In the distant past, the Wellish Steppes were a place of horror and tyranny. The Overlords in charge of the area had been bested long ago, but a number of people still claim that the land was cursed. To be fair, the fact that most of the region ran alongside the edge of the Blasted Lands didn’t help the area’s reputation. The land was fertile, but not much grew there beyond fungus and scrub grass. The one distinct advantage to the place was that it’s mostly flat. Large caravans and small groups alike could travel it without too much worry about unseen threats.
It was so calm there, in fact, that even without paving the pathways through the area had long since been well established. “The roads along the steppes practically pave themselves,” was a fairly common remark among the soldiers in the Imperial Army. For that reason alone it was not unusual to find those very same soldiers looking forward to marching across the area.
There are exceptions to every rule.
The damp was constant and heavy. The moisture clung to everything and slowly, methodically seeped its way through clothes, shoes and supplies. Had it been any warmer, there would likely have been worries about the supplies mildewing. Instead they just marched on, keeping a brisk pace in the hopes of staying warm in the chill, misty air.
The caravan came from the east. They traveled the Imperial Highway, and those who had horses were glad of them. Those who did not, carried their packs and their supplies and walked the distance from Old Canhoon at a steady march. The road here was old but well tended, and cut into the low-lying hills. In some places the paths were deeply enough worn that the soldiers almost disappeared from sight, and in others they were level to the ground. Nolan March was charged with watching the flanks of the entire column, and it was occasionally amusing to watch the men seemingly sink into the ground fog, like the specters he’d heard tell of as a child.
March preferred walking the edges of the column and keeping an eye out. It broke the monotony of staring at the backs of the men in front of him when he was forced to march the column.
Nolan carried himself easily enough. He’d grown up in the north, joined the army when he was of age and had now been trained as a soldier. Canhoon was where he was assigned and where he’d expected to stay, but now he was on his way to Tyrne, where he was supposed to join the Imperial Guard and where he would see his family again.
That had been the plan before he found out about the death of his father, Wollis. He hadn’t seen the old man in a long time and now it looked like he would never see him again. The thought was a hard one to accept. He’d grown up believing his father was nearly indestructible. The man had been on the road and traveling for most of Nolan’s life, but he’d always seemed almost like a giant when he was home, and he’d always been the first to tell stories of the military life and the people he’d fought with and against.
Thinking about Wollis made his chest swell with pride and his heart ache with loss at the same time. He would be missed.
The man who’d been his father’s commander had sent for him. The plan had been to reunite the entire family and Nolan was grateful for the effort, even if it hadn’t worked out.
“First thing I do when we get to Tyrne, is I take the money I’ve saved up and buy myself a new pair of boots. These bastards are falling off my feet.” The voice came from Darus Leeds, who could rightly enough be called Nolan’s friend. Which is to say he was one of the people in the battalion that Nolan liked and additionally was one of the few he trusted. Nolan was not big on trust. His first few weeks in the army had taught him that many people are thieves. Those same weeks had taught a few of the thieves that stealing from Nolan was a very bad idea.
Stonehaven was a long ways off, but the lessons he’d learned in his hometown stuck with him. Most of the people in the area, not surprisingly, worked in the quarries and worked hard for what they owned. That tended to make them a bit reluctant to let go when something was taken from them.
Darus was fairly tall and lean, but Nolan had already learned that didn’t mean much. While he was nowhere near as solidly built as Nolan he was as strong as an ox and had a fearsome way with a sword. They often faced off against each other in practice matches and from time to time teamed up against other members of the battalion. Darus came from a good distance to the east, somewhere near Elda. From what he’d told Nolan, the people in his area still trained hard with sword and shield alike. Nolan saw no reason to doubt those claims.
Darus was looking his way and expecting a response. “What?”
“I said what are your big plans when you get to Tyrne?”
Nolan looked away. “I’m supposed to meet with a family friend.” He muttered the words and a little twist of guilt nibbled at his insides. It was unjustified but the guilt was still there.
“Your family has friends in Tyrne? Didn’t you say as you’re from up north near Trecharch?”
“Stonehaven. A bit east of Trecharch.”
