Ironroot (Tales of the Empire)

by S. J. A. Turney

  We both stopped dead.

  My finger slowly fell from Salonius’ chest and the words died in my mouth. We were at a junction in the corridor. I know my way round the palace at Vengen very well. Behind us lay the main entrance and the guest accommodations. To the left lay the administrative area, including Sabian’s office where we’d be heading later. To the right there were other areas, including the very heavily-guarded private quarters of the marshal and his family.

  The corridor here was of beautiful marbles; a mixture of golden yellow stone from the harsh, dry quarries of the southern lands and powerful porphyry from the eastern provinces. The floor was a geometric pattern of beautiful shapes and colours. And in the centre of it stood a white stag.

  I remember Salonius gripping me suddenly on the shoulder, just below my neck wound, so hard I almost passed out. We stopped and stared at the stag. Not only was the situation so astoundingly surreal, given where we were, but we were together. I learned from conversations with Salonius that Cernus sometimes makes his presence known to his favoured peoples by appearing before an entire tribal army prior to a battle but, barring that incredibly rare event, an encounter with the stag lord is an extremely private thing. And yet here we were; the two of us staring straight into those soulful and unbelievably deep, wise eyes.

  I reached up and prised Salonius’ fingers from my shoulder and we stood, silent and motionless, staring at that strange forest God. For what seemed like hours, though in truth would have been brief moments, we stood there, and suddenly, without a sound or motion, the stag turned and trotted off down one of the corridors. I remember taking a step forward. I was intrigued as to where he would go. Would he just vanish a few steps further away? But Salonius grasped my shoulder again and pointed at the wall behind the spot where Cernus had stood.

  I turned my gaze there, but all that was there was a dirty mark on the marble. I shrugged and enquired what was so interesting, and Salonius’ voice was quiet and a little shaky as he replied. He told me of the language the priests of the northern tribes use; the symbols they carve in their holy rocks; he told me of the symbol before us. What would look like a swirl of dirty marks on the wall to the layman bellowed a word in the secret tongue of the northerners, and that word was ‘Betrayer’.

  I began to argue over what could just as easily be coincidence and actual dirt, but two things stopped me: logic and magic. This was one of the most frequented corridors in the palace of the marshal and there would be no dirty mark of that size here. And, in the presence of Cernus, in whom I now had no doubt, what would normally seem irrelevant or coincidental suddenly took on a new light.

  Salonius and I walked slowly and thoughtfully, our argument forgotten.

  Chapter Eleven

  Varro and Salonius were deep in hushed conversation when they arrived in the corridor outside Catilina’s room. Two black-clad guardsmen stood at attention outside. Varro held his hand up to Salonius and their conversation halted for a moment as the captain addressed the guardsmen.

  “Varro and Salonius of the Fourth to see the lady and her doctor.”

  The man saluted. “Just a moment, sir.”

  While the second guard watched the two of them carefully, the first knocked quietly.

  “Yes?” Came a testy male voice from within.

  The guard announced the two visitors, and Varro distinctly heard Scortius swearing and Catilina berating him for it. After a brief whispered conversation, the lady spoke clearly.

  “Send them in!”

  The guardsman opened the door and, stepping to one side, saluted smartly. Varro gave him a sloppy, half-hearted salute that he knew would irritate the man and sauntered in with Salonius hard on his heels. Catilina was sitting upright in her bed, fully clothed, as Scortius arranged what was clearly her medicine on the table close by.

  “How are you?” the Captain asked with concern.

  She smiled lightly and stretched her right arm out behind her. It swung back until it was out to the side, but as it passed straight and moved behind her, she bit her lip and Varro could clearly see the pain it was causing her.

  “Oh, I’ll live, Varro. Actually it’s not really that bad.”

  Varro glanced across at Scortius, who nodded absently. Without taking his eyes off the medicines before him, he muttered “Young lad did a good job.” Pushing the collection of small parcels towards Catilina, the doctor stood.

  “I’ll get out of your way.”

  Varro waved his hand.

  “Actually, it was you I wanted to see first, Scortius.”

  The doctor shook his head.

  “Sorry, Varro. I’ve been researching every text I can find, and experimenting with everything I can think of, but I’ve found no solution so far.”

  Varro waved this aside, but Scortius went on “Don’t give up, though. Mercurias is here… the Emperor’s chief physician, and he’s helping me research. He’s even brought some eastern works on the subject.”

  Varro continued to wave at him.

  “That’s not what I need to see you about. I’ve got a fresh damn wound!”

  As Varro took a seat and removed his tunic, Scortius walked over to him with a look of interest. Catilina frowned.

  “What happened?”

  Varro growled and began to peel the fresh dressing from his neck.

  “Cristus gets to us, even here.”

  “What?” Catilina swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Petrus.” Varro paused and sighed. “They got Petrus. A Pelasian assassin. Nearly got me too.”

