Blood of Empire

by Brian McClellan

  The hall was shaped like an amphitheater, with seats rising up in three directions from a platform of white marble. They had entered directly onto that platform, and Styke suspected that the distinct feeling of smallness imposed by the high-domed ceiling, the rising seats, and the crowd that hushed upon his entry was all thoroughly engineered.

  The sudden silence left him with an imagined echo in his ears. He stood stiffly at attention, back straight, trying to remember the last time he’d bothered to show the respect of parade posture to an audience. During training, maybe?

  “Meln-Etzi,” Etzi presented himself in a soft voice. The voice carried clearly throughout the room, not requiring him to speak any louder. “I present to the Household Quorum my guest, Colonel Ben of Fatrasta, companion of my brother, Ji-Orz.”

  Continued silence.

  Etzi gave a small frown. “I was instructed to present him here?”

  “You were,” a voice boomed.

  Styke glanced to his right to find Ji-Patten stepping up onto the speaker’s platform, about ten paces from Styke. The dragonman seemed in his element, an easy smile on his face, something strangely triumphant in his eyes. Styke was momentarily confused, and then his eyes fell upon a group sitting at the front of the audience just over Ji-Patten’s shoulder.

  It was his men, all twenty—or nineteen rather, without Jackal—of his Lancers. Styke’s fists clenched involuntarily and he resisted the urge to reach for his knife. The Lancers returned his gaze with curious ones of their own. Even without exchanging a word, Styke could feel their nervousness and confusion. They didn’t know why they were here any more than he did.

  Etzi bowed his head respectfully to Ji-Patten. “Servant,” he said formally. “May I ask what a representative of the emperor wants with my guest?”

  Styke ran his eyes across the audience. It was as varied as any street crowd—old and young, men and women. No children, of course. All of them wore formal, loose-fitting clothing embroidered with Household crests. There were a lot more than five hundred people in this chamber, and he realized that many of them were assistants or those who were second in command. Everyone had turned out to see this.

  See what? He realized something else, and that was that no one looked like they were ready to participate. They wore the curious expressions of people who’d turned out for a boxing match. This was a spectator sport, and he was one of the participants.

  But in what way?

  “You may,” Ji-Patten answered after a moment of theatrical pause. Another such pause followed the statement.

  Etzi coughed into his hand, clearly unimpressed. “Servant, I was told that my guest would not be disturbed by the Quorum. He is the companion of Ji-Orz, who is on a task from the Great Ka, and he is beyond reproach.”

  “This matter does not concern your guest.”

  “Then why is he here?”

  “It concerns one of his soldiers.”

  A murmur went through the crowd. It was quickly hushed by the crowd itself. People leaned forward in their seats.

  Etzi blinked back at Ji-Patten. Styke took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was important—he needed to remain silent. Let Etzi handle things. Any word he spoke would be used against him in the minds of the Quorum. Etzi finally cleared his throat and cast an expansive look across the Quorum. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Your guest—Colonel Ben.” He emphasized “Ben” as if he knew it wasn’t his full name. “I have not called into question his place alongside Ji-Orz. But he is a commanding officer, is he not?”

  “He is.”

  “To these soldiers?” Ji-Patten thrust a finger toward the Lancers sitting behind him.

  Styke noted that several of his soldiers were already looking at one of their own. They knew as much Dynize as Styke, and even those who weren’t quick with languages had already gotten the gist of what was going on. Zak squirmed in his seat, sweating heavily, while his brother whispered urgently in his ear. Styke wanted to walk over to them and demand to know what was going on.

  “He is their commanding officer, yes,” Etzi said to the last question, the words much slower and more hesitant. Whatever was about to happen, it had blindsided him.

  “Good.” Ji-Patten strode to the Lancers and snatched Zak by the front of his shirt, dragging him off his seat and onto the speaking platform. The rest of the Lancers surged to their feet, but Dynize soldiers sprang to attention around them, forcing them back down at bayonet point.

  “What’s going on?” Styke whispered angrily.

  “Quiet!” Etzi snapped at him. “Ji-Patten, explain yourself!”

