Age of Asango - Book II

by Matt Russell

  "So I am to spend the remainder of my life in the company of one Starborn or another," Somar said.

  "Are we such terrible company?" Keska laughed, lifting an eyebrow.

  "You can be... overwhelming at times," Somar replied, and he was satisfied to see a playful smirk play across the female Starborn's face. She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it, her eyes suddenly narrowing and her head cocking to the side. Whatever had affected her so suddenly seemed also to have touched Telemachus, for he frowned and stared down at the floor, breathing through his nose. Somar did not question this, having had enough experience with Cassian's telepathic flashes as to know that the two of them were focused on something he could not detect. After a moment, Keska gazed back up at him and said: "Your presence is requested in the palace."

  "Cassian called to you?" he said.

  "No," Telemachus said with a slight edge to his voice. "Emperor Tacitus asks for you."

  Somar drew in a sharp breath, straightening by reflex. The Emperor... Old and jaded though he was, he felt a flutter in his stomach. "Now?"

  "Yes," Telemachus said with a nod.

  "I suppose I should be off then," Somar said.

  Telemachus glanced at the door and said in an even icier voice: "He has sent an escort for you."

  Somar glanced down the ornate hallway and saw one of the Obsidian Guild's guards step through the thick doorway. The hulking man's face had gone a few shades paler under his helmet. Breathing nervously, he managed to mutter: "My lord—"

  "We know," Telemachus said. "Master Dojinko will go with them."

  "Y-yes," the soldier grunted, and he blinked at Somar.

  Craith... There was little else that would cause even Starborn to lose their good humor. Somar smiled at the poor soldier and said: "Yes, I'll be off with them." He walked past the man through to the doorway and then stepped out to see ten dark and silent figures standing perfectly still in the street, swords sheathed at their waists. He glanced at their deathlike masks of polished metal, which obscured the soulless eyes beneath. Each of them was tall and broad-shouldered and clad in black leather armor with an outer layer of ring mail. This was complimented with black boots, black gloves, and black hoods that surrounded the metallic faces they showed to the world. Not a speck of their flesh showed anywhere, which was part of their terrifying mystique.

  Even Somar, who had managed to become part of the upper echelons of the Denigoth military, knew little of these creatures. Supposedly, they had been human once, but Emperor Nihilin, a notoriously powerful and ruthless Starborn of the fourth century, had developed a means to strip away the souls of men and fill them instead with dark magic. Craith did not, or could not speak, and demonstrated nothing but cold, mechanical obedience to their emperor. Somar knew that even demons feared these unfeeling things. If ordered, a craith would stand in a single spot for two hundred years, never moving, never resting or needing food or water, tear his own arm off without uttering the slightest hiss of pain—so the stories went. Somar had seen groups of them in action in the demon war long ago and witnessed the terrifying combination of their massive physical strength combined with an inhuman lack of fear or hesitation. Many considered them to be more lethal even than Onkai.

  One of the craith stepped forward when it saw Somar and held up a scroll in its right hand. He took and opened it. In elegant calligraphy, he read:

  Your presence is requested as soon as possible in the throne room, old friend.

  -Tacitus

  "Let's go then," Somar said, gazing at the silver mask of the one who had handed him the scroll.

  The creatures said nothing, yet three of them immediately moved behind him, three moved in front of him, and the remaining pair moved to his sides. All of it was coordinated and executed without so much as a glance at one another, as if they were of a single mind. Somar drew in a nervous breath and began to walk, and immediately the silent killers moved with him, matching his pace with an eerie precision. He found a strange bit of humor to the situation. It was said that the Starborn emperor could see through his craiths’ eyes. Somar doubted anyone in the world would dare attack him at that moment.

  The walk to the palace went quickly. Somar knew the capital well and maneuvered through the streets with ease despite his tight-knit entourage that blocked portions of his view in every direction. Here and there, he watched peasants, and even well-dressed folk shrink from the craith procession. Everyone who lived so close to the palace knew them by sight of course. Emperor Tacitus did not deploy his special force often from what Somar had heard, but when he did, there was a very strong implication that trouble was not to be made.

