Dynasty of Rogues

by Jane Fletcher

  Tanya felt herself flinch at the hubbub. Fewer than one thousand people lived at Westernfort, and maybe nine-tenths would congregate in the town square for big events. This was the most Tanya had ever seen gathered together. Yet there looked to be at least as many people trying to cross the river at once on an ordinary Landfall afternoon.

  The wagon fought its way onto the bridge, to the accompaniment of the driver shouting threats to clear the way. Tanya tore her eyes from the surrounding mob. The clear view over the river allowed her to gauge the scale of the city. On the other side, roofs filled the skyline, rising even higher and higher, in rank upon rank.

  Hanging above them all was a huge dome—the great temple of Celaeno. In the ideology of the Sisters it stood on the exact point where the Blessed Himoti, greatest of the Elder-Ones, had been sent into the world by the Goddess. In the understanding of the heretics, it was somewhere close to the spot chosen for landfall by a group of stranded colonists from a malfunctioning spaceship.

  Once the wagon reached the opposite bank, the press of bodies eased as people dispersed through the network of streets, but if anything, the noise got louder. Women, girls, and crones were everywhere, talking, calling, even singing. Wheels and hooves pounded the cobblestones. The clanks, rattles, and thumps of tradeswomen echoed from shop doorways. Above it all were the cries of street traders, hawking their wares. The traditional words were familiar—traders in Westernfort used the same patters, but never had Tanya heard so many competing for attention at the same time. The buildings were now three stories high or more. Tanya pressed her face against the grill, trying to see the tops. The street was wide enough for six wagons.

  A hint of panic coiled in Tanya’s gut. All these faces, and not a single one she recognized. She had not known every woman in Westernfort by name, but few were not familiar by sight. She knew their families, their jobs, their friends. They had been there since the day she was born. But here were strangers—thousands and thousands of strangers.

  The fear grew. The crowds were pressing in. Tanya heard them banging against the side of the wagon and rubbing against it as they squeezed by. She wanted to shrink away from the bars, to hide, but she forced herself to stay in place. Yes, it was frightening. It was also something she had wanted to see. She would not run from this last experience before she was taken into the Intelligence Corps prison.

  The wagon halted briefly before swinging sharply to the left. Tanya caught a glimpse of a wide gateway as they went through, with Guards standing sentry in their bright red uniforms. Immediately, the noise began to fade. This was a military compound. Tanya recognized barracks and stables. The only women in view were Guards, marching silently about their business.

  The wagon crossed an open parade ground, passed under a low arch into a small courtyard, and stopped. The whole frame shook as the driver and other Guard jumped down. A low murmur of voices was followed by the key in the lock and then the caboose door at the rear swung open. The two Guards opposite left and another entered, with a key to release Tanya from her manacles.

  Tanya stood surrounded by Guards in the courtyard. Celaeno’s temple was so close that she was literally in its shadow—the temple built in honor of a Goddess in whose name she was about to be tortured and killed. Tanya turned her eyes away and instead studied the sky overhead, which was clear and blue. It might be the last beautiful thing she ever saw. She had only a few seconds before the Guards pulled her away.

  Once inside, they immediately turned through another door and down a spiral staircase. The Guard in the lead had a lantern. Shadows surged over the rough-cut stonework as they descended. At the bottom a corridor led away left and right. A firm hand in her back propelled Tanya along, past a row of heavy doors. Tanya thought she heard sobbing from behind one. Eventually the Guard ahead pulled a door open and those behind shoved her through. The door slammed shut and the familiar clank of a key turning in a lock sounded. The faint light under the door faded with the departing footsteps, leaving only darkness and silence.

  Tanya felt her way around. The cell was about two meters square with a pisspot in the corner and a bunk on one wall. She sat and leaned back against the cold stone. It was very peaceful after the heat, noise, and chaos of the Landfall streets, but Tanya knew her feeling of relief was misplaced. She was in the worst place that any heretic could be—the Intelligence Corps dungeon.

