“What if he should seize the throne?” the young man near shouted.
Dimitry’s nostrils flared, the disparaging look in his eyes wilting Erion where he sat. “Don’t be a fool, Erion! I would not have taken you on as a disciple if I thought you too thick-witted to look beyond the obvious!”
Erion swallowed. “Yes, sir. My apologies.”
Dimitry smirked, chuckling softly. “You still haven’t pieced it together in the weeks you’ve been permitted to learn by my side?”
“I had a suspicion, but I wasn’t certain, and I didn’t want to insult centuries of honorable transition.”
Dimitry burst out in cynical laughter. “You actually believe that tripe the learning centers spoon-feed you? There is no such thing as a just and clean transition! In the last thousand years, only two contenders won via trial by combat. Every other Highlord ever to ascend the throne only did so after the former Overlord had died or abdicated, using every permutation of intrigue, influence, and treachery that you can imagine. Now, however, things are just a bit more organized.” He flashed a smug grin. “And of course, the winner has already been decided upon beforehand. All the other reds are fools who don’t even realize their only job is to die to free us of fractious Highlords who don’t know their place, so we can replace them with those who do. And of course, the council’s newest pawns always pay the proper tithes to their patrons.”
Erion nodded. “Yes, of course, Master Dimitry. But with this election cycle, the influence has grown a bit more extensive, has it not?” He gazed meaningfully at Jordia’s beautiful moon— a glorious panorama of white clouds and blue seas, with continents a lush, tropical reflection of Jordia’s own.
“Correct. Caligula controls the council, and the council controls who claims the throne.”
Erion smiled. “And that poor fool Blackenthorp has no idea what’s coming his way.”
“No idea at all. But we still need to infiltrate his city and palace both, just to make sure everything goes according to plan. Are the men in place?”
Erion nodded. “Yes, sir. Three brand new apprentices at the most exclusive guilds, and the pair of girls who served us so well will now continue that role as newly recruited pleasure maidens for the palace. Best of all, they have no idea of their additional duties to us.”
“Good. Did you sense any suspicion?”
“None at all,” Erion assured. “The mundanes who hired them on seemed desperate, and the good doctor’s psychic surgery sealed off all memory of their conditioning. No traces remain of the implanted compulsions to report all they’ve seen and experienced to me upon my return. Of course they have all been instructed to forget our meetings after the fact. Blackenthorp protestations aside, it is clear the populace had suffered a virulent outbreak of some sort and that thousands had perished, opening up plenty of positions for hardworking apprentices coming in from the local villages."
Dimitry nodded. “Both girls have been trained to coax as much information as they can from their future lovers or patrons. It’s a shame we can’t implant compulsions to kill various targets as well.”
His assistant nodded sympathetically. “It is indeed, Master Dimitry. But what of the Dauda?”
Dimitry frowned, glaring suddenly at the guards, but they seemed focused only on the road cutting through the vast windswept fields on either side, not a settlement to be seen in either direction, just herds of bison-like creatures racing across the plains. It was as if they were hardly aware of the inquisitor and his assistant at all. And considering how fast the inquisitor’s velimobile was going, Val thought there was good reason for their distraction. And Dimitry, so focused on the guards ahead, paid no attention to the subtle click in the back of their vehicle.
"The Dauda are being surprisingly recalcitrant about taking certain contracts, for some reason," Dimitry said. "Their spokeswoman actually had the gall to say they would strike no Highlord who dared to walk the King’s Path, as they put it.”
Erion smirked. “What an arcane expression.”
“Yes. Back from a time when this world was steeped in mysticism, magic, and superstition. Far less enlightened times than today. But the Dauda are an anachronism themselves. Primitive and backward, hardly literate. Were it not for their one exquisite skill...”
“We would have purged them long ago?”
The veli rang with the sickening crack of bones shattered and a young man’s startled cry. “You are never to say such things, fool! Do you understand? Never on your life! You never know if you are truly alone. You never know if they are watching! If they record proof of such speculation, the treaty is broken and we risk a bloodbath, you damned idiot!”
