by Stephen Hunt
Carter struggled in the hands of the retainers restraining him, but they were too many men and they were too strong. ‘You’re evil filth. I don’t need Willow to tell me how you’ve treated her to see you for what you are.’
Nocks laughed as they approached a stable and opened the door. ‘Just more honest than most. No need to take against me for that. You’d like to kill me, wouldn’t you? It doesn’t take much to strip a pastor’s son of his civilized coating, does it? You’ll feel a lot more vengeful once I’ve whipped you like the thieving, trespassing dog you are. Old man Landor’s too soft for his own good. I’d take a finger or two from you; maybe more. Give you something to remember us by every time you reach for your manhood.’
They pulled Carter into an empty stall and secured him, spread-eagled, to the wooden walls on either side. ‘I’ll remember you, Nocks.’
‘Oh, that you will. And you should remember this,’ said Nocks, putting his hand out to receive a horse whip, and then leaning in to whisper in Carter’s ear so the others couldn’t hear what he said. ‘I’m going to enjoy willowy Willow myself, one day soon. I don’t care who the mistress marries her off to; that honey jar’s just too tempting for these calloused fingers. But I’m going to make sure I have something that your little lady needs first, so I can hear her beg me to open that lovely lid of hers. Any other way would just be too easy, and I do grow easily bored.’
Carter threw a head butt at Nocks, but the manservant was quick, sliding to the side as he tore the shirt off Carter’s back. Carter’s spine lay exposed to the cold air, a mess of healed scars from his toil in the empire’s sky mines. He shivered.
‘I can see you’ve done this dance before,’ grinned Nocks. ‘I knew you were trouble, pastor’s boy. Too wild a buck to be broken by those slave traders, were you? They should have old Nocks working for them. I’d have mastered you. That, or you’d be properly dead.’
‘Compared to the imperium’s animals, you’re just an amateur in Landor livery, a short-arsed tame little monkey dangling at the end of a gold-digger’s leash.’
‘Going to make you eat those words, boy,’ growled Nocks, testing his whip in the air. ‘If you don’t bite your tongue off first. Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight, and your old man will wonder where you are and ride out here to try to rescue you, just like he went out after those slave traders. Then I’ll get to give two Carnehans a whipping. Hear you crying for willowy Willow and the pastor begging his God. Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?’
‘I told my father I’d bed down in the guild’s hold tonight. It’s closer to here.’
‘You like books so damn much; I should’ve flayed you in the house’s library and made your lady watch. Wouldn’t want to spend so much time in there, then, would she? Oh well. Just the one thieving Carnehan tonight, then. Can’t have everything.’
Carter heard nothing more until the whip cracked, and despite his best efforts to deny the malicious manservant the satisfaction of hearing them, his screams split the air as the cords bit into his back.
Duncan’s heart leapt as Princess Helrena scrambled out of the way of the descending sabre, the raw dictates of survival lending her a desperate second wind. She’d rolled every bit as fast as the quicksilver-fast Elanthra moved. Helrena used the ankle of her good leg to strike her fallen sabre’s hilt, springing it into the air for her to catch the blade even as she hobbled back to her feet. Elanthra’s sabre was still in a downward motion towards the sand occupied by her rival, but she twisted and stamped forward with the dagger in her other hand. Helrena had anticipated the strike and was already in position to block the dagger with her knife, leaving her sabre arm free to feed a foot of shining steel through Elanthra’s gut. Elanthra stumbled back, taking the sabre with her, impaled through her stomach and emerging bloody through her spine. She stared down in astonishment at the length of metal speared through her, not quite comprehending the reality of it. Helrena lifted her own dagger in the air like a victory torch, and then threw it full force at her rival, striking Elanthra in the centre of the forehead. Circae’s cat’s-paw was no longer alive to understand the magnitude of her failure as she fell backwards, smacking the arena floor in a cloud of sand that seemed to belie the weight of her bony body. Duncan hardly believed the speed of the turn-around. Neither could the crowd in the seats, it seemed. Hundreds of thousands of spectators in their house’s stalls roared and cheered the unexpected victory, leaping and clapping and taunting the mordant crowds separated by electrified fencing on Elanthra’s side of the arena. Circae’s supporters on the elite’s viewing platform drifted towards the exits. Duncan couldn’t see Adella among the entourage, but Baron Machus bustled away in the scrum, swearing and pushing at others in as foul a mood as the Weylander had ever seen the brutish nobleman. Duncan resisted the impulse to toss a few good insults in his direction. Helrena’s treacherous cousin might have stolen the woman Duncan had once loved, but in doing so, the baron probably did Duncan the greatest favour of his life. He doubted the baron would shed many crocodile tears over Elanthra’s loss; relief rather than grief would be more his style at his highborn lover catching a blade that should have been his. It was relief that overwhelmed Duncan, too. Helrena had survived the challenge, and so, by default, had the rest of them. Helrena had earned her place in the punishment squadron and helped remove the blemish of her house’s failure during the slave revolt. Duncan Landor would soon be travelling back to – no, not home – the distant nation of Weyland, to help rescue Cassandra.
