William Forstchen - Down to the Sea

“Our ships outgun them, our flyers are larger, our artillery is superior in all respects, as are our explosives. Still, what I have learned from you is so damn tantalizing. You speak of wireless telegraphs, these engines you call internal, the creation of light through wires, chemicals that kill, gases that kill, the making of diseases. By all the gods, what we would give for such knowledge.”

“And yet I know of it but not how to make it happen,” Jurak said.

“Precisely. Ten years of working on such things and no threat of the humans could ever matter to us.”

“You have the edge you have, and that is it.”

“Damn.”

It was a curse not directed at him, but nevertheless he stiffened, sensing an insult. After twenty years as a Qar Qarth, his pride would brook no insult, either real or imagined.

“No, you misunderstand,” Velamak said hurriedly. “I understand why. I know that our ship designers are working on this mechanism called firing control, being able to judge a target from a great distance and aim correctly. The advice you gave us years ago on that still bears fruit. Our guns can shoot three leagues or more, yet at sea they are useless beyond two thousand paces. I understand that such a thing is being studied, but ask me to explain and I am useless. I understand that it is the same with you.”

“I was but twenty years old when I became a soldier. Prior to that, I was a scholar interested in the writings of the ancients and their philosophies,” Jurak replied. “I knew to turn a knob and the light would come on so that I could read, but ask me to explain why the light came on and I had no idea.”

“Still, what you have said we shall try to work upon.”

“You arouse my curiosity about something.”

““And that is?”

“Your humans. I know you feel disdain for the moon feast. I watched you closely this evening.”

Velamak waved his hands indifferently. “Primitive, but interesting. I suspect you were far more disturbed than I would ever be.”

Again Jurak bristled slightly, but then let it pass. “There is something different about your humans. I have heard rumors of it.”

Velamak smiled. “Yes, they are different.”

“And what is that difference?”

“They are on our side.”

“But you said you slaughtered those on the islands.”

“Inferior ones. No, we are talking about those who have lived inside the empire, some of them for a hundred generations or more.”

“And are they slaves? Do you feed upon them?”

“At times, but that is inconsequential, and of no concern to them.”

“Then what is this difference?”

Velamak smiled. “The Shiv. We breed them. We breed them to match what it is we desire of them.”

“And that is?”

“A race of warriors. Bred the way you breed your horses. Those we do not select we slaughter or geld. Only the best continue on, generation after generation.”

“By the gods. They could be the seeds of your own destruction.”

Velamak smiled. “No. For it is the Order that controls them, and they have something you never gave your humans.”

“Which is?”

“Faith. A faith in a god of our creation. They are the Shiv, the elite of the elite, and when the Republic faces their Shiv legions, they will die.”

“And what of us, then?” Jurak asked, a cold shiver of fear coursing through him when the full enormity of what he had just heard struck him.

Velamak smiled. “He of my order, who I suspect even now is moving toward final control, he will guide the way.” Jurak lowered his head. For the first time since meeting this envoy he felt at last that he understood what was hidden beneath. This man wasn’t just an envoy, he was a fanatic, a believer, who had come to prepare the way for the madness to come.

“So you survived after all, Hazin.”

Hazin smiled, bowing low before the Grand Master of his order. He could see the wary gaze, the shift of the Grand Master’s weight as he leaned forward ever so slightly, ready to spring if Hazin should make a threatening move.

“My master, I must protest the indignity of a personal search before entering your quarters,” Hazin replied. “I would not be so disloyal as to strike you now.”

There was a sarcastic grunt of bemusement. “The whole city has been in turmoil since your ship docked, wondering what news you bring.”

Hazin chuckled. So they weren’t sure. Good.

“Hanaga is dead, as you ordered.”

There was an exhale of relief.

Ah, so he did fear the plot within a plot. Fine, that would have diverted his thinking for the moment. “There was no sense in keeping the news hidden. I’ve already sent one of our acolytes to the palace to give his most exalted highness the good news. I thought it best, however, to report to you personally.”

The Grand Master stirred. “Are you certain he is dead?” His voice was filled now with menace.

“If you doubt, fetch the Shiv who were aboard the ship and put to them the question. They disposed of the body after we were done.”

“You should have kept some proof for the satisfaction of Yasim.”

“The acolyte bears a basket containing Hanaga’s head. Is that proof enough, my master?”

There was a chuckle of bemusement. “He’ll most likely vomit at the sight of it.”

“And vomit again when you press for payment,” Hazin replied.

The Grand Master nodded, picking up a dagger resting on his desk to examine the blade.

“He’ll pay. He knows the result if he doesn’t.”

“Yasim might appear a weakling on the surface. But is he?”

“He’s a fool. Hanaga was different. Once the civil war was decided, we all knew he would turn on us. We were the one threat left to the Golden Throne. Yasim will be too afraid of us to strike. That, besides the wealth offered, was good enough reason to switch sides and support him.”

“The war, however, is all but finished now,” Hazin replied. “Playing one against the other was our own path to power. The remaining Banners will submit. And then what?”

“We consolidate our hold. With the payment offered we can expand our temples, gather more recruits. In ten years the cycle of struggle for the throne will start again, and yet again we shall play the game. This new emperor is morally a weakling, but he is lusty enough in his private chambers. Soon enough he will breed the next generation for us to play with.”

Hazin nodded, though he did not agree. The Master was old, the fire was going out of him. He was thinking now like an old one, seeking security, warmth, a comfortable seat by the side of Yasim at the banquet table and amphitheater.

He did not know the full measure of the one he had just placed on the throne. For that reason alone he should die, and for the simple fact that he was in the way.

“The journey has been a tiring one,” Hazin replied. “May I have your permission to withdraw?”

The Master nodded, then held up his hand just before Hazin backed out of the door, motioning for him to close it.

“One question.”

Hazin kept his features expressionless.

“Your order was to kill Hanaga. It is rare indeed for one to survive such an assignment.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Yet you obviously arranged it so you would.”

“Yes.”

The moment has come, Hazin thought. If he has any wisdom, he should kill me now, this very instant.

“You knew my intent in assigning you.”

“Yes, to ensure that I would die as well, but I did not.”

“And?”

“You could kill me now and find out the result, or let me live and find out the result.”

There was a long moment of silence, the master holding the dagger in his hand. At one time, long ago, this one had been his first mentor in the order. Hazin had loyally followed him, because that loyalty had been properly rewarded with advancement. Now he had only one step left to achieve-the final rank within the order, and the master knew it.