“Please… I am sorry, Master Dimitry!” sobbed the boy.
“If you were not my daughter’s get...”
“Grandfather, I’m sorry, please stop!”
Shadow glowered as a young man sobbed, but did nothing. Now was neither the time nor the place, though he felt sudden sympathy for the sobbing boy even now huddling in a corner, impassive guards utterly oblivious, a furious grandfather glaring and cursing under his breath as he snapped at the driver to make haste for Newford. Perhaps one would live that otherwise might not, Shadow thought, then thought nothing at all. Merely existing in the moment, emptiness that observed and recorded as they drove past the outskirts of imposing primeval forests and vast, windswept fields flooded with wildflowers sparkling a thousand different hues, the wind fresh and alive with the heady scents of countless blossoms perfuming the air.
Time passed, and the tops of fantastic structures of chrome, steel, and glass could now be seen peeking over the horizon as they made their way to Newford, a futuristic city as brilliant and glorious as any Val had ever seen. The beautiful wilds were slowly replaced by villages and tamed fields as they neared the city itself. Then the bucolic countryside was completely replaced by chrome and steel and the crush of thousands of velis darting in and out of multiple tiers of traffic once they entered the city proper.
Were he not deep in the depths of Shadowmind, Val knew he would be struck with awe at the size and scope of the city before him. Most of Jordia might be wilds, but the scope and majesty of this city was beyond anything he had ever seen or experienced before, having only touched the very periphery when last he stopped at the spaceport with Sten, Elise, Gregor, and Halvar, what now seemed a lifetime ago.
From what he could tell as they wound their way through traffic, they were approaching the city’s heart, massive structures of chrome and glass shimmering brightly in the sun as they made their way along what was now a tree-lined boulevard. Confident-looking men and women dressed in skin-tight slacks and loose, flowing shirts and blouses were presently darting from building to building, walking at a fast clip on the translucent sidewalks as if Jordia’s destiny depended upon them. But no matter how self-important or distracted a citizen seemed, not a single one was so foolish as to bump into Dimitry once they had stopped by the curve and left their vehicle. Every pedestrian, no matter how harried-looking, instinctively gave Dimitry’s entire party a wide berth as they made their way to the front entrance of a grand structure built like an ancient palace. It was one of the few buildings Val had seen in the city not made out of glass and chrome, but rather an exotic bronze-gold alloy Val recognized only too well, thoughts of Ava suddenly flashing across his mind.
When they entered the building and strode past the stiffly saluting pair of armored troopers guarding the front entrance, Val felt as if he had been transported back to that ancient, beautiful city. The pink-tinged light from the Altersian crystal window-panes perfectly mirrored the warm light that had washed over the entire dwarven city after it and its people had been rescued from the brink of oblivion.
The vast domed chamber they found themselves within was as richly appointed as the finest hotel lobbies of Earth. It spoke of wealth and power. Deferential servitors or perhaps government bureaucrats quickly made their way to Dimitry’s side, one of them proffering refreshments
, another wordlessly leading a wincing Erion away at Dimitry’s nod.
“Good afternoon to you, Inquisitor Dimitry. You will want to address the High Council, yes?” inquired a third bureaucrat in a hushed, deferential voice. A single imperious nod and Dimitry and his shadow were quickly led deeper into the building, down arched hallways lined with portraits of bucolic countrysides and dueling nobles interspersed with marble busts of historical figures upon hardwood stands. Val found himself sinking ever deeper into the darkness that was his twin, soon one with the building entire, and not a single soul even glanced his way.
At last, they approached a door of shimmering alloy, opened with quick jabbing fingers upon a keyboard. The trio now entered a massive domed chamber occupied by half a dozen men dressed in form-fitting black attire reminiscent of 17th-century lords, complete with ruffles and lace. All of them were presently seated around a circular table covered in maps, documents, platters of food, and carafes of wine.
Test of Skills engaged! Psi-Sense versus Shadowmind. Congratulations! You see what is clearly before you.
