“What is it?” voices began to ask from the audience. The crowd began to murmur. “What do we need to do?”
“We must strike the head of the problem,” Jemmy said. “We must kill the emperor.”
Armand smacked his forehead. Stupid Jemmy. Stupid, stupid Jemmy. You should thank the five gods I'm here and not some bombastic High Guard from the capital. He had heard enough. The mage stench was beginning to burn his nostrils. Best report something less inflammatory to Emperor Horatio II. Jemmy is only a stepping stone to finding my true quarry. I must protect that idiot so he can lead me to Devin.
The crowd began to argue amongst themselves, first at a murmur, then a dull roar.
“Friends, be not afraid. Mages do not seek to dominate. They only seek to ease the passage into a new future, a brighter future.” He gestured to the junior guildsmen. “The mages will build a world where lordly masters do not stifle their juniors, impose cruel tithes, or exploit years of free labor under the corrupt master-apprentice regime.”
One of the noblemen, a man with a great bushy red beard, barked with laughter. “What if I'm one of those corrupt exploiters and lordly masters? Who will protect me? What of the crippling state taxes on my liquor factory?”
“Money you would rather invest in the livelihood of your workers, I'm certain,” Jemmy said, smiling.
The nobleman glanced at the wall of aprons and leather surrounding him. “Yes . . .”
“The world will not look so different after the glorious revolution.” Jemmy clenched his fists. “We do not seek to erase boundaries, but reassign them. Expand upon them.”
No doubt you're going to expound up them as well, Armand thought. These fools would follow you to assault the palace gates. We're almost on the palace stoop now, yet not a High Guard to be seen. Curious. No doubt all a part of my emperor's cunning plan.
“What is your name, sir?” Jemmy asked the nobleman.
“Rulus Tarbon.” The man glanced at his neighbors before shrugging. “Don't care who knows it. I own the Dragon's Flagon Bar and Distillery south of the market. We make dragon spleen rum mostly. We do good business. Could be better. My workers are a happy lot, but it's dangerous in the back rooms.” He eyed the crowd, spotting a man desperately trying to hide. “Oy, Jenner. So this is what you do on your day off, eh? Temple healers see to those nasty burns on your hand?”
“Bunch of frauds and thieves, sir,” the man replied, emerging from the crowd with a sheepish grin. He waved a hand swathed in lumpy bandages. “Wouldn't wish such shoddy work on my worst enemy. Good day to you, Mister Tarbon, sir.”
Jemmy chuckled at the byplay, raising his arms. “How much would your productivity rise and worker happiness increase if you could have a mage openly working on your staff, healing minor wounds and handling dangerous devices? What if you could be a just and true lord to your factory workers instead of an overseer for the imperial bureaucracy?”
“T'would surely help. I pay my men and women the best wages I can,” the nobleman insisted. “Those damn taxes . . .”
“We must all do the best we can caught in a corrupt system. I say we break free from this trap in which the empire has snared us.” Jemmy spread his arms wide. “After the revolution, you will see every man and woman in your factory not as mere workers, but as your own flesh and blood. We shall all be one family. We will fight together. We will bleed together. Your workers shall be as your own beloved children, sir.”
“That sounds . . . wonderful.” The nobleman sighed and scratched his head. “More kids. The wife will be thrilled.”
Nervous laughter echoed through the room. Armand rolled his eyes as he moved towards the back of the crowd. It was time to leave. He stole a few innocuous-looking pamphlets on the way out the door as evidence. Even those led by one such as Jemmy would not be so coarse as to advocate for the emperor's death in print. Sure enough, the documents contained a manifesto of generic complaints against the evil, nasty bureaucracy.
Lucky Jemmy. Lucky, lucky Jemmy. The crowd began cheering again as Armand closed the door. I am only shielding you to get to Devin. I do this to save the empire. Mages are the true threat. Your little populist revolt is a sideshow, which will only distract the emperor. He rubbed as his buff leather jacket. Some of the rank stench had followed him out of the building.
