by Simon Brown
Alas, thought Mycom, that Lerena then should be so wicked, and do such wicked things. At first he had shrugged it off: her behaviour was a temporary aberration, she was not herself, she (he hoped desperately) would die soon and someone better would succeed to the throne. But no. His self-defence was an illusion. Secretly he had revelled in his position of influence with Lerena.
Then, day by day, the holding pens in the palace precinct had grown. At first Lerena had sacrificed only one or two of her people each day, but now the rate was climbing and the aviary was turning into a charnel house. And worse, a charnel house without any of the signs – no smell, no carcasses, no blood. That made it all worse. It was as if by removing the evidence of her consumption the empress was trying to prove she was innocent of it. But prove to whom?
Why, herself, of course. That answer, the proof of her wicked, winding mind, was what finally delivered Mycom, gagged and bound, into the hands of his own conscience; it had always been there, hiding under his pragmatism, waiting for the right opportunity to come out into the open. Mycom’s growing guilt at his own complicity in the wickedness of Lerena had been just such an opportunity.
But now that he had it back, there was nothing he could do with it. What chance did one man, one short and lonely and virtually friendless academic, have against the power of Empress Lerena Kevleren of Hamilay?
*
Rodin, too, had heard Lerena’s summons. He did not feel it quite the same way as Malus Mycom, being himself a Kevleren and so attuned to the Sefid, but it brought him no greater pleasure. He dreaded his interviews with the empress. Increasingly they seemed like slices of nightmare, surreal and horrifying, except there was no way to wake from them.
Before leaving for the aviary he gathered together all the recent correspondence he had received about preparation for the invasion fleet and its army, together with a list of admirals and generals he was going to suggest might lead the expedition, and another list of names he was not yet sure whether or not he should hand over to Lerena.
His earlier talk with the chancellor had been ultimately beneficial, Rodin thought. Although surprised and initially depressed by being told of Kydan’s possible evolution over the last three years, being forewarned meant less chance of being surprised when the fleet crossed the Deepening Sea. No matter how far Kydan had advanced, it was only a single city and there was a monetary and population limit to how much a single city could provide for its own defence. Rodin would just make sure the expedition was strong enough to overcome any possible opposition.
When he got to the aviary’s wire door, Mycom was waiting for him.
‘You should have gone ahead,’ Rodin said.
‘I prefer to go in company. It’s a lonely walk to the forest.’
‘Does it seem to you that the walk is getting longer?’
‘Yes.’
When they finally got to the bottom of the spiral staircase, or tree or whatever it had become, they stayed side by side, trying to keep their pace casual, their conversation light. A movement near the edge of the forest, still some distance away, attracted their attention.
‘Did you see something?’ Rodin asked.
‘Heard, actually.’
The thick undergrowth between two banyan trees waved with sudden violence. A shape broke from cover. Rodin thought at first it was a dog like one of those Lerena used to keep as familiars, but then it rose to its hind feet and looked around. Its head was definitely canine, but the way it searched for either escape or a place to hide seemed almost human. It saw them and seemed to tense. The next moment something strode out after it, birdlike in motion but with thin arms instead of wings, a wide gaping mouth instead of a beak, and thick scaly legs ending in vicious claws. The thing slashed out with one claw, raking the first creature from neck to waist. Blood and fur flew into the air and the creature fell, screaming with a high woman’s voice as it was pulled back under the canopy. The undergrowth thrashed wildly for a moment, the sounds of struggle and death became fainter and fainter, and then a terrible peace fell on the aviary.
‘Call the guards!’ Mycom said hoarsely, holding on to Rodin’s arms.
Rodin was too stunned to react at first and Mycom had to shake him slightly. ‘Your Highness, for the Sefid’s sake, call the guards!’
But even as Rodin opened his mouth to shout for help he realised none of them would hear. They were too far from the entrance, halfway up the dome’s side, for any sound to get through. Anyway, he was not sure this place was connected to that world anymore. The wire door that let them through was now acting as more than a simple opening between the skyway and the aviary.