  Ji-Patten dragged a struggling Zak into the center of the platform until they were mere feet from Styke and Etzi. Zak wiggled and squirmed, but to no avail against the iron hold of the dragonman. Ji-Patten locked gazes with Styke, ignoring his prisoner as if he were a panicking rabbit. “Yesterday morning, your man murdered another prisoner.”

  “It was self-defense!” Zak shouted.

  “Silence!” Ji-Patten cuffed Zak on the side of the head, hard enough that Zak’s struggles ceased entirely and his face took on a look of confused stupidity. “He murdered another prisoner,” he repeated.

  “Then he should have a trial.” Styke forced the words out, trying not to look at Zak and certainly not to look at the worried faces of his men.

  “Exactly! I am glad you agree, Colonel Ben, because the trial has already been conducted. This soldier has been found guilty of murder. A tribunal has sentenced him to death.”

  “What tribunal?” Etzi demanded. “What trial? This is preposterous!”

  It took every ounce of willpower for Styke to keep himself from falling forward, knife drawn. A cold fist seemed to curl around his stomach, leaving him ill and weak. This was it, then? This was Sedial’s first real blow—a way of getting at Styke without laying a finger on him and, presumably, to show Styke that he could do anything he wanted to the soldiers in that prison.

  Ji-Patten’s glare drove Etzi back to Styke’s side. “Meln-Etzi, remember yourself! The trial has occurred and there will be no dispute.”

  “What do you want?” Styke demanded.

  “Ben!” Etzi whispered in warning.

  “Want?” Ji-Patten asked. “I want justice. Nothing more.” A bone knife suddenly appeared in his hand, as if drawn from thin air. The audience gasped. Ji-Patten spun it in his fingers, offering it hilt-first to Styke. “As a show of respect, I will allow you, his superior officer, to carry out the execution.”

  Styke stared at the hilt of the knife. His fingers twitched. He felt Etzi touch his arm, and heard his urgent whisper. “He’s trying to provoke you, into either violence or rebuttal. If you claim not to recognize the judgment, he’ll hold you in contempt of our courts and bring you into the suit. If you…” Styke stopped listening. All he could hear was the murmur of the audience. All he could feel was fury. All he could see was red.

  “I won’t have his blood on my hands,” he finally answered stiffly.

  “I see.” Ji-Patten took a sudden step back. He jerked on Zak’s collar, rag-dolling the Lancer to one side. His knife hand suddenly dipped, almost too fast to follow. Zak stiffened, letting out a terrible gasp, and then slid from Ji-Patten’s fingers to splay on the floor. Blood poured from the side of his neck, spreading across the platform. Etzi retreated back almost to the entry hall. Styke let the blood pool around his boots, unmoving.

  The Quorum was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Through it, suddenly, burst a sob. Markus tried to crawl over the soldiers holding him back. At a gesture from Ji-Patten, he was suddenly allowed to run forward. He slipped in his brother’s blood, sliding and stumbling, until he cradled Zak’s head in his lap. The weeping filled the hall.

  Ji-Patten returned his knife to his shirt and strode over to Styke. Styke towered a full head above him, but Ji-Patten approached until their chests almost touched. Styke ignored him, looking down at the sight of Markus holding his brother.

  �
�Not strong enough to do the deed yourself, are you?” Ji-Patten demanded.

  A little part of his brain told Styke that he had won. Somehow, in a twisted way, he had bested Ji-Patten. This spectacle had been a battle of wills. If he raised a fist now, he would ruin it all. His hands trembled.

  “You should have done it yourself,” Ji-Patten growled. “Are you not man enough?” He raised a hand slowly. His palm opened. The gesture was so clearly conveyed as to be impossible to miss. Ji-Patten drew back and slapped Styke across the face.

  Styke shifted his gaze to look at Ji-Patten.

  “Do I have your attention now, Ben Styke?” Ji-Patten whispered.

  “Servant!” Etzi shouted angrily. “Stop this at once!”

  “Will you not fight back?” Ji-Patten asked. His hand raised again. Another slap, this one significantly harder, like the sharp crack of a belt across Styke’s jaw.

