The Empire's Ghost

by Isabelle Steiger

  There wasn’t much they could talk about with the guard standing there, so they settled into a glum silence. Deinol kept throwing furious looks back and forth between Seth, Lucius, and the woman, as if demanding an explanation, but it wasn’t as if any of them could answer him. Finally Oswhent returned to them; Seth didn’t know how long he’d been gone, but he looked as if he’d aged a year.

  “All right,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Well. The imperator has decided…” He trailed off. “Quentin, maybe you’d better … Oh, never mind. I’ll need you in a minute.” He took a deep breath, then let it out again without saying a word; next he paced the floor before their cell for a few turns, unable to look them in the eyes. Then at last he wrung his hands once or twice and said, “I don’t enjoy saying this, but it’s like this: Elgar reckons you lot didn’t precisely mean to commit treason, but as far as he’s concerned, it’s been committed anyway. So in light of the circumstances, he’s decided that only one life will suffice, rather than all your lives. He leaves it, ah … He leaves it to you to choose.”

  Seth gasped aloud at that—even the captain caught his breath sharply and bit his lip. The rest of them made no noise, but they still hesitated, the strain telling on even the woman’s implacable face. Only Lucius did not hesitate, but faced Oswhent calmly, his voice soft but steady.

  “If that’s the case,” he said, “this can all be resolved very easily, and I thank you for that. I will offer my life to satisfy the imperator’s demands, so I hope you will not hinder my friends any further.”

  Oswhent’s sigh was conspicuously relieved. “Well, that was a lot easier than I imagined. Good.” He nodded to the captain. “Quentin, I’ll need you to help bring him up.”

  Deinol had been opening and shutting his mouth ineffectually since Lucius spoke, but as soon as the captain moved, he finally shook off his silence. “Absolutely not,” he snapped, trying to stand in front of Lucius. “Lucius—”

  “We should at least discuss this,” Morgan added, but Lucius shook his head.

  “Discussion won’t change my mind,” he said. “I’m set on this.” He looked ahead of him again, to where Deinol was blocking his way. “Don’t get in their way, Deinol. You’re only making it worse.” How could he be so calm about this? Seth wondered.

  “Damned right I’ll make it worse,” Deinol said. “They try to do this and I’ll—”

  “You won’t, actually,” Oswhent said. “We can do this with Quentin alone and you can stand still and behave yourself, or we can do it with half a dozen other guards and they can beat you into the floor. They won’t be shy about using their weapons, either, and you have none—unless you count those chains, and I wouldn’t.” When Deinol only glared at him, he stepped forward, a rougher edge in his voice. “Look, you idiot, Elgar isn’t going to kill him now. He told me to bring up the one who offered to die, so that’s what I’m going to do, whether I have to have you killed in the process or not. If you want to fight us all to the death, wait until we’re actually hauling him off to the chopping block, will you?”

  “Deinol,” Lucius said, suddenly sharp. “I’ll swing at you myself if you don’t move. Stay back.” Deinol wasn’t any good at hiding his emotions at the best of times, and the fury on his face was stark, but he finally stepped back. The captain unlocked the cell door, then curled his fingers almost gently around the length of chain between Lucius’s wrists. He didn’t need to tug; Lucius walked forward easily, his calm restored. Deinol didn’t look up from the floor once, not even when the cell was locked again and Lucius turned to walk down the hall.

  * * *

  It wasn’t that Varalen disagreed with the plan—he had suggested it, if not the melodramatic manner of its carrying out. He simply wished he could’ve known more about the prisoners first, this Lucius Aquila not least among them.

  It wasn’t an Aurnian name, but some Aurnians had been known to change theirs, or to give their children names that belonged to the land they lived in now, rather than whatever land it was their ancestors had come from. The nose was admittedly wrong—Aurnians’ tended to be flatter, but Aquila’s nose was so long and sharp he could’ve put out someone’s eye with it. His skin was just the right shade, though, and the hair, thick and blue-black, was right as well. The eyes were more ambiguous, narrow for a Hallern but perhaps a bit wide for an Aurnian. Half is about right, he had said—did he mean that literally?

