by Stephen Hunt
‘You must remain with the expeditionary force,’ commanded Prince Gyal as he stalked up and down the chamber. Princess Helrena bit back an obviously hostile retort. Once the sight of such tension between Helrena and Gyal would have filled Duncan’s heart with satisfaction. Now, it only reminded him how everything he had hoped to pass lay as ashes in his mouth.
‘My daughter is dead to me,’ said Helrena. ‘There is nothing to stay here for.’
Prince Gyal’s face contorted with anger. ‘Nothing! I lost a quarter of the expeditionary force to these cursed mountain tribes.’
‘You lost them to bad weather, my prince,’ sneered Helrena. ‘There is a reason why tribes in the north excavate their towns deep within mountains and rocks, why their forests bleed sap and dislocate trunks so trees may regrow after a storm has passed. There is a reason why the barbarians in this part of the world know Rodal as the Walls of the World and only dirt-poor madmen abide there. Nobody wants it. Nobody values it. Why should we?’
Gyal jabbed a finger towards Helrena. ‘Those who led the slave revolt still shelter inside that cursed canyon warren.’
‘A pitiful handful. While recaptured slaves fill our ships’ holds with their natural condition restored, alongside many thousands of their kin as company to help pay for the revolt. You smashed the rebels at Midsburg. You won your victory there. You extracted Vandia’s retribution. You took slaves. It is I who has lost everything. This war has finished for me; this punishment expedition is at an end.’
‘I will have my revenge!’
‘Against what? The rocks and the gales? Who is there left to punish? Rock-dwelling barbarians and their goats and yaks? You can’t sentence them to any worse fate than life in that mountainous storm-lashed freak of a land they consider home. Forget Rodal and set course for Vandia. Do you think our enemies back home are so content as to bide their time? To wait for the punishment fleet to root out every escaped slave and barbarian villager who ever gave a runaway skyminer shelter? You tarry here for too long and you’ll return to find a triumph being hosted in honour of a newly crowned emperor. An emperor jealous of pristine victories not his own; assassins’ blades hired to seek out too-successful field commanders back with the legions.’
‘I shall be emperor,’ snarled Gyal. ‘With you by my side as empress.’
‘Remain distracted in Rodal and I will be kneeling by your side in Execution Square as a fine example of what fate awaits over-ambitious rivals,’ warned Helrena. ‘Victories are like farts. Only your own smells sweet. If you want to stay and pull wings off bugs up in the freezing mountains, do so. You will expend blood and treasure and leave a few sacked rice paddies behind you to show for your wounded pride.’
‘If an emperor is not proud, if a Vandian is not proud, then he is nothing.’ Gyal’s hand angrily cut the air. ‘It is done. Decided. If Hadra-Hareer won’t fall to air-power, it will fall to siege. The legions will seize every wind-harbour the barbarians use as protection from the storms; make them our shelters. I shall throw our forces like a noose around their mountains. No food or supplies will enter HadraHareer. The barbarians will send their starving children out from behind their walls and beg me to take them as slaves merely so they may live another day.’
‘You do not have the forces to mount such a siege,’ said Helrena. ‘And more to the point, neither of us has the time for a protracted blockade.’
‘King Marcus will provide barbarian regiments to swell our ranks,’ said Gyal. ‘And I have sent for the skels. My gold calls thousands more fighters to our flag – mercenaries and local free companies and piratesfor-hire. I will muster the forces to make an end of this campaign to my satisfaction.’
‘Think with your mind, not your wounded pride. I intend to travel home and attend the court . . . ensure that the emperor receives the right reports from our campaign.’ She stared across at the secret police’s master. ‘I am sure that there are many who will be only too glad to spin a different tale.’
Apolleon nodded thoughtfully. ‘That is not a bad idea. No, not bad at all. Fill the slave markets with prisoners. Let the celestial caste have a taste of the booty that will return with the punishment fleet. Whet their appetites. You can enter mourning for Lady Cassandra. Circae and her allies will be unable to act against you, not without their manoeuvres being perceived as the height of bad taste. Buy extra time to claim the Diamond Throne.’
‘And how fares the health of the noble Emperor Jaelis?’ asked Gyal.