“Yeah I heard of that one.” The way he said it let Nolan know his friend was lying. He didn’t take offense. Darus had a need to sound knowledgeable about everything he encountered. Several people had called him on his claims in the past and Nolan ignored them as easily as he ignored the false claims. Darus was a friend. It was precisely that simple for him.
“My father.” He paused a moment to swallow the lump trying to form in his throat. “The man he was riding with is in Tyrne. He’s asked to see me. He wants to present my father’s ashes.”
Darus made a noise and nodded his head. That was all there was to say on the matter. Darus had left home when he’d joined the army and had no intention of looking back. What his parents might have done to inspire the cold distance within the otherwise friendly man, Nolan did not know. He merely understood that Darus had no desire to speak of it.
Nolan thought back to his one meeting with Merros Dulver. He’d seen the man ride up on horseback and thought him a striking figure. He was tall and rugged and solid. He carried himself with confidence and he’d shaken Nolan’s hand and spoken highly of his father’s prowess in combat. He’d liked the man just fine right up until the time his father decided to go off with him.
There was nothing fair about that, of course. He knew Dulver was a good man. His father had said so on several occasions.
Still, his father was dead. And the man who’d taken him away was one of the men in charge of the entire army.
“What you should do is find out what this fella says about how your father died.”
Nolan nodded his head and looked around. They were following the same road they’d been on for longer than he cared to think about. Up ahead the sound of horns came back their way and the foot soldiers dutifully stepped to the sides of the road and waited, most of them grateful for the chance to rest their legs for a moment. The last time they’d been called off the road had been to let the escorts past with the body of Emperor Pathra Krous. That had been a somber moment. An escort of mounted Imperial Guards had dominated the road, and a great black wagon moved between them, the windows covered and the Imperial crest gleaming on the sides. Nolan, along with every other soldier, had held his sword out above his head as the wagon rumbled slowly past, and several of the soldiers had done their best to hide tears.
Tears for a man none of them had met. What a mad world they lived in.
Somewhere up ahead a loud noise came their way, as if to prove the point. It was a warbling cry, a trumpet call that he was not familiar with.
The response was immediate, by a good number of the foot soldiers. They grabbed their shields and their weapons and prepared. The men sported swords or axes. Those that did not, brandished spears. The road almost immediately bristled with pointed, sharpened steel.
“What the hell is happening up there?” Darus was squinting against the glare of the sun’s attempt to burn away the mists, trying to see what was causing the disturbance, but with no luck.
Someone called out, “Spears to the front!” and immediately the foot soldiers with spears came forward, sliding past the swordsmen and preparing themselves. A lanky man with graying hair moved into position in front of Nolan and dropped into a crouch, holding his spear with the point aimed high, but easily lowered should it be necessary.
No one questioned whether or not this was a drill. The sounds of conflict came from further up the road. The view was obstructed by spearmen and by the curve of the road itself.
“What the hell?” That was Darus again as a deep roar cut the air and was immediately followed by the sound of several men screaming.
“Spears, ready! Here they come!”
“They” were impossible to see at first, but hearing them was easy. The sounds of metal and men joined together in a loud tidal roar, but that was nothing to the other sounds clashing for attention. The noises were unsettling, alien, and made Nolan’s skin crawl. There were low growls and higher sounds, a keening noise that barely made sense to his ears.
The lines of men that bordered the road began to falter and spear tips that had been raised high wavered and then dropped as something came closer. Whatever that something was, the spears were attacking, doing their best to pin it in place.
A vast shape took to the air for just a moment. A blur of dark fur, darker leathers and metal and, unless he was mistaken, there was a person atop that lunging, flailing insanity. Yes, he saw an axe coming down even as the massive thing yielded to gravity. Several spears went sailing in the wrong direction, their points falling like saplings in a sudden flood. But more weapons went in the right direction and a moment later the roars and screams of the furred nightmare were faltering and then dying completely.
Ahead of them, along the line, soldiers screamed and broke ranks. The squad leaders called out for order and a small handful began listening, drawing back into the proper ranks, but some did not pay heed, too enthralled by what they were seeing, apparently.
Darus shook his head. “Can’t see a damned thing.”