  If Aquila’s name had led Elgar to expect anything different, he didn’t show it. He was seated when Varalen and Quentin escorted their prisoner into his study, and he looked up for only a moment, mouth quirking in a vague expression Varalen couldn’t read. “Thank you, Quentin,” he said. “That’ll do. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

  Varalen was always struck by how genuine Quentin’s deference to Elgar was—it made a stark contrast to his own, no doubt. The captain’s bow was elegant in its simplicity, and he left them with a quiet, “Your Eminence.”

  Varalen couldn’t have said why Elgar chose his study for this conversation—it was a small corner room, with stark stone walls and a bare wooden floor. It was also usually cold, though at the moment having three people in it made the air feel thick. The bookshelves lining each side wall jutted out too far into the room, so he and Aquila had to watch their elbows as they walked side by side to Elgar’s desk. The desk was the only ornate thing in the room, a wide and heavy piece whose dark wood was lacquered with some ancient scene from a bit of history even Varalen didn’t know. First empire, maybe, from what he could see of it that wasn’t covered by neat stacks of paper. Elgar gestured to the chair across from him—the only other chair in the room—and Varalen stepped back from it, leaning against the wall. “Go ahead. Those chains must be weighing you down.”

  Aquila did not say thank you—did not say anything—but simply lowered himself into the chair, keeping his eyes trained on Elgar’s face.

  “Your name is Lucius Aquila?” Elgar began.

  “Yes.”

  “And what is it you do?”

  Aquila did not hesitate. “I rob wealthy men in the streets and fence their goods.”

  Elgar smiled. “You’re very forthcoming.”

  “There’s no reason not to be. I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

  Elgar pressed his fingertips together. “You’ve guessed, I assume, that that was a bit of a ruse.”

  Aquila’s expression did not change. “Not when your man announced it, but when you had me brought here, I began to suspect something was afoot.”

  “You’ll have to forgive the rather unsubtle nature of it,” Elgar said. “It was necessary, you understand.”

  “I do understand that,” Aquila said. “What I don’t understand is why.”

  Elgar didn’t answer right away. “Are you an Aurnian?” he asked at last.

  “I was born there,” Aquila said.

  “The guards tell me the weapon they took from you was an Aurnian sword—one of those long and slender blades your people favor. What are they called again?”

  Aquila’s voice remained calm; he did not lean forward, but Varalen saw his fists clench atop his knees. “You know what they’re called. You trained your men for months to fight against them—perhaps for years. You know what they’re called.”

  Elgar smiled. “And that answers my next question. Very good.”

  Varalen was not sure himself what the question was, and Aquila didn’t seem to know either; his posture loosened, and he cocked his head slightly. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want with me? More importantly, what do you want with my friends?”

  Again Elgar paused, and Varalen could feel the deliberateness of it, the pacing. “I’m very curious, Lucius Aquila, about the kind of man who agrees to surrender his life so readily for the sake of others.”

  Aquila shrugged. “Do your soldiers not do the same for you?”

  Elgar laughed. “Hardly. They venture into the threat of death, not its certainty, and if they succeed, the benefi
t is far from wholly mine. You would die tonight, this moment, for the sake of five people in a prison cell.”

  “I would,” Aquila said. “We’ve established that’s not what you want. What do you want?”

  Elgar finally answered him, looking straight into his eyes. “I want you to perform a task for me.”

  “You want to hire a criminal and a traitor?” Aquila asked.

  Elgar raised an eyebrow. “Does that seem strange to you?”

  “Not in itself,” Aquila said, “but if that’s what you were after, you needn’t have waited for chance to drop one in your lap. Just go out into the city and wave your arms about—you’ll hit one in less than a minute.”

  “Ah,” Elgar said, unruffled. “But I need a certain kind of criminal and traitor, you see.”

