by Jo Zebedee
“The Order of the Left Hand,” Rinharte said in wonder. “Knights sinister.”
“You’ve heard of them?” asked Kordelasz.
Rinharte nodded. “I’ve heard mention of them but that’s all.”
Kordelasz turned to Plessant. “That’s what you do? Spy on the knights signet?”
“No, not all we do. Sometimes we help them, without letting them know we’re doing so.”
“And no one’s known what you do for 1,200 years?” asked the marine-captain. He shook his head in disbelief.
“No one but the Emperor.”
“Not even the Privy Council?” asked Rinharte.
“Not even the Privy Council,” confirmed Plessant.
“You’re the Emperor’s private spies,” Kordelasz stated.
“I suppose so.” Plessant’s tone was glum.
The van banked around a corner, swaying Rinharte against the door. She put a hand to the dashboard to steady herself. Twisting back to face Plessant, she said, “Tell me about the Serpent.”
“You know as much as me. More, probably.” She abruptly sat forward, pulling out of the shadows and fixed Rinharte with her gaze. “You know the Serpent’s identity, for instance. That’s more than I know.”
Rinharte nodded. The Admiral had told her the identity of her enemy on the day Vengeful had turned renegade.
Plessant settled back. “We’ve known of his conspiracy for centuries—”
“It existed before he was born?” Rinharte asked.
“Long before. We’re not sure exactly when it started. We think perhaps eight hundred or so years ago—we’ve spotted its fingerprints all over the history of the Empire. Quite a few of the past attempts on the Imperial Throne were staged by it. Curiously, we can find no evidence it existed in the Old Empire—“
“So it could be some old noble family? Some have never forgiven Edkar I for overthrowing the old emperors,” put in Kordelasz.
Rinharte was not convinced: “A thousand years is a long time to hold a grudge.”
“It could be religious, then,” Kordelasz insisted. “Henotics getting their revenge for being outlawed during the Intolerance in the Second Century.”
Plessant grunted, a noncommittal sound that neither contradicted Kordelasz’s remark nor acknowledged it as truth. “We don’t know where the conspiracy came from,” she said, “or why it started. We only know they want the Throne for themselves.
“The Serpent is… He’s the leader of the conspiracy. It was a long time before we realised the conspiracy had an hereditary leader and even longer before we managed to identify him. The irony is…”
Her hands crept out of the darkness and settled on her knees, curled into fists tight with tension. “The irony is… We’ve never been able to touch him. Oh, we can spoil his plots and stratagems… But he has a bigger power-base than we do. The Emperor can’t defy the Electorate of Peers. There’d be chaos. Civil war.”
“That’s likely to happen anyway,” Rinharte said. “The enem— The Serpent is getting ready to make his move.”
“So where does the boy come into this?” asked Kordelasz.
“I can’t tell you that. It’s not my decision. Ask him.”
“But you know,” Rinharte said flatly.
Plessant nodded.
“I don’t understand why he’s important,” said Kordelasz. “He’s just a farmer’s son from way out past Darrus.”
“Yes, he is.” Plessant sighed. “But he is important, too. More than my superiors realise—”
“That’s why you’re doing this,” guessed Rinharte.
“Partly,” admitted Plessant. She gave out another sigh. “They could have used him years ago but they didn’t. It was only when we learnt that the Serpent was after him that… Well, it wasn’t a decision I agreed with. But…” Plessant loomed out of the shadows and fixed Rinharte with burning eyes. “You were surprised by some of the things Cas mentioned on Bato, weren’t you?”
Rinharte nodded slowly. She had yet to work out what had truly happened on that rocky plain. Ormuz had revealed things he couldn’t have known.
“He knew about the Admiral.” Plessant looked across at Kordelasz. “He knew about your brevet promotion.”
“How?” asked the marine-captain, voicing Rinharte’s thoughts.
“I can’t tell you that. It’s up to Cas. But he wants the same thing you do: to destroy the Serpent.”
