Imperial Traitor

by Mark Robson

  ‘Should we go straight up to the house?’ he asked.

  Femke paused for a moment before answering. Her head tipped back just a fraction as she gave the surrounding countryside a sweep with her piercing, grey-blue eyes. The sun was sinking fast into the west. It would soon be dusk. ‘We should take a few precautions first. I’m sure we’ve not been followed, but there’s always the chance that someone has employed a watcher to monitor the estate. Let’s split up and circle the house. Stay at a good distance, and try to keep out of direct line of sight where you can. We don’t want to alarm those inside.’

  Standing in her stirrups, Femke looked over the high hedge between the lane and the outer gardens of the country house. The house looked large, but simple in design with little outward evidence that it belonged to a Lord of substance. The only clue was in the quality of the build. The walls were thick and strong. They were made from large, regular blocks of the local grey stone. This did little to enhance the beauty of the building. There were no fancy gables or elegant balconies. The house was a straightforward, oblong-shaped structure – solid and practical.

  The gardens were extensive, but laid out with a simple elegance that required minimal maintenance. Much of the land surrounding the house was set to grass. The exceptions were an orchard to the west that looked to be a mixture of apple and plum trees, and a few borders filled with ornamental shrubs and trees.

  Here and there were signs of a woman’s touch. Window boxes filled with early-blooming flowers softened the looming greyness of the house, and carefully-tended hanging baskets hung from large iron brackets to either side of the main doorway. A cast-iron table surrounded by four chairs rested next to a small pond in the outer gardens. The table and chairs had been placed such that two large trees growing nearby would offer them shade in the heat of a summer afternoon. A small willow tree, recently planted, overhung the water. If Femke had to judge, she would say it was the Lady of the house who organised the maintenance of the grounds, most likely taking an active hand with some of the finer details.

  ‘You circle to the west. I’ll go east. I’ll meet you by that cedar tree over there,’ she said softly, pointing to a huge, spreading tree just visible beyond and to the left of the house. ‘Keep your eyes and ears open. If anyone is watching, they’ll not be obvious. Remember what I taught you about how agents camouflage their positions. A watcher will not be easy to see, but only the very best leave no signs of their presence.’

  ‘And if I do find a watcher?’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Femke ordered. ‘Note his position, but don’t give any indication you’ve seen him. Rendezvous with me by the cedar. We’ll tackle any trouble together. Let’s not take unnecessary risks.’

  Reynik nodded and, with a gentle tug, turned his horse to the left. Initially he backtracked down the lane along which they had approached. He kept his mount at a slow, steady walk. Making noise on horseback was inevitable, but at a walking pace the noise was not great. He had few worries about encountering danger that he could not handle out here in the countryside. After the events of the previous evening, it was hard to imagine he would ever face such danger again.

  ‘Complacency will get you killed, son,’ his father had told him. The words echoed in his mind, ringing with sad irony given his father’s fate. Killed by the assassin, Shalidar, in the heart of his Legion’s campsite, it was difficult not to question if complacency had played a part in his death.

  Thoughts of his father brought with them a welter of emotions. The sharp pain of grief brought fresh tears to his tired eyes. Fierce anger and the burning desire for vengeance see-sawed with the feeling that losing his father’s strength had somehow made him weak and helpless. The conflicting feelings were confusing and overwhelming, and his ability to cope with them was not helped by his extreme fatigue.

  He dashed the tears from his cheeks. No matter how his father had died, Reynik was not ready to abandon his words of wisdom. Lutalo’s advice had served him well during the last two years. Not many young soldiers enjoyed the privilege of having an experienced Legion Commander for a father; even fewer could boast one who was willing to act as a personal tutor. The military insights he had gained had given him a huge advantage during his training as a Legionnaire. However, none of his lessons had prepared him for the situations he had faced during the past few days.

  As he rode, he did his best to stay alert. Vivid flashbacks to his running battle with a string of top assassins the night before, combined with a lack of sleep, did not help. He could feel his concentration waning, but he felt helpless. He tried splashing his face with cold water from his canteen as he rode, but his focus continued to slip in and out.

