Imperial Spy

by Mark Robson

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ Kempten admitted. ‘I follow the logic, but do you honestly believe that Surabar will give up the Mantle? Power can be an addictive drug.’

  ‘Surabar has been a General for some years now, my Lord. He is used to wielding power over large numbers of people. To my knowledge he has never abused that responsibility, and he’s well known to be a man of his word. I believe that he’ll follow through his intentions. He took the Mantle under duress. I can say no more of the circumstances, but I want you to think very carefully about what I’ve said. Please – no more assassination attempts. I must also advise you that the Emperor’s intentions are to remain secret. Surabar will be watching for the strongest candidate to emerge. Tampering with this process by leaking his intentions will have dire consequences both for you, your family, and the Empire. You’re to tell no one. If it is discovered that his plans have spread further than your lips, then you, and your entire House, will die swiftly. You have been warned, Lord Kempten. I’ll lead you back out to one of the Palace side exits now. I suggest you support Emperor Surabar and encourage others to do so as well. Those who listen to you stand to benefit greatly, particularly if they belong to one of the major Houses.’

  As Femke watched a thoughtful Lord Kempten leave through one of the servant gates a few minutes later, she felt satisfied that he had taken on enough of her speech to make him cautious. He would doubtless feel great relief at his reprieve from a traitor’s death. This would remain at the forefront of his mind for some time. Femke had read his responses. She was convinced he would sit back and watch Surabar for a while before moving against him again. Femke would have to inform the Emperor of the risk Lord Kempten posed, but Femke felt sure she could make Surabar see the benefits of her solution. If Lord Kempten took her speech to heart, then intercepting him today could prove more important to Emperor Surabar’s life in power than the coronation ceremony.

  Lord Danar watched with frustration as Lady Alyssa slipped out of the Great Hall ahead of him. He wanted to try to pick up his conversation with her, but the press of people was making it impossible to catch up. Sliding in and out of the crowds as politely as he could, he kept pausing and standing tall as he was forced to slow by the mass of bodies funnelling into the narrow corridor. Stretching on tiptoes he tried to see over the heads of the people ahead. Lady Alyssa was nowhere to be seen, and Lord Kempten had disappeared with her.

  A commotion involving the clashing of many weapons drew him to push forward. Ignoring the complaints and protests, he squeezed his way through to find out what was happening. To his amazement there was a fully-fledged battle being fought in the Palace forecourts. The newly invested Emperor and his soldiers had been forced back against the front wall of the Palace. They were surrounded and outnumbered, but appeared to be holding firm as a great mass of men in nondescript clothing swarmed around them.

  None of the Noblemen were openly armed and none appeared ready to reveal weapons if they were hiding them about their persons. Much as in the Great Hall, the response of the Nobles to the situation was mixed. There were those who looked genuinely shocked, those who seemed openly pleased and those who were trying to disassociate themselves from the instant rebellion. Notably, there were none who threw themselves into the fight on behalf of the new Emperor.

  The fate of Emperor Surabar was of little consequence to Danar. The man could live or die. There would be plenty of Noblemen ready to don the Mantle in his place. Judging by unfolding events, one or more of them already had it in mind to take over. Danar did not care. His thoughts were elsewhere and he was completely uninterested by the politics of the moment.

  What did Alyssa want with Kempten, Danar wondered, his eyes searching for them amongst the masses of people still spilling out from the large doors at the front of the Palace. Surely she isn’t fostering a romantic relationship with the man . . . ? He shook himself. Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself firmly. Kempten isn’t the type. He’s the most loyal family man around. He’s always the first to condemn any infidelity amongst the rest of us. So why were they walking so closely? Alyssa seemed to have her arm around him much of the time. Could it be that she prefers the company of older men?

