The sorcerer took the conch and placed his lips to the opening. A buzzing filled the air as the sorcerer blew, and Caile could feel a fluttering sensation against his forehead, like a steady pulse of wind. The buzzing grew in intensity, like a swarm of bees growing closer, and then Senator Emil’s voice filled the room.
“Good morning,” the senator said through the conch. “It promises to be a glorious day. You call bearing good news, I presume?”
• • •
Ambassador Mahalath adjusted his turban, focusing on the reflection of the linen folds rather than making eye contact with himself in the gilded looking glass. He had never felt so ashamed and emasculated in his life. He was neither naïve nor idealistic—he had been in politics for over thirty years and knew the game well—but that didn’t mean he had come to Sol Valaróz without a sense of purpose and nationalistic pride. He had come here believing he had something of value to offer the Five Kingdoms. He had arrived with absolute faith in the democratic principles of the Republic, but now…
He had been used like a pawn in a game. Emil and his collaborators in the security council of the Senate, whoever they were, had sent him here to merely present the guise of diplomacy. Meanwhile, the real strategy had been to unleash the pthisicis-corporis on Valaróz and take control of the Five Kingdoms by subterfuge. And fool that I am, I played my part to perfection, Mahalath thought. I stood there and smiled when a fake queen signed my treaty, knowing full well that it made no sense for her to do so. And when I had the opportunity to save the real Makarria, I sent her away on a ship, likely to her death. A pitiful attempt at redemption it was.
He had asked Senator Emil to be relieved of his position, but Emil was not about to let go so easily. Emil had taken away the conch Mahalath had been given to communicate with, and he told Mahalath in no uncertain terms that he was staying. “I’ll not have you running back to Khail Sanctu to decry me before the Senate,” Emil had told him the day before. “You’ve had as much of a hand in this as I have. Your signature is on the treaties. You will stay here, and you will continue to co-chair the Valarion high council until the Five Kingdoms are completely under Republic control. Only then will I allow you to return to your home and wife. Continue to question me and you will never see her again.”
Mahalath didn’t know whether to take that as a threat toward his own life, his wife’s, or both. His wife was a junior senator. She was highly respected, and had strong allies in the Senate, but she had nowhere near the influence Emil had. Mahalath knew Emil was right—he had Mahalath right where he wanted him. If Mahalath called for an investigation, if he told his wife what had happened here, if he did anything to arouse the Senate’s attention, they would be ruined, he and his wife both. Mahalath half hoped that Emil would discover that the prisoner in the dungeon was gone. It wouldn’t be hard for Emil to discern who had freed the prisoner, and it just might anger him enough to kill Mahalath on the spot. Then again, Mahalath wasn’t certain that Emil knew who the prisoner really was. Even if Emil had been the one to unleash the pthisicis-corporis in the first place, it didn’t mean that Emil believed Lady Prisca’s story that the pthisicis-corporis had swapped bodies with Makarria. Either way, the prisoner Mahalath had freed was in a broken body and likely of little interest to the Senator now that he had control of the kingdom. No, my death would be too easy an escape, Mahalath rued.
A rapping came at the bedroom door, and Mahalath turned sullenly to watch his servant answer the call. It was one of Emil’s lackeys at the door.
“Senator Emil demands your presence immediately, Ambassador Mahalath,” the courtier said. Mahalath didn’t dignify the man’s insolence with a response. Instead, he merely rose to his feet and motioned for the courtier to lead the way.
After a short, wordless walk through the palace, they found Senator Emil lounging on the veranda, overlooking the city and harbor below. Emil smirked up at Mahalath from where he sat in a cushioned reclining chair.
“Don’t be so glum,” Emil said. “Today is a great day for the Republic. Everything is in place. Lord Kobel will be elected this afternoon as King of Sargoth, our ships will arrive in Gathol Harbor to secure the city, and then we can turn our attention to Norg.”
“And what of Pyrthinia?” Mahalath asked. “Queen Taera has shown no indication she means to surrender.”
