by EF Joyce
Drexel turned and walked to his dorm, wondering how Damien managed to keep up a constant stream of motivational speeches for the rebellion. It must be lonely, not ever being able to say what he really felt, though he supposed if Damien were to confide in anyone, it wouldn't be him. Again, he speculated over the Monarch and who he really was.
With all the weapons, tech and food the rebellion had, and influential enough to be able to get this base built here with no questions asked, the Monarch was undeniably Arcadian, making his anonymity an obvious choice. If anyone up there found out, the rebellion's only hope would be crushed. Though entrusting someone as young as Damien with everything seemed hard to imagine. What made Damien so important? Surely someone older and more experienced would be a better choice.
Attempting to be as quiet as possible, he opened the door to his dorm, the quiet snores of his three roommates filling the nighttime silence. Drexel slipped into bed between those clean, chemical-scented sheets and closed his eyes. The faces of the dead flashed endlessly through his mind, their screams echoing through his thoughts, and the morning bells were ringing before he ever got to sleep.
A cramped, dirty cell room was the only one in the base that wasn't white and scrubbed clean, a place for prisoners, though Drexel had never seen one there. Damien stood against one wall, a fancy Arcadian camera on metal legs pointed at him. He'd smeared his usually clean face with dirt, his hair disheveled and his crisp jumpsuit swapped out for filthy Unders' rags.
"I think I need a little more dirt here," Damien said, gesturing to his left cheek while holding a compact mirror in his hand. One of the three other men in the room handed him a tiny plastic bag of loose dirt. He dipped his fingers in and smeared it under his left eye. Holding up the mirror again, Damien examined his handiwork. "Ok, I think that's good. Meric?"
Meric jumped forward, handing Damien an intimidating automatic rifle. He strapped it over his shoulder, adjusting it so the gun was in prominent view. "Are we ready?" he asked. The cameraman nodded and Drexel shifted his weight uncomfortably, wishing he was somewhere else. Damien had said he wanted him to see their work unfold in each stage, to know what a difference they were making.
"People of Arcadia," Damien started, looking deadly serious, beaten and triumphant all at the same time. "The royal family has been lying to you. The world you thought you knew your whole life is a lie– "
"Wait, wait, the camera isn't working," the young man behind the camera said, rapidly toggling buttons.
"Dammit, Jo you said this thing was ready," Damien snapped.
"Hold on, hold on," Jo replied, making a few more adjustments. "Ok, we are good in three, two..." he pointed at Damien. "People of Arcadia, the royal family has been lying to you. The world you thought you knew your whole life is a lie. I am here today to tell you – no, better, to show you the truth. My name is Damien and I am a citizen of The Unders, what you all know as the Old World, and an agent of the rebellion. The lives we lead down here are short and brutal, filled with starvation and agony. Dailey we fight against our toxic environment, our lack of resources and harassment from our supposed protectors, the Old World Guard.
"The violence and murder the royal family has publicly accused us of are all lies. We have done nothing but peacefully protest our poor conditions, begging the royals to assist us in any way possible. The princess gave us jewels and you hailed her a hero. In response, the king himself aired this video on all our networks." Jo immediately swapped the feed of Damien's speech with the recorded promise from the king to trade all Arcadian jewels for 500 ration points.
"Hopeful that the king had changed his mind," Damien continued when the video finished, "I went to warehouse to see for myself the kindness the royals had finally decided to bestow upon us. This is what happened instead:"
Without any disclosures on the violence and horror of the broadcast, Jo played Damien's carefully edited footage from the warehouse slaughter. The prince's face was clear on camera, his voice high and loud as he declared them all enemies of Arcadia. Gunshots exploded, the sound quality crackling as the screams grew louder. At that point, Drexel had been cowering on the floor, but Damien's video had captured more than he had seen in person, more than he'd wanted to.
Underlings' heads snapped unnaturally backward as bullets sprayed into the crowd, spurts of blood climbing the cement walls, pale hands reaching out in pain, screams of panic growing louder than the gunshots and then fading as more died.
