Tamerlane shifted his gaze quickly from the Inquisitor, who had in effect legitimized his position and backed his play, to the man he most feared could still disrupt it: Rameses. Indeed, the Governor of Ahknaton did seem to be filling himself with a new resolve at that moment, and as his brows furrowed, he started to step forward, toward the marble table.
It was now or never.
History turned on its axis.
Tamerlane surged ahead, moving more quickly than Rameses. He reached out and down and his fingers closed upon the hilt of the Sword of Baranak. Those closest by gasped, startled, and then gasped again when they saw what he was doing. Rameses stumbled to the side as Tamerlane cut him off, and his face twisted with surprise and outrage. But it was too late.
“Ezekial,” Nakamura began, reaching one hand out toward his old friend and subordinate, terrified of what might happen next. “You can’t—”
Tamerlane raised the gleaming weapon over his head and cried, “This is the Sword of Baranak, most sacred object of the gods of the Above. It belongs to the rightful ruler of our empire—the true master of all Mankind.”
Before any of the others could react—and indeed several were reaching for their sidearms to shoot Tamerlane down—he stepped forward, took a knee, and held the sword up to Hideo Nakamura.
“I believe this now belongs to you, General.”
Nakamura’s eyebrows arched. He opened and closed his mouth once, twice, but no sounds came out. All around him, no one dared move or look away. The fingers that had been brushing the handles of guns or tightening on triggers moved away. A soft murmur arose from the congregation, then quieted as Nakamura gathered himself and his emotions and looked up from the sword being proffered by Tamerlane to the faces of the men and women all around him—faces of soldiers with whom he had gone to war many times.
Silence reigned.
Then: “Take it,” cried someone from the rear of the crowd.
“Yes! Nakamura is the one!” joined in another voice.
“He’s the only choice!”
“The gods have favored him with their gifts—the holy flame that sent the demons back down to Hell,” Inquisitor Stanishur added to the growing chorus. “They have delivered these Lords of Fire to us in our hour of need. The choice is therefore obvious.”
Those closest by now—the top political and military leaders—began to smile at the idea. Nakamura was someone most of them respected—someone they could work with. Those closet by nodded and offered encouraging and supportive looks to the general. Rameses, however, turned away in frustration. Briefly he met Tokugawa’s eyes and glowered. He, too, could feel history swaying in a dramatically different direction—a direction away from him.
The general meanwhile swallowed dryly and looked from the crowd back down to the sword. It gleamed and shimmered like a mirage in the desert and he found he couldn’t quite focus his eyes upon it. He had been about to refuse, but now he felt somehow different about things. The longer he gazed at the sword, the more filled with energy he became, and the more confident—confident that he really was the right man for the job. He started to reach out, then hesitated and looked directly at Tamerlane. In a voice that was barely more than a croak, he muttered, “You may live to regret this, Ezekial.”
Tamerlane smiled. “I would regret anything other than this.”
Nakamura inhaled deeply, grasped the hilt of the sword, and raised it high over his head. Flames sprouted to life from along his arms and leapt up to wreath the sword in fire.
The crowd went wild.
2
The celebrations on Nakamura’s behalf were extremely short-lived. The general made certain of that. This was a somber occasion, he stressed to everyone present, not one for merriment.
Very quickly Tamerlane moved the crowd of survivors to one of the adjacent, slightly smaller chambers, while an army of laborers was brought in to remove the bodies from the main hall and shore up the cracked and crumbling masonry. Major repair work to the Church of the Reliquae would be needed very soon, but there were more important issues to be tended to first. And there were decisions of great import to be made, as well. There was little desire on anyone’s part to make merry so soon after such a horrendous disaster, but with the acceptance of Nakamura as the new leader of the Empire—and thus the survival of that empire beyond the end of the Rahkmanov Dynasty—there was much for which to be thankful.