“That’s why I summoned you. More good news. We have Prince Caile in custody and he has a speaking relic of some sort. Once Col Sargoth is secured, we will have him negotiate his sister’s surrender. If she balks, we simply threaten to kill him. She will fall into line like all the others, and then with four of the Five Kingdoms already in the fold, King Hanns of Norg will do the same. We’ll have conquered an entire nation in a bloodless war.”
“Bloodless?” Mahalath demanded. “You forget Queen Makarria. Her bodyguard. That innocent scholar. The captain of the Royal Guard. And what of those ships you sent off into the storm?”
Emil rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I think you must be a woman, the way you prattle on and fret about a few casualties. Would you rather that we had invaded? Would you rather see tens of thousands of soldiers die? Is that it? You want to see a long, drawn out war?”
“I’d rather that we simply offered aid like we promised! Since when did the Republic get into the business of conquering nations? We came here to provide assistance to the Five Kingdoms. To encourage freedom and democracy. That is all!”
Emil stood, his eyes flashing with anger and contempt. “Listen to yourself. You know as well as I do what is in those warehouses beneath Col Sargoth. Do you really think the next King of Sargoth would be content to leave them there, the tools to conquer the entire world? This is a matter of national security. We had to act preemptively and secure those war wagons.”
Mahalath turned away to gaze over the harbor. There was no use in arguing. Emil was a hawk through and through. To him “diplomacy” was just another word for manipulation, a means for gaining control. Guderian’s war wagons—regardless of whether they posed a legitimate threat or not—were excuse enough for Emil to justify his actions. Nothing Mahalath could say or do would change that.
• • •
Caile sat helplessly on the floor as the morning waxed on and daylight brightened the royal suite. One of the ruffians had left and returned with breakfast hours before, and by Caile’s estimation it was nearing the hour when the election council would convene to elect Lord Kobel as King of Sargoth, and then die a fiery death at the hands of the sorcerer’s guild. Caile didn’t even care that the guard had neglected to fetch him any food; the pangs of hunger he felt were nothing compared to the shame and guilt he felt at having failed Makarria and his sister.
He tried in vain to pull his hands free from their bindings, but all he accomplished was tearing the skin away from his wrists. As much as he hated to admit it, he was defeated. There was nothing he could do. His orange speaking stone and sword were on the table no more than five feet away, but they might as well have been five hundred miles away for all the good they did him. Seeing nothing else to do, he slumped forward in submission and waited.
His captors, too, sat silently in anticipation, waiting for word to reach them of the official vote. None of them spoke. The brute who had kicked Caile earlier took to pacing the den occasionally, but beyond the shuffling of his feet on the floor, there was only silence. That’s why the knock at the door, when it came, seemed so obtrusive.
“That was fast,” the brute said, getting to his feet from where he sat at one of the cushioned chairs. “I thought they weren’t meeting for another hour or two.”
Caile exhaled slowly. It’s done, then. Kobel is King and the Old World has won.
“Hold on a moment,” the sorcerer said, his brows pinched above his nose in confusion as he approached from the adjoining bedroom. “It’s too early…”
But it was too late. The brute had already unlatched the door, and he flailed backward in a spray of blood as the door burst open.
• • •
Senator Emil took Mahalath’s silence for assent to his demands. “I will be presenting my report to the Senate this afternoon,” he said. “Just as soon as I receive confirmation from our agents in Col Sargoth that Kobel has been elected. I want you to be present to corroborate my assessment and recommendations.”
“Recommendations?”
“To proceed toward full annexation of the Five Kingdoms, starting by sending governors and more legionnaires to ensure the transfer of power goes smoothly. Galleys and troops stand at the ready to sail. The Senate Security Council has contingency plans prepared to guide the transition of the Five Kingdoms from sovereign nations to Republic territories, and then to full-fledged provinces within twenty years. All is prepared.”
Mahalath sighed and turned away from Emil to stare out over the harbor.