  ‘Come on!’ he urged himself in a muttered growl. ‘Get a grip, Reynik. Don’t let yourself down now.’

  A short while later, Reynik reached the cedar tree. He had noted nothing unusual, but as he rubbed at his cheeks and eyes in an effort to stimulate life back into his face, he wondered if he would have noticed even the most obvious of watchers in his current state. He had to admit it was unlikely.

  He did not have to wait long for Femke. She looked shattered too. But despite the dark rings under her eyes, she had an air of alertness about her that he knew he did not share.

  ‘Anything?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Not that I saw, but I’m not in much of a state to be positive about my sweep.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything either. We’ll have to risk it. We both need rest, and if someone is out there, he knows we’re here now anyway. We might as well go in.’

  Rather than circle all the way back to the main entrance, they decided to use a path in towards the house that Femke had noted not far from their current position. The stables were on this side of the house, so the path was likely one used for recreational riding, rather than a thoroughfare. More to the point, it saved unnecessary riding, which was welcome on many counts.

  Femke had never been comfortable riding a horse. She had spent a lot of time in a saddle during her recent mission to Thrandor, but she was a realist when it came to her abilities. As a horsewoman, she knew she was more adequate than accomplished. They had been riding less than a day from Shandrim, but Femke’s thighs were stiff from the journey.

  Reynik had fared better, but was more than a little pleased that they had reached their destination. He had ridden extensively as a boy, but he was suffering the intense weariness that follows a sustained rush of adrenalin combined with the emotional weight of losing his father. His night of danger had passed. He had not rested in nearly two days. All he wanted to do now was to bathe and sleep – not necessarily in that order.

  As they neared the stables, it became apparent that their approach had not gone unnoticed. A stable boy stepped out to meet them, walking forward with confidence, but not so quickly as to frighten the horses. He took the reins of Femke’s horse while she dismounted, patting her horse’s neck and talking to it in a low, warm voice as she stepped clear. Reynik dismounted without assistance, but the boy was quick to take his reins as well.

  ‘My Lord and Lady Kempten have been informed of your arrival. Danni, one of our maids, will show you the way. If you could meet her at the door over there, please?’ he said politely.

  ‘Our bags—’ Reynik began.

  ‘Can wait,’ Femke interrupted. ‘We should attend the Lord and Lady, Reynik. That’s what we’re here for. We’ll be staying tonight. Could you see that our bags are taken to our rooms, please?’ she asked the stable boy.

  ‘Of course, ma’am. Leave it to me.’

  They walked to the door that the stable boy had pointed to and went inside. A young girl in a grey dress with a white apron was waiting for them. She curtsied as they entered.

  ‘May I take your cloaks?’ she asked in a timid voice.

  ‘Thank you, Danni. That would be most kind,’ Femke responded, smiling warmly at her. She removed her cloak and draped it over the girl’s proffered arm. Reynik added his and nodded his thank
s. ‘We were told you would take us to see the Lord and Lady. Do you know if they’re ready to receive us? Our business with them is urgent, but we don’t want to offend them by appearing in our travelling gear and smelling of horses.’

  ‘That’s all right, my Lady. Lord Kempten said that I was to show you to his study right away.’

  ‘Very good. Lead on then.’

  The passageway along which Danni initially led them was narrow and dark. It was clearly a part of the house used solely by the servants. Once through the end door, however, the change was startling. The grey exterior of the house had not visually prepared them for what awaited inside. The central hallway of the house was stunning.

  Everything was clean, bright and tasteful. Exposed beams contrasted with the fresh whiteness of the ceiling. Rich panelling of shining teak was offset by subtle shades of green, and everywhere they looked the furnishings were made with materials of the highest quality. There were none of the usual trappings commonly found in the houses of Lords and Ladies of the Imperial Court. Where one would expect to find suits of armour guarding various areas of the entrance hall, instead there were huge potted plants and ornamental trees. Where one would expect to find crossed swords, or ceremonial weapons hanging on the walls, instead there were a series of exquisitely painted landscapes. A wide, wooden staircase climbed from the centre of the room up and away from the main entrance door. The feeling of life and vibrancy was amazing.

