“Your army?” the woman asked, blinking. “What do you mean, your—” Then she gathered her senses enough to take in the names and ranks displayed on the two officers in front of her. Her jaw worked soundlessly for a second, before she blurted, “General! General Nakamura!”
The older man smiled flatly. “Yes,” he said, still keeping at least one eye on the sword at all times. “And this is Colonel Tamerlane, my adjutant,” he said, “as well as the Grand Inquisitor and his acolytes.” He frowned. “And now that we have made the proper introductions, Major—perhaps you would be so kind as to lower your sword. Now.”
There was steel in the general’s voice and Arani felt it. Nervously, carefully, she lowered the weapon, and Tamerlane in turn did likewise—though he kept the pistol in his hand, ready, in case this woman turned out to be the homicidal maniac she appeared to be.
“What are you doing down here, sir?” Arani asked, still wild-eyed.
“If you don’t mind, Major, I believe I will ask the questions first.” Nakamura took four quick steps past her to the next intersection while Tamerlane kept the gun at the ready. He looked down each of the perpendicular passages and saw nothing. Then he turned back to the woman.
“What are you doing down here? It looks as if you’ve been hunting someone.”
Stanishur pointed to the blooded blade and added, “It looks to me as if she already found someone.”
“Someone tried to kill me, General,” she answered, slowly recovering her composure. “I was assigned sniper cover duty on one of the balconies above the main hall. Someone broke in and tried to shoot me with a flachette gun.”
“And you’re still alive?” Tamerlane’s eyes widened. “That’s impressive.”
“I’m Special Forces, Colonel,” she snapped. “We are expected to be able to perform at a maximum level of effectiveness. That includes defeating attempts to kill us—no matter how clumsy or how sophisticated.”
Tamerlane nodded approvingly.
“Anyway—I chased the man a long way. Cornered him at one point, got in a lick—” She nodded to the bloody sword she held loosely now in her right hand. “—but he got away again. I tracked him this far.”
“We have not seen anyone since we entered, I’m afraid, Major,” the General said. “This person must have gone a different way.”
“Who was it?” Tamerlane asked. “Was there anything to indicate where they came from, who they work for—?”
“He wore white,” Arani replied.
The general and the colonel exchanged knowing glances.
“We’ve had a run-in or two with some very... how shall I put it... aggressive soldiers in white of late,” Nakamura told her.
“The Ecclesiarchy,” Tamerlane growled. “Still up to no good.”
Major Arani frowned at this exchange. “You mean—you’re involved in this, too?”
“What do you mean by ‘this,’ Major?” the Inquisitor asked, leaning into the conversation.
Arani shook her head, clearly groping for words, for thoughts, struggling to grasp all that was happening.
“People have been trying to kill me,” she told the others at length. “I believe it’s because of something I was involved in, back on Trezibond.” She hesitated. “But—no!” She backed up, the sword twitching upward in her grasp. “You were there. You knew about it, too!” She looked on the verge of losing her somewhat tenuous control again.
Nakamura raised his hand slowly. “Hold on, Major,” he said, his voice calm and warm. “Tell us what you mean.”
“Barmakid,” she spat. “I was part of the team that took down Barmakid—that exposed him for what he is. A cultist.”
Nakamura nodded. “I remember now, yes. Go on.”
“Afterward, I was ordered not to speak to anyone about it. Any of it. Especially about Barmakid himself. And in the time since, someone has tried to kill me—twice.”
“I was asked to keep that quiet, as well,” Nakamura interjected, “by someone within the royal family. I had assumed it was to protect his family’s name. Now, I’m starting to wonder—” He turned to Arani. “—seeing as how essentially the same thing has happened to us as happened to you.”
Arani took this in with no small degree of shock.
“Continue with your story, please, Major,” Tamerlane prompted.
Arani nodded. “When I tried to talk to the others involved in the operation,” she said, “none of them answered my call. I was routed to some major who cut me off.” She ended the statement with a disgusted grunt, and the sword bobbed in her grasp.
