A chapter of her life had ended, and the page had yet to be turned. What would be inked on the next leaf?
“Out! Everyone out!” Renna yelled, after Hadan’s Weapons had exited the room. She gripped the front of the Emperor’s shirt as though through will alone, she might somehow keep his soul bound to the flesh.
“Renna…” Oranhur began.
“Do you think me some grieving girl, Oranhur, mourning the death of her father? I’m not so foolish! I know the procedures for the succession! I am the only one here who does! But I need solitude, need time! Leave!” She lowered her voice then, and for the first time, sounded small, weak, like the girl she claimed she wasn’t. “Please…”
Oranhur nodded, and turned to leave through the tent flap. “Come on,” he told Kareen. “We have work to do.”
* * *
The next hour was a haze of hastily written letters and hushed conversation. Kareen worked in strained silence, transcribing Oranhur’s dictations to the various generals, lieutenants, and other officers with which he wished to communicate. The notices of the Emperor’s untimely passing would be held back for the time being. No one could know Hadan, the most powerful man in the known world, was dead. At least, not until such time that they were ready.
The Emperor had prepared well for this eventuality, all things considered. There were dozens of small ceremonies that had to be observed, some of them practical, others ritualistic, and a few too strange and arcane for Kareen to even fathom—all to determine the succession. Renna performed the rites in solitude, cursing anyone who tried to interrupt her while she did her grim work.
Hadan had named no heir, and legend had it that upon his death the winds themselves, given cause by Tirrak, would whisper his successor’s name. Kareen had her doubts on that particular point. It seemed that if Hadan had, in fact left no instructions as to whom would take the throne, than his advisors and underlings, women and men like Renna and Loen and the Archon Shel’wai back in Akiv, would make the decision in his place. But who amongst the thousands who carried the blood of the Imperial Line would they choose?
“Loron Kabris is the most likely choice,” Oranhur had told her when pushed. “Or he would have been, had the Emperor lived another twenty years. By then, Loron would be well into his fourth decade. But I’m not sure I like the idea of a seventeen year old having the reigns of the Empire.”
That made Loron only a year older than Kareen herself. Could a man of his age, barely into adulthood, really fill Hadan’s shoes? Could anyone, for that matter? “Why not Renna? She was the Emperor’s advisor after all. His most trusted confidant.”
“Too old,” replied Oranhur. “She is well into her seventies. She would sit the throne well for a few years, then this whole damnable process would start again.” The general rose from the portable writing desk he used as an improvised seat. He and Kareen had taken an empty scribing room as their own, deep within the bowels of Hadan’s complex of interconnected tents. “No, what the Empire will need to weather this storm is stability, and for that we need a young man, someone who can steer the ship for decades to come.” Oranhur motioned her to follow him, and she rolled up the scroll she had been working on and stuffed it into a wooden tube for safekeeping. It was an official announcement of the Emperor’s death, to be read to the soldiers when Renna and Oranhur felt confident the news wouldn’t cause undue chaos.
Kareen followed the general through the tent flap and into the adjoining sitting room where, only hours ago, Hadan would have been able to dictate to his scribes from the comfort of a plush chair or set of silk cushions.. A Highlander stood at attention against the wall, a lantern in one hand, his sword in the other. It had grown dark in the hours since they had started their work. Midnight would be fast approaching.
“Any news, soldier?” Oranhur asked the Highlander.
The man nodded. “Lady Renna is nearly finished with the rites. It’s only a matter of time now before we know the name of the next Emperor.”
Kareen frowned. How easy would it be for Renna to forge the name of the heir? It wasn’t that Kareen didn’t trust her, it was just that… well… the woman had the ability and the means.
No! she told herself. She wouldn’t start jumping at shadows. Not now. She needed a clear head and a steady hand for the days to follow. They would be unpleasant enough as it was without her offloading her suspicions onto anyone that seemed the least bit out of place.