  Handmade rugs, coloured to fit the theme of the hall, were carefully arranged to soften the expanse of polished wood. Tastefully-placed dahl tables boasted occasional ornaments of great workmanship and detail. The person who had arranged the décor in the hallway had great skill. The effect was one of simple elegance. There was nothing pretentious or overbearing, yet there was no mistaking that someone of class and distinction lived here.

  Danni led them around the hall and up the central staircase to the first floor. Here they turned left and along the upper landing to a door on the left. She stopped and knocked twice before entering.

  ‘Your guests, my Lord,’ she said, her voice still sounding timid despite her attempt to speak up as she announced them.

  ‘Ah, Femke, Reynik, do come in. This is a nice surprise. I was not expecting visitors from Shandrim for some time yet. Thank you, Danni. Would you be so kind as to bring our guests some refreshments? I’m sure they would appreciate a bite to eat and something to drink after their journey.’

  Lord Kempten was dressed in country-styled green trousers and a cream-coloured tunic, with a brown leather jerkin over the top. His grey hair was slicked back and his face appeared freshly shaven. He looked every inch the country gentleman.

  ‘Thank you, Lord Kempten, that would be most welcome,’ Femke said, giving a slight bow. Reynik also bowed, feeling stiff and awkward next to Femke. She had a way of appearing at home in every situation.

  Lady Kempten rose from her chair near the window and walked to her husband’s side. She, too, looked very different from the way she dressed for Court. A dress of subtle shades of green, brown and cream, with lacework at the neck and cuffs gave a more rustic look to her inherent elegance, and her hair was clipped into a ponytail for practicality. ‘Welcome. Come and sit down with us. You must be tired.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lady,’ Femke replied, ‘but we’re not really in a fit state to sit. We’re both caked in grime from our travels, and are somewhat fragrant with the smell of our horses.’

  ‘Not to worry, Femke. A little dirt can be cleaned away,’ Lord Kempten said quickly. ‘I assume you bear important tidings, or you would not be here. Come. Take a seat. We crave your news.’

  ‘Thank you again then, my Lord,’ she said gratefully. ‘A comfortable seat would be nice after a day of bouncing in my saddle. I never was much of a rider.’

  Femke and Reynik sat in the chairs that the Lord and Lady directed them to. Reynik was happy to let Femke do the talking. He was not comfortable trying to talk politics and high-level strategy. He understood it well enough, but he preferred action to words. Lord and Lady Kempten sat down. For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘It might be better if we allow the servants to bring the food and wine before we speak of the pressing matters that brought you here,’ Lord Kempten observed. ‘I suspect we will not want other ears listening to what you have to say.’

  ‘Begging my Lord’s pardon, but do you think Lady Kempten should be party to this conversation? Some of the knowledge I’ll be imparting is highly dangerous; it may place her in grave danger of becoming a target for the Guild of Assassins.’

  ‘No offence is taken, Femke, but Izzie and I have decided that whatever the future holds for us, we shall face it together. I have put her through enough traumas recently. After she discovered that my assassination was a fake, we discussed the situation. I trust Izzie implicitly. Even if you were to order her to leave now by the will of the Emperor, I would share any information with her later. We’re in this together, for better or worse.’

  ‘As you will, my Lord.’

  For the next few minutes there followed an awkward exchange of small talk. The light was dimming fast. Lady Kempten lit a taper from the fire. There were several candles around the room. She lit them all in turn. After their sleepless night and the long ride out from Shandrim, the flickering light and warm room made for a soporific atmosphere. When the servants brought the light refreshments, Lord Kempten thanked them politely and then made it clear he did not want to be disturbed again before dinner. The main meal was not due to be served for at least two hours, so this would give them plenty of time for private discussion.