Apolleon grinned. ‘Less and less noble every week. Where the emperor’s mind fails, his body now follows. Princess Helrena is correct. The time to act is approaching.’
‘When the emperor dies, Apolleon, I will need the backing of your hoodsmen,’ said Helrena. ‘During the scramble for the throne the threat of the secret police will help dissuade our foes from courting the army. None of us can afford a military conflict inside the Imperium. Announcing your support early would be advantageous to us.’
‘If in bad form, given Emperor Jaelis still warms the throne,’ said Apolleon. ‘You must be patient. I will not be returning to the court for a little while yet. I haven’t been dispatched to this far-called backwater to check on your progress . . . I come hunting for the outlaw Sariel Skel-bane.’
‘Him again?’ spat Helrena. ‘Your obsession with capturing that old vagrant helped seal our defeat during the slave revolt. Is his distraction to cost me the throne now, too?’
‘There are matters beyond your concern,’ said Apolleon. ‘And this is one of them. You need merely accept that Sariel Skel-bane’s long overdue execution is necessary to a great many things. Including your future.’
‘It’s my future that interests me, not ancient history. I need your support in the capital, in Vandis,’ demanded Helrena. ‘Not settling old grudges against some elderly bandit who made the hoodsmen appear incompetent during the first flush of his youth.’
‘Those “grudges” you speak of are mine to settle.’
Helrena appeared disgusted by the reply. ‘So now I have two thickheaded pride-swelled allies to worry about? May my ancestors send me women as allies rather than men.’
‘We are on the right course, Princess,’ reassured Apolleon. ‘The art of politics is the art of the unexpected. And what could be more unexpected than two arch-enemies returning from campaign as firm allies? After the union of the disparate factions supporting your houses, you will possess an almost unstoppable momentum towards the throne. All the more powerful given your rivals will be taken completely by surprise. Unprepared for the marriage and the realignment of power it entails. An adroit stratagem.’
‘Yes. It’s almost as if we don’t need you,’ said Helrena.
‘You will discover how much you require the hoodsmen’s support after I return to Vandia,’ said Apolleon. ‘I might have suggested this fascinating new strategy myself, except I imagined it ending with one of your daggers slipped into the other’s spine.’
‘Let love bloom in self-interest’s soil,’ said Prince Gyal.
‘I would not expect to remain Circae’s favoured pet when she learns of this news,’ Apolleon warned the prince. ‘I believe the old woman’s hatred of her ex-daughter-in-law is a touch greater than her regard for you.’
‘It will not matter,’ said Gyal. ‘Helrena and I shall seize the throne together. A new emperor and empress, a new age for the Imperium. Circae will have to accept the news with good grace. Who would dare to oppose an empress?’
Apolleon’s wily eyes crinkled. ‘You might be surprised.’
‘She will accept it or learn how easy it is for an old woman who has lived her life to pass away with the night.’
‘Circae’s support would be useful,’ said Apolleon. ‘Who knows, perhaps your union will soften her heart?’
‘Granite doesn’t soften,’ growled Helrena. ‘It only calcifies.’
‘Go to Vandia then,’ said Prince Gyal. He pointed angrily at Helrena, sounding for all the world like a petulant child. �
�Leave the war for me to prosecute. I will win it and bathe in the escaped slaves’ blood before I return.’
‘And I always imagined the mark of an emperor was how much blood he spared rather than shed,’ said Helrena.
Gyal muttered and stalked away. Duncan watched Prince Gyal and the secret police’s master depart the chamber together before he approached Helrena. Good riddance to both of them. With any luck, Apolleon will lose himself in the wilderness chasing shadows, while Gyal’s skull will be crushed by loose boulders inside the Valley of the Hell-winds.
‘Tell me that you are really returning to Vandia to seize the throne for yourself ?’ said Duncan. ‘That you didn’t mean any of what you just said?’
‘You forget your place,’ snapped Helrena. ‘It is true that this alliance wasn’t something I arrived at willingly, but Apolleon is right about one thing. The momentum from the union will carry me all the way to the Diamond Throne.’
‘You can rule alone,’ argued Duncan.
