Jean—she was a different matter. Lord, but he didn’t know where she’d come from. She was quiet where her sister was loud, and always seeking the insult that she believed lay buried at the heart of any compliment. A rage burned inside her, a kind of madness, but he had no idea what its source might be. Jean had simply been born angry.
Trask blamed her mother.
“I’m fine,” he answered. “Come out here where I can see you.”
The two girls emerged from the shadows and stood watching their father uncertainly. Trask patted either side of the bench beside him.
“Sit down for a moment. Sit down with your dad.”
They did as he asked, exchanging glances as they did so. Their father didn’t even like them to sit in the same room as him as he watched his old movies—Westerns, mostly, or gangster films. He claimed that they put him off because he knew they didn’t appreciate them. The only time they sat together on a regular basis was at Resistance cell meetings.
And now Trask was putting his arms around their shoulders, pulling them to him. He kissed each of them softly on the head—Nessa first, then Jean. Something wet dripped onto Nessa’s face. It was a teardrop. Their father was crying.
“What is it, Dad?” Nessa asked.
“The end of things,” he replied, and would say no more.
CHAPTER 39
Danis was surprised to receive the summons to the Archmage Syrene’s presence in her chambers at Edinburgh Castle—surprised, but also resigned to whatever had been decided for him. He was tired of being a virtual prisoner in the castle, allowed to retain his rank but none of his power, and entirely cut off from Lord Andrus, who had been both his governor and his friend. Oh, Lord Andrus might still be a Military governor in name, but the real force behind the throne was Syrene, and Syrene’s loyalties lay with the Diplomatic Corps. No, that wasn’t entirely true: Syrene’s loyalties, Danis knew, were to herself first, the Sisterhood second, and the Corps third. Everything else came fourth, although Danis felt it was unlikely that there was anything else, as far as Syrene was concerned, so it was a moot point.
Sickened, he had watched Andrus and Syrene walking arm in arm through the grounds like the lovers they undoubtedly were, even though they retained separate quarters. It didn’t take her long to forget her late husband, Gradus, thought Danis, yet she tricked my daughter into her damned Sisterhood out of revenge for his death, leaving my wife bitter with loss and grief, and me as a ghost haunting the castle walls. Then before they could even start sifting through the ruins of Dundearg for Gradus’s ashes, she was already warming the governor’s bed.
Andrus was no longer the Illyri that Danis had once known and loved. He still spoke like Andrus and laughed like Andrus—in fact he laughed rather too much nowadays, like a giddy child—but there was a vacancy to his eyes. It was like peering through the windows of a room in which most of the lights had been extinguished. He always greeted Danis with great warmth if they happened to pass in a hallway, but it was a politician’s greeting, and Danis was not entirely sure that Andrus really remembered who he was. In fact, Danis was not certain if Andrus any longer truly recalled who Andrus was. Danis was convinced that Andrus was either drugged or under some more sinister form of influence from Syrene, a suspicion confirmed for him by Andrus’s refusal to be examined by anyone but Dr. Hemet, the head of the Securitat’s Scientific Development Division.
So Danis wandered the hallways and courtyards of Edinburgh Castle, his freedom of movement restricted for his “safety,” his head low, his body slumped, mourning the loss of his only daughter, Ani, to the bowels of the Marque. The whispered conversations that followed after him indicated that he had become estranged from his wife, Fian, and they now occupied separate bedrooms. He was, to all intents and purposes, a broken figure, a cracked relic of an old order. It was no longer even clear why Andrus chose to keep him in Edinburgh. Even senior Diplomats on Earth, who had long disliked Danis, thought that he should be permitted to return to Illyr and live out his last days on the homeworld. They felt only pity for him now, and pity is a cheap emotion, easily spent. Poor Danis, they said. How could it ever have been that we feared an old scarecrow such as he?
