by Tom Lloyd
‘And look what it’s brought me,’ Enchei scowled, gesturing at the difference between his own worn clothes and those of his friend. ‘A dead wife and strangers for daughters. It wouldn’t have been worth it even if I’d gone down in history as a hero.’
‘To some you did,’ the Astaren said quietly, ‘remember that at least, my friend. There’s no power or passing of time that’s likely to make me forget the Fields of the Broken and those who come after me will know it too. I owe my life to few men and women, but in that place I was more scared than I’ve ever been in my life.
‘We don’t get spotless records in this life. You don’t get to trek to the other side of the world and bring everyone back. Not me, not any of the Five or those under our command. So whatever happened in the years beforehand, the Fields of the Broken is what we’ll remember you for. The lives you saved; the godthing you stopped.’
Enchei looked away. ‘Hard to feel like a hero there,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘We almost went mad with fear, even with what we are and how we’re trained.’ He took the bottle again. ‘And now because of it, I’m hunted by hellhounds. Is it one of the Five doing it?’
His friend shook his head. ‘I’m here alone because, well, because there ain’t many survivors of the Fields around. A man came to see me in the spring and asked how many of us there were. He claimed to have met another survivor in the Imperial City. A cagey old man with some brittle edges who said he was retired.’
‘And you confirmed it?’
‘Of course not, but if a man believes something it’s hard to persuade him otherwise. I was all set to have Dak murder him before he reached his next mission – he was never going to go far anyway – but he’s a man with contacts, so I decided to use him if he proved not to be completely loyal to the House.’
‘Use him? Contacts?’ Enchei hissed as he realised what the man was saying. ‘He’s a Gealann liaison? You’ve got plans for one of the groups he has links to and don’t want it traced back so easily?’
His friend put a hand on Enchei’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. ‘My friend, you were never good at this game, so here’s a little help. There will always be layer upon layer in what we do – the decisions of the Five and our equivalents in the other Houses too. Be they Dragons, Ghosts, Eagles or any other Great House; to just read one goal in any action would be foolish and dangerous for you.’
‘I see. So what’s my part in this?’
‘With tensions as they are, now’s not a good time for us to run an operation in the Imperial City. We’ve no interest in antagonising House Dragon.’
Enchei frowned. ‘So … what? You want me to kill him for you?’
‘In a nutshell. That’s the price of keeping your family safe – it’s not been easy and I’ve taken more than a few risks in the process. It’s time to repay my benevolence.’
‘There’s a handful of hellhound-possessed soldiers out there, a summoner, a Ghost Astaren and who knows what else – all after me, and you want me to just turn it around like that?’
‘You’re resourceful and a survivor,’ his friend said simply. ‘I have faith in you.’ He gave an apologetic cough. ‘There is, ah, there’s probably also a Benthic Knight leading them.’
‘Oh Gods above!’
‘That’s the one I want, if it’s at all possible. Killing everyone will suffice, but if you can secure that one or trap one of its ghost-slaves for me, you would do the rest of the Empire a great service. No one trusts House Leviathan so we could do with knowing better what weapons they possess.’
‘And I’m going to do that how exactly?’
‘Oh, you don’t have to do the killing yourself,’ his friend said with a cold smile. ‘I informed House Dragon what’s going on several weeks ago. There are two detachments of Stone Dragons and a unit of Firewinds ready in the city. I get the impression they’re somewhat itching for a fight. Their pride was wounded by the goshe and Lawbringer Rhe facing them down.’
Enchei gaped. With those three battlefield units, House Dragon could carve through a small army. On the goshe island there had been one unit of Stone Dragons and their losses had mostly been a result of arrogance and ignorance. ‘Stacking the deck in my favour, eh?’ he croaked.
‘They’ve agreed no House Ghost will be harmed or taken. I was very specific about that point and they will honour it. Just as I don’t wish to provoke them, they’ll not make enemies they don’t need to when they may end up in all-out war with Eagle.’
‘Just Ghosts, eh?’