Not everyone in the palace shared in the thankfulness, however. Governor Amon Rameses of Ahknaton kept to himself, brooding, lurking at a table near the exit, awaiting the first proper opportunity to leave without attracting any unnecessary animosity from the others—from Nakamura’s loyal new devotees.
As he sat, drinking wine from a golden goblet, a man in black approached him and bowed.
Rameses looked up and regarded the man with cool appraisal. “You,” he said. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.” His eyes narrowed. “You were with the Emperor’s entourage—though in what capacity, I have no idea.”
The man in black nodded once.
“And you weren’t killed by the demons, or by the soldiers, or by the ceiling collapsing. Congratulations,” Rameses said with a smirk, before quaffing more wine.
“We should talk, you and I, Governor,” the man said, ignoring the sarcasm. “In private. I believe we have things of great importance to discuss.”
“Is that so?” Rameses asked, his expression reflecting extreme doubtfulness.
The man nodded again.
“What could there possibly be of such great importance to discuss with me?” Rameses grumbled, his fist tightening on the goblet to the point that it began to bend. “Didn’t you hear? The governors—the worlds—won’t be gaining any new autonomy, despite this catastrophe. We have a new ruler to hold it all together.” Rameses snorted derisively. “And the worst of it all is—he’s not me.”
“There are certainly many things to regret at this juncture,” the man in black replied, nodding slowly. “I, for example, am quite disappointed that things here went so wrong, so quickly. I worked very hard to place demons obedient to me and me alone within the Emperor and his bodyguards. I didn’t anticipate that they would escape my control so soon, or that they would physically manifest into this universe at that particular moment. It was quite unfortunate.”
It was obvious that Rameses had been paying the man scant attention before. Now, however, he blinked, frowned, and looked up directly at him. “What? What did you just say?”
The man continued on as if Rameses hadn’t spoken. “But I shouldn’t complain,” he said with a shrug. “I was, after all, finally able to engineer an escape from my long imprisonment in the Below. And I have other plans in place, of course. Plans that might yet yield the results I seek.”
“What in the name of the Above are you saying?” Rameses started to rise. “Are you a madman?” He looked ready to call for guards.
“Hardly. I am merely an individual with grand plans for the future. For this entire galaxy.” The man in black gazed down at Rameses, and a light seemed to well up and flow from his eyes . Rameses saw it, felt it flowing toward him, into him, and felt a sense of peace and tranquility seeping through him.
“Which brings me to you, my dear Governor.” The man patted Rameses on the shoulder as one might pat an upset infant to calm it. “I believe you and I can do great things together. Things that will shake this galaxy to the depths of its core.” He smiled. “But, for now, you should simply forget my words of the past few moments—forget them entirely.”
Rameses started to protest, but the anger had melted out of him. His expression softened as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly several times. He gazed off into the distance for a moment, blinked again, and looked at the man as if seeing him for the first time. “I—I’m sorry,” he said. “Do I know you? What was it you were saying?”
The man in black allowed a thin smile to cross his lips. “I was saying that you should take heart, Governor, because this new
regime of Nakamura’s scarcely has its feet under it.” His dark eyes sparkled. “And things are perhaps not set in stone just yet.”
Rameses perked up at that a little. “Oh? And what would you have me do, then? And note,” he added quickly, “that I’d prefer not to be executed for treason, the very first victim of this new regime.”
“That is precisely what we need to talk about,” the man replied. He gestured with one hand toward the exit. “If you would?”
Rameses frowned. “You’re serious,” he said. “You mean what you’re saying.”
“Indeed. I have great plans in mind. Plans for you, plans for our new Taiko—and plans for the galaxy.”
Rameses stood quickly, already sobering. He gave the man one last appraising look and then strode for the doors. The man in black followed closely behind. As they passed through, the governor turned back to him and said, “We haven’t been introduced. I don’t know your name.”
“My name,” the man in black said with a slight bow, “is Goraddon.”
