by Col Buchanan
Che was a Diplomat, an imperial assassin. A great deal of his so-called negotiations involved powerful movers within the Empire itself. It was his business to get to know these people, for some day he might be ordered to kill any one of them.
They had the rank of general, mostly, so they kept their faces free of the usual ornate jewellery worn by priests of Mann. The exception was a single spiked cone of silver pierced through the left eyebrow in military fashion, as Che himself wore. Their clothes, too, were the plain ceremonial robes of the Acolyte order, though there was nothing otherwise plain about these men.
He scanned each countenance in turn. There was Archgeneral Sparus, 'the Little Eagle', small and quiet and intense, not long returned from putting an end to the insurrection in Lagos and minus his left eye, which he had covered for good taste with a black patch. Then General Ricktus with his badly burnt face and hands, ugly to look at, and his black hair sprouting in patches above ears that were little more than ragged flaps. Beside him, General Romano, still young, boyish even, though the most dangerous man in this gathering, and the one most covetous of the throne itself. And, finally, General Alero, the old veteran of the Ghazni campaigns, who had gained the Empire more territory than anyone save for Archgeneral Mokabi himself – and had been damned for it, for stopping when he did.
All of these men were possible contenders for the throne, key players in that subtle yet deadly game of political manoeuvring that was the backdrop to all that occurred within the Empire. Each had their own factions at hand. In relative terms, the Empire of Mann was still young, and it had been proved that anyone could claw their way to the throne if they were determined enough to do so. The Matriarch herself stood as living testament to this fact.
Three other figures occupied the room. One was young Kirkus, the only son to the Matriarch. He slouched in a chair, his eyes hooded from intoxication, though becoming lively for some reason whenever they glared towards Romano. The second was the young man's grandmother, mother to Sasheen herself, fast asleep in her chair or so it seemed. Around her sandaled feet padded a few scaly lizards wearing collars of gold chain. The last of them was Matriarch Sasheen herself, who stood before the map with a sparkling goblet in one hand, dressed in a long, green chiffon gown that hung loosely open from throat to ankles, save for the waist where it was cinched by a belt of the same material, and which showed her nakedness underneath. As she moved, flashes of soft belly, or pubic hair, or full swinging breasts caught the eye, drawing attention from her face, which was plain and without beauty; the dark eyes were a little too close together, the hooked nose too long, but still, there was something attractive about the woman. Perhaps it was the manner in which she flaunted herself, as though this world was all hers and she could do with it as she pleased. Or perhaps it was due to her smile, which she used often.
'But can it be achieved before winter?' she inquired of old Alero, as she studied the details of the map.
General Alero shrugged in his chair. 'Only if we commit to it now and stop wrangling over the finer points.' The aged veteran appraised the younger men around him, causing a pause in their discussions.
'And you still maintain it can succeed?'
The general chose his next words with care, as one might pluck the exact coinage from a palm where precious few remained. 'Yes, I believe so, though only with some good fortune. There are many things that could go wrong with the plan, and too little room to improvise. If it works, well, it will lead to a resounding and decisive victory. The Free Ports will be ours. If it fails…' he shook his head '… it will be Coros all over again.'
The rain could be heard against the group's overwhelming silence. Che stood motionless. He saw, from the corner of his eye, bright birds swooping high across the room. A servant padded after them, dabbing up their droppings with a cloth.
'I still say it is madness,' broke in Sparus, the Little Eagle. Leather squeaked as men turned to face him. He drew a long breath from his hazii stick, letting them wait for him to continue.
'Two separate naval actions against the Free Ports, not to mention the most important component, a sea invasion of Khos itself – and, by that time, with winter closing in fast. That's presuming the land force even succeeds in reaching Khos intact, and that's a huge gamble in itself, that our diversions will work, that the invasion fleet will avoid interception. Even then, if our land campaign falters in any way in the field, it will be mired helplessly until spring. The Mercians will have time to rally, while our First Expeditionary Force will be trapped with no way out. It would be worse than Coros.' He looked straight at the Matriarch, his one eye glittering. 'For I will say this. If the campaign fails, you will lose your throne along with it.'
