The Argument of Empires (The Corrossan Trilogy Book 1)

by Jacob T. Helvey

  “After that, I went to Saleno. Spent a year working for a couple of gangs in the city’s underworld. Not savory work, but none of them give half-a-shit that I had death warrant on my head. Eventually, Irrin found me, took me in. He was in need of a Delver and wasn’t one to ask questions.”

  Tain got to his feet as a servant opened the doors to Irrin’s bedchambers. “And that’s how I got here, in this palace, in this city, in this Tirrak forsaken land.” He put on his best smile and turned to greet the High Lord.

  Irrin was dressed in a deep scarlet robe over a black shirt and breeches that matched his hair, which itself was slicked back with oils so that it clung to his head. Even Grith had to admit that decked in all his garb, he looked the part of the powerful nobleman.

  Irrin pulled a pocket watch from within his robe and checked its face. “We’re ten minutes late,” he said without preamble. “Let’s not leave Uche waiting.”

  “And a good morning to you, High Lord,” Tain quipped, turning to take a position on Irrin’s right flank. Grith took the opposite side. He stifled a yawn as they walked. He hadn’t slept much the night before, what with the constant guard duty. At least that’s what he told himself. In reality, he’d laid in one of the narrow cots that Uche provided his guards and stared at the ceiling, trying to puzzle through the multitude of threads that had revealed themselves in the last few weeks. The Highlanders, Tema, Kret—did they all fit together somehow, or were they simply separate threats to be dealt with? And this expedition onto the plains? Admittedly Grith would be safer from assassins outside the walls of Ytem, but what about the Cutarans? Uche had said they weren’t a threat, but how far could his word be trusted?

  Spirits! He was getting paranoid. In truth, there was nothing that he could do but watch and wait. And that was the worst part of his job. He had the powers of a Delver at his fingertips, but was impotent to use them.

  They were intercepted by one of Uche’s servants before they could become lost. He directed them to the other High Lord’s chambers, situated deep at the center of the palace. It turned out, that amongst the maze of uniform gardened apartments, there was a far larger set of chambers, those that had presumably belonged to the Pasha before being deposed.

  At the center of these chambers was a circular marble pavilion, under which had been set a long ivory table with enough space to seat two-dozen men. The structure was surrounded by yet another garden, larger and even more riotous than the others. Grith had never thought he would grow tired of flowers and topiary bushes, but the bright colors and well-manicured beds were beginning to wear on his senses. What he wouldn’t have done to see a dull shrub or ordinary copse of trees.

  Uche waited at the table, his hands clasped before him, dressed in a robe not too dissimilar to Irrin’s own. To his right sat an older man in a formal uniform of Linsgravi scarlet. Another lord perhaps? His bushy mustache made up for his complete lack of hair, which looked to have fled his head years ago. He was slight of built but did not look weak. There was a certain sinewy strength to him.

  But the man who drew Grith’s eye stood behind the High Lord. Kret remained at a casual attention, his hands placed behind his back, leaning against one of the pillars that held up the pavilion’s roof. He followed Grith and Tain with hawkish eyes, moving only when they took the first steps up the stairs to the raised conference table. He pushed off the column and took a pair of quick steps to stand at his master’s side, his offhand moving to rest on the grip of his saber. Spirits, how could a man look both so attentive and yet so relaxed? That nonchalant air of danger was a skill Grith wasn’t sure he would ever master.

  Upon seeing the mercenary, Tain gave a wry smile and moved to take a seat on the opposite side of the table. If the action angered Kret, he didn’t show it. His face was like a glassy pool, unreadable and unknowable. Grith suddenly understood why the older man had passed the tests at El’kabal while Tain had not. Kret had a complete and utter lack of emotion. It wasn’t that it was well suppressed, bubbling just below the surface, as Grith’s often did. It was if it had been scoured away from his mind completely, gone and never to return.

