He opened his mouth to shout his guard the order, expecting her to fawn over him, like so many others. Instead, the defiant glint in her eyes spoke of nothing but contempt. His mouth closed again.
“I bear a message from Draco.” She handed him a folded piece of paper with the judge’s seal. “And you’re married.”
Teo glanced at the message with dark eyes, his jowls quivering with displeasure. He dropped it on his desk as if it had been on fire and glared at her, his amorous intentions dissipating along with the smile on his face. “And you are?”
“Sol.” The glint in her eyes sparkled brighter. “Sol Walker.”
Walker. The founder of Anthea. No wonder she’s so stuck up. Not many families were more influential than the Walkers. When he had last seen her, she was just an awkward kid running around in a short skirt, her golden hair tied up in long braids.
He pointed at the discarded message. “And what does Draco propose?”
“Exile.” She leaned over the desk, bringing her face inches from his. “Which is more than you deserve, frankly.”
The scorn in her eyes made him swallow hard. Within a moment, his dread morphed into rage. He jumped to his feet. “You insolent bitch,” he said with a low, guttural growl. “You’ll pay for this.”
She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Even you wouldn’t harm a messenger. After all, exile can readily turn into a death sentence.”
She sashayed her way out of the office, leaving him trembling with fury. Once she had shut the door behind her, he grabbed the letter and tore it open. As expected, it contained Draco’s ultimatum. The Bulls and the Sea Lions—the two political parties that had ruled the city for as long as anyone could remember—had put forward Anthea’s most prominent judge as a neutral party in an ingenious move that allowed the populace to unite against Teo’s brief rule. He spat at the paper and flung it at the fireplace. It hit the wall and bounced on the hardwood floor.
He sat down and rapped a furious beat with his fingers on the table, cursing under his breath. Taking over Anthea was supposed to have been easy. He expected the people to support him, exhausted as they were of the constant squabbling between the parties. The Bulls consisted mainly of powerful land owners, while their rivals, the Sea Lions, filled their ranks with merchants and sailors. Between them, they had ruled Anthea for decades, but over the years politics had degenerated into endless bickering. Bickering that had cost them battle after battle in the north, the Capital taking over the rich mines Antheans had dug into the soft marshland.
Taking over the Town Hall had been easy enough. A little silver here and there, and a back door that had been conveniently left unlocked. Getting rid of the unsuspecting guards Teo and his supporters less than an hour. In his mind, that should have been enough to seal the democracy’s fate. Instead, his political adversaries inside and outside his party had whipped the people into a frenzy at the thought of losing their precious vote. A vote that very few even exercised; a fact Teo knew only too well, as his cousin was leader of the Bulls. The irony was not lost on him.
Pushing his chair back, Teo glanced outside, where an angry mob was awaiting his decision. The flames of countless torches broke the night’s darkness. Had he found what was rumoured to be hiding in the Town Hall—a weapon supposedly designed by Richard Walker himself—things might have turned out differently. But now, he had no illusion that he could hold the unwashed hordes out forever. Most of his men were mercenaries and opportunists: well prepared to rule in his name, but not to die for him.
Draco’s letter made it clear: he could either leave the city by dawn, or die in it. An easy enough choice. The real question was, what would he do next? Where would he go once he snuck out of the building? Assuming, of course, that Draco kept his word and allowed him to flee the city.
A soft knock on the door interrupted Teo’s gloomy thoughts.
“What?” he barked, and his wife stepped in.
His face brightened. His wife was the daughter of Magna’s prefect. The neighbouring city’s large army could be the answer to his problem. Once again, he thanked Themis for his sharp decision to marry her, despite her plain face and dubious intellect. Not that Teo Altman was a man who believed in gods.
Prefect’s Palace, Magna, Western Democracies
April 33, Teo
“The prefect will see you now,” the lackey said, drawing open the heavy door. Too slowly for Teo, who shoved him aside to march into the spacious hall that served as his father-in-law’s study.
