“Of course, Spear,” Borus replied. “And the guide?”
“I’m not fighting my own people,” she stated.
“And I am not for having you in the ranks,” Borus countered.
“She can stay with the priests and guards near the Emperor’s waggon,” Astentius said. “It will be well protected against those in the forest, and they can guard against her.”
Emlyn grunted, turned and stomped back through the gathering troops. Borus waved a soldier after her.
“We have a little time,” Borus said. “Come, Kyron, let’s get you some armour and a sword. I’ll not have you picked out by the tribes as an easy target. Master Padarn?”
“I need no armour,” his master replied, parting the robe he wore to reveal a tunic of lorica hamata. “I’ve my own weapons also. Though I would appreciate anything you can do for the boy.”
“Come on then, Kyron,” Borus said.
Kyron followed him through the troops who were settling themselves into ranks. Past the front rank, the troops carried pila, the tall javelins which they could loft over the heads of their own ranks and into the tribes.
“Here,” Borus dragged a shirt of lorica hamata from the back of a cart, “put this on. This is the repair cart, so it won’t be the best you could have but all the good stuff is being worn already.”
Kyron huffed as he took the full weight of the armour on his outstretched arms.
“It won’t feel near so heavy once you’ve got it on,” Borus offered with a smile.
Kyron nodded, though his arms already ached with the weight. It had been years since he had worn armour, and then it had been made for him. Lighter, easier to carry and wear. His grandfather had commissioned it. Ever since he had joined the Gymnasium, he had managed to avoid wearing anything more cumbersome than a heavy cloak to protect him from the winter winds.
Bunching the metal rings as much as he could, and pushing his arms through the two arm holes, he bent his knees and pushed his head into the armour. Bending his back, taking the weight off his arms and neck, and closing his eyes he forced his head up and out through the larger opening.
The smell of oiled metal opened a window in his memories. A dusty training yard, the heat of the sun, and the sweat pouring from his forehead. He recalled hating every moment, but now, in this moment, looking back, he saw the purpose. The smile died on his lips as he straightened and the hamata fell on his shoulders. He groaned at the weight and constriction.
“Neatly done,” Borus said. In the man’s hand was a belt and scabbarded sword. “Now, I hope you won’t be needing this. However, it is better to have one and not need it, than not have one and need it. You don’t need to do anything flashy, just stick the pointy end into the one attacking you and don’t get stuck with theirs. There’s not a lot else I can teach you right now.”
“I can use a sword, Cohort,” Kyron said, accepting the belt and wrapping it around his waist. The leather was supple, but he almost ran out of belt holes when securing it. Taking the long end which dangled, he wrapped it tightly into the belt, getting it out of the way of his legs and sword.
“You’ve done that before,” Borus accused him, though he said it with a smile.
“My grandfather taught me,” Kyron said, resting his hand on the sword’s grip, making sure he knew where it was.
“He was a soldier?”
“Yes.”
“Did you a favour, teaching you to wear a sword,” Borus said, nodding. “Your father a soldier too?”
“He’s dead,” Kyron replied.
“Mine too.” Borus clapped his hand on Kyron’s shoulder. “We’ll do them honour in the battle. They’ll send their own flames to warm our hearts and give strength to our sword arms. Come then. You’ll stand with me and your master.”
The soldiers parted to let Borus through and Kyron followed in his wake. A few soldiers cast him an odd look. True, the hamata had a section of broken links on the left side near his hip. It was, he was forced to admit, a little short and the edge was ragged where a blacksmith had been removing links to repair other armour. However, the sword on his hip looked well used and the grip felt secure in his hand.
He did his best to ignore their glances. In such a small section of the army, most would know who he was, what he was, and the sight of a magician, even an apprentice, armed for the ranks was unusual.
“In times past,” Padarn said as Kyron stood beside him, “when the Empire battled on the southern continent, there were more magicians in the army. All wore armour and carried swords. When we get back to the Gymnasium, I suggest you do some reading about our history.”
“I never wanted to be a soldier, Master,” Kyron said.
“You’re not a soldier now,” Borus pointed out. “The armour and sword are a disguise to keep you safe. You said your grandfather taught you to use a sword, but I’m hoping you never have to draw it.”
Kyron looked down at the sword on his hip, uncomfortable with how natural it felt there, how powerful it made him feel. He shuddered.
“Now,” Borus said, “if you two would step back into the second rank so we can close up the shields, I think it is almost time we started to move.”
Trumpets sounded from the back of the honour guard and the four cohorts, four hundred men and women, marched forward in step. The last cohort had been left to guard the waggon and supplies.
Kyron did his best to fall into step with the soldiers around him. No one spoke. The heavy tread of the combined force reverberated through the soil, the clank and chime of metal on metal as armour, shield, and weapon was checked and readied echoed through the trees.
Here was the might of the Empire, he thought. Not for skulking in trees or hiding in caves. A proud force which met its enemies head-on. No fear and full of conviction.
