Imperial Traitor

by Mark Robson

  ‘Femke, about the other night . . .’

  ‘The kiss was a mistake,’ Femke interjected quickly.

  ‘Kisses.’

  ‘Kisses?’

  ‘There were two,’ Reynik pointed out. ‘The first before we went into the Guild headquarters and the second after we escaped.’

  ‘Ah, yes! I’d forgotten about the second one. Well, that was a mistake as well. I’m sorry, Reynik. I shouldn’t have kissed you at all. You saw in Thrandor that mixing relationships and missions is not a good idea. I’ve been burned once. I don’t want to go through that again.’

  Reynik’s heart sank. He had been expecting something like this, but had been hoping it would not happen. The optimist in him had been convinced that Femke had opened the door for him to pursue a relationship with her. With all the bad things that had happened over the last few days, he had been hoping to keep one positive thing to focus on. He was not sure he was emotionally prepared for her to slam the door in his face.

  They had been riding for several hours now. For the most part they had ridden in silence. When they had spoken, it had been to discuss how they would tackle their individual tasks when they reached Shandrim. Reynik had wanted so much to tell Femke how he felt about her ever since he had rescued her from the Guild headquarters. Somehow the moment had never felt right. Now, he thought bitterly, it looked as if he had left it too late.

  ‘Is there any point in my trying to change your mind?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t, Reynik – please don’t.’

  He sighed. ‘I guess not then. Femke, I know I’m young – I can’t change my age. I . . . I suppose I just want to say that I like you a lot. I’m no playboy like Danar. I just know that I like you. I care about what happens to you. More than anything else I would like to know that you were safe and that you care about me in the same way.’

  ‘It’s not an age thing, Reynik. I just can’t do it. I can’t. I’m sorry. It won’t work. It’s just . . . no. Leave it be. Maybe, when all this is finished . . .’

  There it was – the rejection he had feared, followed by the carrot. His stomach churned and a bitter taste settled on the back of his tongue, but as her sentence petered out he was left with the feeling that not all was lost. She had made it sound as if she might consider him as a partner if they successfully completed their mission to destroy the Guild. Was this an attempt to let him down gently? He hoped not. He had a glimmer of hope. It was enough for now. He would press forward and do his best to keep them both alive.

  Femke was a survivor. If any woman could find a way through the deadly maze that faced them, she could. He knew he would do better to look after his own skin than to worry about hers, yet she was not infallible. He had seen that in her too.

  ‘Nothing is ever easy, is it?’ he said with an edge of bitterness in his voice that, despite his best efforts, he could not conceal.

  ‘No. I don’t remember the last time I felt something was easy. But then, the best things in life are worth fighting for,’ she said with a sad smile.

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  For much of the rest of the day an awkward cloud of silence hung over them. The wind picked up, carrying showers of cold, driving rain. With cloaks drawn close and hoods pulled down over their faces in an effort to keep out the wet, it was easy for each of them to feel some sense of solitude.

  The miles slipped past as Femke dictated a punishing pace. She was determined to get to the city before nightfall. There was a chance that she could complete the most pressing part of her mission today. If Toomas was at home, she felt she should be able to silence him without the need for violence.

  They reached the outskirts in the late afternoon. A heavy shower had just blown through, leaving everything dripping. Puddles filled every hole in the street, and rivulets of filthy water ran along the gutters. The afternoon sunshine reflected light off the buildings in all directions, making the city look bright and freshly washed, though the smell in the streets told a different story.

  Returning to the city after spending time in the countryside was always an assault on the olfactory system. City dwellers were used to the all-pervading smell generated by the mass of humanity. The inadequate sewerage system meant that raw sewage would often run through open gutters. Attempts to mask the resulting stench mingled with the smells of open-air market stalls trading in foodstuffs, exotic spices and perfumes. The combination of odours made for a heady brew, bordering on overpowering for those not used to it.

  Reynik wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  ‘It’s hard to use the words “home, sweet home” when it smells like this,’ he observed as their horses plodded through the muck of the street.

  ‘It’s part of the price one pays for the sophistication of city life,’ Femke replied with a wry smile. ‘There are times when I wonder if it’s all worth it. Are you all set?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. All being well, I’ll meet you at The Horseman inn in the southeast quarter in two days. We’ll meet at the fourth call after midday. If I’m not there by the sixth call, then go back to the country estate without me. I shall do the same if you’re not there. Getting what information we have to Lord Kempten is to be the priority. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘You too.’

  Femke turned her horse to the right and directed it up one of the more open side streets. The house of Toomas was some distance from here, but she was content that she would now reach it before sunset. The district in which Toomas lived was a rough place after nightfall. Thieves and muggers were commonplace there. This did not particularly concern her, as she was used to operating in all areas of the city. Common sense, however, dictated that she should not take unnecessary risks. Dressed as she was, she would make a tempting target for a thief. Even the least skilled of footpads could get lucky, and Femke had no intention of making careless mistakes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘I’ve found it!’ Lord Reavis exclaimed, his pitch rising with excitement as he announced his discovery. ‘Look, it’s Surabar’s Last Will and Testament. The scroll is sealed with the Imperial Seal and clearly marked. Should we open it?’