“So do the knights sinister, if what you say is true,” pointed out Rinharte. “So why do we need to ‘rescue’ him? You still haven’t explained that to my satisfaction.”
Plessant was silent a moment. Rinharte peered into the darkness cloaking the ex-captain— No, knight sinister; but could not make out the expression on her face.
“It’s for his sake,” Plessant said at length.
“Not the Empire’s?” asked Kordelasz.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to know.”
“That’s no explanation,” said Rinharte.
“No,” admitted Plessant.
Rinharte turned back to face front. The van had left the bridge and was now barrelling down a tree-lined avenue. A quick glance at the console told Rinharte they were still some twenty minutes from the knights’ sinister estate. She wondered if what they were about to do was wise. Yes, she wanted the boy in her custody. For what he knew. She felt it was important, although she didn’t know why. Something about the boy had led her to disobey the Admiral…
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Tatakai brought the van to a halt before the main entrance of the residence. Rinharte heard the side-door slide open and booted feet thump onto the ground. She glanced back into the vehicle. Kordelasz, sword in hand, leapt out as she watched. Plessant followed. Rinharte unfastened her safety-belt and scrambled from the cab. Alus, Valka, Sniskutte, Kordelasz and Plessant were gathered before the mansion’s front-door. No, the remains of the front-door. It had been destroyed. Shards of shattered wood hung down from the hinges and the rest lay splintered on the threshold.
Kordelasz stepped forward warily, sword held before him. “Someone beat us to it,” he said quietly.
Rinharte glanced at Plessant and saw that she was worried.
The lights in the hallway burned but the residence was silent. Rinharte joined Kordelasz in the doorway. The front-door gave onto a large hall with a glass roof and a glass rear-wall. Both wall and roof were black with night, their myriad tiny square panes reflecting faint, distorted views of the hall’s interior. The walls to either side shone smooth and white, and the floor was tiled in white. There was something clinical about the décor. To left and right, wide wooden staircases led up to a mezzanine two storeys up. A bridge, also of wood, crossed the hall from the head of each staircase and continued down wide corridors leading into the building’s wings.
“Where would they keep him?” Rinharte asked Plessant.
The ex-captain shrugged. “Upstairs. In one of the salons. They won’t have mistreated him.”
Kordelasz gestured forwards with one hand. “Boat-sergeant.” He padded across to the foot of the left-hand staircase. Alus followed him, surprisingly quiet given his size.
“Valka,” Rinharte said as the marine-corporal passed her. “Take the other stairs.” She glanced back and ordered Tatakai to stay with the vehicle and make ready for a swift departure.
The marine-captain, Alus and Sniskutte were already halfway up the stairs. Rinharte and Plessant followed. Rinharte drew out her sword. Plessant pulled out her borrowed blade but it was clear from the way she held it she was not practised with the weapon.
The corridors to the wings were as high as the entrance hall and also roofed with glass. The bridge continued down each corridor, a walkway in the centre of the passage. At intervals, short side-bridges led to doors.
“Which way?”
Plessant turned to Rinharte and shrugged in answer to her question.
“You’ve
not been here before?” Kordelasz asked.
“No.”
Rinharte swore. They would have to search the entire building. She turned to peer past Valka, standing alert at the far end of the bridge across the hall—
Six figures in black were rushing towards him.
Rinharte opened her mouth to warn the marine. But he had already sensed their approach. He spun to face them, boarding axe held high.
One of the attackers engaged Valka. The remaining five streamed past him and across the bridge. Kordelasz, in the van, flashed a predatory grin at Rinharte. He waited, sword held negligently, for the first of the attackers to reach him.
They wore hoods that left only their eyes visible within a narrow slit and close-fitting black coveralls. Each held a sword in one hand. Rinharte felt fear. If these were knights sinister, they would be well-trained in blade combat. She had one master swordsman, three marines skilled in close combat, herself… and Plessant, who had probably not wielded a sword for over a dozen years.
