The Empress and the Acolyte

by Jane Fletcher

  Tevi broke free of Jemeryl’s arms and twisted up onto her knees. Gripping the material around Jemeryl’s waist, she peeled the clothing down. In the flickering light, the triangle of auburn curls at the top of Jemeryl’s legs seemed to dance as if they also were flames. The soft glow accentuated the flush on her skin.

  Jemeryl plucked at the cloth of Tevi’s shirt sleeve. “You too.”

  Tevi obeyed clumsily. She felt drunk, swimming through the liquid weight of her desire. Her actions were slow and heavy, but so essential and inexorable. Her conscious will had gone, and she was there only as observer.

  Soon they were both stripped of all clothing. Tevi let her gaze travel the length of her lover’s body, drinking in each detail. The potion was coursing through Tevi, driving her beyond the bounds of mere lust. The desperate need would have been more than she could have borne, were it not that now release was so close. Already, Tevi felt her climax start to build just from the act of looking. When Jemeryl touched her, she would explode.

  Magic lay outside Tevi’s knowledge, yet it would coil through every fragment of her life, and this had been inevitable since the day that she and Jemeryl became lovers. Plots and potions were symbolic of all the things from Jemeryl’s world that Tevi would be powerless to withstand. As long as she was with Jemeryl, the direction her life took would be subject to events that she could not comprehend and could have no control over. She would be like a rider clinging helplessly to the back of a wild horse.

  How to accept what she could not understand? Her only answer was easy. Tevi raised her head so her eyes locked with Jemeryl’s. For a moment, she paused while the rest of the world ceased to exist. “I love you.”

  *

  The sound of shifting logs woke Jemeryl from a light doze. She raised herself on one elbow. She and Tevi still lay naked on the rugs by the hearth, but now the fire had burnt down and the air in the room was chill. Her shoulder had gone numb.

  The temperature was something she could rectify by magic, but not the hardness of the floor. They should move to their bed—especially since there would be more than enough nights spent sleeping on the ground before they reached Lyremouth.

  Sight of the moon through the window caught Jemeryl’s attention. The crescent floated in the black sky, just off the first quarter. With luck, they would be over the Barroden Mountains and back in the Protectorate before the new moon. Her eyes moved on to the woman lying beside her.

  Tevi’s face was soft and flushed in sleep. Jemeryl felt her stomach flip. A smile crossed her face. After four years together, Tevi could still make her feel like an adolescent in the grip of her first crush.

  Jemeryl’s smile faded. A nagging fear danced around at the back of her mind. She did not want Tevi to go on the troll hunt, but what could she do? Life in Tirakhalod had been a constant bout of humiliation for the ungifted warrior, and coming here had been solely at Jemeryl’s wish. She was the one who had wanted to study magic with the aging Empress, and Tevi had put up with it for her sake. The least she could do was accept Tevi’s right to make her own decisions.

  Her gaze fell on the rune sword. Jemeryl also understood Tevi’s sense of gratitude. The sword’s value was far more than just monetary. With it in her hand, Tevi would get a fraction of a second more warning of anything that might kill her. It increased the chances of Tevi returning alive and unharmed, not just now, but for as long as she had the sword. Thinking about it, Jemeryl felt pretty well disposed towards Ranenok herself, or would if it were not for the trolls.

  And something about the coming sortie worried her. Of course, no battle was without risk, but surely Ranenok would dispatch enough troops to deal with the trolls easily. For a moment, Jemeryl toyed with the idea of trying to change Tevi’s mind. She could not demand, but she could beg, grovel, even cry. Jemeryl dismissed the thought contemptuously. It fell far short of what she considered an adult standard of behaviour.

  She dropped a soft kiss on Tevi’s lips and shook her shoulder. “Come on, Tevi. We can’t stay here all night.”

  Tevi’s eyes batted open. Her arm snaked around Jemeryl’s waist for a quick hug before she wordlessly got to her feet and staggered towards their bedroom.

  Chapter Eight—The Council Meeting

  The moon was slowly sinking and stars shone in the clear night sky. Jemeryl walked across the central courtyard of the keep towards the door of the council chamber. Just before she reached it, a voice hailed her.