  Lord Borchman looked up from the stack of parchments he had been leafing through. Lord Reavis always seemed to look jolly, regardless of his emotions. His curly grey hair, rounded face and dimpled cheeks gave him the appearance of a gentle old grandfather. His blue eyes were bright under his bushy white eyebrows and laughter lines served to further his jovial image. Borchman kept his thin face serious as he considered the implications of his fellow Lord’s question.

  ‘It might be better to wait until we have a quorum, Reavis,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It wouldn’t look good if we were to break the seal without the other candidates present. If Surabar has named a successor in that document, then it would be far better for us all to be present at its opening. That way, if the contents are at all contentious, as I suspect they will be, then we’ll be able to make a considered response. Put it on the desk here with these other parchments. There are more things here of which the Court should be made aware. It seems Emperor Surabar was a busy man.’

  Lord Reavis reluctantly placed the scroll on the desk. ‘Why are we looking through his things if we’re not going to take advantage of what we find?’ he asked.

  ‘The others will likely be here within the hour. That we have stolen the march on them gives the two of us a momentary advantage. We can control what information is released and in what fashion, but Marnillus still has the better of us when it comes to supporters in Court. You can bet he will be manipulating the Court before Surabar’s body is put to rest.’

  ‘Marnillus is a fool. He’d be a disastrous Emperor,’ Reavis spat.

  ‘On that we’re agreed, but his voice holds a lot of sway in Court,’ Borchman replied. ‘He’ll be difficult to defeat.’

  ‘Not if he were to have a fatal accident. With Surabar dead, the Guild of Assassins will be looking to re-establish their role in Shandes
e politics. What if you and I were to demonstrate our willingness to see the anaethus drax declaration lifted by placing a contract jointly? We would win the support of the Guildmaster, dispose of our most influential opponent and save money into the bargain. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Lord Reavis – that’s what I think,’ Borchman replied carefully. It was hard to visualise Reavis ordering assassinations. He did not look the sort of person to even consider it, but appearances were deceptive, as Borchman well knew. ‘Let’s wait until the contents of Surabar’s will have been examined, shall we?’ he suggested. ‘When I know what the crafty old fox put in there, I might consider your proposal. If I were to gain the Mantle, I’d prefer to do it without too much bloodshed, if possible.’

  Borchman returned to his scrutiny of the stack of parchments on the Emperor’s desk, but his mind was not on the task. If Reavis were already thinking about assassinating other candidates, how long would it take for others to have similar thoughts? Not long. He would need to take steps to protect himself from the bloodbath that looked poised to begin.

  Marnillus would have a heavy guard as a matter of course. He had done so for some years. Would it help him, if a contract were placed? Borchman doubted it. One only had to look at what happened here. The Emperor was in his study with two guards at the door and who knows how many more around the Palace, but an assassin had still penetrated the defences. Someone had killed Surabar and tried to cover his tracks by making it look as if one of the guards had pulled the trigger.

  If the assassin had not been seen escaping, it would have been hard to deny the evidence. The fact that the killer had also escaped the Palace despite the entire Imperial guard force being alerted to his presence lent more weight to the argument that the Emperor’s death had been orchestrated by the Guild. If they had abandoned their creed, then the Guild had become more dangerous than ever before. It was a chilling thought.

  Reavis was a fool in many ways. If it came down to the two of them in the Imperial race, then Borchman did not believe he would have a problem winning the support of the Court. However, by using the Guild, Reavis became a fool indiscriminately wielding a deadly weapon. As far as he knew, the Guild did not place a filter on their customers other than their ability to pay enough gold. As long as the contract did not contravene their creed, then the Guild usually accepted contracts without question. The coming days would be fraught with danger for the Imperial candidates.

  ‘Who allowed you access to the Emperor’s study?’ It was Lord Marnillus. The bluster and outrage clearly identified him. Lord Borchman could picture the man’s broad frame, richly ornamented apparel and self-important posturing without needing to look up.

  ‘Good evening, Lord Marnillus,’ Borchman replied, keeping his tone level and his eyes on the parchments he was leafing through. ‘One might ask the same question of you. With the Emperor gone there is no one to grant or deny access to the senior Lords now. We were looking to see if he left any instructions against this eventuality. It appears he did.’

  ‘Surabar left a will? Where is it? What does it say?’

  ‘Not so fast, Marnillus,’ Borchman warned, keeping his tone civil, but firm. ‘The Emperor did leave a will, but it is sealed. We did not open it, as not all the candidates were here. Besides, I think it more appropriate that it should be read in open Court, don’t you? That way there can be no dispute as to the contents.’

  ‘You think!’ Marnillus sneered. ‘Pah! You don’t think – either of you. There’s a mob growing at the gates of the Palace. They need a leader – one who will unite them and inspire them, one who will keep them calm in this time of uncertainty.’

  ‘And there’s no question as to who that leader should be, I suppose.’ Lord Borchman did not bother hiding his sarcasm.

  ‘None,’ Marnillus replied without pause. ‘I have the support of the Court. You cannot deny it. I should take the Mantle now and speak to the people.’

