An Empire Of Traitors (Of Hate And Laughter Book 1)

by Enache, Serban Valentin Constantin

  Erasmus Verwick produced the tale through words of wind. It claimed the exile had reached an accord with the slaver houses of Harpool; a loan of coin and swords for the man to reclaim his lost rights. That notion brought with it ominous possibilities. The shadow of the civil war had yet to vanish from all the corners of the Empire. Times were still harsh, especially for the smallfolk.

  Droughts and shortages, plagues and poverty, these things had yet to be quelled even eight years into the civil war’s aftermath. Though peace brought an end to strife, it did not bring the end of suffering. And only the gods knew why they allowed such pride and envy to work inside the hearts of men. Unsettled loyalties, unholy desires, these sins produced many others... Where negligence endured, misery was allowed to follow and spread. Such is the tally of war and corruption.

  “Lord Erasmus,” Birus said warily, “what about this betrothal? An Aharo girl? Doesn’t emperor Hagyai understand the situation he placed himself in and that of the whole realm?” The chancellor shrugged. Nonetheless, Birus continued.

  “Does he think the other high lords will stand for this? Men like Valdez, Blackway, Cryhorn, Krasus, Manheim, and all the others? If there’s going to be another civil war in our times, I promise you that the emperor has already started it. His exiled brother won’t need an army of sellswords to his additional harpoolian levies. All he’ll need do is land on the continent and embrace all those lords who will flock to his side.”

  “Indeed, lord Mandon, the situation appears dire. But I didn’t wish to see you only to talk of warnings, but to give you facts.” Verwick showed him a letter. Birus inspected the parchment attentively. The writing made out strange words, words without meaning. And the parchment was not signed, nor did it bear a mark of office, or the sigil of a house.

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s a cipher, my lord,” said Verwick. “And I do know the handwriting. It’s that of the imperial spymaster, lady Ambrielle of Hornwood.” The chancellor held the parchment closer towards the torchlight, and squinted at the queer words.

  He knows the cipher; I know he does. If he didn’t, why then show me the letter at all? Birus’ deduction was correct, lord Erasmus began to read.

  “The banished Soronius Mero has made promises, promises sealed in blood. The harpoolian slavers are attempting to gather strength around the exile’s claim. They’re gathering moneys, mercenaries, and are even trying to enlist the aid of Zjialaa, the pyramid’s all seeing red eye. It is clear that their purpose extends beyond their realm’s reach.” The old man paused to rub his eyes and then continued, squinting.

  “But there are rumors which speak of internal struggles between the lowlanders. Skirmishes still continue along the borders of Hallifex with Harpool and Bentar. It seems the emperor is growing ever more fearful regarding the future of his line. Damned be that civil war, which brought the death of so many a nobleman. His son and him, they remain the only living male descendants of the great Mero dynasty. Only one other remains, but he cannot legally inherit the… the… the throne…” The old man appeared to be out of breath, but then a violent cough got hold of him. Birus grabbed Verwick by the shoulders to keep him from falling off the chair.

  “Lord chancellor, what’s wrong with you? How can I be of aid?”

  The old man reached for his pocket, and drew out a small vial filled with a dark green liquid. Verwick’s hands twitched, so Birus had to open the vial for him.

  “Give... give it to me,” Verwick could barely utter the words. He opened his mouth to receive the vial’s content. And after he drank, the coughing stopped, and his breathing resumed as normal. Birus steadied him on the crummy chair, and sighed with relief.

  “Verwick, what happened to you?”

  “I bear an illness, my lord,” the old man said in a weak voice between loud gasps. “Ghost breath is what it is; or at least, that’s what my physicians call it. I’ve always kept it a secret; one’s ailment is always good knowledge for friends and foes alike. I carry upon myself at all times a dose of silk leaf and green root – ”

  “Lord chancellor,” Birus cut him off not unkindly, “you should go and rest. We can speak more of this another time, when you’re better.”

  “I’m not getting any better, young lord, only worse.” He picked up the letter, which had fallen from his fingers, and blew the dust from it. Verwick rubbed his eyes, and once again squinted and read. “Now, where did I left of? Oh, yes… The emperor has grown reclusive, and only one thing is on his mind, the future of the dynasty. However, he doesn’t see the threat slithering amongst the shadows of his own realm. Right now, it is not a question of if, but when will the Empire split. And when it does, we have to make sure it splits in two uneven pieces.”