  “Jemeryl. If you have a moment. I have a message for you.”

  Jemeryl stopped and waited until Ranenok joined her. “Yes? What is it?”

  “It’s from Captain Tevirik. She wanted you to know that the battle with the trolls is over. It finished a short while ago. The message arrived just as I was leaving my quarters.”

  “Thank you.” Jemeryl gave a tight smile. On one level she was relieved to know that Tevi was safe, but the message meant that the fighting had taken longer than had been expected. Tevi would not be joining her at the guard post until midday tomorrow at the earliest. Yet nothing could be done about it, and another day’s delay in leaving would not matter—probably.

  Ranenok gave a small nod of acknowledgement and passed through the doorway to the council chamber, ready for the evening session. The other acolytes filed in after him. Jemeryl turned right and climbed the staircase to the balcony door. Apart from Ranenok, nobody had paid her the slightest attention. With luck, nobody would notice when she was not there on the following days.

  At the top of the stairs Jemeryl paused and looked across the gravel courtyard. A nagging sense of foreboding teased at the edges of her mind, unsettling her stomach. But what was there to worry about? The moon cast a blue light over the statues in the middle. A few thralls were visible. Two stood at either side of the archway leading to the inner bailey. Others guarded the various doors and stairways opening onto the courtyard, symbols of Bykoda’s control. What could threaten her here?

  Jemeryl’s eyes fixed on the moon, hanging high in a clear sky directly in front of her. It was at first quarter—something of a relief in her current state of agitation. Bykoda’s vision of her murder had the moon at the third quarter. But even if Bykoda, in her death throes, had been mistaken about the phase, it would not matter. With its current position, the moon would not be visible through any of the council chamber windows. They were all on the outer wall of the keep, overlooking the garden.

  Jemeryl took another few breaths of the crisp night air to quiet her nerves and then opened the door behind her.

  Mage lights illuminated the floor of the room below, although the balcony was in darkness. Everyone was in place. Bykoda was waiting on her silver throne, her eyes fixed on the floor by her feet. Her aging body looked birdlike, yet imposing—an imperial eagle. Her expression was autocratic and uncompromising. The acolytes had also taken their seats, ready to begin the session. Jemeryl looked down on them sitting directly under her.

  One of them was going to kill Bykoda, and Jemeryl did not have the first idea who, or how. Anid had a map partially unrolled on her lap and was sketching lines across it. Ranenok’s fingers were drumming on his knee. Twice Jemeryl caught him restrain a glance at the woman beside him, though for her part, Kharel was as motionless as one of the statues in the courtyard. Dunarth was scratching dirt out of the embossed pattern on her armrest with her fingernail. Yenneg sat indolently, with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle. Mavek was shifting around in his chair, transferring his weight from buttock to buttock, possibly evaluating his inflatable cushion.

  Jemeryl eased back on her chair. It was going to be another long session. Already that day, she’d had cause to be grateful for Mavek’s new cushions, a vast improvement on the previous stuff-straw type. Everybody had one, she noted, even Bykoda, although this might mean that the elderly woman would feel less inclination to cut short the reports than she might have otherwise.

  Jemeryl was tempted to quit the meeting early and go back to her room, but all he
r preparations were complete. She would not leave the castle until after the moon had set, which was not for another three hours. Spending the time pacing around her quarters would be even less entertaining than the council meeting. And if she ignored the reports and speeches, she could use the occasion for one last attempt to spot holes in Bykoda’s defences.

  Bykoda raised her head. “Anid. Can we have your report on troop numbers in the south?”

  *

  One hour later, the meeting had moved on to Yenneg’s report. The sound of the man’s voice set Jemeryl’s teeth on edge. After ten minutes, she had decided that she could not stay. Pacing her room would be far more entertaining. Even banging her head on a wall would be an improvement. She stood and took a step towards the door, but then stopped. The realisation hit her that once she left the balcony, she would never see Bykoda again. If, in the years to come, she returned to Tirakhalod, any of the acolytes might still be there, but not the Empress.

