Elaine looked back at the soldiers, then followed Cass as she made her way down the street and round the corner, into a line of pubs. Half of them were closed; the remainder were guarded by men carrying clubs, who glared ominously at passers-by. A handful of sorcerers stood at one end of the street, ignoring everyone. Elaine eyed them suspiciously, wondering just what they were doing. Keeping an eye on the area, for the Emperor, or laying a trap for someone? Would the Emperor have guessed where they might go?
“In here,” Cass said, as they reached the Waving Wand. “And remember not to cast any offensive spells in this building.”
“I’ve been here,” Johan said. “I know the rules.”
Inside, it was warm, thanks to a roaring fire in the grate. A handful of men sat around the fire, drinking beer and muttering to one another; in the corner, a pair of students from the Peerless School were sharing a large glass of wine, looking around nervously for either proctors or tutors. They were playing truant, Elaine guessed, savouring the spice of having escaped the school while it was under lockdown. She hoped their families were powerful enough to keep them from being expelled – or used as a sacrifice – if they were caught. It was harder to get into the school than out of it.
“Johan Conidian,” the bartender said, as he looked at Johan. “I was told you were dead.”
Elaine stared at him. “You can see through the glamour?”
“I can see many things,” the bartender said. “What can I do for you?”
Cass cleared her throat. “We want to meet with Hawke,” she said. “Can you arrange it?”
“He has rooms nearby,” the bartender said. “I will send for him, if you are prepared to pay.”
“We will,” Cass said. “Two gold coins?”
“Ten,” the bartender said. They haggled back and forth until they settled on five. “Take a seat in the booth and order drinks. I will send him a message. If he comes or not is up to him.”
“Understood,” Cass said. She led the way over to the booth, then sat down. “We can wait.”
“And see,” Elaine muttered. “And if this goes wrong ...”
“We will have to think of something else,” Cass said. “But I honestly don’t know what.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I need to see the Emperor,” Lord Regan said. “At once.”
Charity sucked in her breath. Lord Regan was an overweight man with a receding hairline, who couldn’t be bothered to use a charm to freshen the air around him. Merely looking at him made her feel sick. Charity, who had known his daughter while she’d been at school, disliked him on sight. The girl had been a spoilt brat, she’d thought, but she’d clearly been doing very well, given what sort of father she had.
“The Emperor is currently resting,” she said, pasting a sweet smile on her face. “May I ask why you wish to speak with him?”
“My daughter’s marriage contract has been finalised,” Lord Regan said. “The Emperor needs to stamp his approval over the match before we can proceed.”
“I see,” Charity said. She had a feeling that Lord Regan was trying to pull a fast one. There was no legal obligation for a marriage contract to require the Emperor’s approval – although, she had to admit, it had been so long since there had been an Emperor that it was possible there was such an obligation and everyone had forgotten it. “The Emperor will handle the matter once he wakes and deals with more immediate problems.”
“This is important,” Lord Regan insisted. “The Emperor must sign the contract!”
“Why?” Charity asked. “May I see the contract?”
Lord Regan hesitated, then pulled a long scroll of parchment from his robes and passed it to her. Charity took the scroll, opened it up and read it, carefully. It was the most one-sided marriage contract she’d seen since the one her father had tried to organise for Johan, when he had thought his son could be bribed back into the family. Lord Regan might be giving away his daughter, a girl Charity’s age, but he was claiming most of the assets from her would-be husband’s family. It puzzled her for a long moment – there was no logical reason for the contract to require the Emperor’s blessing – until she realised that the other parties might want to bow out. But if the Emperor had blessed the contract, bowing out might be considered treasonous.
Poor girl, Charity thought. She hadn’t liked Donne Regan very much, but there was no need to shackle the young girl to a man twice her age, just so her father could get richer. What did she do to deserve this?
“I’m afraid the Emperor will consider it a low priority,” she said, picking up her notebook. “I can offer you an appointment in five days, at sunset ... but it might have to be cancelled on short notice. The Emperor is a very busy man.”
Lord Regan glared at her. “Now, listen here,” he snapped. “I am a very important man ...”
“And you’re not as important as the Emperor,” Charity said, cutting him off. Spiting him was fun ... and besides, she was sure she was right. “I can book you an appointment at the specified time or not, as you choose. There is no legal obligation to get his blessing, so you can just proceed with the marriage now, if you wish.”
And Donne will have her chance to flee, Charity thought, as Lord Regan clenched his fists threateningly. The contract was notable for lacking his daughter’s signature. No doubt her father planned to trick her into signing it. At least she will have a chance to escape.
“The Emperor will hear of this,” Lord Regan said. He turned and stamped out of the room, pausing just before he stepped out of the door. “This is a disgrace! A member of a respected Great House denied access to the Emperor! A disgrace!”
Charity watched him go, then sat back in her chair and giggled. A respected Great House? Everyone knew that House Regan was short on money, trained magicians and common sense ... and that Lord Regan had a habit of spending money like water. Even the most optimistic bankers had long since stopped loaning him anything, knowing that he would never be able to repay his debts. If his home hadn’t been legally secured, he would probably have lost that by now too.