People were trampled as they tried to escape; more were shot at the doors. The footage then cut to the bodies being dragged into a pile, though only the prince's face was visible. It cut again to the pyre burning, and then ended, cutting back to Damien, who had dripped water down his cheeks as if he'd been crying, the streaks slicing through the dirt on his face.
"This is the truth of your royal family. This is what Arcadia does to the Old World. As Arcadians, you have power. You can change this. Please, help us."
Jo cut the feed, and everyone clapped awkwardly, Meric slapping Damien on the shoulder. "Nice work, brilliant," they told him, as if it were all just a game. Drexel blinked back tears and tried to shut out the screaming crowd in his mind.
Maybe it was all a game – a very dangerous one.
Chapter 15
I
"There's a traitor among us," Stellen said, pacing her chamber like a caged beast. His face was his typical mask of calm but Anaka could tell he was furious, his black eyes swirling with rage. With sudden force he threw the goblet of wine he'd been holding and it shattered against the cream wall paper, red wine dripping ominously like spilled blood. So Alaric had stopped the sorcerers and Stellen hadn't yet realized she'd been his betrayer. Her heart raced even as her face revealed nothing. If he discovered her, all the things she'd done will have been for nothing – the attacks, the deaths, Tibre, the famine. All her doing and all for naught if he killed her before she could get away.
"What?!" she asked, doing her best to sound outraged. Anaka was a killer, not a liar or an actor. The Handmaiden relied upon her silence and emotionless expression to cover all of her secrets, but she'd never guessed she'd have to hide things from the one person she'd finally opened up to. Stellen knew her, her gestures, her expressions, the barely discernible swirls of emotion in her dark eyes, just as she knew him. To keep up her treachery she would have to be better – an actor worthy of a stage.
"The sorcerers sent to Tibre were slaughtered! Every last one of them!" he shouted, pacing and glaring at the floor, not meeting her eyes, his fists clenching and unclenching.
"How? How is that possible? I thought you told no one of your plan?" Thank the stars he'd waited so long to tell her. Now he'd never suspect her...unless he already knew about the magic...
"I told a few of the council – I could not move all the students without help. Sundry, Mills, Umber," he admitted. "No one else knew. Either one of them is a traitor – directly conspiring with Eide, or more likely they let it slip to someone with questionable loyalty." He paused, thinking. "That must be it. No council member would purposefully thwart our last effort to regain Tibre, dooming Yeraz to certain starvation. Not even Grayna, for all his posturing, would do that to his own empire."
"But who would let it slip? Do you really believe the council is that careless?" Anaka pressed. Push the suspicion onto someone else – anyone but herself. If Stellan blamed the wrong man, he would simply kill him only to realize his error later when she betrayed him yet again. A death, a scapegoat, would buy her time, the one precious thing she needed more than anything else.
"Are you saying you think one of the council is committing treason against Yeraz?" He asked, finally meeting her eyes. Anaka saw loss in those obsidian pools, loss and fear and uncertainty; emotions she'd never seen him express before. For the first time in the eight-hundred-years since he'd taken over Yeraz, the great Ilahi was truly afraid of losing his power; everything he had spent those last centuries building. The only thing he truly loved.
The empire was slipping, Anaka had felt it even before her pregnancy and her decision. Yeraz was losing their faith in the Ilahi, in the very system Stellan had built to unite them. In her exploits as the Black Hand, she had traveled the provinces with the military, made camp with them, shared meals with them, fought and slept and lived beside them. They were careful with their conversations in her presence, she was the Handmaiden after all, but snatches of their ideas, their tiny grumbles growing louder and stronger with each passing year reached her ears.
The Ilahi was a false god – an immortal yes, but a man nonetheless. A mere human with desires, fears, failings. On top of that, he was powerless. Once a great mage, he could do no more now than pass his magical heritage onto his daughters, whom he controlled absolutely. The Sphere was never mentioned among the soldiers, most likely because they did not understand its purpose.
