The City

by Stella Gemmell

  “He has no sons?”

  Gil looked at Saroyan to answer. She said nothing for a long while, as if reluctant to give away information.

  Then, “Among the descendants of the Serafim it is said he kept himself pure,” she said reticently.

  Fell snorted. As a soldier he had little time for concepts of male purity.

  Indaro said suddenly, “You told me he is not a man.” She was addressing Mason. “What did you mean? What is he?”

  “I said he is not a man like me. But he is a man.”

  Indaro frowned, and Fell remembered what she had told him about the man who had survived, impossibly, when the emperor’s carriage was destroyed by an explosion. “Is he a sorcerer?” she asked in a small voice, as if embarrassed to be asking the question.

  Mason seemed unwilling to speak. He looked at Gil, who shrugged, and at Saroyan, but she was staring at the table.

  “The word is meaningless,” he said finally. “He has skills, abilities, which seem like sorcery to some. But all that matters to us is that he is a living man made of flesh and blood who can be killed.”

  “Why do you want Fell to kill him?” asked Indaro. “I mean, why Fell?”

  “You must understand,” replied Gil, “that Araeon is very difficult to get to. He is guarded by the Thousand, and hidden behind layers of…proxies, you call them. It is uncertain even what he looks like. There are many pictures of him, imperial portraits, but they are all of a fair bearded man of middle years with no distinguishing marks. You and Fell have both seen him, but could you pick him out in a crowded room?” He looked at them both in turn. “No?

  “So the only way to get to him is to draw him out. He has lived a very long life, much of it in the confines of the Keep. He is the emperor. He has complete power. Anything he wants or needs or commands, it is instantly obeyed. Our sources suggest that the only time he lets down his guard is if his curiosity is piqued. We hope to offer him something that he cannot resist.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A son.”

  Fell gave a bark of laughter. Elija, eyes wide, asked, “Fell is the emperor’s son?”

  Gil exchanged glances with Saroyan. “No,” he said. “He is not. But the emperor believes he could be.”

  “You said he kept himself pure,” commented Indaro, puzzled.

  “Purity is a matter of interpretation,” replied Mason. “For Araeon it means not spreading his seed, not mingling it among the common folk. It does not mean celibacy.”

  “Then how…?” asked Indaro.

  Mason turned to her. “We believe he kills any woman he has sex with.” He glanced at Fell. “We have the testimony of witnesses who say he visited the Lion’s Palace, seduced, or raped your mother, Fell, but for some reason he did not kill her.

  “Years later his forces attacked the palace. Both your parents died there. It is said that he killed your mother himself, although she took his eye out first.”

  Fell was silent for a while, remembering the child Arish and the one-eyed man. He asked, “Why did he not kill me?”

  “Perhaps he was conflicted. Perhaps after so long a life he was curious to know what a son was like. You were no threat to him. He could have had you killed any time. So perhaps he let you live, day to day, year to year. Watching and waiting.

  “Until suddenly you disappeared after the trial. He could not find you for many years. You were thought to be dead. Finally, we believe, he, or someone in the palace, connected the boy Arish with the general’s aide Fell Aron Lee. Shuskara was grievously punished for his part in that deception.”

  Fell shook his head. “That was years ago. If he has known about me since then, why am I still alive?”

  Mason spread his hands in an admission of ignorance. “We do not know. What we do know is that the emperor ordered Flavius Randell Kerr to keep watch on you, to pull you out of the fighting and keep you safe. But you disobeyed orders and disappeared again, this time into a battle from which there were few survivors.”

  Fell thought it through. The only sound he could hear was his own heart, and a distant dripping from the damp walls of the hall. Despite himself, he was excited. He could feel the charge building in his blood.

  But he shook his head. “It was mere coincidence that your riders came across us,” he said, looking at Gil.

  “We had been searching for you for a time,” replied Gil. “Both we and the City had roving bands seeking survivors from the battle, seeking you. It was no coincidence that we found you, merely luck that you survived to be found.”

  “Why do you need Fell?” Indaro asked. “Why not have someone impersonate him? The emperor would not know.”

