James Enge - Blood of Ambrose

"We'll prove him wrong there, my lord."

"Only if Steng finds him for you. Did Lorn," the Protector continued, addressing the corpse, "order fence to patrol outside the enclosure?"

"No."

"Ha. What did Lorn order you-what did Lorn order fence to do?"

"`Pretend to patrol, while waiting to make rendezvous with the King and me,"' said the corpse, in a passable imitation of Lorn.

"How long was fence to wait?"

"Until they came."

"Where would they come from?"

"The enclosure."

"Where were they hiding in the enclosure?"

"Jence did not know."

"Did anyone in the squad know?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Lorn refused to discuss his plans. He said the soldiers might be questioned."

"A good precaution," Steng observed. "We may have learned all that we can."

The Protector shook his head impatiently. "How long did fence wait for Lorn? Was it a long time?"

"It seemed a long time. Then the red fog came, and fence died."

"Did the squad speculate on where the King and Lorn might be hiding?"

"No."

"Did fence speculate?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Lorn ordered us not to. He said-"

"Never mind that. Speculate now."

"Now?" whispered the corpse.

"Where did the King and Lorn hide?" the Protector demanded.

There was a pause, then the corpse said, "In the drop chamber."

"There is no drop chamber," the Protector said sharply.

Steng nodded his head slowly, then did so more pointedly when he saw Vost's look of mystification. The drop chamber was a device of the assassinminded Ambrosii-built into a royal enclosure to provide escape in times of need.

"There is no drop chamber," said the Protector more urgently, when the corpse did not reply. After another long pause in which the metal in the Fla- grator's central bulb burned and spluttered thoughtfully, he continued, "I ordered the Guild of Carpenters not to build a drop chamber into the enclosure."

"They would have ignored such an order," the corpse observed. "Guild law. Imperial charter. No public structure or conveyance for a royal person to be without a drop chamber or a slide chute. fence's father-in-law was a carpenter. He knew the law."

"Enough!" the Protector said. "Yost, what of this? Have your men searched for a drop chamber?"

"No, my lord," Vost said, pulling at his chin. "There would hardly have been room among the supports for the royal dais."

"We'll look again. Those things would be no use if they were easily found. Call a squad of soldiers, nzy soldiers, and have them begin breaking up the dais."

"My lord." Vost was instantly elsewhere.

The Protector stood and brushed off the knees of his breeches. "Excellent work, Steng," he said briefly. "Turn it off, now." He turned away into the night.

Steng felt a stab of jealous anger as the Protector walked away. He wanted to leap up, tug at the Protector's elbow, demanding recognition. He had worked so hard-done so much! He was furious for the space of a few breaths, and then it occurred to him that this was what Vost suffered continuously.

"Pitiable," Steng muttered. "He'd be better off dead." Absently he poured the contents of the oil jar into the central bulb of the Flagrator, extinguishing the flame guttering along the puckered strip of half-consumed metal. As the night's darkness swept in, like a tide covering an exposed shoal of light, the corpse gave a convulsive shudder and never moved again.

Urdhven heard the fighting before he came within sight of the dais. He drew his sword and ran through the enclosure arch. A single Legionary was counting up several of his own soldiers in the lists. Three lay among the shattered wood of the benches and another in the dust of the field. The King was nowhere in sight.

"Stand back, idiots!" he shouted. They parted ranks slightly, assuming (it seemed) that he only wished to be in on the kill. Furiously he leapt into the gap. Lorn was standing there, parrying the tentative sword flicks from the pack of soldiers. The Protector raised his sword and, lunging forward, caught Lorn's in a bind.

"Get back, you fools!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Search among the benches. Look for the King. Don't you see? He attacked you so that the King could escape. Find him. Capture him. Now!"

They stood back, somewhat startled, and slowly spread among the broken seats. Meanwhile Lorn made a furtive shift of stance, as if preparing to attack. Urdhven disengaged, leapt aside, and lunged, slashing a bloody line across Lorn's forehead as the Legionary belatedly parried. Lorn riposted, and again Urdhven caught his sword in a bind.

"Why did you betray me, Lorn?" the Protector wondered. "What could that witch give you that was worth your soldier's oath?"

Lorn spat with contempt. "The King has my oath. I never gave it to another."

"I command the empire's legions, Lorn. Your oath to the King is a legal fiction. You've chosen it above your duty and-Death and justice!-you'll pay for it." Furiously he threw the Legionary back and lunged at his heart.

Lorn laughed a little breathlessly as he struck the Protector's blow aside. "I believe in the Strange Gods you only swear by, Lord Urdhven. They'll enforce the oath I kept and you broke."

The Protector advanced behind a businesslike network of head-cuts, thrusts, and ripostes. He was done with talking. Lorn backed away slowly, defending himself with skill. But he was no match for the Protector, and both of them knew it. He had backed now out of the enclosure's shadow into the bloodless light of the minor moons, Horseman and Trumpeter. Sweat glittered on his forehead, and blood was dripping from the wound there into his eyes.

Urdhven leapt forward and again caught Lorn's hilt with his. The moment he felt Lorn begin to pull away he shifted his footing and lashed out with one foot, kicking the unsuspecting Lorn's out from under him. The Legionary fell down, startled, on his right knee, gaping up at Urdhven, who methodically punched him in the throat with his empty left hand. Lorn choked and clumsily slashed out with his sword. Urdhven deftly beat it aside and smashed his knee up against Lorn's jaw. The bloody-faced soldier fell back in the dust and lay still.

Urdhven nodded. Now Lorn could be publicly executed, perhaps after torture-a fine example for any City Legionary tempted to take his oath too literally.

Looking up, the Protector saw a division of cavalry depart from the Dead Hills in some disorder, form up, and ride off toward the Old City Road. A lone horseman raced toward the enclosure, undoubtedly a messenger. All this could only mean the Ambrosii had been taken and slain; the cavalry commander would never have called off the search so soon, otherwise. Excel- lent-Urdhven had been hoping to make that insolent dwarf suffer in some degree before his death, but that was a small matter, in every sense. Things were going well.

A brief chorus of shouts sprang up outside the enclosure and as suddenly died down. The sound of marching feet rang out, and a tight formation of soldiers entered through the enclosure arch. At their center was Steng; his ropy boneless fingers clutched the shoulders of a young boy with a filthy face and frightened darting eyes: the King.

The Protector stayed where he was, assessing the situation. Steng's expression was all gleeful pride, while the soldiers wore masks of stern fury. Steng had made the capture, then, and had fought with the soldiers over who would bring the Protector his prize. That was good. Urdhven had made a life study of the art of breaking a man's spirit, and he guessed that Steng was twothirds his property now.

As for the King …yes, the story could be that he had been kidnapped by Lorn's cabal of rebellious soldiers. When set upon by the Protector's Men, they had slain their captive in panic. The Protector's Men had overcome the Legionaries, and these would be executed for treason and regicide. (Urdhven knew of a company of soldiers he could easily sacrifice for this piece of political theater: Lorn's.) It would be an excellent pretext for a loyalty inquisition among the City Legion. Or perhaps abolishing them altogether-it was awkward to have so large a body of troops in the capital not under his personal control.