Dark Empress

by S. J. A. Turney

  The man smiled as he watched the two boys’ faces while they ate their bread and now-warm cheese and drank their tepid water as would a man who had just crawled out of the deep, parched desert. He stood, leaning on his long stick as he watched them. In such a short time, he had grown very close to his brother’s family and had occasionally to remind himself that these were not his own sons, not that it made a jot of difference to how he treated them. He was firm when necessary, but generous and kind when the opportunity presented itself. Sword-training, though, was a time for firmness, not kindness.

  Once the boys had finished and were leaning back on the stonework, breathing heavily, he cleared his throat.

  “Now, my boys. Time to start the real work.”

  Both brothers made an exasperated face and shared a look that they hoped Faraj would not see.

  “Come on… I have here padded leathers. Now, I only have jackets and gloves; no helmets or leg guards, and it will be extremely warm work under all that extra clothing. But you’ll need it.”

  As the boys staggered wearily to their feet and hefted their wooden blades as well as their screaming muscles could manage, Faraj dropped a heavy, padded leather jacket in front of them both.

  “You need to be careful here. Your mother does not know that I am doing this and she would most certainly disapprove. If I have to take either of you home with a staved skull or a broken leg, we shall never get to do this again.”

  The boys blinked and their uncle laughed.

  “I do not mean to worry you, boys. The jackets are strong and the swords are blunt. So long as you keep your aim between neck and waist we shall all be fine.”

  He smiled as Samir and Ghassan wearily hauled the heavy padded leathers onto their backs and fed their arms through the stiff sleeves before tying the thongs and donning the gloves.

  “Very well,” their uncle nodded, “we shall begin this by proving it doesn’t hurt. I want each of you to take a swing at the other’s arm. Only the arm, mind… no leg or head blows.”

  Gingerly, Samir pulled back his blade and swung, landing a light blow with a thud that shook Ghassan a little. Ghassan grinned and returned the swing.

  As they smiled, the brothers turned to look at their uncle. Faraj had one eyebrow raised and looked distinctly unimpressed.

  “Hardly a real fight, is it? Now swing again, but this time put a little effort into it.”

  Samir nodded and smiled at Ghassan.

  “Ready?”

  Ghassan laughed.

  “Hit me, brother.”

  Samir pulled back and swung again. This time, the blow hit with a heavy thud that knocked his brother to one side. Ghassan laughed and swung back before he had even righted himself. The return blow threw the smaller boy aside. The two burst out laughing and allowed their swords to tip downwards.

  Faraj sighed.

  “I recognise that this is exciting for you, but I must remind you that it is not a game. You are holding back because you are brothers and, while I understand that, you need to throw yourself into this if you are serious about learning.”

  Samir shrugged.

  “We are doing our best, uncle.”

  Faraj tapped a finger to his lips.

  “I do not think that this is true. I want you both to try. Keep your blows in the torso region, but swing as though your brother is trying to kill you. Imagine that is not Ghassan before you, but some Pelasian soldier intent on rape, pillage and murder.”

  There was a brief silence as the boys glared at each other and then Ghassan pulled a face and both burst into hysterical laughter. Faraj sighed.

  “I am sorry about this, boys, but if you are going to learn anything more than fancy posturing, you need to be willing to strike at each other as though it was your deepest heart’s desire to kill him on the spot. And to do that, we’re going to have to stop you kidding around.”

  The boys slowly recovered from their laughing fits and straightened, trying to hold a serious expression on their faces. Faraj shook his head.

  “I need you to concentrate on something that irritates you about each other. There must be something you argue over? A toy? A piece of clothing?”

  The boys shook their heads but, as their faces came up again, Ghassan saw something in Samir’s eyes; something dark; something worrying.

  “There is nothing we argue over, is there Samir?”

  The smaller brother shook his head.

  “No, brother. Nothing.”

  But Ghassan could not tear his gaze from those eyes. Something had cast a shadow over Samir’s soul moments ago and Ghassan, for the first time in his life, began to fear his brother. There was something in Samir’s gaze that he couldn’t quite define, and he would shun any attempt to name it.

  The two continued to lock eyes for a minute and Ghassan was forced to turn away from that look.

  Uncle Faraj, unaware of quite what had transpired between them, nodded thoughtfully.

  “Good. Now that you have finished giggling like a pair of school girls, we will try once again.” He turned to Ghassan. “You first. Swing at Samir as though your life depended on it.”

  Ghassan hefted the sword as Samir stepped slightly closer. He daren’t meet his brother’s gaze. Swinging the sword back, he let it go with as powerful a swing as he could really justify, looking up and meeting Samir’s gaze only as the heavy blade closed on its target. The result was a loud thud that knocked the smaller boy from his feet.

  Taking a deep breath, he reached out and proffered his hand to help Samir up. The smaller brother shook his head and looked up at Ghassan, whose face was a mask of concern, close to panic. Samir sighed and looked back down at the sandy timber beneath him. Ghassan was his brother. They were family, and Asima could do as she pleased, but Samir would never again consider what he had just now contemplated in the darkest recess of his mind.