But wiser heads had a different theory. It was Syrene’s doing, they said. Although she had deprived Danis of a daughter, and caused Andrus to make him little more than a comfortable prisoner in an ancient castle, she did not trust the veteran soldier and was well aware of his influence among the Military. A human proverb came to mind: keep your friends close but your enemies closer still.
Meanwhile Danis shuffled along, seemingly heedless of it all, his gaze perhaps fixed on another place, another time, or indeed no place or time at all but only the welcome nothingness that death at last would bring.
Now the summons had come. What would it be? Danis mused as he trudged slowly toward Syrene’s chambers. Exile to some godforsaken world at the edge of a remote wormhole, there to succumb to an alien disease for which no cure existed because no one had any idea of the existence of the disease itself? They could put his organs in a jar after he died, and examine slivers of them to determine the cause of his death, find an antidote, and add another alien virus to their growing list. Some laboratory assistant from the Scientific Development Division would joke that old Danis had finally done something useful in the end: he had died.
Or they could simply send him to one of the hellholes on Earth; Nigeria, perhaps, now overrun by radical Muslims who preached that the Illyri were created by the devil, not Allah, and it was the duty of all men of good faith to slaughter them at any and every opportunity. Or maybe Texas and New Mexico, where Christian preachers had come to the same conclusion, and were only a short step away from mounting full militia assaults on Illyri bases. Or one of the breakaway Russian republics, where religion, nationalism, and a hatred for both the alien invaders and the Russian president, who had allied himself to the Illyri in the hope of increasing his own power, had resulted in an all-out war that was reducing entire cities to rubble.
The situation on Earth had deteriorated catastrophically in a matter of months, and the Corps and the tamed Military were simply sitting by and watching it all happen. It was almost as though they wanted to see the planet tear itself apart, even if it meant the loss of Illyri lives along the way. Not that any senior Corps officials were at risk: most of them had already left. Only the Securitats remained, conducting their own dark campaign of secret and not-so-secret slaughter.
Danis was so lost in his thoughts that he found himself at Syrene’s door before he even realized it. Two of her handmaidens guarded the entrance to her chambers—nasty little things, glowing in the reflected power of their mistress. One in particular, Cocile, gave Danis the creeps. She had a way of looking at him like he was a bug that had bitten her foot. On either side of the Novices stood two guards: Securitats, not Military. The old castle guard had been disbanded once Peris left, to be replaced by these killers of children. None of them spoke to him, or even acknowledged his presence. The door was simply opened by Cocile, and Danis stepped into the Archmage’s chambers.
They were dark, as always. Syrene kept the windows covered, the drapes drawn. Danis knew that she disliked Edinburgh, and did not wish to look upon it. She was standing at a table on which sat a bottle of cremos and two glasses. Her hands were clasped just below her stomach. She wore a vibrant red gown, and her head was bare.
“Thank you for coming, Danis,” she said.
“I was ordered to come, not requested,” he replied. He had long ago given up any but the barest pretense of civility toward Syrene.
“Nevertheless. May I offer you a drink?”
“Is it poisoned?”
She ignored him. He was so unimportant to her that she couldn’t even pay him the compliment of mild irritation. His attempts to annoy Syrene seemed only to amuse her, which made him redouble his efforts.
Syrene poured
herself a glass of the liquor and drank from it. She frowned. Her mouth opened. A small harsh rattle emerged from her throat.
And for an instant, Danis had hope.
Then Syrene smiled.
“It’s a little young, that’s all,” she said. “It should have been put down for a few years longer. Why, did you think someone might have done you the favor of killing me?”
Danis did not answer. Insubordination was one thing, treason entirely another.
Syrene poured him a glass and handed it to him. He accepted. Too young or not, he wasn’t about to turn down cremos from the Archmage’s private cellar. She raised her glass in a toast, but Danis didn’t join her in it. He just emptied half of his measure in one swallow. It wasn’t harsh at all. Danis had drunk rotgut distilled by soldiers in fuel vats, so he knew harsh liquor when he tried it.
