The Emerald Crown

by L J Chappell

  ‘Is that how you can tell the older ones?’ Tremano wondered.

  ‘I heard that Humans are like trees,’ Vrosko Din said: ‘you can tell how old they are by counting the wrinkles.’

  ‘Hey,’ Lanvik objected. He turned the wig over in his hands: he had seen Human women sporting hair that colour, but not the men. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘Well, put it on,’ Menska prompted.

  The inside was constructed from webbing that stretched as he pulled it onto his head.

  ‘That looks really good,’ Thawn nodded. ‘Now you can stop wearing the hat and hood when you’re indoors.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, again. He took the hairpiece off, laid it carefully on the bed and pulled his hat back on. ‘But now I’ll take Magda’s advice, and have a bath.’

  The others cheered ironically as he left the room.

  It transpired that the fire in the corner of the courtyard also served to heat a large tank of water in the first floor. For a third of the value of Magda’s coin, two boys brought a steady procession of steaming buckets and filled a metal bath with hot water for him; the innkeeper also provided brushes, soap and a towel.

  There was a part-corroded metal mirror mounted on one wall of the bathing room, so Lanvik started by washing and lathering his face, and then carefully shaved. He nicked himself once on his neck, but otherwise his hands were steady and confident; well-practised, despite him having no memory of ever having shaved before.

  After that, he lay soaking in the water for as long as it was hot, and wondered about Kiergard Slorn and his Company. He had been with them for virtually all of his life that he could remember so, for now, they felt closer than his real family. He felt that he knew some of them well, and others hardly at all, but he supposed they were really all still strangers. From their perspective, they had barely met.

  Or that was what he had assumed.

  A bizarre thought occurred to him – what if they actually knew him from his life before, and had some reason for lying to him? Had he actually been a member of the Company for some time? Perhaps he was their enemy, or perhaps he had betrayed them and they were planning some kind of elaborate revenge on him. Perhaps he would end up on the island in the bay, sacrificed to the Gods of the Heavens.

  But that didn’t ring true to him. In the absence of any concrete memories, he had to trust his instincts. And his instincts told him that if they were planning bad things for him, if they wanted to hurt or kill him, then they wouldn’t have waited – they’d have done it by now.

  He had tried his best to scrub away the grime and sweat from the last few days and discovered that, underneath the dirt, he had picked up a number of large bruises, together with numerous cuts and scratches. He rinsed himself off with tepid water from the last bucket, and emerged forty minutes later.

  Kiergard Slorn and Bane had returned by then, and Ubrik, Garran, Karuin and Vorrigan had joined the others upstairs.

  ‘Excellent,’ Slorn said. ‘We are all here.’

  ‘Did you have a productive day?’ Ubrik asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Slorn told them. ‘But before we discuss that, let us eat.’

  They chose to eat outside, in the courtyard: the hall set aside for dining was packed, smelly and noisy. The courtyard was colder, of course, but not nearly as cold as the streets, partly because of the overhanging canopies and also because a number of burning brands had been fitted to poles at various points around it.

  The food was dry and stale, or burned, or else cold and clammy and the staff were indifferent to their comments. There were a thousand places to eat around Darkfall and their customers would surely change every year, so there was presumably very little incentive for them to improve anything. Doubtless they could have been enticed to something better, but Karuin was already grumbling that they had been hugely overcharged. ‘And their beer is watered,’ she complained.

  It was a quick meal, with a couple of drinks afterwards, and then they gathered back upstairs in the slightly larger of their two rooms.

  There were piles of clothes and belongings in the passage outside – it seemed that their host was also renting out corridor space for people to sleep – but there was no-one there now who might overhear them.

  Magda arrived last. ‘No-one in the room next door,’ she said.

  ‘And I already checked for peep-holes,’ Karuin told them. ‘All clear.’