As one, the council’s jaded eyes fastened upon Inquisitor Dimitry even as the shadow that was Val found itself inexorably drawn to a certain patch of nothingness, that absence of light and presence, located somehow just behind the central-most figure at the table, who was even now addressing their guest. Shadow frowned, sensing a player exquisitely skilled in the art of Shadowmind, more so even than the Dauda who had infiltrated Christine’s demesne at the behest of Highlord Carlito. And not a soul save Val had even suspected he had been there.
“You are early,” said the central-most figure at the table, a powerfully built man glaring at a suddenly nervous-looking Dimitry. The man’s potency blazed before Val’s Psionic Perception, and the inquisitor who had gazed at the world with such contempt only moments before was now doing all he could just to keep his composure. “Why are you not at your assigned post?”
Dimitry swallowed, bowing his head. “My Lord Craven, excellent news. The psionic surgeries were a success, and the moles are in place. They are conditioned to gather all the intel they can, and report back to me when next I make my rounds within Blackenthorp Province.”
Several of the council members nodded at this, murmuring softly at his news. Highlord Craven abruptly raised his hand, instant silence falling over the council. “This is as it should be. Yet it fails to answer my original question.”
Dimitry’s features took on a curious pallor. Val was almost certain he was trembling as he flowed into a bow. “Regrettably, my lord, Lucius was so disdainful of an inquisitor’s sworn duty to investigate crimes no matter where they lead, so arrogant as to think himself above the will of the High Council, that he dared insist that I, Inquisitor Dimitry, leave his demesne at once.”
“And so you ran away with your tail between your legs?” smirked one of the council members.
Dimitry gasped, fist clenching the hilt of his blade. Val sensed the shadows across the chamber about to coalesce into action. Then Dimitry stilled himself into a fluid bow, hands clasped together. "Not at all, my lord. I placed all my moles exactly where they needed to be and left without raising undue suspicion while making it quite clear that I would return when I found such convenient." He forced a bemused smile upon his features. "While Lucius focuses on me, my agents will run circles around him and ferret out all the nasty secrets and vulnerabilities he has that he no doubt desperately wants to keep hidden.”
“No doubt he has plenty!” said a particularly bloated Highlord with a smirk. “And they will cost him. Dearly. Particularly when he and every other fool daring to contend for the throne without our blessings finds it virtually impossible to purchase mech units or any form of laser artillery. And they will have to search far and wide indeed to find any mercenary company that is not already on our retainer!”
A soft chuckle echoed through the chamber. “Indeed,” concurred the central-most figure at the table, cold ice-blue eyes habitually scanning the room as he spoke, brow furrowed in a faint frown as he eyed the back of the chamber.
Test of Skills engaged! Shadowmind versus Pierce the Veil. Success! The most ruthless council member alive fails to spot you! For now.
Craven flashed a cold smile before addressing his fellows once more. “Blackenthorp called Dimitry’s bluff, but not before he managed to plant at least a few spies for our cause. This is acceptable. For now.”
The last words a warning, Dimitry paled and bowed. “Yes, Master Councilor.”
“Good,” Craven said. “What of the rumors of plague? I assume that was a pretext for some gambit or another?”
Dimitry dipped his head. “As you say, Master Councilor. There were no traces of active outbreak to be found, and we all know that our technology is more than a match for any ailment. Still, every citizen encountered swears they were dying of some horrific plague, all of them sharing visions of a mystical healer who saved them.” He smirked. “Of course Lucius denies it, declaring it a mass delusion generated by charlatans using common figures from the city’s history as a uniform hero archetype to explain away the similarity of the visions.”
Craven frowned. “But you don’t believe a word of it.”
“I believe something happened. The only reason why I was able to place our spies so rapidly is because so many positions were open after a recent spate of deaths. And that is not the only thing suspicious in the Blackenthorp domain. None of Lucius’s cousins or siblings were available for interview, no matter how sharply I insisted. Only the remains of Marcus Blackenthorp were found, the man having clearly perished by the blade. Either he had accepted challenge and lost...”
“Or his brother cut him down.”
