Resurgence

by Alex Janaway

  ‘Hells, Father. You led us a dance!’

  ‘Did I?’

  Wendell nodded. ‘You’re wanted. The Sarge said we had to find you.’

  ‘What for?’

  Wendell shrugged. ‘They don’t pay me enough to share that–’ He stopped for a moment and made a face. ‘Come to think of it they don’t pay me at all.’

  Father Michael smiled and reached out to clap Wendell on the shoulder. Something he would never have done before, but these marines, they were his family now. ‘Shall we head back, then?’

  Wendell nodded. ‘Yes. Better be quick or Fenner will grip my shit. We might try and pick up Beautiful and Coyle too, they’re out here as well.’

  Father Michael extended a hand. ‘Lead on.’

  Michael and his marine escort made their way through Aberpool towards the old town hall. Against the wishes of Admiral Lukas, the Emperor had wanted to set up his base of operations within the walls of the city which were, apart from the gateways, relatively intact. At least the docks were still usable, and Lukas had one of the men-of-war stationed within the safety of the inner harbour. The other ships of the fleet he kept in the outer harbour, not wholly trusting to the early warning given by Eagle Riders or the Gifted Watchers. Michael didn’t blame him on that second option. The Gifted were considered unreliable at best. And why wouldn’t they be? Any who sided with Yarn probably had decided that a world without the Emperor may be worth the cost, even though Yarn had turned from the slaughter of innocents at the end.

  As they neared the centre of the city, they encountered others, guards on patrol, some mounted Nidhal, their vargr padding along the cobbles, eyes regarding Father Michael with interest. Ahead they entered the square, where a number of tents and pavilions had been erected. Here was far more hustle and bustle as armed men went about their business, and wagons rolled to and from the docks. He looked north towards the Roosting Tower. Having been reclaimed by Cadarn and his Riders, the tallest structure in Aberpool appeared empty of life. But then the eagles were flying daily, acting as cover, scouts and explorers.

  Sergeant Fenner appeared from behind a tent and waved at them. He marched over, munching on an apple. He was dressed sparsely in trousers and an open-necked jerkin, no leathers or weapons apart from a sheathed dagger on his belt.

  ‘Father. They found you, then.’

  ‘Wendell did.’

  Fenner jerked a thumb towards the town hall. ‘They’ve called a meeting, you’ve probably just missed the start.’

  ‘Do you know what it’s about, Sergeant?’

  ‘Buggered if I know,’ said Fenner, taking another bite of his apple. He chewed for a moment. ‘But if you ask me, I don’t think we’ll be hanging around here for much longer.’

  ‘Not much of a surprise.’ Aberpool was the safest option to establish a bridgehead, if not a community. But he knew the Emperor’s mind on this matter. ‘I best be getting along.’

  Fenner nodded, then looked at Wendell. ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘I don’t know, still out looking.’

  ‘Well go find ’em, then!’

  ‘But Sarge!’

  Father Michael left them to their squabbling and walked purposefully towards the hall. Although he still slept within the pavilion, the Emperor had taken to using the council chamber as his de facto throne room. He marched past two guards on station at the entrance, and inside the shadowed interior, up a flight of steps and through a set of open double doors. Before him was a large circular table around which were seated a number of Tissans – Admiral Lukas, Father Llews, some other officers and ships’ captains – and two Nidhal: Nutaaq and his brother Arluuq. At the far end, the Emperor was standing, bending forwards to study a map laid out on the table’s surface. Next to him and similarly bent over was Cadarn – so there was at least one eagle in the tower, then. The Eagle Rider was speaking to the assembled group and did not stop as Father Michael entered. The Emperor looked up and, with a slight tilt of his head, acknowledged him. Father Michael took an empty chair nearest the doorway and listened in as Cardan straightened up and continued while the Emperor took his seat and gave him the floor.

  ‘We have established a fifty-mile patrol boundary using the eagles on a regular circling rotation. This will help us spot any large enemy movements. The vargr have been operating within that area, pushing into those denser regions that we cannot properly survey.’

  ‘And what have they found?’ asked the Emperor.

