”
“I know you understand. It’s just that it feels rude to me not to say something.” And I know you can’t sense what I feel. Dekkard wondered, far from the first time, whether other isolates felt the need to explain to empath partners, given that empaths couldn’t sense any emotion from isolates, while they could from normal people, and even from other empaths who weren’t careful about blocking their feelings.
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