Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness

by Carl Sargent, Marc Gascoigne (v0. 9) (epub)

  You did not desert me, he thought. If Tarlanth falls from grace, and his property is disposed of or impounded for the Imperial coffers, then the least I shall do is to purchase your freedom for you.

  Then he turned and left the room, locking the door gently and quietly behind him.

  Having gone to bed thinking he would sleep only fitfully, Cassian was surprised to waken suddenly from deep slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he realized from the position of the sun in the sky that it must be near noon already. He leapt from his bed and made his habitual way to the pool chamber, opting for some minutes of brisk swimming rather than his usual relaxed, lazy reclining. After fifteen minutes or so, refreshed and fully alert, he dressed in his finest formal Imperial robes and made himself ready to face the Overgovernor.

  When his carriage drew up to the great gates of the Imperial palace, he was astonished to find his way blocked by a large gathering of city folk. They were huddled around the tall iron railings that ringed the palace grounds, gawking at some military exercises taking place within. Cassian climbed out of his carriage only to find that Ilfaralek had already arrived.

  "A display for our friends from abroad," the spymaster grinned, "so that they can go home and tell everyone what a magnificent retinue the great Overgovernor of Vivane has."

  "I see," Cassian replied. After showing invitations to the t'skrang gate guards, he was disappointed that the great iron gates of the palace were not opened, but, rather, they were ushered through a gatehouse and into the grounds.

  Walking at a steady pace along the long drive leading to the palace buildings, Cassian had plenty of time to observe the drills. He had seen many fine warriors of the Empire; Creanan dervishes entrained into Imperial service, the renowned Bear Legion of Vasgothia and its fearsome Great Bear Striders, huge troll infantrymen who seemed to dwarf even obsidimen in stature, the dreaded Stormriding Legion of Myternea, "plague riders" to the rebellious people of that faraway land who visited their pillaging and destruction on any community as wholly as the most virulent of plagues. But Kypros, too, had a fine Household Division of his Eighth Legion and, showy though their display was, there was superb skill to admire.

  The Captain of the division was a t'skrang sword-master, resplendent in crystal plate and one of the lighthelms Crotias had described to Cassian at some point during their endless, drunken luncheon. Moving with speed and grace, the t'skrang employed short parrying swords in his left hand and tail—more effective than any shield—while making deliberate, perfectly calculated and incisive thrusts with the long, narrow, gleaming silvered sword in his right hand. His men, t'skrang and orks preeminent among them, wore crystal ringlet mail that gleamed in the sunlight and seemed to change hue depending on the angle from which one perceived it.

  Enchanted for camouflage purposes, Cassian thought: now that was rather needless for a Household division. Still, everything about them was efficient, rapid, and graceful, and when an admiring cheer came from some impressionable youth—or even one not so young— among the crowd, they did not turn their heads to acknowledge the admiration but merely continued with their drilling.

  "They are good," the elf admitted.

  "Not bad," Ilfaralek agreed. "Not just for show either. Any real trouble around Vivane and Kypros usually has half of them sent out as an elite vanguard. Anyway," he continued as they finally reached the front doors of the palace itself, having long passed by the stable buildings with the one hugely tall and striking building housing the Overgovernor's own mastrylith, "let's go in and see what he has to say." High above them, the Ascendancy hung in the sky, motionless at its anchoring point high on, the Basalt Spire. Together, the praetor and the akarenti prepared to face the endless phalanx of guards, secretaries, and guardians of the Overgovernor's sanctum.

  Kypros was a more imposing figure than Cassian had expected. From what he'd heard, most Overgovernors were desk-bound bureaucrats, usually pale and running to fat in their middling years. They were not military men, for distinguished generals usually did their best to avoid the often-poisoned chalice of an Overgovernorship, preferring the role of a Crotias or a Tularch in a great city of the Empire. But Kypros was a little over six feet in height, his gray hair cropped short and as yet receding little from his forehead, his gray eyes sharp and alert. His handshake was also firm and strong, without the excessive pressure that often suggested anxiety or an insecure desire to impress. His voice was firm and even, and he wore plain gray and silver robes. Cassian noticed the lack of any jewelry on the man; he wore no scent and his fingernails were neither dirty, bitten down, nor stained with the telltale signs of inhaling one of the several intoxicants in which so many nobles took refuge.

