by Alex Janaway
‘Sounds like the old days,’ Krste said, munching on a chunk of cheese.
‘What, in the mines?’ asked Anyon.
‘No, you bloody idiot,’ said Cade.
‘Hey! Just asking,’ Anyon scowled and folded his arms. Then he pointed at the food. ‘You’re welcome by the way.’
‘What Cade means is old Empire,’ said Issar.
‘I thought everything was better then?’ asked Evan.
‘Better for some,’ replied Devlin, eating the rest of the bread.
‘The question, if I may ask it,’ said Carlha, ‘is what are we going to do about it?’
‘Is that something we can even talk about?’ asked Rula. ‘I mean, Owen turning up and getting all full of himself is one thing, but this is the Emperor we are talking about.’
‘He’s a god!’ added Krste.
‘And he has soldiers, which is probably more important,’ said Issar.
‘And Owen has soldiers too,’ said Carlha.
‘But he’s a god! How do you say “no” to a god?’ Krste pressed.
Cade sat back as the discussion rolled around her. The Emperor. This was a new one, not the old Emperor, the Emperor God who had lost. His son, the one that had sailed away and left everyone to fend for themselves. Not very divine behaviour. Not very all powerful.
‘I got a question for you all,’ she said, and the room quieted. ‘How many of you would say you are religious. You know, good honest, god-fearing citizens of Tissan. The sort of folk who totally buy in to the Imperial faith?’
She looked around the faces. Krste raised a hand, glanced at everyone else and lowered it again. She turned to Devlin. He hadn’t moved a muscle. She waited for him and he sat there waiting right back.
Rula coughed. ‘I think, Cade, the shine’s gone off that particular Sun banner.’
‘That’s my thinking,’ agreed Cade. ‘You march halfway across the world, get branded, get whipped, get beaten to an inch of your life, it’s gonna test your faith some.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t see anyone building any churches right about now. Hells, I doubt those Highlanders gave two shits to some sprog demanding obedience.’
‘They weren’t fighting for the Emperor. They were fighting for Owen,’ said Devlin.
‘There you go. Proves my point. None of what we’ve done had anything to do with some uppity arsehole who rocks up and demands to be worshipped.’
‘Shit, Cade!’ said a horrified Krste.
‘I’m telling it like it is. Come on, how many folk hereabouts want anything to do with the Tissan Empire? Seriously.’
Everyone stopped at the sound of clumping footsteps in the hallway. Cade wasn’t expecting anyone else and her hand naturally drifted to the knife at her belt. Winders appeared at the door.
‘Thought I might find you all gathered here. Am I too late?’ he asked, in a serious tone.
‘That depends on why you are here.’ Cade replied.
Winders strode over to the table. ‘I’m thinking that our future gets decided here, not at the council chamber. I want to be part of it.’
Cade looked at Devlin, he had a slight smile on his face.
‘Smart lad,’ he announced. ‘Pull up a chair.’
Winders nodded his thanks and settled on to a stool. Anyon passed him a cup and a bottle of wine, and that was settled. Though Cade wasn’t so sure. Was this guy going to sell them out? She coughed. ‘Anyway, as I was saying …’
‘Clue is in the question, I guess,’ responded Carlha. ‘There’s no Empire any more. There’s just us and them. Whoever they are. That sounds to me like a business opportunity.’
‘Huh,’ said Cade.
‘Cade, folk here will listen to you. They will listen to you more than they will Owen, and that includes even some of his people,’ Carlha added.
‘It’s true, Cade,’ said Winders. Cradling his wine like it was a cup of tea. Idiot, that wine needed to stay chilled. ‘I know we’ve had our disagreements, but everyone knows we wouldn’t be here if not for you.’
Cade reached up and started to twirl a lock of hair through her fingers. It was getting long. Until she’d come here, it had always been cropped short. But this place made her feel settled, more comfortable in her own skin. It was home.