The cheering inside the building grew louder as he left. Armand knew the events were not connected, it still chipped at his heart. What would old Lucius say if he could see you up on that stage? Would he cheer like a proud parent or usher you away before the authorities descended? What is your true mission, sonny boy? He shook his head. Such odd thoughts that man conjured.
Major Vice shed the soiled, leather garments and resumed wearing his proper, black surcoat. He spent a moment to shine the collar tabs on his sleeves The empire is falling into disarray and rebellion and magic. I shall make her shine again. Armand hooked the tabs to his collar and patted them. The empire will not lose her luster while Armand Delacourt Vice watches over her.
He spurred his trusty steed towards the palace. The emperor must be appraised of the mission's success and protected from the darker element lurking behind the rebel plebes.
Emperor Horatio II was pleased he had uncovered a rebel stronghold, but seemed to have expected him to bring Jemmy back in chains. “What of the traitor, Captain Jemmy?”
“The man is a rallying standard for crazy radicals and weak criminal elements, but he is a fool on a pedestal. His audience appeared to be no more illustrious than dockworkers and disenchanted guild members.”
“Hmmm, a rabble rouser. But he offered no overt threat to either my empire or my person?”
“Nothing but empty posturing,” Armand said, passing the pamphlets to the emperor, who snorted as he began scanning the cheap leaflets. “I regret I did not discover more. I had to make my escape early lest he recognize my face and Lucius Judicar died before divulging the precise details of the man's mission.” This was technically true. A champion of justice thrived on parsing all those little technicalities. Damn old Lucius for placing him in this position.
“One less traitor, then. You killed the wretch?” the emperor asked, looking up from the pamphlets with a hungry gleam in his eyes. “Did you see the beautiful work they did on his face? The artistry of his crippled hand?”
“I lack an appreciation for art, my lord. I killed him. I burned down his house. Let the black rubble stand as a warning to other nobles with questionable loyalties.”
“None of whom attended this traitor's soiree Captain Jemmy was hosting?” the emperor asked, waving the gaudy-colored papers in his hand. “Peasants and junior guild trash screaming for unearned rewards are one thing. Noblemen are another class of parts entirely. No golden sprockets among all those brass gears, Major?”
“Brass down to their dirty fingernails, my lord,” Armand said. “Your rebels crawled from gutters and rat holes.”
“How nice. Without funds or support from the nobility or the higher level guild members, I suspect these so-called rebels will turn on themselves. Perhaps this Captain Jemmy is playing a deep game to arrest fools and malcontents. Is he a cunning man?”
“He has a soft heart. I cannot speak for the contents of his head, my lord. His accomplishments tell a tale of competence rather than cunning. Sergeant at a young age. Advanced to Captain of the Black Guards.” Armand dismissed these accomplishments with a wave. Jemmy is certainly no true rebel leader. Neither by temperament nor design. But if the emperor's curiosity is unsated enough to keep investigating that witless idiot . . .
“But why is he here in the capital, Major? Surely there is discord in the Western Province that bears investigating?”
“He became somewhat famous in the Western Province after his clash with their governing council and his subsequent rise to power. The people do so love an ascendent star. I suspect old Lucius sent his protege here because he is a stranger in the capital. But he flounders. I suspect the good captain is out of his depth
.”
“I see,” the emperor said, nodding. “An apt character profile. Your insight continues to impress me, Major. So, the disgraced Black Guard has no agenda, no nefarious scheme? You are certain this man, this rebellion, pose no threat to me?”
“The man is as nefarious as a puppy.” Armand shrugged. “A curiosity, but hardly a threat. Any legitimacy and power Captain Jemmy once possessed died with old Lucius.” The mages, my lord. Forget Jemmy's bungling and focus on the mages.
“Hmmm, 'Old Lucius' indeed. Whom you burned.” The emperor wiped a tear from his eye. “I love it. I heard you have a penchant for burning people in their houses. Immolated a relative once, did you not?”
Armand nodded. “My mother's sister. A foolish woman with Corelian sympathies.”
“Well, you have the gratitude of Emperor Horatio II for locating this nest of rebel vipers even if their threats have no teeth. Spend it wisely, Major. Gratitude is a fleeting commodity.” The emperor chuckled as he tossed the pamphlets over his shoulder. An aide detached from the wall and scurried to gather the fluttering papers.