  "I gather there has been some excitement in my city," Kypros observed dryly. "I had not asked you to come together, but I am given to understand you have both had some part in it. So it is as well that you are here together before me. I dare say it has also given you time to discuss a common approach."

  Kypros ignored Ilfaralek's half-hearted gesture of protest. "You would hardly be worthy of your posts if you had not done so. Praetor Cassian, do forgive me. I am aware that an Overgovernor should not be seen to interfere with the duties of such an esteemed servant of the Imperium. I also fully expect you to refuse to reveal any information you consider confidential for diplomatic reasons, and I shall not take offense. However, given the possible gravity of the situation, I felt entitled to request an audience with you."

  Cassian hid his surprise. Overgovernors were not in the habit of requesting anything from those in their cities and provinces. The word "request" did not usually exist in their vocabulary, except when dealing with the offices of the First Governor himself.

  "That is most gracious of you, Your Excellency."

  "Good. That's the pleasantries dispensed with. Now tell me what the hell is going on, with so many nobles being killed and half my bloody Legion beyond the gates!"

  That's more like it, Cassian thought, smiling to himself.

  Kypros contented himself with listening quietly for the best part of an hour, interrupting only when he wished for some clarification on a particular point.

  Cassian learned much of the man's mind from the few questions he asked. He was exact and meticulous, and often noted detail others had missed. He had, above all, a very logical mind; but he was often too concerned with points of minor detail instead of the bigger picture. Cassian thought that, at the end of this, Kypros would be overcautious.

  As they had planned, Cassian and Ilfaralek were careful to present observation alone, divorcing speculation from those observations, except when a provisional conclusion was necessary to make sense of later observations. Kypros seemed to appreciate this. At length, when their speaking was almost done, four rather luridly attired slaves entered bearing gilded platters of sumptuous foods. Cassian was amused to see the Overgovernor personally adopt the role of master of ceremonies, preferring not to have the slaves cut up and serve for him but choosing to do so himself.

  "Lakara tongue pie," Kypros said happily, "a local delicacy. Very finely done, if I may say so. My chef has been with me for three years and I have lost only one food-taster during that time. An outstanding record of contribution to the Empire on her part." Cassian soon found himself holding a plate bearing a wedge of the deep pie, the flaky buttered pastry barely holding the mass of tiny bird's tongues set in the herbed jelly within. Steaming vegetables, simply and perfectly cooked with very light sauces or herbs, were piled up beside it.

  "Excellent," he commented truthfully after a first mouthful.

  "Stay for the feast day and there will be plenty more where this came from," the Overgovernor told him. "The ox-pits have already been fired. We do things well here. Including subversion, if all you tell me is true."

  "We are certain of all our facts, Excellency. I had a continuing report less than half an hour ago on the tunnel networks. They extend in total for over two miles, and there have been lacunae excavated beneath the House of Re
cords, the Recitatorium, the Ziggurats, and the architects' workshops adjacent to the House of Works."

  "Fortunate, then, that my wizards have ensured that no such tunnels could possibly be excavated beneath the palace itself," Kypros said spiritedly.

  "That's true, Excellency. But they have been excavated beneath the point at which you give your birthday address to the people," Ilfaralek replied tartly.

  "Well, now, akarenti," Kypros said carefully, "that puts me in a slightly difficult position. If one goal of this exercise has been to do away with me, I must be careful that I do not overreact from personal motives of anger."

  Exactly as I expected, Cassian thought. A nice rationalization too.

  "What troubles me," Kypros continued, "is that all this activity went undetected until so recently."

  Ilfaralek had expected this implicit criticism. It was, after all, his job to ferret out such schemes and conspiracies.