3
“There’s still no sign of the little girl,” Tamerlane reported, passing through the doorway into the general’s new, temporary quarters in the Zatalyan Palace, the royal residence adjacent to the Church of the Reliquae. He approached the general with a team of four First Legion troopers behind him. They had searched high and low through the wreckage of the sanctuary and all around it, to no avail. “Even the DNA scanners reveal no traces of her.”
“We have to assume the worst,” Colonel Agrippa rumbled from where he sat in a heavily-cushioned chair nearby. “The Princess Marens must be dead.”
Tamerlane sighed heavily. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. But he didn’t know what else to do.
“What of Rameses?” asked Nakamura as he lifted the Sword of Baranak carefully from the granite counter upon which it had lain these last few hours. “He disappeared from the church pretty quickly.”
“I don’t know,” Tamerlane replied, shaking his head. “But I’m sure it doesn’t bode well.”
“My flagship observed his fleet pulling out of orbit about a half-hour ago,” Colonel Agrippa stated. “I believe he and all of the Sand Kings have headed straight back to Ahknaton.”
Nakamura frowned at this. “I knew he wasn’t entirely happy with the way things turned out, earlier,” he said, stroking his chin.
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Tamerlane.
“But to simply leave—to leave before anything else has been decided…?”
“If you’re asking if it’s as disrespectful as it sounds,” Agrippa growled, “the answer is most certainly yes.”
Nakamura sagged a little and shook his head. “Discord already.” Then he straightened and regarded the assembly before him. “Never mind that. He’ll come around. Let’s get to it.”
Agrippa grasped the ornate handles of the massive double-doors and pulled them open. The three men strode out into the broad meeting hall that lay beyond. Its center was taken up by a long, boardroom-style, dark wood table that had been brought in a short time earlier. Seated at either side of it were the true power-brokers of the Empire.
Nakamura set the sword down on the tabletop, like a symbol of office, and then took the seat at the near end; to his right sat his adjutant, Tamerlane, followed by Colonel Agrippa and his top aide, Major Iksander, along with Major Vostok, all representing Third Legion. To his left sat Colonel Iapetus and Major Barbarossa—all that remained of Legion II’s leadership, following the killing of General Attila by the Emperor-demon.
At the far end of the table sat Inquisitor Stanishur, his two young and ever-present assistants standing behind either shoulder. Halfway down on either side were Governors Mehmet and Tokugawa; with Rameses having departed, they were the only planetary administrators left in attendance and thus now served as representatives for all the Imperial governors. Various other governmental bureaucrats and officials filled the remaining seats.
“Still no word from General Beyzit, sir,” reported a lieutenant as Nakamura took his place at the table.
The general looked to Tamerlane. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he whispered.
“He seems to have dropped completely off the grid,” the colonel replied quietly. “He hasn’t answered any Aether contacts in days, either.”
Nakamura shifted his gaze to Agrippa. “You have command of Third Legion until the Thunderbolt decides to check in, Colonel,” he told the big man.
Agrippa bowed his head.
“Alright. Before we go any further,” Nakamura began, addressing the entire room now, “I have to make one thing very clear: I am not claiming the title of Emperor.”
The others looked at him in surprise and a moderate grumbling broke out among them. Quickly he raised a hand to restore the silence.
“I do not claim the title of Emperor—that title belongs to the royal family of Rahkmanov, not to a mere soldier who spent his entire life fighting in their service.” He paused. “Instead, I take the title of Taiko.”
The others frowned at this, uncertain. Tamerlane spoke up. “Yes, I know that title,” he said. “An early Japanese governmental position. Senior official—regent—top administrator and commander-in-chief. But—not royal.”
“Precisely,” Nakamura agreed. “Leader, but with no claims to royalty.”
The others exchanged looks with one another and no one objected. A few moments later, the title was ratified by acclamation.
“As Taiko,” Nakamura said then, “I will have need of a council of advisors, loyal directly to me, whose opinions I can trust implicitly, and who I will always be certain will be looking out for the best interests of the Empire and all who live within it.”
