Closer to the centre, we found shops located in drab-fronted buildings that hardly seemed to make any effort to advertise their wares. There was a bustle such as you might expect to find in a city as populous as this one, though it was oddly muted.
“The people here look as if their lives are hardly worth living,” I commented to Haster.
“It’s not surprising,” he replied. “They work endlessly in the mines. A few lucky ones get to work on the farms, out of the city and beneath the sky where it is still blue. The children are seen as a burden until they reach the age of nine, when they are sent to work at the coal face. They’ll die young – even the longest-lived scarcely reach forty. If the roof of the seam you’re digging doesn’t collapse on you, the dust and the fumes will kill you anyway, slowly and painfully as you hack up chunks of your lungs. Many – too many - apply to join the army. Cranmar doesn’t need them all and so they continue with their day-to-day existence.”
“A life of no meaning,” I said.
“Worse than that,” spat Haster. “For these people, it would be better if they’d never been born at all. Sometimes I think it would be a mercy if they drowned their tots to save them from the same. Can you imagine? To be the best parent you can be, the only path is to murder your own.”
“It would be one path,” I corrected him. “There are always choices. There are times when we can’t see them, but there are always choices. They should leave. No matter the consequences, the people should take their chances elsewhere.”
“There are few places that offer hope to the dispossessed in the Emperor’s lands,” he said.
“Until now,” I replied.
“The Saviour is a long way from here.”
“Better to die trying than to live in misery and to condemn subsequent generations of your own to the same thing,” I told him.
“You’re right.” He sighed. “They need a leader to inspire them and to bring them hope. I think Cranmar would crush them one and all before he permitted it to happen.”
“I’ve never met him, but I’m certain he’d prefer to rule an empty city than watch his people desert him. It’s always been the way.”
We crossed wide plazas and followed broad streets filled with people and animals. It occurred to me that whoever had designed this city – if there’d been a single architect who had dreamed it up – they’d meant for it to be a place of happiness. Every building was large enough to house its occupants in comfort. I saw signs of drainage and plumbing, which were almost unheard of in many towns and villages. There were no slums, though in some areas the people looked distinctly seedy. The only thing missing was plants and trees – I saw none.
“Are the citizens forbidden from planting anything?” I asked Haster.
“Nothing lives here for long. No matter how you nurture and cherish it. It comes to a point where you stop trying.”
“Truly an appalling place to live,” said Ploster.
“You won’t get an argument from me on that. Seeing it all again makes me realise how lucky we were to be left to rot on the bridge. Already I yearn to breathe in the clean air again,” Haster replied.
We arrived at another open space, this one far larger than any of the others. It ran east to west and from what I could see, cut Angax completely in two. There were no houses or other buildings here, though there were many people.
“This is the River Ang,” said Haster. “It runs directly through the city. If you look along, there are a total of twelve bridges over the river, each almost identical in construction. They’re very old and there are no records of who built them or when.”
I craned my neck to see above the thronging people. The square support pillars of the closest bridge were easy enough to see, but I couldn’t yet make out the river itself. To the west, I thought I saw more pillars.
“Come on,” I said, passing on the order for us to march through the crowds. This we did, knocking aside those who didn’t move quickly enough from our path. If we allowed every dallying person the time to move out of the way at their own pace, we’d have never got anywhere.
The River Ang was deep in a gorge. I stood on the edge and looked at the slowly-flowing waters which made their way through the centre of the city. The river was wide – at least three hundred yards – and each of the bridges had a central support pillar that dropped into the water, seventy or eighty yards below. These bridges were functional affairs, wide and paved with low parapets to the side. They had square, stone pillars at each end and more in the middle. They were different to the one on which we’d fought a month ago, but the similarities in their design made it immediately apparent that they’d been built by the same people.
“There was life in these lands thousands of years before the Emperor came,” said Ploster, reading my thoughts. “If you think about it, Malleus is little more than an intruder – perhaps only a fleeting aberration in history, who will be gone and forgotten without leaving a memory behind.”
“I doubt that’s how he sees things,” I said with a smile. “He never spoke it directly – I don’t think his conceit is great enough – but I always got the impression he planned to be here forever.”
“If he gets out of this one, he’ll be diminished,” said Ploster.
I took the men onto the bridge and stopped in the middle for a time, taking care not to block the passage of others. To both east and west, I could see for miles. This gorge was another that was unnaturally straight and with near-smooth rock walls. I peered over the edge and saw wooden jetties, fixed to the stone walls. There were steps, ladders and winches here and there, allowing goods to be hauled up from the barges below. I couldn’t see many boats, which seemed surprising. Normally when war loomed, the price of everything went up, bringing merchants in their droves to take advantage of the situation.
