Imperiata and Other Stories

by Trevelyan Cooper

  “I am here to help.”

  He looked around at the dead. All those he had ever known. “Help me?”

  “Of course. The only way to keep a secret is to be the only one who knows it.”

  “What secret…?” he began to say, then suddenly realized his mistake. “No,” he said. “Don’t tell me.”

  Beneath the death-mask of blood, she seemed almost pleased. “That was quick,” she said.

  “Do not tell me the secret.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “The mountain witch of the cave?”

  “That too. I am Ishta’eth, Lord Kereshin, and you are my emperor. I am your slave.”

  She let go of him, and knelt, and pressed her face to the dirt.

  He stood there and had no idea what to do. He was terrified, expecting trickery, but nothing happened. She knelt, and waited, and he looked down at her bloody hair.

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  So she stood, and told him. Of emperors and ancestors that stretched back seven thousand years. Of two-hundred and eighty-three before him. Of demon-slaves such as her, who could not but die for him. Of wars that would consume the world without his hand to stop their fury.

  “Let me think,” he said, and she nodded.

  He went inside, and stayed there for three days. He sobbed for the dead, and feared for himself, and all the time Ishta’eth sat outside and waited. He offered her food, and she ate, but only to be polite, he thought. As if she did not really need it.

  The dead rotted. On the third day, outside again, he looked at the body of his foster-mother, the woman who had raised him, and tried to strike Ishta’eth again. Fury in his heart, and hatred.

  “Be calm,” she said. “Cease.”

  “What are you, you monster?” he spat at her.

  “The Lord Kereshin. The commander of the finest warriors in the world. The emperor’s executioner and slave. Your executioner and slave.”

  “You are my slave?”

  She nodded.

  “Why did you kill all these people?”

  “To protect you. To protect this secret.”

  He thought about that. About any who were left from the village. “If anyone else comes along,” he said. “You will kill them too?”

  She nodded.

  “Then we should leave.”

  “You need a horse.”

  “The stable is there.”

  “Clean clothing? Food?”

  Nici went inside without a word and collected what he needed. She followed, and changed her clothing too. She took that of Missa, his heart-sister, the daughter of his foster-family. Nici watched the witch undress and wipe her skin clean of dried blood and saw she was a woman after all, not a monster. Outwardly, at least.

  He did not understand. He did not understand why she did what she did.

  *

  Ishta’eth was pleased with the child-emperor. He had tried to fight, which was enough. He had some courage, when many of his line had not. He seemed clever enough too, quick to understand. He had been raised by peasants, but they were freemen-peasants, and the house had contained books, and some hint of learning. He was thoughtful, for his age. Most important, he could adjust. That was what she needed now. She had torn his whole world apart, had slain everyone he had ever known, and he had adjusted, begun to cope and change. Now he was hers. He might not forgive the deaths, but he would come to see such killing as normal. It would be a long time before he was ready to hear it, but she was proud of him.

  He was angry and curious both. One vying with the other. She was pleased by that too.

  They rode in silence for a day, and then he began questioning her again.

  “What now?” he said.

  “We ride to the Palace at the Heart of the World, the only place you may be crowned. And crown you.”

  “How far is it?”

  “Two and a half thousand leagues. Across the world.”

  “And will anyone try and stop us?”

  “All will, I should think.”

  He looked at her. “Very well,” he said, and she grinned at him and thought finally his line had made one worthy of it, and it had been eight hundred years since she’d actually liked one of his family.

  *

  They waited at a port until a fishing boat arrived, and Ishta’eth demanded passage to the mainland.

  “Let them live,” Nici said quietly, once they were aboard the boat.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Let them live.”

  “My lord,” Ishta’eth said, wryly. “Of course.”

  Nici looked at her suspiciously, but she allowed the fishermen to live. She told them not to speak of her, knowing they would, in time, but that it would probably be long enough that her plans would be underway before any spies heard.

  They rode on. Another road. A crossroads and a turning.

  “Where are we going now?” Nici said.

  “To see your former lord.”

  “Is that wise?” he said, and she was pleased by that too.

  The came to a village, then a town, and then a larger town beneath a fortress at the end of a inlet of the sea. No passers-by bothered them, although many looked as they passed.

  “Have you been here before?” Ishta’eth said.

  Nici shook his head.

  As they approached the town, despite the warm day, she pulled on a large hooded cloak. They rode through the town gate without comment, rode up a main road towards the fortress on the hill above.

  The gate there was more carefully guarded. A sentry stood in their way.

  “I wish to speak with your lord,” Ishta’eth said.

  Nici would have been cuffed and sent on his way, but Ishta’eth spoke with the accent of the imperial heartland and sat on a horse and carried herself as if she were entitled to ask. The gate-guards called a sergeant who called a captain who agreed to take them to the lord. They went to a hall, where brutish men lounged in a group and watched them approach.

  The captain pointed to one of the men.

  “He is the lord?” Ishta’eth said.

  The captain nodded.

  Ishta’eth went to that one, and said, “Your emperor requires your oath and your aid.”

  “Five men have come and told us that in the last fifteen years.”

