by Mark Robson
Danar was thrown by her keen insight, but was careful not to let his discomfort show. Alyssa was sharper than the women he usually courted and that would make an interesting change. To spend time with a woman who was both attractive and quick-witted would be a rare pleasure, he decided.
‘Not at all, Lady Alyssa! I’ll not deny the others told me of your lack of interest in courtiers, and that this did pique my interest. But it was not the challenge of a potential conquest that drew me to you. It was my eternal quest to find a soul mate. My perfect partner, if you will. I’ve been searching most of my life, but alas, I have not yet been successful . . . unless . . .’
For a second, Femke was tempted to ram a finger down her throat to display what she thought of that line. Then her instinct was to lash out verbally, but she controlled it and kept her reply deceptively mild.
‘Ah, the perfect woman for Lord Danar! From what I’ve heard, that lady would be a find indeed,’ she said, taking the opportunity to circle around him, as if inspecting an animal in the marketplace, but actually creating the opportunity to scan the crowd again. Danar was making her assignment far more difficult than it needed to be. ‘Somehow, I doubt I would fit the mould for that particular role,’ she added, completing her circuit.
‘Really? On what do you base that opinion?’ Danar asked, his voice brimming with curiosity.
‘Extrapolation. You have been notably particular in your choice of young women in the past, my Lord. I could point out that many of them possess considerable physical assets, which I lack. Also, most have a similar outlook on their status in society – to marry well and to procreate. I can say with all honesty that I have little in common with those ladies.’
Danar laughed aloud at her honesty and pointed observations. ‘Granted, you’re different. But different is not necessarily a bad thing. Who’s to say that I’ve not been searching amongst completely the wrong sort of women? You’re attractive, single, and have your wits about you – why shouldn’t I want to get to know you better?’
About a dozen sharp retorts sprang to Femke’s mind, but at the precise moment she opened her mouth to give her chosen riposte, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye that made her blood run cold.
‘I’m sorry, Lord Danar, I don’t wish to be rude, but much as I would love to continue this conversation I’ve just noted that Lord Kempten is here. If you would please excuse me, I have urgent business to discuss with him that cannot wait. Maybe we could meet up some time and continue our chat?’
Femke instantly wished she could swallow those words. Why had she opened the way for Danar to call on her? What was she thinking of?
‘Well . . . certainly. If you wish,’ Danar replied, virtually lost for words. He had thought he was making good progress with her, yet suddenly she was brushing him off. What had he said? Their conversation had been harmless, and Lady Alyssa had appeared warm in comparison with the picture painted by his friends. Now she couldn’t wait to get away. ‘You intend to conduct business now, my Lady? The ceremony is about to start. Couldn’t you just . . .’
But Femke was already moving and did not stop to hear him out. Lord Danar’s parting observation about the ceremony was correct. Trumpets blared out a triumphal fanfare, announcing the arrival of Surabar. It also heralded the arrival of his armed guard. A great column of soldiers swept through the doors ahead of the General, marching straight up the middle of the Great Hall towards the dais at the far end, clearing a central path through the crowds as it went. The column split smoothly as the soldiers marched. One man after another peeled away from the front of the column to take up a predetermined position. With slick, inch-perfect precision, two tight, inward-facing ranks were formed in a mesmerising display of parade drill. This created a clear walkway about three paces wide for the General to proceed along.
‘Not now, my Lord – hold that thought until we next meet,’ Femke said firmly over her shoulder, and she swept away with the barest of curtsies. Her eyes were firmly fixed on Lord Kempten and she silently prayed she could reach him in time without creating a disturbance that attracted his attention. It was not certain that he would make an attempt on Surabar’s life, but the brief glimpse Femke had caught of his face had filled her with foreboding. She had long since learned to trust such instincts.