  He smiled at Ghassan; the warmest smile he could manage, and almost laughed out loud at the relief that flooded his brother’s face.

  “Is that all you can manage? I’d have knocked you to the next tower! In fact, I believe I will do just that in a moment.”

  He grasped Ghassan’s hand and hauled himself to his feet.

  “My turn, lumbering brother.”

  He grinned at Ghassan, and the taller boy smiled back uncertainly. Despite the jovial face and voice, there was still something lurking beneath the surface of Samir that unnerved his brother.

  “Uncle Faraj?” Ghassan propped his wooden sword against the low wall. “I’m not feeling very well. Do you think we could call an end to today?”

  The weathered warrior raised an eyebrow.

  “Perhaps it would be better to begin again on a morning when it is cooler. The afternoon heat is rather intense. Let us return to the house and see what your mother plans for supper.”

  The boys helped Faraj gather the equipment and their uncle forced most of it into a huge bag that he slung across his back. With a last check that they had forgotten nothing, he set off toward the stair well at the corner of the tower. Samir hurried along behind, carrying the wooden swords. Neither of them was aware of the appraising look Ghassan cast at his brother’s back while he hauled the food bags onto his shoulders and set off behind them.

  Something had passed between them on the tower top that day and, although he knew beyond doubt what had been at the root of it, he could not bring himself to ponder too deeply on the matter. Suffice it to say that, while he loved his brother beyond almost all else, eight years of trust had wafted away in the light breeze this afternoon.

  In which the world is seen to turn

  The past three months had wrought huge changes, both physical and emotional, in the brothers, and no one had noticed the differences more than Asima. She had begun to spend more time with them again these days and passed many hours sitting in the shelter of their small room while her father, intent on some business errand or other, merrily presumed her to be in her room, reading and playing.

  Sh
e lay on the floor on a thick blanket, her head cradled on Samir’s crossed ankles. The smaller brother had changed the most. The physical training and exercise that their uncle was putting them through had bulked Samir out. Where he had been small and reed-like, now his muscles rippled beneath his shirt sleeves. He could lift Asima from the floor by one hand without breaking a sweat. He was toned and at the peak of his physical fitness. If rooftop chases had still held any interest for the three of them, Asima was sure that Samir would be unreachable.

  But the greater change was in the boy himself. Something had changed in Samir’s soul. It was as though a candle in his heart had been snuffed.

  Oh, he was still a loving and charming person, and many candles still burned within him, but occasionally, when caught off guard, she could see the effect of that one light that had vanished. There was a shadow that haunted him sometimes. To begin with, she had feared this change in Samir and recoiled deeper than ever into Ghassan’s arms. But then one evening, when she had seen Samir alone, she had seen that darkness cloud his eyes and, on an impulse, she had clutched him and held him so tight that she felt him gasp. As she looked up, she saw those shadows melt away and a light, stronger than ever, shone from within those sparkling eyes.

  And that was it. She knew now that only she could heal whatever had broken inside Samir. They never spoke of it but, when he needed her, she made sure she was always there.

  She looked across at Ghassan, who sat smiling at them, and she was sure his smile was false. The larger brother had become powerful indeed. They were approaching ten years of age now, but Ghassan was already a physical match for most of the men of M’Dahz. Indeed, he was already taller than some of the foreign merchants from the north, and yet his impressive physique was tempered now with a gentleness and humility. He often deferred to Samir when choices were made and seemed, at times, almost to be in awe of his brother.

  Strange changes, indeed. But there had been changes in Asima too. Ghassan had held everything she needed; still did. There was nothing she could look for in a boy that she would not find in Ghassan. And yet the darkness within Samir fascinated and pulled at her and she found herself more often in Samir’s arms that those of the taller brother these days.

  And Ghassan must recognise that. It must sadden him. And yet he said nothing and merely watched them both with a fraternal smile.

  It was a warm evening, and the breeze had died down just before dusk, leaving a cloying stillness that hung in the air as though the world held its breath. The faintest streaks of pink and azure hung in the west as the sun journeyed to the underworld for the night, where it would be renewed by the hammer and forge of the fire God. Soon, the boys would be called down for their evening meal, once Faraj had returned from his duties, and Asima really should go, although recently the boys’ mother had become aware of her evening visits and, while raising the occasional meaningful eyebrow at her, had kept remarkably silent on the subject.

  So she would probably wait here while dinner was prepared and, as was now often the case, Nadia would set out the meals and then call to the girl she knew was lurking upstairs. She would have automatically set a spare place for Asima. With the extra income Faraj brought into the household, they now ate well and could afford a little generosity. And her own father was so busy trying to keep his business afloat in what he kept referring to as ‘the turbulent climate’ that he often forgot to feed them, and they had to rely on a late supper of salad and cold meat.

  Faraj would be weary but pleasant. He always finished late, as there was ever much to do in the port district. He…

  She blinked as she heard the door open. Faraj was early?

  “Nadia? Children?”

