The Argument of Empires (The Corrossan Trilogy Book 1)

by Jacob T. Helvey

  “The Stevalens…” He mulled the name over for a time. “Your family fought on the side of the Rebels, didn’t they?”

  She opened her mouth to give a retort, but Livran stopped her with a raised hand as he began to take the steps once again. Kareen followed. “I won’t hold your father’s loyalties against you. The war was terrible for both sides, and if anything the Rebels got the worst of it, in the end.” He paused before adding: “Not that they didn’t deserve it, mind you.”

  Kareen frowned. She remembered the story of Timon Kirov, Tirrak, in many parts of the Empire he was practically a folk hero. He had been a common mercenary, captain of a small group of sellswords. During the war, the Rebel army had come out of the mountains, forty-thousand strong and barreling towards Akiv. Supposedly, Timon had held them back for three days at a hastily constructed hill fort, enough time for an Imperial force to be mustered to meet the enemy at Anton. Two hundred men had gone into that fort. Thirty had come out. Livran had more of a reason to hate her than most.

  “When the rebels attacked,” he continued. “Your family mustn’t have taken part in the actual fighting, or I doubt we’d be having this conversation.”

  “My father came down with a fever a few days before he was to leave for muster. That fever probably saved the lives of my entire family.”

  Livran’s face grew serious. “So that’s why he’s still alive? I’ve heard of what happened to the families who didn’t fight.” He shook his head. “It was unfair, cruel, that you were punished.”

  “Better than death,” she said, shrugging. Kareen liked this Livran, even if she had only known him for a few moments. But she had already mulled over the past once today. She didn’t want to irritate those old wounds again. “Now, I just have to put a pile of silver in the Emperor’s hands.”

  They were near the top now. She could see the guards, standing in a line across the wide entrance to the palace proper. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies that came fluttered like a storm from the depths of her stomach. This will be over soon, she reminded herself, hoping to calm her nerves. Then you can go home…

  “That could be a problem. I should probably warn you,” Livran said. “The Emperor isn’t in the city at the moment-”

  “What!?” She wheeled on him, trying to push down the anger and shock that threatened to boil up from inside her. “Where is he?!”

  Livran held up one of his hands in a warding gesture, a look of sheer surprise on his face. “He’s at the Front from what I heard. Doing troop inspections or the like. Is your meeting with him really so urgent?”

  Kareen blushed at her own brashness. I thought I’d trained out that temper. Obviously not. “I’m so sorry, it’s just…” She stopped to clear her throat, trying to fight back tears that welled unbidden in her eyes. “This is my life… for me and my family. You have to understand.”

  He took her hand in his own, an intimate gesture for two who had only just met, but Kareen didn’t care. Right now, she would take any support she could get, even if that support came from a stranger. “I do, trust me, I do. But regardless, don’t you think you should go inside? Perhaps one of the Emperor’s advisors would accept your silver. Surely that would be enough for old Hadan.”

  She nodded. “Maybe.” She’d already been through this once, back in Akiv, when she had tried to give her silver to Archon Shel’wai, Hadan’s second. He had denied her. The law is clear, he had said. The coin must be given to His Highness, Emperor Hadan, and he alone. Still… “It’s worth a try at least.” She followed his lead up the remaining steps.

  “You never told me why you were here,” she said when she was confident she could speak without choking up. They had reached the top of the path. The guards were thicker here, forming a barrier between a large patio and the forest of rust-colored columns that formed the face of the palace.

  Dozens of richly clad nobles, merchants, and high ranking officers milled about on the patio, taking drinks and finger foods from passing servants. Kareen considered the logistics of just keeping this place provisioned. She did some quick mental calculations, as her tutors had taught her, but her mind recoiled at the numbers she produced. So much, just so these people could have a party whenever they wished.

  “The same reason I’m always here,” Livran replied. “Every day I come to ask for permission to mount an expedition.” He sighed. “And every day I am denied.”