  “Because Fell is the son of his mother, and it may be that the emperor is able to see that. Also, Fell is a consummate warrior, and if anyone can fulfil this mission, it is him,” Gil said. “We do not know when they will meet, in the imperial chambers, which is unlikely, or in a hall crowded with bodyguards, which is probably the case. Fell might well have to kill a dozen or more highly trained men to get to the emperor.”

  He gazed at the table in front of him and when he spoke Fell detected the taste of deceit. “Also he can kill without weapons.”

  “So can I,” Fell said grimly.

  Mason nodded bleakly. “We will discuss this later, you and I,” he said.

  “It is suicide,” said Indaro.

  “Yes,” agreed Mason, “of course.”

  Indaro looked at Fell. For the first time in that long afternoon he was again the man she knew. Nothing that had gone before was important—who his father was, whether the emperor was immortal or not. Now there was a battle to be fought and Fell was himself again.

  “So the invasion through the sewers is merely a distraction?” He addressed Gil, the other military commander there.

  “A diversion, yes, but also a fallback,” the man replied. “If you fail in your mission then the invasion force will attempt to kill Araeon. That is why we want you with them, Indaro.”

  She nodded, but she was wondering why they all thought she was going along with the plan. No one had asked her if she wanted to kill her emperor.

  “Two hundred invaders against the Thousand. Poor odds,” Fell commented, glancing at her. She shrugged, as if uncaring, or confident. Inside, she agreed with him.

  “That is why we have chosen the Day of Summoning,” Saroyan told him. “At least three centuries of the Thousand will be elsewhere.”

  “We have chosen two hundred warriors because we must use small boats to smuggle them to the coast beneath the Salient, into the maze of caverns there. Anything larger will be noticed,” Gil explained. “Surprise will be our best weapon. Better than a hundred extra warriors.”

  Indaro thought she would rather have surprise plus a hundred warriors, but she held her tongue. Despite herself, now they were speaking of battle, like Fell, she was lifted by the prospect of action.

  “Who will the invasion force be?” she asked Gil.

  “Odrysians and Petrassi mostly. I will lead.”

  Fell said, “Good. Add Stalker and Garret. They are worth two men apiece.”

  “You will order them?” asked Mason.

  “No. I will ask them to volunteer. And we will need plans of the palace, of the Keep.”

  “We have a friend in the palace who is charged with finding them for us. And maps of the sewers. We have only days before we ride. We must use the time well.”

  They all sat back and there was silence. Indaro knew they were all deferring to Fell.

  “This cannot be the first plan to assassinate the emperor,” he commented. “Others must have failed before. We need to know why.”

  Saroyan answered him. “There have been several that we know of and, I’m sure, many that we don’t. The last was some eight years ago. The assassin came within moments of killing him.” They watched her and eventually she went on, “He must have planned for some considerable time. He dressed as a Panjali messenger.” She explained, “Thes
e men are used by the Odrysian kings to send vital messages to their counterparts in other lands. The man’s head is shaved, a message is tattooed on the scalp and the hair allowed to grow back. The foreign leader then has the head shaved again to reveal the message. The messengers elect to have their tongues cut out as a token of their discretion. He was a very brave man.”

  Indaro saw the reflection of memory in her face. “You were there?”

  Saroyan nodded, glancing at her.

  “You know the emperor?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Then why,” Indaro burst out angrily, “don’t you kill him?”

  Saroyan’s face went pale and her lips tightened.

  “It is not that simple,” replied Mason.

  “Why?” Indaro asked. “You are asking us to risk our lives on this half-baked conspiracy, when all she has to do is walk up to the emperor and stick a knife in his gut.”

  “Indaro is right,” said Fell. “You are asking us to die for this cause. At least you could tell us the full truth.”

  “Everything we have told you is the truth,” Mason answered.

  “We have been rotting for weeks in your gaol,” growled Fell. “Fed lies and half-truths. Now you present us with this ramshackle plan and tell us we must execute it within days. It is doomed to failure without the luck of the gods. Indaro and I, and Stalker and Garret, are lucky soldiers. We would not be here if we weren’t. But luck can only achieve so much. It is not enough that everything you tell us is true. That is a politician’s answer. We need complete honesty. We need to know everything you know. We do not want any unpleasant surprises when it is too late.”

