Seal of the Worm

by Adrian Czajkowski

  ‘If we do not follow our orders, then men like me are worthless, Marent,’ Tynan told him stonily.

  ‘It is because you killed a Red Watch man,’ Marent stated. ‘You silenced a voice of the Empress. That alone is sufficient to turn the Empire’s most able general into a traitor!’

  Tynan could feel the temper of his soldiers rising, their loyalty to him leading them on dangerous paths. ‘Quiet, you fool!’ he hissed. ‘Every word you speak is a danger to you and to everyone who else hears it.’

  Marent shrugged. ‘Tynan, my hands are red with the same blood.’

  Tynan stared at him.

  ‘How do you think I know all this? They sent a man to me to tell me I might have to command my soldiers against the Second Army. That man’s dead now, but not before he told me all he knew. And, yes, I’m sure she knows, but I have an army, and so do you, and we have more real soldiers between us than the rest of Capitas can muster. And we’re not alone.’

  ‘Treason, Marent. You’re truly talking treason.’

  The General of the Third had the honesty to lower his gaze at that. ‘I am loyal to the Empire,’ he said quietly. ‘The Empire needs you, Tynan. We have nobody finer to take the field against the Lowlanders. And I would happily proclaim that the Empress has been misled by evil counsel, that these Red Watch men are like the Rekef under Alvdan, the rot at the core that must be cut back. I would be the gladdest man alive to strip them away and find the Empress behind them, innocent of their evil.’

  Except that . . . said his expression, and Tynan nodded wearily.

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘but I have my—’

  ‘You do not know!’ Marent insisted. He seemed to have forgotten his audience, now. ‘Tynan, you have no idea what has been done in the Empress’s name while you have had the fortune to fight a clean war against an honourable enemy. The slaves, the prison camps . . . I have heard such news that even I don’t know what to believe. And her voices, her Red Watch, her Mantis bodyguard, wherever you hear of some insanity, always they are there. Tynan, we can’t . . .’

  ‘Marent—’

  ‘No.’ The younger general looked up again, his face set. ‘They will kill your general!’ he shouted out for every ear to hear, the voice of an officer whose commands can be heard through the tumult of battle. ‘They will execute him as a traitor! Do you men believe the charge?’

  The angry roar of the Second Army must have been audible deep within the city.

  ‘Do you believe he should give himself into their hands?’ Marent yelled.

  Again that fierce denial.

  More quietly now, Marent said, ‘Tynan, if you bear the Empire any love, then you will keep camp here, and you and I will hold the bloody city to ransom if we must, because they need us. Piss on their Red Watch and their orders. If this city isn’t to be the prize of the Ant-kinden then they will need your soldiers and mine, and they will need you to lead our forces.’

  Tynan closed his eyes, and there was a host of voices in his mind: every commander he had served under as a young man; every order he had received; every subordinate who had taken Tynan’s own words and gone off to a soldier’s death because it was necessary; all of his understanding of the way the Empire functioned. Because we obey orders. That is our strength. That is what we have had to learn. Empress to generals, generals to colonels, and so on down to the lowliest Auxillian and beyond – even to the slaves themselves.

  And does that make us all slaves, save whoever sits on the throne?

  He wished – bitterly wished – that fortune-telling was real, just this once, so he could call up some shabby conjurer and have his future told, because all the tomorrows from this day were an unreadable grey mystery to him, and yet he must make his choice.

  And at the last, in his mind, he heard her – not the Empress but that other her, Mycella of the Aldanrael, whom he had betrayed and murdered in obedience to his orders. How often, after that fact, had he bowed his back to the Empress’s demands, thinking, If I could not break this bond for you, what other cause is worthy of it? But now he asked himself what Mycella would advise, and he knew that no Spider-kinden ever born would put her head into this noose.

  ‘I stay,’ he said, and was then not sure whether the words had truly passed his lips. ‘I stay!’ he repeated, this time loud enough that the first half-dozen ranks heard him clearly, and the cheer they raised as good as told the rest what he had decided.

  Major Oski had been making ready to creep out of the Second Army camp – because fabricating an excuse to visit the capital had suddenly become more difficult following Tynan’s recent decision – when the man he had been going to see simply walked into the tent that the Second’s Engineers were using as their headquarters.