Nolan was about to agree when the shape came through the ranks. It was low-slung and charged across the ground, roaring and swinging clawed front limbs that slapped people aside with too much ease. There was indeed a man riding on the beast’s back, but he was dead near as far as Nolan could tell. The man’s skin was gray and his body sagged to one side, flopping and flailing with each move of the creature. Soldiers screamed as they were hurled through the air, broken and bleeding. Some only staggered a few feet, but a few truly unfortunate souls were thrown twenty feet or more with a single sweep of the monster’s limbs.
Nolan backed up and looked for a better access point. Darus moved with him, looking for a moment as if he planned to run away. But that wouldn’t happen. The punishment for running from combat was death, and they all knew it.
There were few people from the north who couldn’t climb a tree. Trecharch and the surrounding areas had trees that practically begged to be climbed, and so Nolan resorted to older skills, found the best looking tree for the job and scampered up as quickly as he could. Flinching a couple of times when his equipment snagged itself on a branch or rough bark.
Not far away, the soldiers he’d trained with were scattering away from whatever the hell they were fighting and he saw them for the first time. The great furred nightmare he’d seen was down, killed by the footmen. Easily a dozen of them had gone down in the process, but they had taken man and mount alike.
Moving over those remains, demons from the worst kind of nightmares charged, slashing at the soldiers too close to them. The attackers moved quickly, but they were not faster than the eye.
What he’d thought was one enormous attacker was actually several. From above he could see the breaks in the forms, close together and pushing along the same path to give the impression of one body. The large shapes could easily have broken away from each other and moved through the entire area, but they stayed stubbornly on the road and they continued to follow the path even when the foot soldiers and cavalry were in their way. Horses and riders were knocked aside and torn apart if they got too close. Any men standing nearby when the odd shapes got closer were slapped away or violently attacked. As he observed, one of the shambling things reached out and yanked a man into its embrace. Within a heartbeat’s span the captured soldier was screaming and dying. As he died, four of the spearmen attacked, driving the points of their weapons deep into the loathsome thing that shuddered and wailed and died.
Before he could see much of the dying creature, the next in line rolled forward, crawling over the dying man and monstrosity alike.
He clamped his teeth tightly together and looked down at Darus. “Get to the supplies! Get to the wagons!”
“What? Why?”
“I want to try something.”
As they spoke the column of nightmares tramped closer, pushing past or through the men fighting them. Spears and swords rose and fell and a few more of the things fell to the weapons. But the next in the line kept coming in a slow moving tide of unnatural flesh.
And as the people fighting them looked at the creatures, occasionally a trained fighter would back away, disgusted or horrified or simply unbelieving of what they were seeing. Nolan wasn't sure which was stronger: his desire to know what was so unsettling or the part of him that never wanted to be that repulsed.
Nolan dropped quickly from his perch and ran toward the wagons, hoping that Darus was with him. The things were coming closer and he had a momentary fear that someone would see them running and think they were trying to flee. He remembered his father telling him about two occasions where he’d had to discipline a soldier trying to flee from a fight. Neither of the men had lived through the experience. The idea of a spear in the back or a noose around his neck did not appeal at all.
Death did not come, but the things behind him were definitely getting closer.
The wagons were in motion. Not because they were supposed to be, but because the horses apparently did not like what was coming their way and they were trying to get up the sides of the well-worn road and drag their wagons with them. The men trying to calm the beasts were not having any luck. One wagon had fallen to its side already and the draft horses were straining and trying to haul their burden along despite the added resistance. The men riding the wagon had fallen. One lay broken on the ground and the other was pinned under the weight of the capsized vehicle.
Nolan didn’t take time to think it through. Instead he pulled his axe and climbed atop the wagon, hacking at the couplings until they broke. It didn’t take much effort as the wooden connections had already fractured. Darus followed his lead and took a long knife from his belt sheath and cut the leather straps at the same time. A moment later the horses were free and the wagon was no longer moving.
The man under the wagon was not moving. He was alive, but his eyes had rolled back and his skin was pale and sweating. It would take more than the two of them to free him. The wagon was too damned heavy.