  ‘Nothing,’ responded Cadarn.

  ‘No signs of life whatsoever?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  The Emperor exchanged a look with Lukas. ‘I think that answers your concerns, Admiral.’

  Lukas leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘I suppose.’

  The Emperor looked at one of the other officers, a captain called Shepherd, charged with keeping the Gifted under control. ‘Captain, you have several Watchers who have knowledge of this region.’

  Shepherd nodded, his clean-shaven face displaying his constant scowl. An older man who had seen years of service in the Imperial army before retirement, he was hard and uncompromising. He had been captain of the guard to one of the nobles before Father Michael had relieved him of his employer.

  ‘I’ve already questioned them. They complain that it has been too long for them to properly recall their sightings, but they seem to confirm from their sketchy vision that nothing untoward is out there.’

  The Emperor nodded then glanced for a brief moment at Father Llews who had, as always, a beatific, slightly distant smile. Father Michael also spotted the briefest indecision in the Emperor’s eyes. He doubted there were many left alive who might spot that in His Grace. Cadarn perhaps, his mother the Empress almost certainly but no one outside of those two and himself.

  ‘Captain, I think it may be wise to deploy some of them to key strategic points of entry. To refresh their memories. Those who you consider the most compliant.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace, I can rustle up two or three who I believe we can use.’

  Father Michael looked at Ellen. Her face was unreadable, flat.

  ‘Good. I want them deployed directly east first. I have no reason to believe the enemy would think to employ sneak tactics. They have earned their confidence at our expense. Let’s use that against them.’

  ‘It will be done, Your Grace.’

  ‘Now then,’ the Emperor stood up and took in the room. ‘We have made landfall and have assured ourselves that there is no immediate threat. I wish to take advantage of that. Indeed, I believe we have greater freedom than perhaps we had dared hope. There are no enemy settlements, no elves, dwarves or any other races stalking Aberpool and its environs. And if I am right, we should find that to be the case throughout the Empire.’

  ‘Your Grace, I–’ started Lukas, but the Emperor raised a hand.

  ‘Admiral, your caution has done you much credit but in this I must listen to a higher authority. My own.’

  Lukas closed his mouth, with obvious effort. Father Michael surprised himself when he felt a smile tug at his face.

  ‘I know we had an intention to make Aberpool our firm base of operations. Our first city of the new Empire. We stay as far as we can from prying eyes, have early warning in place, and the sea at our backs. It makes perfect sense. Our people can return to the safety of walls and the Nidhal …’ He turned to nod at Nutaaq. ‘… can begin their migration in earnest.’

  ‘A sound plan,’ said Father Llews, bobbing his head earnestly.

  ‘It is indeed,’ said the Emperor. ‘Yet, I look around this place and I ask the question. Is it enough? Is it right? Father Llews has counselled me to peer into my own heart and accept what it tells me. My head says stay here. Consolidate. Grow. But my heart …’ He tapped his chest. ‘… says that if I am to be truly the Emperor of Tissan, the God of Tissan, then I must reside in the centre. The seat of power.’ The Emperor paused and looked at the gathering.

  No. Father Michael did h
is own study of the assembled leaders. They looked like he felt. Lukas appeared genuinely shocked, the others just uncomfortable, except for Father Llews of course. Ellen, her face grave, shared the Emperor’s words with Nutaaq, who Father Michael suspected knew more of the Tissan language then he might admit to, judging by the Nidhal’s bemused expression. For some reason he felt compelled to speak that which others might not.

  ‘You wish to return to the Capital, Your Grace?’

  ‘I do indeed, Father.’

  Father Michael nodded. He felt strangely disloyal even as he disapproved of what his lord was saying. ‘I can understand why. You must be in some haste to reclaim our birthright. It is only there that you can exercise your dominion.’

  ‘That is correct.’ The Emperor folded his arms, a quirked smile on his lips. ‘And yet, I feel there is more you wish to say?’

  There was.

  ‘I have only ever cared for your safety, in all matters. And in this, I have a concern. We put ourselves at risk, put you at risk. Why alert the enemy to our presence?’

