Full Circle

by Christopher Nuttall

  She pushed the tent flap aside and stepped inside. General Vetch was standing beside the Emperor – a sign of great honour – while the rider was kneeling in front of him, his eyes staring firmly at the ground. Charity prostrated herself at once, hoping she wouldn’t be told to leave. The Emperor’s behaviour was increasingly unpredictable. There were times when he would gloat to her, if only because he needed to gloat to someone, and times when he treated her as little more than a slave. He’d even told her to go help the cooks once, when he’d been in a particularly foul mood.

  “Your Supremacy,” the rider said. “The bridges over the Lug have been destroyed.”

  Charity forced her face to remain impassive. The Emperor was not going to be pleased, particularly as General Vetch had warned him, several times, that delaying their advance would give the locals a chance to organise a defence. He’d even raised the spectre of the bridges being ruined before the army could force a crossing and occupy the city. The Emperor had dismissed his concerns, but now …

  And what will he do, Charity asked herself, when the General was right and he was wrong?

  She risked a glance at the Emperor. His face was as impassive as hers, one hand stroking his beard as he thought. General Vetch looked equally impassive; he’d been right, he knew he’d been right, but it was dangerous to be right when the Emperor was wrong. A single spell could blast him into ashes and he knew it. But the Emperor didn’t seem particularly angry.

  “I see,” the Emperor said, finally. “And the city itself?”

  “I am unsure, Your Supremacy,” the rider said. His voice was clearly nervous. The bearer of bad news might well be blamed, even though it made no sense. “The other two scouts in the city were cut off, after the bridges were destroyed. They were unable to obtain a boat across the river before I had to withdraw.”

  The Emperor said nothing for several moments. Charity looked down at the ground, hoping he wouldn’t lash out at his servants. Part of her wondered if she should hope he would. It would, perhaps, put an end to her misery. And yet, the thought of just giving up and ending her life was horrifying.

  “There are plans to deal with the situation,” he said, finally. “Speak to no one of this matter. You are dismissed.”

  The rider rose, bowed so deeply his nose almost touched the ground, then backed out of the tent as rapidly as he could. Charity didn’t blame him. The Emperor might easily have decided to kill the rider, if only to conceal his own failure. Who knew what would have happened if the army had pushed forward faster?

  “General,” the Emperor said. His voice was remarkably calm. “The four lead regiments are to reassemble, then advance forward to the Lug. I and my dragons will accompany them. The remaining regiments are to complete foraging, then follow the lead regiments as fast as possible.”

  The General hesitated. “Your Supremacy,” he said. “Moving the regiments across the Lug will be impossible without shipping. We could move westwards and attempt to secure a crossing higher up the river …”

  “Let me worry about that,” the Emperor said, cutting him off. He cast a timekeeping charm in the air, then nodded to himself. “I want the lead regiments on the banks of the Lug in five hours.”

  Charity risked another glance and saw the General wince. Five hours … the soldiers would be lucky if they made it, even if they left their packs behind and force-marched down the road. The dragons could be there in bare minutes, if necessary; indeed, she was surprised the Emperor hadn’t ordered the dragons to fly ahead of the army. Burning Falcone’s Nest to the ground wouldn’t take long at all.

  “Yes, Your Supremacy,” General Vetch said, finally. Charity didn’t really blame him, not when the Emperor was clearly already in a foul temper. The soldiers would just have to march as hard as they could. “I’ll see to it at once.”

  He bowed and left the tent. Charity remained, pressing her face into the ground. If the Emperor started to take it out on her … she could do nothing but take it. Instead, he started to mutter to himself, so quietly she couldn’t make out any of the words, as if he’d forgotten she was even there. It wasn’t until he stood up and walked into her that he snapped out of his trance and looked down at her.

  “Rise,” he ordered.

  Charity sat upright, carefully keeping her eyes lowered. She’d seen a slave battered to death for daring to make eye contact with his master. The Emperor might have more use for her than fetching and carrying, but she suspected he didn’t really care if she lived or died. She had nothing to offer him any longer, not even influence. Her slavery ensured that her stewardship of House Conidian was gone.

  Not that any of the Great Houses matter any longer, she thought, morbidly. The Emperor has dragons!

  “Tell me,” the Emperor said. “What do you make of it?”

  “Falcone’s Nest knows you’re coming,” Charity said, shortly. If only she wasn’t compelled to tell him the truth! “They took down the bridges to make it harder for you to get at them.”

  “But they’re in for a surprise,” the Emperor said.

  Charity nodded slowly, following his logic. “They don’t know about the dragons.”

  But how could they not know about the dragons? It had been three days since Knawel Haldane had been attacked and occupied, three days when messengers could have ridden on horseback in all directions or sorcerers transmitted messages to their friends, allies and contacts. By now, the entire world could have heard of the dragons … unless, of course, they didn’t believe it. And why would they? Everyone knew the last dragons had been wiped out centuries ago.

  “That’s not all,” the Emperor said. He smiled, coldly. “You are to assemble a cartload of charged crystals, then ensure they accompany the lead regiments and myself. I have a plan to deal with the rebellious city.”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.