By the time we’d reached the central keep it was getting dark. Cranmar’s home was an edifice of monumental proportions – up close it was much larger than it had seemed when viewing the city from afar. It had thick outer walls and the inner keep itself was broad and ugly, reaching several storeys high and with four additional towers that went higher still. It was bigger than the one in Blades and more imposing. There again, it had been built long before and by a people who had a much greater skill with stone.
“Does Cranmar barrack his men inside?” I asked.
“Some, not all,” said Haster. “Those flat-fronted buildings you can see over there to the left and right of the keep walls are where he billets his men when they’re stationed here.”
“Let’s go and knock on his front door and see if he’ll let us inside,” I said, waving us towards the main keep gates. These gates were thirty feet high and wide, made from solid, dark wood with iron bands. I’d seen the type before and knew they could stand far more physical punishment than you’d expect. These gates were closed, so I headed towards the much smaller postern, set off to one side. No one had challenged us yet. The city was likely so accustomed to the presence of armed men that no one cared about a few hundred more. Still, I’d have expected someone would have intercepted us by now. Maybe Cranmar had plenty of spies on the streets who had told him about our arrival.
When we reached the postern, I saw the reason for the apparent lack of security around the keep. There was a passageway through the walls and signs of at least three portcullises. If anyone tried anything stupid, they could easily be trapped before they reached the courtyard. There was no way the keep would fall to a surprise attack.
There were soldiers waiting for us. The guard captain was accompanied by twenty others, all of them armed and alert. Their manner made me think that they were either well-trained or there’d recently been a shift change.
“Name and business?” he asked brusquely. I took it from his attitude that a lot of soldiers came this way.
“Tyrus Charing,” I said. “I am here with my men at the Emperor’s behest.”
“You’ve come a long way,” he said, without making it clear how
he knew. I wasn’t so full of my own self-worth that I imagined my name was recognized across all parts of the Empire.
“A very long way,” I said, not wanting to encourage conversation.
“Wait here,” he said and then turned without waiting for a response. He took himself off through the passageway behind the postern gate and vanished from sight. We waited for his return, as still as the stone from which the walls had been made. It was dark when he came back, almost an hour later.
“Your men can stay over there,” he said, pointing towards one of the external barrack buildings. “I’ve been told to bring you inside. Only you.”
I shrugged. Some things are worth asking questions over. Other times it’s a waste of air to open your mouth. This was one of those times.
“Lieutenant Craddock, take the men to the barracks as instructed,” I told him. “You have coin if you need anything.” I lowered my voice so that only he could hear it. “And you have the freedom to act as you see fit. Leave if you need to and don’t worry about me.”
He understood and I looked him in the eye for a moment so that he knew I didn’t want him to sacrifice anyone by coming for me if we were betrayed. He spun around and shouted out his orders to the men. It didn’t seem likely that there’d be treachery, at least not until we’d performed whatever task the Emperor had in mind for us. Still, there was always the chance that the Flesh Shaper had lied from the outset.
I followed the guard captain through the postern gate, with four other soldiers following behind. Flickering torches lit the way. There was nothing cheering about their flame – all it served to do was highlight the black specks of dust which hung suspended in the air. My escort didn’t speak and I didn’t ask questions. The courtyard surrounded the keep and was almost empty. Here and there, someone hurried across. It was odd that there was so little activity, even with the night almost upon us. Castles of this size never slept.
Our footsteps echoed loudly across the expanse. I studied the keep, which had torches set along the base at regular intervals. I marvelled at how smooth its walls were. The seams between the stone blocks were almost invisible, as if each constituent part was identical to the others and without the variation which was inevitable in anything crafted by the hands of men. There were openings on the first floors and above – deep recesses through which I imagined archers could send an unending flow of arrows into the courtyard below. I didn’t like the place at all – I could admire the expertise which had gone into making it, but there was something about it that spoke of a meaning and purpose that was alien to me.
I was taken towards a pair of gates that were similar in size and appearance to those in the outer wall. Once again, there was a side doorway which made a rather more practical means of entry and exit than the main gates themselves. If Cranmar was worried about assassins, it was far easier to filter all visitors through the side entrance. Not that any usual assassin would be capable of dispatching one of the Emperor’s nobles.
When I got into the main keep I was led without delay along the wide corridors and passageways. The interior was well-lit by a series of small glass spheres embedded into the walls. They’d been enchanted somehow and cast a pale white light that exaggerated the faults in everything it illuminated. I saw the faint peppering of dust on the guard captain’s clothing and armour. He had a faint scar on the back of his neck and a white spotting of louse eggs in his hair.
There were people in the keep. A few soldiers and some of the dedicated guard units passed us by. The guard captain grunted occasional greetings, which were returned in an equally surly manner. The smattering of other men and women couldn’t hide the fact that the place was almost empty.