  They had spent so many hours together, and Jemeryl had gained so much. Despite the events of the previous evening, and the reaction to Yenneg’s plot, she could not deny a soft spot for the old woman. She was not blind to Bykoda’s faults. Jemeryl fully understood the reasons for Tevi’s dislike of the Empress. Yet still, Jemeryl had a sincere admiration for Bykoda, for her ability, intelligence, and determination. She wished there was some way she could say good-bye.

  Jemeryl moved to the centre of the balcony, hoping to catch Bykoda’s eye. However, the Empress’ attention was fixed on Yenneg.

  “By the end of the month, we will have horses and equipment ready to commence training three hundred new cavalry recruits. These will be sufficient to patrol the region west of Zetovna by late summer.”

  Judging by Bykoda’s expression, she thought something in Yenneg’s statement was highly questionable—the numbers, the timing, or the effectiveness. She was leaning forwards in her seat, elbows pressing down on the armrests of her throne, her chin resting on her interlaced fingers. Yenneg’s voice did not waver, and he carried on with his report on training.

  “After reallocating divisional resources, the garrisons at Tetezch, Khatonya, and Zrebona are now back at full strength.”

  The nature of Bykoda’s frown changed from scepticism to outright annoyance. She threw herself back in her chair, impatiently. Her eyebrows flicked. The momentary expression of surprise was gone in a flash, but then, a second later, her eyebrows rose again, higher this time and in unmistakeable shock. Her eyes opened wide. Her jaw dropped.

  At her vantage point in the gallery, Jemeryl felt her insides clench. She stepped forwards until her hands were brushing against the balcony railing. Bykoda raised her head slightly, and her eyes met Jemeryl’s for one last time, in disbelief and horror. None of the acolytes seemed yet to have noticed. Yenneg’s voice droned on.

  “Three dozen archers have been—”

  An eruption of white hot sparks shot up, cutting off Yenneg’s words and dazzling everyone. For an instant, the crystal shield in the centre of the room shimmered like sunlight on water. Simultaneous with this was a cry from Bykoda, short, sharp, and agonised, gurgling off to silence. As the afterimage of the sparks cleared from her vision, Jemeryl saw the Empress pitch forwards, crumpling to the floor. She did not wait to see more.

  Jemeryl leapt for the balcony exit. She wrenched the door open and hurtled down the stairs. Before she had reached the bottom she heard the crash of the crystal shield falling. The sound echoed around the courtyard from the open door behind her. The thralls outside the main door had collapsed as Bykoda’s hold on them failed. Jemeryl jumped over their bodies, through the door, and into the council chamber.

  Bykoda was lying on the floor, her head turned towards the windows. Five of the acolytes were still frozen in their chairs, but one had risen and now stood in the centre of the room. Mavek.

  Ripples of green flowed over his huge frame. Yellow light shone from his eyes. His bass voice boomed out. “For too long have you held this Empire in your grip. At last, I am ready to make my move. I have learnt all your secrets and have no further need for you. Your strength is outmatched. Your Empire is mine, and now you will die.”

  Mavek’s hand moved, swirling in the same pattern that Jemeryl had used the night before against Yenneg. The bolt of blue fire crashed down on the powerless Empress, engulfing her, and then all was still. The echoes were broken only by the hiss of static and cracking ice. Soon, this too faded away, leaving utter silence in the chamber.

  Jemeryl rushed forwards and dropped to her knees at Bykoda’s side. Blue fire burnt cold, not hot. Faint tendrils of condensation drifted away from Bykoda’s frozen body. Ice crystals glittered in her hair. Exploded veins made a tracery under her skin. A few feet away, the shards of the crystal shield lay scattered across the floor. Everything matched Bykoda’s vision, except for the moon.

  Mavek was still talking. The rhythm of his words suggested a prepared speech, but Jemeryl was not listening. Her gaze fixed on the windows. With the darkness outside, nothing was visible, except soft, smoky images in the glass. From her position on the floor, Jemeryl could see reflections of the ceiling, upper walls and balcony, including the spot where she had been standing, but certainly no trace of the moon.