“Think whatever you like about me and my techniques,” Senator Emil said, “but you must see this is the best of possible outcomes. We avert war and bring the Five Kingdoms into the fold of the Republic. Could you ask for a more perfect scenario?”
Mahalath didn’t respond to the senator, not because he was angry this time, but rather because of what he saw in the harbor below: approaching ships, and lots of them.
“Are those Valarion ships returning?” Mahalath asked, as much to himself as to Senator Emil.
The senator followed his gaze. “They’re certainly not ours. They must be the ships I ordered to Kal Pyrthin.” His face twisted in annoyance.
“Perhaps the storm turned them back?” Mahalath suggested.
“They have stormwielders with them to deal with inclement weather, and I gave specific orders to—”
A horn sounded from the harbor below, a warning call from the legionnaires who patrolled the docks. Mahalath’s skin prickled. It’s Queen Makarria returned, he thought, but immediately dismissed the idea. No. She’s broken and beaten, trapped forever in another’s body. Still, Mahalath narrowed his eyes and leaned farther over the veranda railing to discern what was happening in the distance below.
Some two-dozen ships were sailing into the harbor. One, at least, had already docked, and a handful of others were furling their sails to do the same. A squadron of legionnaires—clearly visible even at this distance thanks to their distinctive maroon uniforms—approached the first ship, and suddenly they were gone. Vanished. Mahalath blinked his eyes, not believing what he was seeing, but when he looked again, there was no doubt: the legionnaires were gone. The only movement on the pier was sailors rushing off the ship and a flock of birds streaming out over the harbor. More legionnaires rushed forward to meet the sailors, and another horn sounded the alarm. This time, Mahalath and Emil both saw clearly as the legionnaires disappeared… or rather were transformed into a flock of birds.
“What in damnation is going on down there?” Senator Emil growled.
Mahalath was too stunned to reply, mesmerized as he was by the majestic arcing path of the birds—first over the harbor and then curving back toward the city, close enough that Mahalath could make out their green feathers and hear their piercing cries.
“Parrots,” Mahalath muttered.
“Guards!” Senator Emil yelled, ignoring him.
Two legionnaires rushed out onto the veranda. “Sir?” one of them, the captain, asked.
“Order the palace sealed. I want the gates closed, the walls manned, and a regiment at the ready in the main courtyard.”
“Yes sir!”
“And, Captain, I want the Valarion Royal Guardsmen with you. Mix them into your ranks.”
The captain again barked his assent and rushed off into the palace with the second guard at his heals.
“Is that wise, bringing in the Royal Guard?” Mahalath asked.
“Whoever just annihilated our legion down there”—Emil paused and waved negligently in the direction of the harbor—“maybe they will think twice about doing the same if there are Valarion troops in harm’s way. In fact, let’s go fetch ourselves even better insurance, shall we?”
Senator Emil didn’t wait for Mahalath’s reply, but rather stormed off into the palace. Mahalath followed reluctantly, wishing he had guards of his own with him. Not that they would be of much help, not against whoever is powerful enough to turn an entire regiment into a flock of parrots.
Mahalath was no stranger to sorcerers. Unlike in the Five Kingdoms, sorcerers were commonplace in the Republic, integrated into all walks of life, from the working class beastcharmers who transported goods with their elephants to the highly paid stormwielders employed by the agricultural industry. And while there were also a variety of sorcerers involved in politics and the military branches of the Republic, sorcery was, by and large, removed from warfare. Having experienced how sorcery brought to the battlefield could devastate a nation, the Senate had put strict regulations on the use of sorcery in the military. The Five Kingdoms had been slower to learn that particular lesson, as evidenced by their Dreamwielder War, which was so violent that it opened the door for Thedric Guderian to eradicate sorcery altogether with near unilateral support from his vassals.
It was that very eradication of sorcery in the Five Kingdoms that was nettling Mahalath now. There were very few sorcerers in the realm at all, let alone one who could wield the power of transformation. It’s Makarria, a little voice kept saying in his head, but he refused to believe it. No, it must be Talitha of Issborg, returned to avenge her friends. Who else could it be?