  “Expeditions? You mean the army doesn’t work together, like it did during the Rebellion?”

  “It would, if this war was anything like the Rebellion.” He took a drink from a passing servant. She was Fanalkiri, Kareen was surprised to see, with red hair tied into braids that poked out from under her cap. “The Cutarans are a tribal people. You’ll rarely find more than a few hundred of them fighting together. That’s why the Imperial Army has to be split into such small units. To fight the Cutarans, we have to fight like the Cutarans.”

  “There’s only one problem,” Livran continued. “Emperor Hadan was friends with my father in the years between the Rebellion and his death. He treats me like a son. Something to do with a promise my father made him swear on his deathbed. He won’t see me going and getting myself hurt.”

  “Then why do you keep asking if you already know the answer?”

  Livran shrugged and took a sip from the crystal glass. “I don’t know, honestly. Maybe I’m hoping that one day he’ll relent and let me have my expedition out onto the plains, even if it’s just to the Front.” He waved his hand towards the city below. “I’m here already. What can I do but try?”

  Kareen nodded, trying to concentrate on the knight’s words, but she finding her eyes straying towards the pillars and the men guarding the way inside the palace. They had the look of Akivians, light tan skin, brown and blonde hair…

  “Are those the Highlanders?” she asked Livran. “I always thought they would look more… like men from the highlands.”

  “The guards?” he asked, following her gaze. “No. Akivian Corps, just like the ones downstairs. Trust me. You’d know if they were Highlanders. They all have great big shocks of red hair and skin as pale as mine and yours. Well, most of them at least.”

  That was a shame. She’d heard so many things about Hadan’s elite unit of bodyguards. They had a reputation for valor and brutality in equal measure. She had always wanted to see them in person, to find out if they were truly as ferocious as legend claimed.

  Without the use of a timepiece, Kareen was forced to look up into the sky. It would be halflight soon, the time when Tirrak blocked the light from the sun and the world experienced a second and far shorter night. She’d hoped to have had her audience by now, but the news of the Emperor’s absence had changed things.

  She needed to find some way out of this conversation without sounding like she didn’t appreciate Livran’s help. “So what do I do?” she began. “Just tell the guards that I want an audience?”

  “Ideally you would have wanted to arrange an appointment ahead of time, but the Captain of the Guard should let you through if you tell him your situation.”

  Livran place his empty glass on the dish of another servant and began walking towards the palace entrance. “I guess I should probably get my audience over with as well.”

  Kareen followed the Kilrian man, nervousness rising in her chest as she tried to take in the immensity of the bronze dome that dominated the noonday sky. Even with the Emperor’s absence, the immensity of the structure spoke of a majesty far beyond anything she could have imagined only a scant few months past. Akiv and now this? It was enough to shatter one’s simple view of the world, cultivated over so many years in rural seclusion.

  A grim-faced guard intercepted them before they could reach the first row of pillars. Sweat poured down his face in the equatorial heat, his thick wool uniform doing little more than exacerbate the problem. Kareen was once again thankful fo
r her light cotton dress.

  “Business, Sir and Lady?” the Corps soldiers asked, his accent thick with the nasally timbre of an Akivian native. The five Corps, each fifteen thousand strong, were the only professional regulars in the Empire, and answered directly to Hadan. Each unit was drawn from a large urban center, like Akiv or Saleno, places where Imperial loyalty was at its strongest. They were solid troops, good in a fight, and considered the best men the Emperor could draw on, apart from the Highlanders, of course.

  “Come on, Captain,” Livran told the man, a familiar tone in his voice. “You have to have learned to recognize my face by now.”

  “Sorry, sir, but it’s policy.” He looked back and forth between them. With a start, Kareen realized he was waiting for an answer from her.

  “I am looking for an audience with the Emperor’s representative, Captain. If you could point me in the right direction-”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met, my lady.” He looked her up and down, not with the barely concealed desire of Lord Yules, but with the keen eye of a man looking for any sign of danger.