“I am honored, my lord.” Armand bowed.
The emperor snapped his fingers. “Festus, get in here.”
General Festus emerged from the back room with a cadre of armored followers trailing behind him. He knelt before the throne and his retainers did likewise. The general flourished his cape as he descended so that the fabric fanned around him.
A luxurious new cape and more flunkies after your career wrecked on the shoals of Port Eclare, Festus? Not to mention the failed revolt that got you exiled from the capital in the first place? Armand thought. What have you done to salvage the emperor's good graces?
“Your redemption is at hand, Major.” The emperor sat back in his throne. “To that end, I have another mission for you. One that even concerns your precious mage threat. Should bring a smile to that stoic face, eh?”
“Yes, my lord?” Armand asked with a stiff, tiny grin.
“General Festus and his staff have discovered the location of a precious artifact within the pages of those magic tomes you brought me. It may be the key, the 'razor bar' as you so eloquently put it, to trap and slaughter all the mages once and for all.”
“Excellent news, my lord,” Armand said, his smile widening as his mind seethed. Who is the librarian now, Festus? By the five, I would sooner cut off my own arm than advance your damn ambitions. Focus on the mages. I can swallow my dignity and choke back my pride if it will rid the country of those pestiferous people. For the empire!
“You shall return to Port Eclare, Major.” The emperor smiled. “The site of your inglorious defeat at the hands of a mage child. The artifact is in the ruins of the old tower. I believe it glows.”
The armor of the dead glowed . . . “As you command, my lord,” Armand replied, ignoring the phantom groans and screams arising in his mind. The dunes had only provided shelter from the enemy. He twisted little knives in his brain, trying to recall the exact nature of the device in the tower. One of the books had speculated about various magical geegaws, but he could hardly ask for the vital details now. Such a request would move him from the position of mage expert to puling supplicant in the emperor's mind. The faith of Horatio II towards one Armand Delacourt Vice was shaky enough already. And General Festus would pounce on any sign of weakness.
“Bring the thing back to the capital with all due haste.” The emperor waved towards the general. “And take Festus with you. I hear the old boy just loves dragons.”
Armand pursed his lips. “The general will not be bringing an army again? It was so . . . effective the last time.” He smiled as the general struggled not to frown. All your men are dead because the mighty general would not listen to a mere liaison. Why does nobody pay attention to me when I try and warn them of the subtle threat mages pose? He just worried about the dragons.
“Worried about the dragons that infest the ruins, Major?” the emperor asked. “Cunning and stealth will succeed where brute force has failed. Dragons do not attack small parties, yes?”
“Not without provocation.” Armand glanced at Festus. “No, my lord, the dragons will pose no danger whatsoever.”
The emperor nodded. “Good. General, I think three of your finest men and yourself will suffice to protect the Major here.” His eyes narrowed. “But you are all expendable without the device in the tower. Find it. Steal it. Bring it back no matter the cost.”
“You know I would sell my life for the empire, my lord,” Armand said.
“I know nothing of the sort,” the emperor snapped. “Did you not flee the battle at Port Eclare? The general will be there to hold your leash as well as a shield.”
“I do not trust a general who revolts against the state.” Armand crossed his arms. “A plaster tile would afford me better protection than this man's shield.”
“The general has been pardoned for his past transgressions while your sins are more recent, Major. Go. Redeem yourself. Make the general your bosom companion. I like you, Armand,” the emperor hissed, “but I don't trust you. Not yet.”
My loyalty is contingent on the approval of Festus? Armand withered inside even as he nodded. “As you wish, my lord. However, I seek assurances from the general before we embark on this mission. I fear neither he nor his troops hold me in high esteem.”
“You mean when they gave chase as you steamed from the battlefield at Port Eclare?” the emperor asked, smiling. “That they hold you in part responsible for the death of their fellow soldiers?”
“I executed the man responsible for those crimes.” I stained my soul to murder old Lucius, and it wasn't to avenge the general's precious soldiers, but Festus doesn't need to know that.
