Resistance

by Alex Janaway

  ‘Sabin. You are not with Patiir?’

  Fillion made a point of looking around.

  ‘You are not with Tekla?’ he countered.

  ‘Ah, well. I hazard the pair may well be in cahoots right at this moment,’ replied Ezra, indicating that Fillion should take the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

  ‘The question is, and I find myself intrigued by the possible answer: what deal did Patiir strike to get Tekla so squarely on side?’ he asked.

  Ezra raised an eyebrow. ‘He didn’t tell you?’

  Fillion shrugged and raised his hands. ‘It was late and I’m a father now. It means Patiir shows me a modicum of mercy when it comes to my working hours. I am taking care of his family after all.’

  ‘I suppose, Sabin. Patiir must be getting soft in his dotage.’

  ‘Not after today’s display!’ said Fillion.

  Ezra, leaning back in his chair, chuckled. ‘You have it right there. I have not seen him so animated for years. It is not his way. The dwarves have certainly got him riled. And,’ Ezra wagged a finger, ‘shame on you for being so brazen in your questioning. In her very office too.’

  ‘My apologies, Ezra, but I assumed, as we appear to be in accord on this–’

  Ezra raised a hand. ‘Anyone but you, Sabin, and I would have chased you out,’ he said.

  Fillion tried to look embarrassed. He had to keep playing the game. He doubted Ezra had any real love for him.

  ‘As we are alone, I’ll answer your question. It is hardly something you couldn’t work out for yourself given time. Member Tekla senses an opportunity. These events have generated some unfortunate, negative feelings towards our trading partners in the Dwarf Nations. After today, it will no doubt become even more unpleasant. And the dwarves will reconsider their trading conditions.’

  ‘Let’s not be coy, Ezra. They’ll refuse to trade, knowing them,’ replied Fillion. It was all starting to become very obvious.

  ‘They might at that,’ agreed Ezra. ‘And Member Tekla will refuse to trade with them. Even though the intransigence of dwarves is well known, it is matched by their avarice. She will demand a renegotiation of certain deals, a revisiting of tariffs. Negotiations that will all end in our favour.’

  ‘You sure they won’t dig their heels in?’ asked Fillion. Sweet Emperor but he hated politics.

  ‘Perhaps at first but they will bend, given time. It costs us nothing. We are the injured party after all.’ Ezra stood. ‘Now, get you along, Sabin. Best we do not discuss this anymore.’

  Fillion stood as well. He had what he wanted.

  ‘Thank you, Ezra. I’ll get back to it.’

  ‘Sabin?’

  Fillion stopped. ‘Yes?’

  ‘If I were you, I would change my drinking habits. At least for a while. The company you keep … well, it’s not going to help your political career,’ Ezra advised, condescending in his tone.

  Like I care, you arrogant piece of shit. Fillion hid his anger, placed a palm against his chest and bowed. ‘Thank you, Ezra. I understand.’

  The Servant nodded and sat down. Fillion returned to the concourse fuming, trying hard to keep his face neutral. That bastard. Trying to tell him what to do. What he would like to do was punch Ezra in the throat. He arrived at his office and took his position at his desk. A Member sat in one of the high-backed chairs opposite.

  ‘Member Kefe. It is good to see you,’ said Fillion, forcing a conciliatory tone.

  The elf, of an age with Patiir and sharing a home further down the coast, nodded his weathered face.

  ‘Patiir is at it again, ay?’ he stated.

  ‘Excuse me, Member?’ asked Fillion, trying to sound confused and slightly offended.

  Member Kefe shook his head. ‘Don’t bother. I’ve heard it all before. Is he along soon?’

  ‘I’m sure he will be here shortly, Member.’

  ‘Then I’ll wait here,’ said the elf.

  ‘As you wish,’ replied Fillion.

  Under the appraising gaze of Kefe he busied himself with correspondence. He thought about how he might approach Marmus. Would the dwarf even want to speak to him? He wanted to let him know what Tekla was up to. It wouldn’t hurt to stir the pot. Perhaps he could stop by the embassy tonight – but that would be too obvious. Then his thoughts drifted to home – did he really want to be out late tonight? Little Brynne would be waiting for him.