‘I don’t think that would do us any good,’ Rodin said. He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, we are under the protection of Lerena.’
‘You would count on that?’ Mycom said.
‘Here? In this world? We have nothing else to depend on.’
Mycom released his grip on the prince and they resumed walking towards the forest. As the tall trees came closer the trail that led to the clearing appeared, and standing at its start was the empress. Rodin thought she shone with her own light, like a lantern, but when he blinked the effect was gone and it was simply his cousin, short for a Kevleren, a little squat, almost plain.
‘I have been waiting for you,’ she said, but without reproach. ‘It is a beautiful day to walk in the forest.’
Mycom bowed and stuttered, ‘Your Majesty, we saw –’
‘We saw how beautiful it was even from the stairway,’ Rodin interrupted, and threw a warning look at Mycom.
‘Come with me,’ Lerena said. ‘Each hold an arm.’ She held out her arms like wings, and each man took one. ‘I have decided, cousin,’ she said to Rodin, ‘to bestow upon you a great honour.’
Rodin was not sure he liked the sound of that. After all, in terms of the Sefid, the greatest honour was to be sacrificed.
‘As long as it means I may serve you better,’ he said.
Lerena laughed lightly. She liked the sound of that. ‘I am sending you on a long journey.’
‘How long, your Majesty?’
‘From here to Somah and thence across the Deepening Sea.’
‘Ah,’ Rodin said, understanding her meaning right away. At first he felt rising panic. He thought of himself as an administrator, not as a general or an admiral, and the thought of leading the invasion of the New Land made him want to run in the other direction. But then he remembered where he was, remembered what he and the chancellor had just seen, and the panic was replaced by a light-headedness brought on by the knowledge that the posting meant he could get away from Omeralt and Lerena. Far, far away.
‘I am deeply honoured, your Majesty,’ he said.
‘When can you leave?’
Rodin cheerily patted the papers inside his jacket. ‘Almost as soon as I arrive in Somah.’
‘Then you must make preparations right away.’ She beamed at him, then turned the same smile on Mycom. ‘You will be my last advisor,’ she sighed. ‘You must look after me, Chancellor.’
Rodin saw Mycom’s knees were almost ready to give way. ‘You could ask for no better,’ he said quickly, distracting her.
They reached the clearing and sat on the stone bench, for all the world like three friends in the park. A bird whistled not far off and the two men jumped a little. Lerena stared into the forest, seeming to see deeper than any human had a right to see.
*
At night the creature made its family move again, running around villages and towns, avoiding being seen by drunk farmers tottering out of pubs or carters winding their way home behind a tired horse. It did not want its trail followed, at least not yet. The family was lucky enough to come across a small mining camp. Only ten men, but it was enough to feed them all, although it meant leaving none of the miners to join them the next night. They could not wait anyway. They were driven on, smelling a city not far away, and once there they could eat until their stomachs were fit to burst, and in the nights that fol
lowed the family would swell in numbers until they outnumbered the living. And then southwest, to where all were ultimately drawn, especially the first one, their father, the creature from the sea.
*
When they left the aviary, Rodin accompanied Mycom back to the chancellery.
‘By the Sefid, I don’t want to go back into that place by myself.’
‘Then take someone with you,’ Rodin said. ‘Why not that strategos fellow? He reported to Lerena after returning from Kydan. She knows him.’
‘Werin Reed?’ Mycom licked his lips. ‘Yes. That’s a possibility.’ He swallowed, looked timidly at Rodin. ‘Do you think her majesty would be upset if I took a firegon with me? Just in case, I mean.’
‘Yes, very upset. Don’t.’ He tried to make the warning with a stern voice, but he was still feeling so relieved to have a chance to escape Omeralt he could not do it.
‘Well, congratulations are in order,’ Mycom said unconvincingly, and offered his hand.
Rodin took it and offered in consolation, ‘She will not harm you, Chancellor. You are her last advisor now. She cannot do without you.’