Femke was the wrong side of the forming ranks of soldiers to intercept her quarry. If she did not get to the other side of the Great Hall before the human walkway blocked her path, then she would be powerless to intervene in whatever Lord Kempten attempted. Ducking and weaving through the crowds of Nobles, Femke apologised and excused herself at virtually every breath, but did not pause in her progress. For a moment it looked as if she would be cut off by the line of soldiers, but with a final ducking manoeuvre past a group of ladies, seemingly mesmerised by the precision of the military men and their gleaming armour, Femke managed to slip ahead of the column and cross to the other side of the Hall.
‘Damn! Where’s he gone?’ Femke muttered. During the final part of her eel-like progress through the crowd, she had been forced to concentrate on getting across the Hall rather than tracking Lord Kempten. ‘He can’t be far away.’
Stretching up on tiptoes, Femke scanned the crowd for any sign of him – without success. What she did see, though, was General Surabar entering the Hall and moving along the still-forming human walkway of soldiers at a regal pace.
Femke’s mind raced through possibilities. What would I do in Kempten’s place? she thought, trying to calm her heart. It was thumping so loudly in her chest that she would not have been surprised if those around her started commenting on the noise. He hasn’t had time to plan anything elaborate, and by the expression on his face earlier he’s both nervous and determined. Come on, Femke – think! He’s a traditionalist with a reputation for being honourable in all his dealings with others. Whatever he’s doing, he’s acting alone – he’s not the type for conspiracy. It’s possible that others are involved, but I’d give long odds on that. If I were going to try to kill Surabar, and if I were a man like Kempten, how would I do it?
There were too many soldiers present. Lord Kempten had few options unless he was willing to martyr himself. Bells suddenly rang in her head.
‘Oh, the fool!’ she exclaimed softly, and she started to weave her way through the crowds to get as close as she could to where Surabar would pass. That’s it, she thought frantically. He’s going to martyr himself. A dagger attack most likely, and he’ll have poisoned it to make sure. No wonder he looked nervous!
What to do? The question burned in her mind. If Lord Kempten was going to attempt a suicidal attack on General Surabar, how could she prevent it from happening? Femke could hardly justify killing him on the basis of intuition. She did not want to kill him at all. Yet if she failed to act and Lord Kempten did make a successful attack on Surabar, then she would be responsible. It was a tough dilemma made worse by her having lost sight of him.
Suddenly that part of the problem was solved. Femke spotted Lord Kempten nearby. Sure enough, he was at the front of the crowd. His face was a waxy pale grey with tiny beads of sweat just visible at his temples. The instant she saw him, Femke knew her instincts were well founded.
Surabar was not far away. There was no more thinking time. Femke had to do something – and it had to be now. At that instant she realised killing Lord Kempten was not an option. Even if she managed it undetected by those around her in the crowd, she had foolishly told Lord Danar she was going to talk to Kempten and he was likely to be still watching her. Danar might be an irritating flirt, but he was not stupid. He would put two and two together if Kempten dropped dead in the crowd.
Without pausing to consider her next move, Femke removed a comb from her hair and wormed her way quickly through the crowd until she was directly behind Lord Kempten. She pressed one end of the comb lightly against the kidney region of his lower back and whispered quietly into his ear. ‘Don’t move, my Lord, or I’ll kill you where you stand. Conceal
ed within the comb at your back is a spike tipped with deadly poison. Please don’t make me use it. If I do, then your death will have served no purpose at all.’
‘What . . . ? How . . . ? Lady Alyssa?’ he spluttered.
‘Shhh!’ Femke hushed, her whispered admonition in his ear barely audible. ‘Stand still until Surabar has passed. Then we’ll take a little walk.’
They did not have long to wait, for the General was approaching. As Surabar stepped past them at a measured, stately pace, Femke grinned as she realised that the General had taken the bold step of accepting the Mantle in his full military regalia, including the armour. A wise precaution, she mused. It would infuriate the old-school Lords by rubbing their noses in his background, but that could not be helped.
‘All right, my Lord,’ Femke whispered, leaning close on Lord Kempten’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go now. Make all your movements as smooth as you can, please. I don’t want to jab you with this by accident; poisoning you here would prove embarrassing. Neither of us want that to happen, do we?’