  ‘Sabin?’

  Fillion looked up. Patiir was standing in front of him. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  Patiir pursed his lips then turned towards the waiting elf. ‘Member Kefe. I thought I might be seeing you.’

  ‘Naturally,’ replied Kefe.

  ‘If you will bear with me but a few more moments.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Patiir continued on towards his private office. ‘Sabin, a word, please.’

  Fillion stood and followed Patiir in. He felt like he was back in the Imperial army, a junior subaltern just about to be chewed out for a mistake by his captain. He’d had a few of those. He closed the door behind him and stood at parade rest as Patiir arranged himself on his chair.

  ‘Sabin. Your friendship with the Ambassador.’

  Alright, not what he expected.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I will not deny, it has been valuable. But it must … cool, for a time.’

  And another elf, telling him what to do.

  ‘I understand, but would not an informal channel of dialogue prove useful?’ he asked.

  Patiir steepled his hands and nodded with approval. ‘It is a good idea, one I had considered but discounted. Considering the position I have just declared, I cannot see how I can allow it. People would talk, and subterfuge is not your strong suit.’

  Fillion tapped a finger against his lips as he tried to suppress a smile.

  ‘How about Kanyay?’

  ‘The wood elf?’ Patiir paused for a moment. ‘There is no reason for you to discard that friendship.’ He nodded decisively. ‘Yes. A good suggestion, Sabin. Use Kanyay as a conduit. Let him pass on to Marmus that he still has you as a friend. That you will work to mend the injuries of this business. We always need options.’

  ‘Thank you, Patiir. I will be discreet and speak to Kanyay.’

  ‘Good. Now, please send in Member Kefe. He is like a jackal, always looking for scraps of gossip and intrigue.’

  Fillion smiled and opened the door. He had his channel to Marmus, and more importantly it was sanctioned. What better way than to hide his subterfuge than in plain sight?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – MICHAEL

  ‘Father Michael?’

  He opened his eye and blinked. Someone was bent over him but the sun, rising behind them, hid their identity.

  ‘Father? You still with us?’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘What?’ he said, pushing himself up on to his elbows. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Here.’ A hand was thrust out. He took it and was pulled up. And found he was looking into the eyes of the Emperor.

  ‘Your Grace, are you well?’

  ‘I am fine, thank you as always, for your concern. We are all fine, thanks to you.’

  Father Michael shook his head. ‘It wasn’t just me. All of us here, and the Admiral and his crews, the marines too, they–’

  The Emperor grinned, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘And they have been or will be thanked. Believe me. But it was you. You who came up with the plan. You who stepped forward to risk his life for mine. I am truly grateful. And I finally know what the Arch Cardinal, may he rest in peace, saw in you.’ He raised his other hand which held a beaker. ‘Now, here is some tea. It has been sweetened with what passes for honey here, so it is almost palatable. Get it down you. There is some food over there. We’ll be heading off again shortly, we still need to put some miles between us and New Tissan.’

  Father Michael took the tea and sipped. It was almost too hot but, it was indeed flavourful. He looked around the camp, such as it wa
s. There were eight eagles settled in a loose ring around them and the Riders moved among them, readying for the next flight. There was a small central fire and he saw the Empress huddled close by it with Father Llews in attendance.

  The Emperor followed his look. ‘My mother has not enjoyed her first flight on an eagle. It has unsettled her somewhat.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ Father Michael muttered.

  ‘Hah! Well, you must be getting used to it. You were fast asleep when we landed an hour ago. You must have been quite confident in your ability to not slide off!’

  Father Michael shook his head. He was damned if he could remember that happening. Yes, he was tired, but had he really forgotten?

  ‘The Rider just pushed you awake and you climbed down and lay flat out, right here,’ laughed the Emperor. ‘I daresay you deserve the rest after your exertions of last night.’

  Father Michael took another gulp of tea. He welcomed the sting of the heat.