Kyron looked up, to see the standard of the army raised above all. A bronze disc engraved with the symbol of Astentius’s Spear—a boar with sharp curved tusks. Below that two flags. The first, the highest, a red flag, the golden eagle of the Empire painted upon it. The second was orange with the yellow flame of the Church upon it.
Against this army, this force, no one could stand. No one had for centuries, so the histories said. Professional soldiers, trained to war, accustomed to following orders without question or delay. Each man or woman fighting for the other. The tribes who stood in their way would not know what hit them.
Kyron’s heart matched the beat of the marching soldiers and the fear in his belly abated a little. He was part of this machine of war. He felt it in his bones, in his soul. His own fire heated him from within and rose as high as the flames of those around him. Here he belonged. He wanted to shout, to sing, to scream into the sky, but the soldiers marched in silence, so he did to.
They rounded the track, marching in perfect time, and went to war.
XXVII
The General
Eight years ago:
“Another fight?” he said as the boy, his tunic almost too short now he was going through a spurt of growth, stumbled in through kitchen door.
The boy nodded, holding a rag up to his split lip. “I stood up to them, like you told me to. There were two of them this time.”
“And one has similar wound to yours, I hope,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes, lad, it is knowing when to fight and when to run.”
“I have read the reports and it seems we are no closer to finding the assassin or their paymaster,” Bordan said, steepling his fingers before his face.
“Identifying them, no,” Vedrix agreed. “However, we have done well to rule many people out.”
“But not all,” Godewyn added. “Finding the assassin may be a game for fools. It is beginning to look more and more like a professional was hired.”
“One of the gangs within the city?” Bordan asked.
“Unlikely,” Godewyn answered. “They would know what the assassination of a member of the imperial family would bring down upon them.”
“Even so,”
Bordan said. “The news is out, and the city is fearful. We have reports of arguments and fights in the markets. Some of the traders have been complaining to the City Watch. The capture of an assassin would do much to quiet the populace. And a funeral soon after. The ceremony and rituals will calm the city.”
“But we do not know who they are,” Vedrix pointed out.
“It does not have to be the assassin,” Borden countered. “A criminal, a gang member, someone who is known to the City Watch as violent, who is known on the streets, would be a start. It will also be good to remind the people, and the gangs, who owns the streets in the capital. I have reports of crime on the increase.”
“Not unexpected,” Godewyn offered. “The people are worried for the future and for their safety. They are taking steps to carve out their own little piece of safety and to set up defences. Whether that is food, valuables, or in their homes makes little difference.”
“We are agreed then?” Bordan waited for the two men to nod. “I will order some raids upon the gangs. The less who know beforehand the better. I want the news to spread through the streets and quarters, though I would also like to keep the death toll down.”
“But the real assassin?” Vedrix said.
“Finding the paymaster might be easier,” Godewyn offered. “Greed and money will be at the root of this.”
“I agree,” Bordan said. “The assassin is just one person, a symbol to the people of the danger they face. The paymaster though, they are the true danger. If they can afford to procure that poison and a person skilled enough to get into the palace and out undetected, they can afford to do more.”
“And how many people have such wealth?” Vedrix asked, glancing at both men.
Bordan set his wine down upon the small table they had gathered around in his office and sighed. “Too many to count.”
“But who would benefit the most from a troubled succession?” Godewyn pushed. “Some of the Dukes certainly. It would give them a chance to push for more power, or should the unthinkable happen and there be no heir to the throne perhaps they consider themselves as the next Imperial Dynasty?”
“There are some who are that ambitious,” Bordan agreed.
“Primal? Abra? Lady Trenis?” Vedrix offered.
“To sit on the council is to be ambitious,” Godewyn said.
“We three sit on the council,” Bordan pointed out.
“Not through wealth,” Vedrix answered, “but from duty and long service. We each depend on the Emperor for employment and position. I cannot see any of us desiring to rule the Empire. The Gymnasium is tiring enough and that amounts to barely three hundred across the Empire.”
“So few?” Bordan asked. “I thought there were many more of you.”
“We are a dying breed,” Vedrix said, shaking his head. “There are many more with the skills and ability, but out in the countryside they are feared, hunted, and killed. Not just, forgive me, High Priest, by the Justices, but by their own superstitious villagers.”
“Religion serves the people, not the reverse,” Godewyn said.
“And the army serves to protect the people at the will of the Empire,” Bordan added with a smile. “So that is the three of us with reasons out of the way. Though, in truth, I never suspected any of us.” A thought struck. “Vedrix, the alchemist who made the poison, is it only those of the Gymnasium who possess the skill?”
“Alchemy is one of the oldest of the arts, General,” Vedrix said. “There are many in the countryside who practise herbalism, a poor cousin, but other countries who border ours or the southern continent will have alchemists with the skill.”
“Which does not help to narrow down the list of suspects,” Godewyn noted.
“The tribes and clans?”
“Possibly,” Vedrix admitted after a moment’s thought. “We know little about their way of life or their magic. Those who were subsumed as the Empire expanded added their knowledge to the Gymnasium, but so long ago, it would be hard to separate it from that which preceded.”
