The Argument of Empires

by Jacob T. Helvey

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, Tain had begun to dream up new tortures to enact on Grith. His teacher had begun forcing him to use weighted weapons for sparring and drills, and the added heft of the wasters had wreaked havoc on Grith’s technique, as well as his body. A day and several hardy meals later, his arms still ached from the exertion of their first session with the heavy blades.

  * * *

  They’re column snaked its way down the road for another hour, descending sharply towards the coastline several hundred paces below. Grith could just make out the Straits of Gal between the sparse forestation. The few miles of water separating Hadalkir and Toashan looked calm and warm in the spring sun. On one side was Galthegan, a sizeable port and capital of the province of Karmark, which made the lion’s share of its income transporting travelers and goods across the Straits. Its opposite—he had heard one of the other soldiers call it Terron—was barely visible in the morning haze. Grith thought he could just make out the tops of rooves in the shadow of the red-tinged Vermillion Mountains.

  They were met with cheers as they passed under the arch of Galthegan’s low gatehouse. Townspeople stood in high windows, or along galleries, calling to them and offering encouragement. Others ran into the street, pressing gifts of food and wine into their hands. The lands here were rich and fertile and always seemed to produce a bumper crop. South-eastern Hadalkir was also the only part of the continent that made wine worth half-a-damn. Grith took a parcel of food from a young woman with a freckled face and mousy brown hair. She blushed when he looked up to thank her. That he hadn’t expected.

  “Never thought I’d want to look like a Marshman,” said the pockmarked youth to his left.

  Grith shook his head, but didn’t reply. At least they’d gotten past calling him “mudfucker.”

  “They cheering for us?” an older pikeman asked.

  “Galthegan is part of the Karmark Province,” Grith told him. “These people are loyalists. They fought for the Empire during the Autumn Rebellion, just like Sel-” He’d almost said Selivia. He had to keep reminding himself he was supposed to be one of these people now. “Like us.”

  The man nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. Just don’t get why they’d make a big fuss over it.”

  “Think of all this food and wine as a loss-leader,” said Sergeant Caers, holding up a bottle. He was a young man with a fleshy face that didn’t match his thin body, and had a mane of red hair that fell to rest at the small of his back. He was the commander of the rear two lines of the pike squad, and Grith’s direct superior. “With the amount of ale we’ll be buying, this city’’ll be swimming in silver before the day’s out.”

  “We have some free time, don’t we, sir?” Grith glanced up and down the high-street, trying to spot a decent looking tavern.

  Caers nodded. “Two hours. Until then, Captain Tribest has told me you’re all free to go.”

  With the sergeants blessing, Grith turned on his heel and left the group standing on the high-street. A few steps away, he realized he must have looked an ass, walking away without a word. He almost turned back to apologize, but thought better of it. Why put the effort into being friendly to these men? Tain wanted Grith working with him full time once they reached Fanalkir. This farce with the pike squad would finally be over and he’d never have to see Tribest, Caers, or any of the others again. He knew he should have felt guilty leaving them behind as he was, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Itte and Yiven, if they were part of the group taken from Kuul, were his responsibility. The others in this army would just have to look out for themselves.

  He stalked off and found an empty street, far from the crowds. So many of the townsfolk had gathered to watch the arriving army that they had left much of the small city as little more than a ghost town. Grith preferred it that way. He had gone weeks without a moment to himself, a moment to breathe. To go from a life of solitude to… whatever it was he was now doing, it was a difficult adjustment.

  Storefronts had been left abandoned along the street, many with doors ajar. If Girth had a mind to, he could slip inside and be gone with anything he wanted. But he wasn’t a petty thief or a pirate, as so many in the Empire believed Selivians to be. And besides, what did these people have that he wanted? Money? He might have been only a step above a slave, but he still got paid just like his comrades.