  Salonius leaned toward the doctor and said quietly “He’s just had some of your last-resort intense medicine. Thought you’d want to know before you give him anything else.”

  Scortius nodded and Salonius returned his attention to Catilina, who was now on her feet, her exquisite face full of concern.

  “Not a Pelasian, Varro.”

  The captain shook his head and winced at the pain.

  “I’m pretty sure he was a Pelasian. Dressed all in black, using a Pelasian weapon, quick and quiet, and gone before I could pin him down.”

  Catilina shook her head defiantly.

  “I don’t care, Varro, it wasn’t a Pelasian. No Pelasians ever come inside Vengen except as ambassadors.”

  Varro grumbled.

  “It’s not as secure as you think. Pelasians can get anywhere. It’s what they do!”

  “Not here,” she repeated with infuriating calm. “When Prince Ashar signed his treaties with the Emperor, one of the stipulations of freeing the borders was that Pelasian assassins would never violate certain locations, and the fortresses of the marshals are on that list.”

  Varro growled.

  “I think you’re being a little naïve, Catilina. Ouch!”

  He glared at Scortius, who merely tutted and turned the patient’s head away again.

  Catilina bridled.

  “No Pelasian would break that accord. You know how they are about Ashar; he’s more than a God to them.”

  Varro frowned. “You’re right, of course.” He turned to Salonius. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

  The young man nodded.

  “Someone masquerading as a Pelasian to lay the blame with them,” he grumbled.

  “Not just that,” Varro growled. “That someone was within the Palace. That means he’s one of our own again. Maybe a Pelasian could sneak in to Vengen. They train all their lives to do things like that. But if it’s not a Pelasian assassin, then it’s realistically got to be someone who was already in the military compound of Vengen. And that makes it ninety per cent sure he’s a soldier! Either Cristus has friends in the First, the Fifth or the Eleventh, or among Sabian’s own men, or…”

  Salonius’ face hardened. “Or Sergeant Corda brought traitors from the Fourth with him!”

  The two shared a look.

  “Betrayer” they said in unison.

  Catilina walked a few steps and then crouched in front of Varro.

&nbs
p; “We have to go see my father straight away.”

  Varro nodded.

  “I agree, but just let Scortius finish here first.”

  Beside him, the doctor sighed as he cleaned the wound.

  Varro, Salonius and Catilina arrived at the office of the marshal just as the great bell in the tower at the edge of the complex tolled eleven times. Salonius had been sceptical that the marshal would be available to see them, but Catilina had assured him that Sabian would still be in his office, deeply involved in his work.

  The two guards outside the door moved into a defensive posture as the three figures emerged from the corridor, though as soon as they identified the marshal’s daughter, they stood to attention and saluted.

  “I take it my father is in?” Catilina asked, idly drumming the fingers of her left hand on the back of her right hand, which rested in a sling to aid the healing of her shoulder wound.

  One of the guards cleared his throat.

  “The marshal is unavailable, I’m afraid, ma’am, even to yourself. We have strict instructions for total privacy.”

  Catilina glared at him, and the guard shuffled nervously.

  “You will announce me this instant or by morning you will find yourself cleaning latrines on a border post. Do you understand me?”

  The guard risked a glance at his counterpart, who stared rigidly ahead with an air of relief.

  “Erm… The marshal gave orders…”

  Catilina smiled a horribly vengeful smile at him and walked across to the door. The guard fumbled with his sword and dithered, unsure of where he stood in these circumstances. The young lady twisted the handle on the door and swept in regally without a further glance at the guards. As Varro and Salonius followed her in, the captain patted the guard on the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll both have too much on their plate shortly to even think about you.”

  The guard look unconvinced and returned to attention as the door to the marshal’s office closed.

  Varro walked straight into the back of Catilina, who had stopped immediately inside the door, and Salonius consequently bumped into him too. The pair of them peered around the lady’s lustrous black curls and stared for a moment before they remembered where they were and came to attention. Varro had been expecting Sabian to be poring over maps, or perhaps writing furiously. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the Marshal being draped over his seat, with a cup in his hand and an almost empty bottle on the table. He recognised the smell of cheap northern spirits from the doorway.

  “Father?” Catilina’s voice hovered somewhere between prim disgust, worry and anger.

  Sabian hauled himself upright with some stiffness of muscles. Varro heaved a sigh of relief; the marshal had been drinking, but was still compos mentis at least.

  “Ah, Catilina. I thought of sending for you, but I was sure you’d come once Scortius had finished with you. I thought you’d come alone though. I wasn’t planning to see these three until the morning.”

  Salonius and Varro shared an unspoken look behind the lady as Varro held up three fingers.

  “Father, can we put aside your disappointment in me and your anger, and assume that you’re not going to punish me in the end anyway. It’ll save a lot of time, and this is too important to mess around with family squabbles.”

  Sabian’s face hardened.