The bridge was narrow and Kordelasz held a commanding position in its centre, blocking the attackers’ access to Rinharte and the others. The first attacker to reach him thrust fluidly for the marine-captain’s torso. Kordelasz’s blade flicked up and parried it effortlessly. His riposte, a lunge to the abdomen, slid to one side as his opponent pivoted smartly. Kordelasz recovered in an instant.
Rinharte stepped forward to support the marine-captain and was roughly shouldered aside. Alus moved past her, his bulk forcing Rinharte to the side of the bridge to avoid touching him. An attacker sidled past Kordelasz and his opponent, pressed against the railing. He had taken no more than a handful of steps when the blunt end of Alus’s boarding axe crashed into the side of his head. Despite the muffling hood, the crunch of bone sounded sickeningly. The attacker stumbled. His sword fell from his hand, bounced, and disappeared between the railings. The clatter of the blade hitting the tiled floor below rang loud.
Alus delivered a meaty blow with a gauntletted fist, and followed it with an overhand swipe of his boarding axe, blade first. The attacker hit the ground, face down, his sword-arm almost severed at the shoulder.
Two more of the black-clad swordsmen had sneaked past Kordelasz and his opponent, and deftly avoided Alus. Rinharte found herself confronted by the first of these. He jabbed his blade at her chest. She flicked her wrist about. Her blade clanged against his and knocked it wide. She pulled her elbow in for the riposte but he had his sword back quick enough to parry. They circled each warily. She could hear the skitter of blades meeting behind her.
Her opponent was good, much better than herself. Fighting with the point did not allow for minor injuries and she knew she would be lucky to walk away from this duel. “Garrin!” she cried.
Alus came to her rescue. His lethal boarding axe swung in from behind, hooked the attacker’s sword arm and hauled it back. Rinharte took the offered opportunity: the point of her sword slid into her opponent’s chest just above the sternum. For a brief second, the three of them held their pose: the boat-sergeant looming behind the black-clad man, the blade of her sword stretching from her hand to her opponent’s chest. His legs sagged and he began to fold. Alus disengaged his boarding axe. Rinharte’s sword was roughly wrenched from the dead man’s body as he fell.
She turned to Sniskutte and Plessant. The marine was describing figures of eight in the air before him with his boarding axe. Its blade was far stronger than that of a sword and his opponent was unwilling to risk probing Sniskutte’s defence. Plessant was—
Plessant took the point of a sword in her upper chest. She stumbled backwards and hit the railing.
“No!” cried Rinharte.
Plessant reached up and grabbed the blade that had stabbed her. Blood leaked from her mouth. Her attacker pulled his sword free. Red welled from the wound and bubbles formed in it. Plessant began to sag. She reached to staunch the cut but her hand never made it. She looked at Rinharte. Her eyes burned angrily. She grimaced, revealing red teeth. Her opponent stepped forward and slammed an elbow across her chest. Plessant toppled backwards over the railing and fell to the floor below.
Rinharte leapt forward, blade up. Plessant’s killer spun about and managed to block the blade aimed at him. Rinharte didn’t check her momentum. She piled into him, her shoulder catching him in the sternum. He grunted and stumbled back. She hooked a foot behind his ankle. Her impact carried him over backwards. He hit the floor on his back and she stabbed him in the throat before he could recover.
She rushed across to the railing and looked down. Plessant lay spread-eagled on the floor twenty feet below, a puddle of blood beneath her head, her mouth awash with red. Her eyes gazed sightlessly back at Rinharte. Her sword was still tightly gripped in one hand but she would never use it again.
Rinharte had not known the ex-captain but she had begun to admire her. Although Plessant had seemed constantly on the brink of anger, it had been painfully obvious that the rage was self-directed. It took an act of great courage to disobey orders, to go against every belief—
A thud behind her told her someone else had fallen. Rinharte spun about to see Sniskutte pulling his boarding axe from the head of his opponent. It had cleaved the masked man’s skull in two down to the bridge of the nose. Kordelasz was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, a satisfied smile on his face, his sword held loosely, point down, in one hand. At his side, a figure in black hung over the railing, looking at the floor below but seeing nothing.