‘If the Emperor is coming with a horde of whatever-they’re-called, if there are thousands of survivors on their way back, we have to accept it.’ She paused. No one said a thing. ‘I’m not going to fight our own people. Not on this. The best we can do is hunker down. We prove that this place is more valuable to them as a working, thriving settlement.’
‘We become the breadbasket,’ said Issar.
‘Yeah, sure, whatever that means,’ Cade replied. ‘We supply the others with produce, ale, wine. I mean, who doesn’t want that?’
Anyon and Krste grinned at her, Carlha nodded sagely.
‘And what if they get the war Owen is so keen to find?’ asked Devlin.
‘Then we deal with it when it comes. I’ll fight for this place, for what it means, if it comes to it. Until then, we keep building the defences. And we play nice when the big man arrives. We can all still come out of this smelling of roses.’
‘Cade looked at Devlin. He shrugged, a gentle smile on his face. Best of a bad job. It was true. They had little choice, when dealing with people who didn’t understand business, who let blind faith guide them. You either ride the wave, or you stab them in the back, first chance you get.
CHAPTER 41 – NUTAAQ
Nutaaq ran his hand along the flank of Raak, who growled and huffed, his tail vibrating with barely contained impatience. The beast was eager to stretch its legs. As was he. Glad he was that the Emperor had asked him to scout a road south to the place called Brevis. This place, this city, felt wrong. It was not like Aberpool. He could at least understand that place better, having seen New Tissan, he recognised its purpose. But Vyberg was a skeleton, a place of death. If this was what their ancient foe had done to the Tissans, then was it any wonder that the Nidhal had been swept clean from this land? They were indeed powerful, these elves and dwarves and all the rest. But this time it would be different, because they did not know they were coming. Nutaaq would not allow the tribal natures of the People to hold sway, he would unify them, employ strategy, use the power of their shamans to turn nature itself against the enemy. And they would not be alone, the Tissans be would by their side, their knowledge of the land and the eyes of the Eagle Riders would be invaluable. He could also see the value of the Gifted. It was a shame the Emperor had little trust left in them. He would like to have taken some of the Gifted with him on the ride south, ahead of the Emperor’s caravan. The Watchers and Ellen, they would all have been welcome.
‘Brother?’
Nutaaq turned to greet Immayuk. He did not look dressed for any journey, indeed he did not carry his weapons, only the knife at his side.
‘Brother, you are not ready?’ he asked.
‘I have something to ask of you.’
‘Go on.’
‘You know I have been spending time with Father Llews.’
Nutaaq frowned. ‘More than I would like you to, but I understand it has value. Your skill in their tongue grows daily.’
‘With his help. And we have spoken at length about the Emperor. Father Llews fear for his life.’
‘How so?’
‘He says there has been so much betrayal, that it is not just the Gifted who represent a threat to his life. Others among his people harbour ill will towards him.’
Nutaaq did not like this talk. It questioned the nature of their alliance, its lasting strength. Without it, how could there be trust between them?
‘Then the Emperor must deal with that. He has loyal followers, Michael for one.’
‘That is true,’ Immayuk nodded, ‘but he is but one, and we ride to war. There is a way we can help the Emperor and ensure our alliance is strong.’
Nutaaq began to see what was coming.
‘Let me become a protector to th
e Emperor, give me thirty of our warriors and we will be his shield.’
Nutaaq sighed inwardly. Yes, he had been right.
‘We need, I need, all the warriors I can spare in the coming battles. Our nations are still many moons away. We do not know when the enemy will attack,’ he cautioned.
‘Yes, brother. But there are more walkers to riders among us, we cannot fight as we always have, as our tradition expects. We must fight as the Tissans, on foot. And the Emperor is a mighty warrior, he will join his soldiers in battle. We are warriors too, better than the Tissans, stronger, faster.’
‘And we should be fighting the enemy, not coddling the Emperor,’ Nutaaq growled.
Immayuk stepped forward and gripped Nutaaq’s arm. ‘If the Emperor falls, then does not our alliance? We need him. We need his ships. He is our friend. And he is a god to his people. How can he be replaced?’
