"One must take a few chances in order to secure freedom."
"Is that what's happening?"
"My uncle plans to be the next emperor. He believes in equality and justice. Trust me when I say that the Empire will never have seen anything like what is coming."
Tebrey borrowed a horse from Captain Vareth. The wagons rumbled over the cobblestones of the streets as they pulled away from the house they had all started to think of as home. Watching, he wanted to go with them or at least send Hunter along to guard Ana, but he and Hunter were need to make the marquess' plan work.
The plan was to use superstition and myths to help secure the marquess' new position. Everyone knew that the emperor was corrupt and evil; that wasn't in question. Tebrey, in the role of Lawbringer, brought a legitimacy to the marquess' claim to the throne that no one would be willing to gainsay.
Rumors had already been spreading through the city after what he had done to the men who had taken McGee. Now he was to ride through the streets and let Hunter and himself be seen by as many people as possible. His horse was skittish around Hunter – not that he could blame it. The horse could sense that Hunter was a carnivore. He soothed it mentally and caressed its neck.
Tebrey would kill only those who broke the laws of the Empire, such as looters and rapists. It would establish him as a force of nature in the minds of the mob. They would side with him against the tyranny and injustice of the emperor. That was the plan, anyway. It remained to be seen if it would work out that way, or if the mindless terror of the mob would just attack them both.
Tebrey sighed.
What are we doing? he thought to Hunter.
What we have to do, Hunter replied. What you always do. You are protecting those you love and making this world a better place at the same time.
I hope so.
Me, too.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The jolting of the wagon woke Bauval.
He had been dreaming of their nightmare journey from the night before. He looked out the back of the wagon at the burning city, as much to reassure himself that he was no longer in the city as anything else. Long columns of smoke still rose from behind the walls, but the flames were no longer visible.
He shivered as he thought of the sound of that fire and the screams and roar of the mobs of people, like the surf of an ocean of madness, terrified by the fire and the civil war into attacking anything that moved. His group had almost lost their wagon of books and supplies despite the presence of sixty armed men. There had simply been too many people. They were lucky to have gotten away with their lives.
"You okay, Pierre?" Mason asked. Most of the others were asleep after the traumatic night. Dr. Seshadri was resting near her on the floor of the wagon, his head tightly bandaged. He had tried to fight off the mob when they overwhelmed the other wagon. He had fought to save his precious books. He was the only one injured, and the books were fine, but it had been a close thing.
Bauval smiled tiredly. "I'll survive, Amber. I just wish this would all be over. I never thought I'd want a cozy academic job, but I wish I had one now, by god."
"I know what you mean. We've kept so busy these last few weeks, we've almost forgotten about being rescued. What does that mean?"
"It means we're good at distracting ourselves," Bauval said with a sardonic grin.
Mason sighed and looked out the back herself. She found that she actually missed the city. It had been comfortable. She frowned when she thought about what the commander was facing back there.
"Thinking about Tebrey?" Bauval asked.
"Why would you think that?"
"I was," he replied. "And you had a look on your face that reflected my own thoughts. That hopeful-and-stricken-at-the-same-time look."
Mason nodded. "I was thinking about everything. Tebrey can take care of himself."
"I know," Bauval replied. "Honestly, I'm more worried about other things."
"Like what?"
"I'm worried about what we've learned here. If we are right, then humankind is at war with something much worse than the Nurgg, and has been for some time."
"You mean what we found in the ruined city?" she asked.
"Yes. I mean, where did they come from? Who are they? What do they want? Are they what attacked the Kirov? What really happened here? There are a lot of questions, and no good answers."
"Why do I have the feeling that we might not want to learn the answers to some of those?" She looked down at Seshadri.
"I don't know," Bauval replied. "Remember what Tebrey said at the time? That those might have been human? The organs seemed human enough. What if that thing in the middle of the city was a statue of some dark god, an alien? What kind of people would worship or at least venerate something like that? There was nothing human about it."
Mason shivered. "That's too horrible to think about. If we ever get rescued, maybe we can go back and get genetic samples from the bodies. Then maybe we can figure out what they actually were."
"You think he's right, don't you?"
"I do," she replied. "I don't know why. I think it was the eyes. They seemed so human. Rhyrhans are the closest alien species to humans, genetically speaking. Their eyes are quite different from ours."
"Maybe they are different, at a genetic level."
"Those eyes didn't just look human, they were human," she replied with conviction.
Bauval sighed. "Okay, I agree with you. I shouldn't, as a biologist, but I do. So they were something else, Taelantae maybe, at least originally. Like Tebrey said, we take some strange forms now on some frontier worlds. That still doesn't tell us who the enemy was or is."
"Maybe if we're lucky," Mason said, "we'll never find out."
Jeroen climbed into the wagon when they stopped.
"What's going on?" Bauval asked. "Why have we stopped? Is something wrong?"
"No," Jeroen said. "We've reached a crossroads. I have to send word to the military encampment that lies down the side road. There is a tavern here; I've procured a small common room for us all to freshen up in. You can have a hot meal and relax for a few hours, and then it's back on the road. You won't be safe until you reach the chateau."
