Talandra laughed and although the horror from her nightmares still lingered in her thoughts, they didn’t seem quite as oppressive. Instead of focusing on all that had been lost, she tried to turn her mind to what came next, what she would build in the future.
By the time they made it back to her quarters she was starting to feel tired.
“Thank you for the walk,” she said, embracing Eloise. “Perhaps we could do it again.”
“Whenever you like, Majesty. Sleep well.”
This time when she closed her eyes and the horrors came, Talandra had something to fight back with. The idea of tomorrow and what happened when she stepped beyond the reach of her nightmares.
CHAPTER 34
Nirrok, the Emperor’s body-servant, wrinkled his nose at the stench emanating from Taikon but he said nothing, made no sound and remained perfectly still. Being silent and still was the best way to go unnoticed. Being seen meant he would be called upon to fulfil a bizarre, and often impossible task, and that led to a greater chance of being butchered for his inevitable failure.
Yesterday the rotting corpse of the former palace herald had been decorating the throne room but this morning it had disappeared. It wasn’t Nirrok’s place to ask, so he’d said nothing and made very sure he didn’t stare at the brown stain on the floor where the body had been sitting in a pool of blood.
Emperor Taikon was busy staring at himself in a long ornate mirror that the Chosen had recently discovered. Until a few days ago the mirror, and the large house it resided in, had belonged to one of the most powerful families in the region. Now they were either dead, decorating the city walls, or had gone into hiding to avoid the wrath of the Emperor’s Chosen, his most devout followers and brutal enforcers.
The powerful families had been less than enthusiastic about Taikon’s recent announcement to increase the size of the temple, devoted to him, currently being built in the heart of the city. He’d unveiled the latest scale model to a carefully selected crowd, consisting of his most loyal followers and those with considerable wealth to finance the project. Instead of cooing and applauding with the others, the attending members of the families showed no interest and then left the celebrations early.
Soon after, or so it was claimed, they’d begun scheming to murder the Emperor and had engaged in several meetings with foreign powers. There had been no trial, no chance to plead their innocence, nor even any evidence of guilt. It wasn’t required any more when it came to a living God whose word was law. Those members of the Great Family too slow to escape were murdered in their beds and all of their possessions, property and wealth now belonged to the Emperor.
Roggo, the Chosen in charge of the raid, had taken great pleasure in describing in detail how he’d butchered the traitors. Nirrok had never thought he had a weak stomach, but some of the methods Roggo had used were very inventive and quite revolting. It was while one of the children had fled to a dark corner that he’d discovered the mirror and presented it to the Emperor.
“I’m not sure about the cuffs,” mused the Emperor, tugging on the long triangular sleeves that trailed on the floor. As he turned from side to side, making his robe swish, it gave Nirrok the perfect view of the Emperor’s profile. Something moved beneath the skin on the Emperor’s face, across his forehead and then down his right cheek. The lump disappeared, only to reappear on the side of his neck and then slowly creep up the back of the skull. Two more bumps started to move independently, as if there were insects or rats crawling beneath his skin, trying to find a way out. As their eyes met in the mirror Nirrok froze, held his breath and waited for the Emperor to look away. Instead he turned around and stared straight at Nirrok, an unreadable expression on his face. The lumps had stopped moving and just as suddenly they all disappeared beneath the Emperor’s skin. In their wake they left faint black marks beneath the skin, like charcoal lines.
“What are you staring at?”
“The mirror, Most Holy,” blurted Nirrok, averting his eyes and bowing low.
“It is pretty,” said the Emperor, turning to run his hands over the golden frame that depicted dozens of people being torn apart and fed to a series of hideous monsters. Things with too many eyes and tentacles, gaping beaks and mouths lined with daggers for teeth, arms that ended in claws and pincers, winged bloated bodies with tiny heads or creatures with no head at all. No wonder the mirror had been gathering dust in an attic.
A loud knocking on the door preceded an out of breath and red-faced herald who bowed so low his floppy hair brushed the floor.