  “Go,” the Emperor ordered.

  He was already muttering to himself again as Charity rose and stepped out of the tent, into the bright sunlight. The lead regiments were forming up, the soldiers grumbling quietly as General Vetch and his subordinates bullied them into formation. Charity felt a moment of pity for Falcone’s Nest – the lead regiments were encouraged to commit as many atrocities as possible – and then hurried past them. No one would be so foolish as to touch her – she belonged to the Emperor – but she could feel their eyes lingering on her as she walked over to the sorcerers. An Inquisitor, standing outside the handful of tents, eyed her sharply. There was something damned and suffering in his eyes.

  Charity shivered. She’d been forced to give her oath to the Emperor, but the Inquisitors had sworn loyalty to the Empire and the Golden Throne. None of them had really expected a genuine heir to arrive in the Golden City and claim their allegiance, let alone that he’d make a mockery of their true purpose. The Inquisitors had never been liked, but now they were actively feared. They’d become Dark Wizards in their own right.

  “I need to speak to Roth,” she said, curtly. There was no point in trying to commiserate with him, or anyone else. They were both slaves and nothing either of them could do would change it. “Where is he?”

  The Inquisitor looked at her for a long moment. “In the North Tent,” he said, finally. His voice was flat, utterly atonal. It was the voice of a man who had given up, yet was forced to live. “He’s with two of the captives.”

  Charity thanked him, then walked to the North Tent and braced herself before stepping through the hatch. Roth – the leader of the red-robed magicians – was a monster, a twisted sadist who enjoyed making people scream. Now, a young man lay on the table, his chest torn open to reveal his beating heart, while a young woman stood behind him, her eyelids cut away to force her to watch. Roth himself was poking inside the man with his wand, jabbing away at parts of his body just to see what happened. Charity had to swallow hard to keep from being sick. The Emperor had surrounded himself with monsters, some of them very inhuman, but Roth was the worst of the lot. Even the soldiers were k
inder.

  “My Lady Charity,” Roth said. His face was covered in blood. “What can I do for your master.”

  “He wishes you to prepare a cartload of charged crystals,” Charity said. She hadn’t talked to Roth very often, but he’d missed no opportunity to rub her slavery in. The man had even had the nerve to ask the Emperor if he could have Charity, when he tired of her. “They’re going to Falcone’s Nest.”

  “Oh,” Roth said. He wasn’t fool enough to defy an order. The Emperor could kill him on the spot – or throw him to his pets. “I’d better deal with it then, hadn’t I?”

  He snapped his fingers. The young man gasped, then died; the young woman crumpled to the ground, her eyes already dead. Charity forced herself to keep her face impassive, although she suspected Roth had no trouble reading her disgust and horror in her eyes. The magician called for a pair of slaves, told them to clear up the mess and beckoned Charity to follow him as he walked out of the tent and into the next. This one was surrounded by a trio of magicians who cast a dozen detection spells before allowing Roth and Charity to enter.

  She sucked in her breath as she saw the crystals. They were glowing with brilliant white light, each one storing the life energy and magic of countless magicians. Roth admired them for a long moment, then ordered a set of servants to start carrying crystals out to one of the carts. They obeyed, even though they weren’t spellbound slaves. Charity had been told, in no uncertain terms, not to use magic anywhere near the crystals. The results would be disastrous.

  And if it hadn’t been an order, she thought bitterly, I might have been able to defy it.

  The Emperor was standing there impatiently when the cart was finally moved over to where his personal guard was waiting, but he didn’t seem inclined to berate her for it. Instead, he ordered her to sit beside him on a dragon and cling onto him as the beast rose through the air and headed south, towards Falcone’s Nest. The land lay spread out below them as they flew, the blue ocean in the distance drawing her eye like a magnet. Johan had talked about becoming a sailor, once upon a time. How much misery might have been spared if her father had simply let him go?

  We could have dealt with the blood issue, she told herself. Jamal would remain Prime Heir, the rest of us would be married off and no one would ever know our parents had given birth to a Powerless.

  She pushed the thought aside as the dragon, surrounded by a flock of other dragons, dropped down towards the Lug. From high overhead, the river looked tranquil, but she’d overheard enough conversations between General Vetch and his staff to know it was regarded as unpleasantly treacherous. The remains of the bridges bore mute testament to the skill of the builders … and whatever force had battered them down. It looked, very much, as though the wooden and iron structures had melted to nothingness.

  “The Watchtower was destroyed,” the Emperor said, as he steered the dragon down towards a hill. “I wonder if the same method was used to destroy the bridge.”

  Charity had no idea. The remaining Inquisitors had been unable to determine how their citadel had been destroyed, even though it had been the most heavily protected building in the city. She’d even heard that forbidden protective spells had been worked into its defences, ones that were an instant death sentence if used elsewhere. But now … the Watchtower was nothing more than a ruin, its occupants dead and its records destroyed. She couldn’t help thinking of the Empire. Perhaps the Watchtower’s ruin was merely a prelude to the death of the Empire itself.

