Blood of Empire

by Brian McClellan

  He caught sight of a narrow doorway and cut across the crowd in that direction. They reached the side of the road and gained purchase on a doorstep, where Michel double-checked the sign above the door. It was a picture of a man in a baker’s hat sitting on a bench, pants down, above the words THE SQUATTING MILLER. Ichtracia in tow, he stepped inside.

  They descended a trio of steps into a cool, dank room lit dimly by gas lanterns. Despite the press of bodies outside, the room contained just a handful of people. Michel stopped on the bottom step to allow his eyes to adjust to the low light, and quickly picked out a familiar figure in one corner.

  Emerald sat with his back to the wall, one knee pulled up in front of him on the bench, sipping from a pewter cup. His green-tinted glasses were pushed up on his head, his stark-white skin and hair distinguishing him from the handful of Palo in the room. Michel zigzagged through the benches and tables and dropped down across from him. “I’m surprised you wanted to meet in public. And in the Depths, no less.”

  Emerald tipped his head forward, his glasses falling onto the bridge of his nose. “Kresimir,” he swore, squinting back and forth between them. “You two look nothing like yourselves.”

  “That’s the idea,” Michel replied as Ichtracia took up a position just behind him, leaning against the wall.

  “It’s the Dynize,” Emerald said, a note of unease in his voice. “They’ve started sending their own people to work in the morgues. I’m still technically in charge, but I don’t trust the eyes and ears in my own territory now. That’s why we’re meeting here.”

  “They like to have a grasp on all public services,” Ichtracia said, leaning over Michel’s shoulder. “I’m surprised it took them this long.”

  Emerald eyeballed Ichtracia. He’d made it very clear, when Michel had limped to him just after the confrontation with Ka-Sedial, that he did not trust her. He had obviously not changed his mind. “Yes, well, it’s going to make my hobby a little harder. I’m known in the Depths. I help out at one of the Palo clinics from time to time. I’ve done enough favors for people that I’m left alone—so yes, any meetings we have from now on will have to be here.”

  “That’s a lot of favors,” Michel commented. “Being a spymaster is a hobby, now?”

  “Yes,” Emerald snapped. “And you should do well to remember it. If you rely on me too much, you may arrive one day looking for help and find that I’ve packed up and left for Brudania.”

  Michel ground his teeth. Emerald was right, of course. He’d been very forthright about the fact that he could only be so useful before putting himself at risk. “Then let’s make this short. I need every update you can give me.”

  Emerald looked skeptical. “What, you want troop movements? The arrival of Dynize politicians?”

  “No, no,” Michel said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I should narrow that down.”

  “You should.”

  “We need to know about the Palo,” Ichtracia said.

  “What about them?” Emerald asked.

  “Rumors,” Michel said. “Public leanings. Events. Whatever has happened since I left.”

  Emerald grimaced. “Not much, to be honest. The riots died down while you were still here. Aside from the fires during the initial Dynize attack, the Palo seem to be the least affected by the invasion. Some of them have left, of course. Others have moved into abandoned houses in Upper Landfall. Everyone else…” He gestured around them. “They’re just going about their business.”

  Michel exchanged a worried glance with Ichtracia. “That’s it?”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific if you want more,” Emerald said with a hint of exasperation.

  “Disappearances,” Ichtracia suggested.

  Michel nodded. “Right. People going missing. Children, the elderly. People who won’t be missed.”

  Emerald considered the question for a moment. “Those kinds of people always go missing during a war. You’re looking for something specific?”

  “We are, but I don’t think you should know. Not yet.”

  “Understood.” Emerald seemed to accept that bit of compartmentalization without further comment. “Nothing in particular has come to my attention, but I can look into it. Check morgue records. Ask around quietly. As I said, people disappear during times of conflict. But if there’s something out of the ordinary, a pattern should emerge.” He frowned. “The Dynize are recruiting Palo by the thousands, which is going to make the job harder.”

  “For what?”