The rumors, the discontentment, the spreading atheism, it was all Grayna's doing. He'd leaked Stellan's secret – a mage not a god – to the army and let it spread like wildfire, but he would not go so far as to tell them the whole truth. Anaka had no proof, but as the only council member in direct and continuous contact with the army it could be no one else. Furthermore, the Yerazi men valued warriors, strength on the battle field and a deft hand with weapons. Anaka couldn't recall the last time Stellan had held a weapon and he certainly hadn't fought in any battles. He was a great man, an intelligent man, but no warrior. All this worked for Grayna and his obvious ambition to crush Stellan, though he was not willing to collapse the empire to accomplish it.
Unlike me, she thought savagely, glancing at Stellen's still pacing form, his furrowed brow, his frustration and desperation. She had caused this, and it was only the beginning.
II
"I call order to this fifty-third meeting in the seventh year of Sala de of the Queen's Council," Grand General Grayna began. His lined face drawn, dark circles ringing his dark eyes, making him look older than his fifty-one years. The councilmen settled into their seats, Anaka shifting uncomfortably between Stellan and Sundry's empty seat, failing to squeeze her growing stomach under the table. Damn this baby.
She shifted again in the stiff wooden chair. Anaka wanted her lean and strong assassin's body back, wanted the discomfort, the aches and constantly fluctuating emotions to end. Similarly she knew the sooner her daughter came into the world, the less able she would be to protect her.
"For those of you who are yet unaware of our the current situation, Elspeth here has snuck every last magic student away from the capitol, for the purpose of making war, against this council's vote!" A few men twitched involuntarily as Grayna slammed his fist into the great oak table. "Furthermore, every single student involved has been killed," murmurs raced through the council before the Grand General could silence them with a raised hand.
"This means several things: first, that we have no remaining students of magic in all the empire, and second that someone betrayed this plot to sneak the students into Tibre, a plan shared by Elspeth to only a trusted few, myself not included. I have been informed that those few were Sundry, Mills and Umber." Every eye on the council shot toward Mills and Umber, silently and quickly judging them.
"As you are all well aware, I do not agree with or condone Elspeth's actions in the slightest," Grayna added, stern. "However what is done cannot be undone and we currently have a more pressing matter at hand. Sundry has gone missing. I can only assume that, as he was one of the few aware of the plan, that he has run off to betray us to our enemies."
"My father was no traitor sir," a voice behind Anaka boomed. Sameth Sundry sauntered into the room, clad in flowing mage robes, standing tall and proud, a direct opposite to his thin, hunched father – the man Anaka had stabbed and shoved over the edge of the Sehrli Tower. "I am here to take his place on the council, until such a time as he returns," the younger Sundry announced, dropping into the empty seat next to Anaka.
"You can't just walk in here and join the council!" Mills shouted, spittle flying. Grayna sighed theatrically.
"Yes, actually he can," the Grand General said, clearly not at all thrilled at the prospect. "He owns his father's seat unless we can find absolute damning evidence that Maurice Sundry was a traitor, according to the fourth writ of council law. Moving on. Due to Elspeth's actions, we are now in total war with Dalga. As a peace treaty is now out of the question, this council needs to vote on our next course of action."
Anaka looked at the Grand General, surprised but impressed at his strategy, choosing not to go after Stellan for shirking the council's vote and doing what he wanted anyway. His constant referral to him as Elspeth instead of the Ilahi was a blow in itself, a quiet and subtle way of reminding the council, he is not your god. He is just a man. A flawed man who killed all our magic students. By choosing to gloss over Stellan's error Grayna compounded the effect; I am forgiving him. I am granting him mercy. I have power over this man, who is just as far from god as you or I.
"Grand General, if I may," Stellen interjected, the epitome of politeness. Grayna nodded, giving permission. Did Stellan not see what Grayna was doing? Why he was playing right into his hands? He needed to assert his full authority now, before Grayna could undermine him any further, now before he lost everything. But what was she thinking? Anaka wanted him to lose, didn't she? The Handmaiden glanced sideways at Stellan, his marble face so calm and cocksure; a brave man, a foolish man, the man she loved.