  Birus could clearly see how the letter’s content left the old man’s expression. It was filled with grief, rather than anything else. Erasmus was never a craven, nor a fool. And neither am I. “Chancellor, what would you have me do?”

  “Lord Birus, after the announcement of this betrothal, many sympathies surely have shifted, or will shift soon enough. The emperor needs the steadfast loyalty of the realm’s wardens. He needs the hawk, my dolphin, the war horse, as well as the ram. It would be... fortunate, if you could ensure lord Sodomis’ friendship towards our goal of order and peace. The northlanders, while far away, are able warriors.”

  Birus frowned at the chancellor’s words. How does one go about securing another man’s pledge? If there is honor, the oath will be kept, if there is not... He didn’t want to contemplate the alternative. Though, it wasn’t anything new. During the civil war the realms had fought against each other – the black knights of Rogfort against the Streamlands and the northlanders, the southern lords against the Inquisition. And only later in the conflict had Erasmus Verwick, warden of the Eastlands, called the banners; declaring himself against Zygar Ferus.

  “Do we know with whom the spymaster was corresponding with? Is she working to sow dissent within our midst? Has she pledged her talents and efforts in service to the exile and his masters, the slavers who pull at his strings?”

  “My lord Mandon, I have no hard proof. Lady Ambrielle is clever like a fox, and she knows how to play the game of intrigue. The office she holds grants her many liberties, many privileges. I cannot be sure of her allegiance, and neither can you. Women are such wicked creatures, full of honied words, false innocence, and devious ambitions. Her office makes her an even bigger threat. One thing I know about spies, is that they play the game of intrigue with many factions. Knowledge is their weapon, and in times of war such a blade cuts deeper than steel. The real danger to Hagyai’s rule lies inside the Empire, not abroad.”

  Verwick paused for a moment to gather his breath and wet his lips. “My lord Mandon, bribes, whatever their form, gold, titles, holdings, incomes; they guarantee nothing – save the opportunity of the recipients to betray their oaths at a later time. You and I are only poor mortals subject to the whims of fate. However, you still have the strength of youth. Remember the oath of fealty you uttered to Hagyai Rovines Mero before the eyes of men and gods. You, lord of Rivermark and warden of the Streamlands... You have a duty to defend the cause of justice and lawfulness, Sun’s Helm, Castle Spire, his imperial majesty, the empress, and the crown prince. A duty to emperor and Empire.”

  Birus felt his neck hairs rise with the power of those words. It seemed now that the emperor’s most loyal vassals would remain those of Mandon and Verwick. The warden of the Streamlands and that of the Eastlands, the hawk and the dolphin; a union between sister realms. Enough to deter the most ambitious of schemes, I think. Though that wasn’t a certainty, but a hope. And Birus had little knowledge in wielding the sword of intrigue. The hawk was the symbol of honor and virtue, not of treason and perversion. “You may rely upon Rivermark, my lord Erasmus. I will not fail you, nor the Sun Throne.”

  After the word in confidence between him and the lord chancellor, Birus returned to the banquet. The spirit of the court re
mained pleasant – music, talk, and laughter. He looked about for sir Raymon Rorck, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Bugger him, then. I have to speak with the emperor. And as he approached the Sun Throne, Birus Mandon glared at the emperor’s court. The warden of the Northlands, Kalafar Sodomis, entertained no stranger’s company – only the knights of his own retinue. And as for everyone else, they all appeared ignorant. How many traitors behind such masks?

  Finally, Birus reached the throne and knelt before his sovereign. “Your imperial majesty, I commend you on this grand occasion. May we speak... in private?”

  “Of course, my friend. It’s too loud here anyway, and there are far too many eyes and ears about us. We’ll talk in my solar.” Hagyai Rovines made a hard effort to rise from his seat, while the guardsmen were already forming a protective circle around him. His young cupbearer helped him on his feet. “Ah, Birus… see how disciplined these men are? The guards are no talk, only duty. And even if they could speak, I doubt it would be anything of note.”