  “Construction. Public works all over the city. A great big fortress down south, surrounding the godstone. They’ve even started a conscription program. If there are two hundred thousand Palo left in Landfall, roughly a fourth of those are being shuffled around by Dynize programs.”

  Michel had heard these rumors already, but he wanted to get Emerald’s opinion on them. “And you don’t find this suspicious?” Michel asked.

  “Not really. The Palo are being treated quite well. Very few complaints come out of either the labor camps or the army reserves, though I suppose the Dynize have control of what gets in and out.” Emerald nodded to himself. “I can do some digging, but beyond that…” He spread his hands helplessly.

  Michel swore to himself. He’d hoped that Emerald would be able to give him some sort of evidence for or against these sacrifices. Instead he’d painted a picture of accepted enlistment and bureaucratic shuffling. If the Dynize wanted to make a few thousand people disappear, they could do so easily in all that hubbub. “Do what you can, but be as circumspect as possible.”

  “That’s what I do best.”

  Michel looked over his shoulder at Ichtracia, who gave him a small shake of her head. No ideas there. He’d have to work on his own angle and hope that Emerald could come up with something. Frustrated, he mentally moved on to the next thing on his checklist. “What is the mood of the Palo right now? Do they support the occupation?”

  “You might as well ask if every Kressian worships Kresimir,” Emerald replied blandly. “Everyone has their own thoughts on the Dynize. Like I said, the Palo are being treated pretty well. Fair pay, chance at rank in the military, equal housing. Compared to Lindet’s regime, they’re living the dream.”

  That was not what Michel wanted to hear. If the Palo were truly better off beneath the Dynize, it would force him to change his entire plan of attack. In fact, it might remove his plan of attack. How could he justify helping Taniel against the invaders when the invaders were so much better than the alternative? Then again, if the Dynize were plucking the young and infirm and using them for blood sacrifices, he couldn’t think of a Palo he knew who’d find that an acceptable option for their future.

  “That’s not everyone, though?” he asked.

  “Of course not. I couldn’t even give you an estimate at what percentage of the populace supports the Dynize. It’s high, though.”

  “Do they have some sort of leader? Someone local who has the Dynize blessing?”

  “They do. Meln-Dun.”

  Michel snorted. That snake who manipulated Vlora Flint into capturing the last Mama Palo? It made sense, though. He’d obviously sold out to the Dynize a while ago, and he was in a position of leadership as the biggest employer in the Depths. “Did Ka-poel appoint a new Mama Palo before she left?”

  “She did,” Emerald replied. “Mama Palo is the other big political leader. She hasn’t done a lot since the invasion—when Meln-Dun found out that he’d missed his target, he was furious. He’s had a private little task force chasing her around for the last couple of months. She has to keep her head down and stay on the move, and it’s losing her a lot of support.”

  “The Dynize aren’t hunting her?”

  “The Dynize don’t care. They’ve identified Meln-Dun as the leader of the Landfall Palo and left all internal matters to him.”

  “As long as they think he’s bought and paid for,” Ichtracia spoke up, “they won’t worry about him or the Palo until after the en
d of the war. External threats first, then internal.”

  Michel leaned back, considering. “So we’re isolated here?”

  “Pretty much,” Emerald replied. “Besides their propagandists and some spies, the Dynize want nothing to do with the Depths while they’re still fighting a war on two fronts.”

  The gears in Michel’s head began to turn, and he set aside the blood sacrifices for the moment to focus on the more immediate enemy: Meln-Dun. The Dynize puppet would have to go. But Michel knew the Depths and he knew the Palo. Meln-Dun’s authority depended on his status as a community leader and employer.

  “We could kill him,” Ichtracia suggested.

  “We’re spies, not assassins.”

  “You’re a spy,” she countered.

  “How do you plan on killing him without alerting your grandfather to our presence?”

  Ichtracia’s lip curled, but she didn’t retort.