  *

  “How many armed fighters are there in Westernfort?”

  Tanya said nothing.

  The Intelligence Corps captain paced slowly around the chair. Tanya resisted the urge to turn her head to follow. With her hands tied to the armrests, she could have had only limited success. Instead she kept focused on the wall in front. The footsteps paused behind her. Tanya felt the back of her neck prickling, imagining the captain’s eyes on her. Apart from the captain, two other Guards were in the room, but so far they had said and done nothing, other than escort Tanya from her cell and bind her to the chair.

  The room was underground and lit by oil lamps. Was it part of the game not to let the prisoners see the sky? Was it intended to disorientate or demoralize? Tanya tried not to let it affect her, yet she could not stop herself from wondering what was going on in the world above. Was it day or night, raining or dry? Was anyone thinking about her?

  She was sure that she had been in the dungeon for a few days. In that time, she had been interrogated three times, twice in her cell and once in another room. On all occasions the questioning had been routine and dull, devoid of threat. This time was different. The eyes of the Guards held an expectant tension. The room was different too, empty apart from the chair that Tanya was on and a bench against one wall with a long wooden crate on top. The flagstones of the floor were stained brown—a color Tanya recognized as dried blood.

  Eventually, the captain continued pacing and returned to her position in front of Tanya. She leaned back and rested against the wall, looking casual and relaxed, apart from the coldness in her eyes.

  Unlike the rest of the Guards, the Intelligence Corps were not zealous about their appearance. The captain’s hair was unkempt and shoulder length. Of course, much of their work was carried out undercover. A proper short military cut would be too conspicuous. Equally, their uniforms were something they put on only when in their headquarters. It was not the defining mark of their calling. The captain’s red tunic was stained along the cuffs and the lacing was loose at her neck.

  “How many armed fighters are there in Westernfort?” The captain repeated her question. After a minute of silence, she continued. “I know your mother styles herself as Captain Coppelli and is the bandit chief for the thugs in your heretic strongholds. I know you claim the rank of corporal for yourself, trying to pretend that you can be considered a Ranger. I also know you are going to tell me everything you know, or have seen, or have overheard your mother say. And though you may not believe it, I really would prefer if you told me what I want to know now, without forcing me to hurt you.”

  Tanya pressed her lips together.

  The captain stood up straighter, nodded to her two subordinates, and then clasped her hands together and bowed her head:

  Devine Celaeno, we implore that you look down upon us and guide us. We ask for your blessing and your absolution. Keep all malice and base cruelty from our hearts. Know that ever we seek only to follow your will. Give us the resolve not to flinch from what we must do in your name. We ask your forgiveness for this lost daughter...

  Tanya closed her eyes, wishing that she could also close her ears and cut out the insane prayers as the Guards wrapped their justification for what they were about to do in their warped piety.

  The captain fell silent. Tanya opened her eyes, fighting to control her breathing and not to start whimpering in fear. One of the Guards went to the crate on the table and released the catches on the top. The side folded down to reveal an interior lined with knives, spikes, pliers, and clamps. Tanya looked away, but it would not help. Nothing was going to hel
p her now.

  The Guard who had opened the crate walked around the chair and knelt at the side. The other one stood behind Tanya. She felt the woman’s knuckles in her back as the Guard braced the chair steady. The kneeling Guard pressed a hand down on the back of Tanya’s, forcing her fingers out flat against the armrest. Tanya looked down. The Guard was holding a fine spike, the size of a needle. She touched the point to Tanya’s index finger, just beneath the nail.

  “How many armed fighters are there in Westernfort?”

  Tanya looked back and met the captain’s eyes. She could feel her pulse racing. Her stomach was clamped in knots. Her throat was taut and dry, but she managed to rasp out, “Fifty-seven.”

  The captain smiled.