  Danar scoured the surging mass of people for any sign of her distinctive red dress whilst remaining careful not to get dragged into the fighting. The dress was nowhere to be seen. For today, it seemed, his pursuit of Alyssa would have to wait. However, he resolved that he would win his wager – not for the wager’s sake, but because he was attracted to this mysterious young woman. As Sharyll had promised, she was an enigma. Danar had never been so intrigued by a woman before. His friends had named her the impossible catch; but assuming she had not been killed in this ridiculous mêlée, his instincts told him he still had a chance.

  ‘You may have given me the slip today, Alyssa, but I’ll find you,’ he promised himself in a muttered whisper. ‘I’ll find you.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  By chance, Reynik was standing right next to the Emperor when the attack came. A large crowd of men, all dressed innocuously as servants and footmen, were loitering by the Palace gates, apparently waiting for their respective Lords and Ladies to exit the main building. Nobody noted until afterwards that none of them were wearing any distinguishing livery.

  The timing of the attack was precise. The Emperor was too far from the main entrance doors to get back inside. The instant the first weapon was drawn, the men of the General’s Elite Legion responded.

  ‘FORM WEDGE ON ME!’ The commander’s bellowed order rang clear as the totally unexpected charge by the disguised enemies closed the distance between them quickly. There was no hesitation. If the soldiers were surprised, they displayed none of it. With the same precision they had shown during the ceremony Reynik and the others sprang into a V-formation, with the reinforced point of the V aimed directly at the oncoming enemy charge. The Emperor and the High Cleric were safely encased between the two protective lines.

  It was an excellent choice, as the main charge was split the moment it struck. The major thrust of the enemy simply divided and glanced off the front of the wedge. Within seconds they were spreading out along the lines of troops, without any forward momentum, into the defending group.

  Reynik’s position was on the inside of the left arm of the wedge, which extended back to the outside wall of the main Palace building. As such, all he could do was to hold his position, watch and wait as the charging mass of men crashed against the outer edges of the wedge. His palms felt sweaty and his heart pounded in his chest as the clashing of weapons, the yelling battle cries, and the screams of the early wounded and dying filled the air with confusion. Of all the places to gain his first real battle experience, he had never anticipated it being inside the Imperial Palace grounds.

  Reynik was not sure if he should hope to cross swords with the enemy, or if they would be routed without the need to bloody his weapon. There was lots of jostling and pushing for position as the full weight of the enemy pressed home their attack, but the wedge formation held firm with the Emperor safely positioned in the middle.

  On instinct, Reynik glanced over his shoulder at the Emperor to see how he was reacting to this violent beginning to his reign. Despite the Imperial Mantle, Surabar looked every inch the General. His face was calm as he surveyed the scene and his sword was drawn, ready for use. There was no sense of shock or surprise in his expression. Reynik could see only a detached, professional interest.

  In contrast, the High Cleric looked both outraged and terrified. His knuckles were pinched white as he clutched his golden ceremonial staff against his body for comfort. Reynik began to smile at the sight of the frightened Cleric, but the corners of his mouth had barely begun to twitch upwards when his face froze. From around the corner of the building, not far from the thinly defended right flank, another group of men appeared, sprinting forwards in an all out charge. The group were tightly packed and looked far from friendly.

  ‘Your Majesty!’ Reynik yelle
d, pointing at the incoming enemies. His shout was loud enough to catch Surabar’s attention, and the Emperor’s head turned to look where Reynik was pointing. There was no time for a change of formation. Reynik knew he was disobeying a direct order by moving from his position in the wedge, but the right flank needed support and the left flank was holding firm without him.

  The new mass of fighters smashed into the right flank, instantly buckling the line inwards and breeching it briefly. A small group of enemy men penetrated the defenders and charged at the Emperor. Before they could reach him Reynik intercepted them in a maniacal charge of his own. A spontaneous battle cry burst from his throat as, with a slashing stroke of his sword, Reynik turned aside the blade of the leading fighter. Without losing any momentum, he dropped his shoulder and hurled himself into the group, sending bodies flying like skittles.