  ‘You make an excellent and obvious observation, Father. One I have also considered. And I believe it is a matter of perspective. Or point of view.’ The Emperor returned to his chair and settled down. ‘It is true, we do not have the numbers, not right now. Yet, the transports are setting sail to New Tissan and by the end of summer, we can expect a doubling of our Nidhal contingent, and our first returning citizens.’

  ‘Even so, Your Grace, our fighting power cannot match that of the enemy,’ said Lukas, his voice tight.

  ‘That is true, I grant you. At the height of their power the enemy alliance used numbers, magery and surprise to keep us unbalanced. They will not have that again. I foresee a very different outcome.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Lukas.

  ‘The Nidhal,’ Father Llews responded, emerging from his reverie. ‘The elves do not know of their existence. They have no knowledge of the Nidhal shamans. We can fight fire with fire!’

  Michael had to agree that Llews had a point. The Nidhal shamans had shown they were not just priests, they possessed the power to control the elements. It was the nearest thing to elven sorcery that any of them had ever seen.

  The Emperor gestured at Nutaaq. ‘You wish to range onwards, to see more of your new home?’

  There was a pause as Ellen leaned close. Nutaaq nodded.

  Father Michael sat back and stroked his chin. He remembered an old saying about stoking a hornets’ nest. He was a fighter, he understood strengths and weaknesses even if he wasn’t a general. They did not have the numbers. Not yet. Perhaps after the winter. A whole year would be better. He looked across at Lukas, saw the worry clear in the Admiral’s face. Father Michael raised a hand. ‘Emperor?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘May I offer a slight change to the plan.’

  The Emperor regarded him for a moment. ‘Go on?’

  ‘I support you in your wish to return to the heart of the Empire, to Vyberg. I yearn for it. And so I would ask a boon. Allow me to go before you.’

  The Emperor raised an eyebrow. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Permit me to travel with a party to Vyberg. Let me assess the damage to the city, assure myself that there is no danger to you; that no enemy garrison sits ready to resist you or to send word of your glorious homecoming to our enemies.’

  The Emperor stroked the hairs of his thin beard.

  ‘And who might you wish to go with you?’

  ‘That is not for me to decide, Your Grace. But the Nidhal would seem a perfect choice. Perhaps some Eagle Riders. I would want to send word back to you as quickly as possible, to begin your journey to your true home.’

  The Emperor was quiet, fixing Father Michael with an appraising stare. Then his eyes wrinkled, and his lips widened into a warm smile.

  ‘Father, I have thought long on how to honour you for your service to me. And you provide the answer yourself! You shall be the first to enter Vyberg, as my emissary, to reclaim it for the Empire. There is no better man to do it.’

  Father Michael dipped his head.

  ‘My thanks, Your Grace.’

  The Emperor looked around the room, his face radiating satisfaction.

  ‘Ready a party to escort my emissary. Admiral, I leave it to you to arrange the logistics, but I believe Father Michael is correct in his choices of companions.’

  ‘Very good, Your Grace,’ replied the Admiral.

  The Emperor tapped a finger on the table.

  ‘I know you are the senior military commander, Admiral, but it does strike me that perhaps I need a ground commander appointed. One who understands the challenges of a land campaign.’

  ‘Fine by me, Your Grace. My sea legs are better suited to wind and brine.’

  Gentle laughter rippled through the room.

  ‘Very well, I will think on it. That is enough. Go and ready yourselves. I want the party leaving within the week. The sooner they leave the sooner I can return home.’

  Those seated stood as the Emperor swept from the room, Father Llews in tow. Father Michael waited as the others filed out, he had no urgent business to attend to, others would take on the burden of organisation. He was, as the Emperor had stated, just the emissary.

  Lukas walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Nicely done.’

  ‘It needed to be said.’

  ‘Quite right, but there aren’t many who can sway the Emperor’s mind.’ The Admiral paused for a moment. ‘It has become quite fixed of late.’

  Father Michael suspected there was an implied meaning, and he doubted that his sway with the Emperor amounted to much.

  ‘I am just happy to have helped guide him.’