Nutaaq glared at the hand on his arm, and Immayuk had the sense to remove it. He did not like it but there was some truth in his brother’s words. The Tissans had fewer warriors among them. And if the Emperor had the People around him, then Nutaaq had no doubts he would be protected. And so would the alliance, for he did not see any others among the Tissans who could step forward to lead. There was no bloodline.
‘Thirty warriors?’
‘Yes, brother. We will form something Father Llews calls a ‘royal bodyguard’. We will fill the hole left by the Gifted and their failure. Can you imagine the sight? The message it sends, that the Emperor raises us up in front of his own?’
It would be something. Many of the People would like that, not all, but many.
‘Very well, brother. Thirty warriors. You may pick them from those who do not have a vargr.’
Immayuk smiled. ‘As you say, brother.’
‘Make us proud. Remember, you are still of the People and I expect to see you all bathe in the blood of our enemies come the day.’
‘Of that, there will be no doubt, brother.’
Immayuk held out his arm and Nutaaq gripped it tight. Then his brother grinned broadly and strode away.
‘What was that?’
Nutaaq turned to see Arluuq astride his vargr, padding towards him. He paused for a moment. ‘Necessity.’
Arluuq tilted his head, confusion on his face.
‘I will tell you when we are well away from here,’ he promised. ‘Are we ready?’
‘We are,’ said Arluuq.
‘Then let us ride.’
CHAPTER 42 – MICHAEL
Michael sat on the wharf watching the hustle and bustle of cutters and the preparations for the journey south. They had been in Vyberg for barely a few months and had just scratched the surface of the building endeavour, but yet again they were upping sticks. Must we always be on the move? Apart from the Admiral’s ship on its way to back to Aberpool and the two men-o-war to the north, everyone had now gathered in the capital. All the marines had been ordered off the ships to augment the soldiers and the walking Nidhal. This time everything felt different, it felt like they were marching to war. It was in the air, a sense of purpose and focus. Gone was the euphoria of the return home, gone was the sense of hope, that they had the opportunity to rebuild. He put it down to Owen’s arrival. Now they understood the state of things in Tissan, it would be only a matter of time before battle was joined.
Michael stood and turned towards the city. It was time for his visit. He set off into the realm of rubble. He passed by the low walls of the warehouse that held a number of stone structures, including his, and moved on to the next one. Here a single structure had been erected, longsided and with only one exit. Built by the very prisoners it housed, this barracks block was the current home to the Gifted. They had certainly been put to work on their arrival, most of the new buildings had been by their hands; in the absence of any civilian workforce they were the only labour available. Scattered around the perimeter were structures in different states of construction. The prisoners were spread out working in small groups, each one under the watchful eye of a guard. More guards, all armed with crossbows, held positions around the walls. They looked … edgy. His practical point of view told him that giving the Gifted tools was a damned big risk. Emperor, letting them near rocks and stones was bad enough. But then, of course, any breakout and they would find themselves facing the Nidhal.
‘Father.’
Michael glanced over at a guard.
‘Hello, Nikolas,’ he said. All the soldiers were well known to him now, there were so few left.
‘She’s over there,’ Nikolas said, pointing towards the last construction on the right side of the perimeter.
‘Thank you.’
‘Father?’
Michael stopped and looked back. Nikolas was a still a young man, with a young man’s worries on his face.
‘Yes?’
‘It is really going to happen? Are we now at war?’
Michael had never known a time when he wasn’t. But that view was not what was required now.
‘Maybe. But do not worry about things we can’t control. Just remember, you have been through more hardship than most soldiers of the Empire will ever have known. That makes you one tough son of a bitch.’
Nikolas grinned at that, displaying his missing front teeth.
Father Michael smiled back and went on his way.
As he walked between the new buildings, both guards and Gifted alike acknowledged him. The guards were more open, the Gifted by and large warier. He raised his hand to Rosen.
‘Michael. I hear we are off again.’
‘That’s true. Heading south.’
‘Never ends does it.’
‘Never does.’