  The Emperor climbed off the dragon as soon as it landed, his guards fanning out around him as he peered towards Falcone’s Nest. Charity stayed a step behind him, studying the distant city. Hundreds of people were gathered on the far side, staring at them. They had to have seen the dragons as they swooped over the bridges, then landed. And now … why hadn’t the Emperor launched an attack?

  It was just over five hours later when the lead regiments – and the cart – arrived, led by General Vetch. Charity was unsurprised to see that he’d ridden a horse, rather than walking beside his men. The General had probably thought he needed to be alert when he arrived. His men took a short rest, drinking water and eating cram from their packs, as the Emperor started issuing orders to his magicians. Charity watched, feeling a crawling sense of imminent doom pulsating through her mind, as the crystals were carefully embedded in the ground. She’d seen rituals before, thanks to the Emperor, and the least of them had been hellish.

  “It is my honour to serve my Emperor,” one of the red-robed magicians said, as he took his place at the centre of the crystals. “I praise your glory and I ask merely for your blessing.”

  “You have it,” the Emperor said.

  He waved the watching magicians – and Charity – back as the ritual began. Magic – the collected magic of dozens of other magicians – built up rapidly, making her hair want to stand on end. The magician who’d started the ritual was chanting loudly, bellowing out words in a guttural language she didn’t recognise. White light flared up from the crystals, then darted out over the water. The river started to bubble as the power built up …

  … And then the ground shook, violently.

  Charity stared in disbelief as, piece by piece, a giant causeway rose up from beneath the waves. It was huge, easily twice the size of the roads that bound the Empire together, water flowing off into the Lug as the causeway grew larger. And then the white light faded, snapping out of existence to reveal burnt-out crystals and a dead sorcerer. Channelling so much magic had killed him.

  “Advance,” the Emperor ordered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The dragons took off, breathing fire as they flew across the river and swooped down on the fleeing crowd. Flames flashed through the streets, incinerating hundreds of civilians as arrows flashed up to challenge the dragons. They ignored them until a handful started exploding, but the charms and hexes weren’t enough to do more than tickle the dragons as they tore through the city. Charity could only close her eyes and say a silent prayer to the gods as the dragons wiped out the defences, piece by piece.

  “Watch,” the Emperor ordered.

  Charity’s eyes snapped open, just in time to see the lead regiments reach the end of the causeway and surge into the city. Resistance, if any had been planned, was utterly broken; the regiments secured the shoreline, then advanced through the burning streets, screaming a demand for surrender. The dragons rose higher, their eyes searching for more targets, as the civilians started to give up. Charity shivered as the Emperor started to walk forward, stepping over the causeway as calmly as if he were walking into his living room. She couldn’t help noticing that the water behind the causeway was already starting to rise.

  It’ll flood, she thought. She’d never seen magic worked on so great a scale – there were legends of such feats, but they all dated back to the gods – and she had no idea how long the causeway would actually last. It felt solid under her feet, but it was hard to deny the sheer pressure of thousands of tons of water. And when it floods, it’ll break.

  “Put units at each of the gates, then hold,” the Emperor ordered, as he reached the far side and halted. “Don’t send troops into the rest of the city until they surrender.”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy,” General Vetch said.

  “And organise a bucket brigade,” the Emperor added. “I want the fires doused as swiftly as possible.”

  Charity watched, absently, as half of the soldiers turned their attentions to putting out the fires, while the remainder waited for the enemy to either attack or surrender. The locals didn’t seem prepared to do anything, but wait for the Emperor to make the first move. It struck her, suddenly, that they might already have wiped out whoever was in charge of the city, ensuring that no one could surrender. What would the Emperor do if there was no way to force the city to submit without destroying it?

  General Vetch turned as a soldier ran up to him, then looked back at the Emperor. “There’s some resistance in the merchant quarter,” he reported. “A
set of our lads went in there and didn’t come out again.”

  “The dragons will burn it down,” the Emperor said, coldly. “Or knock it down, which might save more of the city.”

  An hour passed slowly – very slowly – before a handful of men came into view, carrying a large white flag. The Emperor nodded to his men, who searched them thoroughly and removed their weapons before carting them forward and throwing them to the ground in front of the Emperor. They looked like merchants, Charity decided; their clothes had once been valuable, before they’d been brutally torn and covered in mud. And they’d carried short swords. They had to be reasonably prosperous men.

  “Mercy,” the leader said, grovelling in the mud. “I beg of you.”

  The Emperor looked down at him for a long moment. “Why did you destroy the bridges?”

  There was a long pause. “We had no choice,” the man pleaded, finally. “We …”

  “I am the Emperor,” the Emperor said, cutting him off. “This city is now under my direct control. As payment for your sins against me, you will assemble makeshift bridges as quickly as possible so we can continue to move troops across the Lug. In addition, every magician within the city is to report to my camp and you, personally, will hand over your families as hostages for good behaviour. If these terms are refused, your city will be treated as hostile and sacked.”

  Charity watched the merchant grovel, feeling disgust mixed with pity. The city couldn’t have stopped the army, even before the Emperor had revealed his secret weapon. There was no choice but surrender. And yet, part of her wished the city had been able to mount a better fight. It might have killed the Emperor and her.