“And the investigation?” Oranhur continued.
The Highlander stiffened at the question. “Another of our number,” he reluctantly said, clearly uncomfortable at even speaking the words. “Little more than a boy, fresh from training.” His voice rose as he spoke. “I don’t know how the man who sought His Highness’ death got to him, but when we find out, he and his accomplices will pay!”
“And was he captured?” Kareen asked. She could only imagine the brutal tortures the Highlanders would perform on the boy. The order was as much as a secret police force as it was as a unit of bodyguards. Under their ministrations, this traitor of theirs would very likely beg for death.
“No,” the man growled out. He ran a hand through locks of red hair and groaned. “He left before His Highness even ingested the poison, a toxin that closes the airways of the throat.”
A horrible way to go. Hadan must have died in agony.
Oranhur nodded. “Thank you.” He motioned to Kareen. “We should be going. If it’s true that Renna is nearly finished with the rituals, than we will need to be present.” He turned on his heel and took the way back to Hadan’s rooms.
“Oranhur?” the Highlander asked before they could leave his line of sight. “Do not fear where our loyalties lie. The ones here, the ones still loyal, will follow the new Emperor, as we did the old, whomever you and the others may choose.”
The General nodded. “It doesn’t do much to salve my fears, but still, thank you.”
The Highlander gave a crisp salute before returning to his duty. Oranhur raised an eyebrow as he turned away. It seemed that even in the chaos that swirled like a foul wind around them, the world still had a few surprises left up its sleeve.
* * *
A small group of advisors and scribes had gathered around the bed where Hadan’s corpse still lay. Someone had started burning incense. It was strong and floral, sparking memories of the temples to Tirrak Kareen had visited as a child.
Renna knelt next to the body. Behind her was Loen, the cut and style of his clothing as impeccable as ever. But despite the obvious effort he had put into his dress, his face was dark and gray, his hair disheveled. Admittedly, he was taking Hadan’s death better than Renna, but considering the woman’s state, that wasn’t saying much.
A pair of ancient men stood in the corner of the room—Curators she now knew—placed there to record proceedings for the Imperial Records. Strange, she had never seen two of them in one place before. Perhaps tonight’s events were too important to be trusted to only one Delver.
“Is everyone present?” Renna asked in a clear voice, climbing to her feet and scanning the gathered faces. Her brown eyes were still red around the edges, but her tears seemed to have dried in the intervening hours. There was something in her hand. She opened it to reveal a ring, silver, with a violet stone, sitting in her palm. Kareen’s breath caught in her throat. The Imperial Signet, the sole symbol of the power and authority given the Corrossan Emperor.
Where other rulers wore crowns, the Emperor bore only a ring. A man like Hadan had no need for such gaudy displays of sovereignty. He was power. Or had been. Now, in death, he showed his frailty. It was as if, after so long a period sat upon the throne, his four-hundred years had finally caught up with him.
Seeing the faces around the room, Renna took a long breath and then spoke. “Emperor Hadan thought long on who would succeed him. I had heard dozens of names mentioned in my tenure as his advisor, but as the time
of his eventual passing grew ever closer, he paired the candidates down to only a handful. Still, he never told me who he had chosen in the end. Perhaps he feared that if the man knew, he might try to seize power before his appointed time.” She attempted a grim smile. “Or perhaps His Highness simply had a flair for the dramatic.”
“Regardless,” she continued, “the name of the next ruler of the Corrossan Empire is held within this ring, to be revealed upon the time of Emperor Hadan’s death.” Renna took her right hand—Kareen could see that it shook ever so slightly—and placed her pointer finger and thumb on the stone. She twisted something along the exterior of the ring and there was a single click.
The air filled with a charge, electric, as if some great power had been released. The others must have felt it too. They shifted where they stood. So it wasn’t just her imagination then. There was some power held within the ring, ancient and deep.