Among the exiting crowd, Prince Gyal Skar strolled away. He noticed Duncan staring at the losing side, shrugged and gave the Weylander a casual wink as he left. For the handsome prince this was all just a game … the same advice he’d passed to Duncan. However long Duncan stayed in the imperial capital, he doubted if he could ever view their vicious machinations so casually.
Paetro sucked in a breath. ‘I hope Apolleon is as tight with the triku as he’s rumoured to be.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Duncan.
‘The triku are the criminal lords who control the underworld in Vandis,’ explained the doctor.
‘What have the gangs to do with this?’
‘Apart from fixing half of the fights in the arena? The edge of Helrena’s dagger was surely wiped with toxin. Nothing too egregious; it wouldn’t do to have the challenger keeling over frothing at the mouth, but enough to slow Elanthra down or blur her vision, I’d say.’
‘Fixing? This isn’t a public spectacle where you can buy a crooked trainer,’ blurted Horvak, horrified. ‘This is a court-licensed duel among the imperial family. If anyone finds out—’
‘Let’s trust that whatever poison Apolleon arranged is fast-dissolving on blade and in blood, then, Doctor,’ said Paetro. ‘Or that the stewards who do the official autopsy have been well paid. Otherwise, we’ll have won only to lose. The empire would execute the lot of us for this, every caste from top to bottom … breaking arena code in a court-sanctioned duel. There’s no greater dishonour.’
Duncan thought back to the head of the secret police’s appearance at the arena. Apolleon’s convenient meeting nearby and his equally opportune advice. Circae had tried to fix the challenge, but she’d been outfoxed in turn. ‘The dishonour of getting caught.’
‘Now you’re thinking like a Vandian,’ said Paetro.
All three of them here were foreigners inside the imperium, not born to any of this. Duncan really wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or not.
‘You rigged the damn fight,’ accused Helrena, barely able to sit down in her own meeting chamber, pacing around the floor as Apolleon sat coolly unmoved in a chair at the table. Duncan exchanged a nervous glance with Paetro, both waiting alongside the door. Outside, a storm had blown in off the coast, lashing the Castle of Snakes’ windows with torrents of water. A reflection of the princess’s mood, thought Duncan.
‘Let us say I anticipated Circae’s tricks and worked to get my retaliation in first,’ said Apolleo
n.
The princess was as furious as Duncan had ever seen her. ‘This was my fight, Apolleon, my house’s honour.’
‘A fight with your cousin Machus, as I remember,’ said the head of the secret police. ‘You were the challenged party. You had the right to select arms and accept or refuse based on your opponent. Would you have chosen dagger and sabre against a trained whiplash like Elanthra? I think not. You would have picked a ranged weapon which she lacked the body mass to wield competently and where her speed could not be brought to bear against your wounded leg … the compound bow, perhaps?’
‘He has a point,’ said Duncan to the bodyguard. Helrena would have been dead without the nobleman’s trickery.
‘Aye, that he does,’ agreed Paetro.
Helrena glared angrily at them both and they shut up.
