Paul Kearney - The Second Empire

But the explosion did not happen. Instead, Aurungzeb spoke in a low, reasonable tone. “It is utterly useless to us.”

“Yes, Highness.”

“The Fimbrians, curse their names, constructed it that way. Approaching it from the east, it is unconquerable. But if by some chance you happen to capture it intact, then it is worthless. All the defences face east. From the west, it is indefensible. Very clever, those Fimbrian engineers must have been.”

The courtiers and soldiers waited, wondering if this strange calm were the herald of an unprecedented rage. But when Aurungzeb turned to face them he looked thoughtful.

“I want this fortress destroyed.”

Shahr Indun Johor blinked. “Highness?”

“Are you deaf? Level it. I want the dyke filled in, I want the walls cast down and the tower broken. I want Ormann Dyke wiped off the face of the earth. And then, using the same stones, you shall create another fortress, on the east bank of the river, facing west. If by some freakish chance the Ramusians ever manage to push back our armies, then we shall halt them here, on the Searil. And we shall bleed them white as they did us. And Aekir, my new capital, it shall be safe. Golden Aurungabar, greatest city of the world. See to it, Shahr Johor. Gather together our engineers. I want a set of plans drawn up for me to see by tonight. And a modell. Yes, a scale modell of how it will look, Ormann Dyke obliterated and this new fortress in its place. I must think of a name…”

Shahr Johor bowed, unnoticed, and left the summit of the tower to do his master’s bidding. The courtiers who remained looked at one another. Never before had they heard their master speak of anything save advances and victories, and now here he was planning for defeat. What had happened?”

A flabby, glabrous palace eunuch piped up, “My Sultan, do you truly believe that the accursed Unbelievers could ever push our glorious armies back to the Searil? Surely, they are in their death throes. We shall soon be feasting in the palace of Torunn.”

Aurungzeb stared moodily out at the ancient fortress below him. “I wish I had your optimism, Serrim. This general of the red horsemen. My spies tell me that he is now commander-in-chief of all the Torunnan forces. He and his damned scarlet cavalry have saved the Torunnans from destruction twice now.”

“Who is this man, lord? Do we know? Perhaps our agents-”

Aurungzeb snorted with mirth. “He is, by all accounts, a hard man to kill.”

Then his mood soured again. “Leave me, all of you. No-Ahara, you will remain.” He broke into halting Normannic. “Ramusian, you stay here also.” And in Merduk again: “The rest of you, get out of my sight.”

The tower cleared of people, leaving two figures behind. One was a small man in a black habit whose wrists were bound with silver chains. The other was a slim, silk-clad woman whose face was hidden behind a jewelled veil. Aurungzeb beckoned the woman over, the thunder on his brow lifting a little. He twitched aside her veil and caressed a pale cheek.

“Heart of my heart,” he murmured. “How does it go with you and my son?”

Heria stroked her abdomen. The bulge was visible now. “We are well, my lord. Batak has used his arts to examine the child. It is a healthy boy. In five months, he shall be born.” She spoke in the Merduk tongue.

Aurungzeb beamed, encircled Heria’s shoulders with one massive arm and sighed with contentment.

“How I love to hear you use our speech. It must become your own. The lessons will continue-that tutor has earned his pay.” He lowered his voice. “I shall make you my queen, Ahara. You are a follower of the Prophet now, and you shall be the mother of a sultan one day. My heir cannot have a mere concubine for a dam. Would you like that? Would you like to be a Merduk queen?” And here Aurungzeb set his huge hands on her shoulders and scrutinized her face.

Heria met his eyes. “This is my world, now. You are my lord, the father of my child. There is nothing else. I will be a queen if you wish it. I am yours to do with as you will.”

Aurungzeb smiled slowly. “You speak the truth. But you are no slave to me, not any more. A wife you shall be as well as a queen. We will live in Aurungabar, and our union shall be a symbol.” Here the Sultan turned and raised his voice so that the black-garbed man behind them might hear.

“The meeting of two peoples, priest. Would you like that? This way the Ramusians who remain east of the Torrin will see that I am not the monster they-and you-believe me to be.”

Albrec shuffled forward, more chains clinking invisibly under his habit. “I think it is a worthy idea. I never thought you were a monster, Sultan. I know that you are not. In the end, a truly great ruler does what is best for his people, not what pleases himself. You are beginning to realise that.”

Aurungzeb seemed taken aback by the priest’s bluntness. He forced a laugh. “Beard of the Prophet, you are a fearless little madman, I’ll give you that. You and your people have courage. Shahr Baraz always told me so. I thought him a sentimental old fool, but I see now he was right.”

Heria regarded Aurungzeb with some wonder. She had never before heard him speak of Ramusians with anything resembling moderation. Were the court rumours true then? Was Aurungzeb tiring of war?

He caught her glance, and stepped away towards the parapet.

There was a pause. Finally Heria mustered the resolve to speak.

“My lord, do you really believe this new general of the Ramusians is so dangerous?”

“Dangerous? His army is a broken rabble, his country is led by a woman. Dangerous!” But the words rang hollow somehow.

“Come here, Ahara. Beside me.”

She joined him. Albrec stood forgotten behind them.

Together they could look down from the dizzying height of the tower to the battered walls of the fortress and the River Searil beyond, crossed by the new wooden bridges that the engineers had been working on for weeks. On the far side of the river was the great desolation of craters and rubble that had once been the eastern barbican of the fortress. The Ramusian garrison had packed it with gunpowder and destroyed it just as it fell into the hands of the Merduks.

“Look up on the hills to the east, Ahara. What do you see there?”

“Waggons, my lord, dozens of them. And hundreds of men digging.”

“They are digging a mass grave to hold our dead.” Aurungzeb’s face seemed to slump. “Every time we fight the Torunnans, another must be dug.”

“Can it go on much longer, lord? So much killing.”

He did not reply at once. He seemed tyred-exhausted even. “Ask the holy madman behind you. He has all the answers it seems.”

Albrec clinked forward until he too stood on the lip of the parapet. “All wars end,” he said quietly. “But it takes more courage to bring them to a close than it does to start them.”

“Platitudes,” Aurungzeb said disgustedly.

“Your Prophet, Sultan, did not believe in war. He counselled all men to live as brothers.”

“As did your Saint,” Aurungzeb countered.

“True. They had much in common, the Prophet and the Saint.”

“Listen, priest-” the Sultan began heatedly, but just then there was a clatter of boots on the stairway and a soldier appeared on the parapet, panting. He fell to his knees as Aurungzeb glared.

“Highness, forgive me, but despatches have arrived from our forces in the north. Shahr Johor said you were to be informed immediately. Our men have reached the Torrin Gap, Highness. The way to Charibon is open!”

The trouble on Aurungzeb’s brow evapourated. “I’ll come at once.”

And as the soldier leapt up, he followed him off the tower without a backwards glance, his stride as energetic as that of a boy. Heria and Albrec were left behind.