Nakamura looked to Tamerlane. “So,” he said. “It involves Barmakid. I’m not surprised, somehow.”
“You truly think this is connected to what we’ve been dealing with?” Tamerlane asked.
“It must be,” the general replied. “It all seems to be about keeping his dealings with the dark powers secret.”
“But, why would anyone be interested in keeping that quiet?” Tamerlane shook his head. “I mean, I can understand his family wanting it hushed up, but this—this has to be from higher up—from the royal family itself, or someone even closer to it than you, or the Inquisitor here.”
Stanishur nodded. “Someone very close to the Emperor himself. Gentlemen, if I believed in our mission before, I most certainly do now.”
“Then let’s get on with it,” Nakamura said. He nodded toward the Inquisitor. “Lead on.”
“What is the mission, sir?” Arani asked as she fell into step with the other five, headed back down the winding passage.
“We’re here to talk to the Emperor,” Tamerlane stated.
“So—he really is here, then? We were never told specifically, but I suspected...” Arani was quiet for a moment as they hustled along. Then, “You may have trouble getting to him,” she said. “There’s all kinds of extra security. They’re preparing a really big ceremony in the main hall, it looks like.”
“We may have to interrupt it,” Tamerlane replied.
12
Horns blared from either side of the cyclopean hall as Emperor Janus IV Rahkmanov seated himself in the largest chair—though the word “chair” was hardly adequate; it was more a throne than anything else—positioned at the middle of the massive table. On his left hand sat his wife, the Empress Lisbeth Salome, her dress exquisite in shimmering blue and green, her hair perfectly styled. Their four children, two boys and two girls ranged from ages seven to seventeen, sat at attention like little soldiers at a little table a short distance behind them, dressed in finery of their own. At the Emperor’s right hand sat a tall, slender, dark-haired man with very tan skin, clad in a tight-fitting uniform of military appearance—save that it was white as snow. He held a long, spear-like scepter of silver in his left hand, its end resting on the marble floor beside him, and his dark eyes sparkled as he gazed out. Various men and women of the Ecclesiarchy, clad in exquisite robes of white inlaid with gold filigree and diamonds, were seated further along that side, while on the other, beyond the Empress, sat the heavy-set form of General Esteban Attila of Second Legion—”the Bold”— and his second, Colonel Ioan Iapetus—called “the Unyielding.” The hall before them was filled with hundreds of immaculately-dressed dignitaries—from Imperial bureaucrats to planetary governors—seated in rows of chairs that stretched to the rear of the sanctuary.
At the signal of the second blast of horns, the crowd quickly settled down to silence, and then the Emperor stood regally. His purple and gold robes hung in almost toga-fashion from his shoulders and arms, and golden jewelry sparkled on his fingers and arms. He gazed out over the crowd of well-dressed individuals from across the Imperium assembled in the hall and smiled benevolently.
“Before we begin,” he said, “I have a bit of news that I insisted on announcing myself.” His smile turned impish as he bent down and reached under the table, then straightened. In his right hand he held a shining golden object and, upon seeing it and realizing what it was, the crowd issued a collective gasp.
“The Sword of Baranak has been recovered,” he told the audience. “Our greatest treasure belongs to the Empire once more!” He held it up, waved it about momentarily, and bowed slightly as the crowd greeted this news with a hearty round of applause.
When the crowd died down a bit, the Emperor seated himself and laid the sword across the marbled surface of the table before him. Then he turned formally to the man to his right. That man in turn looked to the man to his right, who stood and addressed the assembly.
“You have all of our thanks for that wonderful piece of news, sire,” he said. Then he got to the gist of his own remarks. “I am High Priest Salid Donnan,” he said, and while his speaking voice was soft, it boomed out via amplification across the vast chamber. “It is my honor to welcome all of you to the Church of the Reliquae, and to this great convocation, which shall henceforth be known as the Council of Ascanius.”
