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

by Enache, Serban Valentin Constantin

  “Theirs is high enough already. But such is the greed of men.”

  “That’s true enough,” Isador said. “And those sellswords have to leave soon. So many thousands are a drain on the capital and a nuisance. They take up room, food, water, whores. Not to mention that their outlandish ways frighten the people. The city guards are way over their heads with this. They cannot focus on thievery and other crimes, whilst watching thirty thousand men at the same time. The commoners can’t stand them either, and who could blame them? When an extra thirty thousand souls shit and piss, everyone knows...”

  “Yes, you have the right of it.” Soronius took a sip from his goblet, and pressed the sweet liquid between the arch of his mouth and tongue, enjoying the flavor. Sweet Sun, the best red there is. I’ve missed it so.

  He thought about reneging on his debts. But then Amarius remembered that he had signed that cursed parchment of agreement with his own blood. I swore by the gods; by mine own as well as those of Harpool. The ritual knife he had used to cut his hand had been a sacred object, or so the harpoolian clergy had claimed.

  The harpoolian noble families signed their most important deals not with ink, but with blood. It was a superstitious custom, he knew, one meant to frighten both sides to keep true to their accords. Else be made to suffer eternal damnation in this life as well as the next for all who shared in the blood – ancestors and descendants alike.

  The thought of such terrible sin on his house sent a shiver down his spine. “How in the bloody hell am I to raise one million sovereigns? My brother left the imperial treasury in more debt than I left it before my exile. Though, the true faults of the Crown’s poor coffers lie with my father. I’ll admit that.” Zygar Ferus had contracted many loans to fight his traitorous vassals and the Inquisition. The loans had been not without interest, however; and the passing of days and nights accrued new sums of debt.

  “There is another form of payment that the harpoolians would accept,” Isador said warily. “The one mentioned earlier by lord Erasmus.” Both of them grimaced.

  “I thought about that… I lived five years in that slaver city-state, and I won’t have it here in the Old World. I know what the Faith teaches us of slavery; it is an affront by mortals against the divine purpose of the gods. But my motivation does not stem from religious creed… but from history. When the First Sunborn came to this land he found barbarism, primitives, giants, troglodytes. Each tribe worshiped a different blood god. My ancestors fought them and drove them out. Those that remained cast out their violence, their idolatry, and superstitions. From the times of the Unnamed Conqueror, slavery could have arisen; but it didn’t. And we look now to our present and see that slavery is so much a thing of fashion for the wealthy and powerful. A fashion built upon the suffering and toil of others. But there is no honor in it. There is no honor to rule over a people of slaves. My ancestors left a legacy of reason, justice, and hope. And I wish not to be the Mero who ends that legacy.”

  “Your grace,” Isador said in a low voice, “as a former slave, I fear that my council on the matter would be slanted.”

  The man smiled a knowing smile. Amarius grinned himself; then took a mouthful of wine and signalled the cupbearer to refill his goblet.

  “The treasury is over three million in debt,” Isador continued. “Our only solution then, to keep slavery outlawed in the Old World and pay the harpoolians their million – is to borrow more coin, but without interest. That way we can make good on our debts in the future, without the Crown falling into bankruptcy.”

  “I never knew the filthy rich to loan huge sums of money at no interest.”

  “Burghers have a lot of money, your grace. Some of them do, at least. If you auction them titles, holdings, and lands… they will buy them. And we could raise money thus.”

  “Good lord chancellor, I am only a mortal emperor, not a god. I cannot make land.”

  “But of course you can,” Isador insisted.

  “No. I can’t. I will not use eviction; for it’s tedious and unpopular. I require tranquillity in the five realms, not unrest. Besides, taking land from one party and giving it to another wins me no less an enemy. My gains from such legal turmoil would be nothing.”

  “Then we’ll have to rely solely on the clergy’s wealth. Your grace will return their former Inquisition, and the Holy Temple will open its coffers to our hands. They have many objects heavy with gold and silver, objects that need to be melted down and wrought into new coins for the Imperial Crown to spend.”