  Styke sniffed. “Is that all you’ve got?” he asked just loudly enough that his voice carried.

  Ji-Patten took a step back and raised his arm once more. Closed-fist this time. “If I kill you with this blow, I will barely be punished.” A whisper. Styke didn’t respond. He kept his eyes locked with Ji-Patten’s.

  The fist struck him just below the heart and felt like a kick from a warhorse. Styke leaned into it, letting his weight absorb the impact, refusing to be driven back even half a step. It took a few moments to regain his breath, but he let nothing show on his face. Slowly, deliberately, he let the corner of his lip twitch upward in a sneer. He put every bit of his fury into it.

  Ji-Patten’s cheeks twitched; his eyes widened. His expression very clearly said that he’d killed men with such a blow—and Styke did not doubt it. That punch would have made Valyaine proud.

  “Your god needs a new servant, Ji-Patten,” Styke said loudly. “Because I’ve been struck harder by a child.” His voice echoed throughout the audience hall. The Quorum watched, every one of them slack-jawed.

  Ji-Patten drew back his fist again.

  “Servant!” Etzi barked. “Enough.”

  The words finally seemed to get through to the dragonman. He blinked, shaking his head slightly, and only now seemed to see that he was standing in Zak’s blood. He cast about him in disgust, then turned and strode off the platform and down to the side exit, leaving bloody footprints behind. “Return them to their cells, and burn the murderer’s body,” he barked at his soldiers.

  Styke remained where he was while his soldiers were filed out. He watched them drag Markus through his brother’s blood, then take away Zak’s body. Porters appeared to clean up the blood, while the Quorum erupted into a shouting match that drowned out any thoughts that may have been creeping through Styke’s head. It wasn’t until he felt a gentle hand on his arm that he allowed himself to be led into the same large hallway through which he’d entered. Once they were out of sight of the Quorum, he sagged against the wall, resting a hand on his chest and staring at the blood all over his boots.

  “I’m sorry.” Styke looked up at the soft words. Etzi stood across from him, looking ashen and defeated. Etzi continued, “I didn’t know they would stoop so low.”

  “Evil men will stoop to anything they see fit,” Styke responded without feeling. “I’ve done so myself.” He wanted to shout and flail, to pick up Etzi and throw him against the wall. The vision of Markus cradling his brother’s body was now burned into his memory.

  “Thank you for not responding.” Etzi gazed at Styke’s cheek. It still burned, and he imagined that it was very red.

  “Once in a very great while, I do as I’m told,” Styke said. His fury was still there, burning in his belly, but it seemed muted and distant. He pressed his thumb against the lance tip of his big ring until he felt it draw blood. “But your arrogant prick of a Great Ka still hasn’t learned his lesson.”

  “What lesson is that?”

  “That I’m Ben Styke.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Michel stood on the southern edge of the Landfall Plateau, eyes intent on the park down below where he’d asked Tenik to meet him at four. It was only noon, and he intended on being there early enough that no one would get the drop on him. He worked through his nerves, testing contingency plans in his head, knowing that he was being a fool.

  “You’re actually flustered,” Ichtracia said. She stood next to him on the edge of the plateau, enjoying the sun on her face, looking out across the floodplains toward the distant tower of the godstone.

  The statement took Michel off guard. “I’m what?”

  “Flustered.” Ichtracia bit off a laugh. “I’ve never seen you flustered.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “Not even when my grandfather had you tied up and was cutting your finger off,” Ichtracia continued. She seemed almost pleased, and it was getting on Michel’s nerves. “You were angry and in pain and desperate, but you weren’t flustered. This is…” She rubbed her face, physically wiping the smile away. “I shouldn’t laugh. You’re right, this isn’t funny. But seeing you so conflicted is kind of…”

  “Vindicating?” Michel asked. The word came out as an angry snarl.

  “A little,” Ichtracia said as if she didn’t notice his anger. “But I was thinking humanizing. Just another piece of the real Michel Bravis.” She suddenly stepped forward and, to Michel’s surprise, took his face in her hands. Before he could react, she kissed him gently on the lips. “It’s all right. We’re going to warn Yaret, aren’t we?”