  Michel said, “These are my people. I’m going to avoid killing—or having them killed—as much as possible. I believe you understand that?”

  Ichtracia gave a sullen nod.

  “Besides, killing Meln-Dun would only cause chaos. We don’t want chaos. We want to organize against a common enemy.” Michel thought furiously, a plan beginning to form in the back of his head. He chuckled quietly to himself.

  “Is something funny?” Emerald asked.

  “Yes,” Michel said. “Yes, it is.”

  “What’s that?”

  Michel ignored the question. “That task force that Meln-Dun has chasing Mama Palo. Can you get me on it?”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Not at all.”

  Emerald scratched his chin. “I can make introductions through one of my contacts. Do you have a good cover story?”

  “Leave that to me.” Michel tapped the table between them. “If I can join his task force, I can steer their investigation and have a reason to creep around the quarry.”

  “What for?” Ichtracia asked.

  “So I can set up Meln-Dun.”

  “You want to discredit him?” she asked.

  “To the Dynize, yes.”

  “And to the Palo?” Emerald asked.

  Michel grinned. “We’re going to make that snake a Palo martyr.”

  CHAPTER 8

  By the next morning, Styke and his small group had reached the Jagged Fens highway. As they emerged from the wilderness, wearing looted, quickly mended uniforms and carrying the passports of Dynize naval infantry, it quickly became obvious that Orz was, indeed, telling the truth.

  The highway was a full-fledged cobble road packed with traffic. It wound through the swamp, lined with frequent farms, homesteads, inns, mail-relay stations, and campgrounds. They passed through a town big enough to have its own garrison within four miles, and stood aside and watched as a platoon of fresh-faced recruits marched by, wearing shiny breastplates that had never seen a scratch.

  Styke did not mind admitting that he was both shocked and impressed. The Dynize had hidden behind their closed borders for a century now, but aside from the odd story from a sailor or the curious newspaper column, everyone in Fatrasta had ignored their presence entirely. Not a soul suspected that they’d built an entirely new capital just a short voyage from Fatrastan shores.

  During that first day, Styke waited with clenched teeth for something to go wrong or for Orz to betray them in some way. Everyone they passed on their journey certainly gave them long, curious looks, but the moment their eyes fell upon Orz—riding bare-chested on one of Styke’s extra horses, his black spiraling tattoos and proudly displayed bone knives signaling his station to all—passersby would turn their attention to seemingly anything else.

  It didn’t take a perceptive man to realize that dragonmen had a reputation among their own people.

  Orz’s demeanor seemed to belie this casual fear that travelers exhibited toward him. He rode up and down the small column, lecturing Styke’s Lancers on Dynize custom, home life, Households, politics, ways of thinking, and language. He switched at ease between Adran, Palo, and Dynize, though he only used the latter when a stranger was within earshot. He talked all day and into the night, his tone measured but friendly, his energy up like a man who was glad to be back in human company.

  They camped alongside the road without incident, and the next morning Orz began the day riding beside Styke at the head of the column. Styke hadn’t found a dead naval infantryman big enough to provide him with a uniform, so he had elected to wear his normal traveling clothes with a hastily made Household crest sewn to the left breast. Sunin had made the crest at Orz’s instruction, and Orz assured Styke that the lopsided peregrine would mark him as a Tetle Household guard to anyone who knew enough to ask.

  They rode in companionable silence for the first half hour of the journey, and Styke noted that Orz looked over his shoulder more than occasionally at Ka-poel. Styke could not sense any real fear, but there was no doubt that the way Orz felt about bone-eyes was similar to the way normal folks seemed to feel about him.

  “You don’t like her riding behind you,” Styke commented after the fifth such glance.

  Orz started, as if he hadn’t even realized he was looking back at Ka-poel, and then gave a slight shake of his head. “Bone-eyes can’t be trusted,” he said.

  “You’ll find no argument from me,” Styke replied. “I haven’t met your Ka-Sedial in person, but he seems like a real piece of shit.”