  Completely oblivious to the animosity between Kret and his two bodyguards, Irrin took a seat next, opposite of Uche. Seeing that no one else was going to sit, Grith lowered himself into a chair on the High Lord’s left. He leaned his spear against the empty seat at his side and straightened his back, trying to look official. Truth was, he didn’t know much about the niceties of politics, only that they were numerous, opaque to outsiders, and that to not observe them would be seen as a massive faux pas that would reflect poorly on both he and Irrin. Luckily, no one at the table noticed anything amiss.

  “Have you had breakfast yet?” asked Uche once they were all seated.

  “I didn’t have time,” Irrin replied. “But now that you mention it, I am famished.”

  Grith tried to ignore the rumbling of his own stomach. He hadn’t eaten since the evening and had been up on guard duty most of the night. His reserves of energy were almost completely drained.

  Uche clapped his hands. “Then we’ll take breakfast here. Kret, inform the servants, if you would?”

  Over the next few minutes, food was laid out in front of them. There were steaming plates of eggs to start, cooked a little too heavily for Grith’s tastes, but still delicious. Next was a fish he didn’t recognize, cooked in a vinegar based sauce that threatened to turn his stomach after the savory eggs. Last was a cup of steaming coffee with a sweet pastry filled with what tasted like elderberries.

  They made small talk as they ate. Uche said the fishing trade back in Linsgrav was booming with the invention of a new type of net that nearly doubled his fishermen’s yearly output. Tain lamented on the state of the harvests in Selivia last year. “I only hope this autumn is better.”

  It was the typical harmless conversation of people trying to avoid a heavy subject. It was only as they sipped at the last dregs of their coffee and licked the powdered sugar from their fingers that the mustachioed old man, silent for most of breakfast, spoke. “High Lord?” he asked Uche, seemingly looking for confirmation.

  Uche nodded. “I think it is finally time that we get down to business.” He turned to face Irrin. “Lord Kanne and I worked well into the night on the plans for this expedition of our, but with you committing so many soldiers to our cause, I wanted your input before anything is finalized.”

  Kanne brought out a roll of parchment, and unfurled it onto the table, using small lead weights to keep the corners in place. The parchment was inked with a map of northern Fanalkir, showing all the territories from the peninsula on which Ytem sat, to Karanthi on the north-western coast. The strip of land separating each of the six cities controlled by the Corrossans was well mapped, with clear lines denoting roads and waterways, but just beyond the hills that divided the coast from the savanna beyond, the details became spottier. Rivers were only roughly mapped, and even the position of camps along the Front was more of an educated guess than hard fact.

  “We have five-thousand men stationed in the city and surrounding countryside,” Kanne said, pointing to Ytem.

  “I can contribute another three thousand to that force once my army arrives,” Irrin replied.

  “We’ll need to leave a minimum of two thousand behind to keep order in the city and man the walls,” Uche said. “That leaves us with six-thousand in total. More than enough for an expedition of this size.”

  Irrin’s brows furrowed, and he pointed to a spot on the map. “This bridge. It’s Fanalkiri?” His finger sat on a series of scratched lines labeled “The Sikara Divide.” Those lines divided the peninsula on which Ytem sat from the rest of the continent. And the only means of crossing seemed to be this bridge.

  Kanne nodded. “We used it during the early days of the war, back when we were still pushing into Cutaran territory. The Emperor keeps a small garrison there to watch for Cutaran raid
ing parties, but the region has been quiet for the past year, what with the war shifting onto the central savannas.”

  “And it’s the only way across the Divide?” Irrin asked. Uche and Kanne both nodded. Irrin rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, perhaps considering his options. “It seems tenuous.”

  “The bridge’s timbers are thick,” Kanne pointed out. “Some kind of southern hardwood that’s about as easy to burn as stone. And the Cutarans have tried before.”

  “Food will be the main issue,” Uche added. “The savannas are vast. They’re crossed by enough streams that water shouldn’t be a problem, but-”

  “There’s something else we aren’t considering,” Tain said, cutting the High Lord off. Everyone stopped to stare at him. An awkward silence followed. A guard—even if he was a Delver—wasn’t supposed to speak his mind during conferences on strategy.