“Most Holy, you asked me to inform you the very second we received word from your Generals on the front line.”
The sweaty-faced herald held out a scroll in both hands, which he presented towards the Emperor. Somehow he managed not to shake.
“Did I?” he said, looking bored. As Nirrok watched, another lump erupted on the back of his right hand before inching its way up his sleeve and disappearing from view.
“Yes, Most Holy,” said the nervous herald.
“Did anything special happen today in the war?”
The herald hesitated before answering. Saying too little could prove to be as dangerous as saying too much. “It was the first day of the siege of Charas, Most Holy.”
“Ahhh,” said the Emperor, suddenly interested again and coming forward to take the proffered scroll. He broke open the seal and quickly scanned the contents. The smile on his face ebbed away bit by bit until his whole body sagged. On seeing the Emperor’s reaction the herald started to creep backwards. He’d almost made it to the door when the Emperor threw down the scroll and screamed, his voice echoing off the stone walls over and over. The herald turned on his heel and tried to run but the Emperor grabbed his head with both hands and yanked it around to face him. Nirrok heard a crack and the herald’s body dropped to the floor.
Still in a rage and howling like a wolf, the Emperor stomped on the herald’s face over and over. Nirrok took a risk and closed his eyes, but could still hear cracks, snaps and squelching amid the screeching and rhythmic pounding. When something hot and wet landed on his fingers Nirrok instinctively shook it off but didn’t open his eyes. Sometimes it was better not to know. Eventually the Emperor’s rage faded and an eerie silence filled the room.
Nirrok risked opening his eyes and screamed involuntarily as the Emperor’s blood-spattered face was almost nose to nose with him.
“Bring me some clean clothes,” he said, wiping the gore off his face with Nirrok’s shirt. “And be quick about it.”
Trying his best not to stare at the red and grey pulp where the herald’s head had been, Nirrok scrambled to his feet and ran from the room. His sandals slipped on blood and crunched over bits of skull, but he didn’t slow down. He pulled several pairs of trousers, shirts and three robes at random from shelves before sprinting back to the throne room.
He skidded back into the room and the Emperor immediately stripped off and stood naked with his arms held out. As Nirrok helped him dress, he noticed the herald’s body had been removed. The guards were becoming very proficient at ignoring the screams and then quickly dealing with the aftermath.
“Follow me,” ordered the Emperor, marching away down the corridor as he fastened the last of his buttons. Four members of the Chosen fell in behind Nirrok but didn’t make eye contact or acknowledge his presence in any way. If he were to stop abruptly, he suspected, they would just keep walking and step on him in order to remain close to their saviour.
As he hurried after the Emperor down a long corridor, Nirrok heard the distant roar of many voices. The volume swelled until he could feel it in his bones and his teeth started to ache. The Emperor threw open a set of double doors and stepped out onto a balcony overlooking Lachim Square where a crowd of thousands had gathered to hear him speak.
Nirrok kept himself busy mixing the Emperor’s drink, getting the perfect blend of wine, water and fruit juice, so he didn’t look at the crowd until he crept out onto the balcony. Crouching down to
one side beside the Emperor, he peered out at the people and nearly dropped the cocktail jug he’d prepared.
Instead of thousands of adoring people he saw a giant mob of angry faces, cursing, spitting, shouting and throwing rotten fruit and eggs towards the balcony. The front of the crowd was being kept back by hundreds of Chosen so that even those with the best arm had no chance of hitting the Emperor with any projectiles. Even so, several very enthusiastic people with eggs came very close. Nirrok watched in horror as they were beaten and dragged away while the Emperor continued to laugh and wave at his people, totally oblivious to the hate pouring off the crowd towards him.
When the Emperor failed to respond or even notice any of the insults hurled at him, the mood of the crowd turned nasty. It started with shoving the Chosen, trying to force them back, and when that failed Nirrok saw something flash in the crowd. One of the Chosen staggered back, a dagger in his neck. The screams became more high-pitched, the insults stopped and more people started producing weapons from underneath their clothes. One of the Chosen had his head bashed in with a blacksmith’s hammer, while the two men on either side of him were stabbed to death with kitchen knives.