Valka rushed across the bridge. His boarding axe too was streaked with red and he left a body behind him. There was also blood on his sleeve.
“You’re hurt,” Rinharte said to him.
He glanced at her in surprise then looked down at his wound. “It’s nothing, ma’am.”
“Get Tatakai to dress it,” she ordered it.
“There may be more,” Alus pointed out from behind her.
“No.” Rinharte shook her head. “I very much doubt it.”
“What about the ones at the aerodrome, ma’am?”
“These aren’t knights sinister, boat-sergeant.” Rinharte crossed to the attacker she had killed. “Why would knights sinister wear masks in their own residence?”
Kordelasz confirmed her deduction: “The four who attacked Divine Providence on Ophavon wore the same,” he said.
Rinharte nodded. “They came for the boy.” She dropped to her haunches beside the corpse. Laying her sword on the ground, she reached forward and began to peel the hood from the dead body’s head. The material was slick and gave elastically. It left blood on her hands, so she wiped them on the cadaver’s sleeve. The face revealed was a young man, smooth-featured with brown hair cut short.
She rose to her feet and crossed to the man Alus had killed. No, his head had been staved in: it would not be pretty. Nor, a glance reminded her, would be Sniskutte’s dead opponent. She moved to the one that had killed Plessant and stripped off his mask.
“How peculiar,” she remarked. She glanced back at the other unmasked attacker. “These two look exactly alike.”
With a fleshy thud, Kordelasz hauled his opponent off the railing, and bent to remove his mask. “And this one,” he said in wonder.
“Triplets?” It was, Rinharte thought, completely bizarre. Three identical attackers.
“Same here,” added Alus, crouching by another black-clad corpse. Four identical attackers. He grimaced at the mess his boarding axe had made.
“They’re clones,” a voice said.
Rinharte spun about, her hand darting to her hip… But her sword lay on the floor beside one of the bodies. She was defenceless.
Standing at the far end of the bridge, where Valka had fought, were three men. The one that had spoken wore black, but it was not the close-fitting black coveralls of the attackers. His trousers, shirt and cloak were well-cut, patrician. Bizarrely, his head was a silver oval with two black circles for eyes. “Remove the glove from his right hand,” a fl
at toneless voice said. “Check the skin between thumb and forefinger.”
Rinharte did as instructed—she saw no reason not to. After peeling off the corpse’s glove, she spread his hand. Tucked into the web of skin between thumb and forefinger was a small tattoo of a ten-legged creature, armoured, and with an arched and barbed tail.
“The Serpent’s strike teams,” the voice explained, “are always clones. And they are always so marked.”
“Clones? Of who?”
“That we don’t know.” Coming to a halt before Rinharte, the masked man gave a brief bow. “Lieutenant-Commander. I would wish we could have met under more amenable circumstances.”
These, then, were the knights sinister.
Rinharte glanced at Kordelasz, who pushed his sword back into its scabbard with a guilty expression. Turning back to the knight sinister, she asked, “You are?”
“An Involute of—”
“—the Order of the Left Hand.”
“—of the… Yes.” The Involute turned and his silver ovoid of a head nodded at Kordelasz. “Marine-Lieutenant Kordelasz.”
“Marine-captain,” corrected Kordelasz.
“Ah. Forgive me. Congratulations, I suppose, are in order.” He turned back to Rinharte. “If you’ve come for the boy,” he said, “you’re too late.”
Rinharte accused, “You’ve hidden him.”
“No.”
Her heart fell. “The clones took him?”
“No. They were too late as well. And you appear to have accounted for them all.”
Rinharte didn’t understand. “So where is he?”
There was no discerning the Involute’s expression through the mask, and his voice—issuing from a miniature caster pinned to his lapel—was thoroughly disguised. “He escaped. He appears to have been none too happy under our protection and took himself off. With his young noble friend.”
“How embarrassing,” murmured Rinharte. Noble friend? What noble friend?
