The Magelands Box Set

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘We’re faster than them,’ he said. ‘Stronger than them. And we see better in the dark.’

  He turned, drew his sword, and began running, his feet making almost no sound. The rest of the squad followed, Bridget to his left, the squad leader to his right, as they sprinted in silence towards the Rahain.

  Before the Old Free were in sight, a wail shrieked up, followed by others, and the sound of steel. Killop picked up his pace, charging down the road as it turned in a gentle bend to the right. When the way straightened he saw the rebels ahead on the road, surrounding a wagon.

  Killop bared his teeth, and raced towards them, his heart hammering.

  He reached the rear of the Old Free lines, and swung his sword down at them, cleaving the backs of two before they knew he was there. He charged into the crowd of Old Free, his shield barging Rahain clear, his sword slashing out, his blood rising to a boil, hacking his way towards the wagon.

  A figure leapt in front of him, holding a sword that arced through the air. He raised his own weapon, and was about to lash out when he caught a glimpse of a pair of green eyes that he recognised.

  The figure swung her sword, cutting down an Old Free rebel to Killop’s right.

  She smiled at him, then turned again, spinning on her feet and darting through the air, slicing down another pair of rebels who were trying to load their crossbows. Killop gripped his sword, and followed her through the carnage she unleashed, while his squad accounted for any not in the path of Daphne Holdfast.

  Killop pushed his sword into the last rebel he could see alive. Around him, his squad were gazing at the fallen. Bridget’s sword was bloody, and she had a cut down her right arm.

  He counted. No dead Kellach. He closed his eyes and breathed.

  ‘Hello.’

  He opened his eyes.

  Daphne stood before him, her forehead glistening, her sword notched and red. Her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and there was a splash of blood on her cheek. Her left arm wore the armour he had last seen in the dungeons under the Rahain Senate. He stared at her face. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and her emerald eyes pulled him in.

  Without a word, he took her in his arms, and they kissed.

  The sound of a baby crying filled the night.

  Killop laughed.

  ‘Come on,’ Daphne smiled. ‘Time to meet your daughter.’

  Chapter 13

  Investiture

  Arakhanah City – 10th Day, Second Third Autumn 506

  Shella stared at the crown, trying to ignore the fact that the thousands of people packing the great Parliament Hall of Arakhanah City were all looking at her.

  She sat on a raised throne, in the centre of the hall, wrapped in rich robes, her mouth dry.

  The crown lay on a soft velvet cushion, atop a pedestal a few paces in front of her. It had a single large diamond, formed by the city’s finest clay mages, that sparkled in rainbow hues, set in a slender white gold band. It was simple, she thought, unlike the ornate hunk of gold that weighed down Guilliam back in the imperial capital.

  She shivered, her nerves frayed. Her carriage had arrived late with no days to spare, and Shella had been thrown into the ceremony almost as soon as she had stepped down onto the streets of Arakhanah, the first time she had done so in two years. She had been escorted to Parliament Hall, the centre of Rakanese government, where she had met a line of ministers and commissioners, none of whom she remembered.

  Her stomach grumbled, though through fear or hunger she was unable to tell. She had been sitting still for nearly an hour, and the crowds were still pouring in, covering every available inch of the massive hall, the largest indoor space in the entire city. All those people, come to watch a crown get put on her head. Had they come to mock her, to make fun of her ridiculous royal pretensions?

  She stole a glance at the massed citizens. None of them seemed to be laughing.

  They were angry, then. They were going to kill her.

  She took a breath, and told herself to calm.

  Around her on a circular podium were gathered the highest officials of the Rakanese government, waiting for the last citizens to cram into the hall. Shella noticed several Holdings men and women mixed in with them, some in the black robes of the church and the One True Path.

  Shella suppressed a frown. Of course they would be there, spying and conspiring, just like that bastard Rijon had done when he had advised the Migration to march on Rahain, because the Plateau was supposedly already settled. Everything the priests witnessed would be reported back to Arnault, and through him to Guilliam, of that she had no doubt.