  Amarius didn’t enjoy the notion. He knew what it meant, what it implied. And while deep inside he loathed Isador’s idea, it truly seemed the most favorable course of action. In this way at least, slavery would be kept out of the Empire. And he would gain a valuable ally in the Temple, an ally most popular with the superstitious lower orders...

  But not so much with the impious aristocracy.

  “What does your grace intend to do about Hagyai Rovines?” Isador asked in a most cautious tone. Vindication was always a delicate matter, even more so between kinsmen and brothers. And the new lord chancellor was no advocate for violence.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he said carefully. “The former empress, Hellena, has been confined to her chambers. My nephew, Yoffis, and his betrothed, that Aharo girl… are still missing. But I want them found. I want them safely returned, my nephew at least. I don’t truly care what happens to that foreign girl. And I think I’ll use the dog-headed serpent; he seems the perfect candidate for such a task of great import.”

  “And what does your grace intend to do with the boy?”

  “Though he is the blood of my house, I can’t have him intact.” The word was not easy to utter, but neither was is it hard.

  “You would make a eunuch out of him?”

  No answer came. Instead, Soronius resumed eating what little flesh was left on the rabbit’s bones, and the lord chancellor did not ask again. Amarius wasn’t looking forward to see his nephew cut, but that was the merciful thing to do. The boy was the son of his treacherous brother. Though it was a common saying that the seed of a traitor would also spawn a traitor; Amarius did not fear the boy as a backstabber. But so long as Yoffis lived… lived intact, able to leave a woman with child, he would be a threat to him and a prize in the hands of those willing to see him one day inherit the throne, or indeed steal it outright. Just as his father stole it from me.

  It was a merciful practice, not just in the Old World, but in other lands as well. It is better than death, he mused, while chewing on the baked rabbit flesh. But he had one more question for his friend and chancellor. “How long will it take to raise the necessary coin to settle these new debts which will pay for the old?”

  Isador scratched a temple, and consulted his parchments before speaking. “Too early to tell, your grace. But every debit has a corresponding credit; that is the beauty of double-entry bookkeeping. I need to further study the accounts and talk to the former treasurer and steward. In case any errors are discovered, they will have to answer.”

  Verwick’s creatures, Amarius thought. Lords Rowan and Summerhill. But what are they lords of? Just empty titles. They need to be replaced with loyal men. “We need a new steward, a new treasurer, spymaster, and captain of the guards.”

  “A new captain of the guards, your grace? Why? The present one has served you well by staging riots in the city and creating the way for your armies to advance unhindered. I’d say that is the work of competence.”

  “It’s a most valuable position, Isador. And I will not have a southern lord in control of mine own domain. Let the lord of Sunderbridge find someone else to employ his gentry.”

  “Who do you propose should be captain, then?”

  “Lord Lukanus,” Amarius replied at once. “He can be both the captain of the city guard and Castle Spire’s master at arms. Such offer is of high dignity.” Veomar Lukanus wasn’t a high lord, and neither had contempt for work. A contempt the established nobility usually nurtured, and one
that produced incompetence and unnecessary cruelty. Lukanus was a dutiful soul, calculated, loyal, and alive – in stark contrast to Sima Dragan. What better man for such duty? With him in that station, Sun’s Helm will be a better place.

  “What of the spymaster, your grace?”

  “Humph, yes… It’s awfully strange that my brother chose a woman for this most vital office.” Amarius did not recall much ties between their family and house Hornwood. Though they were southlanders, wealthy in a hamlet, manor, and a few plots of earth, they were a minor and obscure family. Obscure as the fair lady Ambrielle. I wonder if she failed to stop my landing out of incompetence and inexperience, or if she indeed wanted Hagyai off the throne. He suspected the latter. “I think we should keep her where she is. I can be just as progressive as my brother in regard to the fairer sex.”

  “That only leaves the steward and treasurer,” said Isador.