  “Apologies. I came in by ship only this morning. My name is Kareen Stevalen. I have taxes to be payed to the Emperor.”

  The man nodded. “One of the rebels then.” He scratched his chin. “I need to see a sign of identification. A Writ of Title, Signet Ring…”

  She held out her hand, showing her father’s gold band. It was designed to be worn on the smallest finger, but with her petite hands, she found it fit better worn on the pointer. It was thick and weighty with the ancient pre-imperial runs of her family carved in a circle around a single emerald. No one, not even her father, had the foggiest idea what the runes meant, but they had obviously been of importance to her long dead ancestors.

  The Captain bent down to examine the ring, and once he was satisfied in whatever it was he had seen, stepped back. “Go straight down the hall behind me and do not deviate. At its end, you’ll see a queue. Wait your turn and you should receive your audience in good time.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” She bowed and made to step around the man.

  “Your sword,” he said before she could get too far away. “No weapons in the palace, my lady.” She sighed and undid the clasp that held the epée at her belt before handing the blade off to the Captain. “Don’t worry, my lady. I promise it won’t leave my sight.”

  She looked to Livran, who was already removing the sword and scabbard from his own belt. She felt uncomfortable without her small blade, but it wasn’t like she was in any real danger. In fact, she was probably safer here than anywhere else in the world.

  Fully disarmed, Kareen and Livran took their first steps into the palace. They passed door after door, some closed, others open, revealing clerks studying stacks of records, and servants going about their chores. All around them were nobles and guards, officials and priests, all seeming to have somewhere very important to be. This was what she had expected from the home of the Emperor. Stained glass windows, fine tapestries and sculpture, and below it all, a constant buzz of activity.

  As the captain had claimed, the hall ended abruptly, terminating in a gate that blocked the way forward. It was little more than a thin latticework of metal and wood, enough to obscure any view of the other side, while still allowing through a warm light. A line of figures stood before a smaller door, built into the much larger screen. They were nobles mostly, although Kareen could see there were a few commoners sprinkled amongst them, their plain garb and tanned skin making clear their relative poverty. There were even a few Fanlkiri, even the lowliest of which wore brightly colored robes or tunics in riotous patterns.

  “Blessed Tirrak, there have to be dozens of them.” Good time, indeed, Kareen thought, remembering the captain’s words. At this rate, it would be an hour at least before she received her audience.

  “Best sit back,” Livran said, leaning against one of the finely carved walls. “This could take a while.”

  * * *

  “Next!” Came a voice from the other side of the gate. Kareen had heard the word so many times, it took her a moment to realize the man was referring to her. “Next!” he repeated, even louder.

  She jumped and rose to her feet, glancing back at Livran, who gave her a reassuring nod. She could feel bile rising in her throat, but managed to push it down before stepping through the open door and into the room beyond. The chamber was like something out of a dream, cavernous, austere, its sheer size causing each of her footsteps to echo off the ceiling high above. So, this was the dome she had seen from the outside? It was magnificent. Chairs were placed in a circle beneath its outer curve—each one finished in bronze—surrounding a statue carved from the same redish stone as the structure around it. The piece depicted a pair of figures, a man and woman, completely nude. The man held an astrolabe in thin fingers, his face turned towards the sky. The woman carried a bushel of sorghum. Her eyes were cast towards the ground, but there was no sadness in her expression. She looked more motherly, than anything.

  “There is a saying in Kwell,” came an aging voice from somewhere in the room. The way the words echoed, it was impossible to tell from which direction the voice came. “The dual gods, Progress and Prosperity, sit on the shoulders of wise men.” So, these were the Fanalkiri gods? They were certainly divine, and reflected a refinement in the art of sculpture that the finest Corrossan artisans had yet to master.

  “I haven’t seen you before,” the voice said. “I remember every face I see, but yours, it’s so pretty. It would stand out even amongst all the others.”