  Aquila pursed his lips. “If you mean the kind, as my friend might put it, who will bend over for you just because you ask, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Not at all,” Elgar said. “I mean the kind who will bend over for me because I hold something they care about.”

  Aquila shrugged. “I care about a lot of things.”

  “No,” Elgar said. “I don’t think you do.”

  That gave Aquila pause, and for several long moments no one spoke. Elgar’s smile took its time unfolding, spreading across his face like something dangerous. “I know you’re not inclined to trust me, but there was no question of trust when you offered to die at my command, and I might just as easily have been lying then. So if you were willing to pay such a steep price, I can’t imagine you’d balk at a lesser one: one errand for me, and all six of you are free to go.”

  Aquila frowned, but though it was grim, it was thoughtful. He curled and uncurled his fingers in his lap. “What is it you want done?”

  “Do you know Hornoak?” Elgar asked.

  “I’ve never been there,” Aquila said, “but I know about where it is.”

  “There’s an old shrine there—not a Ninist vestry, just some ancient building that was allowed to become holy again after Elesthene fell. Inside it is something of mine, and I want it brought back here.”

  Aquila’s eyebrows rose. “That’s it? Any handful of your guards could do that for you.”

  “They could try,” Elgar said. “Perhaps they might even succeed. But then again, as I am sure you noticed, they are not always as … apt as I could wish. I would prefer to send you.”

  Aquila’s frown only deepened. “I just … It’s a simple thing, isn’t it? Go to Hornoak, get this thing of yours, and come back? You’ll pardon treason for that?”

  “Treason is whatever I decide it is,” Elgar said, “so pardoning it is no very great matter.” Then, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he added, “I should also mention I have heard there is a man who guards what I wish you to recover—a priest or holy brother or some such. He may be … disinclined to part with it.”

  Aquila smiled. “Ah, so when you say it belongs to you…”

  “I mean it belongs to me because everything in my realm belongs to me, should I require it.” He pressed his fingertips together again. “And I require this object absolutely, make no mistake about that. I worry any of my servants might decide he had a right to it, simply because I allowed him to put his hands on it for a moment. But you won’t make that mistake, will you, Lucius Aquila? If your own life is not worth the lives of your friends, then surely no mere object could be.”

  Aquila hesitated, the chains clinking softly as he twisted his hands about. “It should be simple enough,” he said slowly, “but I am only one man, and I have not left Valyanrend in many years. Perhaps my success would be better assured if others came with me.”

  Elgar smiled. “I thought you might say that, and I’m inclined to agree with you. By all means, let your companions go with you—you all risked your lives to come here together, after all.”

  Aquila blinked. “My companions?”

  “I can’t let you have all of them, of course,” Elgar said. “Then what would I bargain with? But it seems a waste to leave them all idle, especially when they showed such ingenuity in getting in here. I will be reasonable: we started with two, so we shall keep two, just in case one or the other causes problems. The other four will go to Hornoak for me—I don’t care which four, so long as you’re among them. Decide it among yourselves as you like.”

  Aquila’s fingers were digging into his palms. “I don’t believe,” he finally said, “that you wouldn’t just kill us upon our return.”

  Elgar shrugged. “Why? What are you to me?”

  “Exactly,” Aquila said. “Why not just kill us and have done with it?”

  “Why not just run away, as soon as I let you go?” When Aquila did not answer, he continued, “Because you have more to gain by coming back. And I have more to gain by keeping my word, so I intend to keep it.” He tapped his fingertips together. “Besides, last I checked, it takes only one man to actually deliver a thing—the rest of you will have your freedom, and you need never see me again. Even if I do decide to kill the one who returns, along with the captive two, that still leaves half of you free, and if I keep my word, you’re all free. Decent odds, wouldn’t you say?”

  Still Aquila hesitated. “What exactly is it you want us to get?”

  Elgar pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. “I’ve never laid eyes on it myself, so I cannot tell you what it looks like, only what it might look like. It will be made out of some stone or ore—not metal, but perhaps a kind of quartz. Its surface will be rough, worn and uneven, full of etchings like scars. It will not look natural, but like a thing crafted, shaped by man.”