"You're not going to join us?" Mason asked.
"I must take word to the army divisions waiting here first. I have to convince them to commit what amounts to treason against the emperor. I'll have a hard enough time convincing them as it is. I don't need to risk anyone else to a reprisal. It isn't far to the camps. I'll leave half of my men here to guard you. The other half will escort me there and back. If for some reason I do not return within four hours, Lieutenant Baraan has orders to get you safely to the mountain chateau. I'll join you there if I am able."
It took a little over an hour for Jeroen to ride to the encampments. He was nervous about his chances. It seemed like the fate of the Empire rested upon his shoulders. He'd suddenly had to pick up the burden of responsibility. He had never liked being particularly responsible for anyone but himself, and not even that if he could help it. Such things chafed. Maybe I've been reading too many of those old books, he thought. I actually believe this crap about freedom, now.
He approved of the orderly camp as they rode in. The guards had passed them along without many questions. Captain Vareth was well known, and his papers were impeccable. The off-white canvas tents were laid out in even lines with muddy lanes between. Larger roads broke the camp up into roped-off blocks. Jeroen knew that each block held a cohort of a hundred men.
There were over three thousand soldiers in the camp, not including the thousands of support staff, laborers, and the inevitable camp followers. Officers were allowed an orderly and a wife or mistress. Some, of course, preferred boys, but that was frowned upon, at the least the open practice of it.
Jeroen snorted to himself. He was letting himself be distracted from why he was here. He needed a distraction. He gut ached with tension.
They rode past a smithy where many men were toiling to the ringing of hammer
s and the sighs of bellows. There was a lot of equipment to keep in good repair with so many men. He shuddered to think of what the logistics must be like. He regretted his father's insistence that he not join the military. He saw the respect the men afforded the captain and wished that he, himself, inspired such loyalty. To these men, he was nothing more than a nobleman's spoiled son.
The general's tent was a huge red pavilion that had been sectioned into rooms. Within, there were thick carpets and sturdy wooden furniture. It looked to be quite comfortable despite the setting.
General Mehtar welcomed Vareth and Jeroen warmly when they rode up. Their horses were taken by grooms to be rubbed down and fed. The rest of Vareth's men were led to a guest area. The soldiers would be given warm food while their commander spoke to the general.
"Lord Jeroen," Mehtar said when they were comfortably seated in the tent with warmed wine at hand. A brazier provided warmth, and large lanterns were hung around the room. There was a map of the Lyonan Empire upon a frame. "How is your father? We served together, you know."
"I know, sir. He is well. I'm sure he would have sent his respects, had he had time, but he's been very busy recently."
"You've grown, lad," Mehtar said, nodding approval. "If your father ever gets over his foolish need to try to protect you, I'd gladly offer you a commission. I think you'd make a fine junior officer once you've had some experience. You seem to have matured since I saw you last."
Jeroen blushed. "I appreciate the kind words, sir, but I didn't come to ask for a commission. There are urgent matters that we must speak of."
"Down to business, eh? I can do that." He waved the attendants from the room. "So what is this urgent business that brings you out here and Captain Vareth from his assigned garrison?"
Vareth shifted slightly under the implication that he had left his post without permission, but held his tongue. The question had been directed at the young lord, and the captain had no right to reply in his stead.
Jeroen waited until the servants had left. "As you know, sir," he began, "Marquess Nanak is my uncle. It is in his name that I come to you today."
"Spit it out, boy. You didn't come here to tell me what I already know."
Mehtar's expression was inscrutable. Jeroen swallowed his fear and continued. "The Empire has been in a slow state of decline for many years. The emperor's decadence –" Jeroen saw the general's jaw tighten and rushed on. "His decadence has led to a decline of values in our culture. There are riots in the capitol, sir. The lower classes have risen up and are demanding a measure of equality. Praetorians, under the emperor's command, have slaughtered our own people. Several divisions of troops have refused to follow the orders of the emperor and have taken it upon themselves to defend those people."
"I see," Mehtar said flatly. His eyes flicked over to the captain. "And what does Marquess Nanak have to do with all of this?"
"My uncle is where he has always been, sir," Jeroen said proudly. "He is defending the people, as is his duty. Those divisions in revolt have sworn themselves loyal to him and the Empire. There is open war in Bellejor. My uncle seeks your support, sir. He understands that have you have felt for a long time that our people need to be treated better. With your support, he could end this civil war that threatens to flow out of the capitol and engulf our entire Empire."
"With him on the throne, I suppose?'
"Yes, sir. He has gained much support within the senate. You know that the emperor doesn't have any living children, sir." Jeroen didn't know what else to say.
Mehtar rubbed his forehead contemplatively. "I sorry to say that I cannot support such a move," he said finally. "I have sworn an oath, to the Empire and to the emperor. I cannot condone rebellion."
"If we cannot convince you, sir, then I am sorry. I had hoped that you would see the light of reason. We will take our leave of you, sir."
"I'm afraid not," the general said, his voice stern. "You have openly declared yourselves as traitors against the emperor. I hereby arrest you in the name of the emperor for treason. Guards!"