  In the silence that followed, Indaro realised he had not named Doon, and a cold numbness reached into her heart.

  Then a voice asked, “Who will be emperor?”

  They turned to look at Elija. Reddening, he lowered his gaze. “When the emperor is dead, who will be emperor?” he asked again. “One of you?”

  “No,” Gil replied, sitting down. “Marcellus Vincerus.”

  “Is he in on this conspiracy?” Fell asked. “Does he know he is fated to be emperor? Is it his plan? And are you just his agents?”

  Gil shook his head. “He knows nothing of this. He is loyal to the emperor. But with Araeon dead, Marcellus will take the throne. He is First Lord of the City. It will be his duty.”

  “Do you know him so well?” Fell asked.

  “No, but I do,” Saroyan put in. “He will do his duty. And he will end the war.”

  Indaro wondered at the woman’s motives. Gil she believed. Even if he had concealed intentions, she believed he was in this to end the carnage. Mason she was not sure of. But Saroyan, with her reticence and half-explanations, reeked of deceit. Indaro looked at Fell, who clearly agreed with her; he was scowling at the lord lieutenant.

  “If he is so keen to end the war, why does he not kill the emperor himself and take command? With the Thousand behind him, he would be invulnerable.”

  An unfamiliar expression crossed Saroyan’s face. Indaro realised it was disgust. Was this cold-faced woman offended at the suggestion that Vincerus kill his emperor?

  Mason rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. “You do not understand the relationship between these people. They are not like us, Fell. They have known each other for centuries, longer. They have fought together, and against each other, betrayed each other and conspired together down the generations. Marcellus is younger than Araeon, and he sees the emperor as his father, grandfather, teacher and rival, as well as his emperor. Araeon is the last of his kind. When he is gone Marcellus and a very few others will be adrift in a world of mayflies, short-lived creatures who can achieve nothing before they die.

  “But I believe Marcellus will end the war. That is what this plan rests on. He knows it is destroying the City and the lands about it. Araeon does not care any more how many die, as long as he can win. He can no longer see it is not a winnable war. Marcellus has more clarity. I believe he will be a good emperor, as emperors go.” He added, “All our futures depend on that belief.”

  He called to the guards for wine and food. “We have much more to discuss today. In ten days you will ride for the Paradise Gate. From there Indaro, Elija and Gil will set out to join the invasion boats at Adrastto. Fell will enter the City and join Shuskara. The City is hard to get into now, more so since the mutiny in the Little Opera House. It takes special papers, which will be supplied by Saroyan.”

  The lord lieutenant stood suddenly and gazed impatiently at Mason. “Saroyan must return to the Red Palace,” he told them. “She has a long ride and the sun is falling. We will not see her again.”

  The last words seemed heavy with fate. As the woman turned to leave, wearing weariness like a cloak, Indaro asked her, “Why do you dislike me?”

  The lord lieutenant walked round the table to her and looked into her eyes. Indaro saw real antipathy there. Saroyan said coldly, “Because I do not trust you, Indaro Kerr Guillaume. I know your father and he loves the City, for all its faults, and he would never betray the emperor, for all his. I believe that deep down you are the same, and therefore at the end you will betray us all.”

  And she stalked out, leaving Indaro shocked by her words and the depth of her loathing. Fell rested his hand on her shoulder. It burned like fire. She looked at him.

  “Pay no attention,” he said gently. “She does not know you. Now, come with me. I have grave news.”

  PART FIVE

  Lords of Blood

  Chapter 28

  In a far-flung wing of the Red Palace, distant from the public clamour and from the insistent smell of horses and cavalrymen, was a suite of rooms clustered around a pretty flower-filled courtyard. In the warm days of autumn all the windows were flung open to take in the scent of the late-blooming roses clambering up white-painted walls and spilling fragrantly into casements.

  A small slender woman, her fair ringlets tied above her head with ribbon, slipped out of a silken robe and stepped into an enamelled bath. She sat down gracefully and, with a sigh, slid luxuriously under the petal-strewn water.