  “Yes…” Amarius took another sip of wine, then cleared his throat. “Though I will endure the judging mutterings and glares of the aristocracy for putting a freed slave, an outlander, a heathen, in such great offices – which reminds me, you’ll have to convert. I’m sure the Patriarch himself will do me the honor of bringing you inside the Holy Faith. But you yourself will have to administer these areas of state as well. Now, try to make an effort to estimate. When can I expect the great bulk of this debt acquitted?”

  “There are many things to consider, sire... but I fear we are looking at decades.”

  Amarius finished his wine and pushed away his plate. “If I’ll pay the accursed sum well before my death, I’ll be a happy man. Now if you’ll excuse me, lord chancellor, I’m fairly tired and wish to rest. Be sure to wake me when the holy faces arrive at court.”

  “As you say, my emperor.” Isador emphasized the word with sly amusement.

  Emperor, yes. I am the emperor once more, and I will have my triumph as well as the backing of the Holy Temple. Those two won’t be able to refuse me after I return them their most influential institution. And for the sake of not making an ally too powerful, the Patriarchy will have to share.

  Chapter XXVIII: The Inquisitor

  The carriage was moving slowly behind her, and the clouds had just started to drip. She enjoyed the gentle rain, especially since she was riding freely on a beautiful mare, and not inside the wheel wagon with the other sisters. They were still a few leagues away from the leper colony near Old Haven. It was a common thing for the Matriarchy to send supplies and washerwomen to such places. The colonies served to isolate those unfortunates, who suffered the horrible disease, from the healthy populace.

  Only the sisters traveling inside the carriage were bound to that mission of mercy, for Drakanes had a different duty altogether. Her holiness, the Matriarch, had told her of some peculiar deaths in the region; and had sent her to investigate the matter and report back her findings. What better woman for the task, if not her?

  “The peasants speak of something dreadful that defies worldly explanations,” her holiness had shared the confidence. “The people have found women… dead women. Each of them had been great with child. The witnesses found these bodies mutilated in a most strange manner – with their bellies torn open from the inside, without so much as a scratch on the outside. And with the babes missing from the ruined wombs. My brave Drakanes, you must travel to the village of Old Haven, the place where these disturbing news have arisen, and see what you can find.” The Matriarch had told her of other things, as well. Things of great religious and political import.

  There was much work being done within the Holy Temple in order to re-establish the office of the Inquisition; to re-establish it under new and equal foundations. But the Matriarch had no patience for such tedious proceedings. In lack of a proper inquisitorial seal attesting her presence and authority, the holiest of women had given Drakanes the very seal of her sacred office, alongside an official dispensation.

  “These two things shall protect you and all those who would aid in fulfilling your task. However, a seal and a piece of parchment are no protection from those whose purpose is to commit evil. As of now you are de facto inquisitor. And as such, you must prove yourself to be a proper witchsmeller. To distinguish between misguided and willful heresy. From practitioners of fool’s magic and augury to worshipers of blood gods. Remember, brave sister, that the wicked and unclean make good vessels for the roaming demons of hell to pass onto our world and spill their monstrous seeds inside their rotten souls. Thus corrupting each new heart they sway.”

  Though talk of the preternatural was as useful as dust in the winds, Drakanes had remained silent – preferring to keep her doubts to herself. As legate to the Matriarch, she couldn’t afford to be irreligious so early on in her new found rank. Nevertheless, her holiness had made sure to emphasize the undertaking’s great import.

  “Against the unclean forces, guile is as important as wit. And is a most useful tool when facing unfair odds. But the favor of the gods will protect you truly. The order shall provide you with everything that is necessary. Black is what you’ll wear, for we are in the months of autumn. And black is the tradition of our realm.”

  Like the western knights, her breastplate was dark and humble. I’m more than a knight, though. At least, I will be soon. The elections will be on the morrow, and her holiness has promised me a seat on the High Council of the Matriarchy.