  Oski stared at him, nodding at the visitor’s salute.

  ‘Captain-Auxillian Ernain reporting for duty,’ the Bee-kinden said, expressionless.

  ‘Right, right.’ Oski nodded, glancing sidelong at the handful of other artificers who were there. ‘You’ve been out there a while, Captain. Let’s find us somewhere, and you can report.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Oski retreated to stores and ousted the quartermaster lieutenant who had been quietly dozing there, citing a pressing need to count the snapbow ammunition. ‘You should knock off that “sir” and “reporting for duty” malarkey right off. From you it sounds more suspicious than outright insubordination.’

  Ernain grinned a little. ‘I forget how comfortable I became here with the Second.’

  Oski flitted back and forth about the storage tent, then did a quick circling flight of the exterior, low to the ground, looking out for eavesdroppers. He was still casting nervous looks around as he dropped back in. ‘Well, report then,’ he told the Bee-kinden. ‘So is it happening? I’ve heard nothing here. Ignorant as a Commonwealer, me.’

  Ernain nodded soberly. ‘No more than I’m ignorant about what the pits you’ve been doing. You lost Collegium?’

  ‘You would not pissing believe how that turned out,’ Oski spat. ‘Seriously, don’t get me started. Only good part of it is that Red Watch bastard didn’t make it out. Tynan killed the sod himself, if you can believe it.’

  ‘About time,’ Ernain acknowledged.

  ‘After that it’s been a pissing forced march all the way. Never knew a man so glad to go to his own execution . . . except suddenly that’s on the back burner.’ He eyed Ernain cautiously. ‘So how does that fit with your plans, eh?’

  Ernain looked away, studying the tent’s shadowy interior. ‘What’s your opinion of General Tynan, Oski?’

  The Fly-kinden shuffled a little. ‘Honestly? A good man. Gives sensible orders, cares for his men. Is that a problem?’

  ‘No. When the time comes, I’d rather confront Tynan than someone I didn’t have a feel for. Certainly I’d rather go up against Tynan than Brugan of the Rekef, or herself.

  Oski shuddered. ‘You’ve got that right,’ he agreed. ‘So . . . soon?’

  ‘The Lowlanders are on their way,’ Ernain said softly.

  ‘Oh, you do not have to tell me that.’ Oski glanced up sharply. ‘There’s been . . . contact? Only there was some word about Auxillian desertions already. I wasn’t sure that . . .’

  ‘There’s been word come to us, yes. Their Tactician Milus has a good mind and good agents.’

  The Fly’s eyes went wide. ‘He knows about you?’

  ‘No, but he’s guessed that someone will be doing what I’m doing with the Auxillians, the Empire’s slave cities. He makes a lot of promises.’

  Oski made a doubtful noise. ‘I’m not sure an empire of the Ants will be any kinder to live in than a Wasp one – a whole extra barrier between them and us. But of course he promises that’s not what he wants, no doubt.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ernain smiled slightly. ‘It’s going to be soon, Oski, yes. And as it’s Tynan, I’ll be relying on you to get me to him.’

  ‘Ah, right,’ the major muttered. Well, I reckon I knew that one
was coming.’ He waited for Ernain to say more, but the Bee just regarded him steadily until he had to hold up his hands to ward off that scrutiny. ‘All right, yes.’

  ‘Say now if I can’t rely on you.’

  ‘You ask me that?’ Oski demanded, aggrieved. ‘Look, I like Tynan, yes. I’ve served under worse officers, believe me. And I’m no Auxillian, it’s true. Citizen of the Empire, me. But yes, what you need done, I’ll do.’

  Ernain laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ll hear soon. Just remember how much work and planning has gone into this; how many people will be doing their part, great or small, to bring our new world about. And how many people will be executed if this fails.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Oski told him. ‘Come on, how long’ve you been away, that now you don’t trust me?’

  For a long moment Ernain’s expression was unreadable, but then the smile came back, a little sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, we’re in this together, just as we always were.’

  ‘Don’t you forget it.’ Oski took a deep breath. ‘Now you get yourself over to the mess and eat, and do all the stuff soldiers do when they get back to camp from a long journey, and make sure you’ve got a good story, too. They’ll ask.’