  ‘Good,’ Kiergard Slorn said. He looked around at them. ‘The rest of you already know the details of our commission,’ he started. ‘But for Lanvik’s benefit, we are here to collect a man named Vander. He is Madarinn, a Dark Elf, from Arrento in the Inner Sea, and we have a description of him – short dark hair, aged in his early twenties, Garran’s height but a lighter build. We do not know how reluctant he might be to come with us, though we have a token by which he should recognise us as friends.’

  ‘So have you found him?’ Ubrik pressed.

  ‘As expected, he’s in the Imperial Compound,’ Bane said.

  ‘But we don’t know how willingly or unwillingly he is there, so we don’t know how well he is guarded or what freedoms he has. I’m confident that they won’t let him simply walk out, though.’

  ‘Can we visit him first?’ Menska asked. ‘Find out what the situation is by talking to him?’

  ‘Regrettably not, no,’ Slorn shook his head. ‘Twenty years ago, things would have been far easier. Whoever travelled up from Emindur would have brought their own servants and personal guards. The compound would not have been very secure, and we could either have broken in quietly or perhaps even stormed the place while they slept. But now, times are more tense. The Confederacy are here in some force, including members of the Black Guard, so the Empire feels that it must send troops as well. That is becoming the way of things: to be properly present somewhere, you apparently need to have soldiers with you.’

  ‘We walked all the way around, and looked over the Compound from nearby buildings,’ Bane said. ‘There are guards at every entrance, and they are properly armed – not simply there for show.’

  ‘Then we must use deception to enter?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Slorn nodded. ‘And thanks to our diversion over the mountains to fetch our mage here, we have a very limited time to rescue Vander of Arrento.’

  ‘Or to kidnap Vander of Arrento,’ Ubrik added.

  ‘Yes – rescue or kidnap, depending on circumstance. But it must be tomorrow or the day after that.’

  ‘Why,’ Lanvik asked. ‘What happens in three days?’

  ‘In three days, unfortunately, the Empire intends to lower him onto an island in the middle of the bay and feed him to the Daggerfish.’

  Chapter Four

  Roles and Performances

  1

  ‘He’s going to be one of the sacrifices?’

  ‘Well, hopefully not, no,’ Bane said. ‘Not if we rescue him.’

  ‘Or kidnap him,’ Garran reminded the others.

  ‘Who is he? And why are the Empire sacrificing him?’

  ‘He is the Tribute from Arrento,’ Bane said, though that didn’t make anything clearer.

  ‘Six hundred years ago, twelve of the Merchant-Princes of the Inner Sea fought a war against the Empire,’ Kiergard Slorn explained. ‘It was a tiny thing, but during that war they inflicted a humiliating defeat on an Imperial fleet and hundreds were killed. That invited a swift and overwhelming response, of course, and the Merchant-Princes lost the war soon after. Instead of occupying them, or incorporating them as a province, the Empire left them their freedom and their licenses to trade.

  ‘In exchange, every year the Empire expects hostages from three of the Islands. They are taken north to Emindur and most of them join the Imperial Household in some capacity. But the hostages from every third year are brought here, for the Festival of the Emerald Crown, as tributes to the Gods of the Heavens. They are sacrificed on the solstice, at high tide.’

  ‘Why? Why would they do that?’

  ‘It buy
s them favour with the Gods and the prophets, if you believe that some of the Gods are best served by sacrificing people to them. And even if no-one really believes that, it is now simply the way things are done. It reinforces some of the mystique, some of the awe that is associated with the Empire: it is another story that people can tell about it.’

  ‘Why do the Islands keep sending people?’

  ‘For the same reason they always have – they consider it a price worth paying to keep their freedom. It happens only once every three years, and the sacrifices are taken from only three of the twelve Islands. That amounts to only one sacrifice every twelve years; two in a generation; five or fewer in a lifetime. Perhaps that doesn’t seem very often to them – infrequent enough to tolerate.’

  ‘But if he’s a captive, some kind of hostage, then of course it’s a rescue. Why would he want to be killed?’