"I am well aware of your displeasure regarding my actions with the magic students. However if it were not for the unforeseen leak of information, and I am yet unwilling to believe any traitors gather among us, my plan would have worked perfectly. Now that we've struck directly at Eide, we've doomed our chances at a treaty. We need to strike fast and hard, before he expects it, in a way he will never see coming. There is only one month remaining until the harvest. Yeraz's current food stores will only last three, maybe four months with everyone on rations. That's three months we have to crush Eide completely, and one month to disperse the goods from Tibre."
"And I suppose you have some sort of brilliant plan, just waiting conveniently for this very situation to arise," Grayna added sardonically.
"I have something I've been working on, yes," Stellan replied carefully. Grayna peered at him with expectant silence. "We attack Darvaza," Stellen announced. "Darvaza fills the gap in the Hündür Mountains, which separate Dalga from Yeraz. Beyond that city, behind its walls, lies the Sikasta Pass leading directly to Dalga's capitol and Eide's palace. With Darvaza we can end this war. Either trade the city for Tibre and a peace treaty or use it to crush Dalga. The choice is the council's." As if he'd let the council decide. Anaka knew better; he'd allow the council to think they were in charge long enough to agree to his plan of attack, and once Darvaza was captured he'd rip that authority out from under them like an old rug.
"Yes, Darvaza is the gateway to Dalga," Grayna said. "It is also enclosed by the Hündür Mountains on three sides and the Great Wall on the fourth. Other than Tibre, which is surrounded completely by mountains, Darvaza is the most defensible city in the world. With our sorcerers wiped out, our army stretched thin and our food stores running low, how exactly do you propose we accomplish such a task?"
"So glad you asked, Grand General," Stellan said, his glibness a serious deviation from his usual demeanor. "We will pull the bulk of our defenses from the provinces and send them directly to Dalga. Eide will see our armies marching toward him and he will prepare. The siege upon Darvaza's Great Wall will commence at dusk. Once our army reaches the gates, our men inside will simply open them."
Men inside Darvaza? The council burst into an uproar of exclamations and demands, fury and excitement melding into a cacophony, and Anaka was unable to keep the surprise from her face yet again. Damn that man! How was she expected to be a proper traitor when he insisted on constantly withholding information?
"Men inside? What men inside?" Shouted Grayna. "Silence, silence! Explain yourself, Sebastian!"
>
"He's lying!" treasurer Listhman interrupted. "The Ilahi refuses to let go of this war no matter how grim the chances! He will doom Yeraz if we continue to believe in his falsities."
"It's the truth," Sameth Sundry interrupted. He glanced at Stellan who nodded. "Do you recall when we first lost Tibre and my father reported the deaths of 350 sorcerers?" The council members nodded, grim. More dead, more magic stolen from Yeraz, and once again all Stellan's doing. "That was a lie," he announced, to the council's, and Anaka's, obvious surprise. More secrets, more lies. Who would have expected that nerveless old man to possess a backbone? Certainly not her, though she knew he'd been hiding something.
"My father was working with the Ilahi to secure this victory, preparing for this moment long before any of you would realize what was to come. Every one of those sorcerers has been sent to Darvaza months in advance, sneaking in slowly as refugees and merchants, preparing the way for this battle."
"I knew that if it came to total war, we would never stand a chance unless we secured the gateway city," Stellan added. In a blink, the tables had been turned and the Ilahi held the power once more. Grayna still commanded the armies' loyalty, but in this case he would have to submit to Stellan's plan or doom Yeraz to starvation. The Grand General had to shout several times before resuming order to the council chambers. After another two hours of hashing out the details, it was agreed among the Queen's Council. They would attack Darvaza in two months' time – the amount it would take to pull the twenty legions required from the fifty-two provinces and gather them before the gateway city.
III
Ceaseless rain beat on the glass plated balcony doors and Anaka glared out into the growing storm. Stellan put his hand on her shoulder and she immediately pushed him away. "What is it?" he asked, his voice soft.