  Their uncle’s voice held an ominous tone that made Asima sit up. She had been around the family often enough to know that ‘children’ meant the three of them, and that Faraj presumed she was there. Had he meant the brothers, he would have said ‘boys’. Ghassan and Samir began to move; clearly they also had recognised something in the man’s tone. The three children hurried down the stairs, Asima keeping to the rear, to find Faraj, having hung his sword and bag by the door, seated with crossed legs by the low table. Bowls and plates had been laid out in preparation, but the food was far from ready by this time. The boys’ mother had appeared from the kitchen and padded quietly over to sit at the table, gesturing the children to join them.

  “What is it, Faraj?”

  Their mother raised the question. It would have been impolite for one of the children to do so. Their uncle’s brow was low and troubled, and his eyes were dark. He reached for the date wine in the centre of the table and poured himself a long draught, from which he took a pull before speaking.

  “I am not sure where to begin…”

  “Faraj?”

  “Many rumours are flying around M’Dahz, and you will hear all of them within the next day, but I have the grains of truth at the centre of the rumours. I have confirmed this from several solid sources and the news is not good.”

  There was a silence around the table as everyone waited impatiently.

  “And you will like my decision even less than my news.”

  Samir and Ghassan shuffled in their seat. Something leaden had settled in the pit of their stomachs. They waited what seemed an eternity for their uncle to take another swig and then continue.

  “The Empire we serve and that shelters us has broken. Word arrived today at the port directly from the capital: the Emperor is dead. General Caerdin has revolted and burned the palace to the ground, General Avitus has named him traitor and declared martial law in the capitol; the army is in chaos.”

  The family and their visitor stared in astonishment at Faraj as they listened to his tidings.

  “Of course” he went on “this was all days ago; probably more than a week. It takes that long to sail from Velutio to M’Dahz. And for those of us on the Empire’s periphery things become bleaker still.”

  He took another swig.

  “The Imperial navy has been recalled to the capitol. Without them, ships are prey to both pirates and Pelasian raiders, and so, on the dawn tide when the last Imperial warship in M’Dahz sails north, all the Imperial merchants sail with her. They will not risk staying this close to the border without protection. The garrison of M’Dahz had been recalled to Calphoris by the Southern Marshal. The town is now defenceless and there is no protection for merchants by land or by sea. You know what that means…”

  All of them nodded sombrely. With no protection and so close to both Pelasian lands and pirate waters, merchants would stop using M’Dahz as their marketplace. The desert caravans would dry up and the port would languish emptily. All trade would stop and the town would die. Samir shrugged uncomfortably.

  “There are two possibilities then? A good and a bad?”

  Faraj nodded.

  “In the best future, the crisis in the capital will be resolved. A new Emperor will be crowned, the navy will be redeployed and everything will return to normal. That is possible, but it relies on many things beyond our reach and our control.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Alternatively, Pelasia will take advantage of the situation and annexe as much land as possible. M’Dahz will then be the first to go, but at least it will survive as a Pelasian town, rather than vanishing under the sands.”

  Again silence reigned and his audience dropped their eyes to the floor. Ghassan looked up worriedly at his uncle, his lip quivering slightly as he spoke.

  “And what is your decision, uncle?”

  Faraj shook his head sadly.

  “The wealthy will flee M’Dahz, probably to Calphoris. Many of the poor will go too, but where they have homes and jobs here, they will become beggars there. We cannot flee, or we will lose the little we have. And so we must fight to preserve what we can. As soon as the sun rises, I go to the port to join the militia.”

  Their mother shook her head.

  “The militia are like thugs! They are barely paid a
nd poorly trained and mannered. They are little more than a dog running alongside the Imperial garrison!”

  Faraj shook his own head in return and slapped the flat of his palm on the table.

  “No more. From the morning, the militia are the only army and navy M’Dahz has! All of those bodyguards, ex-limitani and pensioned soldiers in the town are joining tomorrow. We have to change the militia. We have to make it a force capable of holding off both Pelasia and the pirates until the Empire can heal its wounds and breathe life back into the port and markets of the town. There is nothing else. It is decided. Tomorrow I leave with the militia. We will be active by both land and sea and likely always busy, but I shall return as often as the Gods grant me the opportunity to see my family.”

  The boys were both crying now and, despite her familial distance and the likelihood that her father could easily shift his business interests to Calphoris, Asima found that she was weeping openly for what would happen to Faraj and the brothers.

  Their uncle straightened.

  “I must do this. Though I will be torn from this household, I must go in order to protect it, so that there is still a house to return to when everything recovers.”

  Brushing back the tears, Ghassan was the first to straighten and nod, bravely.

  “We are too young to join you, uncle. I realise that. But you have trained us well and we will continue to learn and practice in your absence. And if the trouble persists until we are a little older and the militia will accept us, then we will come to stand by you.”

  Faraj glanced at their mother’s horrified face and her open mouth and quickly cut her off before she could speak.

  “This will be over long before then, so make no unnecessary promises. I am pleased that you are both strong, quick, and bright, and can take care of yourselves and your mother, and even young Asima here if she requires it. Survive and stay out of danger so that we can be together again when the next Emperor sends his forces to save us.”