  Tain cleared his throat and continued on as if he didn’t notice the stares he was getting from Uche’s side of the table. “There’s still the matter of the attack by the Highlanders. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the most pressing danger to the safety of both of you.”

  “Plans have been put in place,” Uche assured them. “Kret.” The bodyguard perked up at the use of his name. “Bring in Jionis.”

  The mercenary nodded and a few moments later returned leading a Fanalkiri woman. She was perhaps a few years older than Grith and a shade lighter, with fiery red hair and eyes as dark as onyx. She wore a brightly colored dress that fell to just below her knees, scandalous in the Empire, but Grith had to assumed, perfectly appropriate in the south. Her face was pretty, he thought, slightly round with full lips, though not what he would have called beautiful.

  “You called for me, High Lord?” she asked in accented Sasken, dipping her head so that her single braid fell in front of her eyes.

  Uche motioned to the open chair to his left. “You can be seated, Jionis.” The Fanalkiri woman nodded and placed herself next to the High Lord. She laid her hands across the table and stared at Tain, Irrin, and Grith each in turn. She stopped on Grith, a look of surprise springing onto her face for the barest instant. But as soon as the expression appeared it was gone, and she twisted her head to look at her master.

  “This is Jionis,” he said, motioning to the woman. “She is the newest addition to my household and one of the finest Curators I have ever worked with.”

  “That’s a small list,” Irrin said, giving Jionis a considering glance. “I didn’t think you trusted Delvers. You always said they had too much power for your liking.”

  Uche leaned back in his chair so that it creaked under his weight. “Only those who can kill me.”

  “I don’t know,” Irrin said, shrugging. “A knife between the ribs…”

  Uche snorted and let the front legs of his chair fall back to the tiled floor with a clack. “Don’t give her any ideas, or I’ll have to start sleeping with a doubled guard at my door.”

  “So this woman. She’s going to deliver our message?” Grith wanted to roll his eyes. They spoke like she wasn’t even present. He glanced over at Jionis. She didn’t seem to care in the slightest that she was being treated like some dog, unable to speak for itself. Instead, her gaze was transfixed on her folded hands, eyes half closed. And was she mumbling something?

  “She’s already memorized every word,” Uche replied. “And unlike my other Curator, she isn’t carrying around the entire set of my household records in her head.”

  “It would be more effective than a letter,” Tain admitted. “She’s inconspicuous, can speak the native language, and no one’s going to rip her open and read her insides,” he shook his head as the joke failed on landing, “not without causing an incident, at least. She’s a perfect agent. But who’s the message going to?”

  “Last time I heard, Malgin was still in Kwell, managing the supply lines up to Hadalkir. I haven’t seen him in years, but I try to send him letters whenever I can.”

  “And is he still loyal?” Irrin asked.

  Uche stared down at his hands for a few moments and shook his head. “Tirrak, I hope so. If not, then there’s a very good chance we could both be hanging from the neck in Kwell by the end of the month.”

  “If you need insurance, send one of my guards as an escort.” Irrin motioned to Tain and Grith. “Jionis will be a good deal safer with one of them at her side.”

  “Are you’re sure that’s a good idea?” Tain asked, rising in his chair. “With only one of us to protect you-”

  “I have my guardsmen, and Uche’s as well. With the Emperor after me, I’d say I’m safer here than anywhere else in the Empire.”

  “I’ll stay with the High Lord,” Grith said, speaking for the first time since the meeting began. “You should go, Tain.” The truth was, Grith still wasn’t sure of his abilities. The last time he had fought, he had been nearly bested, and that had been with the help of Tain and Irrin’s own guard. This time, he would be walking into Kwell alone. He still wasn’t confident he could protect both this woman and the message she was carrying under those conditions.

  “No,” Jionis said. The word was forceful, leaving no room for argument, even from the High Lords. “The dark one.” She pointed at Grith. “He will do much better than his friend. A little hair dye, and he might even be able to pass for one of my people.” She paused and then shrugged. “After they had spent a few weeks in the sun.”