  He did not seem old enough, so he must also mean to his father.

  “Now the emperor requires it.”

  “The emperor is gone.”

  Ishta’eth looked at him. “The emperor-in-waiting stands before you.”

  They all looked at Nici.

  “You are a madwoman,” the lord said after a while.

  “I require your aid and have given my authority. The law requires you assist me.”

  “That law is gone.”

  “I require your aid. If you refuse me, it is treason.”

  They sat and looked at her.

  “You know the punishment for treason?” she said.

  The lord was thinking. “I know.”

  “Death,” Ishta’eth said. “Death to the traitor, to kin, to those who stand with him, to his people and lands. Their names to be scoured and forgotten. Treason also to speak of them again.”

  “Our lands, our kin?” one of the lord’s companions said, “You could not do all that. You have no army.”

  “Hush boy,” Ishta’eth said. “Your betters speak.”

  “She has no army,” the companion said again.

  “I need none,” Ishta’eth said. “I have made my request, now honor it or stand accused of treason.”

  The lord held up his hand. “Wait. I will hear you, do not call me traitor. I need proof though, you understand? I do not speak ill, many have come, even here, claiming to speak with the authority of this emperor or that.”

  For a time they talked quietly, and in the end it was clear. Ishta’eth was the Lord Kereshin, she knew of secrets and blood and horror. In the end they did as she wished.

  And as easily as tha
t, she had her first allies.

  *

  Ishta’eth and Nici withdrew to a room. Ishta’eth ordered that wing of the building cleared, the whole wing, and that she would be checking, and any she found would die. They would march in a few days, she said, when she was ready, and the lord and his men were coming.

  She sat before a fire and slowly sharpened a dagger and Nici watched her and said, “Why are we here?”

  “We need allies. We need an army. We need to start somewhere.”

  She sharpened the dagger, but she never sharpened the sword. He had heard stories of these things, of true-swords as strong as stone.

  “May I see the sword?” he said.

  She looked up. “You understand that if any other had asked…”

  “But I am your emperor?”

  “Indeed.”

  She picked up her belt and sheath, drew the sword. Nici looked. “I have heard of these.”

  “Indeed.”

  He looked for a moment, then nodded, done.

  Ishta’eth put the sword away. Before she did, she cut the ball of her thumb, wiped it clean, sheathed it. “It cannot be drawn except to draw blood.”

  “You should have said.”

  “It is of no consequence. I practice every day with the same result.”

  *

  The next day, as Nici walked the castle staring in awe at high ceilings and thick walls of stone, the talkative, foolish companion of the day before cornered him. “Who are you to come in here and claim to be the emperor?” the companion demanded, and pushed at Nici.

  Ishta’eth appeared, and took the companion’s hair, and pulled him to the floor. He shouted, angry, but seemed unable to stop her. She tugged, yanked him along the corridor. He stumbled, and fell, so she dragged him along the floor, ignoring his shrieks.

  She pulled him into the hall, to the bare floor before his lord, and drove her short-dagger into the base of his neck. Then let him go, so he toppled forward, fingers and eyes still twitching, prone at his lord’s feet, already dead.

  The lord was still. His companions murmured, and some stood, but he waved them down. “Why?” he said.

  “He laid a hand on the emperor.”

  “Emperor-in-waiting.”

  “It makes no difference.”

  The lord nodded.

  Another companion stood, seeming distraught. “You killed him.”

  “Take solace that he is fortunate. Once I would have had him flayed, hung on a frame, kept alive for a day.”

  “Gyan,” the lord said, “Sit down.”

  Ishta’eth stood still, waited. She still held her dagger. She looked at the lord.

  “Leave him be,” the lord said. “They were lovers. He is upset.”

  “It is the law.”

  “He does not understand,” the lord said. “It has been a long time since we lived in that way.”

  “Did your father teach you the law?”

  “My mother, but yes. Of course.”

  “Explain it,” Ishta’eth said. “Now. Or all die here.”

  The lord looked at her for a while, then nodded. “Listen to me,” the lord said. “All of you. He on the floor has committed treason by touching the emperor’s person. The Kereshin judges a matter such as that, and her word alone is enough. We cannot question it. A traitor has no friends, or they are traitors too. So we cannot say his name, we cannot speak to others of what has happened here. If any disagree they die too. And Gyan, it is not just you. If you are punished, your kin and friends and lands will be also. One day. If she is busy now, she will send someone back for you in time to make your deed right. So stand down, all of you, for I will not have my family die for what this fool did.”

  Ishta’eth nodded. “Good. And a lesson too. I hear better than you can imagine. I move fast. Another hand is laid on the emperor and what happens will be worse.”

  She turned and left.

  “It was only a game,” Nici said quietly. “He was a bully, that is all. You did not have to kill him.”

  “Nothing concerning you is a game any more. He had to die to show others your claim is serious, that you are backed by the Kereshin, and that you will be treated as an emperor.”

  “I do not like it.”

  “Much worse will happen before we are done.”

  “Perhaps I do not wish that done in my name.”

  “It is not. Done in your name. It is done in the name of the empire, of the imperial line and throne. And what makes you think you have a choice?”