“So it would seem, sir.”
Icy blue eyes seemingly capable of measuring a man’s very soul stared at a trembling Dimitry for endless moments before at last giving an infinitesimal nod. “Your points are noted. You are dismissed. You will be summoned when needed.”
The inquisitor gave a florid bow. "Thank you, Master Councilor. By your leave..." With that, he adroitly spun about on his back foot after a final bow to the High Council as a whole before quickly making his way out of the chamber.
The obese Highlord snorted the moment the door closed behind Dimitry. “What a buffoon. I’m surprised he even accomplished that much.”
Highlord Craven flashed a smile that didn’t reach his cool gaze. “He will do. Like most of his brethren, he but keeps tabs on all those who would dare to challenge Caligula’s chosen. Too foolish to take hints only offered once, all those who dare the red will pay for their arrogance with bitterest regret. Give Dimitry no further consideration. You know we must reserve our strongest cards for the plays to come. Now is there anything else we need to discuss?”
Another member of the council held up a hand for acknowledgment. “It will help my men considerably to know what time the cargo ship carrying the twenty battle-mechs will make planetfall, so we can time our insertion and confiscation as fluidly as possible.”
“We should expect them between 3 and 6 hours after dusk, two days from now, if following standard jump log protocols. You will also want the contracts ready for the assigned pilots to sign immediately. Do you have the evidence?”
The shorter man nodded. “Vicebloom and Blackbliss will both be found in quantities sufficient to get that arrogant trader’s head thrown into a pain vat. Poor fool should have taken the hint and sold the units to my agent, yet he had the gall to refuse my offer. He seems to think we’re so intimidated by Dominion policy that we’d actually let him sell those battle-mechs to our enemies!”
Ugly chuckles filled the room.
"It will be an abject lesson in the virtues of selling to our consortium exclusively," agreed their head. "Let us make sure that future traders see the video we will prepare firsthand. Discreetly, of course. Costly as that medium is, the stakes are more than sufficient to justify such. Now, remember to wait for the signal before you make the accusation. Have
you chosen your agent?”
The shorter man smiled. “Buffoon he may be, but I’ve always found Dimitry to be excellent at sniffing out the fears of lesser men. I would never use him for matters requiring discretion, but his heavy-handed tactics will only serve to emphasize the lessons we wish to impart upon our future trade partners.”
Gnawing ravenously on a pheasant, the grotesquely bloated council member snorted. “You really want us to put our cards on that fool, Kort? He has the discretion of a Terran monkey!”
The shorter man bristled. “Are you offering challenge, Uppsvalld?”
The council grew silent, intent gazes hungrily split between the pair, Uppsvalld roaring with sudden laughter.
“Surely you jest! As if I’d waste my time with anything having to do with that fool. You wish to use Dimitry for your little gambit? Be my guest! But it’s on your head if it all goes ass up!”
Kort smirked, hot gaze fading to bemused contempt, hand slipping free of the hilt of his Psiblade. “You just handle your end of things, Uppsvalld. I’ll handle mine.”
Craven locked gazes with them both. “Each of you will handle your assignments, and go no further. Is that understood?”
Uppsvalld offered an airy wave. “Yes, yes, formal apologies if I offended and all that.”
Kort nodded. “I offered challenge, he apologized. I have no further quarrel with Uppsvalld, so long as he keeps his mouth closed when he gnaws his damned food!”
Uppsvalld snorted at that, though he did put down his drumstick after making it clear he was already finished, and it seemed the matter was settled. Nods and murmurs as the conversation continued, the intently focused state of nothingness that was Val calmly listening as the day waned to dusk and the session ended at last. Within minutes the most powerful Highlords on Jordia had left the room and the vast domed chamber appeared empty of all save shadows and gloom.
Endless moments passed, crimson sunlight refracted from Altersian-paned windows fading from dusk to true night. Val made no move for the door, focusing instead on the patch of empty space his eyes seemed to slide right past, doing his best to see with his eyes what his Psi-Sense had spotted with far greater ease.
Oblivion's Peril Page 38