“Father,” he rasped, enjoying the look of dismay on the prefect’s face. The old man hated it when Teo called him that.
“Teo,” the old man growled. He was slumped in a large armchair with his right foot on a footrest, a light linen cloth covering the swollen flesh.
“A joy as always,” Teo said, struggling to keep the sarcasm in his voice from surfacing.
Instead of answering, the man glared at him and motioned towards a comfortable chair facing his desk. He grimaced when Teo ignored him to jump onto a soft couch on the side.
“I see your gout is better,” Teo said. The old man was in obvious pain.
The prefect’s face reddened, his jowls quivering with ill-hidden rage. “Never mind that,” he shot back. “What about the mess you landed my daughter in?”
“Not that different from how you rose to the top.”
“A whole lot different,” the man said, smirking. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Whereas you crawl to me like a dog with its tail between its legs.”
Teo’s temples pounded. I need his help, he reminded himself and flashed a wide grin, drowning the urge to shove a goblet standing on the desk into one of the old man’s orifices; whichever would hurt the most. He pointed towards it, and the prefect motioned him to go ahead. Filling the goblet with sweet wine from a nearby bottle, Teo took a sniff, then gulped it down. “Jonian,” he said appreciatively and smacked his lips. He filled the goblet once more. “Now what?”
The old man studied him. “Now you live in Magna as my guest?” he asked with a pained grimace, unclear whether it was his gout or the thought of Teo staying in Magna that pained him the most.
Teo shook his head. “I don’t want that any more than you do, Father.” He almost spat out that last word. His own mother had passed away when he was but a toddler, leaving his father, a cruel and unforgiving man, to raise him up on his own. He had taught him well, showing young Teo how to use his wealth and sharp wit to charm people. No one would describe a short, bow-legged man like him as handsome, even without his broken nose and oblate, pudgy face. And yet, back in Anthea he could have had any woman he wanted.
He had also learned how to cower any opponent into submission with violent explosions of rage, followed by honeyed talk. He briefly considered using this approach now, but Magna’s ruler was more likely to slap irons on him than to give in. No, he would need all of his charm this time. “How about I hand you Anthea on a platter?”
A hungry fire flashed in the prefect’s eyes, but he refused to bite. “Their army’s too strong.”
Teo wore his most sincere smile and shook his head. “Only if you attack the city. But Anthea has an underbelly. A very soft one.”
The fire in the old man’s eyes flashed again, this time brighter “Go on.”
“Salmon Island.”
A deep frown scarred the man’s forehead as the fire in his eyes died away. “An insignificant rock.”
Teo fought a sigh. How can he be so stupid? “It may be small, but it controls Anthea’s port. And yet, only a token force guards it.”
“It’s right beside Anthea. They’ll send reinforcements.”
“What reinforcements? Not many know this, but most of their troops are in the north, fighting the Capital.”
The old man picked up a gold, bejewelled goblet, half-filled with wine, and drummed his fingers on the metal, lost in thought. “Say we capture Salmon Island. What next?”
“Next, you demand a toll from every ship tha
t uses the port.”
“No merchant will pay.”
“Exactly. They’ll use Magna’s much cheaper port instead.”
The old man’s face lit up. “So we make Anthea’s own merchants pay for the war against their city.”
“We’ll sink the city’s finances. Anthea can’t afford a war on two fronts. It will be forced into peace. As part of the agreement, you can insist that Magna’s garrison remain on Salmon Island. As well as extract heavy reparations, of course.”
The gruff man licked his lips, then eyed him with suspicion. “What’s in it for you?”
“It will be a disaster for Anthea. The whole affair will destroy the city’s morale. My followers will demand my return with daily demonstrations.”
“And then you’ll return to Anthea.”
Teo raised his goblet, a wide grin plastered on his face. “And then I return to Anthea.”