As he left the chancellery he realised he still had the sheaf of papers in his jacket that he had meant to give Lerena. For a moment a shadow fell across him when he thought he would have to go back into the aviary to give them to her. But, no, he told himself, I will leave them for Mycom to pass on for me.
‘He’s a good chap,’ the prince thought out loud. ‘I’m surprised I did not like him sooner.’
His own alcazar, a modest structure on the other side of what used to be the official palace, was once a pleasant walk through well-maintained avenues and a small park. Now rubbish skittered across the streets and gutters with every gust of wind, and the park had become overgrown and weedy. When he turned the last corner to his home he saw Royal Guards there, lining up his few remaining Axkevlerens and his household servants.
‘What is going on?’ he demanded of the ensign in charge of the guards. His people looked at him with relief.
‘Empress Lerena’s orders, your Highness. Apparently you’re on the way to Somah to lead the fleet against the rebel New Landers. Her majesty says you won’t need any of these anymore.’ The ensign was as pale and frightened as his charges, a look everyone acquired after working around the aviary. ‘I’m taking them to the holding pens.’
The ensign saluted and marched off with his detachment and all who was left of Rodin’s followers. They cried to him piteously, but he could only watch them go, helpless to stop it.
He entered his home. There was no sound at all inside. He pulled the papers from inside his jacket and dumped them on the floor, including the short note listing the names of the Kevlerens who had been staying at Paimer’s estate in the country. One of his spies had told him that they were all gone; indeed, the whole estate was deserted. He assumed Lerena had them somewhere, waiting their turn to be sacrificed.
*
‘I am sure it is nothing to worry about,’ Yunara said.
‘There is a hole there,’ Lerena said. ‘It is darker than night. I can see nothing there.’
‘There are other, more important things to concern you.’
Lerena frowned. ‘Yes. The invasion.’
‘It’s a clever move sending Rodin.’
‘He will be my key. Once he is in Kydan I will be able to destroy the city once and for all.’
‘Poor Rodin,’ Yunara said. ‘But I never trusted him, you know.’
‘I love him,’ Lerena said, almost cooing. ‘I love him body and soul. He is the last of us, you know.’
Yunara smiled, then pouted. ‘No. There is Paimer.’
‘Oh, Paimer is nothing. I made him lord protector because I know how deficient he feels. Especially around us.’
‘That’s true.’
Lerena turned in a circle. She heard the wire door open and the next sacrifice clatter down the stairs, clank, clank on the metal steps, then click, click when the stairs turned to wood. She tilted her head in the direction of the sound. ‘Male,’ she said. ‘Quite young. Maybe fourteen. Healthy.’ Then she tilted her head the other way, towards the north and east. ‘Not just a hole. There is no sound at all coming from there. It as if nothing alive were left for me to hear.’
‘It is nothing,’ Yunara reassured her. ‘Me, I’m worried about Paimer, all alone way down in cold Beferen.’
Lerena giggled. ‘Don’t worry about Uncle Paimer. He has his wig to keep his poor bald head warm at night.’ She tapped one of her claws – click, click – against the stone bench.
22
Chierma Axkevleren finished writing the letter to the lord protector. It had taken him many days because he did not want Englay finding out about it, which meant not working on it for more than a few moments at a time. He then treated it like any other correspondence to the duke, put it with other papers and reports he was sending to Beferen, and arranged for a messenger to leave with the package right away.
When the letter was gone, Chierma realised he was committed. Up to that point he could have drawn back, changed his mind, found some other way to do what he believed had to be done. But as soon as Paimer read it, Idalgo would know, and if Idalgo knew, Chierma was sure Englay would know at the same time. After all, if he was right they were essentially the same thing, or rather manifestations of the same presence. When he had finally put all the pieces together, finally understood that the Sefid must be something more than a placid pool of magic for the exclusive use of the Kevlerens, something itself alive and sentient, his horror was almost overcome by his wonder, by the sheer marvel of it. The only thing he could compare it to would be like discovering the oceans could think or the earth itself speak. Yet no conclusion other than that the Sefid was both living and conscious could explain all the things he had seen with his own eyes, all the mystery and all the slaughter and all the terrible magnificence that the Sefid had brought to the world through the channel of the Kevlerens.
