S. Turney: Dark Empress

The tall man smiled a horrible, feral smile.

“Emperor Quintus has enough on his plate at the moment. I hear his generals are now in open rebellion. The Empire’s collapsing in on itself, my dear Trevistus, and the time has come for men like us. Men of independent means and supreme self-interest. Well… for men like me at least. Goodbye, my unfortunate friend.”

Asima closed her eyes as a brief whimper gave way to a gasp and was silenced with a slicing noise. There was the dull thud of a padded weight falling to the floor. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard and offered thanks to every God that might be listening that she at least had not seen what just happened.

She almost shrieked as something touched her elbow. Snapping her head round in panic, her eyes met those of Samir, who was gesturing urgently for her to follow him. Beyond him, Ghassan nodded sharply.

The light-stepping journey around the periphery of the warehouse, hidden by crated goods, was tense and slow, and the three heaved a sigh of relief that, by the time they reached the nearest ladder and prepared to climb, the warehouse doors had opened and the occupants had left with their grisly burden.

A gloomy silence accompanied the children on their unnoticed escape.

The next winter would turn the boys’ world upside down. Asima had spent less time with the brothers since the incident at the warehouse and when they had seen her she wore a haunted look. Her eyes had darkened as though she slept little and she had become taciturn. On the few occasions she had visited, she looked uncharacteristically frail and frightened and had taken to sitting wrapped in Ghassan’s arms. Samir had pondered on this for a while, but had finally nodded and accepted that perhaps Asima currently needed Ghassan’s sober strength more than his own optimistic humour.

Then late one evening, as their mother was preparing the main meal and the boys sat alone in the communal room, there was a knock at the door. Knowing that their mother would be too busy to answer and that she would become angry if she had to ask them, Ghassan and Samir rushed to the front of the house where the ill-fitting wooden portal kept the worst of the weather out. A visitor was an exciting prospect. Asima rarely came to the house, and would certainly never knock at the front door where her arrival would be noted by their mother.

As the door swung open, the brothers looked up into the weathered face of a tall man. Dark hued and imposing, he wore the travelling garb of a desert nomad. A bag slung over his shoulder, he was otherwise unburdened. Before either boy could speak, the man smiled, his teeth surprisingly straight, white and neat. The effect, against his dark face, was unsettling to say the least, but the smile seemed genuine.

“You boys have grown beyond measure and expectation.” His voice was rich and deep, with a touch of humour and warmth.

The boys stared and there was a crash from the kitchen as their dinner hit the floor in its earthenware pot, shards scattered across the tiles. Samir and Ghassan were still looking up in silent confusion a moment later when their mother came running across the common room and jerked to a halt, breathing heavily behind them.

“Faraj?”

The man’s grin merely widened as he now stepped back to take in the three of them at the same time. Ghassan tugged at his mother’s belt.

“Who is Faraj?”

He was rewarded with a brusque cuff around his ear as their mother stared at the man, various expressions pulling at her face. The visitor opened his arms and spread them wide in an almost placatory gesture.

“Whereas you, my dear Nadia, remain unchanged by the… oh seven years since we last met?”

While Ghassan irritably rubbed his stinging ear and glared furtively at his mother, Samir was paying closer attention to the visitor. His sharp eyes had already picked out three details that had led him to form his own conclusions.

“Uncle Faraj?” he hazarded.

Ghassan’s head snapped round and he stared at his smaller brother. Samir smiled as the visitor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“You look a little like father did” he explained. “And you’re a nomad with a barely-concealed sword on your back. And you’ve not seen mother for seven years, yet she dropped dinner at the mere sound of your voice.”

Faraj laughed and turned back to their mother.

“He’s sharp, this one.”

Samir risked a glance at his mother, but she was too busy staring at her brother-in-law to care about disciplining the boys now. Shaking her head, she gestured to invite their guest inside. As she rushed to make the cushioned seating area as comfortable as possible, the big man shuffled inside, ducking his head at the threshold, dropping his bag to one side and unslinging the sword from his back. He winked at Samir and patted Ghassan on the head as he stretched. The boys looked at one another, shrugged, and closed the door before rushing over to join the adults.

As they reached the communal seating area, their mother pointed to the kitchen.

“Dinner is made, but the rice will have to be washed thoroughly, if it can be saved. Go to it, and serve on four plates and then you may join us.”

The boys nodded unhappily and, as they hurried off toward the kitchen, their mother called after them.

“There is a bottle of date wine I have been saving. Fetch it and two mugs.”

Ghassan rushed about collecting the bottle and mugs while Samir gathered the fallen rice bowl. The container had smashed into three sizeable pieces, but much of the rice with its rich herbs and spices had been contained within the surviving arcs and, along with the spare that was being saved for the next day, there would be enough for four dinners. The boys went about their tasks in desperate silence as they listened in on the conversation from the other room.

“You once said I was always welcome?”

Their mother drew a deep breath.

“And I meant that, Faraj. But you should have come before… when your brother passed. You should have come some time to see the boys. They were babes the last time you were here. You have been gone so long and with no word. I didn’t even know you were alive.”

There was a brief uncomfortable silence.

“You are right, Nadia: my absence and lack of communication has been inexcusable. I have been fighting along the Pelasian borders in the southern desert, near the Shan’a Oasis. The Pelasian satrap of the area has been encroaching on Imperial lands and we have defended as best we could.”

He sighed.

“But that has now changed.”

Again there was a silence.

“Changed how? Why are you here, Faraj?”

The desert soldier shook his head sadly, seen from behind by the boys as they toiled in the kitchen to finish the dinner preparations.

“The limitani are to be disbanded. The governor will not continue our contract. We have been told that payment for all limitani from the capital has stopped; payment for almost everything from the capital has stopped! They say Velutio and Isera are in chaos; that the Emperor is at odds with his court and his generals, and that we are a stone’s throw away from collapse.”

There was a brief nervous laugh from their mother.

“People say such things. We have heard tales before, many times.”

“This is different,” Faraj objected. “The Empire has abandoned us to our fate on the border. Even now the more ambitious satraps are crossing the border and claiming parcels of Imperial land and we are not there to stop them. And so I have turned to the city. I must find employment.”

The boys, fascinated, began to ferry the dishes of food into the other room, trying to be unobtrusive while taking in everything they could.