  “Grith!” came a voice from an alley to his left. Grith twisted, wondering for a moment who had just used his name. Tain stepped from the shadows, dressed in a black coat and breeches laced with cloth of silver, the ensemble giving him an heir of aristocratic menace. “No time for drinks, I’m afraid.” He was using a file to flick bits of dirt from beneath his nails as he spoke. The sound made Grith nervous.

  “The Seventh have a few hours yet. I thought I’d just stop by a tavern and-”

  “Lose yourself in the cup?” Tain interjected. “If it was up to me, you’d have all the free time in the world to get shit-faced, but the High Lord has other plans.” His expression grew grave. “He wants to see you.”

  Grith found the closest loose cobble and kicked it, the added strength of his Delving sending it high enough to clatter onto a second story roof. Of all the damned things! “Tell him I’m busy.”

  “Really?” Tain raised an eyebrow. “He has access to the day’s records. He’ll know you were just sitting here scratching at your ass. And next time, he’ll send soldiers, soldiers with clubs and orders to bring you to him by force.”

  “Let them come! They’ll have to drag my corpse to that bastard, though I don’t think he’ll be able to get much conversation out of it!”

  Tain held up a hand. “Grith, don’t yell. People might hear-”

  Grith spun to face Tain. “I hope they fucking do! You work for that man, the man who wanted me dead! The man who would have burned my village to the ground, given half-a-chance!”

  “I respect you,” Grith continued, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I’m here for your training and for my friends, nothing more. I didn’t want to work for that shit, but it was either that or a spot in the ground, so I chose this.”

  “Just give him this one meeting,” Tain breathed. “Please… don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Grith spun, running his hands through his hair and pulling hard. He could see a small child watching them from the shadow of a doorway. She looked frightened.

  “He told me that if you didn’t come quietly, I should knock you out and drag you to him.” Tain took a step forward. “So no.”

  Grith gritted his teeth. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to get some petty revenge. It was like the feeling of entering the Deepening, only sharper. There was no calm at the center of this roiling anger. This was deep hatred, the kind that brought men to murder.

  But there was something. An intensity. He latched onto it, let it be his focus. The world became clear again and realization struck him like an arrow. I have to do this. To protect my friends, my people, I have to do this.

  “I’ll go,” Grith said, though the words pained him to say. “But don’t expect me to bow and scrape. That’s something I won’t do, even on pain of death.”

  Tain raised an eyebrow. “You’d really rather die than bow?”

  Grith sighed and turned to follow Tain. “Honestly, I think I would.”

  * * *

  They reached the docks just as the first ferries departed, carrying Irrin’s vanguard across the Straits to Terron. Grith could see the troops packed onto the boats, their pikes forming a thick forest of wooden shafts in the air above. He envied them their hour of discomfort. He had a suspicion his next hour would be make theirs look like an afternoon stroll.

  The High Lord had set his pavilion along the cobbled waterfront, giving him a commanding view of the Straits and Toashan beyond. Officers, servants, guards, and scribes ran this way and that, attending to Irrin
’s every need. Noblemen passed around bottles of wine and plates of hors d’oeuvres. Aristocrats always turned to food and drink when they were bored. Perhaps that was why so many went to seed in their old age.

  At the center of chaos along the waterfront sat High Lord Irrin. He had placed himself in a heavy wooden chair, almost a throne, etched with floral patterns in gold leaf. Above his head was inlaid the symbol of his family, the sunburst of Selivia. It must have taken at entire cart and a dozen servants just to transport the damn thing.

  He wore the robes of his station well, deep violet and cloth of silver a perfect match with his white silk undershirt. Atop his head, he wore a band of plain silver. Such a display tempted fate. Emperor Hadan did not take well to his vassals playing at kingship.

  “High Lord, I must protest,” an elderly man in a black coat said. He stroked at his beard fervently and rocked back and forth on his heels before Irrin’s chair. “The Imperial tax for such a trip-”

  “Was payed, governor, when I levied my army.” Grith frowned. So, this was an Imperial Governor. Elected by Hadan himself, the Governors ruled the Empire’s cities directly, leaving the rural farmlands and forests to the lords, many of whom had lived on those lands since long before the founding of the Empire. As Grith understood it, the relationship between the two classes had always been a rocky one.