  "There are several reasons for this, Excellency. First, we believe that many of those who worked in these tunnels knew nothing of the scale of the work. Some may even have had their minds tampered with to prevent recollection of any detail. Second, it is early yet, but there must have been powerful magical masking of this work.

  Such skills are hardly unknown to the nobles of the city, Excellency."

  "Indeed. Which is why you are paid to uncover them, Ilfaralek."

  "The masking is very powerful, Excellency. That much we do know."

  "Hmmm." Kypros drummed the fingers of his right hand on the table, setting aside his fork and reaching for a linen square to wipe at his mouth with the other. "And we know only the assumed names of the wizards apparently responsible.

  "So who are they?"

  "I cannot be certain of that," Ilfaralek said hesitantly. "However, we think there is a strong case against a certain individual."

  "Good," Kypros said with relish, carving a generous slice of a fruit-filled iced sweet and ladling clotted cream over it. He poured himself a small glass of a honey-yellow dessert wine and passed the ornate crystal decanter to Cassian. "This is exceptional. A very fine vintage.

  "Now, tell me."

  Kypros listened to Ilfaralek's theory carefully, with no sign of either persuasion or impatience. Consuming his food with deliberation, he neither nodded his head at any point nor cast his gaze away from a single point.

  He's learned how to give nothing away, Cassian mused. A useful skill for one in his position, especially if he plans to occupy it for any length of time.

  When Ilfaralek had concluded his piece, Kypros wiped his lips with an air of finality, and sat back with hands folded on his stomach.

  No sign of a paunch there, Cassian observed; he eats well but he is fit and takes care of himself. An interesting man. Under other circumstances I would like to know more of him.

  "Well, it's persuasive enough. The will is very odd indeed," the Overgovernor mused. "Most irregular. Which is what troubles me."

  "Your Excellency?" Ilfaralek said.

  "I grant you that Tarlanth is going to come out of all this richer, more influential, and perhaps, as you so carefully failed to point out to me, he would be in a very good position to become Overgovernor if I had fallen into the tunnel so lovingly crafted for me," Kypros said wryly. "Not immediately, though. Perhaps the one after next. He'd probably have had that idiot Tularch installed and she'd have managed to foul everything up within a year and then he'd be in an excellent position. Thank you for having the tact and grace to leave that unsaid, Ilfaralek— you must have known it might have prejudiced my viewpoint."

  Cassian could not help but smile. Kypros was indeed shrewd.

  "However, this will. . .it's too irregular. It's going to cause an awful lot of people to look askance at Tarlanth," Kypros mused. "I'm not happy about that. I suppose you want me to issue a Writ of Suspension so you can go over everything he possesses at your leisure while he enjoys a week or two as my guest in the palace dungeons?"

  "That is a matter for your discretion, Excellency," Ilfaralek demurred.

  "Well, I don't think so," Kypros said quietly. "I don't think you have much evidence, Ilfaralek."

  "A Writ of Suspension only requires good grounds for suspicion. The will alone provides such grounds," Ilfaralek pointed out.

  "Happy man the Overgovernor who issues such a writ and finds that those grounds were not as firm as he thought," Kypros retorted in tones of withering sarcasm.

  "Now, some people might say that a Carinci Overgovernor using his power to imprison the leading noble of House Medari, with his evidence being a will that allows Medari to take over some of Carinci's business, might be acting just a trifle dubiously. Wouldn't you say, Cassian?"

  "It is not for me to judge the positions and actions of the nobles of Vivane in such matters," the elf said diplomatically.

  Kypros let out an objecting obscenity with some vigor. "Nonsense, Cassian. Don't give me that 'I'm a praetor and I couldn't possibly comment' stuff. I can't throw Tarlanth into the cells, just like that. Bring me one piece of evidence that links him to the tunnels and I'll have his head hung on the palace railings tomorrow morning, but this will isn't enough.

  "You," he concluded, stabbing a finger in the direction of the hapless spymaster, "get to work on finding something like that."