Nolan shook off his worries for the downed driver and climbed over the wagon. The canvas cover had broken and the supplies inside were spilled halfway across the road, only adding to the chaos as other wagons and horses tramped over the supplies within.
He’d been hoping for one of the armory wagons, but was not that lucky. The spilled contents were from the larders.
Behind him, a wagon succeeded in climbing the rise and lurched off the road. The driver did not make it along for the ride and let out a yelp as he fell backward and flopped down the hillside back to where Nolan and Darus were waiting. He was battered and looked a bit surprised to find himself in the mud, but he got back up on his own. His round face was familiar, but there was no name associated with him in Nolan’s mind.
Nolan looked the man over. “Get a weapon ready!”
The man nodded and pulled at his sheathed axe. It was more a tool than a weapon, unlike like the one Nolan himself carried, but it would cut a monster as sure as it would chop wood.
Nolan looked at the debris, searching for any possible tools to help them, and then looked up at the road ahead where the monsters were still coming.
No time.
The closest of the things was almost on them and he saw the head of the beast again and wished that he did not. It should not exist and yet it did. Had someone taken a dozen men sculpted of soft clay and decided to make something different from the originals, what was coming at him might have been the result. Faces were distorted and pressed into new shapes, crushed against shoulders and torsos and bent by angry fingers into a new, rough form. He could see mouths and broken teeth, he could spy a nose mashed into a semi-flattened shape and smeared into an eye socket. The eye was still there, rolling madly and possibly seeing the world around it or merely staring blindly. Arms and fingers were broken and bent and pressed into that rough-hewn face. And it wasn't only the heads of the people used to make the shape. There were legs and torsos and there were broken swords and shields and armor twisted into that moving, impossible mess.
There was an Imperial Guard insignia crushed into the side of the monster’s face. Part of the thing. The crest of a shield was warped into that nightmare, a piece of the unholy whole.
The bloated nightmare pushed forward and ran into the wagon, not stopping, not slowing but continuing along the same pathway. The wagon did not budge; it was a very heavy obstacle to be sure, but the thing kept shoving forward, the heavy forearms of the monster slamming into the overturned affair and smashing into it again and again, pummeling wood and iron that began to break and bend under the assault.
Darus had to drag Nolan back as the brute continued forward. A moment later and he’d have been crushed when the wagon fell toward him as the monster kept coming.
The beast was the last of them, apparently. It kept moving, trying to push along the same road, but behind it the soldiers had finished their bloody work and had hacked and stabbed the rest of the monstrosities into immobile carcasses.
Revulsion got the better of common sense. That was really the only way to put it. As the bloated, loathsome thing kept pushing up the road, not the least worried about Nolan as it moved along, his mind went dark and red.
Nolan let out a battle cry and swung his axe in a great arc, bringing it down on the mottled, vile back of the thing. The blade cut deep and the creature let out a sharp bleating noise and started turning back to examine Nolan with its repulsive piecemeal, rudimentary face. He hacked again and again and felt himself climbing onto the thing’s great back as he pulled the axe free and snarled at the impossible head.
There was nothing rational to his actions. Deep inside his skull, buried under the insane rage that consumed him, Nolan wondered at what he was doing and whether to not he would survive his foolish attack, but it didn’t matter just then. He wanted this abomination gone, and more than anything else that was what drove him.
His axe rose and fell and rose and fell, and he felt his throat go raw as he screamed again and again and kept hacking, dark blood splattering its way up his arms across his face and down his chest, painting his uniform in the color of the thing’s vile juices.
He was dimly aware of Darus next to him and others coming closer, but they did not matter just then.
It only mattered that the thing be dead; the better for him to pretend it had never existed.
And then the fight was done and he stood on the bloodied remains and panted, looking at his trembling hands and then slowly around him to see Darus and the man from the wagon and a half dozen others staring his way with wide eyes and unsettled expressions.
“Well then.” Nolan’s voice was coarse and raspy. He stepped back from his grisly work and shook his head, trying to clear away the last of the red rage that had consumed him.
Nolan’s legs gave out, and so he fell back until he landed on his rump in the dirt.
“Well then,” he repeated. “That’s that.”