  Lukas removed his hand.

  ‘Well, whatever, I’ll get things in hand and send you word of the plan.’ He nodded and moved on.

  The last to leave were the Nidhal and Ellen.

  They also stopped in front of him and Nutaaq spoke to Ellen, though he continued to look at Father Michael.

  ‘Nutaaq says he is looking forward to the journey and is glad you are coming. His riders admire you,’ Ellen said with warmth.

  ‘It is an honour to ride with the Nidhal,’ Father Michael replied, bowing slightly in acknowledgement.

  ‘And he also says there are some of his people who want a rematch.’

  Nutaaq and his brother were both grinning and Father Michael smiled back.

  ‘Michael,’ said Nutaaq, by way of parting, his voice deep and rumbling.

  It was the first time Father Michael had heard him speak Tissan. Even if it was only a name. ‘Nutaaq. Arluuq.’ He responded by bowing again, lower this time.

  They Nidhal were already leaving the building as he raised his head, no doubt returning to their camp in the northern dunes where their animals, and many of the Nidhal themselves, preferred to be quartered. But Ellen was still there, a sad smile on her face. She reached out and squeezed his hand. He responded in kind.

  ‘You look tired,’ she said.

  Michael grunted. ‘I feel it.’ He looked at her closely, saw the weight of fatigue on her face. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I am well. Being with the Nidhal, I have more freedom, more space to breathe,’ she said, reaching for her iron collar. ‘They do not judge me.’

  ‘I am glad.’

  She looked after her companions. ‘I must go. But I will see you on the road.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She smiled at him again and hurried away.

  Father Michael sighed and tucked his hands within the sleeves of his robe. What more was there he could do? The Gifted had rebelled and they had to be punished. Of that there was no question. But perhaps there was a chance, an opportunity for some kind of redemption.

  It was dark when Father Michael arrived at the old gaol of Aberpool. It was some distance from the square and he’d had to get directions, but there were blazing braziers to either side of the entrance. In an empty city, these beacons were easy to spot, thei
r glow bright against the night sky. Two guards also flanked the closed gate. As he approached one stepped forward, a raised hand warding him from approaching.

  ‘Hold up.’

  Father Michael withdrew his hood.

  The guard squinted for a moment. ‘Ah, Father. Good evening to you.’

  ‘And to you.’

  ‘A little late for a visit?’

  ‘I am leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah. Well, you know the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The guard nodded to his companion who reached for the gate and pulled open one of its iron-banded doors. One of the advantages of being the Emperor’s protector, everyone knew who he was.

  Father Michael nodded to the guard as he passed into the gaol. Within was a wider chamber with a table and chairs. Another guard looked and seeing it was Father Michael, he indicated one of two candles burning on small plates while he fiddled with a set of keys. Michael collected the candle and the proffered keys, then nodded his thanks and continued on, stopping at the next portal. A gate that was locked. A light flicked at the far end of the shadowed corridor beyond the gate. To either side the lines of cell doors were all closed and secured. Most of the cells contained a Gifted, as did the next two floors above. But his route was down, and he turned left to where a set of steps took him into the gloom of the basement level. He arrived at another chamber, a smaller guardroom. It was empty save for a table and a chair, their shapes revealed in the flickering light. Father Michael moved through the guardroom, reached the gate and squinted at the keys, picking the larger of the two and inserting it into the lock. The gate opened with a squeal, announcing his presence. He stepped through, and turned, in two minds whether to close and lock it again.

  ‘Not like you to take chances,’ an amused voice whispered down the corridor behind him.

  He grunted. ‘You’d be surprised. I take risks all the time.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true,’ the voice conceded.

  Leaving the gate open, Father Michael walked down the corridor, stopping at the third cell on the left. Nothing more than a sturdy wooden door set into the stone wall, with an open grate at head height. He raised his candle and peered inside. A flag-stoned floor marked and discoloured by a lifetime of wear and tear. Bare stone walls, streaked with watermarks and shit. A bucket in a far corner. And on the right-hand side, a crude bed made of blankets. And propped up against that same wall, a figure, its head leaning forwards against its chest.