by Darren Joy
‘She was never in line to rule,’ Liviana shouted. ‘Markus Olen never named her his successor. In fact, she is no longer even a princess. He named you, and you are not fit to rule.’
Oh, tantrum, tantrum, Aiyana thought with an inward smile. ‘And yet, by law, we must have a Todralan present before we cast the vote. If I am not eligible, then my presence here doesn’t count, and you must await my sister.’ You can’t have it both ways, woman. ‘She can take the throne as the last eligible Todralan. She does have that right, princess or no. The law is clear on this. Only another may be selected if there is no surviving Todralan, no matter who my father named. She relinquished the title of princess, not her family name, and my sister lives.’ Try to assassinate her if you dare. For all she despised her, Sarscha had proven to be a formidable battle leader.
Aiyana chose that moment to produce the papers she’d discovered in the library from within her robes. ‘These are imperial records which detail that in the year 435YC, Imperator Tiberius Olen Todralan overturned his grandmother’s disbandment of the conclave. Five years later, in 440YC, he enacted an imperial decree, which reverted powers back to the conclave if no one with Todralan blood lived. The decree says nothing about whether that Todralan was a named successor or holder of title.’ She then handed the papers to her nearest neighbour to have them passed along, though there was no need. All knew what she said was correct. They’d just needed reminding.
Aiyana again spotted her Darken in the shadows. The woman glared at her this time, before vanishing behind a pair of columns. Well, she would deal with that later. After all, she still had to get out of there in one piece.
A handful of conclavists nodded as they perused the document, though none spoke. It wasn’t unanimous, but perhaps enough to delay Liviana. What protection were papers against swords? Would the woman risk bloodshed within the conclave? If word of that got into the streets, the mob would rise. Then there was Sarscha and her forces, these days stationed permanently in Tystria, but not far away enough. No, Aiyana could see it in Liviana’s eyes. She would not risk that, not yet at least.
‘Sarscha Todralan did not come,’ snapped Liviana, all her feigned pleasantness evaporated. ‘We will hold the vote, now. Then, when I become imperatrix, the legions must obey me.’
‘I am afraid,’ Aiyana continued, convinced she would now never make it out, ‘it is also well known that our legions hold my sister in the greatest of respect. How was it put to me once, wait, I’ve forgotten, no wait ... they worship her.’ She was enjoying this cheeky side to her nature, a part of her she often suppressed. It was all Threadfin’s fault. ‘An imperatrix without legions, well ... unless you wish to put swords in our hands, and I’m afraid we’re rather too few to form a legion.’ Seriously, you have a death wish and she’ll grant it to you. It was all Threadfin’s fault.
None of the others offered agreement, but she hadn’t expected it. This was a one woman show.
Liviana’s scowl turned and she smiled once more. ‘Of course, you make a wonderful point, which I had ... overlooked. Sarscha Todralan is a formidable leader, and her presence is, of course, required.’
By that, you mean she will never make it here alive. You underestimate my sister.
‘I believe,’ Liviana said in a quiet voice, forcing the words out, ‘we should all get much needed rest, and reconvene in three days. Send word to Sarscha Todralan. If she does not arrive by then, we shall assume she has decided against attending, and forfeits all rights to both name and throne.’ Then she turned and with a gesture, her guards joined her, followed by the nine of her family.
Aiyana’s own escort remained waiting for her, as did her Darken. They would need to move quickly, if there wasn’t an entire legion already waiting outside. She realised that none of Liviana’s family had spoken during the entire session. The mongrels began collecting the unblemished tablets.
She jumped at the voice in her ear. ‘She’s right, you know. You’re playing a dangerous game. I don’t like dangerous games. Nobody likes dangerous games.’
‘You do.’
Davard Tystrus cocked an eyebrow at that.
‘I am doing what I must,’ she answered without turning to look at him. The fat conclavist was close enough for her to feel nauseous at the smell. Did he never use the baths? The image leaping into her head made her feel worse. ‘My father trained me in politics as he did in every other form of battle. Much is risked in the pursuit of power.’