  "The problem is," Ilfaralek persisted, "that whoever was behind the tunnel-building now knows the game is up. That person will work swiftly to hide all traces of his involvement."

  "All the more reason to get your backside out of that chair and to work before they can manage it," Kypros retorted. "And you, praetor Cassian; well, it is not for me to tell you your job, but perhaps you should take a closer look at Tarlanth's affairs and household. He is your host, after all."

  "I had considered that," Cassian replied coolly. "Unfortunately, if I happen to arrive showing a hitherto-undemonstrated interest in his affairs within half a day of the discovery of those tunnels, he will know that he is under suspicion."

  "A fair point," Kypros admitted. "Well, do you have other avenues of enquiry?"

  "I may," the elf said cautiously. Kypros smiled and did not ask for anything more.

  "You have three days and another half," he said. "That brings us up to the eve of the feast day. During the celebration it will be very difficult, I think, to investigate anything or anyone, given the revelries. You should have the job done by then anyway; you've been here long enough," he added, addressing the elf. If it was a jest, it was but half a one, Cassian thought.

  "And as for you, Ilfaralek, I may have to request a replacement if you haven't found out what is happening by that time. And I really would prefer not to have any more bodies littering the streets."

  "They have hardly been littering the streets, Exc—"

  "Littering the homes, pools, and hunting grounds then, you idiot," Kypros cried. "You've got three and a half days. At most. Thank you, akarenti. It is always a pleasure to see you."

  The two visitors rose and left the Overgovemor to the pleasures of the tray of cheeses. In the antechamber directly outside the room, a small gaggle of overdressed flunkies were brushing crumbs and dust from the portly figure of Quarique Oathstone, the Barsaivian puppet-govemor of the city. When the door opened he slapped their hands away and tried to recapture some of his precious dignity, but the two Therans barely noticed him as they strode past.

  Storming his way down the drive to the gates with Cassian in tow, Ilfaralek could hardly speak.

  "I don't think that went quite as well as we'd hoped," the elf said quietly. Something had to be said before they went their separate ways at the gates.

  "Bastard," Ilfaralek said venomously. "Save his skin, and the swine threatens me with dismissal. I'm going to tell Harrishaz to forget delving into those tunnels and to get an elite division of the Legion down there to finish one of them up, just beneath his platform when he gets up to speak."

  Cassian laughed and put an arm around the man's shoulder. "Come now, you might f
ind something in those tunnels."

  "I doubt it. The first thing any House wizard among these nobles learns is how to cover up, conceal, and disguise. It's how they've managed not to cut each other's throats all these years, after all, keeping all their secrets to themselves. I doubt even my people will trace anything. But I'll keep trying."

  "So will I," Cassian said, "and I'll make sure you're informed of what I learn."

  "I'm grateful," Ilfaralek replied with real feeling. "He will do it, you know."

  "I know," the elf said sympathetically. "But three and a half days is a long time."

  Longer than he thought. . .

  27

  Cassian allowed Ilfaralek to depart and then made his way independently to the Southern Barracks. Hoping to consult Crotias, he soon learned that he hardly needed to go looking for her. She stood commanding troops on the parade grounds, and had just broken off when he arrived. She gave him a boisterous wave and marched over with her ground-eating stride. She was clearly in good humor.

  "A good job, Cassian; well done. My men are very happy about it."

  "I'm sorry?" he queried.

  "Well, normally they'd have to put up with days of extra patrols and drills and meaningless parading up and down, being gawked at by all the visitors for the Overgovernor's feast. Now they've got something to do. Good for morale."

  "I see," Cassian said doubtfully.

  "Who are you here to see, anyway? Akarenti Ilfaralek is being carpeted by Kypros, I think," she grinned.

  "Yes, I believe so. Actually, I was here to ask your advice," Cassian said quietly, adopting a slightly conspiratorial tone. Exaggeratedly, the ork advanced to within whispering range. After a hard morning's drilling—and Crotias was a legendarily early riser—she smelled of heat, dust, leather, and sweat.