William King - Shadowblood

“For purposes of finding out what that agent wanted.”

Joran looked at him. “How much did Tamara offer you to kill Asea?”

“As much as I was prepared to ask for. She told me the Queen-Empress herself would not be ungrateful.”

“Were you tempted?”

“I have no sympathy with the Sardean cause and would do nothing to further it.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“I was not tempted. Anyone can make promises. Asea has done more than talk.”

“I could have you burned at the stake simply for talking to Tamara. You know that?”

This was the crux of the matter, Rik thought. “You could have my life for many things. We both know that. You are an Inquisitor. I am a human.”

“No, youth, you are not. You are a Terrarch and must be tried as such. I have made my decision on that at least.”

Rik was taken off balance by this sudden switch, as he suspected the Inquisitor wanted him to be. Joran smiled. “Do not worry. You are not beyond my reach. If I decide you are guilty of treason, your action will stain a Terrarch house. Lady Asea’s actions have consequences for others beside you.”

“I expect she knows that.”

“Yes. I expect she does. You are free to go.”

“Inquisitor Joran thinks he’s being subtle,” said Asea. She sat by the fire, a book of ancient sorcery open on her lap.

“In what way?”

“He is making it very clear to all that you are my creature, Rik. I petitioned the Queen to make it so. Any disgrace that befalls you will be associated with me. He is forcing me to protect you in order to protect myself and my House. He thinks it will constrain my ability to manoeuvre.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Yes. The process has already begun. I made the petition before Kathea was killed when you were still the hero of the hour. Now Kathea is dead and suspicion falls on you, and by implication on me. Recognising you as my ward emphasises this. There are many ways he could build a case against me, if that is what he wishes.”

“Do you think he does?”

“You have a lot to learn about politics.”

“Tell me something I do not know, Milady.”

“I am a power in the land, Rik. There are many beholden to me for favours, and some think I have influence on the Queen herself. Perhaps once I did.”

“I do not follow.”

“Inquisitor Joran is a very ambitious fellow. He is looking for leverage on me to further his own aims. I have no doubt that at some point down the road, some well prepared case will be shown to me, and I will be asked to do something for him in return for getting it dropped. It will probably be done in such a way that it will be easier to buy him off than to fight it.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“No, Rik. It’s politics.”

“What if he is sincere? What if he really decides he wants to bring you down?”

Asea laughed. “Others have tried in the past, Rik. I am still here.”

Rik hoped she was not the one being over-confident now.

“I take it you’ve heard the news?” said Jazeray, sticking his sleek head round the office door.

Sardec tore his attention from the minutia of the supply lists: provisions, bullets, powder, all the myriad things that had to be accounted for with quartermaster’s requisitions, small foolscap boats floating down the endless river of paperwork.

“Heard what?”

“We’re getting ready to move out?”

“So soon in the season? Where are we going? Home?”

“We are not so lucky. It looks like we’re heading East. Scouts have just come in. Seems the Imperials can’t wait to get to grips with us. Their armies are already rolling over the border.”

“For certain?”

“The General believes it, and that’s what counts. The official letters of dispatch go out this afternoon but I thought you would appreciate getting the word as quickly as possible.”

“Any idea about numbers? Of the Imperials, I mean.”

“They say tens of thousands of thralls.”

“They are not afraid of the plague then?”

“Apparently not.”

“Maybe they know something we don’t.” Sardec had his suspicions about this ever since the Foragers had disrupted Jaderac’s ritual. The Sardeans were prepared to use any amount of dark sorcery to achieve their aims. It looked like it was going to be a difficult war, with plague and famine sweeping the land.

He supposed it had not been so different in his father’s day, save for the fact that then the enemy had not been other Terrarchs. During the conquest, the Exalted had presented a united front against the world. Now they fought proxy wars against each other through their human legions. It would only be a matter of time before it led to disaster.

Rulers were supposed to provide stability, certainty, prosperity. If they could not, loss of faith and rebellion inevitably followed. Terrarchs were supposed to be wiser than humans, able to take the long view, not be led astray by the clamour of mobs. His father had claimed that they were shepherds of their human charges, that they had a responsibility to them. It was only recently that Sardec had come to understand what he had meant and in some ways to share his feelings.

Jazeray said, “You’re looking thoughtful. I can tell by the blankness in your eyes. It reflects the emptiness in your skull.”

“I fear you judge me by yourself. I suppose it’s inevitable. We can only use our own experience as a guide.”

Jazeray laughed. “That sounded suspiciously like banter. You seem to be losing that famous stiffness of yours. Anyway, I had better go and let my Sergeant know what’s happening. Might as well have the troops ready for the off.”

“Your Sergeant knew about it before you did,” said Sardec.

“It never hurts to let them know we’re not completely in the dark.”

“Let me just sign these reports and I’ll join you.”

“We’re going where?” The Barbarian shouted. It was bloody typical. He had just got himself settled in this nice comfortable billet with a couple of jolly fat-bottomed whores and a decent supply of grog and tobacco and the army had to go and spoil it. It was enough to make a man sick. There were days when he really regretted leaving Segard, and this was one of them.

“We’re going East. Best get used to it,” said Weasel, looking as relaxed as he always did. He looked around the room where a dozen of the Foragers lay sprawled on their bedrolls. “Sergeant Hef asked me to spread the word. Seems like the Imperial hordes have crossed the border and are hot for blood.”

“Wankers,” said the Barbarian. “It’s bloody typical- I just got myself settled into a nice comfortable…”

“I know, I know,” said Weasel, looking like he’d heard all of this a thousand times before, intolerant bastard that he was. “Two or is it three plump lasses and a tavern with a good fire and a nice line in roasted rat, and now the army has got to go and spoil it all by giving us our marching orders. Who could have seen that coming?”

For a lanky thin bastard, Weasel did a pretty good impression of the Barbarian’s voice and manner or at least the other’s thought he did. They all laughed. The Barbarian glared around the room just to let them know he was not to be mocked, at least not by anybody but Weasel. They all looked away, abashed by his glare. They knew he could take any six of them, even though most of them were half his age. Actually he could take any ten of them on a good day and the way he felt now…

“You think we’ll be fighting any more dead men?” Toadface asked. Like all of the Foragers, he had grown heartily sick of the walking corpses. The Barbarian did not blame them. In his homeland. bodies remained decently in the ground when buried, and there was none of the need for burning you got in these devil-infested southern lands.