'Is that a threat?' quipped young Romano, but Sparus ignored the remark and kept his eye fixed on Sasheen. What he said was true. The Mannian order despised leaders who failed in battle or betrayed signs of weakness. They tended to be disposed of rather swiftly.
The Matriarch glided across the floor between herself and Sparus. She placed a manicured hand lightly upon the Little Eagle's arm, and gave him a brief smile. She turned towards the others, the motion sudden enough to cause one of her breasts to leer from her thin gown.
'Well?' she demanded, directing a scowl at the assorted generals.
The scarred mouth of Ricktus opened to speak. 'Sparus is right,' he declared, in a voice as coarse as his burnt skin. 'The plan is a reckless one, and I cannot believe we are yet this desperate. Let us maintain our siege of the Free Ports. They will fall eventually, so long as we continue to strangle their trade.'
'No,' replied the Matriarch with her palm held up. 'I had good reasons for requesting solutions to the Mercian problem, and they are still valid. For ten years now, we have strangled their trade and battered at their doors. Yet still the Free Ports stand. Others are meanwhile beginning to gain courage from their defiance. We must defeat these Mercians, and do so decisively, if our Empire is to avoid appearing weak. Khos must therefore be taken. Without it, the rest of the Free Ports will either surrender or starve.'
She returned to the map again, which Che had been studying even as she spoke. Pencil strokes had been drawn across it, quite roughly, denoting fleet movements and land actions. He could discern the symbols of two fleets encroaching along the western isles of the Free Ports, one ranging along the archipelago, the other concentrating upon Minos. A third fleet could be seen far to the east, denoted by a heavily pencilled arrow sweeping from Lagos down to Khos. The Matriarch jabbed at this now.
'The Sixth Army remains in Lagos at Mokabi's suggestion. They are sharp from their recent work quelling the insurrection. It would be the perfect surprise, and Mokabi sees it, as he has always seen these things. We create this First Expeditionary Force from the Sixth and what other remnants we can put together, and from Lagos ship them straight down to Khos.'
'But Matriarch,' rasped Ricktus, 'even if their Eastern Fleet were to be drawn away by our two diversionary campaigns in the west, the Mercian squadrons defending the Zanzahar convoys would still remain active in the region. Our ships at Lagos are mostly transports and merchant vessels, along with two squadrons of men-of-war. The Expeditionary Fleet would be poorly protected, as Sparus has already noted. It would take only a handful of squadrons to send the entire force to the bottom of the Miders.'
Young Romano, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, sat forward now as though to pounce. 'Remember though, these diversionary fleets will be the largest yet seen in the course of this war. Mercia will be hard pressed to match their numbers even with the full extent of their navy. They will have to draw the Eastern Fleet away to defend the west.'
'So speaks the expert on naval tactics,' declared Kirkus unexpectedly, and received a glare from Romano in return for his own.
'The Expeditionary Fleet will not be tarrying to engage in any sea battles, gentlemen,' declared Sasheen. 'It will punch straight through any squadrons it encounters, and its men-of-war will sacrifice themselves,
if they have to, in order for the transports to make it through. All that ultimately matters is that the Army reaches land.'
Sparus interjected, 'It is fine for Mokabi to sit there in his villa in Palermo, and sketch great campaigns of daring on parchment as though he was still the archgeneral. It is another thing entirely to see such a venture through.'
'He has agreed to come out of retirement, if we sanction it,' declared Sasheen.
'Aye, to lead his beloved Fourth Army while it's safely encamped beyond range of the walls of Bar-Khos. If the Expeditionary Force takes the city from behind, then they merely open the door for him, and he gets to parade through in triumph. If not, well, he can blame someone else for the failures, and assure himself of a safe return to his estate.'