299 AL
General Parad’s house, the Capital
October 15, Parad
Teaching came naturally to General Parad, history being his favourite subject. He stretched his limbs and let out a soft sigh. The warm sun felt good, even though the Capital’s merciless humidity pierced his bones. Soft light filtered through the windows. It highlighted lazy specks of dust dancing leisurely through the light beams that sliced the room into chequered patches of light and darkness.
He waited patiently for Cyrus to finish reading from his e-lib, an early gift for the boy’s seventeenth birthday. The actual birthday was not until January, but Justice Styx wanted him to conduct yet another inspection of the borders. Parad had no idea why he had to repeat the arduous expedition so soon after the last one. All he knew was that he was leaving in a week’s time, and that he would probably still be away in January. His choice of a gift ensured that his son would be mentally prepared to deal with the world’s complicated political tapestry during his long absences.
He studied the transparent piece of glass. Letters flowed through. A soft orange light glowed from the edges. The book seemed as fragile as its age suggested, but he knew it was almost indestructible. Almost is not the same as completely, though, and with no spare parts, it was hard to repair the ones that broke down. Not that there was any chance of ever having enough; a mere handful had been discovered outside of Croix’s office. With the population’s rapid growth in the last 300 years, too few of these invaluable fragments of the past were available.
Besides, the ones outside the justice’s private collection were scrubbed of most information for reasons of security. He lamented this; so much knowledge hidden away from them, so much progress they could have made in these three centuries. Even so, possessing an e-lib was an exceptional honour; one that only a handful of people, including the most prestigious general in the Capital army, could enjoy. As publications were a rarity on Pearseus—banned in Loyalist territory and heavily regulated in the Capital—he wondered if Cyrus had any idea how privileged this access to knowledge made him. Judging from his student’s ill-hidden yawns, he suspected not. Despite his obvious brightness, Cyrus preferred boyish activities to his lessons. Still, Parad insisted that his son learn as much history as possible. Is it because of my ancestral faith in the circular course of history? he wondered.
He rubbed his eyes and examined with pride his son. His thin yet muscular frame, thanks to his love for hunting and riding, meant he would no doubt break many a girl’s heart before too long.
The boy’s mean streak, however, worried Parad on occasion. With proper training, he’ll learn to control it. Perhaps his moodiness had to do with Parad’s frequent and long absences; the boy worshiped him and hated being away from him. Every time the General left, they told him, Cyrus spent days or even weeks sulking.
Cyrus raised his eyes from the e-lib to indicate he had finished. Parad snapped out of his reverie and asked his student for a brief summary of what he had read. In his experience, the ability to summarize was crucial in any context; let alone for a future officer.
Cyrus closed his eyes to repeat the highlights of his lesson. “Pearseus was a class one civilian transport spaceship, weighing—”
“No one cares about that,” his father interrupted him. “Just focus on the important bits, the ones that make a difference.”
The boy ran his fingers through cropped hair and paused for a second. “Pearseus was the ship that brought us here.”
“Not us, our ancestors.” Summarizing required precision.
The boy rolled his eyes in a theatrical gesture. “Our ancestors were explorers, the best of their race. An accident damaged most of the ship’s systems, sending them off course. When an Earth-like planet was found, they abandoned ship. There was this engineer—”
Parad interrupted him again. “I’ve seen the statue.” Fourteen statues in total lined the front of the Chamber of Justice, reminding people of those who had done the most to ensure their survival. “Let’s focus on bigger things for now. What did they find on the planet?”
“Horses and chickens and cows and sheep…”
That never failed to surprise Parad. The animals on the planet bore a striking resemblance to their Earthly counterparts. Just as astonishingly, barely any of their ancestors had died of disease—as one would expect when settling a new land filled with unknown bacteria and viruses. Some thought that humans had a natural resistance to Pearseus’ pathogens. Others, that there were simply no dangerous ones present. He wished he knew more, but research was illegal outside of the Chamber of Justice, and scientists were too busy struggling to keep the weapons devised by their ancestors working to spend much time debating ancient history.