  ‘What are we going to do now? About New Tissan?’ he asked.

  The Emperor’s smile faded and his eyes lost their warmth, were replaced by something far colder. Father Michael almost stepped back. He had seen that before.

  ‘That bitch and her kin need to be brought to heel. They have grown arrogant and greedy. They destroyed my loyal priesthood and sought to control me.’ He hissed through his teeth. ‘They will learn what it means to defy their Living God. Father Llews has been most insightful into how we will regain control. The people need to be reminded just why we are here.’

  Father Michael was silent. There was vehemence to the Emperor’s voice. So be it. Yarn had declared her hand. Now she needed to pay for her crimes.

  ‘Emperor?’ Cadarn called, as he walked towards them. And like that the eyes changed once more and the smile returned.

  ‘Yes, Leader.’

  ‘Time to be off, Your Grace. We have still some way to go to put some distance between us and–’

  Cardan’s face grew grim as a shout echoed across the camp. It was one of the Riders, she was running towards them, her arms waving. Behind her, emerging from a copse of trees were three horsemen, galloping hard.

  ‘Your Grace, we must go!’ said Cardan urgently. ‘My Riders will buy us some time. There may be more coming.’

  Around the camp, Father Michael watched their companions readying for a fight. The Emperor raised a hand to his eyes to study the new arrivals.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your Grace?’ said Cadarn.

  ‘I said no. Look. There are just three of them.’

  Father Michael looked again as the three horses drew near. The Emperor was right. No others appeared.

  ‘They are Gifted,’ said Cadarn.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bryce! Everyone. Get your weapons, form up on me,’ shouted Cadarn.

  Father Michael looked from the Emperor to Cadarn and to the others hurrying to join them.

  ‘Your Grace?’ he asked.

  ‘Just three,’ he said softly.

  ‘Three’s enough,’ said Bryce hurrying past.

  ‘I can think of a way to even the odds,’ said the Emperor.

  ‘Tigh? Tigh, what are we doing?’ asked his mother, running towards him and taking his arm, an agitated Father Llews just behind her.

  ‘We are taking back New Tissan, mother,’ he replied. ‘I will not run from the likes of these, again.’

  In front of the Emperor, Cadarn was drawing up his Riders. ‘All of you, form a line. Keep your crossbows trained on them. They get too close … well, just don’t let them get too close.’

  ‘They will not attack with so many weapons trained on them,’ said the Emperor.

  ‘They will,’ replied Cadarn.

  ‘As long as I get one of them in the balls,’ said Bryce.

  ‘I hope you get your chance,’ said the Emperor. ‘I believe I recognise them now.’

  Father Michael agreed. The Gifted, seeing no attempt by the Riders to flee, had slowed their mounts. It was clear the creatures were exhausted. Eilion was in the lead, the others he soon recognised as Grieg and Loras.

  ‘Three of our former comrades,’ confirmed the Emperor.

  The riders dismounted, still some sixty yards away, gathered their spears and shields, and walked towards them. The three Gifted stayed close to each other, their shields almost locking. They walked slowly, confidently towards the larger group. In response the Riders changed position, forming two ranks. The front rank dropped to their knees. Hearing no command, Father Michael surmised that Cadarn must have pulsed the command to his people. A notion of this moment struck him. But for a title and training, the Gifted and Riders were the same, they had the same powers. Yet here they were, two sides of a coin.

  ‘That’s far enough,’ called Cadarn.

  The Gifted halted about thirty yards away.

  ‘Emperor,’ said Eilion from his position in the middle. ‘You are humbly requested to return with us to New Tissan. The Cardinal wishes there to be no more bloodshed and will pardon those who engineered this kidnap.’

  ‘You can tell the Cardinal that I am touched by her concern.’ The Emperor gently released his mother’s hand and stepped to one side of the Rider’s ranks. ‘And you may also tell her that when I return, the Cardinal and the rest of you … aberrations will submit to my justice.’

  Aberration? Father Michael saw the Gifted shift uneasily and look at each other.