'Mokabi is committed to this venture,' protested Alero, an old comrade of the absent general. 'He will risk his neck like the rest of us.'
'Aye, well, it's telling that he does not volunteer to lead the Expeditionary Force either. And I understand his reasons for that, unspoken or not. I would not wish to lead such a reckless campaign either.'
Sasheen finished her drink and thrust the empty goblet at a passing servant. 'That is a pity, Sparus, for I was hoping you might like to come along with me.'
'Matriarch?'
'I will be accompanying the Expeditionary Force myself.'
Surprise rippled through the gathering. Che's breath caught in his throat, where he still stood to one side, entirely ignored.
'As you so rightly put it,' continued Sasheen, and for an instant her eyes flickered between young Romano and fat Alero, 'my throne will depend upon its outcome. It is fitting therefore that I should be there – shaking the spear so to speak.'
'This is madness, Matriarch. You cannot risk yourself in such a way.'
'All life is a venture in risk, Sparus. And you will go, if you wish to see your Matriarch safely through this endeavour in one piece.'
Romano was enjoying this, till Sasheen chose that moment to offer the young general a smile.
'And you too, Romano. Sparus will lead the Expeditionary Force, and you will be his second-in-command.' The young man sat up abruptly, causing a trickle of ash to fall from his hazii stick and scatter over his lap. 'Alero, Ricktus, you will each take command of one of the diversionary fleets, and cause such a storm down there that we may find enough space to slip through. This is how it shall be.'
The youth, Kirkus, leaned forward, his eyes bright. 'And I, mother… I would like to go with you also.'
'But you will not', she replied firmly. 'You are to stay here, within the Temple, until we have dealt with our other problem.'
At this she glanced at Che for the first time. He found himself standing to attention as he held her gaze.
'But who knows how long that might take?' demanded Kirkus.
'You should have thought of that, my fine son, when you were performing your cull, and so rashly flaunted the privileges of your position.'
The boy's sullen response was stifled by a sudden loud croak from one side of the room. All heads turned to it, including Che's. He expected to see a pet kerido perhaps, squatting on the floor and tearing at a lump of flesh. Instead it was the grandmother, her eyes still tightly closed.
'The boy acted rightly,' rasped the ancient priestess. 'He acted dutifully in accordance with Mann. Do not fault him for that, my daughter.'
The Matriarch blew out a prolonged mouthful of air. 'Be that as it may,' she said, 'but for now he is not to set foot from here for any reason.' And she chopped her flattened hand through the air, cutting off Kirkus from further protest. She was displeased at this public discussion, and even Kirkus knew to remain silent, though his face burned.
'Now,' continued Sasheen. 'If you will all excuse me.'
Matriarch Sasheen departed from the group and strode deliberately past Che. 'Come with me,' she snapped in her wake.
He followed her perfumed scent to the windows, where they stepped through a set of sliding glass doors onto a terrace that encircled the tower. Potted plants stood around its periphery, straining against the wind. As Sasheen slid the doors closed behind them, the rain spattered their faces, cold as the gusts that drove it.
'You are wondering why I allowed you to witness the workings of my Storm Council.'
'No, Holy Matriarch,' Che lied, instinctively. He knew better than to openly acknowledge a lack of trust in him from his superiors. It might indicate a guilty frame of mind, a dangerous condition in an order where treachery was almost a doctrine.
Sasheen appraised him for truth. 'Good,' she said at last. 'Your handlers all agree upon your loyalty. Perhaps they are even right in their judgement.'
He bowed his head, but said nothing.
'You wonder, then, why I sent for you?'
'Yes, Matriarch,' he replied, head still inclined, and this time he told only the truth.
'I will speak plainly, then.' With her chin she pointed to the Storm Chamber within. 'My son, young Kirkus there, has killed one who bore a seal.'
Che at last looked up at her. Sasheen was taller than he, as most people were.