Kareen glanced at the pair of Curators. Their eyes had gone wide with shock. One of them began whispering something to himself. The other rubbed at his temples as if struck by a sudden migraine.
Renna, unfazed, pulled the jewel back on a tiny concealed hinge, revealing a compartment hidden behind the stone. There was a slip of paper coiled into a bundle within, and held in place with a thin length of string. The elderly advisor raised it between thumb and forefinger and then sat the ring down gingerly at the foot of the bed.
The room grew quiet as a tomb as Renna pulled at the thread and then unfurled the paper. Her expression darkened as she read the name sequestered inside. She shook her head as her eyes darted across the page a dozen more times. Clearly it was not the name she had expected…
When the anticipation had finally grown unbearable, Oranhur stepped forward, breaking the silence. “Renna…” She lifted her head slowly, fear writ cold across her eyes. “The name. Who is it?”
She held out the piece of paper so that all those assembled could read the pair of words. In a flowing hand, written in black ink, was a name: “Ytan Tylis.”
Thirty-Five:
Grith
“You’re awake,” came a voice to Grith’s left. It was soft and feminine, but with sharp undertones. Anxious.
He groaned and opened his eyes. He had been in a position similar to this only a few short months ago—sitting in a bed, weak as a babe and covered in wounds. But it was not Tain, and certainly not Irrin who stood over him. It was a young woman—little more than a girl, if he was honest.
She was pale, with hair as dark as his own. It fell to her shoulders in ringlets, oily and well-kept. Her face was angular but pretty, her frame thin, the floral dress covering it stained in places with blood. No, she was definitely not what he had expected upon opening his eyes.
“Sure am,” he groaned in response to her question, rising from his pillow and wincing at a pain in his side. At least he wasn’t hungry. Someone—Tain perhaps—must have made sure the surgeons saw to that. He and the girl were within a tent, dark green and large as any he had ever seen. Out of the corner of his eye Grith could see multiple covered hallways, presumably leading off to other tents just like this one. Not what he would have expected from triage. “Where are we?”
“Emperor Hadan’s complex,” the girl told him, sitting down at the foot of his bed. Not a cot, but a real bed. What had he done to deserve this? It would have taken an entire team of oxen just to pull the damn thing all the way out here.
I killed Xisa, he reminded himself. The leader of the Cutarans. Hadan would probably want to thank him personally for his service, gild his breast with metals, and perhaps even present him with a title. He shouldn’t have felt pride at that, but Spirits! As near as he could tell, he had just ended a war.
The girl shook her head. “I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Kareen Stevalen.” She had a last name. Noble then. She gave him a seated bow.
Grith frowned. What was a noble doing bowing to him? He was a commoner, worse than a commoner actually. His people hardly were hardly even citizens.
“I’m Grith,” he told her, miming her bow as best he could in his current state, wincing at the sharp pain in his side where Xisa’s sword had scraped across his ribs.
“I know who you are,” Kareen said. “I imagine everyone in the army does by now.”
“Tain must already be up then,” Grith said, straining to get into a comfortable position. Seeing she didn’t recognize the name, he continued on. “Blonde man. A few years older than me.”
She nodded. “He’s been up and about for a few hours now, singing your praises to anyone who will listen.” She frowned and looked away. “Oranhur has recommended both of you for Imperial Recognition. But…”
Grith sat up a little straighter and tried to ignore the tug from the bandages around his chest and left shoulder. There was something this woman wasn’t telling him. Who was this Oranhur person, for one? And that tone of voice…
“How long have I been unconscious?” Grith asked. “Last time I was injured this badly, I was laid up for days. They had to move me around in the back of a-”
“Not even a day,” she interjected. “It’s amazing, honestly. Your friend Tain was up walking within hours, and you don’t look like you’re far from it yourself.”
It’s only been a few hours, he reassured himself. But so much could happen in that time. This whole journey, from Kuul all the way to the plains of Fanalkir, had attested to just how fickle the winds of change could be.