  The old man straightened. “High Lord-”

  “What would the Emperor say if he knew you were taxing a High Lord for the use of your ferries? I imagine he would say you were ‘sabotaging the war-effort.’ That’s the official term for the infraction, is it not? Not the kind of accusation you want hanging over your head.” Irrin took a sip of wine from a crystal glass, letting the words sink in. “Perhaps I should tell him, when we meet in Fanalkir.”

  “You would do no such thing, High Lord!”

  “You think so? Then by all means, send word to Hadan when we’re through here. Tell him of how you were mistreated. I would love to see the look on his face when he reads the letter.”

  The Governor squinted his drooping eyes and huffed. “Fine! The tariff is waived, but understand that you will never step foot on one of my ferries again.”

  Irrin smiled. “I will step where I please, Governor, as is my right. But I will humor you. My route back home with not take me within a hundred miles of this Tirrak damned port. I can guarantee you that.”

  The governor turned with some effort and stalked away, trailed by a pair of black clad guards. Spirits! Grith could almost respect the High Lord for what he had just done to the pompous idiot. Almost…

  “The carrion eaters are persistent as always,” Irrin commented as they approached. “He is lucky High Lord Viren is in Fanalkir. The man would have brought down hell on that fool’s head.”

  “Carrion eaters?” replied Tain. “Leeches more like.” The crowd of nobles chuckled obediently, the sound so fake that it made Grith cringe to hear.

  Tain stopped them short of the High Lord with a strong arm. “No further,” he said quietly enough for Grith’s ears alone. He held out a hand. “Now, give me the sword.”

  Grith frowned but still removed his belt, trying to keep one eye on Tain and the other on Irrin. This reeked of a trap, but what choice did he have but to obey? He might have had some freedoms in this army, but ultimately he was still a captive. Still a slave.

  He slapped the standard issue short sword into Tain’s hand. It wasn’t his only weapon. If he’d really wanted to kill Irrin… No! He wouldn’t, couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t even think it, for fear of what that traitorous, sectioned off part of his mind might do.

  “The knives too.” Tain muttered. “All of them.”

  Grith sighed, wondering how Tain could possible know about the pair of daggers he kept strapped to his back, and the third hidden in his boot. He pulled them out and placed them into the hands of an approaching guard.

  The guard handed Tain a rope. Grith stiffened, but still didn’t move. The bastards were going to fucking hogtie him! The other Delver fixed him with a hard stare, the kind that said: “don’t do anything stupid,” and he relented. Slowly, Tain wrapped the rope around Grith’s hands, before cinching a knot tight enough that Grith could do little more than flex his fingers. “You don’t trust me?” he asked his teacher.

  “After what you said earlier,” Tain whispered. He shook his head. “I’m not sure.” Their discussion was cut short, as one of Irrin’s guards pushed Grith forward. He could feel the eyes of the nobles upon him, their haughty expressions, equal parts hatred and disdain. To them, he was an exotic creature, barely tamed. They had yet to form an opinion of him, yet to attach an emotion to his face, and whether that was hate, fear, or something else entirely, might depend on this very meeting. The question was, did Grith really give half-a-shit about the opinions of a bunch of pompous old fools?

  Grith was forced to his knees before the High Lord’s chair, his face a scant few feet from the man’s shoes. So close he could almost spit on the finely polished leather… He had to admit, the idea intrigued him, but as much as he would have enjoyed giving Irrin a few moments of annoyance, it would only cause pain for he and his friends down the line, wherever they might be.

  “How goes the training, boy?” Irrin asked. He took another sip of wine. “Tain says you are a fast learner. I have to admit that I’m surprised.”

  Grith forced down his rage. This was public humiliation, nothing more. They could have just as easily had the conversation in private, but Irrin had wanted his lords to see that he had complete mastery over his newest pet Delver. “I’ve fought for as long as I can remember, even before I knew I had these abilities. Your guards should know that well enough.”