‘I could fail alone,’ said Helrena. ‘You think the leadership of the Imperium is a prize waiting lonely to be claimed? There is not a merchant, citizen or soldier in the Imperium who would not risk everything they possess for the throne if they thought they had just a chance at seizing it. With Gyal’s supporters added to my own, my chance is there. Without Gyal’s forces? I’m just another head of house jostling hungrily among the pack. Taking control is merely the start of the game. Long after the throne is claimed, new allies will be needed to hold the empire and solidify support. Time to gather endorsements and win over old opponents through patronage and appointments.’
‘I haven’t forgotten my place,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s by your side.’
Helrena shook her head. ‘Once. No longer. I must leave the bulk of my guardsmen fighting with Gyal’s forces or risk being accused of abandoning my post. My return to Vandia has to be interpreted as a mother’s mourning, not the dereliction of her duty.’
‘Cassandra’s not dead!’ shouted Duncan.
‘She is dead,’ roared Helrena. ‘Rotting flesh and a lost soul struggling to recover her honour through a clean death. She’s no longer a Vandian. No longer celestial caste. How can she be anything other than dead?’
‘I don’t understand you,’ said Duncan. How can you even think like that?
‘Then understand that Vandia is strength,’ said Helrena. ‘The day the empire is not is the day it falls.’ She looked at Paetro. ‘You will be posted here with Duncan of Weyland. Assist the prince in burning rocks until his doltish pride is sated.’
Paetro bowed, sadly. ‘As you say, Princess.’
‘No!’ begged Duncan.
‘You are banished from the Castle of Snakes, Duncan Landor,’ said Helrena. ‘You will stay here until the day I find your nature more agreeable. Serve with the punishment fleet. After the fall of HadraHareer, remain with the empire’s embassy in Weyland. Put your local knowledge to good use for Vandia.’
‘Please . . .’
But Helrena was already striding down a corridor away from the room.
‘How can she act so coldly towards Cassandra, her own daughter?’ To me.
‘The princess feels pain,’ said Paetro. ‘As much as you or I. More . . . she’s the little highness’s mother. But Helrena’s too much of a celestial caste to show it. No weakness, lad. Not in front of us. Especially not in front of Prince Gyal or Apolleon.’
Duncan shook his head in frustration. ‘This is wrong. All of it . . . wrong. Helrena’s marriage to that serpent Gyal. Abandoning Cassandra. Leaving us behind.’
‘It’s how the Vandians think, lad. How could we remain at Princess Helrena’s side? Reminding her of the little highness every time she saw us.’
I thought I was free of my past. But here I am, as trapped inside Weyland as I was in the sky mines before I won my freedom. How the saints must be laughing at the irony. ‘Our duty is to protect Helrena. How can we manage that from Weyland?’
‘No, our first duty was to protect the little highness. And in that we failed. This campaign is our penance.’
Not for me. ‘If I’m stuck in Weyland, then I’m returning for Lady Cassandra after Hadra-Hareer falls and Gyal buggers off back home. When the campaign finishes, I’ll track Cassandra down in the steppes and carry her to Northhaven. At least she can live her life in some comfort inside Hawkland Park.’
‘The princess didn’t order that,’ warned Paetro.
‘She didn’t forbid it, either,’ said Duncan.
‘It’s not the Vandian way.’
‘So it seems. But I’m only a lower-caste citizen,’ said Duncan. ‘An ex-slave on the make. It’s my bloody way. Let Vandia believe what it will about weakness and honour, the empire seems to be too far-called to care. Here I’m Duncan Landor, heir to a great northern house. In Weyland, I’m the prince.’
Paetro sighed. ‘Then I’ll travel with you.’
‘I’m the one banished to this backwater, not you.’
‘I was born inside a tribute nation, lad, not the empire. I may have come to understand the Vandian code, but it wasn’t the milk I was raised on. Leaving the little highness like a wounded bird in the grass for the first prowling cat to discover sits mightily hard on me, too. Besides, someone has to keep you alive when you run into those blue-skinned brutes again.’
‘You’re a good friend, Paetro Barca.’
‘Remind me again if we survive Gyal’s little war. A prince’s pride and vanity aren’t going to be much armour against mountain gales and cannon shells aimed our way from Hadra-Hareer’s ramparts.’
