‘Yes, General.’
In a slightly softer tone, Bastorran went on, ‘You’ve made good progress in the paladins, Meakin. I might say remarkable progress given that you weren’t clan-born. That’s rare. And not everybody approves of your rise. So see this as a test of your loyalty. Serve me well and you’ll not regret it.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘There’s just one thing I should tell you about our visitor. She’s a symbiote.’
Meakin found it difficult to hide his surprise. ‘A meld?’
‘I believe that’s the common term for a very uncommon … relationship. But it might be better not to use it in front of her.’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘I expect you to extend the same courtesy to her as you would anyone else acting on our behalf.’
‘I’ve never seen a symbiote before, sir. Not insofar as I’d know it, anyway.’
‘Very few people have. There can’t be too many around, after all. It’s not a pact many would willingly enter into.’ There was the sound of movement in the corridor. ‘I think you’re about to have your first encounter, Meakin.’
Somebody rapped loudly on the door.
‘Come!’
Their guest entered, accompanied by a guard whom Bastorran curtly dismissed.
The person standing before them was an arresting sight. Her appearance was androgynous. She had straw-blonde hair cropped so short it could have been shaven. Her skin was white like marble, and she had thin, bloodless lips. Meakin found her eyes frankly disturbing. They were inordinately large, and their irises were blacker than any he’d ever seen on a human, stressed the more by unusually milky surrounds. She was trimly built, yet her frame implied a well-disciplined strength.
There was something slightly odd about the geometry of her face, as though every line was one percent out of true. She was neither ugly nor beautiful. What she possessed was a severe elegance; like a glacier made flesh. The overall effect was alarming, and somehow mesmeric.
She was completely at ease, and returned their stares with a brittle gaze of her own.
At length, Bastorran said, ‘Welcome.’
The woman barely acknowledged his greeting.
‘This is my aide,’ he continued, ‘Lahon Meakin. Meakin, say hello to Aphri Kordenza.’
Nods were exchanged. Hers was slight, disinterested.
‘In the event that I’m not able to deal with you myself, Kordenza, you’re to liaise with Meakin here. Meakin and no other. I trust that’s clear.’
‘Yes.’ Something about the timbre of her voice set the small hairs on Meakin’s neck tingling.
‘There’s no point in you lingering here, Meakin,’ Bastorran decided. ‘You may go.’
He didn’t seem to hear. He was staring at her.
‘Meakin.’
‘Sir!’
‘Get out. And make sure we’re not disturbed.’
The aide gathered his papers, then quietly left.
The bed-ridden paladin and the glamour symbiote studied each other.
‘Mind if I demerge?’ Kordenza asked.
‘Mind if you do what?’
‘Sharing with a glamour pair gets uncomfortable when we’re both in at the same time. Makes me feel like I’ve eaten too much. I’m hoping to make our cohabitation less unpleasant in future. Until then …’ she thumped her flat chest with a black-gloved fist, ‘… better out than in, know what I mean?’ She smiled, though her face wasn’t made for it.
‘Just remember I have men outside that door. If you even think of –’
‘Calm yourself, General. We should trust each other; we’re in a business relationship. Besides, if we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.’
He felt a little confused by her use of ‘we’. ‘So go ahead.’
What took place next was no less startling for happening fast. Aphri Kordenza simply stepped to one side. But an outline of herself remained in the space she vacated. It hung in the air like a slender rope, mimicking her shape. Within its contours a kaleidoscope of particles churned and vibrated. They coagulated and clarified, and within seconds came together to form something that looked human. The emerging figure appeared to be Kordenza’s twin.
Bastorran saw that an almost invisible membrane, a viscous, cobwebby lattice, attached Kordenza to the conjured glamour. The filmy web grew taut, snapped and was immediately reabsorbed by the twin.
On closer inspection, Kordenza’s double proved not entirely identical, though its clothes were.
It, too, was androgynous, but with definite masculine features. Nor did it look completely human.
