Goriah knew better.
With one last look around, she surrendered her investigation. She had other places she needed to be, other sites to examine. And truly, what she stared at now would be gone when the waves came ashore. Somewhere between the fiery fountain and the shoreline great waves were swelling and bucking, growing in size and fury.
And exactly that quickly the problems between the Roathians and the Guntha were solved.
And the questions about the gray men were swept aside just as easily as the corpses from the massacre were cast into the waves.
Goriah moved on.
••••
Pella looked upon the Blasted Lands from the highest point along the Wellish Steppes. That was the large collection of flat gray stones that marked where the Wellish Overlords had met their end fully a hundred years before the Great Cataclysm. Though the steppes were flat, they still looked down on the great crater that marked the Blasted Lands. The pitted, scarred rock walls that rose from the devastated area were a natural barrier against the raging storms that used to come from the Blasted Lands and carried Plague Winds and worse. As cold and bitter as the Steppes could be, they were home to many a thriving township.
From her position she could see into the vast area of ruination for quite a distance before the perpetual storms hid away the secrets that had remained lost for almost a thousand years.
Though she stood at the very edge of the area, she could see the distant light of the Seven Forges. Even from the final resting place of the Overlords, the skies to the west were ablaze with their glow. And at the moment that glow seemed brighter than usual.
She was not here to enter the damnable area again and she was fine with that. Though Pella found no particular dread of the Blasted Lands within her heart, neither was she fascinated by their unrevealed enigmas.
Somewhere out there, Andover Lashk was walking. She knew that. She could sense it. He had been marked by her, by order of Desh Krohan, and so she watched over him from a distance, with no intention of helping him in any way.
She was not his custodian, merely an observer.
Far more importantly, she had to take care of delivering a message to Dretta Marsh from her husband. That was a task she looked forward to. The village he came from, where his wife still waited for him, was only a few hours away. For the moment she rested, tired from her constant motion.
In the distance, closer than she would have expected under any circumstances, she heard the mournful cries and maddened giggles of Pra-Moresh. Pra-Moresh... in the old tongue their name translated to the Crying Death. The name fit. The noises came from the Blasted Lands, of course, but it was rare that the damned things ever came this close to civilized lands. She would have to warn the Imperial Watch when she reached Stonehaven.
Trecharch was to the north. The great forests of that area could be seen in the far distance as a dark line on the horizon, a frozen wave that seemed forever ready to run toward the steppes. There were stories that the Pra-Moresh sometimes roved those ancient woods. She hoped against the idea.
The ground trembled beneath her feet. Pella looked down at the vast stone she stood on, noting as she often did that not even lichen grew on the wind-polished surface. Sometimes, according to local legends, the Overlords still moved within their tomb. She didn’t think that the case, not now at least. No, the vibration was distant. She called out to her Sisters and both responded. In moments each knew what their Sisters knew and she understood that something powerful was happening in the distant ocean.
Something that seemed to mirror almost exactly the pulse and flickering, shimmering lights of the Seven Forges which painted the underbelly of the sky to the west.
“Interesting.” She gnawed lightly at her lower lip as the Pra-Moresh wailed their mad sorrows to the skies. It sounded like a lot of the beasts, enough to make her know it was time to move on.
Would they climb the almost sheer walls of the Steppes? Perhaps. They had done so in the past. It could well happen again.
Either way, she had no intention of being there when the time came.
The wind caught her cloak and Pella spread her arms wide and dreamt that she was a storm-crow, comfortable with the knowledge that sometimes dreams really do come true.
The Emperor looked at the princess and smiled. She was a lovely girl, of course, and most decidedly a temptation. Her body was young and firm and she would likely produce beautiful children, and those were all things he was supposed to care about, but, sadly, she was also a bit stupid. Oh, he could have accepted naïve and possibly even found a certain appeal in that aspect of a woman’s personality, but she was just plain dumb, and the thought of being wed to a woman he could not hold a conversation with was worse to him than not being wed.
That was part of the problem, really. There were few women who held his attention for long.
He stopped thinking about possible wedding ceremonies and focused instead on the girl’s words.
“What you’re saying to me is that your father lied to me in an effort to gain money.”
She nodded without actually speaking. Her deep dark eyes were moist with unshed tears. She was terrified. She should have been. It was well within his power to either punish her or her father or punish the country her father ruled over if he thought the actions necessary. Battles had been fought based on lies. Resources used and soldiers laid to rest for the claims of King Marsfel.
Unless, of course, she was lying now. There was the rub. That was the problem. He had to decide if her new claims were legitimate or not, or even if the entire situation was worth the effort of a proper examination.
“Why not simply ask for assistance? Why claim the Guntha invaded if they did not?”
“They did invade, majesty. But they invaded after they were attacked as well. Attacked by people who sound much like the Sa’ba Taalor.”
He nodded his head. “And what would your father have me do about this now?”
“He fears that if they are the same people, they might well attack Roathes. The stories of the Guntha claim that the gray people are merciless.”