“More suspects, and those with good reason,” Bordan said, “however, unlikely. As far as we know, they lack the wealth to hire an assassin, and their knowledge of our city’s ways is limited. I would be surprised if the paymaster was not someone within in the city.”
“Perhaps the raid on the city’s gangs would quell some of the populace with the additional bonus of causing the paymaster some concern,” Godewyn pondered.
“The assassin would likely be known to the gangs?” Vedrix asked
“In the poor areas, the gangs control as much, if not more, of the streets than the City Watch,” Godewyn said.
“I cannot deny it,” Bordan answered after sucking in a breath, “though I might wish it was otherwise. However, we are not looking at those streets, Godewyn. We are looking for a paymaster with wealth and they are unlikely to be involved with those gangs.”
“Perhaps not,” Godewyn admitted. “However, the gangs are, I am led to believe, linked to each other. We would be foolish to believe that the wealthy families had no dealings with the criminal underworld of the city. The crimes may not be violent, but the outcome is always the same, people get hurt.”
“You have something in mind,” Bordan prompted the High Priest.
“I agree with the initial secrecy of the raid,” Godewyn said slowly. “However, I would argue for a more public, more visible execution of them.”
“Show the public some strength?” Bordan said.
“It would reassure them,” Vedrix offered.
“It would,” Godewyn agreed. “And the sight of the army marching through the streets would demonstrate the constancy of the Empire. The people are, by and large, patriots and an army marching in step is a powerful image.”
“I do not want open battle on the streets,” Bordan said.
“It need not come to that,” Godewyn said. “However, imagery is as much a weapon as a sword. A crown, a flame, a staff, a sword; we all have our own particular symbols of power and office. Show the people those and we may calm some fears.”
“You will be sending some priests with the raids?” Bordan said, shaking his head. “They are not warriors or soldiers.”
“Some amongst us were,” Godewyn pointed out. “It is the symbol which is important. If Vedrix offered a few magicians who would be willing to bring their own unique visibility, the symbol of the three branches of power operating together, however temporary, would bolster the populace and may cause the paymaster some worry. A worried man or woman makes mistakes.”
“You have become much more cynical as a priest than you ever were as a soldier,” Bordan pointed out.
“I learned from the best, General.”
“I can have some magicians accompany you. They can create fire and smoke to impress the locals.”
“Less fire and more smoke,” Bordan said. “I do not want to set the city on fire.”
“Of course not,” Vedrix agreed.
“It is settled then,” Bordan agreed. “I thank you both for accompanying me on the raid.”
“What?” Godewyn spluttered and Vedrix’s eyes widened.
“There are no greater symbols to the people than the three of us, save the Empress and Princess and we cannot put them at risk,” Bordan said, a laugh bubbling up from his chest. “You did not think it completely through?”
“Caught in my own trap,” Godewyn admitted.
“Two days hence,” Bordan said. “I will have the City Watch suggest a few likely targets.”
“Two days,” Vedrix agreed with a sullen sigh.
Bordan raised his glass of wine in salute. The two men followed suit a heartbeat later.
There was a knock at the door and Bordan’s secretary walked in a moment later.
“Forgive the intrusion, General,” the soldier said. “However, Duke Abra wishes to speak with you.”
Bordan sighed. “I thought today was going too well. Tell him I will see him in a few moments.”
“Of course,
General,” the secretary nodded and closed the door behind him.
“Probably best if I see him alone,” Bordan said. “You can leave via the other door.”
“Or better that we wait in the other room and listen in,” Godewyn said. “Abra remains a suspect.”
“If you wish,” Bordan said, indicating the door with a wave of his hand. “Take the wine in with you.”
The other two men gathered up the glasses and bottle of wine before going through the door and closing it firmly. Bordan scanned his office, making sure all evidence of their presence was gone and that any confidential documents were secured away. After shifting the chairs around a little, he moved to the main door and swung it open.
“My dear Duke Abra,” Bordan said. “Please, do come in and I apologise for the delay.”
“Think nothing of it,” Abra responded.
“Would you like some wine?”
“A glass would be welcome. Summer is coming with a pace and if the weather remains this warm, we will all be seeking shade at every opportunity,” Abra said as he stepped into the office.
“I’ll get the wine, General,” his secretary said from the outer room.
“Thank you,” Bordan said. “Please, sit, Duke. What brings you to my door on, as you say, a warm day such as this?”
“I must confess to some worry, General,” Abra said as he sat down.
“These are troubled times, Duke. It would be wise to be worried, but rest assured everyone is doing all they can to ensure peace and stability in the Empire,” Bordan answered as he took up the seat he had vacated only moments before.
“It is peace I am worried about, General,” Abra said, pausing while the secretary entered and placed two fresh glasses upon the table along with a bottle.
“Allow me,” Bordan said, accepting the duty of a host to pour the wine. “Peace concerns you, Duke?”
“Concerns us all, my dear General,” Abra replied as he accepted the glass of deep, dark red wine.
Bordan watched him take a sip. “Reports suggest the expedition in the forests is going well, Duke Abra. The army continues to push north and meeting little in the way of true resistance.”
Seven Deaths of an Empire Page 19