It was close to an hour before he recovered enough to move. He heard the people speaking around him but was too exhausted to care. Considering what he’d just done, it seemed the rest of the troop was fine with letting him alone.
News of the Emperor’s death had spread faster than tales of other events. Though the great eruption in the Corinta Ocean was certainly a topic worthy of discussion, and the destruction of the Guntha was a situation most would be speaking of for months to come, it was the death of Pathra Krous at the hands of an assassin that overtook conversations. The reason was simple enough: the changes wrought by his death would surely be more far reaching.
Still, even that news took time to cross the continent. First there were rumors, and those are often ignored. Then there were confirmations and from there the true wave of guesswork flowed wildly.
The Pilgrim did not care for speculation or hearsay. Both were the work of weaker minds.
When he heard of the Emperor’s death he sighed once and then rose from where he’d been resting for a very long time.
Pathra Krous had been a good man. He had been an important man. His death was what mattered, however. The Sooth had spoken to the Pilgrim of Pathra Krous’s dying and what it meant to the world around him.
It was the sign he had waited for.
It was worth rising for.
The Daxar Taalor were not the only gods that made demands.
The Pilgrim struggled from the murky waters where he had rested for so long and shook off the sediment that covered his flesh. The air was hot and sticky with humidity. His clothes clung to him like a second skin. He was aware of the fabric as he was aware of the heat: as a secondary consideration. The most important thing was the news that Pathra Krous was gone.
Everything else was secondary to that one portent, that one sign that his time had come at last.
The Pilgrim had slept for so many years and now he would fulfill his destiny.
Muscles that should have atrophied and withered long ago moved stiffly at first, but as circulation returned to his muscles, so too did the ease of movement he had known before.
How long had he slept? He did not know. He did not care. It was enough to know that he was needed again.
He called out with his mind to the gods, and frowned as he waited for their response.
Silence.
Only silence. Still, he walked. He had a great distance to cover and there were people he needed to gather to his side if he were to succeed in his holy mission.
The bodies were heavy, and they felt greasy to the touch. Nolan did not like handling them and he liked being in charge of guarding the remains even less. Still, someone had to do it, and Sergeant Niles insisted that it was the sort of honor that would eventually lead to promotions.
Of course, Niles was also known to say the same thing of digging the holes they pissed in whenever they made a camp for the night, so his word was hardly trustworthy.
The bodies were covered in salt and then wrapped in cloths in the hopes that they might make the trip to Tyrne intact. There was a firm belief that whatever the things were, the leaders of the army would want to examine them.
Nolan would have dealt better with that thought if the damned things would stop moving around. Everyone said it was the motion of the wagons they were piled into, but Nolan didn’t believe it for a second. They moved just as much when the column was at rest. They’d finally turned south and moved alongside the Freeholdt River. According to the maps, that meant they were almost to their destination. He’d had doubts, too, until they finally saw the city in the distance.
Tyrne was immense. That was the only way to put it. Even from half a day away, they’d seen the tallest buildings. Now they headed into the city proper, and he did his best not to gape as they walked. He was not alone. Most of the soldiers he was with had never been to Tyrne and a goodly number had never been to any city of size except for Old Canhoon. Canhoon was large to be sure, and with a sizeable population, but it wasn’t so very tall. The outer buildings were not so enormous, but the ones further in rose higher than he would have thought any buildings could be built.
It took most of a day to get to Tyrne and that was long enough for some of the awe to wear off. And as they got closer they were joined by other groups coming to the capital in a stream of humanity. Many of the people coming seemed to be taking care of regular business – carts, loaded with goods to sell, or leaving the city and heading toward other destinations with supplies, were common sights – but there were more who bore a desperate air with them, who seemed to be heading to the city in the hopes of escaping from the inevitable war that people they encountered were certain was coming to eradicate them all.
War. That was an unpleasant notion. Darus shook his head and spat as they walked together. “You think there’s anything to the notion of war?”
Nolan looked at the man and cocked his head to the side. “I expect yes. We just fought some sort of monsters and we’re heading for the capital. Not just us, either. There’s more soldiers behind us and more ahead. I saw a full regiment of cavalry making for the city up ahead.”