  Grith scanned the faces around the table, hoping for rescue from his predicament. He felt like a sailor fallen overboard in the roiling seas of the Eye, waiting for a line to be thrown so he could be hauled back to safety. But with every passing moment, he fell further below the swell, and help didn’t appear to be on its way. “I-” He cursed himself. “I’ll do it.”

  Uche gave Grith a long, suspicious look. “Can we trust him?”

  Grith gritted his teeth. It was his skin. That was the only reason his loyalty was being brought into question. Irrin would have told his friend of the disloyal Shaleese who hid in the Marshes and refused to follow his rule. But dammit! Grith was a Delver, and had saved Irrin’s life back in Toashan. He had bled for Selivia, had killed for it. It seemed foolish to be questioning his loyalty now.

  “If you aren’t sure about him,” Irrin said. “Then have Tain go as well.”

  The other Enforcer slammed his hand on the table with such force that the empty coffee cups jumped. “Absolutely not! You can’t be left unprotected!”

  “As I said, I have my guards and-”

  “And what if Hadan sends more Highlanders?! They’ll cut through your guards like butter, just like they did the last time! Do you really think a few more warm bodies in the way will stop them if they wanted you dead?!”

  “Get back in line!” Irrin barked. Tain shied back from the sudden forcefulness of his master’s voice as he laid into the Delver. “It’s my job to think and yours to obey! And when I say that you are to go with Grith the only thing I expect you to tell me is how long it will take for you to pack!”

  The room had gone silent. No one made a sound as Irrin stared daggers into his bodyguard. When Uche finally broke the silence, it was like a smack across the face of everyone present. “I would feel a great deal better with two Delvers watching over Jionis. She’s not exactly the most attentive woman in the world.” He spared a glance in the Curator’s direction. After Irrin’s sudden outburst, she had gone back to whispering to herself again.

  “I’m easy enough to disguise,” Grith said. “But Jionis is right. Tain will stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “I could always pass myself off as a transplant,” Tain replied. He spoke in a rushed tone, voice pitched high, as if he was trying to push the conversation far from the tongue lashing he had just received. “I could be a merchant or independent land owner, and Grith my manservant. Jionis could even be my translator, which would explain why I can’t speak the language.”
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  “It might work,” Uche said, rubbing at his chin.

  “The dark one will have to pretend he is mute,” Jionis pointed out. She had stopped her mumbling and looked up from her hands. “He will be suspicious enough as it is. His skin is too brown and his face is too long.” She motioned to spots on her own face for reference. “His nose is too thin and he is too tall.”

  “But will it work?” Grith demanded. He was beginning to grow tired of this woman’s constant nitpicking. No, he would never be the perfect Fanalkiri, not without spending a decade amongst these people, learning their language, customs, and traditions. But they didn’t need perfect. All they needed was good enough.

  “Perhaps you could be a particularly ugly member of my people.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in what Grith thought might be her version of a smile. Her voice was so controlled—almost devoid of inflection—that it was hard to imagine the woman had any sense of humor to speak of.

  Uche leaned forward and pointed at a dot on the map marked “Kwell.” “You will have to travel overland. A pair of Fanalkiri moving by ship would draw too much attention, even with the presence of a Corrossan noble. But the roads between the cities are good. With a few strong horses, you might be able to make the journey in a week.”

  “I will tell the barber,” Jionis said, getting to her feet. “And the seamstresses.” She fixed Grith with that same cool expression she used on everyone. Those dark eyes seemed to bore into him. “Our friend here will need a makeover.”

  Twenty:

  Kareen

  Three figures looked up as Argin led Oranhur and Kareen into the Emperor’s tent. The two closest to her—a man and woman—who had been puzzling over a map just moments before, gave Oranhur and Kareen annoyed looks. Clearly, they had interrupted something important. Both were old, likely well into their seventies. The man was much reduced in his age, though from the width of his shoulders, Kareen thought he might have once possessed a large and athletic build. He wore a fine tunic and breeches tucked into tall riding boots. His white hair was styled in the latest fashion, long and oiled and allowed to fall back to just below his collar.