  Orz did a quick scan of their surroundings. “Never say such words aloud in this country,” he rebuked, “no matter what language you speak them in. Sedial has informants in every Household, including those belonging to his enemies. Even with him across the sea, his influence is such that you could be executed just for insulting him.”

  Styke bit back a reply. People had tried to kill him for less, certainly, but that was in Fatrasta, where he had friends and a reputation. If an entire city garrison turned on him in an instant, he wouldn’t wager his luck in getting off this continent alive. “Right,” he finally answered, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Besides,” Orz said in a low voice, “I’m speaking of every bone-eye.”

  “Her?” Styke turned and looked back at Ka-poel, who seemed engrossed in making one of her little wax dolls. “I’ll admit, I’m becoming fond of the little blood witch.”

  “Does she have your blood? Or any part of your body? A fingernail, or a bit of hair?”

  “Probably.”

  “Do you have any idea what she’s capable of?”

  Orz spoke in a measured tone, but Styke thought he sensed a hint of urgency in the question. “Do you?” he countered.

  “She broke Sedial’s hold on me, which means she’s incredibly strong.”

  Styke thought back to the battle at Starlight, then even further to the thick of the Hock and those Dynize dragoons that harried them halfway across Fatrasta. “You mentioned that you saw the aftermath of the Mad Lancers’ fight with those dragoons. Did you happen to come across their camp?”

  Orz stared at him.

  “There should have been two slaughters. The first was on the road, when we ambushed them. The second was at their camp, where—”

  “I saw both,” Orz interrupted.

  Styke gave him a sidelong glance. “The second was all her. She took control of most of the camp with her sorcery and interrogated the commander. Once it was done, she turned them against each other until there was no one left alive. She told me later that it took quite a lot of preparation to pull off, but… well, I’ve never seen anything like it. Privileged could only dream of having that kind of direct power over people.”

  “Pray that you do not see such a thing again.” Orz’s head began to turn, but he seemed to catch himself at the last moment. His eyes narrowed. “Most of the camp, you say?” He let out a long, shaky breath. “Most bone-eyes can only keep track of a single puppet at once. Some, a handful. I’ve heard rumors that Ka-Sedial has as many as a few dozen, though he can only directly
control one or two at a time. Hundreds, though?”

  Styke was surprised at the awe that leaked through in Orz’s tone. Was Ka-poel really such an aberration? Was she really so wildly powerful that she warranted a strong man’s fear? He checked himself on that last mental question and barked a laugh. Of course she was. Orz might have seen the aftermath of that camp in the Hock. Styke had been there.

  “Is there something funny about the bone-eyes?” Orz asked.

  “No, I was thinking of something else.” Styke twirled his Lancer ring and watched a Dynize family pass by in a horse-drawn cart full of a type of unfamiliar fruit. “This civil war of yours… when did it end?”

  “Nine years ago.”

  “And before that, there were two emperors?”

  A nod.

  “What gave you such loyalty to yours?”

  Orz opened his mouth, paused, seemed to consider his words. “He was kind.”

  “Kind?” Styke couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped with the word.

  Orz didn’t seem to take offense. He simply nodded. “Not just in a personal way. He was crowned when I was a child, when the civil war was at its bloodiest. My Household loyalties were on his side from the beginning, of course, but he made it his life’s work to end the war. Not to win it—just to end it. He negotiated fiercely, without pride, simply working for a way to end the bloodshed. He finally offered to give up his own power, and instead of putting him gently into retirement, Ka-Sedial engineered his assassination.”

  “Do you blame him?” Styke asked. “A retired emperor seems like a flashpoint for rebellion.”

  Orz snorted. “I understand the reasoning. But I had met him. I even guarded him for thirteen months, just after my training ended. He was a man of his word. He would have pulled out his own heart before allowing the civil war to ignite again. I don’t care if Sedial’s reasoning was good or not. I care that he and his false emperor slaughtered mine and then expected us to fall into line.”