His garlicky breath was heavy on her face as he leaned in closer. ‘My advice if it’s worth anything to you is to disappear. She will not let you see the dawn otherwise. Each conclavist here will take their chance to do the same now. There will be no vote in three days.’
‘Without the conclave vote, she cannot take the throne.’
‘Oh, she can, she can. The vote would’ve legitimised her and prevented any lawful challenge to her rule, but she can still take the throne without it, and kill any who dare. Without the conclave at all, you will not be raised to the throne either, and I’m afraid that would never happen now, not with that news about your brother. Our lives are in more danger than ever before. She might have wanted legitimacy, but she doesn’t need it. Disappear, Aiyana Todralan, and do not come back. No one will support you now.’
‘I meant it when I said Sarscha can take the throne, by force if she must.’
‘You know she will never do that, not while you live. Like you said, my child, she is a woman of the law.’
She bristled at his addressing her that way, but the stench was enough to dispel any anger. Just trying to breathe was a problem. ‘If I vanish into the night, how will matters change? Without me to stand in her way, she will be imperatrix.’
Davard chuckled. ‘She’s as good as already, and you cannot stand in her way if you are dead. That guard of yours will not stand up to a legion and I’ve no doubt she is already issuing the order. I’ve also no doubt Ornias would agree with me. All those men and women will die, and then you, if you don’t disappear.’
‘Of that other matter, then?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, taken care of, though, I wonder what will be the result. Civil war? I don’t like that idea. Do you? How will it change anything? Like I said, a woman of the law.’
She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she realised the smell had gone.
‘Well,’ she muttered to herself, ‘that didn’t go too badly, I think.’ She had no doubt that Davard was right, of course, but if she took his advice that would not mean she would be leaving Icarthya. She had to remain and overthrow this usurper. Ornias Saelos had several safe houses in the city. She could both disappear and remain a thorn in Liviana’s huge butt. It was huge, size of a small continent. All Threadfin’s fault.
She had lost all hope of support from the conclave. But what did that matter? They would flee anyway. No, she needed to look elsewhere. Obviously, Sarscha could not return in three days, and Liviana knew it. Still, Aiyana had gained a little time. Her sister might well return to find a new ruler on the throne, and yes, that would mean civil war. It might come to that. It might be necessary.
She vacated her seat and climbed down the broad steps to the tiled floor. Before leaving, she kissed the ring on her left hand, and then departed with her modest guard, through a small concealed stone doorway at the rear of the apse. Few knew of it, a secret knack for opening it.
It was time to go into hiding, and plot a rebellion.
Chapter 11
The Shathra
THREADFIN WATCHED THE stranger step between two of the monstrous sculptures. A forest-green soldier’s cloak flirted with dead leaves as the slender man moved with the caution of a veteran, or perhaps a skilled thief.
Above the clearing, the clouds were thick and grey. Surrounding them were trees of birch, elm, and poisonous yew. The ground rose to the left, carpeted in moss, and edged with ferns where he’d fallen. It had to be the foothills of the Scab Mountains. They bordered the Artaca Plains and linked wi
th the Artaca Mountain range further north. Far to the east beyond the plains, and yet more mountains, Icarthya sat on the coast. Thinking of it like that made it seem closer, but it had never felt further away.
The arrival lowered his hood as he approached. Threadfin groaned when he recognised the face with its livid scar. Schooling his own, he waited as Podral Pole approached. I’ll fight him if I have to, he thought. Not that he expected to win, but he’d stand his ground. If he could stand at all. He didn’t care about damp, or chill. Baking sun, or freezing winters were all the same to him, although damp conditions did cause other problems.
What his kind did feel, as much as breathers, was pain. His chest burned, and his back throbbed. Exhausted too, though he knew it had nothing to do with all that running. His recent illness was responsible for that. The decomposition of a viral was slow, but he thought he could now feel its progression. He waited to see if the breather had come to end him, and wondered if it wouldn’t be for the best.