A thought occurred to her and she smirked, then reached for a sheet of paper and began to scribble a note. If Donne had any sense, she would stay somewhere well away from House Regan, even though she was Lord Regan’s only child. Charity wouldn’t have felt safe anywhere near him and she’d grown up with brothers and sisters. She wrote out a brief warning about the marriage contract, then placed it in an envelope and muttered a spell over it. Only Donne would be able to read it. And, if she wanted to escape, she could vanish before her father badgered her into signing the contract.
Poor girl, she thought, again. But at least she has a chance.
Shaking her head, she returned to the colossal pile of paperwork and cursed under her breath. She hadn’t realised just how many papers were placed in front of her father every day, let alone the Grand Sorceress. It seemed like there wasn’t a single bureaucrat in the building who could make a decision without having the Emperor sign a piece of paper ... she rolled her eyes, wondering if it was a form of passive resistance, then started to read through the papers one by one. Her father had drummed it into her head, time and time again, that she should never sign something until she had read it. Who knew what sort of magic would be worked into the paper?
She was still reading paperwork when a shadow fell over her.
“Good morning, Lady Conidian,” Dread said. She started – a man that old shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her – then looked at him. “I trust you had a pleasant evening?”
“No, I didn’t,” Charity snarled. “And I haven’t slept a wink either.”
It was such a stupid question that, as her brain caught up with her words, she realised that it had been designed to elicit an unthinking response. Of course Dread would have known that something very bad had happened. The entire city knew. She’d had several people asking to see the Emperor, each one making subtle and not so subtle enquires as to what had actually taken place. She was
pretty sure the rumours were already bad and growing worse ... if the snow hadn’t started to fall again, the Great Houses might be having private meetings to discuss taking steps. But what could they do?
“I’m sorry,” she said, softly. “I’m just exhausted.”
“I wouldn’t drink too much of that stuff,” Dread said, eying the bottle on her desk. “It always catches up with you, in the end.”
Charity nodded. “I feel tired already,” she said. The energy potion had done its work, but the more she took, the weaker the effects. “But the Emperor won’t let me leave.”
Dread leant forward. “What happened last night?”
“I can’t tell you,” Charity said. Not because the Emperor had issued specific orders, but because her oaths told her that betraying the Emperor was a very bad idea. Maybe there would be no harm done, if she told the truth, yet she wasn’t sure. “I really can’t say a word.”
“Something bad,” Dread said. His grey eyes were watching her closely, as a master brewer might scrutinise a slowly-bubbling potion. “Something involving children. A summoning, perhaps, or a channelling. Or both.”
He already knew, Charity realised. Not everything, but enough.
“He killed them all,” she said, feeling tears dripping down her face. “Turned their bodies to dust as ... as things came out of the shadows. He killed them all.”
She buried her head in her hands and wept, bitterly. It was her fault, no matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise. She’d taken the children from the school, she’d brought them to the Imperial Palace and she’d given them to a madman. And the Emperor had used them, killed them, for a dark rite she didn’t even begin to understand.
“Stop him,” she pleaded. Her oaths tightened around her, cutting off her words. It was suddenly very hard to speak. “Please.”
“I can’t,” Dread said. “The oaths won’t let me stop him.”
Charity forced herself to calm down, with an effort. “Why?”
“The oaths were designed to ensure the Inquisitors could never turn on their master,” Dread said. His voice was flat, too flat. “We are not allowed to remove him, no matter what he does. Our oaths forbid it. The person who holds the power may do as he pleases.”
“No,” Charity said. “Why ...?”
But she already knew the answer. The Emperors and the Grand Sorcerers wouldn’t have wanted to allow any limits to their power. Maybe they hadn’t wanted to use any form of dark magic, but they had known they might need to use it in the future. And so they’d crafted themselves a loophole, a statement that anything they did was legal by definition. The Emperor could sacrifice the entire city to the dark gods and the Inquisitors couldn’t do anything to stop him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, although she wasn’t sure if she was talking to Dread or the murdered children. “I’m so sorry.”
She found herself trying to think of ways to escape, with or without her powers, but nothing came to mind. Even suicide was forbidden ... as was anything that might lead to her death, even if she didn’t specifically intend to die. She couldn’t even walk up to one of the darker champion duellists and call him a filthy name, knowing he would hex her into the next world. It would be considered a form of suicide ...
“I know,” Dread said. His face, as always, was impassive. “I’m sorry too.”
Charity forced herself to wipe her eyes, then look at the scrolls he was carrying under his arm. “What are those?”
“Maps,” Dread said. “He plans to deal with a problem the Grand Sorceress saw fit to put off, in the hopes it would resolve itself. He’s going to invade Ida.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Charity said. It was part of the Empire, she assumed, but there were hundreds of little kingdoms within the Empire. “Is it important?”
“There was an outbreak of dark magic there, six months ago,” Dread said. “I dare say the Emperor doesn’t want competition.”
Charity laughed, bitterly. “I dare say he doesn’t,” she said. “It might make life difficult.”