  “Catilina,” he growled, “you are not ingratiating yourself with me.”

  His daughter merely folded her arms defiantly, thought with some difficulty, given the sling, and gave him a patronising look.

  “Catilina,” the marshal’s voice raised slightly and dangerously, “don’t play games with me, girl. I’m not drunk but I am angry.”

  The young lady sighed and allowed her arm to drop back down to her side.

  “Very well, father. You can shout at me, withdraw my privileges, restrict my movement or whatever the hell it is you want to do to punish me, but be angry later; there just isn’t time now!”

  Something about her words sank in and Sabian seemed to deflate slightly. His eyes wandered behind her and rested for a moment on her two companions.

  “I assumed Petrus would be with you?”

  Varro stepped out beside Catilina.

  “That’s the problem, sir.”

  “What? You can’t have lost him?”

  Varro sighed.

  “Petrus has gone to the Gods. About fifteen minutes ago” he said sadly.

  “Nearer twenty, I think,” corrected Salonius.

  Sabian pushed himself upright, slapping the cup down on the desk and sweeping it aside.

  “What happened?”

  The three visitors stepped forward and relaxed their posture slightly.

  “Assassination,” Varro announced bluntly. “Someone killed Petrus and tried the same with Salonius and me; thinks he got Salonius, too.”

  Sabian blinked. “Assassins? In Vengen? That’s outrageous!”

  “But true. I saw him in the garden outside the guest wing. He was kitted out like a Pelasian, but your daughter assures me that there’s no way he could actually have been a Pelasian?”

  The marshal nodded in a distracted fashion.

  “Sir?” Varro prompted.

  “Hmm?” Sabian turned and focused on the captain again. “What? Oh, yes. She’s right. You’ll not find a Pelasian here unless he’s staying in the guest wing and wearing official regalia. Prince Ashar is a good friend of both mine and the Emperor’s.”

  “Then someone in Vengen is dressed like a Pelasian and using one of their hand bows; someone in the fortress.”

  The marshal frowned.

  “Assuming this is Cristus playing his hand, who could he have his hooks into here?”

  Varro shrugged.

  “Sadly, just about anyone. I…”

  Suddenly the captain groaned as his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped. Salonius, quick as a flash, grabbed Varro around the torso as he fell, lowering him gently to the floor.”

  The young man looked up to see Catilina staring in horror and Sabian rushing around the side of his desk towards them.

  “It’s alright,” Salonius reassured them, “he’s breathing. It’s just a reaction. Scortius warned me about this. About fifteen minutes ago he had some very strong medication. He’s supposed to be resting as much as possible anyway, but he’s overdone it. Two wounds, running around and, of course, his blood pressure’s pretty high even normally.”

  Catilina’s face continued to verge on panic as she knelt beside the unconscious captain. Sabian, approaching, stood above her and looked down on her and the captain with a curious look on his face. The marshal crouched and grasped Varro by a shoulder. With a nod to Salonius, the two men hauled Varro up and dragged him across to Sabian’s couch, followed closely by the worried Catilina. They gently lay the captain on the soft velvet and tucked a cushion behind his head.

  “He’s lucky to have you looking after him,” the marshal noted, giving Salonius an appraising glance.

  “Just my duty, sir.” Replied the young man modestly.

  Catilina crouched by the divan and gently mopped Varro’s brow with a soft cloth. Sabian gave her a quick concerned look, grasped Salonius’ shoulder and guided him away across the room. When they were a considerable distance away from Varro and Catilina, he let go and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully.

  “I don’t think this is a duty thing, lad. I’m very much under the impression that the only people Varro can trust are in this room right now. We have a problem and we need to work out what we’re going to do about it.”

  Salonius frowned.

  “With respect, sir, we need to find this assassin.”

  “Agreed,” Sabian nodded. “The question is: how to go about it?”

  Salonius glanced briefly towards the door.

  “We could perform a search, sir? The assassin was in Pelasian blacks and carrying a hand bow. I would assume that anyone leaving the military compound will be logged, so there are th
ree possibilities as I see it.”

  Sabian raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Well, sir,” Salonius answered quickly, “either the assassin fled the compound, in which case he’ll have been logged by the guards at the gate, or he’s still got the equipment stashed somewhere, in which case we can find it, or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Well, if it was me, sir, I’d have thrown the clothes and weapon over the walls. Removes any link with the guilty party.”

  “Damn it, your right.” Sabian ground his teeth. “I’m going to have my commander organise a search of the compound and of the ditches below the walls, but if he’s thrown them away we’re going to have serious trouble pinning anyone down.”

  “Perhaps, sir, but perhaps not. It all depends on what the search turns up.”

  Sabian glanced back across the room to where his daughter continued her ministrations.

  “What’s best for Varro right now?”

  “If it’s alright with you, sir, I think we should leave him where he is for now.” Salonius answered. “Perhaps we should send for Scortius?”