  It was more than he’d ever said to Varalen about it, and if Aquila didn’t like the answer, Varalen couldn’t say he did either. “And what does it do?” Aquila asked.

  Varalen would have expected Elgar to be irritated by such impertinence, but he actually laughed. “Very much indeed, in the hands of one who knows how to make use of it. In my hands, I expect it will bring a satisfying end to all my wars—and that’s only the beginning. But in your hands … well, perhaps nothing. Either way, it is none of your concern. I wish to have it, and I will have it, one way or another.”

  Aquila’s frown was more melancholy than angered, and Varalen folded his arms uncomfortably, trying not to think about how many times he must have worn the same expression. Elgar had that effect on people, it seemed.

  * * *

  It felt strange to discuss it with Oswhent and the captain there, but beyond lowering their voices, there wasn’t much they could do about it. Seth wondered why Imperator Elgar didn’t come down himself, why he’d wanted to talk only to Lucius, but he didn’t suppose he could ask, and Lucius didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it much, either. He’d somehow managed to say even less than usual, despite being the one who had to explain everything.

  Braddock was against it from the start, but that was to be expected—for a mercenary, he sure had trouble following orders. Morgan had stayed mostly silent while Deinol talked too much, swerving from one opinion to another. And the woman had stayed in her corner, slouching against the wall, her eyes half closed, as if all this had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

  “Here’s the worst of it,” Deinol said at last. “How’re we to decide who stays and who goes? If we are doing it, I suppose it makes sense to have the strongest ones go, but to leave Seth here…”

  “It’s more dangerous to leave anyone here, I think,” Lucius said. “I’d have offered to stay myself, but Elgar wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Well, there’s always…” Deinol jerked his head toward the far corner, lowering his voice. “Her. Why not have her stay, eh?”

  Lucius shook his head, but Seth couldn’t tell what that meant. Drop it, most likely. But Deinol had a point—what were they going to do with her?

  “I—I don’t mind staying, if you all think that’s best,” Seth said. That was only fair, wasn’t it? This whole thing was his fault if it was anyone’s. “If you want
to just leave us as you found us, and the four of you go…”

  “We haven’t decided that anyone’ll go,” Braddock said, curling his lip. “I don’t trust any of this lot for a moment.”

  “I can’t say I do either,” Lucius said, “but having some of us out has got to be better than the alternative.”

  Morgan nodded. “He’s right.” It was the first substantial thing she’d said in what seemed like ages. “I think you should do it.”

  Lucius cocked his head. “‘You’? Not ‘we’?”

  “No,” Morgan agreed. “I’m staying here.”

  Deinol blinked. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

  Morgan took a deep breath. “The boy can’t stay here,” she said. “He’s too delicate, and he doesn’t know how to take care of himself. Out there I’ll hardly be more help than he would—I’ve never left Valyanrend in my life, and even if Deinol hasn’t either, at least he can use a sword. As for the rest of it … well, I wouldn’t mind a rest, even if the accommodations aren’t what I’d have chosen.”

  Seth felt something twist in his gut. “No, listen, I—I’m not a child. I can—”

  “You can’t,” Morgan said. “I’ve decided, and I’m more stubborn than you. Leave it be.”

  Braddock shook his head. “Fuck that. You stay, and so do I.”

  That made her look weary but not surprised. “Braddock, you’d be more help to them than anyone.”

  “I’d be more help to Elgar than anyone, you mean,” Braddock said. “And I’ve no desire to be his little errand boy. Let the rest of them run about on his orders.” He twitched his broad shoulders. “Besides … who knows whether they’ll even keep us in the same place, but if my presence could do any good, I’d rather be there to do it than stuck outside somewhere wondering about it.”

  “I don’t need looking after,” Morgan insisted.

  He scratched his cheek. “That’s as it may be, but it doesn’t change my mind.”

  Lucius hesitated. “Well, if you’re both truly certain … that would give us our four and two.”