She looked up as one of the slave girls entered the room and prostrated herself in front of Dread. Charity looked at the girl’s bottom, sticking up in the air, and wondered if she looked as big an idiot when she prostrated herself before the Emperor ... and, if she did, just how the observers had resisted the temptation to kick her. But, even in full submission, the girls were stunningly beautiful. They reminded her of the girls in school who used glamours, but hadn’t realised that making themselves look too pretty only made them seem uncanny. And yet, they were real. There wasn’t a hint of magic surrounding any of them.
“Rise,” Dread ordered, in clear irritation. “Speak your message.”
“Most Noble Inquisitor,” the girl said, as she sat back on her haunches, “the Emperor has awakened and desires your presence. And yours, Lady Charity.”
“Then we shall attend upon him,” Dread said, gravely. “Take us to him.”
The serving girl bowed low, exposing the tops of her breasts, then turned and sashayed off, swinging her hips in time to a beat only she could hear. Charity felt instantly jealous, then looked at Dread and realised he wasn’t impressed. Most of the men who saw the girls fell in lust instantly, but Dread wasn’t affected. Perhaps it was true, part of her mind noted, that Inquisitors were fixed. They had nothing to distract them from their duty.
They walked through the long corridor and into the Emperor’s morning room, which didn’t seem to be part of the complex she’d seen the previous night. The Emperor himself was sitting at a table, eating breakfast; Charity gritted her teeth as her body automatically fell into yet another prostration. Beside her, Dread merely nodded, holding his hands behind his back.
“Rise,” the Emperor ordered. “What news do you bring me?”
“I have reviewed the plans for Ida that were drawn up in the wake of the attack on the Golden City,” Dread said. “They called for additional regiments of troops and at least a dozen Inquisitors, none of which could be spared. The Grand Sorceress, therefore, decided to leave the kingdom under Queen Sacharissa, in the hopes she could root out the dark influence within her realm.”
The Emperor snorted. “And she trusted this Queen?”
“There was no reason to suspect Sacharissa of anything other than an unfortunate choice of parents,” Dread said. “The Inquisition kept a careful eye on Ida and concluded there was no reason to worry, now King Hildebrand and Prince Hilarion are both dead.”
“I remember Hilarion,” the Emperor said. His lip curved with disgust. “He thought he could become Grand Sorcerer, did he not? And now he is dead?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Dread said. “The entire family is dead, save for Sacharissa.”
The Emperor tittered. “She will have to choose her consort carefully,” he said. “Or maybe I will choose one for her, should Ida be free of dark magic.”
He looked up at Dread. “How quickly could the invasion be launched?”
Dread didn’t hesitate. “We would need at least two weeks to get troops into position, then assault up the mountains, if we didn’t manage to trick the Queen into just letting us get our troops right into the city. I assume, if she knew we had bad intentions, we would have to force our way into the capital or lay siege to the city until the population starts to starve. But if she is using dark magic, that estimate may be very badly wrong.”
“It would be possible, I suppose,” the Emperor said. He sounded oddly irked by what Dread had said, although Charity couldn’t see why. “How quickly could we overwhelm the city?”
“It would depend on too many factors,” Dread said. “If the Queen happened to be alert, we would have to fight our way up the mountainside, which would be hideously costly. Ida is a small state, but its geography means that even a tiny handful of defenders can put up a real fight. I think we might be looking at several weeks, at the very least; months, if they have defences lined up, ready and waiting for us. It could go very badly.”
&
nbsp; “Then we will need more troops,” the Emperor said. He looked at Charity. “How are we proceeding with recruitment?”
Charity blinked, tiredly. That was one of her responsibilities?
“We have started to recruit hundreds of young men,” she said, remembering what had been written on a piece of paper in the vast pile. The Emperor, perhaps wisely, had turned recruiting duties over to a bunch of officers from his homeland. “But there is little enthusiasm for joining the army among mundanes, sire. They are ... concerned that there is no honour in serving in the ranks.”
The Emperor spat. “What a spineless bunch of ninnies inhabit the Golden City,” he sneered. “Small wonder that the last five Grand Sorcerers all came from outside the city limits.”
He didn’t mention Light Spinner, Charity noted. But she rather doubted he counted the petrified woman as anything other than a bump in the road to success.
Or maybe he thinks she proves his point, she thought, morbidly. She was born in the Golden City, after all.
“You will start conscripting from second sons, if they will not come voluntarily,” the Emperor ordered. “Once the barricades are lifted, it will be time to start moving my armies to Ida.”
Dread cleared his throat. “Your Majesty,” he said. “There are other problems that deserve your attention.”
“Ida can serve as a demonstration of both my power and my will,” the Emperor said. “The destruction of the state will break all those who question my right to the throne.”
Charity scowled, inwardly. If she’d never heard of Ida before now, it was unlikely to be as important as any of the larger kingdoms. Destroying Ida might serve as a warning from the Emperor, without risking the already-fragile united economy. Or maybe the Emperor was just acting out of spite. If Prince Hilarion had truly opposed the Emperor, before he’d taken the throne, destroying his homeland could be seen as delayed revenge. Petty and pointless, but perfectly understandable. Hilarion had broken more than a few taboos when he’d stepped up and put his hat in the ring.
Bookworm III Page 27