Kordenza was stretching, elbows back, head rolling. Unwinding after a weight had been removed. Next to her, the glamour twin did the same. They unconsciously mirrored each other, like a well worked-out piece of choreography.
Straightening, expelling a breath, Kordenza declared, ‘Anything you have to say can be said to both of us.’
‘We work together,’ the glamour added. Its voice was a giveaway, if one were needed. It had the timbre of sorcery; a little hollow, a touch lifeless, a hair away from humanity.
Bastorran regarded the pair silently, as though he were weighing whether to deal. At last he said, ‘What do I call you?’
‘Aphrim,’ the glamour replied.
Aphri leaned against a dresser, arms crossed. The glamour, which Bastorran was forcing himself to think of as ‘he’, adopted a similar pose by the hearth.
‘Let’s get on with it,’ Bastorran prompted. ‘You’re aware of the nature of the commission.’
‘We only accept one kind,’ Aphri said.
‘All we need to know is the target,’ her twin finished.
‘When you do, you might think twice about taking the job.’ The pun had been unintentional, but neither of his guests seemed aware of it.
‘We always appreciate a challenge,’ Aphrim told him.
‘It keeps us on our toes,’ Aphri explained.
‘Your problem,’ the glamour ventured, ‘is connected with your present state of health, yes?’
‘You want vengeance,’ Aphri reckoned.
‘Not just for your injuries …’
‘… but for the terrible public humiliation you suffered.’
Bastorran found the way they shared speech as provoking as what they said.
‘A stain not only on your reputation …’
‘… but on the clans as a whole, and –’
‘All right! I’m close to having you flogged for impertinence.’
‘You might find that a little hard in my case,’ the glamour commented.
‘Looks like we were right in our assumption, Aphrim,’ Kordenza said.
‘Yes,’ Bastorran confirmed, ‘it’s Caldason. I want him … destroyed.’
‘Hmm. He’s a notorious bandit.’
‘A hard man to kill.’
‘Some say he can’t be killed.’
‘That’s superstitious nonsense,’ Bastorran snapped.
‘Perhaps,’ Aphri conceded. ‘Nevertheless, such a commission would require a substantial fee.’
‘That needn’t be a problem. Providing your demands aren’t too outrageous.’
‘We all know that outrageous is the going rate for this job, General. As to the form the payment takes; we want coin, naturally, but we’ll take the bulk of it as magic. Is that a problem?’
‘For the clans? Of course not. But why?’
‘Our relationship’s very magic hungry.’ She looked to Aphrim. ‘Particularly as my partner needs all his strength to interact with humans.’
Bastorran raised an eyebrow.
‘All right, to kill them,’ she amended.
‘Money, sorcery; take your price any damn way you want. Just get Caldason for me.’
‘I don’t want to talk ourselves out of a job,’ Aphri said, ‘but why can’t you do this yourselves? With all the resources the clans have –’
‘There are certain restrictions place
d on how we can engage with the Qalochian.’
Her oversized eyes widened a little more. ‘The mighty paladins, limited?’ There was more than a hint of mockery.
‘Just technical niceties that don’t concern you. All you need know is that we’ve decided to contract out on this occasion.’
‘How do we find him?’ Aphrim wondered.
‘You mix with the dregs; don’t tell me you have no sources. In addition, I’ll see you get any clan intelligence that might help. And of course I can offer some measure of protection while you go about your work.’ He was growing testy. ‘Do you want this commission or not?’
‘One thing,’ Aphri asked. ‘Does the Clan High Chief know about this?’
‘I’m the only authority you need worry about,’ Bastorran returned icily. ‘My uncle’s a busy man. I don’t trouble him with routine trivia.’
The twins exchanged meaningful glances.
‘Be clear,’ he continued harshly. ‘Fail in this, or be indiscreet, and I’ll have you –’ he pointed at Aphrim ‘– negated. While you –’ he indicated Aphri ’– will be making the acquaintance of my master torturer. And be assured that only when you’re completely ruined will he put out your eyes.’