“What are we celebrating?” he asked.
“It is a dual celebration,” Syrene replied. “One professional, one personal. We’ll come to those in a moment. First, I have a small gift for you.”
She reached into the folds of her robes and produced a silver disk.
“A report on the progress of your daughter,” she said. “There are some images too. As you will see, she is doing well, and making friends. I thought you and your wife would like to have this.”
She handed the disk to Danis. After only the slightest hesitation, he accepted it. His daughter had been a source of frustration to him for her entire life, yet now he missed her more than he could ever have imagined. Althea had shared with him what she knew of Ani, and had reassured him that all was well with her, but it was no substitute for having her near.
“Thank you,” he said, and found that he meant the words.
“It is nothing, merely a mark of my esteem. Now, let us proceed to celebrations. The first has to do with you. I know that you have felt excluded by the recent turn of events. I am sorry for that, and Lord Andrus even more so. With that in mind, you are to be returned to active duty.”
“Really?” he said.
“I thought you would be more pleased.”
“Where are you sending me: Bogotá, Afghanistan, Chechnya?”
Syrene shook her head.
“You are not being sent anywhere. You are staying here. You are to be appointed acting governor of the United Kingdom and Ireland, with additional responsibility for all of Europe. You will be answerable to Junior Consul Steyr, who now has overall command of the continent, and of course to Marshal Vena and her Securitats, but neither will interfere as long as you maintain control. Congratulations, Governor.”
Danis almost dropped his glass in shock. Acting governor? Steyr was bright but inexperienced, and not the worst of the Corps officials on Earth by any means. Vena, though, was a monster, and her workhorse Cynna was pure evil. The only consolation was that Vena was now based at the old Nazi fortress of Akershus in Oslo, Norway—at least when she wasn’t scouring the Highlands trying to track down the Resistance and the Mech, Meia.
“If I am to be acting governor, what is to happen to Lord Andrus?” he asked.
“Lord Andrus will soon be returning to Illyr, with me. Which brings us to the second cause for celebration.”
She smiled.
“Dearest?” she called.
The door to her chambers opened, and Andrus entered. He shook Danis’s hand with his usual false good cheer, and went to stand by Syrene’s side. The Nairene gave him her hand and Andrus pressed it to his lips, then they smiled at each other.
“Lord Andrus and I are to be married,” said Syrene.
This time, Danis did drop his glass.
CHAPTER 40
Danis returned to his rooms. His wife was not present. He did not know where she was. Since Althea had returned, Fian had taken to walking on the streets surrounding the Royal Mile with her, and the pair of them were as thick as thieves, reminding him, not without a twinge in his heart, of his daughter and her best friend, Syl. He had tried to convince them not to wander, but his wife would not listen, and Althea brushed his worries aside with a smile and nothing more. When the guards at the gate attempted to stop Fian from leaving, at his request, she shouted and screamed and made a scene so dreadful that in the end, it was easier just to let her go with Althea despite the possible risk of kidnapping, attack, or even assassination. It was cold consolation that such risks were lessened now that the Securitats prowled Edinburgh in numbers.
Their relationship felt broken, or if not broken then certainly stretched to breaking point. Perhaps the report about Ani might help. Danis badly wanted to view it immediately, to see his daughter’s face, but he decided to wait. He and Fian would watch it together.
Now that he was back in his own space, he tried to come to terms with what he had heard in Syrene’s quarters. A governorship with immediate effect, for Syrene and Andrus planned to leave for Illyr the next morning.
And marriage! But he could understand the reason for that, at least in political terms: a formal alliance between the Sisterhood and the most respected Illyri Military official on Earth would deal a severe blow to those in the Military who still sought to curb the power of the Diplomatic Corps. As Syrene announced the news to Danis, Andrus wore the happy but confused look of a man who had won a lottery but couldn’t remember buying a ticket. If love entered into it, then it was not any love that Danis could understand.