  “Or was it seventy-five?” Tanya went on. “No, it was fifty...or fifteen. Maybe it was one hundred and fifteen.” Tanya pressed back in the chair, forcing her voice to remain steady, forcing her lungs to obey her, forcing her eyes to hold the captain’s, unblinking. “You can make me talk. I know you can. But you can’t make me stick to the truth. More fool you, if you believe a word I say.”

  The captain’s smile changed to a scowl. She snapped out, “Go ahead, Sergeant.”

  A sharp tearing pain ripped up Tanya’s hand as, millimeter by millimeter, the Guard pushed the needle under her fingernail. Tanya clamped her jaw shut, holding back the urge to scream. She would give in, sooner or later, she knew, but it was important to her self-respect to hold out for as long as possible. Her ankles were bound to the chair legs, but her heels rammed against the ground. The Guard behind her grunted, holding the chair from tipping.

  At last the pain stopped getting worse and the pressure on her hand relaxed a little. Tanya’s eyes were scrunched shut. She did not want to look down and see. The pain shot up her arm, flaring at knuckle and wrist. Lightning rippled through her palm. Her finger was on fire. Despite all her effort, high-pitched cries were escaping through the fence of her teeth.

  “Another, ma’am? Or shall I continue with this one?” the kneeling Guard asked.

  “Another.”

  Tanya felt the tip of a second needle touch her middle finger. Again pain exploded in her hand.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “What is it?” the captain shouted impatiently.

  The sound of the door opening was followed by whispering. Tanya opened her eyes. The world swam before her. Focusing was impossible, beyond noting that a new Guard had entered and was whispering urgently in the captain’s ear.

  “What? Now?” The captain’s tone held frustration.

  The Guard leaned forward and whispered some more.

  “But I...” The captain’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “Oh well. If that’s it.” She looked at the other Guards. “We’re finishing for now. Take her back.”

  It’s a game they’re playing with me. The words shot through Tanya’s head even as she screamed when the needles were plucked from beneath her fingernails. The captain gave a final scowl and stomped out of the room, followed by the messenger.

  Without another word, the two remaining Guards untied Tanya’s wrists and ankles and hauled her to her feet. They marched her down the corridor and back to her cell, where they locked her in and left.

  Tanya sat alone in the darkness, cradling her hand and fighting with herself. She must not relax. She must not feel reprieved, because they would come back again—in three days, or three hours, or three seconds. The Guards could take as much time as they wanted. It was all a game, but Tanya knew, with absolute certainty, they would come for her again.

  *

  All too soon, Tanya heard the key turn again in the lock. The pointless urge to hide in a corner almost overwhelmed her, followed by the dread that, before long, any self-control would desert her. She would pathetically try to hide and be dragged from the cell screaming like an infant. She pressed her uninjured hand against her forehead, holding back tears. Whether she broke today, or in a year’s time, nobody who might care would ever get to hear. It was no longer about living up to her mother’s reputation or impressing her friends. Only enemies were here and all that was left to keep her going was her pride.

  Light streamed in from a lantern in the corridor, dazzling after the dark. Two Guards in silhouette entered the cell. “On your feet and turn around.”

  Tanya obeyed, standing beside her bunk. She felt the cold metal of manacles snap around her wrists, and then a hand on her shoulder steered her from the room. With every step, the panic knotting her guts grew worse. Halfway down the corridor, the Guard ahead ducked through a doorway. The unmistakable sound of feet climbing stairs followed.

  Tanya stumbled after, bewildered. Were they really taking her back to the surface? Would she see the sky again? Was this some new trick? Tanya dared not let herself hope. However, they emerged into the open air. Tanya rolled her head back, staring up. Overhead were soft strands of pink—sunset. The world smelled clean, free of the stench of blood, piss, and fear. A shove sent her staggering forward, forcing her to look where she was going.

  A small group of Guards stood waiting in the courtyard. Presumably, they were Intelligence Corps, yet unlike the rest, their uniforms were immaculate. The one in the center had so many gold stars on her badge that she had to be the colonel. She was in her fifties, of average height, average weight, average looks. Her overall appearance was so unremarkable that she might easily go unnoticed, except for her contemptuous expression, belonging to someone who clearly expected everyone else to jump at her command.