‘Sounds tasty,’ Aphrim mouthed quietly.
‘I think we understand each other.’ Bastorran favoured them with a chill smile. ‘And forget about my uncle. As I said, he has more than enough to occupy him at the moment.’
5
After their brutal taking of Bhealfa, the conquering imperialists of Gath Tampoor demolished the triumphalist structures left over from rival empire Rintarah’s occupation. They replaced them with buildings grander, taller and more opulent..
Few were as magnificent as the vast construction the Gath Tampoorians erected in central Valdarr. Within sight of the clans’ headquarters, it was in sharp contrast to that baleful pile. Where the paladins’ base appeared grim and brooding, this was celebratory, its every line glorying the authority of its builders. It was a monument to triumph and might. A building that bragged.
There was magic in its architecture, literally. The stones it was constructed from were charmed, and enchanted dust had been mixed into the very mortar. Pigments used to decorate its splendid stained-glass windows were rumoured to include a concentrate of demons’ blood, the ground bones of trolls and desiccated unicorns’ mane; notwithstanding that such creatures no longer existed, if they ever had. The upshot was that it permanently shimmered with magical energy, and on the ample expanse of its outer walls inspiring images could be conjured at will – the likenesses of imperial heroes and statesmen, explorers and merchants. Icons to hearten the populace, or to remind them that they were vanquished.
The Gath Tampoorians saw no irony in naming it the Freedom Hall, and it was proclaimed as a palace of the people. Though naturally common folk were rarely permitted to enter, except as menials.
This evening, fleets of carriages jammed the surrounding streets, delivering an army of grotesques. The comely and the hideous, the fabulous and the whimsical, climbed the stairs, wide as a city block, to the massive doors. Once inside, they were ushered into a series of elegantly appointed reception rooms, then through to the great hall itself.
The enormous chamber was lit by a score of magically illuminated crystal chandeliers. Each the size of a haystack, they hung beneath the vaulted, gold-inlaid ceiling with no visible means of support. The light they threw made the room’s accoutrements glitter and sparkle. Gold again, lots of it, along with flashes of silver and the crisp glint of gems; precious metals and exquisite jewels were moulded into the decor and furnishings. Beautiful tapestries adorned the panelled walls. Underfoot, the carpets were rich and plush.
It wasn’t only feet that padded over them. Paws, hooves, claws and suckers walked them, too. Dreams made flesh. And nightmares. People with eagle, goat and locust heads. Revellers who chose instead to transform their bodies, and who wore elaborate masks. Humans in the guise of demons and cherubs. Or cats and cockroaches, large as men. The best body magic money could buy.
Genuine chimeras mingled with the humans. Pure glamours in numerous exotic forms, brought as companions and pets, or just for effect. Impossible to tell from flesh and blood, they reflected their owners’ natures. A few were angelic. Most were incarnations of base instincts, ugly and venal.
The masque was well underway. A glamoured orchestra played. Liveried flunkies weaved through the dancers, pewter trays held high. Secure in the knowledge that they were above the law – indeed, many present were servants of the law – the revellers behaved as they saw fit. They imbibed grape and hop, some recklessly. Others sampled the pleasures of cuzcoll, viper sting and pellucid, or stronger narcotics like sabre cut, red frost, and even ramp.
In a quiet corner, a rat and a serpent were engaged in earnest conversation.
‘I’m not saying I sympathise with them, for the gods’ sake,’ the rat protested. ‘It’s just a question of methods.’
‘You always were inclined to be too soft on these dissidents,’ the serpent snorted.
‘I resent that! I loathe them as much as you do. We differ only in how best to address the problem.’
‘All a bit academic now, isn’t it? Word’s come down from on high and it no longer matters what we think. Or are you questioning your superiors’ wisdom?’
‘No, no. Of course not. I’m just saying that honey catches more flies than vinegar. I’ve always believed that stealth’s the best policy when dealing with these misfits.’
‘Mollycoddling them, you mean.’