I was taken to a room on the first floor. There was no lock on the door, so I wasn’t a prisoner at least. I was told in no uncertain terms that I was to stay put until I heard otherwise. The order wouldn’t have usually detained me, but I had nothing better to do than wait. I admit that I was uncertain what was going to happen. Would I speak to Cranmar or even to the Emperor himself? Or would I receive an instruction through an intermediary and end up leaving Angax without ever having the opportunity to find out some answers? I almost laughed at these thoughts – there was no way Malleus would let me go without at least seeing what he’d created one more time.
I paced about the room. There was a hard, wooden-framed bed and a couple of chairs, none of which I sat on. Someone had even left a bowl of fruit on a side-table, though it was so withered and mouldy that I had no idea what it had been originally. I hadn’t expected to be fed, so there was no disappointment at the treatment I received. I wondered if all of Cranmar’s guests were so poorly-entertained, or if I had been singled out for special treatment. None of it mattered.
A number of hours passed, most of which I spent looking out of the window opening. There was no glass in it, which suited me fine. There was a hint of the moon above and the stars twinkled in their familiar positions. The city itself was possessed of a peculiar orange hue, which hung low above the buildings. It was the glow of a hundred thousand coal fires, warming the hearths of the city’s inhabitants. At least they’d never grow cold in the winter. There was hardly any sound to be heard – occasionally a dog barked in the distance. Otherwise, there was almost nothing. Usually a city this size would have an atmosphere at night, as its people enjoyed themselves at the end of a long day. I thought that I might already hate Angax. Not its people, but the men who’d brought it to this state.
The door to my room was opened without a knock. There was an elderly man in the doorway, dressed in fine-quality robes without anything else to indicate his status or what office he held.
“Come,” was all he said.
I followed him, through the myriad corridors of the keep. There was no carpet to deaden my footfall and the sounds of my boots reflected crisply off the walls and left me with the impression that there was someone else following two paces behind me. We went up stairs and across hallways. On the upper levels, there were even fewer people and those I saw scurried away like rats escaping into darkness. There were more stairs and then more. I was in one of the towers – the view out of the windows showed the tiniest sliver of light across the horizon. I’d been in the room for longer than it had seemed.
We stopped climbing. The last of the steps deposited me onto a landing, where my silent guide waited for me patiently. There was an expression on his lined face. It might have been pity. Although he tried diplomatically to keep it hidden, there was curiosity about why I was there and why I’d been summoned to the place he’d brought me to. There was a door – taller and wider than a normal door. It had a dark metal ring set into the surface, which the man reached out for and turned. I was sure there was a faint tremble to his hand, perhaps from the chill in the air or the infirmity of his body.
The man swung the door open and signalled for me to enter, which I did. I entered a small ante-room, with mundane oil lamps casting a wildly-dancing light onto the walls. The door behind me closed. There was another identical door ahead of me. I strode over and opened it without hesitation. The room beyond must have almost filled this level of the tower, which made it large without being enormous. It was starkly appointed, in keeping with the rest of the place. There was a long, rectangular table, with a dozen chairs around it in the middle of the floor. There was light, too, from more of the glass balls I’d seen below. The room was otherwise empty, apart from a single, lone figure, standing near to one of the far windows. He didn’t need a bodyguard to keep him safe. The figure turned towards me, making his grey cloak rustle through the air behind him.
“Welcome home, Tyrus Charing,” said the Emperor, his voice rich, yet tinged with the ravages of a thousand years.
24
I tried not to stare at him. Even after two centuries, the details of his face were utterly familiar. The last time we’d met, he’d been a tall man, strikingly handsome and with broad shoulders and strong arms. Now, his pale flesh was unmistakeably sunken,
pressed tight against his skull. His clean-shaven cheeks were hollow, giving him a cadaverous look and his black hair which had once been thick and close-cropped, was lank and thinning. His eyes had lost nothing to age and they looked at me with a bright, unwavering stare. He’d aged better than his death sorcerers - his magic had always been the strongest amongst them. As I took in his features, I knew at once that he was decaying, in the same way that they all were. I reached out across the warp and weft, tentatively seeking. I saw him in a way I never had before – he was a vast, impossibly indomitable force of magic, which grasped and pulled at the threads around him, manipulating them in ways which had never been intended. There was evil there and anger, yet there were also rules and many other facets, too intricate and convoluted to make sense of with the tiny glimpse I allowed myself.
“Emperor Malleus,” I said, meeting his gaze.
“Never a man to bow, were you?” he asked, permitting himself a chuckle.
“Jarod Terrax said you require a service of the First Cohort,” I said.
The Emperor didn’t usually engage in small talk. When he did, there was always a reason behind it. Nor did he tolerate men or women who danced around a subject. I fully expected our conversation to be challenging and in this I wasn’t wrong.
His eyes remained fixed on me. “That I do, Captain Charing, that I do. First of all, I wish to hear of your years in service to my Duke.”
“We fought and we killed. There was not a single one of those years that we were not doing each of those things. And we changed. We are not the same men that we were and I am not the same Tyrus Charing that you allowed to leave your service.”
Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3) Page 26