  That was the true office Drakanes craved, not that of inquisitor. Hunting down and punishing heretics was not something she wanted to do as a trade. And even if she were to judge such cases with the utmost leniency, there was always the risk of attracting the unwished attention of other inquisitors. And those of a crude mind would certainly have in place of leniency, the attribute of zeal. And as for the new Inquisition’s twin masters, Drakanes had reserved feelings. The Patriarch won’t be too happy to share that influence; for a cardinal authority does not like peers.

  Having been brought up by a merchant, and having squired for a master at arms, Drakanes knew all too well the vanities among and between men. And there were no bigger vanities than those between men and the weaker sex.

  If a knight would insult another knight with a jape about the size of his manhood, the other would be entitled to call for a duel. If women of low birth were to do the same to a knight or lord, they would end up either beaten, raped, killed, or all of those things. The songs and tales of knights and their chivalry are for those gullible enough to believe such lies. Drakanes knew better. The fiercely proud knights and lords were the worst of them, and most dangerous if crossed when drunk and while entertaining company.

  On the road they had been passed several times by groups of mounted knights, who were returning to their lands and households. Drakanes knew what had happened down in the south with the usurper’s war, or rather schemes – since no true war had been fought for the capital. After the stream lords had changed sides along with lord Blackway, the gates of Castle Spire had been opened… from within.

  The Matriarch had also confined in her the usurper’s agreement with the Holy Temple. In exchange for non-usurious loans, a coronation, and a triumph… Amarius Soronius Mero would reinstate the office of the Inquisition, whilst also granting the Matriarchy equal power to that of the Patriarchy over its mandate.

  None were bound to be joyous of this news, save for the clergy and the more pious commons and nobles – which were quite scarce. Even though her holiness promised a new Inquisition – one that this time, its office would fulfill the mission it was meant for, that of guiding and not punishing... Drakanes was not convinced. Those with power were prone to abuse it to further their own ends, and few had the powers of an inquisitor.

  At least, I’ve risen in the world. Not so long ago I was shovelling pig shit, eating tasteless porridge, being called fiendish eyes, and scorned every which way. Now look at me… doing the bidding of the holiest of women. The black plate armor she wore made her feel bigger, stronger, imposing. The fine lines and inscriptions upon her gorget
and breastplate made her feel gracious, as well. Symbols of fidelity and faith – faith in the Twin Mothers and allegiance to the High Temple of the Matriarchy. She wasn’t a feeble sister of the cloth anymore, but a warrior, a sword as good as any other.

  By the time they reached the fork in the road, the rain had stopped; though, the clouds still appeared heavy and grey. The carriage went right, onwards to the leper colony, while she proceeded left to the village of Old Haven. Drakanes put her spurs into the mare’s flanks, and rode to make haste.

  In her youth as a squire, she had never mounted such a beautiful and powerful creature – had never felt so alive and free as she did now. The sound of iron hooves pounding against the brick road, and the wind’s loud breath all about her ears was frightening and exhilarating. Just as life, she thought. When we truly feel most alive is when our hearts are filled with dread, and when they’re filled with joy.

  After she had enough of the alacrity, she pulled at the reins to slow down her mare; and the village appeared in sight, less than half a league downhill. Orchards appeared along the main road – while the sun revealed itself through the grey clouds, the golden light a warm brush against her face.

  Drakanes took a moment to pause and dismount. She squinted and then looked afar, admiring the horizon which stretched all to the western sea, bounded by forests and low mountains to her left as well as her right. The horse had carried her far enough, and deserved to be spared the rest of the way. She decided to walk beside the animal, and as she did so, a thought came to her. Inside the saddlebag was a small item, which Drakanes had used only once on the day she had found it, or rather night.

  She pulled it out of the bag and stared at it. The sun’s rays bounced off the flat surface, and when she gazed into the thing, Drakanes smiled. Her broken lip had healed nicely, and in the brightness, the shard made the queer coloration of her eyes quite plain to see. All girls dreamed of having a mirror; even those which offered crooked reflections. But only highborn daughters received such gifts. Serfs had no use for them. Labor, long and hard, ruled their lives.