“Do you have any idea what we are up against?” he asked Senator Emil, thinking Emil might know something he didn’t.
Senator Emil, leading the way up the main staircase, shot a glance back at Mahalath. “A sorcerer of no small skill, obviously.”
“Yes, obviously. But any idea who it might be?”
“Who can say? Talitha of Issborg? Some backwoods sorcerer Queen Taera Delios dug up? Or maybe even one of our own countrymen who has defected? He wouldn’t be the first.”
Or it’s the Dreamwielder returned, Mahalath thought, but he said nothing, instead mulling over Emil’s cavalier attitude. The senator either had unwarranted confidence in the legionnaires, or he knew something Mahalath did not.
Senator Emil led the way onward to the third level of the palace and down a long corridor. We’re fetching Makarria’s parents as hostages, Mahalath realized.
Four Republic legionnaires stood guarding the entrance to their room. Since Captain Haviero’s demise—or murder, more accurately—Senator Emil had tasked the legionnaires with “protecting” the Princess Prisca and her husband, Lord Galen.
“Fetch them both,” Emil commanded. “Immediately.”
The guards hurried inside and returned a few moments later, pushing Makarria’s parents before them. Neither spoke a word of protest at their rough handling. As inexperienced as they were at statesmanship, they were by no means fools. Nominally, they were the rulers of Valaróz, but in reality they were little more than prisoners, and they knew it. Mahalath turned away from their gaze, not able to face the shame.
Emil had no such qualms. With the royal parents now in tow, he led the way back down the way they came: through the corridor and down three flights of stairs. From there, they made their way outside into the main courtyard of the palace, by which point Mahalath was panting and already perspiring in the late morning heat.
The legionnaires were already in place; interspersed within their ranks were the Valarion guardsmen, just as Senator Emil had commanded. Emil motioned for Mahalath and the royal family to follow him across the courtyard to the outer palace walls, where he led the way up a steep stairwell, twenty feet to the battlements above. Crossbow-wielding legionnaires stepped aside to let them pass to the section of the battlements directly above the main gates.
Mahalath, still trying to catch his breath, peered through one of the crenels to the city beyond. The streets were bustling with people. Normally, petitioners would be lining up outside the palace gates, and the main avenue would be lined with vendors sell
ing food and wares, as well as buskers and street performers, not to mention delivery wagons enroute to the palace itself. Now though, people were rushing every which way. The vendors were rolling their carts away into the adjacent side streets, while curious children and ne’er-do-wells darted back and forth across the boulevard, their faces turned to the south, looking toward the harbor, not the palace. Clearly, they knew something—or someone—was approaching. But who?
They were not left waiting long.
The chanting reached them first. Mahalath had never heard the song before, but it was obviously enough an old Valarion war chant.
“Across the Spine, whoa-a! She came in a storm! With ice in her veins—and the sun in her heart. Vala! Vala! Rose of the sun. Valaróz!”
Then the crowd came into view: a conflagration of sailors, city watchmen, and common city dwellers, chanting and hollering. At their forefront strode a woman. She was tall and lithe, with walnut brown hair that blew back off her shoulders in the morning sea breeze. She wore a simple blue dress, sleeveless and short-hemmed just below the knee. A yellow sunflower was tucked behind one ear, contrasting against her dark complexion. The crowd had formed up around her, hundreds of people, jockeying among each other to get close to the woman, some of them brave enough to reach out and touch her on the shoulder or arm. Mahalath had never seen the woman before, and at the same time he had. She was Queen Makarria, Liberator of the Five Kingdoms, Dreamwielder. She looked different than the young woman whom he had first met—taller, stronger, wiser, older yet still youthful, and very much a woman—but there was no doubting who she was. The husk Mahalath and so many others had watched die in the throne room at Fina’s hands paled in comparison to the woman striding toward the palace. She emanated power and life.
Souldrifter: The Dreamwielder Chronicles - Book Two Page 28