The crowd forced their way through the first rank, scrambling forward in victory as they sensed a chance to get their hands on the Emperor. A volley of arrows cut into the fastest runners at the front and two dozen people fell to the ground, crying and screeching in pain. A second volley followed and then a third, at which point the crowd began to break up, the fighting clustering into pockets. Groups of Chosen were cornered, slashed open and their weapons taken and passed on to others in the crowd. Soon afterwards, it devolved into a pitched battle.
All the while the Emperor sipped his drink, looking down on the crowd with a benevolent and slightly bemused expression.
A rogue thought entered Nirrok’s mind about pushing the Emperor off the balcony and seeing what would happen. He’d seen him heal from small wounds, but Nirrok wondered how the Emperor would manage if he were torn into a hundred pieces and his skull ground under someone’s boot, as he’d done to the herald.
“I’m bored,” declared the Emperor. “I’m going to have a bath. You, bring my drink.”
He flicked the empty glass towards Nirrok and he fumbled twice but then caught it before it hit the ground. One of the Chosen heaved a sigh of relief on his behalf before shoving him after the Emperor.
As he walked down the corridor, long before he reached the bath, the Emperor began to strip. Nirrok did his best to pick up the clothes while juggling the empty glass and jug. When the Emperor reached the royal bathing chamber the Chosen took up their position outside but Nirrok hurried inside where he started to light a fire under the huge copper tank of water.
“Don’t bother,” said the Emperor, sliding into the huge tiled bath that someone had already filled. “Give me the jug and get out.”
Nirrok passed across the jug and graciously accepted the dismissive flick of the Emperor’s hand as permission to leave. He briefly glanced at the murky water, wondered why it looked almost black, but didn’t linger or let it worry him. Just before he reached the door, something fell on Nirrok’s face but he ignored it until he was backing out of the room, pulling the doors closed. With the Emperor’s back turned he wiped his face, saw it come away red and glanced up at the ceiling.
Above the bath at least a dozen bodies hung from the ceiling on hooks like slaughtered cattle. Dangling arms stretched towards him, pale faces with empty eye sockets, some bodies without heads, or limbs, and each was covered with dozens of cuts. Where a body had a head, the throat had been cut wide open, leaving behind a pale white husk. Nirrok glanced at the dark water in the bath, quickly closed the doors and ran.
CHAPTER 35
A terrible sense of foreboding disturbed Balfruss’s much-needed sleep and he came awake with a start. Stumbling to the window he looked up at the sky and saw it was already past noon. He’d slept much longer than he anticipated. Ten hours, maybe more. Why had no one come to call for him? Had the fighting started again on the walls? Where was everybody?
“Relax, Balfruss,” said the soothing voice of Thule in his mind. “The western army has not attacked today.”
“The Warlock?” gasped Balfruss, trying to get his legs to work but they wobbled and barely seemed to hold him upright. He slumped down in a chair and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.
“No sign of him, or the Splinters. He must be feeling the same as us. He will need to rest. The army is on stand-by just in case. We’ll be called on if needed, but until then, get some rest. Go back to sleep.”
Thule’s voice had a peculiarly hypnotic quality, or perhaps the idea of sleep was so appealing Balfruss just surrendered to it. His head dipped towards his chest and he slept.
The next time he woke it was mid-afternoon and the smell of fresh bread tickled his nose. He’d fallen asleep in the chair and as he started to move, pain lanced up his neck. Wincing and massaging the muscles he shuffled across the room towards the covered tray and the enticing smells coming from underneath the cloth.