  An Akivian woman sat at the foot of the bronze chair opposite Kareen. Her face was partially blocked by the muscular leg of Progress, but Kareen could see that she sat at a folding table. Kareen stepped around the statue, feeling foolish for how she had stared, and came to stand before the woman.

  Is this the Imperial representative? Kareen wondered. So much in Akivian society was dictated by the complicated relationships between rulers and ruled, between lords and governors and the half a hundred ranks in between.

  Kareen took the safe bet and gave a short bow, deep enough to placate a High Lady, but short enough as to not cause undue embarrassment if this woman was of a lower rank.

  “I’m afraid I’m new to the city, my lady. I have only been here a few hours-”

  The woman clapped her hands together in a very unladylike gesture. She fixed Kareen with deep-set eyes in a near fleshless face, pulling back the hood of a threadbare robe that reminded her of those worn by the beggar monks that were common on the roads of the Empire.

  “You are interesting…” the woman breathed, seemingly unconcerned with the dictates of formality. “From Western Kilri if I had to guess.” The woman held up a finger, staring at the gnarled digit as if it possessed the secrets of the universe. She bit her lip nervously, whispering an imperceptible string of words in a language that Kareen didn’t recognize.

  “You’re a daughter,” she finally said, as if it was some kind of revelation.

  “Yes, my lady,” Kareen replied, trying to remain calm. Why would the Emperor leave this woman in his stead? Age had either addled her mind, or worse, she was completely mad. “I am a woman, and I came from my mother’s womb.”

  “But whose daughter are you?” She didn’t let her eyes stray from the finger. “Whose? Whose? Whose?” She snapped her head up suddenly, her eyes wide. Kareen nearly jumped, but calmed herself. No matter her madness, this was still only an old woman.

  “Thuman! You’re Thuman Stevalen’s daughter!” Her voice echoed off the dome above. She took a swig of the drink that sat on the table before her. In fact, it was the only thing sitting on the table. There was no pen, no paper, no way to keep any sort of record. “That makes you…” She closed her eyes and seemed to strain for a moment, like she was trying to pass a particularly large gallstone.

  “Kareen?” Her eyes snapped up. “B
orn in the winter of the Year of our Emperor, four-twelve? That’s according to the official census, of course.”

  Kareen realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it before she could further embarrass herself. She’s… “You’re a Curator…”

  The woman nodded and took another drink from the cup. “Tiphil Drom is my name. Curator to Emperor Hadan.” She leaned back in her chair slightly, her eyes seeming to relax somewhat. “Was I right? About your birthday?”

  Kareen tried to concentrate. Try not to think about her. You’re better than this. Your tutors taught you to not be intimidated by anyone, even a Delver.

  “Yes,” she blurted out. “But under the religious calendar I was technically born in the spring.”

  Delvers were the most feared of the Emperor’s creatures. Enforcers had their strength and Igneans their fire, but it was said that Curators were the most dangerous of all. In their minds were contained every Imperial record since the Founding. They could recall the information at a moment’s notice, drawing it from their minds using whatever unnatural force it was that lent them their power.

  “A clerical error that will have to be fixed someday.” The woman said it without a hint of humor.

  Tirrak! She’s serious. “Lady Delver-”

  The old woman held up a hand. “You are here about your father’s tax to the Emperor.” It was more statement than question.

  “Yes,” Kareen said. “I have the money with me. As the representative of Emperor Hadan in Kwell, I thought you might be able to-”

  “The Emperor’s orders are very specific on this matter. You are to give the money to him and him alone. No representative will do.” She looked up at Kareen, her dark eyes intent behind the heavy folds of skin covering her face. “I could read the writ to you, if you have the time.”

  Kareen held up her hands. “No, thank you, Lady Delver.” Behind her steady expression, her mind raced, thoughts running through her head so quickly that she found it impossible to latch onto a single stabilizing idea. What now? Civilians, even nobles, weren’t allowed within a hundred miles of the Front without a formal writ from the Emperor. Could she afford to wait, hoping that Hadan would return to Kwell before her tax was due? That date was only three weeks away