Darus spat again, squinting up the road as if he might see the horses and their riders. Nolan knew better. His friend had eyes meant only for seeing things close by. The further out he looked, the worse his sight.
“You sure?”
“I saw them.” Nolan was about to say something else, but whatever it was fell away from his lips unspoken. Up ahead the road was clear enough to let him see what waited in that direction. The great wall of the city and the open gateway, and through the gate he could see the long road leading upward into the heart of Tyrne. He could see the path leading all the way to the palace.
“Can you see them now?”
“No.” His heart hammered in his chest. “No. I don’t know where they went.”
“Well I guess we’ll see for ourselves soon enough.”
Sergeant Niles came toward them from further up in the column with his usual swagger. His eyes were dark splotches in the sunlight. “Nolan!”
“Aye, ho, Sergeant?” He didn’t much like Niles, but he could respect him well enough. There was a difference.
“Got a note from the Office of the Commander General, says you’re to go to the palace immediately and bring your prizes with you.” He pointed to the wagons loaded with rotting flesh. “Get to it and take Darus, Tolpen and Vonders with you.”
Nolan nodded and started to head for the carts. It was Darus that asked the question that had already started ringing in Nolan’s head. “Why us?”
“March because he was asked for. The rest of you because the Captain says you deserve recognition for killing those things.” The sergeant didn’t wait around any longer. Before Darus could ask another question the man was heading back the way he’d come.
“What do you make of that?” Darus’svoice was soft.
“I make nothing of it. We’ll learn what we need to know when we get there.” Nolan wasn’t sure he believed that himself. He just knew he needed to get to the palace. He wondered if Merros Dulver would be there. He knew the answer, of course, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about that knowledge.
Desh Krohan swept into the throne room with a smile on his face. Merros looked at the man as if he might have lost his mind. What in the name of all the gods was there to smile about?
Nachia Krous looked up from the throne with a similar look of puzzlement on her face.
“Oh, look at the two of you.” Desh shook his head. “It’s like watching two children trying to study their letters with their eyes closed. The sun is out, the clouds are fading to the south and the day is young. Nachia, you’re to be Empress of this land within a week and Merros you’ve been promoted to the head of Nachia’s armies. Try to actually enjoy that fact for a moment, will you?”
Merros cleared his throat, trying to find the right way to respond without having himself reduced to cinders by the man.
Nachia was more direct. “I don’t want to be the Empress. I want my cousin back.”
The wizard shook his head. “I know. Still, you can’t have Pathra back. He’s gone from us and wanders now wherever the spirit goes when the flesh is sundered.” He leaned closer in to the woman who was supposedly his ruler. Supposedly because Merros was almost certain that no one ever actually ruled over the man. “I know that look. Calm yourself. Tantrums won’t help you now. You’re ascending to the throne. There’s no choice in this.”
Merros sighed. That was the problem with the wizard. One of them at least. He tended to be very sure of his declarations. He also tended to be right. The General did not like that combination very much. Not that he could do much about it.
“So let’s have a chat, shall we?” Desh walked to the table where paperwork sat for the Empress’s consideration and pushed the papers away from one edge, the better to rest his hip and buttock against the marble. “I think it’s time to get past the losses we’ve suffered and move on to running the Empire properly.”
Nachia opened her mouth, her lips peeling back in an angry grimace, but before she could respond Desh shook his head. “I don’t mean we forget the death of Pathra. He was one of my dearest friends. I mean we don’t let his death stop us from keeping his Empire safe. He wouldn’t appreciate his hard work being allowed to fall into ruin because our souls are heavy with his loss.”
That stopped her. She closed her mouth and slowly nodded. “What do you suggest, Desh?”
Merros felt himself release a breath he had been unaware he was holding. The simple fact was that angering the future head of the nation was a bad idea, even if you were working on her behalf. Desh Krohan was not his friend, exactly, but he was definitely a benefactor. He needed a few of those.
“Merros, here, has been bolstering the city’s defenses and that’s a wonderful notion, but we need to do more. There are soldiers coming here, forces gathering, because we need them, but they need to be supplied, they need to have places to sleep.”
“There are ample barracks, Desh. I’ve made sure of that.” Merros couldn’t keep a defensive edge from his voice.