  ‘That will not happen, Your Grace. I give you one chance to come peacefully. Tell your Riders to stand down, get on their birds and never return. If you do not submit, we will take you anyway.’ Eilion spoke calmly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

  ‘Do you think you can take me by force? We outnumber you three to one,’ said the Emperor.

  ‘That does not matter,’ replied Eilion.

  ‘Try it, Gifted,’ said Bryce icily.

  ‘Perhaps you are right,’ said the Emperor. He glanced at Father Michael, an odd expression on his face. ‘I will offer a different proposal. You will face my champion in single combat to the death. If my champion dies, then I will come with you. If you die?’ he smiled. ‘If you die, your companions will make their own choices.’

  Father Michael blinked. What was the Emperor doing?

  Eilion did not respond for a moment.

  ‘Your champion is?’ he asked.

  ‘You know,’ replied the Emperor.

  Eilion nodded. He stepped away from the small shield wall and raised his spear, planting its butt into the ground. Grieg and Loras looked at him and at each other.

  ‘Eilion?’ said Loras.

  Eilion dropped his shield and removed his helmet, placing it by his shield.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ said Grieg. ‘Eilion. Our orders were clear.’

  ‘I know what our orders are. Nothing changes. Except that one does not get to live,’ he said lifting his chin towards Father Michael. ‘Step away.’

  Grieg and Loras backed up and took new positions behind Eilion. He turned to talk to them, though neither took their eyes away from the bows. Father Michael could hardly believe it. Was Eilion actually agreeing to fight him? This was no arena match. The fate of the Empire, of humanity, rested on this.

  ‘Father Michael,’ said the Emperor, bringing Father Michael back from his reverie.

  ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘Just in case you were unsure, you are now my champion. A new title to go with the many you’ve had before.’

  ‘Your Grace,’ Father Michael bowed his head. ‘The title means nothing if I fail you.’

  ‘If you die, I daresay it’s over for us anyway.’ He leaned in and clapped him on the arm, whispering in his ear. ‘Don’t lose.’ The Emperor stepped back. ‘Now, what weapons do you wish to use? Take what you need from any of us.’

  Father Michael placed one hand on the pommel of the shortsword and the other on the dagger by his thigh. He’d keep both of those.

  ‘What else do we have?’ he asked.


  ‘What you see,’ said Cadarn. ‘Everyone, stand down, make some room, but watch them,’ he ordered. The tension seemed to ease a little, but Father Michael saw every crossbow was still levelled at the Gifted.

  Father Michael looked at the eagles. ‘Can I have one of those?’ he asked.

  ‘What? An eagle?’ asked a red-haired Rider, Raker.

  ‘No. The spear,’ Father Michael said, pointing at the nearest bird.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Raker sounded disappointed as he jogged over to collect it from its leather fastening on the side of the eagle’s saddle.

  ‘Shame,’ said Bryce, walking over to join him. ‘I reckon an eagle might have given you an edge.’

  ‘That would not be playing fair,’ said Father Michael.

  ‘Who gives a fuck about that?’ replied Bryce. ‘If only we’d been in the air when they showed up, we could have finished this already.’

  ‘Here,’ said the Rider handing him the spear. Father Michael nodded his thanks. Eilion would make it hard for him to get close, so he needed something with reach.

  He weighed it in his hands. It was lighter than he would have liked. Eilion’s would be heavier, though they appeared of a similar length. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders.

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he said, and walked towards the centre of the space between his people and the Gifted. He stopped, placed his feet wide and placed the spear butt on the ground. ‘I’m ready.’

  Eilion looked from his comrades to him.

  ‘Very well.’

  The Gifted carried his shield, but had not replaced his headgear. That was unexpected. Ah, perhaps not. Father Michael had killed Leisha with her helmet, Eilion was no fool.

  Eilion walked towards him and stopped six paces away. ‘You killed my friend.’

  ‘She deserved it,’ said Father Michael, raising the spear and swinging it high as he leapt forwards, aiming at Eilion’s head, the spearhead coming round from Eilion’s left. The Gifted leaned backwards and to the right, the surprise in his face evident.