  “Ow!” she cried, sitting up again quickly and feeling around in the bathwater.

  “What’s wrong, my lady?” asked her new maid, hovering anxiously.

  The woman pouted. “Did you throw thorns in with the rose petals?” she asked plaintively, showing the maid a tiny piece of twig she had found in the depths of the perfumed water.

  The maid took it from her. “I’m sorry, my lady,” she said, her face creased with worry.

  The woman’s face cleared and she chuckled. “Don’t be a fool, Amita. I’m only teasing. You haven’t been here long, but you will find me a considerate employer, as long as you are sensible. Now, please soap my back. Use that bottle there, with the lavender floating in it.”

  Amita poured a little of the soap onto a soft cotton cloth and gently washed the woman’s back, from her hairline where tiny fair tendrils escaped their ties down to the cleft of her buttocks. The back was perfect, pale as moonstone, unblemished as moonlight itself. Afterwards the woman leaned back in the water, eyes closed. Amita took the chance to look at her face critically. The afternoon light, shining directly in the casement, cruelly betrayed her age. There were young crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and the skin under her chin was a little loose. The Lady Petalina behaved like a girl of sixteen, but she had seen more than forty summers, Amita guessed.

  Petalina sighed again and brushed wet flowers from her thighs. “I think I’ll wear the blue and cream cotton this afternoon,” she mused.

  Amita was unsure what to do. Was she supposed to fetch the dress now? This was not a simple thing. There were hundreds of dresses, and Amita had no idea which one was meant. Or should she continue to attend her mistress in the bath and get the dress later? She was wondering whether to ask when she realised Petalina had opened her big blue eyes and was regarding her.

  “When I have bathed you will dry me and powder me,” sh
e explained. “Then I will put on a clean silk robe and lie down for a nap. That will give you time to fetch the dress. Call one of the under-maids to empty the bath and put it away and to help you clean this room and take the towels to the laundry.” Then she closed her eyes again languorously.

  Amita had been told Petalina had once been a serving maid herself. The woman had been kind to her, so far, but was said to have a fiery temper. Amita had seen no sign of that. But then, she had been in her employ less than a day.

  “Remind me,” Petalina asked, her eyes still closed, “where did you come to me from?”

  “From the house of general Kerr, my lady. I served his granddaughter.”

  “Ah yes, the poor child who died of a lung infection.”

  “Yes, my lady, it was very sad.”

  Petalina opened her eyes again and gazed at Amita. Amita looked innocently back, then dropped her eyes, hoping her assumed grief for a child she had never known would conceal her lies. Pretending to have served a fourteen-year-old girl would cover her deficiencies as a lady’s maid, she hoped.

  “The general’s wife is a woman of great beauty,” Petalina commented. “A rare beauty. And are there other grandchildren?”

  “There are five sons, I believe,” Amita replied. “Most of them grown. They all have children. Her Ladyship…”

  “Yes?” The blue gaze was penetrating.

  “She…has very fine eyes, my lady.” Truth to tell, the general’s wife was a horse-faced woman with pox-marked skin and a nose like a marble. She had loyally produced sons for a family which specialised in generals in quantity rather than quality. Or so Amita had been told.

  Petalina continued to gaze at her maid, then the corner of her mouth twitched and she gave a little chuckle. Then, to Amita’s surprise, she slowly sank under the water, until only the topknot of curls could be seen. There was a gurgle and an explosion of bubbles, then her head came out of the water again and, dripping, she smiled at her maid with glee.

  “I think we are going to get on very well, Amita,” she said.

  Once Petalina was out of her bath, dried and powdered like a babe, and settled on her day couch in a white silk robe, Amita found her way to the wardrobe rooms, where Petalina’s hundreds of dresses were to be found. This meant going outside and across a private garden in the shadow of the palace wall, then through a passage which brought her out to the back of the suite of rooms. She had been shown the way by one of the under-maids, who had complained about the inconvenience. Amita had agreed with the girl, but in fact it was perfect for her, as it gave her an excuse to slip into the garden whenever she wanted.