  Irrin smiled, something that surprised Grith. He had expected anger at the jab, as he had gotten from the man back in Kuul. “You have fire, just like Tain.” He held up a finger. “There’s only one difference between the two of you. Tain has loyalty. You do not.”

  “Take these ropes off and I’ll show you how loyal I am,” Grith growled back. That solicited a gasp from several of the nobles. There was more than one shout of “kill him” in response.

  “Perhaps they’re right,” Irrin mused, seeming to have not heard Grith’s threat. “I should kill you. All of my advisors say it. All my lords say it.” He leaned forward in his seat. “But I believe it would be a waste. You are a valuable, albeit dangerous tool—just like a sword or spear. Throwing away such a gift would be foolish.”

  “So,” Grith began, raising his voice so that there would be no doubt all gathered could hear. “You called this meeting so you could humiliate me in front of your sycophants?”

  “No. I simply wanted to get the lay of you. To truly see what makes the man.” He glanced in Tain’s direction. “Last time we met, he tried to kill me.”

  “He shows little sign of rebellion, High Lord. He follows my instructions to the letter with few questions.” Grith tried to turn so he could get a look at Tain, to see if there was truth on his face, but the guard that held his ropes shoved his head back down. If what his teacher said was true, then perhaps he had found a friend amongst this pit of vipers.

  “Good. As I said, I need him trained before we reach Fanalkir.”

  “Of course, High Lord. But don’t you think it would be easier if he wasn’t wasted in that pike squad. If I could train him at my leisure-”

  “He must be kept secret for now,” Irrin continued. “Some of the officers have their suspicions, but I’ve given out enough coin and threats to keep them silent. That being said, given your limited time, your work has impressed me so far, Tain. I expect good things from this one in the coming months.” Irrin leaned back in his chair, signaling that the conversation was over.

  Tain stepped into Grith’s line of sight and bowed. “Thank you, High Lord. But I must ask: If you care so much about secrecy, why have this conversation in public?”


  Grith had been wondering the same thing. As isolated as he had been in the Shaleese Marshes, he had still heard stories of the backstabbing nobility. Despite his flaws, Irrin was no fool. Why would he reveal his plans to men he very likely barely held in check.

  “I trust my lords,” Irrin said. “What I hear, they hear as well.” The statement reeked of a particularly strong kind of bullshit. There was a purpose in this.

  “Very well,” Tain said, his tone returning to its usual nonchalance. Grith could feel a hand wrap around his shoulder and pull him to his feet. “It’s time to go. You’ll need to be back to your pike squad before Tribest starts asking questions again. They should be pushing off soon.”

  “Wait!” Grith shouted as he was pulled away from Irrin’s pavilion. In the chaos of being taken against his will, humiliated in front of the High Lord, he had almost forgotten his purpose in coming quietly. “The men from my village! I want to see them!”

  Tain kept walking, keeping a strong hand on Grith’s shoulder. “Don’t,” he quietly whispered.

  “One day, perhaps,” Irrin replied. “When you have proven yourself to me.”

  Grith wanted to fight, wanted to run up and break the pompous High Lord’s nose with his bound hands. But using all his will, he managed to hold himself back. He couldn’t afford to give into rage. If he did, he would be throwing away the lives of the men of his village. He had to remain calm, for them, as much as for himself. Control, as Tain had said, was the key to power. Grith had to try and remember that.

  * * *

  When they were out of sight of the pavilion, Grith’s bonds were cut. He rubbed at his hands where the rope had bit into his skin, leaving angry burns that wept blood. His Enforcer abilities had already begun to heal the marks, but that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt like hell.

  Tain took them down a side alley that opened onto a wide boulevard. This was a new part of the city, more tightly packed than the neighborhood they had first marched through on the way into Galthegan. “You said I was supposed to be returning to my pike squad-”