  ‘Ah,’ Vorrigan spoke. ‘That’s what we don’t know. It’s possible that being sacrificed in this way is considered a great honour: these three are sacrificing themselves for the benefit of their communities and their families after all. Perhaps Vander of Arrento has volunteered for this role, for some personal reason, or perhaps his family has been generously compensated.’

  ‘And obviously, on a practical level,’ Ubrik said, ‘if we rescue him and the sacrifice doesn’t go ahead, then that could start a war. His home island might be so desperate to prove that they were not complicit in his rescue that they surrender his entire family to the Empire instead, or take some other equally drastic measure. Frankly, we don’t know what the consequences will be.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we find out first?’ Lanvik asked.

  ‘We only received the commission four weeks ago, and headed north at once. If we hadn’t run into Captain Redwolf on the Isthmus, we might not have even reached Darkfall in time. Initially, the whole operation was presented to us as a rescue, but our employer’s agent told us: “He might not want to come.” It didn’t mean much at the time, but since then, we’ve been wondering …’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Kiergard Slorn said, ‘we’ve also heard stories that make us think the sacrifices might not be completely willing. In some years, it seems they decide to fight back at the very end, overpowering their guards on the island. The locals say that has happened more than once.’

  ‘Did they get away?’

  ‘No. The winch was pulled back to the shore before they could escape, and their unfortunate guards joined them as part of the midwinter sacrifice. A sort of bonus year, I suppose, if you believe in the power of such things.’

  ‘You said he’s in the Imperial Compound,’ Ubrik said. ‘How do we get him out?’

  ‘We’ve talked to a number of locals who’ve been inside – performers, workmen and retainers, supplicants and so on,’ Bane told him. ‘From what we found out, we’ve put together something of a map. Also, we walked all the way around to gauge the size and shape of the place, and to look inside when we had a chance.’

  ‘Which wasn’t very often,’ Slorn admitted.

  ‘No, but there were views from some of the nearby buildings as well.’

  ‘Enough talk,’ Garran complained. ‘Show us your map.’

  Bane produced a sheet of thick paper, unfolded it and laid it on the floor. Everyone adjusted their positions, pushing the beds aside for a better view of the hand-drawn plan. The building was shaped like a large square, with the top left quarter missing. An entrance had been marked on the right-hand side, towards the top, and another half-way along the shorter left-hand side. Bane pointed to the bottom left: ‘Here on the west side are the public areas, and that’s the main entrance. There’s a courtyard, a large audience hall at the back, and a number of rooms and passages along the south wall. A guarded door leads from the audience hall into the private areas at the back.’ He tapped the lower-right corner. ‘There’s another courtyard in this area, and behind it are the Imperial Apartments and Private Rooms.’

  He stretched over, so he could reach the top more easily. ‘Up here is everything we’re interested in. There are secure rooms at this top corner – detention cells, probably – and that’s where the Tributes are held. Between them and the audience hall are quarters for the staff and the guards. On the other side are the kitchens, against the north wall, and then the storage rooms and cellars, and in the very north-east corner are the stables. There’s another outer door here on the east side, with a little open yard inside. It’s kept guarded and solidly barred most of the time: they use it to get animals in and out and to take deliveries into the storerooms. That’s about it.’

  ‘There’s also a little chapel there,’ Kiergard Slorn pointed, ‘between that side door and the Imperial Apartments.’

  ‘So,’ Thawn asked: ‘If we just walk in, how far can we get before there are guards?’

  ‘Well, we can’t get in at all. Bane called these “public” areas, but they’re not really public. The main door is heavily guarded. If you’re not part of their delegation, you need a token of invitation and you have to appear on their list of authorised visitors.’

  ‘We watched them for a while, across two different shifts,’ Bane added, ‘and they seem to check everyone.’

  ‘The side door, then?’ Magda asked.

  ‘Thick wood, and almost permanently locked,’ Bane told her. ‘From what we saw, even deliveries need to be accompanied by someone from inside.’

  ‘Over the walls?’