  Marent’s command tent was close to full when Tynan entered it, the crowd there a strangely disparate group, and he thought: So these are who the Empire must rely on. Even taking himself and Marent into account, it was an uncomfortable thought, a symptom of the cracks that were beginning to show in the Imperial hierarchy. Where were the generals? Where was the painstaking chain of command that would answer all questions and absolve all guilt? Where was the Rekef, even? Tynan had never thought he would miss the secret service, but its absence here was like a missing tooth. Unless someone here is a Rekef man, and just hasn’t bothered to mention it.

  He and Marent were the two highest-ranking officers, nominally sharing command, and he could only be thankful that the two of them just about saw eye to eye. The moment they met some problem that made them pull in opposite directions, this entire venture would fall apart.

  Over from Capitas was the aviation artificer, Varsec. Apparently General Lien himself was not willing to be seen meeting with rumoured traitor generals, but at the same time had not been able to countenance being kept in the dark. Dapper goateed Varsec was already enough of a maverick that no doubt Lien could disavow him should the need arise. The man’s somewhat haunted expression suggested that he was well aware of that fact.

  The Consortium colonel sitting next to Varsec was Nessen, former governor of Helleron for a fairly brief space of time, now performing a role for his corps similar to the one Varsec had for the Engineers. Tynan regarded him narrowly, remembering the difficulties the man had given Captain Bergild when she came to warn him of the Lowlander advance. Yet another man who would not bear the weight of too much trust, he guessed.

  There were two others he did not know: a major in the uniform of the Slave Corps and a handsome Wasp woman sitting demurely by herself and wearing clothes that looked southern and Spider styled. The distance between her and the others was notable, and Tynan was surprised to examine his own reaction and realize that it was that gap, rather than her presence, that struck him as wrong. He had stood beside a female co-commander for too long, it seemed, and fallen prey to non-Imperial ways of thinking.

  ‘This is Merva,’ Marent said, while making a hurried round of introductions. ‘She’s been sent by her husband, the governor of Solarno, to deal on his behalf.’

  ‘Solarno still has a governor? I thought the Spiders had taken it,’ Tynan grunted.

  ‘The Spiders also have it, sir,’ Merva said carefully. ‘We are in a unique position there.’ She kept her eyes lowered, but Tynan had the impression that she was adhering to protocol only out of reluctant necessity. Must be an interesting posting for a woman, that close to the Spiderlands.

  ‘Did Edvic not have any subordinates he could send?’ Colonel Nessen demanded. ‘This is ridiculous.’

  ‘He sent me, sir.’ This time she did look up, with a brief flash of fire. ‘I have his full authority to deal—’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, woman—’

  ‘Quiet, Nessen,’ Tynan snapped. ‘So she speaks for Solarno – another city heard from. Who’s the slaver?’

  Nessen blinked, surprised and angry, but the Slave Corps man beside him saluted and said, ‘Major Vorken, sir.’

  Tynan glanced at Marent. ‘Why do we need him?’ He had no love for the slavers, and nor did just about anyone in the regular army. They were notorious as a mob of undisciplined, slipshod profiteers, holding lower standards than real soldiers and at the same time making more money.

  Marent’s expression was oddly pensive. ‘Because I want you to hear what he has to say. Major, your report?’

  ‘Sir.’ Vorken stood, shoulders back, head high, giving his best impression of a good soldier. Tynan listened somewhat idly to his talk of camps, the Empress’s orders for the mass acquisition of slaves. He had heard something of the practice before now, and it had seemed a small enough eccentricity of the crown. He had not quite appreciated the scale of the endeavour, he now realized, as Vorken went on to give numbers of camps, estimates of slaves per camp. Tynan thought through the mathematics of it. How can anyone keep that many slaves fed? But next Vorken was reporting just that: his own corps’ essential inability to manage so many slaves in such concentrations. He told it straight, staring at the inside of the tent, unapologetic and hiding nothing. He gave a concise outline of the conditions in the camps. Tynan had assumed that was it – wasteful and unpleasant, but hardly unprecedented, for he had heard of similar excesses during the Twelve-year War.