“Oh, to be sure, Merros. I know that about you. If I didn’t think you were up to the job I would have never recommended you to Pathra as strongly as I did.”
Merros resisted the urge to snort at the comment. Nachia Krous did not. “Recommend, he says.”
“The papers were signed by your cousin, Nachia.”
“I know that. You know that. But I have no doubt as to who was holding the pen in place for him.” She was not angry as she spoke. If anything, she seemed to be teasing the man. Merros had no idea what sort of relationship they had, really. He had seen both of them repeatedly, but most of their interactions had been in front of an audience of people and now they were positively casual with each other.
“I merely make suggestions, Nachia. Same as I always have.”
The gesture she made was universally accepted as a rude one. Merros managed not to laugh out loud. It was possible that both of them were trying too hard to get along, but he rather liked it. The camaraderie, forced or not, was closer to feeling natural than the stony silence that had held sway over the palace since the murders.
“What do you want to do about the black ships in Roathes, General Dulver?” The sorcerer, advisor to the Empire, looked his way, as if he might be asking about the weather.
“Well, I suppose we could send a few of the Sa’ba Taalor to handle the matter.” His response was automatic, offered in a dry voice and completely inappropriate. It was the sort of thing he should have saved for when he was speaking to Wollis March.
Both the future Empress and the sorcerer who technically ruled the land until her ascendency looked at him for a long moment in complete silence, and then the wizard started laughing out loud, his face reddening as he let loose with a raucous cackle. Nachia joined in only a moment later.
And when they were done he sighed and shook his head. “I suppose I should send troops that way. Just to ensure that if there really is a problem it gets handled quickly.”
“You doubt the existence of the black ships?” Nachia’s voice was low and curious. He sensed no hostility. She merely wanted an honest answer from him.
“I do. Mostly because King Marsfel has already proven himself to be untrustworthy.” The man had lied, and repeatedly, in an effort to gain financial assistance from the Empire. He had apparently made a practice of it as his father had before him.
“True enough, but the claims aren’t only coming from him. They are coming from a dozen different sources.”
“And yet these black ships that are supposed to be running around in the Corinta near Marsfel’s shores have made no move to attack. They are simply out there sunning themselves like lizards.” Merros shrugged. “I have made no secret of my dislike for the king. That has not changed my decision a smattering. I don’t think we can afford to send too many forces to chase after phantoms when we are very likely at war with the Sa’ba Taalor.”
“No ‘very likely’ to it. They aren’t welcome here and, if they show themselves, I’ll expect you and your soldiers to cut them down.” Nachia’s voice held a sharp edge.
“We have a company of two hundred men missing in pursuit of them. I expect we’ll hear from them all too soon, Majesty.”
Desh raised one eyebrow and said nothing.
Nachia sighed. “So, we wait on the ships then?”
Merros lowered his head rather than stare at her. “I’ll do exactly as you tell me, Majesty, but I would suggest waiting. We have seen no sign that the ships mean harm and even with a dozen reports we’ve little proof that they even exist.”
“I’ll defer to you, Merros. I’ll trust in your judgment. Now, tell me what happens with the city’s defenses.”
“They’ve been finished, Majesty. The gates are back in working order, the areas where the walls needed repairs have been mended and the structures that had taken root along the outside of the wall have been taken down.”
“Taken down?”
“Yes, milady. Several buildings had gone, up using the outer wall as a support. They weren’t supposed to do that to begin with, and they might be used by the Sa’ba Taalor to allow their mounts to climb over the wall.”
Nachia contemplated the great beasts that the enemy rode and then nodded her head. “Are we safe from attacks without those structures?”
“Safer, I suppose. I honestly don’t know how well those things can scale a wall, but I know they made it out of the Blasted Lands without having to resort to the Temmis Pass, and we have never managed that on horses.”
She nodded her head again. For a moment there was silence and then Desh spoke up again. “Onto the next matter at hand. Regarding the defense of the Imperial Roads…”
It was going to be another long day, Merros supposed, but at least it seemed they were able to move on a bit. There was much to do and it seemed they would have very little time to get anything accomplished.
He had no idea.