“Something happened, didn’t it? When I was unconscious.”
She looked away, a sour expression on her face. “Nothing… it’s just-”
“Tell me,” he said, perhaps a little more forcefully than he would have liked. “I killed the leader of the Cutarans, for Spirit’s sake. I think that gives me the right to some answers.”
“You don’t understand.” Kareen muttered, shaking her head. “Oranhur would skin me if I told anyone. It’s supposed to be a secret…”
If she was trying to get Grith to stop dogging her, she was doing a terrible job of it. Now, he was more intrigued than ever. “I’m not like my friend, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
Kareen turned back to him, her eyes full of pain. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept since the battle. Whoever Oranhur was—captain, lord, general—he must have been working her hard.
She took a deep breath. “His Highness is dead.”
Grith went suddenly tense. “Hadan?”
Kareen nodded.
“But that’s impossible. I-” Tain had said that Hadan was nearing the end of his life, but that was supposed to be decades away, wasn’t it?
“Emperor Hadan was many things, but he was not a god. We discovered that tonight. He may have been long lived, but the poison that killed him would have done the same to you or me.” Kareen sounded bitter, almost betrayed. Grith had the sudden feeling that he was an unexpected guest, walking in on a conversation already half-way finished.
She had said poison. An assassin then. It was hard to comprehend. Hadan had been Emperor for Grith’s entire life, for the lives of everyone in the Empire. There had never been another Corrossan ruler. That would have to change. Spirits, so much would have to change.
Kareen rose from her seat at the foot of the bed. “You must not speak of this to anyone. There are…” she hesitated for the barest moment, “difficulties with the succession. Difficulties that need to be kept quiet, for now.”
“I promise,” Grith said. “My lips are sealed.”
Kareen nodded. She looked ready to leave, but stopped before the tent flap. “Thank you for what you did out there. Killing Xisa it…” she shook her head, seemingly unsure of what to say next, “takes a weight off my chest.”
Grith nodded. Perhaps it took a weight off this woman’s chest, but it didn’t help lighten his conscience, or alleviate the guilt. “
I killed hundreds of Cutarans,” he finally said. “I’m a warrior, a soldier, but that was something else entirely. Men aren’t meant to do what I did, to kill on that scale. Was it worth it?”
“I don’t know.” Kareen sighed. “But you ended this war, and avenged one of my friends. Perhaps that’s what matters in the end.”
The pale woman pulled back the tent flap and stepped into the room beyond, leaving Grith alone with his thoughts.
* * *
Irrin and Uche came to the Divide with the end of halflight the next day. Their forces snaked their way down the eastern rise to the bridge and began deploying their tents on the opposite side from the Emperor’s own army. Emerging from their force, the High Lords took their first steps onto the bridge as a pair, surveying the remains of the battle with wide eyes.
Grith and Tain came to meet them, walking out to the center of the bridge where the barrier had only recently been cleared away. Despite the best efforts of Atnis’ small band of soldiers, the bridge still stank of blood, but it was a smell to which Grith had quickly become accustomed.
“You did this?” Irrin asked, motioning to the stained boards. Not even a greeting. Typical…
“We had help,” Tain said. “But for the most part, yes, it was us.” He seemed proud, standing on the bridge in his rough spun, the only unsoiled clothes the Emperor’s servants could find on such short notice.
Tain’s pride was not matched by Grith’s own. He wouldn’t let this become normal, would never fight like this again.
“Jionis told me everything,” Uche said from beside the other High Lord. “Even with the pair of you here, we were convinced we’d be facing down an army of Cutarans any day now.” He put up a hand. “Meaning no offense, of course.”
“We wouldn’t have held half as long as we did without Hadan’s army.” Tain motioned to the hundreds of tents working their way up the rise behind them, surrounding improvised pens that had been set up to hold the Cutaran prisoners.
The Argument of Empires Page 43