  How had the Holdings ended up with a stranglehold on the world? The Migration, she thought, that was where it all began.

  The clerk of parliament raised her long metal-tipped staff and banged it on the ground, sending a sharp peal through the hall, just as the entrance doors were closed.

  The crowd hushed.

  Shella’s heart was beating so loud she was sure everyone on the podium could hear it.

  ‘People of Arakhanah,’ the clerk said, her powerful voice filling the hall, ‘today, the parliament of our nation, representing the sovereign Rakanese people, shall bestow the title and honours of Princess upon Shellakanawara, as decreed by Emperor Guilliam, Holder of the World.’

  Shella closed her eyes at the clerk’s last words, unable to watch the reaction in people’s eyes.

  The clerk approached her, flanked by numerous officials.

  A young girl, dressed in a simple white robe, and with a garland of flowers on her hair, picked up the crown from its cushion, and held it out.

  Shella stared at it.

  ‘Shellakanawara,’ the clerk said, ‘do you pledge to serve the people of Arakhanah in your position as princess?’

  ‘I do,’ Shella said.

  ‘Do you pledge to hold the best interests of the people of Arakhanah closest to your heart?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do you pledge to take no heirs, nor pass on the crown to another?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do you pledge never to interfere with the democratic governance of the Rakanese people, nor attempt to usurp their authority?’

  ‘I most certainly do.’

  A smile threatened to crack the clerk’s lips. She took the crown from the young girl’s hands.

  ‘Then, Shellakanawara,’ she said, ‘I declare you our Princess.’

  The clerk reached up and placed the crown on Shella’s head.

  Silence filled the hall.

  Some of the officials on the podium began to clap, then a slow wave of polite applause rippled through the crowd.

  The clerk banged her staff on the ground again, then bowed. ‘Your Highness.’

  Rakanese government officials gave each other awkward looks, and started to follow the clerk’s lead, lowering their heads towards Shella.

  She stood.

  ‘We’re Rakanese,’ she said, her voice drawing everyone’s attention. ‘We don’t bow to each other.’

  She waited for the officials to straighten up, aware that everyone in the hall was staring at her in silence. She scanned the crowd, not recognising a single face.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for making me a princess. I never asked for this, or wanted it. I was more surprised than anyone when I was told that the Holdings saw me as royal because of Obli, my sister. I know that Arakhanah has never had a monarch, or needed one, and I also know that there probably won’t be another one after me.’

  She took a breath. The crowd remained hushed; most faces a mixture of bemusement and curiosity.

  ‘Therefore,’ she went on, ‘when I get back to Plateau City I intend to use my position to do everything I can to argue on behalf of the Rakanese people. On my way here I saw the terrible conditions at the frontier, where a huge wall keeps our people from moving freely about the world. This injustice will be the first thing I bring up with the Emperor.

  ‘The Plateau is full of Holdings,
and Rahain, and Kellach Brigdomin, and even a few Sanang now call it their home. A mere thousand Rakanese have been allowed permits to work in the imperial capital, in the docks, building and handling the great fleet that the Emperor has ordered. The Rakanese people should be allowed to travel freely, and seek new lives and opportunities. The wall must be opened.’

  A smattering of applause turned into a cheer, as the crowd in the hall responded to her words. A thrill surged through her, and she smiled.

  ‘I will use the honour that you have bestowed on me,’ she said, ‘and will never forget to whom I owe my title. I won’t let you down.’

  She walked to the front of the podium and raised her hand to wave at the cheering crowd. It occurred to her that any one of them might have brought a knife or a bow into the hall, and there was nothing separating her from the vast throng of people, but didn’t care.

  The clerk banged her staff.

  ‘This session is ended,’ she cried. ‘Princess Shellakanawara will be in audience with the government of Arakhanah for the remainder of the day, and will appear in public at the great banquet scheduled for this evening in Democracy Square, to which all citizens are invited.’