His appointment to the governorship was more confusing still. Syrene knew that Danis was no friend of the Corps or the Sisterhood, and Steyr was too wet behind the ears to be able to control a wily old operator like him. Then again, Danis was a soldier, not a politician. Andrus had been both, which was a rare talent, but Danis was not sure that he could successfully rule as governor. He had no idea where to start. Maybe he would need Steyr’s help after all, if only to keep Vena and her Securitats in check.
Britain was at a tipping point, and being governor of the region was potentially a dark command, a poisoned chalice. The actions of the Securitats in Scotland had led to an increase in Resistance activity that was spreading across the country. As governor, he would be required to hunt down those responsible and hand them over to the Securitats for interrogation, imprisonment, and possibly execution, for capital punishment by hanging or firing squad had recently been restored for all crimes involving Illyri fatalities. It applied to anyone over the age of fifteen, although the youngest person executed so far was eighteen, and until recently nobody had yet been executed in Britain or Ireland—not officially anyway. Reports suggested that the Securitats were not so particular about what they did in their basement cells, however, and the strangulated bodies of captured Resistance fighters were now being dumped in Glasgow’s Craigton Cemetery on a regular basis.
Danis wondered if he could convince Steyr to suspend capital punishment. It was doing more harm than good. But, again, he came back to his unsettling belief that elements in the Corps and the Securitats wanted chaos and anarchy. Their violence made the humans respond more violently in turn, leading to even harsher measures being introduced against them, onward and onward in a great spiral of brutality. Danis could try to bring a halt to it, but he didn’t have much hope of success. He concluded that he was being made governor because it was an impossible job. He was being punished with promotion.
A noise came from behind him. Perhaps his wife had returned, although he had not heard the door open. He turned. A hooded figure stood in the center of his living room, the lower half of its face hidden by a scarf. In one hand it held a rough piece of electronic equipment, all tangled wires and circuitry, in the other, a pulser, which was pointing at him.
“Hello, General Danis,” said the visitor.
He recognized the voice immediately.
“Meia,” he said. “I wondered when you’d show up. And that’s Governor Danis to you . . .”
• • •
Meia took a ch
air across from Danis, after he had briefly explained the reason for his sudden promotion, and told her of the impending marriage between Andrus and Syrene. In response, she merely stared at him, until it got uncomfortable.
“You can put the weapon away,” he said, breaking the tension. “I don’t know why you felt the need to bring it anyway.”
“It wasn’t for you—not unless you forced me to use it.”
“Hardly likely. Given the current state of affairs, you almost count as a friend. Almost.”
She lowered the pulser, but did not get rid of it, holding it by her side instead. She pulled the scarf from her face. The features were not yet fully formed, but Danis could see a distinct visage starting to emerge. It was like looking at a face distorted by mist. It struck him as familiar, although he could not place it.
“I see you’re changing your appearance.”
“It seemed wise.”
“It’s a pity that your personality remains intact.”
“Likewise.”
He indicated the device in her hand. “A surveillance blocker?”
“I assumed that they would be monitoring you.”
“I think they’ve given up. I’m no longer that interesting—or I thought I wasn’t until I was notified of my governorship.”
“Congratulations. I’m sure your reign will be long and prosperous.”
“Doubtful. By the way, I didn’t mention how surprised I am to find you here, which is what I believe one is supposed to say in these situations. I thought that the Securitats had discovered all of your rat runs under the castle.”
“I’m sure that they tried, but these stones are old and thick. They can hide a multitude of secrets.”
Danis sat back on his couch.
“Why are you here, Meia? If you want me to help you get away from Scotland, then I’ll do what I can, but all flights off this island are being monitored: retinal scans, body searches, even tissue samples. Vena wants you very, very badly. The best thing for you might be to find somewhere deep beneath this castle, put yourself into ‘sleep’ mode, and wait for her to die.”
Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) Page 23