“How valiant.” Festus rose and his steel greaves rang on the stone tiles. “Murdering crippled, old men in their beds.” He turned to Armand and bowed. “Forgive me. I see you are a man of honor now, Major Vice.”
One of his staff tittered and the general spun around, his cloak twirling as he pointed to the unfortunate man. “You will make an excellent honor guard, Private Lowe. You'll need a sense of humor for this mission.” He turned to the emperor. “I can have a small party equipped for a covert insertion within the day, my emperor.”
“Glorious,” the emperor said. “Well, I do believe that covers all the particulars.”
“My assurances?” Armand cried. Back to Port Eclare. I would do this this for no other man but you, my emperor.
“Oh, yes,” the emperor grunted, waving his arm. “Festus, assure the man. Give him a commission or something. He'd look better in a red uniform, don't you think?”
“Oh joy,” the general muttered under his breath before clapping a steel hand around Armand's shoulders. He beamed with hearty cheer as he projected his voice for the emperor's ears. “No more of this liaison crap. You're in the Red Army now, Major. I shall protect you like I protect all my men.”
Visions of the bloody, dismembered corpses on the beaches of Port Eclare flashed through Armand's mind. One soldier's lonely arm reached from the rubble to grab him. He shook the gauntlet off his shoulders and stepped back. “Not good enough, General. I am no mere package to be delivered. I shall retain my mechanical armor and weapons.”
“Of course. Would you like me to provide you a suit of red armor or would you prefer to steal it again?”
Armand ignored the quip. “Neither you nor any of your men will not harm a hair on my head, steal my sword, nor touch my armor by fist or by blade.”
“Suspicious little worm, aren't you? You have my word.” The general smiled, turned, and bowed to the man in the throne. “By your leave, my emperor?”
Armand parsed the man's words. The general had a canny old soldier's sense of honor: pliable in the broad strokes, but sticky in the details. Armand trusted the general's word, but questioned his motives. Likely, the reverse was true: the general was confident of Armand's motivation, but not his honor.
His eyes followed the general as Festus clatter
ed from the throne room. This promises to be an interesting mission. Which one of us will betray the other first to claim the emperor's prize at Port Eclare?
18. DEVIN, YEAR 498
Devin's eyes followed the movements of the High Guards as they led him into the depths of the palace, one ahead and one behind. He took the opportunity to examine High Guard mechanized armor and compare it to the Black Guards. It was his first chance without an emperor in his face or a sack over it to observe them up close.
The armor looked ornate and old-fashioned. Large, white plumes cresting the helmet constantly flopped over the guards' visors. Ostentatious gilt fluting decorated the plate sections. And the joints seemed stiff. One of his guards had trouble navigating a small flight of stairs. But the sound was the strangest thing of all. There were no spurting pistons, no soft, whirring gears, just an eerie fizzing noise. The strange machinery within the armor was more fluid and quiet to someone used to the shrieks and bangs of modern steam engines.
He remembered Captain Jemmy's smooth, easy stroll and complex, articulated motions as the black-armored giant led him through the corridors of the guard house. In contrast, the High Guards lurched through the palace like poorly constructed automata. Are these suits supposed to be more ceremonial than functional? Devin wondered. Drusilla could do a brisk business upgrading their mechanics.
A strange, blue glow emanated from within this ceremonial armor, but after a brief spurt of casual interest, Devin ignored it. Just another example of whoever designed this crap armor choosing flair over substance.
Curiosity satisfied, Devin glanced at his surroundings. The stone floors were covered with rich, plush rugs. Even the clunky greaves of the High Guards hardly made any noise as they tromped down the corridor. Or perhaps that was an artifact of their strange machinery? The walls were adorned with rich tapestries and he could see glimpses of small lush courtyards and trickling fountains. Then, in the midst of all the splendor, they came to a stark, wooden door.
The corridor on the other side of the door, which the giant old suits ducked to clear, grumbling all the while, had no tapestries or gardens. The hall was bare and cold radiated from the walls and floor, seeping through Devin's shoes. He huddled into his jacket and shivered as the guards chivvied him along a maze of turns and twists.
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 71