  He shook his head. ‘They’re high all the way round, two storeys, and solid: there are no windows or balconies that face the street, and there are no weakened or crumbling spots that we could find. The streets on all sides are wide and the ones to the north and east are busy, so it would be difficult to access the roof. We could use ladders, but there’s a casual patrol from time to time. Their job seems to be mainly stopping people from sleeping against the walls, but I’m sure they’d notice ladders or a rope across from another building.’

  ‘Even so, that’s our backup plan,’ Kiergard Slorn said. ‘A small group, in with ladders; the others conceal the ladders and wait nearby for a signal to return.’

  ‘But we couldn’t see any direct access down from the roof,’ Bane cautioned: ‘no skylights, access panels or roof terraces. Also, if our target is reluctant to be rescued then it would be difficult to get him up to the roof, across, and then down a ladder to the street.’

  ‘So our preferred plan is …?’ Everyone else seemed happy to let Magda prompt Slorn and Bane.

  ‘To go through the public area,’ Slorn tapped the map.

  ‘You said the doors on the inside are guarded,’ Thawn said.

  ‘Yes, but mostly in order to protect the Imperial apartments. There are three doors into those apartments and each has a guard: two from the public area and one from the staff quarters. There’s only one other guarded door in the whole compound, from the audience hall into the staff quarters, and that’s the one we’ll try to use. From there, we should be able to access everywhere else, except the Imperial apartments.’ Kiergard Slorn pointed on the map again: ‘We believe there’s a direct route to the secure cells through the guard quarters and the armoury, but there’s also a corridor from the kitchen.’

  ‘So,’ Magda checked: ‘we gain access to the audience hall somehow, and then through a guarded door into the staff quarters. If we can somehow pass through the kitchens without raising anyone’s suspicions, we collect our target and walk out with him the same way? Assuming he wants to come with us. Otherwise we have to carry him.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Without anyone noticing?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Slorn repeated.

  ‘But how will we even get into the compound?’ Lanvik asked. Their whole plan was based on first obtaining some kind of official access to the Imperial compound, and ideally the audience hall.

  ‘I’m sure it will be possible to arrange entry, either as supplicants or as musicians and dancers,’ Slorn assured him. He seemed completely confident. ‘T
omorrow, we can confirm which is more likely to be successful. And if both are impossible, then we need to find a couple of ladders.’

  2

  They all drank that night and sang songs and told stories, apart from Lanvik. Karuin had been right: the ale was both over-priced and over-watered, so they became bloated and full long before they became intoxicated.

  ‘This is pointless,’ Ethryk was frustrated after a few hours: ‘A wasted evening.’

  ‘Then let us go and try our luck with the Emerald Crown,’ Lisamel suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ Lanvik agreed. ‘I wanted to try earlier today, but it was busy.’

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Vrosko Din said.

  In the end, more than half the Company set out a couple of hours after midnight, heading for the Grotto of the Crown.

  Darkfall seemed entirely full of people partying through the night, with trumpets and bells and music. Colourful statues and images of various Gods had been lifted aloft and were being paraded from temple to temple through the streets, flanked by people dancing, whirling and chanting.

  Lanvik had feared that all this activity meant that the plaza would be just as busy as it had been earlier, but there were only a hundred people in the queue at most. Another two hundred or so were praying, or pacing back and fore while chanting or reading, or eating from the two dozen stalls that were still offering food, or simply gathered in front of the Grotto and staring up at the statue. A number of determined hawkers weaved among them, pushing their souvenirs and trinkets.

  Several guards stood, dotted around the square, uniformed and armed and bored.

  ‘What do you think?’ Vrosko Din asked. ‘Twenty minutes? Twenty-five?’

  They all joined the queue, waiting their turn to climb the steps to the platform. They were loud, much louder than the other pilgrims, despite the weakness of the ale. One of the guards came over and warned them to be more respectful, or he would have them removed. After that, they stood and talked and occasionally broke into choruses of shushing each other when they realised they were being loud and disruptive again.