There was a murmur of appreciation from the crowd.
“We are gathered here for two important reasons...” He hesitated, smiling faintly. “...And for a third that will become apparent once we are underway.” A slight murmuring from the crowd as whispered speculation rippled throughout the hall. “First,” he continued, “it is my duty and my honor, in the name of our great Emperor who has graced us all with his presence today, to introduce the new Ecclesiarch who he has chosen to step into the shoes of the late Wallin Zoric and lead this Holy Church, guiding us with reverence and faith into the future.” He stretched a hand out toward the man in the military-style white uniform, seated between himself and the Emperor. “That man is Nikolai Barmakid.”
The reaction was muted at first. Barmakid was not a priest and never had been; he had no connection to the Ecclesiarchy. He was a soldier. All that was known of him by the general public—and by the noble families gathered there—was that he had recently stepped down from his post as adjutant to General Nakamura of Legion I. Clearly, they reasoned now, it was so that he could accept this new assignment. And if the Emperor wanted him for that position, he must be the right choice. The applause picked up, echoing throughout the massive sanctuary.
Donnan seated himself and Barmakid stood, raising his right hand to the crowd in acknowledgement. The silver scepter was still clutched in his left. He bowed his head.
“Thank you, Father Donnan,” he said as the applause died down, “and all of you.” His dark eyes peered out at the crowd. “It is my very great honor to accept the appointment by our Emperor as your new Ecclesiarch.”
A figure in black appeared beside the Emperor then, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Janus IV nodded and stood, addressing the audience.
“The former colonel’s scholarship and published works in religious philosophy are of course well-known across the realm,” the Emperor said, much to the surprise of those in the audience who knew anything about religious philosophy and writings about it. Of course, the Emperor’s staff had been hard at work for days, producing volumes of such scholarship to disseminate to libraries and media outlets across a thousand worlds, all bearing Barmakid’s signature, and his degrees in theology and divine studies had all been successfully implanted—and back-dated—into the appropriate registries. Where two weeks ago his official accomplishments were confined to his service to First Legion, he now had a pedigree in theology second to no one in the Empire. “We are very fortunate that he has agreed to serve us in this new capacity, and the Empire will only be the richer, spiritually, for it.
Barmakid bowed low to the Emperor, who seated himself and motioned for the new Ecclesiarch to continue.
“Mine is not the only high office to have a new occupant,” the man in white stated. He turned to the heavy-set soldier in the dark blue dress uniform seated to the left of the Empress. “General Attila is well known to everyone in this hall. His exploits and accomplishments on behalf of the Imperium throughout his illustrious career have rightfully earned him the nickname, “The Bold.” Today I officially announce his accession to the position of Supreme Commander of the Empire’s armed forces, succeeding the late General Hideo Nakamura—may his spirit be preserved forever by Those Who Remain.”
As the new Ecclesiarch, Barmakid led the assembly in a quick word of prayer, while the other priests along the table traced various signs in the air before them. Then the Emperor rose and reached out, clasping hands with Attila, who nodded his head brusquely at his ruler.
“Our next order of business,” Barmakid said when they were done, “concerns the wars we are currently fighting along three fronts. While primarily a military and political matter, the Holy Church has a role in those conflicts and therefore our position on them must be made known.” Barmakid strode out from behind the table and stood before it, addressing the massive crowd. “These wars were launched by the rival states that surround us, by selfish and small-minded leaders who look upon our realm with jealousy and envy. But it turns out that their militaries are as feeble as their governments are short-sighted. Their advances have been or are being repulsed on every frontier. We advance in every direction.”
The crowd cheered, and Barmakid smiled broadly. He glanced back at the Emperor, who was nodding his approval.
“Furthermore,” the man in white went on, “we anticipate that our own Empire will shortly be much increased in size, both in terms of territory and population, as well as resources, as those hostile powers fall by the wayside. It is not inconceivable that, before this standard year is done, the Anatolian Empire of the Emperor Janus IV Rahkmanov will stand as the only power of any significance in the human sector of this galaxy!”