One thing that still surprised Chierma was how quickly it had all happened, and how unexpected it had all been. Who could ever have guessed that the Sefid was not simply a source of magic, but something greater and more horrifying, something that wanted to use this world as much as the Kevlerens had wanted to use the Sefid? All it had needed was a Wielder with the ability, the need, the malevolence and the opportunity. All the Sefid had needed was Empress Lerena Kevleren. And sacrifices on a scale never seen before. All the Beloveds except himself. Almost all the Kevlerens. And now, if reports filtering through from north of the old border were true, the entire population of the empire was being plundered. Thousands of innocent people were being sent to Omeralt to be butchered by the cruellest and most insane of the Kevlerens.
The letter would take three days to reach Beferen, perhaps four if the weather was foul. In two days’ time, then, I will act, Chierma thought.
No, he told himself. Now. Before your heart fails you.
*
At what point Duke Paimer Kevleren of Hamilay felt more like the Lord Protector Paimer Kevleren of Rivald was hard for him to pin down. He thought it might have been when he saw Queen Sarra’s house in the country, but then to make the decision to move his entire estate to Rivald suggested he was subconsciously aware of the shift sometime before. Could it have been when he first heard the mourning song three years before, just after the massacre of Beferen? Did something touch him then, something that moved his loyalty away from his family, away from Omeralt, to this strange dark land with its bitter winters and ocean storms? Certainly now, in summer, the city of Beferen seemed not so grim anymore. Partly because of all the parks that had been planted, and the bright paintwork he had insisted on for public buildings, but also because it was no longer burdened by the Kevlerens.
Paimer realised the thought was treasonous as soon as it entered his head, doubly so since he himself was a Kevleren; but without such a dynasty, and without its attendant Axkevlerens and ever-present threat of sacrifice, it was
as if a permanent cloud had lifted from the land and the people who lived on it.
Too, the longer he lived in Beferen the more he understood its seasons and moods. It might not ever enjoy the wonderful clear light of Omeralt, but the sea mist and the rain made the landscape softer and less intimidating. The geography in Rivald was on a human scale, while Hamilay, with its huge mountain ranges and endless farmlands and plains made any human feel insignificant.
Until recently, Paimer had played with the idea of throwing away his last name, of being just Paimer, or perhaps Paimer of Beferen. Anything but Paimer Kevleren. It was a source of constant surprise that his family tree, once so prosperous and proud, had been reduced to a mere bud with his despicable niece squatting on top. Yet when he had listened to his cousins’ stories of the goings on in Omeralt he understood he could not dismiss his heritage too easily. Whether he liked it or not, he was a Kevleren, and perhaps the only person in the world who could influence the empress any more. Or get close enough to her imperial presence to do more than just influence her.
‘How many more?’ Paimer asked.
Montranto, who had just returned to his desk after visiting a work crew rebuilding Beferen’s walls, said, ‘Your Grace?’
‘You said we had ten thousand under uniform.’
‘Yes.’ Montranto glanced at Avenel and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Avenel shrugged.
‘How many more could we raise?’
‘Your Grace, if you could tell me what they were for I could give an estimate. And . . . and . . . it would depend on the treasury, isn’t that right, Secretary Kendy?’
Avenel rolled his eyes, but smiled obligingly when Paimer turned towards him. ‘We have an operating surplus, but we agreed it was to be set aside in case of an emergency, such as buying grain from Hamilay or the New Land after a bad harvest, or rebuilding homes after a fire.’ Paimer was staring at him. ‘Or, indeed, for extra soldiers.’
‘Lord Protector, if you could confide in us we might be able to advise you on this,’ Montranto said.