  Then one window pane caught Jemeryl’s eye, where the reflection was clearer and firmer. With the dim light in the upper reaches of the chamber it was not so very conspicuous, but now that she had spotted it, the difference was unmistakeable.

  Trying to look as if she was making a futile attempt to listen for breath from the dead Empress, Jemeryl lowered her face to beside Bykoda’s, although careful not to touch the frozen skin for fear of frost burn. Through the reflection of the open balcony door, left by her own frantic departure, the back to front image of the first quarter moon hung sharp and clear in the anomalous window pane. Jemeryl sat back on her heels.

  Mavek still held the floor. He strutted back and forth across the chamber, chest thrown out and hands striking the air, as he declaimed in august tones about the justice of his cause in removing Bykoda, his strength and power, and the wisdom that all would show by submitting to his rule. The other five acolytes sat in stunned shock, listening to him.

  “Those of you who wish to serve me may keep their current rank. Those who do not can join Bykoda. This Empire is now mine, unless there is someone here who wishes to challenge me, now that you have seen the extent of my power.” The ex-blacksmith paced to the middle of the room. His eyes dared each one to answer. None did.

  After five seconds of silence, he turned around. “Jemeryl. There is one position of acolyte now vacant. Perhaps you would like to take it?” The tone of his words made it sound more like a threat than an offer.

  Jemeryl stood up slowly. Maybe rushing into the council chamber had not been the wisest move. She did not want to get drawn into any confrontation. Extricating herself from the situation was now her main priority, and the first thing was to stop Mavek before he offered any direct threats against her that he might feel obliged to back up with action. Offering a few implied threats of her own might not hurt.

  “Thank you. But I am already oath-bound to the Coven at Lyremouth and will be returning there soon.” Jemeryl forced her voice to stay firm, matching Mavek for confidence. “Relations between the Protectorate and the previous Empress were always cordial. I’m sure that you will want this to continue. And I will be happy to carry any communications from you back to Lyremouth with me. Perhaps you would arrange for your dispatches to be sent to my room. But I will take no more of you time now. I know you have much to discuss.” Jemeryl gave a gracious nod and turned to the door.

  It was a bluff on her part. The Protectorate was powerful, and doubtless the Coven would take the murder of one of its sorcerers very seriously. But the truth could so easily be concealed. If Mavek made good the threat to send her to join Bykoda, who was there to carry the true report back to Lyremouth? And no matter what happened, outright war between the two states woul
d not be an option. However, Jemeryl had the strong suspicion that Mavek was also bluffing, and to a far greater extent than herself.

  She heard him clear his throat. “Thank you. I will come to see you shortly.”

  Jemeryl reached the door, turned, gave a brief formal bow to the room in general, and then stepped out into the night, not daring to let her composure slip. She was still far from safe.

  The dead bodies of the thralls lay on ground. They had not survived the break from Bykoda. Jemeryl spared them one pitying glance. Tevi would say they were better off like that. The only sound was the crunch of her footsteps as she crossed the gravel courtyard, heading for the archway out.

  Once she emerged from the keep, the changes that had come over the castle were far more conspicuous. The plants in the garden were already withered and dead. No lights shone from the rooms in the towers, and outer bailies resounded with shouts and screams. Flames were rising in the direction of the forge. Mavek would have to move quickly to re-establish control if he was to have any hope of holding on to the Empire. With luck, it would tie him down long enough to give her the chance to escape from Tirakhalod, rendezvous with Tevi, and get safely across the northern plains.

  *

  Klara swooped low over the battlements of the outer bailey. Few even noticed her in the darkness. With the general chaos, one small bird was of little concern. She would probably not have received much greater attention even if it had been obvious that Jemeryl was looking out through the eyes of the magpie.

  The sorcerer was mind-riding her familiar. Transferring her senses to the bird was the quickest and safest way to scout out her escape route. It was an easy trick, although not without risk. While her mind was inhabiting the magpie, her own body was unconscious and vulnerable back in her quarters. However, she had a watch ward set on the door, which would give notice if anyone came visiting, and she should not be away for long.