  But then Vorken began to recount the night that his own prison camp had come to an end. He kept his voice as steady as he could, but it shook a little even so, and this from a man who had made a living out of trading in flesh and misery. He got through it, though, until the slightly raw sound of his voice became almost impossible to listen to as it sawed manfully though the massacre of thousands.

  ‘One man?’ demanded Nessen. ‘It’s not possible.’

  Vorken met his gaze. ‘With my own eyes, sir. And I have heard similar from other officers. At least one other camp has been emptied by the same means. By the same man. And others . . .’

  Varsec coughed. ‘I think I can reveal that the Engineers have had orders regarding some of these camps. Involving the installation of certain machinery, to await the Empress’s command.’

  The image that news conjured up silenced everyone for a moment.

  ‘I won’t go into the technical details,’ Varsec’s voice had sunk to a hollow whisper, ‘but there can be only one purpose for it all, I’m afraid. More efficient than what Major Vorken has just described, but with the same end result.’

  Nessen was staring. ‘You mean the Bee-killer?’

  Varsec twitched slightly, then nodded. ‘Of course, you were in Helleron. We had you brewing it up. And in Sonn . . . and elsewhere. Once we got the formula, she did seem to need an awful lot of it.’ He sounded somewhat sick. This was a long way from the clash of orthopters that he had made his speciality.

  ‘Enough.’ Tynan clapped his hands together, to capture their attention and break the tension. ‘Marent, you knew most of this ahead of time, I’m sure, for you to gather us together like this.’ Tell me how far you intend to go.

  The general of the Third nodded unhappily. ‘It’s this simple. You and I have already made the decision. There is a rot at the heart of the Empire, and it is her.’

  ‘Be very careful what you say, Marent,’ Tynan warned him.

  ‘While she holds the throne—’

  But Tynan lifted a hand immediately to silence him. ‘No more.’

  ‘Tynan, you’ve just heard—’

  ‘No.’ Tynan shook his head. ‘Because where you’re going . . . we’ve already seen that. You won your general’s rank badge in the war against the traitor governors. Do you think a war aga
inst the traitor generals will be any better? That way lies the end of the Empire.’

  ‘Tynan—’

  ‘If for only one reason: who takes her place, Marent? Even were she just to die right now, of no unnatural cause at all, what would we do? How many would step forward to put a hand on the throne and tear off a piece? How many would rally a city or two behind them, and demand the recognition of the rest? It would be the end of it all, Marent. The Empire would shatter. She is our Empress, however mad, however flawed, because at least, whilst everyone is agreed on that, the Empire still exists.’

  Marent took a long, deep breath. ‘I would pledge my sword and my soldiers to you, General Tynan. All the Empire knows you.’

  The silence within the tent was keen and brittle, the others studying Tynan, waiting for the first stones of history’s landslide. Nessen looked horrified, Varsec thoughtful, the slaver was almost expressionless, his major’s rank shielding him from the burden of having a say. Tynan found himself looking to Merva and seeing such a calculating expression there that he wondered how much time she had really spent with the Spiders in Solarno.

  ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘I am a soldier, therefore I will defend the Empire and throw the Lowlanders back where they came from. When our borders are secure, when the war is done, I will submit to the judgment of the throne. If you ask me to defy the Empress to save the Empire, I will, but the same logic compels you afterwards. If we love the Empire so much, we must bow the knee to it when the danger is past, and accept the consequences of our defiance. And she is the Empire – all the Empire we have.’

  ‘But what about Vorken’s report – the camps, what she’s doing there?’ Marent demanded. ‘It’s gone beyond madness. She’s gutting the Empire, herself.’

  And he’s right, and yet . . . anarchy. Cast down the Empress – the very thought sent a cold shudder through him – and we will fall apart. The deaths of thousands of slaves, yes, but . . . He glanced at Vorken, met the man’s stare – reading there not a demand for help but something closer to defiance. Has he . . .? Surely not the Slave Corps taking a stand, after all this time? For a moment he was desperately spinning the wheels of his mind, trying to find some way out of the maze that would leave him with an intact Empire and an intact conscience at the same time, but there was nothing. He was no great statesman, no philosopher. So where’s Stenwold Maker when you need him? A dry thought. If I’d caught him in Collegium, would I have him with me now, in chains, to advise me? Would he see a way clear that I cannot?