  “It is as it should be, your majesty,” said Birus.

  The imperial guardsmen consisted of valiant men who had renounced their own lives, families, and pleasures in order to protect the emperor’s person at all times. Each of them was required to take vows of silence. And to make sure they remained silent – their tongues were cut out during the joining ritual. They were relinquished of their sacred duty only by the emperor’s express command, or by old age. When a guardsman was no longer fit to carry out his duty, he was relieved of sword and armor, and granted a small pension for the remainder of his days. The Patriarch himself was in charge of performing the sacred ritual that prepared those men for the office of the imperial guard.

  When they reached the solar, the emperor instructed his bodyguards to wait outside the doors. Rovines, Birus, and the cupbearer proceeded inward.

  “Make some light, boy. Then prepare two cups of wine for the good lord and I.”

  “Thank you, your majesty, but no. My throat is quite soothed.”

  “As you wish. Only one cup then.” While the boy began to make light in the solar, Birus leaned forward to whisper a question. “You can speak up, my friend. The lad is my wife’s nephew. Rest easy. The boy can be trusted.”

  “Very well. Your majesty…” He hesitated. Come now, Birus. Speak your mind, else remain silent forever. “This plan of yours to reintroduce the old custom of your house… that of marrying Aharo women… Is it truly necessary?”

  Hagyai Rovines blinked those tired eyes of his, and the cupbearer served his master’s wine. The emperor took a sip and licked his lips. “Yes, my friend. It is necessary. You don’t know how my son is. You don’t know how I am. These are the sort of things which are best kept away from the mouth of rumor. But I will share them with you, nonetheless.” Rovines shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yoffis may appear just a little round of face and belly, but besides being a glutton he is frail.” The word seemed hard for him to utter. “Last time the boy caught a fever, it nearly burnt him out. The physicians said that it was a miracle he survived.”

  The emperor sighed and shook his head. “I am the last of my house, thanks to that bloody civil war, and cannot make anymore children. Gods know I tried. And they should know, for they cursed my seed to be so… fruitless. I’ve tried many a time with different women in hopes of making a bastard or two, to legitimize them – all to secure the continuation of my house. I’ve tried all the potions from my physicians, which were supposed to make a man fertile. But none of my paramours were left great with child, save for my wife, Hellena. Gods bless her soul.” Hagyai gave a shrug.

  “I believe I should be grateful for that, at least; and I am. But I’m worried that I’ve passed this defect unto my son. That’s why I arranged for him to be betrothed with that foreign girl, Iyleen... quite the beautiful name. She’s the daughter of a mighty chieftain of the desert tribes. One of Verwick’s servants, that mute dwarf… I forgot his name. Eh, it’s of no import. Him and Sycarus, that good lad taken as a ward by your steward, Abelbrooke… they helped with procuring the girl for my son.”

  Birus nodded, though, the name of this so-called ward of his lord steward didn’t bring any recollection to him. The old man never mentioned him to me. It is so like Abelbrooke to be so diligent and so tight-lipped about his duties.

  The emperor took another sip of wine, and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Some of my greatest ancestors were born from such marriages, including the great Gaius Mero himself. In our history there hasn’t been any Aharo woman, taken as wife or paramour, who died childless. There…” Hagyai Rovines took another sip from his cup, and sighed. “There, my lord of Rivermark. Now you know my secret reason.”

  For a moment that seemed quite long, Birus Mandon regarded the emperor in utter silence. It was pointless to suggest one of Verwick’s daughters, or that of any other lord in place of the Aharo girl for his son and heir. The man’s troubles were about a barren seed, not politics. There isn’t anything to say, nor to contradict. And if there is, it’s not my place to do so. But he could well inquire about something else. “Your exiled brother, your majesty,” Birus found himself saying in a somewhat wayward voice. “Are you aware of the rumors coming from the Lowlands, most especially from Harpool?”

  The emperor nodded; he didn’t look the slightest bit worried. “I am aware. My spymaster keeps me well-informed of such things.”