‘There you are, you ugly bastard,’ barked Pole as he halted several feet away. He planted fists on hips and stared at Threadfin like a disgruntled mother at a dirty child. Threadfin might’ve laughed had he felt the urge. ‘What you doing lying there? You could die with exposure. Oh, wait, sorry, you’re already dead, aren’t you?’
‘Hilarious.’
‘I thought so.’
Threadfin tried to rise but collapsed again with a spasm. ‘Just half dead by the way, and what about you? I saw you bleeding on the ground. You should be dead yourself. You definitely look almost there.’
‘Now what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh nothing. Just that us dead folk have all the fun, or haven’t you noticed?’ What was he doing? Angering a man who’d vowed to kill him? Do I really want it to end? Part of him did, but another part knew it wasn’t time.
Pole spat to the side. ‘I’m not eager to join the fun just yet, lad.’ He wore a hooded green cloak over iron scale. Under that was a green woollen tunic, worn to the knees like most northern Icarthians. There was an iron short sword on his right hip. On his lower legs were the wrappings known as swals instead of breeches, common to lower ranks. He spat a second time, with emphasis.
‘Where’d you steal those clothes from?’
The thief snorted. ‘Mayhap someone gifted them to me. How’d you know they didn’t? Anyway, poor bugger hadn’t need of them anymore.’
‘You killed him, I’m guessing.’
‘Don’t answer to you, Todder, but you will answer to me. You’ll do as I say when I say it, you hear? I’m in charge of you, now.’
‘You here to kill me?’
He seemed taken aback at the question. With a grunt, he screwed up his face and spat. He did that a lot. ‘Now why’d you go and ask that? We were just beginning to get along.’
‘Huh, I remember you suggesting, it was best to kill me, remember? I know you’ve no love for me, Pole, so quit this grolg shit. Why haven’t you murdered me already? Why are we chatting here like old friends?’
‘Right, yeah, that stuff I said.’ Surprisingly, his face took on a shamed expression. ‘Had to push him, right? I suspected what he was up to, but I wasn’t sure, you understand?’ He cleared his throat when he realised Threadfin didn’t.
‘Right, well,’ he continued, ‘I needed to know for certain if he was one of them, but he was a clever bastard. Had me near convinced he was legit, a downright turd bucket mind, but a legit turd bucket. Couldn’t go killing him just on a suspicion, could I? Not what I’m about at all. I mean, I don’t like killin’ at the best of times.’
‘I find that difficult to believe.’
‘It’s the truth. Think what you want, but I’m no murderer. Anyhow, there were others besides him to watch. That, and well, I couldn’t let him suspect me, you know, in case he was who I thought he was. Of course, if he knew who I was, he was pretending he didn’t. See, all very simple.’
‘I’m sure in your head it is.’
Pole gave a long sigh as though forcing patience. ‘I was there to protect you, lad, from Felps as it turns out, but he wasn’t the only one under suspicion. We knew someone might try eventually. Look, you’ll learn why, soon enough.’
He didn’t believe a word. ‘Okay, why did he try to kill me?’ Of the two, it had been Ludwole Felps he’d trusted most, and that hadn’t been much. He no longer knew if he could trust anyone.
‘Like I said, it’s complicated,’ Pole said with sour look. He was offended.
‘You said it was simple.’
‘He’ll be on your trail hard now, and he won’t be alone. I found you, didn’t I? Look, if I was going to kill you, I’d have done it by now.’
Maybe, thought Threadfin, but I’ll trust you when grolg fly. ‘There was another man with Felps, after he stabbed you.’ Threadfin knew his name and rank, but that wasn’t what he wanted to know. ‘He had a weird dagger. Went through a foreign ritual.’ He didn’t mention he also lit on fire from the inside out.