  Cassian's parade had presumably ended some time ago, leaving a lingering swell of people in its wake that grew thicker as they neared the palace. Crowds parted immediately as the craith approached. A few eyes here and there cast nervous glances at Somar through their armored bodies, but not even the Imperial Guard slowed them as they approached the palace entrance. Somar paused when he saw the palace, the craith pausing with him as his eyes scanned the vaunted walls. This building was the greatest seat of power the human world had ever seen.

  He strode with his entourage into the entry hall, where the polished stone floor was adorned with a thick red carpet that was wonderfully soft to walk upon. The craith never broke their protective formation, yet Somar was still able to appreciate the opulence around him. They passed massive paintings and sculptures of past Starborn emperors and notable heroes of Denigoth's history. Through an open window, he gazed down at the courtyard where a group of extremely well-dressed children ran giggling inside of an enormous hedge maze. Somar was so enthralled by this that he hardly noticed when they came around a bend, and Cassian, standing before the tremendous throne room doors, whirled to face him.

  "Hello again, old man," his pupil said, a wry grin on his face despite the presence of the craith.

  Somar looked the boy up and down, and, peering so closely, was not sure he could continue to think of Cassian as a boy. The smooth, youthful face had become tanned and almost rugged, and there was neatly shaved but still present stubble that defined the bone structure of his jaw. Most of all though, Cassian had the eyes of one who had recently faced battle—intense and unblinking, like those of a wolf.

  The craith soldiers stepped aside, allowing Somar a path to his former pupil, which he immediately took. The two gripped each other's wrists, grinning.

  "He awaits us inside," Cassian said, gesturing to the throne room entryway with a backward nod. There was excitement in his voice. Years of both their lives had led to this day.

  "Why in the world am I here?" Somar said.

  Cassian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Have you not figured it out? They all see you as a means to rein me in. I assume my dear brother Telemachus has been whispering his concerns in our emperor's ears for years." He smirked. "Tell me, did he wait a whole five minutes before launching into his fears about what I am going to do now that I am in the capital?"

  "You might count yourself lucky that you have a brother who cares so much about your wellbeing," Somar said.

  "He…is important to me," Cassian said, and some of the sarcasm left his voice as he spoke. Then the young man’s eyes shifted toward the thick wooden doorway, and he whispered: "Emperor Tacitus has entered the throne room." To Somar's surprise, the boy tensed and shut his eyes, and his whole body shook for a heartbeat. Then an awed smile crossed his face. "I had almost forgotten how much power that man radiates—Holy Hell!"

  Two of the craith stepped past them and opened the doors, and Somar saw the Great Tacitus Adronicus perhaps twenty steps forward, sitting on a regal throne of wood, silver, and the bones of dragons. At seventy-two years old, the man still looked strong and robust. His hair was somehow more black than silver, and deep blue eyes that were entirely alert held them in a piercing stare.

  The Emperor wore a fairly simple garb of black with golden threaded embroidery. Other than that,
he did not decorate himself in any way with jewels or even a crown, despite the fact that he was the most powerful human being in the world, in more than one respect.

  Tacitus sat, straight-backed, as Cassian walked across the expanse of red carpet between them and knelt. Somar followed and took a place at his pupil's side, lowering his head. He was vaguely aware that some fifty craith were positioned throughout the vast throne room, some next to tapestries, some standing to the sides of the throne, and many others concealed.

  "I am honored to kneel before you, my Emperor," Cassian said aloud.

  "Rise, Cassian," Tacitus said. His voice was a charming rumble of finely aged masculine strength. "You as well, my old friend."

  Somar pushed his aged body up with not quite so much grace or ease as his pupil, but he bore the pain in his knees in silence, for this was the Emperor of Denigoth.