  The fair and obscure lady Ambrielle of Hornwood, Birus mused. For some unknown reason, the lady spymaster still remained unmarried. In the absence of an heir and upon her death, Hornwood would pass to some other house. Birus wanted to tell the emperor of the coded letter, of its scheming content. But to what avail? There was nothing to link it with lady Ambrielle, outside Verwick’s claim. Telling his majesty of that letter would cause only confusion. And that confusion would be exploited by the enemy.

  “I trust her and Verwick, as well as my vassals. You most of all, Birus.” The emperor gave a tired smile. “My brother has been banished from the Empire and all its lands, from crown and throne, as well as my name. I don’t care what he does in the Lowlands. Even with all the slaver houses behind him, and all the sellswords in all the world… he is no match for the Empire of the Sunborn. No match for the great stream lords, the black knights of Rogfort, the hardened men of the north, the eastern banners, and the many warships of the south. If he ever dares to sail for the Old World, I’ll crush him at sea. The only way he’ll land upon my shores will be as a floating corpse.”

  He is much too confident in the loyalty of his vassals. And quick to disesteem the military acumen of his older brother. “What of possible traitors from within the realm, your majesty?” Birus asked with caution, almost dreading the answer. “After all, Soronius spends his exile joined by lords Tychos and Lukanus.”

  Hagyai Rovines shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “As I told you, I trust lady Ambrielle and lord Verwick. The sons of those two exiled men are loyal. The lord of Ironmoat is not stupid to commit suicide by treason, neither is the lord of Crowhill. They’re both bannermen to Erasmus Verwick; and I trust that he knows how to handle them. The man was my tutor, after all. Tychos and Lukanus won’t betray reason, and what is the best reason in the world of men?” Hagyai asked, while arching his early wrinkled brow. The emperor’s ill health made him appear old, despite his green years.

  Birus’ answer to that question came in a solemn voice. “The weight of numbers,” he began. “The strength of arms. The reach of power. The attributes of any sovereign.”

  “Just so, my friend.” The emperor chuckled. “And that power lies with me.”

  The warnings planted by the chancellor in his mind seemed to clear away; but some of them lingered still. And while the celebrations for the betrothal continued, there was no reason for him to stop his inquiries on the matter. The lord of Rivermark had a small time before the events would be over, and the high lords would leave the capital to return to their own seats of power.

&nb
sp; “Your majesty, thank you for our word in confidence, for what you’ve shared with me. As ever, I remain your loyal servant; and so long as I live, I will defend my emperor, his family, and the Empire on pain of death.” Birus knelt and leaned to kiss Hagyai’s signet ring. In the candlelight of the solar, the ruby ring seemed to glow with life.

  Chapter VIII: The Ram’s Brother

  The sky was grey, and a warm wind blew against them. It had been thus ever since he left the manor of the Mores. He had bedded his wife at the wedding feast; and he had done so a couple of times more after that. Lady Catherine wasn’t a beauty... but she knew things. One would think she had learned from the best of whores. Arfaij had mixed feelings about his sacred bond of matrimony with the daughter of a wealthy spice trader. He did it for the dowry, of course. A shame my brother gets to spend it all.

  He would have preferred to marry into a northern house, a Treegreen mayhaps. Father joined with them. And instead of following that path of duty, Kalafar has chosen to ask that southern lordling for the hand of his amnesic daughter. Humph, the fool. But as he pondered more on it, he realized something. While he had been made to marry out of interest a wealthy lowborn’s daughter, his brother contemplated marriage out of love – and a lordling’s daughter at that. Which was the weaker union in truth, Arfaij wondered... As for the greatest arrogance, he knew with whom that lay. Kalafar... And now he’s in the capital at the emperor’s invitation. Whilst I make all the sacrifices for my house, he’s off to entertain petty distractions down south.

  After he had left the manor – with the hopes of having planted a seedling in the belly of his wife – Arfaij gathered a thousand able-bodied men from towns and villages to head toward the Snow Plains, near Herron’s Keep. They were to receive far more than the knowledge of any master at arms. He would teach these raw lads how to obey. How to organize in the field, and how to fight in ranked formation. Arfaij would have to do it swiftly, for autumn was close at hand; and the men would soon be needed back home in time for the harvest. This warm breeze is the last of this summer. Soon enough, the winds will blow strong and harsh.