  Once the servants had left, Femke began to talk. Reynik listened and tucked into the food. There was a plate of sliced bread, butter, cheese, sliced meat, and a pot of steaming hot dahl from which he poured himself a generous mug. The hot stimulant drink helped prolong his ability to focus. With Femke cast in the role of narrator, Reynik poured her a cup of dahl and sliced her some bread and cheese. She nodded her thanks and continued her report, taking occasional sips of the dahl and nibbles at the food during natural breaks in the flow.

  Lady Kempten was quick to point out to Reynik that this food was just a snack to keep the hunger pangs at bay. They would dine more formally an hour after sunset.

  The story took a considerable time to tell. When she reached its conclusion, both Lord and Lady Kempten had wide eyes. In contrast, Reynik was fighting hard to keep his eyes open. The comfortable seat, the warmth from the fireplace and the food in his stomach were making it increasingly difficult to stay awake. The stimulant proper-ties of the hot dahl had helped initially, but he was fighting a losing battle.

  ‘Shand, no! Surabar dead! This is disastrous!’ Kempten said, his shock and instant grief draining the colour from his face. ‘He will be sadly missed, Femke. The man was a genius at organisation. Given time he could have been the best Emperor Shandar has ever seen.’

  Lady Kempten’s face was also pale and grave as she took in the news. ‘How sure are you of your deductions, Femke? Are you certain it’s the old spymaster, Lord Ferdand, who is leading the Guild? He’s been missing and assumed dead for some years, hasn’t he? I always took him for a loyal subject of the Emperor. Did you see him clearly?’ she asked.

  ‘Positive, my Lady – one hundred percent. I’d know my old mentor anywhere. It was strange to see him after so long. I feel I should be happy that he’s alive. Instead all I feel is anger. He has betrayed the principles he claimed were precious to him. I admit the location of the Guild’s headquarters is supposition, but it’s based on a lot of strong circumstantial evidence. If I were a gambler, I would bet heavily on my theory. As for the Emperor’s death, well all we can tell you is that the Imperial Bell was tolling for a long time. I think we have to accept the fact that Emperor Surabar has breathed his last.’ Femke turned her head towards Lord Kempten and looked at him until he met her gaze. ‘This does, of course, make you the rightful Emperor Designate.’
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br />   ‘Emperor Designate . . . hmm, yes,’ Kempten muttered thoughtfully, returning her strong stare for a moment before looking away.

  ‘Isn’t there something of a problem there?’ Lady Kempten said pointedly. ‘As far as everyone at Court is concerned, my husband is dead and buried. Why should they now announce him the rightful Emperor Designate?’

  Femke grinned, mischief lighting up her eyes. ‘As your husband will be quick to affirm, Emperor Surabar was a clever man, my Lady. The senior Lords are certain to take control of the Palace now. When they find Surabar’s Last Will and Testament in his study they will be glad to find your husband declared as his rightful heir. It would be logical for them to think Surabar did not get around to changing it after Lord Kempten’s death. They will read out his will in the Imperial Court, as is the requirement. No doubt they will openly display great sorrow that Lord Kempten is not able to take up the Mantle. Inside, however, they will rejoice, for this will open the way for one of their own to assume the Mantle in his stead. It should be noted that even if they crown one of their own as Emperor, under Shandese law your husband would still be entitled to take up the Mantle at any time.’

  ‘It was a part of the plan that Surabar disclosed to me before he arranged my “death”, darling. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to mention it.’ Lord Kempten looked sheepish.

  Lady Kempten raised one eyebrow quizzically and the set of her jaw made her look uncharacteristically dangerous as she turned to her husband. ‘Well, dear, why would you? Becoming the next Emperor of Shandar is hardly something that will affect our family, now, is it? Not appropriate to mention it!’

  ‘Would you like us to leave?’ Femke offered. She turned to find Reynik’s head had slumped forward on his chest. He was fast asleep.

  ‘No, dear, you’re fine where you are,’ Lady Kempten said firmly. ‘Besides, your friend there looks very comfortable. I’d hate to disturb him. A little embarrassment might do my husband the world of good. I love him dearly, but he’s so single-minded. He can be very thoughtless at times. I’m first to applaud his dedication to the Empire and to his job, but you would think he might mention something like being officially next in line for the Mantle.’