  “I could resign. Give up my throne.”

  Ishta’eth shook her head. “The law has no provision for that. A regent of your line may depose you, if you are mad. But only one of your line, of legal age.”

  “My child?”

  She nodded.

  “I have no child.”

  “Indeed. So you cannot abdicate.”

  “So for twenty years the empire could be run by a madman?”

  “It does no harm when it happens. I and those like me make sure no orders too harmful are carried out. Or that they are carried out in ways that do not matter.”

  “That must sometimes be difficult.”

  “Sometimes it is. But it does not happen often.”

  Nici nodded. “Please try not to slaughter any more for no reason for me. Please.”

  “As I said. It was not for you, and the reason was strong. We need to show the strength of your claim, and killing those who oppose you will show that.”

  *

  Soon they marched, and there were those who tried to prevent it, and so their path was marked by death. The Lord Kereshin would be victorious, because the Lord Kereshin always was, but many died in proving this.

  Early on, before their enemies could assemble armies to stop her, Ishta’eth fought her way through men in dozens and scores. It was wasted time, it was their enemies sending men to certain and unnecessary deaths, and even she grew sick of it. A mortal cannot fight a Kereshin. It made no difference if it was ten or a hundred, the Kereshin was quicker, and did not tire, and a hundred simply meant there were queues of men forming up to die. They were not permitted to use archers, because etiquette dictated you did not do that to an Imperial Lord, and all lords agreed on this, even rebels. Moreover, the lords all knew Ishta’eth could knock arrows out the air with her sword, and that things then became very unpleasant for those around the archers. She would remove the archers’ hands, and their commanders’, and those of all others nearby, and leave their stumps to rot until they died.

  As Ishta’eth and Nici rode, they often came to bands of men guarding bridges or fortress-towers, who were ordered to block their passage on pain of death. Usually Ishta’eth went to speak to such men, to ask them to spare themselves.

  “You know what I am?”

  “We do, my lady,” they always said.

  “And still you shall try and stop me.”

  Some shook their heads then, and slunk away. Some said simply, “We shall, my lady.”

  “You are brave,” she told those men.

  “Or foolish,” some said.

  “Walk away,” she would say, “Let there be no blood shed here today.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Then know I will harm you as little as I can.”

  And she did her best, but usually they would die.

  In time the bands of men became armies, but by then Ishta’eth had found more allies, and had armies of her own. The numbers grew greater. They wound their way from keep to fortress and Ishta’eth spoke of ancient oaths and loyalties. Some understood, and listened. Some spat in her face and called her witch-queen and refused.

  Some died, and had their homes burned, and others did not. But all those who lived through her asking marched with her in the end.

  Nici began to understand that the rebels were not against the imperial throne as much as against Ishta’eth herself, against her pride and overbearing entitlement and control of the empire. Against her habit of doing things such as this. Nici w
as surprised by how many refused Ishta’eth. How many looked at her and chose the certain death of all they held dear over falling under her sway once more. He tried to suggest to Ishta’eth that a gentler hand might be advantageous, but she said coldly the law was the law and must be obeyed. So instead people died, and the smoke of a thousand towns and hamlets rose into the sky as they passed.

  Nici did not argue. He still remembered his foster-family, and what she had done, and was overwhelmed by all this, unsure of his place and his judgment and her affection for him.

  *

  In a tent, near a lake, a thousand leagues from Nici’s island home, they waited while the armies rested. There were trees around the lake, orchard groves, and ripe nuts were on the trees. Ishta’eth had someone bring her some, and began cracking nuts as she waited, using her bare hands, apparently for no other reason than to idly pass the time. Nici sat watching. She squeezed, and popped the shell open, and pulled out the nut, and set it in a bowl, and threw the rest aside, onto the floor. She never ate, just filled the bowl. She was fidgeting, Nici thought. As close as she came to it.

  “May I have one of those?” he said.

  Ishta’eth slid the bowl over. “Have them all.”

  “They are safe?”

  She just looked at him.

  “Are they?”

  “Would I allow harm to come to you, my liege?”

  He looked at her for a while. She was sparkling, almost. Gleeful. He was coming to know her moods. “You tease me?” he said.

  “I do,” she said solemnly.

  “I can eat them?”

  “Please,” she said, and cracked another.

  Trying not to be obvious, he picked up a nut, squeezed as hard as he was able, but failed to crack it open. Ishta’eth watched him, impassive, then passed him a dagger. Even with that, breaking the nut open was difficult, almost impossible.

  She wiggled her hands at him. “I have been a warrior for a thousand years.”

  “I see.”

  They sat for a time, and Ishta’eth cracked nuts. “What are these whispers of Illicrym?” Nici said suddenly.

  “Where did you hear that name?”

  “Around. From the men. Should I have not?”

  She shook her head. “It matters not. It was a city. A magnificent city, a place of learning and beauty and a library that contained every book that had ever been written in the world.”

  “I have not heard of it.”

  “You would not have.” Ishta’eth was silent for a time. “It was a wonderful, beautiful, rebellious city.”

  “And?”