  The colonel’s eyes ran over Tanya disapprovingly. She scowled. “You could have cleaned her up a bit.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. My orders didn’t say.”

  “Well, there isn’t time now. We’ll have to take her as she is.”

  Two Guards from the colonel’s escort positioned themselves at Tanya’s shoulders. Two more stood behind her. A touch set her again marching forward, under the archway and across the parade ground. On three sides lay the barrack blocks that Tanya had seen on her arrival. The bulk of Celaeno’s temple was directly ahead, on the other side of a high wall. By the time they were halfway across the parade ground, Tanya realized that they were heading for a small gate into the temple grounds.

  The moment they had passed through, Tanya was aware of a change in atmosphere. The air felt heavier and stiller. A rich spicy scent wafted around. Incense, Tanya guessed it to be. The party climbed a flight of stairs and entered the temple itself. Tanya had a brief impression of a huge dim cavern, lit by hundreds of candles, and then they turned off, through hanging drapes, where six uniformed Guards stood sentry.

  At last they entered an audience chamber. Only the colonel and one other senior Guard accompanied Tanya. Awaiting them were three white-robed and masked figures. These were Sisters, the priestesses of the Goddess. The fine gauze masks over their lower face made them indistinguishable, or should have, but it was clear that the Colonel and her comrade recognized the one in the middle. They snapped to attention with a crisp deference that left no doubt of the Sister’s importance.

  Just one other person was present, an elderly civilian of eighty or more years. Her hair was pulled back in a white bun at the back of her head. Her clothes were clearly expensive, with bold colors and satin sheen. Rings on her fingers glittered in the candlelight. Her face was set in an expression of calm authority, as if she was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Her eyes fixed curiously on Tanya.

  “This is her?” the central Sister asked.

  “Yes, my lady,” the colonel replied.

  The Sister turned to the civilian. “Is there anything you wish to ask her?”

  “I’d like to have her identity confirmed first.”

  “Of course.”

  One Sister walked sedately to a rear doorway and left. Nothing was said until she returned a few minutes later, leading a woman dressed in plain blue tunic and leggings. Even though Tanya had never seen the clothing before, she had heard it described often
enough to recognize. The woman was an Imprinter, someone so talented with the healer sense that she could step inside a cell, read the DNA, and imprint new patterns on it. They were the ones who created new life in women’s wombs, blending the birth mothers’ genes with that of their partners.

  In the Homelands, Imprinters were revered as the chosen of the Goddess, the conduits through which the Goddess’s blessing was given in each new daughter. They were kept sequestered from all harm in the temple, cared for by the Sisterhood and their holy warriors, the Guards.

  In Westernfort, there was Lynn, a friend of her parents, who spoke of life in the temple as a form of slavery, from which she had been rescued, who denied any sort of divinity in herself and lived a normal life, with partner and children—something forbidden to Imprinters in the Homelands. Around the room, the faces not hidden behind masks revealed awe as they watched the woman in blue, but Tanya, remembering all she had heard from Lynn, could view the Imprinter with nothing but pity.

  The senior Sister spoke. “Imprinter, I wonder if you could confirm the degree of relatedness between the prisoner and Madam Coppelli.”

  In reflex, Tanya’s head jerked toward the elderly civilian, clearly the other person referred to. Coppelli? Before Tanya could consider the implications, a light tap on her arm claimed her attention.

  The Imprinter was a middle-aged woman with a tired, worn expression. “May I take your hand?”

  “Um...” Tanya half turned, indicating her wrists.

  “Take them off,” the senior sister ordered.

  The colonel’s subordinate darted forward, and after a moment of fumbling, removed the manacles. The Imprinter lay her hand over Tanya’s and closed her eyes for several minutes, then she moved to the elderly civilian and repeated the process. At last, she turned back to the senior Sister.