Men arrived so quickly that there was little doubt in Jeroen's mind they had been waiting to be called. The general must had some kind of warning about Jeroen's mission.
There was little Jeroen and Vareth could do. They were led from the tent.
He could see the smithies waiting with iron chains.
Chapter Sixty
Dr. Bauval stood and stared out the window of the manor. Jeroen hadn't returned within the allotted time of four hours, and Lieutenant Baraan had insisted on following his orders. The soldiers had escorted the scientists to the marquess' chateau. They had arrived just as the sun was setting, and they had waited anxiously through the night, hoping Jeroen would return.
It was possible that Jeroen had failed in his mission. In that case, it was most likely only a matter of time before soldiers came for them. Bauval wondered in passing if Sergeant McGee would agree to shoot them before allowing them to fall into enemy hands. He knew only too well the kinds of horrors people could visit upon one another.
His thoughts shied away from such things. It wasn't healthy to brood over what could go wrong. It was much better to focus on the good things in life. He knew he was growing emotionally attached to Mason; they had been together constantly for over nine months. He sometimes caught himself hoping they wouldn't get rescued too soon. He wanted her to feel the same way about him, but she was married. He knew that she missed her husband and children; they had often sat and talked about them.
At least they were comfortable here.
It was a fine house by a small lake, much cooler than in the city, at a much higher elevation. Bauval was glad that the original settlers hadn't thought to bring mosquitoes with them. Some of the original colony worlds had attempted to recreate the ecology of old Earth exactly, usually with spectacularly terrible results. There was no way to predict how an organism was going to adapt to a new world. Organisms adapted to fill niches in the environment, and new worlds often had niches no one had ever thought of.
He wondered what niche humans fell into. Are we predators or prey?
"Is there still no word?" Mason asked from the doorway.
Bauval turned and watched her set down the tray she was carrying. "No," he said, sighing. "Is that lunch for both of us?"
"Yes. I knew you wouldn't think to eat if I didn't bring you something." She smiled at him and gestured for him to sit. "I'm sure Jeroen is fine. He's smart and tough. He knows what he's doing."
"I hope so," Bauval replied, sitting across from her. "I can't help but worry about him. I just wish we would hear something."
"No news...," she said.
"...Is good news," he finished, smiling. She was always able to lighten his mood. "I don't know why I let you talk me out of my dark moods, Amber."
"Because you know I'll kick your ass if you don't lighten up, dear. Pass me the sugar."
He passed the bowl to her, shaking his head. "How is Seshadri?"
"He'll live," she replied, sipping her tea. "He has had worse injuries, you know. He wants to continue his research."
"It would be nice to have something to do."
"Honestly, I'd just like to rest and enjoy the scenery. I'm sure everything will work out fine."
Jeroen sat in the small tent and reflected ruefully on where he'd gone wrong. He couldn't think of anything he could have said differently to convince the general. If only I had gotten here before the praetorian! he thought angrily.
He had seen a single praetorian standing among the onlookers when he was brought out of the tent. The man must have ridden a horse to death to get to the encampments before Jeroen. At least Jeroen now knew how the general had known about the rebellion in the capitol. His uncle had been outguessed.
Jeroen had been escorted to a small tent once the chains were placed on his hands and feet. The chains were locked to large wooden post sunk into the ground. There would be no escape for him.
It had been a long night. The g
eneral was mobilizing his men. They were to march to the capitol and end the war. The marquess would be defeated. Jeroen had failed.
Worse, in Jeroen's mind, was the fact that he was to be tried for treason. Knowing what he did of the emperor's perverse delights, he had no doubt that he would be made an example of. He shuddered to think of what sick tortures the man would invent. His only hope was that some man loyal to the marquess would slip a knife into him before that.
His morbid thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the general.
Mehtar came into the tent alone. Jeroen could see his guards just outside the flaps. "Tell me again about why you would do such a thing," Mehtar said quietly.
Jeroen licked his dry lips. He was hungry and thirsty. "Sir, reform is needed. Our Empire is growing weak with corruption. We need a strong leader, or our enemies will fall upon us like a pack of kasirs. We need you." Jeroen was beginning to harbor hope that his words had gotten through to the general.
"You've asked me to throw away a life of service in hopes of an ideal."
"I'm asking you to make that life of service have meaning, sir. Whom do you serve? The aristocracy? The Empire? The insane fool who currently sits on the throne and delights in the torture and mutilation of children? Where does it end? What happens when the man dies of natural causes? Who will rule then? You know as well as I that the Empire would tear itself apart as each faction tried to gain the throne for themselves. If you truly serve the Empire, then it has to be the people whom you serve, not a man who is only your emperor because his grandfather was ruthless enough to murder his way to the throne!"
Mehtar sighed and looked out at the camp that was busily readying itself to march. "Assume for a moment that I did agree with you. Why should I pick your uncle to be the new emperor? Why should I not attempt to seize power for myself?"
"Because the ruling classes would never accept you," Jeroen said with a cynical smile. "You are of common blood."
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