Duncan shrugged. It’s a siege. How dangerous can it be? He had a feeling he was going to find out.
SEVEN
VISITORS FOR WILLOW
Willow welcomed Anna Kurtain into her lodgings with a sense of relief. Whatever problems Anna has, they’re small beans compared to the complaints and worries of the refugees fleeing Weyland.
‘Ever since I was wounded by that assassin inside Midsburg,’ said Anna, ‘Owen’s treated me like I’m a porcelain heirloom. Far too valuable to put in harm’s way.’
‘He’s just worried about you,’ said Willow. She had a feeling that almost losing Anna had awakened the prince’s true feelings for his long-term companion. And about time, too. Of course, it wasn’t just Anna’s wounds that had nearly taken the woman away from the prince. Jacob Carnehan had kidnapped Anna and used the threat of making sure Owen never saw her again to force the prince to abandon the rebels’ doomed last-ditch stand at Midsburg.
Anna shook her head, angrily. ‘It’s insulting is what it is. I was the one who kept Owen alive in the sky mines, and after that, when we escaped to Weyland. Without me, Owen’s true identity would have been betrayed a dozen times over to the Vandians.’
‘I understand all about being treated with kid gloves,’ said Willow, rubbing her heavy, relentless belly.
‘In fairness, you aren’t in much condition to go trekking with your Northhaven boy,’ said Anna.
‘Sometimes I wish I’d been born barren,’ said Willow. ‘Then Viscount Wallingbeck would have divorced me quickly enough, however much money my family promised to lavish over his estate. I’d be worthless to the viscount. Worthless as a game piece to the all-mighty House of Landor as well.’
‘Don’t say that. That’s nothing to wish for. You have to believe that things happened as they did for a reason,’ said Anna. ‘Owen survived Bad Marcus’ assassination of his family. Then he survived as a slave in Vandia. Finally, he escaped and helped us all return home. What’s the odds of all those survivals lumped together? Owen’s fated to cast the usurper off his throne. He has to be.’
Willow wished that was true but couldn’t for the life of her see how it’d transpire now. ‘And what about you and how things have gone down?’
‘I’ve given a lot of thought to that,’ said Anna. ‘Back where I used to live near the Lakes, my brother and I were meant to be travelling south with our grandmother. She was going t
o take the springs at Tresterer and wanted us along with her to see a little of the world. Paid for our hotel rooms and our fares with the Guild of Rails and everything. But the evening before we were due to travel, she slipped in a puddle in the street and broke her leg. The trip had to be put off. Four days later, our town was hit by skel slavers and my brother and me were grabbed up. If it hadn’t rained the night before . . . if my grandmother had gone a different way through town . . . if a shopkeeper had just mopped up that puddle. We would have been safely out of the way hundreds of mile from the raid.’
‘And then you wouldn’t have been taken to the sky mines to save Prince Owen’s life,’ said Willow. She could tell from the pain in Anna’s voice how much the woman missed her brother. Willow and the other escaped slaves had at least been able to reassure Anna he was still alive, though. She had encountered the young man inside the great aerial carrier the skels used to launch their slave raids – his clockmaker’s training keeping him alive as an engineer repairing the city-sized aircraft’s machinery.
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Well, if fate’s got a place for me, I have to believe it’s by Carter’s side,’ said Willow. It was strange now, looking back on events. Being the heir to a great house meant that Willow should never have lacked for suitors. But in reality, growing up in Northhaven where everyone knew who you were and who your father was, it had been a curse of eternal loneliness. As though there had been a glass wall laid around Willow which nobody had dared to scale for fear of the wrath of the mighty Landors. Carter was one of the few people who hadn’t seemed bothered by her status, although it had taken the horror of surviving the sky mines to bring them both together. And now the Vandians and their empire and their revenge had driven the two of them apart, at least physically. She tried not to think of how much she missed Carter. What danger he might be in out in the wilds. Willow thought she heard a noise from the back of her rooms, but she dismissed it. There were always gurgling water pipes and rustling air vents inside the city. ‘But Carter’s off with Sariel, chasing the vagrant’s ale-addled ancient fancies and I’m trapped here. As big as a whale and near as beached as one, too.’