He inclined his head and carried on. No, it never did seem to end. And that worried him. More than it should.
Just ahead, a line of stones had been placed to form the outline of a square, he estimated it at four by four yards. Three Gifted were working on it, two sorting through a pile of the same squared off stones, matching the right shapes, and the third, with her back turned, placing a stone down along the run. A guard stood off to one side and indicated that the one by the square was who he was looking for. Michael nodded his thanks. The Gifted stood and stretched, placing a dirty hand against her back.
‘You know, I preferred Aberpool. The accommodations were far better there,’ Yarn said.
‘I’m not going to argue that point,’ Michael agreed.
Yarn turned and smiled at him. The collar around her neck hung loosely. She had lost weight.
Michael dug into his robe and produced a leather canteen. He lifted it and looked over to the guard, who shrugged.
Michael tipped his head away from the stones and began to put some distance between them and the others. Yarn, her chains clinking, fell in next to him.
‘You know, my sisters and brothers really don’t know what to make of all these visits. One or two have even suggested a romantic liaison.’
Michael turned and looked at her. She was grinning.
‘Why Father, are you blushing?’
‘Bugger off. Besides I thought you were not allowed to talk to your people.’
‘Talking? No. But everyone appears to have forgotten that just because I am not a Speaker, doesn’t mean I can’t be Spoken to.’
That was a very good point. And she was right. Nobody had thought about that.
They reached the far end of the perimeter. No one was close, they could talk freely. They sat with their backs to the small pile of debris and foundations. He handed her the canteen. She unstoppered it and took a sniff.
‘Chaga. Again? Is there no wine left in this world?’ Yarn lamented. That didn’t stop her from taking a healthy swig. She passed it back and he did likewise. He quite enjoyed the drink now.
‘From what I hear, that might be changing. They say in the south, the survivors are sitting on a stockpile of wine, are actually growing the grapes again.’
‘Then civilisation is not doomed. There is hope!’
/>
Michael handed back the canteen. ‘And there was me thinking all we needed was faith. I truly never noticed that the clergy were drinking like fish. Even the Arch Cardinal. Emperor forgive him.’
Yarn barked out a laugh and took another drink. She sighed and inspected the work around her. ‘Well, I suppose a change is as good as a rest. It’s nice to be up and moving. Doing something other than rotting.’
She went quiet and Michael turned to her. Yarn was studying him. ‘What?’
‘You’ve changed, too,’ she replied.
‘How so?’
She shrugged and looked away. ‘Your soul is at peace? Or maybe it’s just you feel more comfortable in your own skin. Either way, you are less serious, you smile more. You have a sense of humour. I must confess, I never saw that coming.’
‘I blame the marines,’ Michael acknowledged. ‘And the Nidhal.’
‘You are keeping dubious company. But it suits you.’ She turned to regard him once more. ‘But yet you still carry a burden on your shoulders. I see it in your eyes.’
Michael was not sure how to respond. Yarn was not wrong. But he hated the feelings and thoughts that stood front and centre in his mind. Thoughts that wouldn’t go away, that couldn’t be suppressed or ignored.
‘Apologies, I speak out of turn. I am a prisoner, a heretic and an apostate. And you are the Emperor’s champion.’
Michael only vaguely heard her. He recognised her words but they made no impact, when once they might have.
‘I worry about what is going to happen,’ he said, struggling to say what he meant, unsure if he should even voice it.
‘You are worrying?’ Yarn raised her arms and rattled the chains. ‘Look at me.’
Michael rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not that. It’s everything. I see the path before us, but I fear it will lead to more pain, more death. I … I don’t want that. Not for any one of us.’
He closed his eyes. Dammit what was he saying?
‘Michael?’
He opened them. Yarn had a gentle smile on her lips. ‘I am a devious bitch. Underneath the rules, the behaviours and the dogma of being raised a Gifted, underneath it all, I have always known that. I have always known my true self.’ She reached out, the metal links shifting, and touched his arm. ‘I think, for the first time, you are starting to find out who you truly are.’