‘I can’t secure promises for those not of my nation,’ his friend said unapologetically, ‘they’re on their own if they get involved.’
‘Let me thank you on their behalf.’
‘I think it best you don’t discuss this with them.’
‘Aye, I know.’ Enchei took another swallow of whisky then handed it back and wiped his mouth with two fingers. ‘Well, this week just got a whole lot more fun.’
‘I’m sorry it’s come to this, but that’s the way of the world. I’m sure you wouldn’t have preferred me to assign a specialist team to the matter instead. What assistance I have been able to muster will be waiting.’
Enchei nodded. ‘Aye, it’s the way o’ the world.’ He was quiet a moment, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He ran a hand over his face as though trying to wipe the weariness and worry away, then forced a smile and embraced his friend once more. ‘I may not like this much, but I can hardly whine I’m ill-used now, can I? It’s what they made me for, after all. One final task is a smaller price than any other of the Five would’ve asked. One thing I do know is I’m damn sure not going to part the wrong way a second time, not with the choice being my own this time.’
‘Thank you, my friend.’ The Astaren smiled. ‘We will be watching for your signal. Good luck.’
CHAPTER 22
It was a fact pointedly unacknowledged that the single – albeit vast and extended – family that comprised the Imperial caste was dependent on both the industry and wealth of their lesser citizens. For all the magnificence of the huge Great Court, the Emperor’s residence or the branching sprawl of linked palazzos inhabited by the Imperial caste, the greatest concentration of wealth in the Imperial Palace lay on the books of the merchant quarter.
A strange symbiotic relationship had grown up between the distant strata of society as they met within business consortiums, each one needing the other to prosper. The human-built streets of the merchant quarter teemed with life as much as with the invisible, intangible tang of wealth – a hive of commerce constructed around the twelve great towers that punctuated it.
Those towers, as with all ancient structures within the sprawling complex called the Imperial Palace, were the property of the Emperor and administered for him by a bureaucracy of the religious caste. Each one was a square, flat-topped tower of smooth white stone found nowhere in nature; three hundred feet high and identical from the outside but all named for the peculiarities of their interior. The strange, shifting acoustics of the Whisperspire provided privacy that was said to confound even Astaren spies, while the Star Tower numbered among its varied astronomical wonders an orrery of near-perfect accuracy, four storeys tall.
The Glass Tower, where Prince Sorote waited for his guest, had every internal wall and floor made of some unknown form of glass – hardened to the strength of steel, but appearing fractured so that it was nearly opaque with millions of flaws and fissures within the glass itself. Nowhere in the entire tower was there a clear piece larger than a baby’s palm, yet the surface was smooth and every corner gently rounded.
Despite millennia of use, none of the fractures had lengthened, failed or sliced the skin of anyone within. A diffuse light shone through the entire building, a dull white glow that echoed the sky above. In high summer it was blinding and uninhabitable, but for much of the year it was a warm and bright place that had five over-sized storeys given to the copyists of the Im
perial House.
One corner of the tower, as with many others, comprised an oversized staircase that wound around an open shaft running most of the tower’s height. Within that shaft, human artificers had installed a pulley system so that only servants were forced to ascend the many hundreds of uncomfortably high steps. Two thirds of the way up the tower, Prince Sorote now had an entire floor to himself – Kashte had been careful to secure that and post Imperial caste sentries on the stair as guarantee.
The room he had chosen was typical of the Glass Tower – empty but for a pair of somethings best described as oversized wing chairs that faced each other in the centre of the room. They were ten feet high at the back and not just made of the same fracture-pattern glass as the floor, ceiling and walls, but a part of it too, with no discernible seam between any of them. Curves and indentations in the design, however, ensured a man could climb into the seat without sacrificing grace, and once there sit comfortably enough for any length of meeting.
The only human addition to the room, aside from a pair of black-lacquered doors, was a long polished table that seemed small and out of place compared to the rest of the room. Prince Sorote watched the city through a tall window set into the glass wall – comprised of small, diamond-shaped panes that, instead of muntins dividing the panes, had bands of fractures, echoing the rest of the tower. When he heard the rattle of the ascending cage he left the snow-swept view and went to stand beside the table, ready to respectfully greet his guest. The black double doors whispered open and Prince Kashte entered before making way for the dark-skinned nobleman behind him.