  The unorthodox counterattack ripped any sense of cohesion amongst the enemy group to tatters. Before they had a chance to recover, Surabar had killed two of them. There was no sign of his age in his fluid sword strokes and swift movements.

  Reynik had collided with the leading fighter so hard that he had lost hold of his sword. As he scrambled to his feet, there was no sign of it anywhere. This left him facing several swordsmen with nothing but a belt knife and his ceremonial armour to protect him. For a split second he wondered if his was to be the shortest career in his family’s long history of military service. Then, survival instincts took over.

  In one swift motion, Reynik drew and threw his belt knife at his nearest adversary. Fast as he was, his target was faster. The man swayed out of the path of the flashing blade, but Reynik did not care. The throw had served its purpose as a momentary diversion. Reynik followed the throw by launching into another rolling dive through the small gap between enemies that his thrown knife had created. He heard the swoosh of air and felt the glancing impact of a blade as he passed between the two men. No pain accompanied the hit. The blade was turned aside by his armour. Reynik did not give it another thought as he rolled to his feet next to the High Cleric.

  With a wrenching grab, Reynik tore the Cleric’s ceremonial staff from his grasp and spun to meet his opponents with the golden-coloured length of wood already a blur in his hands. The staff was lighter and longer than Reynik preferred, but suited his need perfectly. If the attackers had been surprised by Reynik’s first suicidal charge, they were astonished by his second. However, for the first time during the short fight, the young soldier was confident with the odds.

  Reynik had first been given a cut-down staff at the age of five and had been an expert in fighting with such a weapon for some years. His father had always maintained that at close quarters, particularly against multiple opponents, the staff was a more effective weapon than the sword. Reynik trusted his father’s judgement and set about proving him right.

  This was no place for fancy twirls. With a brutal efficiency, Reynik downed one after another of the enemy fighters, sweeping aside sword blades as if he were walking through a forest and they were merely branches in his way. The men were totally unprepared for the versatility of the double-ended weapon as Reynik struck again and again at vulnerable body parts, inflicting pain and unconsciousness on several fighters in quick succession. As each opponent went down, Surabar was quick to step in and take advantage. He gave no quarter. They made a formidable pair.

  Two more of Reynik’s fellow soldiers from the left flank, finally aware of the breach, joined the Emperor in finishing off the last two remaining enemy fighters. The right flank of the wedge had recovered its integrity quickly after the initial impact of the charge. The superior fighting skill of the elite soldiers was taking a heavy toll on their adversaries. Despite their superior numbers, the heart went out of the attacking force when it became apparent their surprise tactics had failed. The fight did not last much longer. The attackers were swift to realise they were not going to prevail against the expertly trained soldiers. A few minutes later, they were in full retreat.

  ‘Nice staff, your Eminence. Sorry about the paintwork,’ Reynik commented with a straight face as he casually handed the battered ceremonial icon back to the High Cleric.

  The holy man was still in too much of a state of shock to do anything but take the staff with a dazed expression on his face.

  ‘What’s your name, soldier?’ Emperor Surabar asked, unable to totally hide his amusement at Reynik’s irreverence.

  ‘Reynik, your Majesty.’

  ‘Thank you, Reynik. You fought well.’

  Femke completed her report to Emperor Surabar. The Emperor was not convinced that letting Lord Kempten walk free was wise, but he had heard her out without comment. After thinking the matter over, he decided to support Femke’s plan. Awareness of the potential threat Lord Kempten posed made monitoring his activities far easier. It remained to be seen if he had been instrumental in organising the attack after the ceremony, but with the number of men they had captured, the Emperor was sure any involvement would soon become apparent.

  ‘Time will tell whether you made the right choice,’ he said, then he moved swiftly on to new business. Femke said nothing of Lord Danar’s advances in her report, as it had little bearing on the subject of the Emperor’s security. Some things were best kept private.