Pole was looking about, peering into the treeline. ‘Don’t know nothing about it. Don’t know what he wants with you.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Look, I don’t care what you bloody believe. I told you, if I could find you, they definitely will.’ He spread his hands again in a placating gesture. ‘Okay, I can tell you this. They wanted you alive, but I don’t know the reason. I do know a person who does, and I can take you to them. Felps had more than one opportunity to kill you, but didn’t. Was what confused me about him, you see. Events caught up with us, I guess. I never saw that knife coming. I barely twisted in time. He got nothing vital. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here looking at your gorgeous kisser.’
Felps had wanted me for that exemplar, he thought. Canaan Pen Luthus was infamous as the high exemplar. A man of high standards and a skewed morality. Threadfin’s mind was a whirl of questions, and Pole’s answers just raised more.
‘You know, I’ve been freezing my chestnuts off trying to find you and I hate the cold more than the earth dancin’. I killed my darag trying to catch you, and it takes a lot to run those to death. Not meant for forest travel, I suppose. I’d swear you were hell’s own with the speed you were moving at. Now, I’ve enough of this.’
‘What if you’re just keeping me alive, like Felps did, for your own reasons.’
‘Oh, for the love of sweet Grim’s hairy ... he stabbed me, remember?’
‘Yes, and you’re not dead. Convenient, isn’t it?’
‘Seems you got a choice, then. Come with me, or go it alone.’ The tone in his voice suggested he would not allow the latter.
Guess it would be better with the bastard where I could see him, rather than out there in the shadows, he reasoned. It was snowing. Light at first, the flakes turned heavy. It was still late autumn, but they were on higher ground. Several landed on his face. No, it wasn’t snow but sleet. The forest on either side darkened. It was growing late and he had to admit he didn’t know which way to go. Pole might tell him, but what if he got lost again?
‘Can you get me out of this forsaken forest?’
‘Lost, are you?’ The breather looked amused. He began picking his nose with a dirty finger.
No, he didn’t trust Pole, but he might end up wandering through Tarl for weeks. He couldn’t afford to waste that much time. ‘How long have you been searching for me?’
‘Come on, get on your feet,’ barked Pole. ‘In case you still haven’t figured this out, I’m trying to help. I’ll get you out.’ He stepped closer and unclasped his cloak, wrapping it about Threadfin.
‘I’m undead, remember? Don’t feel the cold like you pulsers do.’
Pole hesitated, then took the cloak back and threw it over his own shoulders. ‘You know, you isn’t looking great. In fact, I’ve seen week-old turds looking healthier.’
‘I asked you how long?’
‘Near five days.’
I have no memory of five days. He’d been running so long, time had lost m
eaning. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘Neither do I, but seeing as I can die and you’re already dead, my sympathies rest with myself. Anyhow, thought you said your lot don’t feel.’
‘Cold ... I said we don’t feel the cold. This, this is ... something’s wrong.’
‘It’s not that, you know, ah, what happened afore?’ When Threadfin didn’t answer, Pole shut his eyes and sighed. ‘Right, thirty minutes rest and then we leave. Not a minute over. I want to get out of here. These statues make me itch.’
‘What, the Shathra? Angels should give you strength.’ Threadfin touched the crucifix at his neck as he spoke. It was made of cheap silver, its surface corroded and dull, without reflection.
‘This is the Shathra, true enough, but look at them. They’re older, much older.’
‘Than what?’
‘Angels.’
Threadfin didn’t know what to say. What could be older than angels? He examined the stone guardians. There was a difference. These weren’t like the bronze or stone statues lining Icarthya’s parks or the interior of her churches. They were nothing like those within the palace, inlaid with gemstones. The scrunched faces with heavy brows were odd, though weather damage had removed a nose here, half a face there. Still, it was clear that each visage was malicious unlike the benevolent faces of Etruria, Fakir or Adal.
Threadfin lay down and rested for that half hour. His insides felt hollow, as though a giant hand had scooped out his withered guts. The old soldier nudged him with his boot when time was up. They vacated the clearing, moving uphill, back into the gloom of Tarl. At first, all Threadfin managed was a crawl. Felps, he’d noted, wore several tunics beneath his armour.