  Tacitus stood from his throne and walked down the eight or so steps until he was level with Cassian and said: "I have enjoyed watching your campaigns these last years, my boy." He chuckled: "You have quite a unique way of doing things." Cassian gave a slight nod to this but said nothing. The emperor stepped around him slowly, seeming to appraise him. "We both know why you have come to the capital. Before we arrive at any discussion of your crown, I would like to ask you a few questions. Please answer them honestly."

  "Yes, your grace," Cassian said.

  Tacitus paused at Cassian's left side and said: "Tell me, how many people do you suppose wish to kill you at this very moment?"

  Cassian answered in an even voice: "I have made many enemies on the battlefield. I imagine many thousands would love to see my head cut from my body."

  "You speak of peasants first," Tacitus said, sounding vaguely amused. "Such stock are of little threat to one such as you. How many people capable of killing you wish to see you dead?"

  "Bishop Cromlic and your son come immediately to mind," Cassian said. Somar watched Tacitus's eyes as Cassian spoke of the man's offspring. He could read nothing in them. Cassian went on: "I also imagine that many of this empire's wealthier citizens – particularly the older generation – are threatened by my economic and societal views. I suppose Romulus would turn on me in a second if he were presented with the right circumstances."

  "Yes, you have collected an extremely impressive list of enemies for one so young," the Emperor said, a serious expression in his domineering features. "Who are your allies?"

  "As far as true allies, I would count my dragon, of course, Telemachus, Keska, my personal guard, and Somar Dojinko here," said Cassian.

  "No one else?"

  "They are all who are truly loyal to me and also resourceful enough to help me against my impressive list of enemies."

  Tacitus raised an eyebrow. "You do not count me as an ally?"

  Cassian stared into his emperor's eyes. "I never have. No."

  Tacitus chuckled. "I think that is one of the reasons you have long been my favorite. You do not expect anything you have not earned." He put a hand on Cassian's shoulder. "The throne of Denigoth most certainly needs to be earned. You understood that better I think than Dimitris ever did." Whatever humor had been in Cassian's face vanished at the mention of his dead brother. Tacitus went on: "You are the strongest of your generation, Cassian. I knew that long before Dimitris challenged you." He lowered his hand from the boy’s shoulder and said in a harsher voice: "Strength is not enough though. I have watched you throw my empire into an unprecedented uproar. You make speeches and publish writings that display an unbridled contempt not only for the church but most of the upper class. It is all very bold and uncompromising, and it displays a deeply concerning lack of tact or prudence."

  Cassian said nothing to this but met his emperor's gaze. Somar knew his former pupil well enough to guess that he would have launched into a fierce argument with anyone else in the world over such words.

  Tacitus stared at Cassian for a long moment, seeming to study him with cold dispassion. "Your weakness, my boy, is in the honesty of your heart." He smiled, but it was a dark and callous smile. "You are simply not built for falseness of any kind, and people – even uneducated peasants – can sense that. It is inspiring, but it limits you. When all of these wealthy and powerful men of the court with – shall we say flexible moral stature – finally see that you cannot be bribed or flattered or played in any way, they will not admire you. They will despise you with a passion and even a righteous conviction of which you cannot conceive."

  "What do you suggest I do?" Cassian said, his voice cold but even.

  "I suggest you evolve," Tacitus said. "Politics is an immensely different game than open warfare." He leaned in almost uncomfortably close to Cassian's face and said: "Tell me, do you believe you are the first Starborn in history to notice corruption? Why do you think we who have come before you have governed as we have? Were we all fools? Do you believe yourself to be the only one of us who has ever possessed integrity?"

  Cassian answered immediately: "I believe their practices were appropriate and necessary to keeping order in less advanced times, but—"

  "I do not need to hear your rigid philosophical theories," Tacitus said. "I know you have read as many historical texts as most of my grand historians, but you studied them all through the myopic lens of an angry young man convinced that he knew better than the rest of the world. You are very clever, Cassian, so clever in fact that you've never had to be wise. Here you are, finally, in the heart of the Denigoth Empire. Perhaps it would be prudent to look around and study things a bit before you tell us all how unenlightened we are."