The others nodded at this.
“My Hatamoto,” Nakamura continued, “borrowing from the same early tradition.” He motioned toward the group seated before him. “I have made my selections. There will be three Hatamoto, and all three are present here.”
The assembled officers and governors waited, obviously anxious and uncertain.
“They cannot be planetary governors,” Nakamura added. He nodded toward Tokugawa and Mehmet. “Your responsibilities lie with your own worlds and your own populations. I would not divide your attention to such a degree. However,” he added as they both frowned at the news, “I do intend to turn more power and authority over to the planetary rulers than you previously enjoyed under the late Emperor.”
Their frowns softened somewhat. The glanced at one another and then both nodded, accepting this arrangement.
“Two of my choices would be obvious now,” Nakamura went on, “except that, of the two other generals, one is dead and the other missing. I have no choice but to move down the ranks for my Hatamoto.” He gestured toward Agrippa. “Colonel, as acting commander of Third Legion, and given your...remarkable contributions during the conflict we have just survived, I grant you promotion to general, and welcome you to my Hatamoto.
The big man smiled grimly and bowed his head in appreciation.
“With my accession to head of government,” Nakamura went on, “First Legion needs a new general. The choice is clear. Ezekial,” he said, looking to Tamerlane, “you have been my right hand for many years now.” TheTaiko favored Tamerlane with a smile. “You are given Legion I. Will you do me the honor of joining as the second member of my council?”
“The honor is mine, Gen—Taiko,” Tamerlane quickly corrected himself. “And a greater honor than I ever expected to receive.”
Nakamura nodded his head to the new general in appreciation, then regarded the rest of the gathering. “That leaves only Second Legion leaderless, and my council short one member.” He appraised the expressions and postures of each man. Once he had done this, he looked straight at Iapetus.
“Colonel,” he said, “I would have your thoughts on this matter.”
“Mine?” Iapetus spread his hands before him. “I assume I will be passed over.” He turned to the man seated to his left. “I was preparing
to congratulate Major Barbarossa here on his meteoric rise over me.” He looked back at Nakamura. “What use are my thoughts to you?”
“You assume much, Colonel,” the Taiko said evenly. “And you presume much.”
“I speak my mind, sir,” he replied. “I prefer that people always know precisely where they stand with me. I am not fond of subterfuge.”
Nakamura held Iapetus’s gaze for several long, tense seconds. Then, “Very well. What do you make of my choices thus far?”
Iapetus extended his lower lip in thought for a moment, then shrugged ever-so-slightly. “Agrippa was a given. Tamerlane is a good man and a good soldier, and he’s practically your son. Of course you would choose him—I would scarcely expect anything different. Who here would have?”
Nakamura nodded. “I appreciate your frankness, Colonel.”
“I’m not done,” Iapetus said.
All at the table reacted with restrained but obvious surprise at this. Eyes widening, Nakamura gestured for him to continue.
“As I said, I can understand why you chose them. They are logical. Predictable.” Iapetus paused for a moment. “But.” He shrugged again—an almost microscopic movement, but noticeable nonetheless. “Ezekial is too careful, too deliberate. Not decisive enough. Not strong enough—ruthless enough.” He spared Tamerlane a quick glance. “No offense intended, Colonel,” he added. “Or rather, General,” he corrected. “I merely offer my honest evaluation.”
“None taken,” Tamerlane stated, eyes narrowing.
“And Agrippa is a fine soldier, a fine warrior—none could dispute that. But—a top-level advisor on all Imperial policy?” He chuckled. “No.”
No one spoke. All eyes flickered to the big blond man. Agrippa did exhibit any reaction at all.
“If you want this new regime to survive,” Iapetus concluded matter-of-factly, “I would be the best choice to for your council, and to lead Second Legion. But you won’t choose me—and now everyone here understands why.”
The Shattering: Omnibus Page 26