Apolleon raised his hands to placate her. ‘Of course I have a point. And Circae’s chicanery has yet to run its course. I have not come calling so you can throw imperial barbs my way … save your tantrums for when you occupy the diamond throne.’
‘What then?’ demanded Helrena.
‘The court has ruled in your favour, as they are required to after trial by combat. But they have also announced the leadership of the punishment squadron. Prince Gyal Skar is to be squadron marshal. Baron Machus is to be his second. You are permitted to join, but only as third.’
‘Third!’ roared Helrena. ‘That worm Machus is to rank more highly than me? A mere baron? I fought for this! I am a daughter of imperial blood, a celestial-upper, a princess equal in every way to Gyal.’
‘That is what makes the insult so studied,’ said Apolleon. ‘The military anticipate a magnificent victory and Circae wishes your house to carry no glory back from the battlefield.’
‘They might as well put me in command of digging latrine ditches and serving food in the officers’ tents,’ spat Helrena.
‘We could challenge the decision,’ said Paetro, ‘but the courts would spin their wheels while we watched the punishment squadron depart without us.’
‘So, I must choose between accepting this insulting humiliation and retrieving Cassandra?’
‘Naturally,’ said Apolleon. ‘I anticipate a whole wave of new blood in the imperial harem, the way Circae must have been promising the emperor’s cock around the court to arrange this.’
‘That witch,’ said Helrena. She slapped the pane of the nearest window, cold with running water.
‘Consider your next move carefully,’ said Apolleon. ‘If you join the punishment squadron in such a submissive position, you will be seen as subordinating yourself to Gyal, endorsing the fruits of his victory and reinforcing his position. It would not take too great a triumph to consolidate Gyal’s path to the throne, and your father’s health worsens every week.’
‘This is not a decision I need to consider. My house shall join the expeditionary force. Whatever their terms, I will rescue my daughter and avenge the slave revolt.’
‘I shall let the magister know,’ said Apolleon. ‘But I will keep how much you are willing to endure to myself. There are worse positions than third, even if your main responsibility in the squadron will be jumping to obey your traitorous cousin’s commands.’
Helrena didn’t look pleased by the prospect. Duncan wasn’t exactly happy at the prospect of sharing the same air as the baron himself; let alone fighting under the brute’s command. ‘Do it, then.’
‘There is another matter,’ said Apolleon. ‘When you are fighting far from the imperium, it would be better if Doctor Horvak relocated his work to the protection of my fortress. Circae has already shown she is capable of trying to have him murdered in the Castle of Snakes. She may make a second attempt.’
The head of secret police was mistaken. Duncan had been inside the laboratory when the castle was assaulted. Circae’s assassins had been trying to abduct Doctor Horvak, not assassinate him. Whatever Horvak’s part was in the various mysterious schemes swirling about, Circae obviously wanted those plans hatched for her, rather than halted with the doctor’s murder. What’s the doctor’s part in all of this?
‘Better for who?’ said Helrena. ‘Not for my house. I prefer the doctor working precisely where he is.’
‘I am not certain that is wise,’ said Apolleon.
‘Wise? I shall decide what is wise here. Never make my decisions for me again, Apolleon … that foolery you arranged in the arena,’ said Helrena. ‘Cross me in that manner again and I will have no further part in your schemes. I am nobody’s puppet. If you wish to think for me, seize the diamond throne and make yourself emperor instead.’
Apolleon bowed. ‘And who would wish for that, who was not born to it?’
Oddly, Duncan actually believed the nobleman’s words. There was something genuine in the way Apolleon had said it. He really didn’t desire the imperial throne. Far from finding the statement reassuring, however, it had the opposite effect on the Weylander. It made him fear the unexplainable, capricious head of the secret police all the more. The nobleman strode from the chamber, leaving the rest of them to digest the news.
‘Damn Circae,’ said Helrena. ‘My wounds from the arena are hardly sealed with bandage spray and she finds a way to turn my victory over Elanthra into a resounding defeat.’
‘Maybe Gyal’s better being considered the front-runner for emperor. Let the assassins’ blades be sharpened for his spine instead. The throne’s a hard, uncomfortable seat,’ advised Paetro, cautiously.