Lord Kempten shook his head slightly. Guided by Femke’s hand at his back, he eased away from the line of soldiers and into the crowd. The two of them moved slowly through the mass of lords and ladies, taking care to do nothing that would distract from General Surabar’s progress.
As Femke directed Lord Kempten towards the side of the Great Hall her mind was racing. She had him in her power, but what should she do with him now? It occurred to her that she could lock him in a holding room until she could hand him over to Surabar. That was the most logical solution, but Femke knew that if Lord Kempten subsequently confessed, then Surabar would show no mercy. Lord Kempten would die as surely as if she had poisoned him. Surabar was fair, but Kempten had planned to assassinate the Emperor-to-be. That was a capital offence. Femke did not want another life on her conscience. Was there a way to resolve this situation without more bloodshed?
It was less crowded near the side wall of the Great Hall, and as the sonorous voice of the High Cleric of Shandar boomed out the initial phrases of the coronation ceremony, the vast majority of the gathered Nobility edged forwards to watch and listen. With the focus of the people on the front of the Hall, it was easy to edge Lord Kempten with quietly whispered promptings slowly back towards the nearest exit. The door was locked. Femke would have been surprised if it had not been secure. General Surabar was unlikely to allow any obvious security breaches today. The only way out of the Hall was through the main entrance, which was currently surrounded by dozens of soldiers. There was nothing for it. Leaving before the end of the ceremony was out of the question.
‘My Lord, we are going to position ourselves as close to the main exit as possible. We will leave as soon as the new Emperor makes his exit. Be assured I wish you no harm. Quite the opposite actually, but we need to have a quiet talk before I can let you leave the Palace.’
‘You’re going to let me leave, Alyssa? That makes no sense. I thought you would hand me over to the guards. You’re certainly full of surprises, young lady. How did you know what I was going to do?’ Lord Kempten asked in a startled whisper that could have been a lot quieter.
Femke gave a quiet hushing sound without moving her lips and then nodded subtly at the raised dais at the far end of the Hall. ‘Concentrate on the ceremony, my Lord. We’re being watched, and I don’t want to raise suspicions. Let’s say for now that I have eyes in my head and I use them. You were obvious. I didn’t want you to throw your life away unnecessarily. Shandar needs you, and others like you. We’ll talk more later.’
The final flattering comments were calculated to make Lord Kempten relax. They had the desired effect. As they had moved towards the back of the Hall, Femke had spotted Lord Danar pushing through the crowds to follow their progress. Femke inwardly cursed the inconvenience of the encounter. Danar was easy to pick out, both because he was taller than most and because he was the only person in the Hall who kept obviously looking away from the dais. She needed a clean getaway without interference and unnecessary complications from her would-be suitor.
As the High Cleric droned through the stately formalities of the ceremony, every minute stretched out in Femke’s mind until she felt the event would never end. Then, with sudden finality, his voice fell silent. He reached down, silently lifted the Emperor’s simple circlet of gold and placed it on Surabar’s head, to a muffled applause. Next he placed the regal Mantle that was the true symbol of power in Shandar across Surabar’s shoulders and fastened the ornate clasp at the front. The applause this time was more general, though hardly rapturous.
Bestowed with the symbols of office as Emperor, Surabar made a short speech giving an abridged account of the deceptions and treachery of the Sorcerer Lord, Vallaine. The previous Emperor had foolishly listened to Vallaine’s advice and given him control of several Legions. The Sorcerer Lord had sent this large army into Thrandor having claimed foreknowledge of the future through a prescient vision. He guaranteed the army would take the capital city, Mantor, provided that a certain Lord Shanier led the Shandese forces. Vallaine hoped to win power in Thrandor for his own purposes, but his interpretation of the vision proved incorrect. Lord Shanier duped him. The result was the slaughter of the Shandese army and Lord Vallaine’s fall from grace.
Surabar then told how Vallaine had secretly murdered the real Emperor and how he had changed his appearance using sorcery to replace the Emperor, thus covertly seizing ultimate power in Shandar. The Sorcerer’s abuses of power and his twisted ambitions were quickly outlined, followed by some general statements on how Surabar intended to heal some of the wounds that Vallaine had opened with their neighbours, the Thrandorians.