  ‘Your next mission is in Thrandor, Femke. You’re to go with full Ambassadorial status to the Royal Palace in Mantor and instigate a peace process with King Malo. I don’t need to tell you how important this mission is. It is vital to the future of the Empire.’

  ‘Thrandor! Me?’ Femke exclaimed. ‘Why me, your Majesty? I know virtually nothing about Thrandor. I have no experience as a diplomat. Surely you’ve many people at your disposal who are far better suited to the role of Ambassador.’

  The Emperor smiled and shook his head slightly.

  ‘You have more experience than you credit yourself with,’ he replied. ‘It’s true there are some who know more about Thrandor. There are also people more experienced at international diplomacy, but you possess specialist skills that none of those people have. Your powers of observation and your reading of people’s character are excellent, you’re good at covertly digging out information, and you’re highly discreet. What’s more, you’re a survivor. I saw that the first time we met. You bested Shalidar, a top assassin, with guile and cunning. There are few who could claim as much. I’m confident I can trust you with this mission, Femke. Don’t let me down.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, your Majesty.’

  ‘That’s all I can ask. I’m sure that your best will be good enough. Whilst you’re in Thrandor I’d like you to do more than extend a hand of peace and reconciliation. I want you to gather information about the King of Thrandor and his close advisors. Any insights into the way Thrandor’s King runs his country will be useful in future negotiations. Information on how they defeated our armies so decisively is to be top of your list of objectives, but any Palace intrigue and rumour will also prove useful.’

  ‘I understand completely, your Majesty. I have a few practical questions, if I may?’ she asked, trying to sound confident, but feeling anxious about the daunting task ahead.

  ‘Of course, go ahead.’

  ‘The first question is simple – when do I leave?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow – at first light. The sooner you leave, the better,’ he answered. ‘You need a little time to organise the journey, but you must go quickly. I want you there before the Thrandorians think about retaliatory strikes. They might have initiated a counterstroke already, but I feel it unlikely. You must ensure they understand Vallaine is gone and that I don’t intend to follow his aggressive example. Stress my background. It will make them think twice about counterattacks. I want them to know Shandar remains strong, but with the change of rule, the Empire’s stance has altered to one of defending its borders whilst offering the chance of friendship and increased trade.’

  Femke nodded. The message was one she would be glad to deliver.

  ‘Am I to go a
lone, your Majesty, or will I be travelling as part of a delegation?’

  ‘Not alone, no, but I don’t think a full delegation will be necessary. I’ll appoint two of the Palace staff to accompany you as servants, and two soldiers to ensure your safety. A bigger party would attract attention and would move too slowly. Five of you will be able to travel swiftly and won’t be perceived as a threat.’

  ‘Very good, your Majesty. I have one last question. You mentioned I should present his Majesty, the King of Thrandor, with gifts. Do you have anything particular in mind, or should I organise this?’ Femke asked.

  Surabar laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll arrange appropriate gifts. They will need to be substantial if we’re to show the Empire is serious about peace. I’ll arrange for the treasury to supply you with all you’ll need.’

  ‘Thank you, your Majesty, I’ll go and begin my preparations. There is a lot to do. I’ll need to make sure Lady Alyssa makes a suitable exit from Shandrim before I become the Ambassador.’

  ‘It’s a complicated life that you lead,’ Surabar acknowledged with a smile. ‘Still, this trip will take you out of Shalidar’s sight for a while. By the time you return I hope to have apprehended him, or given him sufficient time to dull his need for revenge.’

  Privately, Femke felt it unlikely Shalidar would drop the idea of avenging her interference with his plans, but the assassin was a strange character. Anything was possible. One thing was certain, however – Femke was determined her guard would still be up if Shalidar made a move.

  With her orders clear, Femke left the Emperor’s study and returned to the Silver Chalice. Lady Alyssa was hardly suitable to be a Shandese Ambassador. This task would require Femke to play a different persona entirely. ‘A shame really,’ she mused. The last couple of days as the petulant young Lady had been fun.