‘It’s a safe seat,’ said Helrena.
‘Few wish an empress to ascend to it,’ said Paetro. ‘The power of the imperial harem loses its potency without hundreds of royal broodmares lounging around in silks to give the empire’s great and good their chance to produce a living lottery ticket for the next crown.’
‘The rest of the imperium can go hang,’ said Helrena. ‘The diamond throne’s there for whoever has the will to take it. I have as much right as Gyal Skar to rule.’
‘Just as long as you’re not doing this simply to make Circae unemployed,’ said Paetro.
‘That’s merely a very happy bonus,’ said Helrena. She looked at Duncan. ‘You don’t have to travel with us to Weyland. It will not be a comfortable experience to watch the punishment squadron avenging the slave revolt in your homeland. The empire wants blood spilled, and there is only your people’s to sacrifice.’
‘I have to go,’ said Duncan. ‘I was there when Lady Cassandra was taken. It was my duty to keep her safe.’
‘No, lad,’ said Paetro. ‘That duty was mine.’
‘If you wish to allocate fault,’ said Helrena, ‘kindly blame Apolleon. It was his rash decision to pursue the outlaw Sariel into the lee of an erupting stratovolcano that damned our ship. What is done is done.’
‘I have to go with you,’ said Duncan. ‘Don’t ask me to stay.’
‘Very well,’ said Helrena. ‘Never give me cause to say I told you so.’
‘I won’t,’ promised Duncan.
‘In that case,’ said Helrena, ‘use what time is left before we depart to train with Paetro.’
‘I know how to use a sword,’ said Duncan.
‘May the ancestors spare me your male pride. I am not talking of exchanging sabre blows with villagers, but the full range of skills and techniques legionaries are trained with. Modern arms and equipment.’
‘Our job is to protect you,’ said Paetro.
‘I suspect I will need neither a bodyguard nor a food taster for the moment,’ smiled Helrena, sadly. ‘When we are in Weyland there will be ample opportunity for Circae’s allies to have us killed simply by ordering us towards the worst of the fighting. Train hard. My house has lost enough people in this business. I do not wish to add any more, least of all you. Save your suspicious eyes for when we serve alongside Gyal and Machus.’ She waved the pair of them out and they left together.
‘She meant it, you know,’ said Paetro. ‘About staying in the imperium when we ship out.’
‘You’re goi
ng,’ said Duncan.
‘There’s not a force strong enough to keep me away,’ said Paetro. ‘I’m shipping out to bring back the young highness. And I’m going to track down the bastard that killed my girl and make him regret the day he set foot in the imperium.’
‘It won’t help your family if you die on foreign soil,’ said Duncan. He remembered how shockingly fast the deranged, travel-worn pastor of Northhaven had drawn and fired his guns. Duncan left for dead. Hesia a corpse in the volcanic ash. Paetro wounded. Almost too fast to follow. Not a skill that Jacob Carnehan had mastered behind the pulpit, that much was certain.
‘I’m no celestial-upper,’ said Paetro, ‘but I still have my honour. That’s all I have. He won’t catch me by surprise again. Won’t be a duel. I’m a soldier, and I’ll kill him like one.’
‘We need Cassandra back alive.’
‘I know my damn duty. The young highness returned safe first. Hunting that devil down second.’
‘What I don’t understand is why the pastor took Cassandra hostage and has made no demands.’
‘None that we know about,’ said Paetro.
‘Did Father Carnehan say anything to you when he took Cassandra?’ asked Duncan.
‘Nothing polite,’ said Paetro. Duncan knew the old soldier well enough to know when he was dissembling. There was something more to this matter that he would not talk of. But what? And that wasn’t the only mystery nagging at the Weylander. ‘What is Doctor Horvak working on for the house that is of such importance?’
‘Has the princess not told you, lad?’
‘She said to me that there are some things I am better off not knowing, safer not knowing …’
‘Well, then, there you have it. As far as this matter is concerned, I haven’t been taken into her confidence either. But I think we can hazard a guess by the limits of the ambitions of those involved: Apolleon and Helrena.’