  The doors of the hall were opened by porters, and the crowds began to file out into the morning light.

  ‘Fine words, your Highness,’ said a man approaching Shella.

  She turned to him.

  ‘Prime Minister Drappo,’ she said, ‘thank you.’

  ‘Did you mean them, your Highness?’

  ‘Do I look like the kind of woman who makes false promises?’

  The clerk signalled to her.

  ‘This way, your Highness,’ she said. ‘A welcome luncheon has been prepared in the east hall.’

  Shella smiled and the officials on the podium began to walk towards a rear door, opposite the main gates where the crowds were still leaving.

  ‘I shall accompany you, your Highness,’ the prime minister said.

  ‘I would be honoured.’

  They waited until the podium was almost clear, then followed the last of the officials down the steps.

  ‘You got lucky,’ he said as they walked. ‘You survived the Migration, and somehow ended up with a crown. There are those who believe you deserved something else.’

  ‘Flowers, perhaps? A cake?’

  He smiled. ‘Hanging.’

  ‘Can’t please everyone.’

  They reached the rear door of the hall, and were guided into a wide passageway.

  ‘You certainly can’t, your Highness,’ Prime Minister Drappo said, ‘and I should know. Nowadays I find that I don’t even try any more. No matter what the government does, someone will complain.’

  ‘So on balance,’ she said, ‘you decided there were more votes to be won by crowning me instead of hanging me?’

  He shrugged. ‘Could have gone either way, to be honest. I thought we’d try this approach, as we’ll always be able to overturn it in the future if it doesn’t work out. That wouldn’t have been the case if we’d tried hanging first.’

  ‘Executing me would have pissed off the Emperor,’ Shella said, ‘and I’m usually in favour of doing that. However, I’d rather have a crown than the rope.’

  They arrived at the east hall, a long low chamber, with a table stretching down the centre.

  The clerk guided them to their seats. A place of honour at the centre of the table had been set up, and Shella sat, a little elevated over the others. Drappo took a chair to her right, and a woman she had shaken hands with earlier sat to her left. Spread out over the table was a wide array of dishes: rice, peaches, fish in many varieties, melons, and large locust-like gresyls, deep fried and spiced.

  Shella’s stomach grumbled at the sight of so many familiar foods.

  The woman to her left smirked.

  The clerk of parliament banged her staff, and the luncheon began.

  Servants replaced every dish that was emptied, as the lunch guests helped themselves from the dozens of plates set out before them. Bottles of water and clear spirits dotted the table, and more than a few officials poured themselves alcohol. Shella bit down hard and resisted the temptation. This day, of all the days of her misbegotten life, she was determined not to fuck up.

  As Shella refilled her glass with water, the woman to her left spoke up.

  ‘Do you know why monarchy is an inherently irrational system of government?’

  ‘I could give it a fair stab,’ Shella replied, ‘if pressed.’

  ‘You are a contradiction…’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  The woman paused, then frowned. ‘Are you mocking me?’

  ‘Does it feel like it?’

  ‘Do you even know who I am?’

  Shella looked at the woman.

  ‘No.’

  ‘We met earlier today, and you have forgotten who I am already?’

  ‘I had just stumbled awake out of a carriage,’ Shella said. ‘So many hands to shake, so many faces to remember. Clearly yours wasn’t one that stuck in my mind.’

  ‘I am Onna,’ the woman said. ‘Minister for Labour and the Trade Unions, and I don’t like you.’

  ‘I had picked up some sense of that.’

  ‘You think you’re clever,’ Onna said, ‘and important, but you’re neither. You’re a fake. The vanity and folly of the Holdings put you where you are, and we have played along with the charade, because otherwise the Emperor would let us starve.’

  Shella sighed, and sipped her water.

  ‘Do you understand,’ Onna went on, ‘how bad it got after you and your sister decided to uproot half the city? Starvation, disease, spawn pools neglected through lack of mages, whole areas declared uninhabitable because the sea defences had failed. No money, no jobs, no food, no order, just misery and fear and every Rakanese for themselves...’