Pathra Krous looked at the girl and sighed. Nachia sat nearby, observing without speaking. That was exactly what he wanted from her at the moment. She had been gone too long and he wanted his cousin nearby, the better to observe and learn, because the more he thought about it, the more he rather liked the idea of journeying to the Seven Forges to see the lands that almost no one had ever seen before.
Pathra leaned across the table and stared at Lanaie, his eyes locked on hers instead of on her warm and welcoming form. It was one thing to flirt with a visitor, and another to let his personal desires get in the way of running an empire. He knew better than to mix the two and even if he had not, Desh would have cleared that issue up a long time back.
“I do not believe you or your father need be worried in this circumstance. I will overlook the issues of why he called for assistance and accept that when he called for aid he felt it was the best action he could make.” The girl let out a breath and offered a tentative smile. Before she could open her mouth to offer thanks, however, he held up a hand for silence. “And as luck would have it, your kingdom has an excellent recourse to possible attack.”
“We do?”
“Oh yes. You can call on the Guntha and make peace with them. That way, if there is an attack, you already have a naval force to back up your father’s navy.”
“I…” Oh, she wanted so much to protest. He could see it in the expression on her lovely face, and the way her body was positioned, but she knew better. One did not argue with the Emperor. That was one of the rare benefits of being in charge. When you made a decree, you seldom had to justify it to the people around you.
Unless Desh Krohan was in the room, of course. Happily the mage was elsewhere. He would have likely agreed anyway.
“You are very welcome, Lanaie. I know you are eager to return to your father’s side and bring him the good news. I suspect that after
their recent setbacks the Guntha will be delighted to come to a peaceful accord.”
The princess left a few moments later, the puzzled pout not quite leaving her face.
Nachia smiled. “That was harsh.”
“Do you think so? I thought I was being rather diplomatic. I’m not sending the army in to take Roathes from that fat buffoon.”
Nachia stared at him for a moment, a smile playing around her lips but not quite manifesting. “I sense hostility.”
“I don’t like being lied to. It makes me look foolish, especially if I don’t punish the liars.”
“I think it makes you wise and just.”
“You haven’t ruled yet.”
“I’ve had a bit of experience.” She spoke without rancor, just as he did. They were not only relatives but friends. It helped.
“True enough, Nachia, but believe me, there are differences.”
“You’ll understand if I’m in no hurry to find out, I hope.” He nodded.
“So what you call harsh, I call just. I sent her on her way with instructions for her father to make peace. I’ve committed enough troops in the last four years to his needs. He lied about the reason for the attacks, if actual attacks truly happened.”
“Assuming she is not lying?”
“Always a possibility, but in this case, if she is lying, she merely heads home with no changes in her position and no extra commitments from the Empire. Once again a simple message to handle the matters on his own goes to King Marsfel.”
“And if the Guntha attack Roathes in force?”
“Then he has only himself to blame for putting himself in this position in the first place. He should have attempted to make a peaceful truce with the Guntha.”
“What if the gray people are actually the Sa’ba Taalor?”
“Even if they are, they have not attacked the Empire. They have had a skirmish or two with the Guntha.” He shrugged. “And I don’t believe the Sa’ba Taalor have any sort of navy. They live in the Blasted Lands. Where the hell would they harbor their ships?” He pointed to the duplicate map that Desh had given him. “Do you so much as see a river outside of the Seven Forges?”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. I’m pretending to be Desh Krohan for the sake of argument.”
“Please,” he sighed. “One Desh is enough.”
“True.” She rose and moved closer. “What do you make of these ‘gray men?’”
“Probably old wives tales from the Guntha. Half the seafaring people claim they’ve seen specters on the ocean. Why should the Guntha be any different?”
“Well, I believe I’ll get in a little rest before it’s time for dinner. Is this to be another large affair or merely a few family members sharing a meal?”
Pathra smiled. “For a change of pace it will be a small meal. You can even bring Brolley if he promises not to act out.”
“Brolley remains very humbled.”
“Humility has its charms.”
Nachia laughed and touched his arm briefly before she headed for the archway leaving his offices. “I shall see you when the meal is called, Pathra.”
“I look forward to it.” He rose from his seat and walked to where he kept the bottle of sweet wine hidden behind a suit of armor that had never once been worn into combat. He seldom indulged but it was nice to have a small sip when he was done handling tasks he did not enjoy. He always disliked having to say no to a beautiful woman, especially one who so obviously wanted him to say yes.
His fingers had just closed on the bottle when the blade slid though his neck as quietly as a whisper. The Emperor was dead before he hit the floor.
••••
The Emperor Pathra Krous was not a small man. He was quite a bit larger than she was, in fact, but that did not change the plans for him in any way.
He was to be an example. He was to be a warning. She had very little time to make that warning clear, but she would make the best of the time she could spare.
The knives slashed deeply. The symbols took shape on his chest, on his face. And when she finished the grisly message, she looked around the room very quickly and then caught the dead man’s wrists and pulled him toward the window, straining with his size. Dead weight, indeed.