‘Peace,’ he stated firmly, ‘is always preferable to war. War should always be the last option, to be used only when all other means of negotiation have failed. As a soldier of many years’ experience, I can say with authority that whilst war will sometimes gain the Empire new territory and subjugate peoples, the pain and loss involved in achieving those gains are seldom worth the price paid in human lives. I hope that my reign as Emperor will reflect these views and that Shandar will prosper as a peaceful Empire under my rule.’
Polite applause followed the speech. Femke sensed that there were a few amongst the Nobles who were responding more warmly to his words than they would like to admit. But though Surabar had struck a positive first note, it would take more than a few words to stave off the inevitable attempts to remove the Mantle from his shoulders.
The trumpets blared as Surabar withdrew down the aisle of soldiers, who in turn peeled inwards in a precision display of formation marching to reform the column and march out of the Hall behind him. As the last soldiers left the Great Hall, Femke steered Lord Kempten to follow on behind them. Instead of heading for the main corridor towards the official exit, Femke diverted Kempten off into a side passage and led him into the heart of the Palace. Once clear of the crowds, Femke tried the door to one of the Palace administrators’ offices. It opened. Given that all eyes would follow the progress of the new Emperor, the chances of being disturbed here were slim.
Once inside, Femke invited Lord Kempten to take a seat whilst she sat on the edge of the desk. The height of the desk meant she was looking down at him. It was a small advantage, but it gave the illusion of authority. There had been some time during the ceremony for her to formulate a plan, so Femke cut straight to the chase. The truth – or at least some of it – would make her task here easier.
‘Now, Lord Kempten, let’s place any unpleasant thoughts of harming one another aside for a moment, shall we?’ Femke asked, casually pressuring the final tooth on her comb with a thumb. A needle sharp spike suddenly appeared out of the other end with a metallic ringing tone. It was good for him to see she had not been bluffing. She placed it on the desk beside her and crossed her legs in a relaxed pose. ‘I’m sure you’re aware what would happen if I branded you a traitor. If I called for the guards and had you searched right now, they would find a weapon. If my su
pposition is correct, then tests would prove that weapon to be poisoned, as is my comb.’
‘How do you know this? I told no one – not even my wife!’
‘How is irrelevant. Listen; I’m currently in the fortunate position of having the new Emperor’s ear, and there’s a lot about him you don’t know. You were a fool today. A brave fool, but a fool nonetheless. Throwing your life away in an effort to prevent Surabar becoming Emperor would have been a pointless waste. Your eldest son is growing up fast, but he isn’t ready to fill your shoes yet, my Lord. Please don’t rush into any self-sacrificial nonsense again. The truth is, Surabar doesn’t want to be Emperor. He doesn’t intend to keep the Mantle long.’
‘What? Then why in Shand’s name has he taken the Mantle at all?’ Kempten asked in disbelief.
‘Try to look at it from this perspective, my Lord – who would you expect to see take the Mantle if not Surabar?’ Femke replied.
‘Well, I don’t know exactly. There are several Houses that have legitimate claims to the Mantle—’
‘Exactly!’ Femke interrupted. ‘To be more precise, my Lord, there are several Noble Houses that would cut each other to pieces in order to place the Mantle on the shoulders of one of their Lords. It would be a blood bath. What Shandar needs now is peace, not more killing. We suffered drastic losses during the ill-advised invasion of Thrandor. The last thing we need now is to decimate our Noble Houses by entering a bloody succession feud. When General Surabar unmasked the traitor, Vallaine, he decided, for the good of Shandar, to take power for long enough to re-establish order. He will then decide which of the Houses has the strongest claim to the Mantle. My understanding is that once he’s established who among the Noble families has the most deserving and able candidate, he intends to abdicate his position to this chosen person. You must agree, my Lord, that there are Nobles who, though they have a claim to the Mantle, would make terrible leaders for Shandar.’