‘Cousin, may I present to you Lord Cail Vanden Wyvern?’
Sorote inclined his head to the portly nobleman dressed in his finest silks – formal House robes of blue and white, threaded with the purple of his caste. ‘Lord Vanden, I thank you for joining me – especially at such short notice.’
As the doors were shut behind him, Vanden bowed low to Sorote, lips pinched pale as he tried to fathom the full implication of the prince’s involvement. He managed to murmur the prescribed thanks for an Imperial’s invitation, but looked stunned by the whole situation and more than a little terrified. In any other setting his bodyguard would have remained at his side, but in the domain of the Emperor his safety was guaranteed and a paucity of witnesses would serve them all.
Sorote indicated the strange armchairs and the Wyvern allowed himself to be gently herded towards them.
‘A drink, my Lord Wyvern?’
I … thank you, My Lord Sun,’ Vanden said, struggling to raise his voice. It was as if the wind had been driven from his lungs so Kashte, serving wine to the both of them in lieu of keeping a servant present, poured him a generous amount. Almost as soon as it was handed over, Vanden had slurped half of it down and at last he seemed to gather his senses.
‘I must confess, My Lord Sun,’ Vanden said hesitantly, ‘I am surprised at your involvement in matters of a Wyvern family.’
As he spoke Lord Vanden glanced at Kashte, watching to see if he would leave, but the minor Imperial merely stepped back to afford them a measure of respect.
‘Please, address me as Prince Sorote. Prince Kashte there is my aide – he will attend us as necessary, but you may be assured of his complete discretion in all matters. He is fully abreast of the situation, but will not be party to this discussion. Should you wish him to leave, no offence will be taken I assure you.’
Sorote sipped his wine and spent a moment regarding the man opposite him, aware he could not rush the discussion to come. When Vanden failed to voice any objection to Kashte’s presence, Sorote nodded his appreciation to the Wyvern and continued.
‘First of all, may I express my condolences for this regretful situation as it has been laid out for me. You have been robbed of a wife and heir in a manner no man of your station should have forced upon him.’
Vanden’s lips twitched at that. ‘What do you know, Prince Sorote?’
‘Enough. Kashte is also aware, but such details are not for us to discuss.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘An end to the disagreement,’ Sorote said plainly, ‘to mediate a resolution that ensures what damage done is lessened or compensated for, without further bloodshed.’
‘I have shed no blood,’ Vanden said, drinking quickly again, ‘yet I fail to see how your involvement can erase the harm done to my reputation.’
Sorote motioned for Kashte to fill the man’s wine again. ‘The harm is done,’ he conceded, ‘but perhaps it can be mitigated. That is why I am here, why we are here, without retinues or witnesses. You may speak freely in this matter.’
‘Freely?’ Vanden spat. ‘The words I have to speak are not for you but that whore of a bride – no, I have nothing for her. I would not piss on her burning corpse. My honour demands that she die, you know this and there is nothing to discuss. The only words I have are for the one I thought was my friend.’ He tailed off, hands visibly shaking and Sorote allowed the quiet to descend once more and dissipate the anger crackling inside Lord Vanden.
‘If you will permit me,’ he began slowly, ‘such satisfaction of honour would be fleeting, my Lord. Vengeance is your right, but it would not serve you for long.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You are without an heir; the child was a girl, so her return serves no purpose under Wyvern law and the death of an innocent would be a stain on all our souls. Furthermore, there is shame cast upon you for the manner of Lady Kine’s flight. This I cannot prevent. It is a fact, and will not disappear.’
‘What can you prevent, then? Why are you here, Prince Sorote? Does my wife pay your fee with jewels stolen from my palazzo? I could petition to strip her of such assets, you know this. How did you become involved here? How did this become an Imperial concern?’
‘My acquaintance is with the other party.’