  Michel swallowed. He was flustered. Flustered and conflicted. He was going against all of his instincts and training. He was operating off a half-cocked plan that might get him killed—or worse, dragged through the streets and delivered straight to Ka-Sedial. “Yes. I can’t just drop these off.” He patted his bag, where he was carrying the purge orders. “I need them to know they come from me, I need them to—”

  “You need them to know that you wouldn’t abandon them,” Ichtracia said.

  Michel swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded. He should have felt better from Ichtracia’s show of understanding. But for some reason he just felt defeated. “I told Tenik to meet me at the garden where we spotted Forgula. I’m hoping it’s specific enough that he gets the message but vague enough that if it’s intercepted by Sedial, I can’t be traced.”

  “And where’s that?”

  Michel pointed off the plateau to a spot down in Lower Landfall. They could see the park from here.

  “You know this is risky?” Ichtracia asked. He could hear the concern in her voice.

  “I’m aware. This is why I don’t think you should—”

  Ichtracia cut him off. “I came with you to Landfall to watch your back. I’m not going to stop because you’re doing the right thing.”

  That did make him feel better, but not in the way that he expected. The words were even more intimate than the kiss she’d just given him. “Is it the right thing?” he asked. “The Palo…”

  “You’ve given them everything. You don’t have to give them your friends, too.” Michel noticed that the corners of Ichtracia’s eyes were red. She continued, “I’ve never been allowed to have friends. Allies and enemies. I… envy you the opportunity to save someone you care about.”

  Michel took a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

  They headed down the side of the plateau and toward Claden Park. Michel gave the park a wide berth and found an old factory overlooking a row of townhouses with a clear view of the area. They did a circuit of the factory before finding a rusted iron ladder that led to the roof. He slapped the side of the building. “All right. Up you go.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “No. You’re taking this spot. Like you said—watch my back. I told him to meet me here in four hours, so we might have to wait a while. If I wave twice, I want you to join me. If I wave three times, stay put. If I wave once… well, get the pit out of here.”

  Ichtracia hesitated for a moment before giving him a nod. The intimacy and concern she’d
shown on the plateau were gone, replaced by a cold, businesslike demeanor. She began to climb.

  Michel didn’t wait for her to get into position before heading to the row of houses just in front of the factory. He could make his way up to one of those roofs. He’d be in sight of Ichtracia, and he in turn could watch for Tenik—and find out whether Tenik, as requested, had come alone. If everything went smoothly, he and Ichtracia would be heading back to Greenfire Depths by nightfall.

  He found the roof access near the end of the row of townhouses—a narrow iron staircase for chimney sweeps. It was about ten feet off the ground, so he began looking for something to use as a ladder, when he heard footsteps coming up behind him. He pulled his gaze off the staircase and adopted a purposeful limp, so that anyone coming across him might think he was just a cripple looking for a shortcut through the alley.

  “That’s not going to work, Michel.”

  The words felt like a cold knife through the gut. Michel stiffened and broke into a run, only to make it a half-dozen steps before several figures cut off the end of the alley. They wore morion helmets and carried muskets, with the Household symbol of Yaret draped over their cuirasses. Michel skidded to a stop and spun to look back the way he’d come.

  Tenik stood about fifty paces back, leaning heavily on a cane. The cupbearer looked unimpressed and tired. He was flanked by four more soldiers. Michel searched desperately for an escape. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Not at all. Ichtracia couldn’t see him from here, and even if she could, he didn’t want her to attack Tenik. He bit his lip, looking for a way out and finding nothing.

  Tenik limped across the space separating them. His face was red, his brow covered in sweat.

  “I thought I said to meet me in the park,” Michel said, unable to think of anything else.

  “Which is exactly why we’re waiting for you here,” Tenik replied, giving Michel a shallow smile. “You did train me in some of this stuff, remember? I figured all I needed to do was beat you here and figure out where you’d be watching from.”