'In her wisdom, my mother made no effort to stop him. She has always considered the Rshun to be of little threat to Mann. I myself am not so certain.' Her gown blew open in the wind; water trickled between her breasts, over her belly, down into the wispy hairs of her pelvis.
'Several days ago we intercepted three of their number as they tried to gain access to my son. Two were intended as a diversion, but another almost succeeded – though we cornered him in time. I'm told he took his own life. Regardless, they will send others.'
'I see,' he murmured. Che's heart was beating faster now. He could feel the blood throbbing in his fingertips, his toes.
'Do you, I wonder?'
'Yes. You must know I was trained as Rshun – as a future safeguard against a situation such as this.'
'Then you know why I sent for you.'
Che wanted to scratch his neck again, but he fought against the compulsion. Instead he turned his face into the rain. It stung his eyes, but at least it helped soothe the itching. 'You wish me to lead you to the place of the Rshun order,' Che spoke into the wind, 'so that you may destroy them before they destroy your son.'
'Indeed,' she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. 'I have a company of my finest commandos readying themselves even now for your arrival. You are to lead them to Cheem, and make use of this plant of theirs that I hear will guide you to their monastery.'
'They are prepared to follow a guide through the mountains even while he is deranged?'
'They know of the knowledge buried in your head. And they are prepared for anything. Once they find this monastery, they will kill all they find there and burn it to the ground, so that none shall survive.'
Che exhaled a soft breath through his nostrils, seeking a state of emptiness.
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer 'Does this mission trouble you, perhaps?'
'I do not believe so.'
'You do not, perhaps, feel some remnants of loyalty to your Rshun friends?'
Ah. Now it all begins to make sense. 'Holy Matriarch, I am loyal only to Mann.'
She gazed into the depths of his eyes. He became aware then that he was scratching his arm – though he dared not stop for fear it might give something of himself away.
Sasheen rose above him again. 'I see. And tell me – your mother and you, are you close?'
Abruptly, Che ceased scratching. He bought himself a few moments of time by wiping the sheen of moisture from his face.
'We are not particularly close, no. We were parted for eight years while I was in Cheem, studying to be Rshun.'
'I am told that she is rather fond of you, despite that.'
'Then you know more than I.'
'Of course I do. I am the Holy Matriarch, after all.' She smiled. 'But I am also a mother,' she added more sincerely. 'You can be certain that she holds much affection for her only child.'
Sas
heen glanced into the room, at her own son. When she turned back to Che, her eyes were hard and devoid of humour.
'I would take great care over that relationship, if I were you. Such bonds are precious in this world. Sometimes, our loyalties are all that can maintain them.'
Her thinly veiled threat prompted him to look away. Che turned instead to the potted plants lining the terrace, whipping noisily against the window glass, and fixed his sight on them as though for steadiness.
Sasheen followed his gaze and reached out with a drifting hand. Roughly, as though it were a pet, she stroked the leaf on one of the bedraggled specimens.
'Do we have an understanding, you and I?'
Che dipped his head in acknowledgement, a sharp lump in his throat.
'Very well, then, let us delay no longer. Return to your handler. He will already have a full brief for you.'
Che watched her from between his eyelashes, as she turned her back on him and slid open the glass doors.
In mid-step, she paused and looked back at him with a languid stare.
'And Diplomat…'
'Yes, Matriarch.'
'Never lie to me again.'
CHAPTER TWENTY
Impressions of Q'os The last thing anyone was expecting to hear in the hurried press of disembarkation was a rifle shot. It silenced the passengers once the sound cracked over their heads, and drew them in a mass towards the port rail of the fast sloop Mother Rosa, as though the ship's deck had suddenly pitched to one side during heavy weather.
People pushed and peered over shoulders for a better look at the sluggish waters of the harbour below. A figure was down there close to the hull, splashing with all the grim determination of a soul alerted to the imminent prospect of drowning.
'There's a man down there,' observed Nico over the rail, and he glanced towards the dockside, where he noticed a puff of smoke still trickling from the end of a rifle held by a soldier in a white cuirass.