There are plenty of people who would argue that a woman is naturally weaker than a man. It might be true but there were ways around that problem. Sometimes it wasn’t merely the weight of an object that mattered, but also how that weight was approached.
She used her arms to balance his mass. She used her legs to propel his corpse through the open window. He fell almost forty feet to the pavement below and landed with an audible slap. A moment later the screams began.
And then she slipped back into her hiding place to wait out the chaos that would be coming her way.
The military leaders of Tyrne were not amused.
Newly appointed General Merros Dulver did not much care. Rather than dealing with the crusty old bastards who were waiting to speak to the Emperor or his First Advisor, Merros called the troops to assemble on the Western Field where they often practiced. With Wollis at his side, he began a complete inspection of the troops. By most standards they were in fine form. By the standards of the Imperial Guard they were sloppy and unkempt. He made note of that fact to Wollis and knew that his second would see the matter attended to immediately.
The day was close to ending, the sun would set soon enough. That did not mean that Merros intended to make life easier for the troops. They had been living a bit too easily as far as he was concerned, and that included him. Thinking back on the Sa’ba Taalor was enough to bring that point home.
It was time for a change. There would be more serious practice sessions. He might well instigate proper war games. The weapons he inspected were functional, yes, but some of the edges were not what they should have been, and a good number of shields and breastplates were in need of repair. There was a smithy on the premises for the love of all the gods. It was time to make the blacksmith there earn his keep.
And again, he trusted Wollis to make note of all he said and he trusted that his second would make it happen.
Several of the soldiers looked too young to shave.
“Wollis?”
“Yes, General?”
“Make a note. Find out where Nolan March is stationed and have him transferred to the capital.”
He turned to stare at his second and smiled at the shock on the man’s face. “What are you doing? I mean, can you do that? I’m grateful of course, but–”
“I can do that. I can order that. I’m a general. Make it happen. I think I rather like the idea of him being a part of the Imperial Guard.”
“Aye! Ho, sir!” Merros’ smile grew broader. His friend had more than earned the right to see his family again, all of them.
When the inspections were done, he prepared to make a short speech to the troops. There were going to be a good number of changes and he wanted them to understand why those changes were taking place. He wanted them to understand that though the Sa’ba Taalor seemed inclined to be allies, they could not be ignored as a potential problem and they were, hands down, far superior fighters to most of the soldiers he’d been with over the years. And that could not be tolerated. It was time for the soldiers to become everything they should have been all along, especially the soldiers who guarded the crown city and the Emperor himself.
He planned to make a speech. Instead he turned with almost everyone else when the alarm bells sounded from the palace.
The great bells were sounded only rarely, and normally with a great deal of warning. There was no warning this time, however, and the sound shocked the regulars and the newcomers alike. Merros had heard of the palatial bells, but had never before heard them. They were indeed incredibly loud notes and the sound rang across the field and echoed off the closest buildings without losing much of their initial volume.
To the last, every soldier on the field grabbed their arms and headed for the palace at a run. H
e was gratified to see that response and horrified by the lack of organization involved in the same.
Finding out that the Emperor had been murdered, however, made his previous dread seem incon-sequential.
Eighteen
To say the death of the Emperor came as a surprise is to say that the wind will blow or the sun will rise: It is a simple statement of fact.
The impact, however, was immediate and on a few occasions violent.
Pathra Krous was dead. By rights his successor had to be chosen and Pathra Krous had already made accommodations to that end. He had carefully groomed his cousin, Nachia, to take over upon his death. Heartbroken though she was, she knew that she would have to assume the mantle of Empress.
There were matters that had to be taken care of, naturally. The death of an emperor is as serious an affair as a coronation. Messengers had to be sent out, officials throughout Fellein had to be prepared for the changes that would be coming their way, and regardless of all of the paperwork, all of the endless details, life had to continue on and daily events had to be handled.
Desh Krohan knew all about that sort of thing. He was extremely helpful in making arrangements. There were letters of instruction from Pathra Krous himself, details about the funeral services he wished taken care of, and details on how to handle the transition from his reign as Emperor to Nachia’s ascension to the throne. A great deal of the work that Nachia had ahead of her had already been mapped out, not only by the sorcerer but by her deceased cousin.
It should have made her life easier, but it did not.
First, there was the disaster that had come about almost at the same moment that her cousin was murdered. The Guntha were gone. Decimated by a volcanic eruption. The seas to the west of Roathes were raging with storms and the kingdom was beset by disaster after catastrophe. Great clouds of ash were coming from where the Guntha had once been and drifting across the shoreline of Roathes, coating everything in gray waste. The people were falling ill to the toxic air that carried those ashes, and while not everyone was affected, enough were to make the matter urgent. Whatever falsehood may have existed in previous claims, the fact of the matter was simply that the small kingdom now needed the assistance of the Empire and that assistance could not be ignored.
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