They cheered louder.
“So let any who question the actions of our Emperor and his military staff in this precarious moment of our current campaign consider those facts before they speak out,” he concluded. “Such voices of surrender and defeatism will not be tolerated—and it shall fall to the Church, and to the Holy Inquisition, to root out all opposition and expose it.”
The cheers were mixed this time; some applauded louder, others not at all. Expressions ranged from enthusiasm to astonished disapproval.
Barmakid pressed on. “And that brings me to the final issue before us—and the one upon which the balance of this Council will focus, as we call upon the knowledge and guidance of our brothers and sisters in the Holy Church and the Inquisition.”
The crowd refocused on Barmakid, listening intently to what he was saying now, as a wave of fear ran across the hall.
“All current laws in the Imperium will be rendered null and void at the conclusion of this Council,” he announced. “The old constitution, treacherously forced upon the Emperor’s great grandfather more than a century ago, will be abrogated at that point. A new set of laws—drawn up by the Emperor and the Holy Church, and ratified by this august body here today, will set this Empire upon a new course—a course of power and glory and honor.”
The crowd was not at all happy about what they were hearing now.
“So—we are here to debate these changes, then?” asked a voice from the first row of the audience—a space reserved for the most powerful individuals in the Empire, aside from those at the table itself.
Barmakid gazed down and recognized Governor Rameses of Ahknaton. He smiled. “Oh, no, Governor—we are here to inform you of the changes. They have already been decided upon and are essentially in effect now.”
Rameses gasped, turning to look back at the crowd arrayed behind him. From that crowd, murmurs were quickly growing into outright cries against what the new Ecclesiarch was saying.
Frowning, Barmakid motioned with his right hand and hundreds of soldiers in the white livery of the Church stepped out of the shadows, guns at the ready. If anything, this stirred the crowd up even more. Things were about to spiral beyond all control when a new voice called out across the chamber:
“Your Majesty—I have known you all your life,” the voice said, carrying easily throughout the hall without amplification, “and I can only conclude that this
man Barmakid has somehow beguiled you.”
Everyone in the sanctuary looked from the Ecclesiarch to this new figure striding boldly in from a side entrance, a small group hurrying along with him. Collective gasps sounded as at least one of the other four was recognized: General Nakamura.
The Emperor stared at him, wide-eyed, but said nothing. The Ecclesiarch had no such problems speaking his mind. “Inquisitor,” he called, “I do not believe you were invited to this event.”
“It matters not,” Stanishur replied, halting at the edge of the perimeter formed by the first row of seats. “The constitution guarantees the Inquisition a number of seats at any official convocation, and as ranking member of that institution, I certainly qualify for a seat. And I claim it.”
“The constitution is void,” Barmakid said. “Did you not hear me a moment ago? Or were you still busy sneaking in through the service entrance?”
“The constitution is not void, by your own admission, until the end of this Council,” Stanishur fired back. “Until that time, I remain your humble Grand Inquisitor—with a seat at the table and a voice in any decisions.” He glared at the four black-clad Inquisitors already seated at the table, and vaguely recognized them. “Certainly a more important voice than any of these wretched creatures you’ve unjustly promoted through the ranks, doubtlessly to rubber-stamp your decisions. For shame!”
The four clearly balked at this characterization but none could truly dispute it and none possessed the wherewithal to stand and challenge Grand Inquisitor Stanishur.
“You would no longer be Grand Inquisitor but for a technicality in the rules,” Barmakid grumbled.
“Yet that technicality does exist, and thus I am still Grand Inquisitor.”
Barmakid started to argue again when the Emperor seemed to suddenly wake and cried out, “For the sake of the gods, Stanishur—come up here, then.”
The Inquisitor approached the table and bowed to the Emperor, then flashed the new Eccelsiarch a look of utter contempt.
The Shattering: Omnibus Page 22