  "I have only ever shown you respect, my emperor," Cassian said, not entirely concealing his irritation as he spoke. "Of course I will do as you wish."

  "Splendid," Tacitus said without smiling.

  "This evolution you wish me to undergo – is it your condition for naming me crown prince?"

  "No, that was merely an old man's advice," the Emperor said. "If you wish a specific criterion, a crown prince cannot have the church itself as an open enemy, nor any order therein. Bring the matter to a close."

  Cassian stiffened slightly. "Do you mean I must make peace?"

  Tacitus sighed. "I shall give you another piece of advice, since you merit that much. The Nemesai are a brutal, antiquated body that our people become less and less tolerant of every year. Still, they are a holy order. Even you must understand the importance religion plays in our people's lives – in their codes of morality and their tolerance for the hardships of their fragile lives. A wise ruler must handle religion delicately. Perhaps the time finally has come to do away with the Nemesai, but a brilliant emperor could accomplish that feat without attacking them head on and plunging his empire into civil war."

  "What do you suggest I do?"

  "I suggest you use that fine intellect of yours and overcome the problem." There was a subtle edge to his voice. "We both know if you were not a Starborn, your head would have been severed years ago for the things you have said and written. Even with all your power, you dare not walk the capital streets without a dozen of your personal guard around you. Bring the matter to a close, Cassian, and do it without murdering a bishop of the church. The day you show me you can accomplish that, I will name you as my heir."

  "Understood," Cassian replied, though his eyebrows knitted together. After a moment, he said: "I have a question for you, my Emperor, if I may ask it."

  "Yes?" Tacitus said, sounding a bit amused.

  "Why did you make me kill my brother?" Somar felt his stomach twist. What his pupil was asking effectively amounted to an accusation leveled at the most dangerous man in the world.

  Tacitus stared at Cassian for a long moment, then answered: "I had my reasons."

  "What were they?"

  "Perhaps I shall tell you someday."

  Cassian met the Emperor’s eyes for a few heartbeats, then said: "Thank you for taking the time to speak to me, Great Tacitus. I will think very hard on all you
have said."

  Tacitus nodded and then turned to Somar. "You must help him keep a level head, old friend."

  "I... will do my best, your grace," Somar said.

  "Good," Tacitus said, and he gave them a nod. "I shall see you both at the banquet tonight, and then I am afraid I must leave for a few weeks. I have some urgent business in the West." He turned to Cassian and said: "Upon my return, I expect you to report progress on these matters."

  "Understood, your grace," Cassian said.

  "Good day, gentlemen," Tacitus said.

  Cassian and Somar knelt before the emperor once more and then left the room together. When they came back out the wooden doors, Somar noted that the craith were gone. Was that a symbol that Tacitus's protection was now gone?

  "Well that was wonderful," Cassian said with an exasperated sigh.

  Somar gazed at the young man. "Tell me, now that the Emperor has made himself clear, will you at least entertain the idea of making peace with Cromlic?"

  Cassian turned, his eyes narrowing in anger as he said: "Not a chance in hell."

  Somar swallowed. He had had a year and a half vacation from the boy and all of his extremism, but once again fate had brought them together. His mind stretched back to the words the great dragon had whispered into his mind while Cassian faced the white fire. Somar found that he was no less afraid now of the darkness Promethiock had spoken about overtaking his pupil than he had been years ago, and a sickly feeling in his gut told him that the prophesied moment when Cassian's enemies would overtake him might be very close at hand.

  Chapter 28:

  The Slave Hidden Away

  "IONA!!!"

  The inhumanly deep voice jolted her out of sleep as it had hundreds of times before. Iona shot up in her cot and shouted by reflex: "Coming!" She gave the response before even opening her eyes. Her master's temper could be terrifying, and he disliked when she did not answer his call immediately.