  ‘Over my dead body!’ exploded Reavis. ‘You have a slim majority, Marnillus. You know the rules as well as any of us. Surabar may have seized power from under our noses, but the Court will not sit by and let that happen again. Against Surabar we were powerless because he had total control of the Legions. He could have crushed all or any one of us like flies if he’d wanted. He took the Mantle in a bloodless coup, but if you were to try such a thing – well, let’s just say you wouldn’t want to try it.’

  ‘Is that a threat, Reavis? It sounds rather hollow to me.’

  ‘Don’t push it, Marnillus,’ Borchman warned. ‘It would not do for more blood to be spilled here today. The will shall be read in open Court. I’ll see that it gets there without being tampered with. Do you wish to call my integrity into question, or will you trust me to bring the scroll without tampering with the seal?’

  Calling the integrity of another Lord into question was as good as issuing a challenge to a duel. Marnillus was no fool. Although Borchman was no longer young, he had been a master swordsman as a youth and he was still remarkably fit and trim for his age. He was tall and slim, with a long reach. Marnillus, for all his bluster and posing, was not as fit as he made out. He knew he would be unlikely to prevail over the wiry, silver-haired Borchman.

  ‘No, Lord Borchman, I do not question your integrity. I shall see to it that the Court is convened as soon as possible. This situation needs to be resolved quickly. We cannot allow Shandrim to degenerate into chaos.’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Borchman replied, looking up to meet the eyes of his opponent. ‘As long as that damned bell keeps ringing there is little chance of anyone not realising that an imminent session of Court is likely.’ It will likely be the most interesting Court session we’ve seen in many a year, he added silently. He ran a finger down the side of the stack of parchments on the desk. You were so darned well organised, Surabar, I would not be surprised to see you reach from beyond the grave and put everyone in line with your blasted Legion logic.

  The Guildmaster looked around at the booths from his podium. Fourteen were occupied. Fourteen out of twenty – a third of the Guild dead, unaccounted for, or incapacitated. It was not a pretty state of affairs.

  As they recited the creed, he fingered his own silver icon under his robe, feeling the sleek lines of the panther. In his youth he had felt he resembled his emblem: powerful, silent and deadly. Now he felt none of those things. More than anything he felt his age pressing down on him, an ever-present weight of years that was slowly curving his spine and sapping his strength. It was interesting how some of the Brothers served to increase that weight, whilst the presence of others served to help him feel young again. His eyes came to rest on the dragon emblem. Shalidar fell squarely in the former of the two categories.

  Ferdand had never liked Shalidar. Since he had risen to the post of Guildmaster, Ferdand had come to know all the assassins. There was a streak of arrogance in most of them, but every meeting with Shalidar had left a bitter taste in his mouth. If the Guild were not in a state of weakness, he would be all too glad to find Shalidar guilty today. In his heart he still secretly wished for that outcome. There was very little that would give him more pleasure than to plunge his dagger into Shalidar’s heart and watch the light fade from his eyes. Somehow, he doubted that would happen.

  The bearer of the dragon icon had volunteered for this truth test. He would never have done so if he had not been confident he would pass. With his ability to wriggle his way out of the most impossible situations, if there had been an eel icon, then Shalidar would have been ideally suited to it. The Guildmaster could only assume on this occasion that Shalidar really was free from guilt, as the line of questions he had agreed to answer under the influence of truth serum would be damning if answered with responses other than those expected of him.

  The final echoes of the creed faded. The dim hall fell silent. The Guildmaster raised his right hand towards the dragon emblem.

  ‘Brother Dragon, come forward,’ he intoned wit
h solemn formality.

  None of the other assassins knew what was about to happen. The silence thickened with an air of mystery and expectation. Hooded and cloaked as always in the presence of the other assassins, Shalidar limped forwards until he was standing in front of the podium.

  ‘Brothers, you’re all aware of the death of the Emperor last night. What most of you do not know is that Brother Dragon was at the scene when the Emperor was killed. He claims innocence in the matter. I am going to test that claim. It’s good that you’re all here to witness this, as it concerns the very core of the creed that we have just recited.’

  Two servants emerged from the stairwell that led down into the Guildmaster’s private quarters. They walked forwards and positioned themselves either side of Shalidar, one taking each arm. The Guildmaster descended from his podium and walked around to stand in front of Shalidar. From under his cloak, the Guildmaster drew a small glass vial containing a dark purple fluid. He held it up high above his head.

  ‘For those of you who have never seen this before, it is truth serum. Any person under the influence of this substance cannot tell a lie. It is very powerful. No one has ever been known to withhold a truthful response to questions posed whilst in its power. Truth serum is also dangerous. Some suffer violent reactions to ingesting it, the most extreme of which can result in death. I should state for the record that Brother Dragon volunteered to take this truth test as he felt it necessary to prove his innocence in the death of the Emperor. There will no doubt be speculation amongst the population of Shandrim as to our involvement. It is therefore important for all of us to know what really happened.’

  The Guildmaster’s mellow tones had an unusually hard edge to them.