“… and pigs and—”
That was not what Parad had meant, though. He raised his hand to stop Cyrus before he recited all the animals on the planet. “I meant what else did they find on the planet, besides the animals? Were they alone?”
“Ah. No. They thought so at first, but then they met the Apes.”
“The First People,” his father scolded him. A general’s son should not use the derogative name for the natives. A survivor who must have never seen an ape had called them that because of their large size and love of beards. Sadly, the name had stuck.
“The First,” Cyrus corrected himself with a muffled giggle, and Parad realized his son had baited him. He hid a chuckle.
“They were angry and mean,” Cyrus continued, “and there was a war. They used magic, but we won, and now they’re hiding in the North.”
The older man almost broke into laughter. History’s so subjective. The native population consisted of hunter-gatherers. Most tribes seemed to be in perpetual small-scale war; low-key skirmishes that seldom resulted in any serious casualties. Following an unfortunate first contact, the natives had left the colonists alone, abandoning the lush, spacious valley that became the Capital. As the colonist population expanded, though, the colonists dispossessed more and more of the First. Those that did not flee to the marshes up north found cohabitation hard. Unfamiliar with money, the natives were quick to spend it; as a result, many ended up in servitude to repay real or imagined debts. This had triggered the first skirmishes, but the technological advantage of the colonists ensured a swift victory.
Soon, I’ll see for myself how bad it really is. Parad’s assignments included an annual inspection of the North. The First were formidable mounted warriors, but the humans had always kept them in line thanks to their superior technology. But, recently, the gap had started to close—the First were growing stronger every day, while the humans were hamstrung by their lack of factories to supply them with new weapons, and their strict regulations on research and development. Much of their technology nowadays was either useless, or hoarded by the various elites that had formed in three centuries. They used technologies that had been pioneered by the survivors, lacking the skills and resources to come up with new ideas.
Still, bands of colonists never stopped moving north, as the area was rich in minerals and the First were a nomadic p
eople. Small cities and encampments of fortune seekers littered the land. Minor clashes between the various sides were frequent, and borders shifted from day to day.
As for magic, Parad had heard his share of tales, and dismissed them. Still, he could understand the fascination the subject held in Cyrus’s young mind. Most First in the Capital were servants; hardly a threatening lot. Even his own household had its share of First. The rest of them preferred to hide in inhospitable areas like the Marshes or the deep forests of the North. Imbuing them with magical properties was only natural for an excitable young boy.
Parad’s daydreaming had caused him to miss the last part of Cyrus’s summary. “Could you repeat that?”
The boy smirked, but made no comment. “I was saying that our ancestors soon started fighting, and Justice Barrett defeated Croix. His men built New Capital in the South. They’re our enemies. Walker built Jonia and the Democracies in the West.”
The fight against Croix had split the colonists into three groups; a disastrous event that was now referred to as The Schism. Once Justice Barrett had exiled the Loyalists from the Capital, they had settled in the south, where they ruled over a vast area. Large parts of it were uninhabitable, though, since their domain ended in a deep, unexplored desert.
Walker had led another group westwards, building numerous cities along the way. Jonia, his first settlement, sat on the rich, fertile land caressed by the Jonian Sea. Now a rich city with a vibrant port, it had given its name to the region occupied by the cities to the Capital’s west. In theory they were self-ruled, but in reality fell under the justice’s auspices, whose responsibility included appointing their Caretaker.
It was further west, past the Jonian Sea, that Walker’s true legacy stood: the Democracies. These enjoyed full autonomy and were supposed to be neutral in their alignment. In fact, most sympathized with their Jonian brethren. They sided with either the Capital or the Loyalists, depending on their interests at the time. They were in perpetual competition amongst themselves, leading to frequent small-scale wars.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 2