  ‘You saw how low you could fall,’ Shella said, not looking at Onna, ‘and hate me for it.’

  ‘You’re a parasite,’ Onna said, ‘feeding off the blood and toil of the people you betrayed and left behind.’

  ‘I love what you’ve done with your hair,’ Shella said, pointing with a fork. ‘Suits your big mouth.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘Would you like me to?’

  Onna paused, glancing at the half-eaten gresyl in her hand.

  Shella laughed. ‘Now I remember who you are. My secretary Jodie told me about you. You and her have been keeping a correspondence, I believe? Letter-friends.’

  Onna lowered her voice. ‘Did you kill the Holdings governor at the frontier?’

  ‘My, Jodie works fast,’ Shella said, feigning surprise. ‘Saying that though, I do like her. Has a point of view and sticks to it.’

  Onna sat back, frowning at Shella.

  ‘Secretary Jodie is a fine woman,’ she said, ‘but I’m not sure I’m in favour of her change of mind regarding you. I think you might have bewitched her on the journey here. She talks differently of you now, almost as if she looks up to you.’

  Something within Shella almost cracked, but she fought down her tears, and kept her face emotionless. She had steeled herself to accept any amount of abuse and hostility, but she wasn’t prepared for kindness.

  Onna narrowed her eyes. She reached forward, and picked up a bottle of spirits. She poured herself a measure, then glanced at Shella.

  ‘Why not?’ she said, passing her glass to Onna.

  Shella sat on the toilet, her head swimming. After hours of meetings and drinks receptions, and several large measures of spirits, she was drunk and tired. It felt like she had met every Rakanese dignitary and government minister, and her face was sore from smiling.

  And the great banquet was still to come.

  She stood, swayed, and pulled up her underwear. It was dank and cold in the toilet block, and the pit beneath the bench stank. She smoothed down her robes, and opened the door.

  A hand reached in and pushed her back. She nearly slipped, grabbing hold of the wall.
/>   ‘What the fuck?’ she cried. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘Hi, miss,’ said Jayki, coming into the toilet booth and closing the door.

  ‘Well,’ Shella smirked, ‘this is unexpected. Though I guess you were bound to come on to me sooner or later.’

  Jayki raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Very funny, miss,’ he said. ‘I heard you were a little worse for wear with all the booze.’

  ‘And you heard right,’ she slurred.

  ‘Thought you weren’t planning on drinking, miss?’

  ‘I tried, Jayki,’ she shrugged, ‘but there’s only so much crap I can take with a straight face.’

  ‘Here,’ he said, reaching into a pocket. ‘Was saving this for you.’

  ‘A cigarette?’

  He held it up. ‘No, miss. Keenweed.’

  Shella grinned. ‘You naughty boy, Jayki.’

  He lit the smokestick and passed it to her. They sat side by side on the toilet bench, careful to avoid the holes that led to the pit. Shella took a long draw, and felt her drunkenness recede within seconds, her mind clearing.

  ‘This will wipe me out tomorrow,’ she said, ‘but thank you.’

  ‘Couldn’t have you going out in public, the state you were in.’ He glanced at her. ‘Nice crown, miss.’

  ‘Yeah, I think so,’ she smiled. ‘Must be careful I don’t drop it down the toilet hole.’

  ‘If you do, miss,’ he chuckled, ‘I ain’t getting it back out for you.’

  ‘What you been doing all day, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Just hanging around. Watched you get crowned from the back of Parliament Hall, and since then I’ve been chatting to the porters and suchlike. Got asked loads of questions. Everybody wants to know what you’re like.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t give away too many of my wicked little secrets.’

  ‘Before today,’ Jayki said, ‘I thought the Migration hadn’t changed me much, that after everything we did and saw, I was still the same man.’ He paused, and gazed at her. ‘But I’m not. Talking to the people here made me realise that. They’ve changed too, but in a different way. I don’t belong here anymore.’