Despite the fact he didn’t speak Narin’s name, Sorote could see the inference strike Vanden like a physical blow. ‘How?’ he croaked.
‘He is useful to me,’ Sorote said elliptically, ‘and thus I have an interest in preserving his continued existence when such a thing remains possible.’
‘Over the laws of my House?’ Vanden snapped. ‘Over the traditions of this Empire?’
‘I am Imperial caste,’ Sorote said coldly. ‘Do not think to lecture me about the traditions that preserve this Empire, Lord Vanden. I come to you to seek a resolution that you will accept, not flout our laws or history.’
His words blunted the Wyvern’s anger and Vanden drained his glass again. ‘What is it you suggest, my Lord Sun?’
‘An improvement in your situation,’ Sorote said simply. ‘One that might leave you better off in the coming year than you are at present. I’m not ignorant of the pressures on you, the diminishing you will experience when Lady Kine’s flight becomes common knowledge. What I offer is an alternative to brief satisfaction of honour.’
‘How?’
‘A new marriage in the coming year – perhaps the lady in question to publicly visit you in the next few days for you to ascertain her suitability.’
Vanden sat up, confusion and wariness writ clear on his face, but Sorote could see his words had prickled the part of every nobleman’s heart that housed his honour.
‘What lady?’
‘Of the Imperial caste – currently out of favour at court and under my care. You would find her a most obedient and faithful wife, her caste soon proving more significant than the reasons the Emperor is unhappy with her.’ Sorote leaned forward. ‘I must state now that her continuing health and happiness remains of vital importance to me. She is royal family and would remain so; treat her with the care I would expect or there will be ramifications.’
‘I … I understand. Her blood is of the Gods, she would be treated as such. But who is she? Do you have her agreement?’
‘She will agree as I instruct her to.’ Sorote hesitated a moment, but knew he had to press on. ‘Her name is Princess Kerata – sh
e was once of the ruling council of the goshe. As with all of the goshe’s declared leaders, she was in fact under the compulsion of others and the magics they worked on her have permanently left her pliable and docile. You may not have the most exciting of companions in her, but she will obey your word without question.’
‘Goshe?’ Vanden spluttered. ‘What further stains to my reputation are you determined to inflict?’
‘None,’ Sorote said firmly. ‘Understand me now – your reputation is stained already, nothing further can be done about that. Kerata’s history will have no great impact on it, I assure you. When you are married the city’s gossips will wonder if your wife wasn’t put out to make room for a woman of far higher rank – Lady Kine is noble caste only by marriage, I believe? Whatever Lady Kine’s actions, her rapid replacement by an Imperial caste will cast an entirely different light on which of you two truly drove this matter, and of course judicious rumour can be employed to kindle this. Princess Kerata is mixed blood, as you may know; her mother was Dragon noble caste and the offspring she will bear you will be acceptable heirs for a Wyvern nobleman, I believe.’
‘Your confidence is heartening,’ Vanden said sourly. ‘If—’
‘I am fully aware of the details of your first meeting with the Investigator,’ Sorote broke in, ‘and I am a man whose discretion may be trusted as surely as his ability to arrange private matters. You will have acceptable offspring, that I guarantee, and the Princess Kerata will grace your side at all functions where a gold collar commands the necessary respect. Marriage to an Imperial caste does not permit your own caste to be elevated, but honour would of course compel your peers to tacitly consider you so.’
Lord Vanden was quiet a long while and Sorote realised he needed to order his thoughts rather than be pressed. Honour was one of the cornerstones of the noble caste and the humiliation of this incident was grave.
A braver man might already have taken his life once he heard Kine had escaped, quietly and away from the city so it could be described an accident. The fact Vanden had been castrated by gambling house enforcers would have been reason enough for many within the Dragon hegemony, and that had happened two years ago. Vanden clearly had no interest in that avenue, so Sorote had judged he was amenable to alternatives. Anything that might salvage his reputation and allow him to walk alongside his peers without accusations of cowardice – accusations which one way or another would lead to duels – would be welcomed, albeit with a pretence of grudging resentment.