The rat’s whiskers quivered irritably. Before he could respond, a drunken satyr barged between them.
‘Let’s sit,’ the serpent said, nodding towards an empty table.
Once they’d settled, a servant brought them drinks. Wine for the rat, brandy for the serpent.
The rat wore a plump, copper-coloured medallion. He ran his thumb over it, dismissing the mask. It evaporated to reveal a clean-shaven man of middle years. His velvet skin and silvering, coiffured hair indicated one who lived by talk rather than deeds.
Following his lead, the serpent wiped away his own disguise. He was older, and his face was weathered from a lifetime of doing. In his hair and beard, close-cut military fashion, he was further along the road to silver than his companion.
‘You have to admit, Clan High Chief,’ the one-time rat continued, ‘that the unrest has got worse since the emergency regulations were brought in.’
‘There’s always a period of turmoil after measures like that are introduced,’ Ivak Bastorran told him as he lifted his draught of brandy. ‘It’ll calm down once the hotheads know we mean business.’
Gath Tampoorian Ambassador Andar Talgorian thought the paladin sounded typically self-satisfied. He took a sip of wine and kept that to himself. ‘Far from abating, reports reaching the diplomatic corps indicate dissident activity’s spreading like wildfire.’
‘I wouldn’t say things are that bad. We’ve had our successes against these terrorists, and it’s in their nature to retaliate.’
‘There, you admit it. Your heavy-handedness is making the situation worse.’
‘I didn’t say that. We’re stamping out a pestilence. There’s bound to be bloodshed before we’re through. It’s a case of holding our nerve.’
‘Let’s hope the rebels blink first. For all our sakes.’
‘You give these people too much credence, Talgorian. Not least in dignifying them as rebels. They’re criminals, chancers, vandals. Scum. I’m proud the clans are at the forefront of eradicating them.’
‘It must be very gratifying to have a free hand at last,’ the Ambassador commented dryly.
‘I’ve made no secret of my views on public order. And it seems I’m not alone. You know as well as I do that Rintarah’s cracking down hard, too. That proves the canker’s everywhere.’
‘So the insurgents are organised, then? You can’t have it both ways, Bastorran. Either this is an outbreak
of random disobedience or a movement.’
‘They’re as organised as any other bandit gang, and their aims are no more noble.’
‘We shouldn’t allow ourselves to be hampered by too rigid an outlook,’ Talgorian replied pointedly, ‘or we’ll miss seeing the true nature of the problem.’
‘Nonsense. The truth is both empires are applying stricter sanctions because lawlessness is endemic if you let the mob have its head. East and west have been too soft. It’s past time to redress the balance.’
‘Throw oil on the flames, more like.’
‘And what would your remedy be? Soft words? Yielding to their insolent demands?’
‘I’d apply a little balm. Toss the people a few concessions. Repeal one or two petty laws, perhaps a small easing of taxes; and allow the poorest better access to basic provisions. They’d not be so easily stirred up if they had full bellies.’
‘Sounds like appeasement to me. Why give them what they haven’t earned?’
‘You asked for my opinion. I think artfulness has its part. A carrot to entice the donkey.’
‘Carrots,’ the paladin sneered. ‘What about the rod?’
‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking me squeamish. My way, we’d isolate the ringleaders and make examples of them. Single them out for assassination even, as the Council for Internal Security does back home.’
“Then we’re in accord. The clans believe in eliminating the agitators, too. It’s just that where you see a few rotten heads in a field of corn, we see them all as infected.’
‘And cut down the lot.’
‘If need be. But you’d do well to leave such considerations to us, Talgorian. You’re too much of a worrier.’
‘It’s what they pay me for.’
‘Like this warlord you’re so obsessed with,’ Bastorran ploughed on. ‘You fret about him unnecessarily, too.’
‘Nothing’s happened to make me believe Zerreiss is any less of a threat,’ the Ambassador returned indignantly. ‘Everything we hear suggests he’s continuing to make inroads.’
Quicksilver Zenith Page 5