Despite sleeping for the better part of ten or twelve hours Balfruss still felt hollow and cold. His body was wracked with spasms of pain and he felt light-headed. Under the cloth sat a large bowl of stew, a huge chunk of warm crusty bread, a crock of butter and a jug of water. Beside that was a slab of cheese, three apples, two sweet pastries and some hard-boiled eggs. Balfruss tucked into the stew with vigour, shovelling it down and dipping the bread into the rich stew. As he gulped it down it brought back early memories of his mother cooking by the fire. His earliest memories of home were good, but she’d always looked a little sad.
As if he hadn’t eaten in weeks Balfruss ate everything on the tray. Whether it was the stew or just the quantity of food, it warmed him up a little, but he still felt a bit chilly. He washed and dressed in warm clothes, despite it being near the end of spring, and then went in search of the others.
“Thule?” he said, trying to project the thought.
“I’m in the gardens. The rest are asleep or eating,” came the response.
“Are you all right?” asked Balfruss, hearing a strange tone in Thule’s voice.
“I’ll tell you in person,” said Thule.
Balfruss made his way down to the palace gardens, stopping off first at the kitchen to grab another lump of cheese and some more bread. The servants directed him to the food then quickly got out his way and went back to their chores.
Finn was asleep in a chair by one of the fires, an empty bowl at his feet. Someone had covered him with a blanket and despite the food and warmth his face still looked pale. The fight had sapped all of their energy reserves and then had started to leach the life from them. Another few minutes and one of his friends could have burned themselves out like the dead Splinter.
By the time Balfruss found his way to the right door and stepped out into the garden the sun was already starting its descent towards the horizon. He found Thule sat on a bench in a high-walled secluded garden at the heart of the palace. There were no flowers in the garden and the air was unusually still and quiet. A few bees bumbled about in search of nectar, but all of the plants in pots or narrow beds were unusual. A gravel path led to the far end of the garden where a five-foot stone disc dedicated to the seasons was surrounded by the melted lumps of old candles. Six fresh white candles sat before the disc and with considerable effort he saw Thule light them with a tiny summoned flame.
Balfruss sat down beside him on the bench and leaned closer to a curious squat plant with thick purple vines.
“Don’t touch it,” warned Thule, in a dry rasping voice that startled him. He’d become so used to hearing one voice in his head that it surprised him to hear a different one out loud. “All of the plants in the garden are possibly poisonous. It belongs to the royal apothecary.”
“Charming,” said Balfruss, rolling up the cuffs of his long sleeves so they didn’t brush against the plants. “Why did you pick this spo
t?”
“Because I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed,” said Thule.
“I can go elsewhere,” said Balfruss, starting to get up, but Thule laid a hand on his arm.
“I wouldn’t have told you where to find me if I didn’t want your company.”
They sat together in comfortable silence for a while. Balfruss felt his eyes drift towards the disc. Long before organised religion, perhaps since the first days of mankind, people had given thanks for the changing of the seasons. People prayed for a mild winter so the cattle didn’t freeze and they’d starve to death. People prayed for a long warm summer for growing crops and a cool autumn for the harvest. People prayed for rain and sun, even wind on the days when the air was so still and warm that even a faint breeze felt like a blessing.
Despite all the changes and the centuries that had passed, the discs could be found in every country and people still gave thanks. Whether they prayed to the Blessed Mother, the Lord of Light or the Maker, no one could ignore or forget the power of the seasons.
“My brother is dead,” said Thule, the words hanging heavy in the air.
“I thought he was still in Shael.”
“He is, but I’m connected to him,” said Thule, tapping the side of his head. Balfruss felt sympathy for the Battlemage, but he was also amazed. Speaking between minds over any distance was something that had been a myth until Thule had shown him. It was another forgotten Talent, one that had the potential to change many aspects of daily life, even warfare. There were so many possibilities Balfruss doubted he’d thought of them all.
Unfortunately, from what Thule had told him, the Talent was almost impossible to teach. Despite being joined to Thule he had no idea of how it had been done and wouldn’t know how to connect to someone else. From the way Thule described it, the process involved giving a part of yourself to the other person.
Battlemage Page 30