William King - Shadowblood

Yet for all the size of the Empire’s armies, and all the skill of its sorcerers, she was starting to wonder if this was a war it could win. The West was rich now in a way that it had not been a century ago, its Generals seemed more secure with the new technologies of war- with muskets and alchemy and cannon and all the other new instruments of destruction.

The Scarlet armies had cut through Kharadrea like a sword passing through a bale of hay. Queen Arielle’s forces had responded to the threat of war with far greater swiftness and savagery than any of the Empress’s advisors had forecast. Their humans seemed loyal to the new order. Every intricate scheme that Arachne’s advisors had tried, from raising the mountain tribes to allying with Ilmarec, had been foiled.

Her father, a most powerful sorcerer and assassin, worth a regiment at least on his own, was dead before the war had even begun. Without any pause it looked like the Scarlet armies were marching to meet the Purple. Where was the cowardice so many Sardean nobles had predicted when they saw how the Taloreans had backed down to their humans, granting freedoms and concessions at every turn?

It came as a shock to her to realise how inward-looking and isolated her people were. Living on their great estates, surrounded by the mechanisms of religion and state that reinforced their prejudices, they had convinced themselves that their foes were weaklings and fools, and that, as representatives of the true ancient ways of the Terrarchs, they would inevitably triumph.

It had been her fate to travel in the West and have her ideas challenged. She smiled sardonically. Of course, by her very nature she was forced to be more open-minded than her fellow Sardeans. Her basic training had undermined her faith in all orthodoxies. By virtue of birth, she had been forced to question whether any nation had a monopoly on virtue and of vice.

Her father would have laughed at her doubts. He would have pointed out how necessary this war was for the cause and how the coming chaos would be to pave the way for the great enlightenment. Somehow, he had never been able to see that in many ways, the Western nations were more in keeping with his ideals than the Empire was. He and his people had started off by rebelling against the stultifying rule of the so-called Angels. They had wanted a more equal and open society where the grip of the old on power was released. His thoughts on equality and freedom had never applied to humans though. To him, especially as he had grown older and more dependent on his dark magics, they had been only cattle, incapable of real thought or real life. It was not something she could really accept. She had spent too much time around them to be able to dismiss them so.

A servant knocked and then entered. On a silver tray she bore a letter. Tamara wondered who had sent it, for she had yet to inform anyone she had returned. Either a servant had talked or someone had the house under observation. Neither was surprising, really. It was common policy among many of the great Houses of Sardea. It did not even necessarily mean that one of her servants was a traitor. They might simply have mentioned the fact that the mistress was home while out shopping and been overheard.

She picked up the letter and noticed the seal. It bore a two interlocked serpents, the sign of Xephan, Lord Ilea, an associate of her father’s, the present Prime Minister. She slit the seal with a knife and unfolded the page within. It was dated that day and welcomed her home before inviting her to pay a visit. He had heard disturbing rumours about her father and wished to discuss his fate. It was laced with code words used by the secret Brotherhood to which all three of them belonged that let her know she had no choice but to attend.

She forced down a sense of outrage. Xephan was not her master, nor was he her father. He was not one to command her. She took a deep breath and composed herself. She conjured up a picture of the Terrarch in her mind — tall, slender, with curly hair unusual for her people, tawny eyes with gold flecks. A careful dresser, fastidious, a sometime lover of the Empress who thought himself a poet. A sorcerer of great skill, a seeker after hidden secrets, an initiate of many mysteries. At one time Xephan had been a pupil of her father’s but latterly had come to be a rival and one whom her father had feared for all his insouciance. He was a member of the inner circle of the Brotherhood, privy to all its great secrets.

The fact that he dared write to her in such a fashion told her much. He obviously felt very secure. For the first time she allowed herself to consider what the failure of her father’s schemes actually meant. Failure was not something that enhanced any Terrarch’s reputation, and the stakes had been high. Had rumours that her father had assassinated Kathea reached the capital already? His scheme to capture Asea in Harven had failed. The death of the Talorean candidate for the Kharadrean throne had been meant to redeem that- and would have, had he lived.

She considered her options. The very nature of the way Xephan wrote implied a threat. She decided that she had better go and see him. Sending a servant to bring her pen and paper, she began to compose her reply in her mind.

Set atop high cliffs, the Palace was as much a fortress as a royal residence, and as much a religious centre as either. Guards in Imperial purple stood sentry at gates warded by ancient portcullises and even more ancient spells. Tamara passed over pits spanned by bridges as she made her way in, her papers scrutinised at every watchpoint, even though they were signed by the Prime Minister himself.

Security was even tighter than it had been before she had left. Kathea’s death had upset the Empress, understandably, given the nature of her own mother’s demise. Tamara suspected her father’s hand in that, from hints he had dropped, and she wondered just how complicit the old Empress’s daughter had been. Amarielle’s death had certainly come at a good time for Arachne. She had been out of favour and her mother had been about to announce her sister Arielle as heir. Perhaps her suspicious nature was a reflection of some guilt.

Tamara smiled, wondering if the Empress were capable of such feelings. If the human serfs thought her a goddess, she more than matched their opinion of herself. Her self-centredness was awesome even for a Terrarch.

Don’t be so sour, Tamara told herself. Just because the Empress has not invited you to tea since your father’s departure from high office.

There had been a time when Tamara was something of a favourite with the Empress and her courtiers, but at the time her father had been Prime Minister, so everyone courted his favour in any way they could. Things had been chillier since Malkior’s fall from grace, and perhaps the lack of an Imperial invitation reflected just how deep she was in disfavour herself.

A chamberlain waited for her at the last guard station, warned by whatever discreet system of surveillance was in place. She could just picture messengers scurrying ahead as she was kept waiting at each checkpoint, bearing news of her arrival to Xephan. Then again, perhaps the Terrarch had simply been waiting for her to appear. She had arrived on time for her appointment. Under the circumstances a lack of punctuality would have served no purpose.

The chamberlain bowed to her as she came up. She recognised Ryzarde, a friend of her school days, whom she remembered as something of a sensitive child. There was nothing sensitive about him now though. There was a smirk on his face, the look of one secure in his position dealing with someone not at all secure in their’s.

“Dear, dear Tamara,” he said. “Such a pleasure to see you again. How is your father?”