Dead God's Due

by Matthew P Gilbert

  Brutus nodded. “Easily corrected by your men withdrawing.”

  Caelwen shrugged. “There is the difficulty, eh? I cannot simply make it disappear that twenty or thirty city guards are dead. There will be an inquiry. I am sure it can all be sorted out, but I cannot simply let you walk away.”

  Brutus nodded. “I understand. Now understand me. We are prepared to fight to the death.”

  This is a matter of pride, then. Caelwen waved the notion aside as if it were an annoying fly. “I doubt that will happen. Time is on my side.” He made a show of examining his opponent. “You do indeed appear to be mighty warriors, but you must sleep some time. I can bring more and more fresh men.”

  “We’ll fight in shifts,” Brutus answered with a broad grin. “We need only a few to hold the mouth.” He nodded toward the fallen men behind him. “We’ll die of boredom, I think, before we fall to your swords.”

  “Or dehydration.”

  “The cave goes deep into the ground. There is an underground river, with mosses, fish, bugs. We can hold out indefinitely.”

  Caelwen could not suppress a wry smile at this. “A bold lie well told, but a lie nonetheless.”

  Brutus shrugged and smiled back, offering nothing but an enigma.

  Caelwen pressed on. “We will build fires near the opening. Either you break your lines, or you pass out from the smoke. We’ll get you out eventually, and alive, for the most part.”

  Caelwen felt victory within his grasp, only to have it torn from him by Brutus’s next words. “Then we will fall upon our own swords.”

  Caelwen’s eyes grew wide despite his best effort to suppress his shock. He hadn’t seen that one coming. “You would choose death over a simple inquiry? It would be over and done with in a day or so, and you no worse for wear.”

  “We would choose death over being arrested and humiliated, yes.”

  That is truth, not bravado. Caelwen considered Brutus long and hard, trying to decide on his next thrust. At last, he said, “Here are my terms. We will not call it ‘surrender.’ We will call it ‘cooperation.’ Come peacefully and cooperate with my investigation, by your own will. We will escort your men into the city without shame, under cover of darkness, so no one even knows. I will explain to my superior. You will retain your arms, and be treated well, though you will not be allowed to leave until the matter is concluded.”

  It was Brutus’s turn to think hard. His eyes narrowed as he considered the offer. “And this superior, he will listen to what you have to say?”

  Caelwen offered a genuine smile at this. “He is my father. He will listen.”

  “And if we refuse?”

  Caelwen’s ground his teeth, angry again. He will push to the end? Then so will I. “I have men dying out here. The only reason I am offering you terms is that I need this to end quickly. If you leave my men to suffer before they die, I will name you barbarians and treat you as such. I’ll drag you naked through the streets, and I’ll personally hang every one of you.”

  Brutus raised an eyebrow at this and snorted in amusement. “You are a hard man, Caelwen of Nillos. I like that. I will confer with my men. You will have your answer shortly.”

  Caelwen nodded. “I will wait.”

  Brutus turned to leave, then paused and called back, “Recover your fallen. Whatever our answer, we will not deny you that.”

  Caelwen watched him walk back to the cave and heaved a great sigh. This might just end well after all.

  Sandilianus looked back and forth at Yazid and Brutus, his weathered face taut with displeasure. “Call it what you will, it seems surrender to me.”

  Brutus grimaced. “Aye, to me as well. And yet, if we keep our weapons, how can we be surrendered?” He spat on the cave floor. “That is what I think of diplomacy, but this Caelwen is no diplomat. His men may be soft, but he is a warrior, there is no doubt. He has the bearing.”

  “Does he lie?”

  “No, I think he speaks honestly, but it is his father who makes the final decision. I do not like it.” Brutus turned to Yazid and raised an eyebrow. “What say you, prelate?”

  Yazid laid a hand on Brutus’s shoulder and squeezed. “We will have many chances to die well, if that is our fate. We have our mission to consider. Philip was very clear. We are all of us expendable, save the one man who brings him back information. I think he would have us sacrifice our pride as well, if need be.”

  “So surrender is the only way we can complete our mission?” Sandilianus mused. “How bizarre.”

  Brutus shook his head in disbelief. “So it would seem.”

  Yazid slapped his hands on his knees and rose to his feet. “Then we are resolved.”

  Brutus nodded. “As you said, it is exploration, the most dangerous of missions. It would be easy to fight. It will take true bravery to place ourselves at their mercy.” He thumped a fist against his chest in a perfunctory salute and turned to leave. “I will give him our answer.”

  Kariana Tasinal, or more formerly Tasinalta, Empress of Nihlos, was not accustomed to being awakened at odd hours. She got little enough sleep as it was, and it was difficult to be ‘empressey’ when she was barely able to see, much less strike a decent pose. She eyed the empty bottle on the floor beside her canopied bed. Mei, why did I drink the whole thing?

  She was even less pleased that Caelwen should see her in such disrepair. At least I didn’t throw up in my sleep. Not that she fancied him, at least not any more than she would fancy any other attractive man. It was that he thought himself perfect, and him seeing her in this state felt decidedly icky. Her Chief of Police loomed over the foot of her bed, armored, helmet under his left arm, his close-cropped, blond hair darkened with sweat. “What is it, Stone? Did someone spit on the sidewalk again?”

  Caelwen’s face hardened at this. He’s cute when he’s angry. She looked him up and down, appreciating his bulk. Most of her toys were thin and reedy, with round heads and soft features, but Caelwen was fairly bursting with lovely, muscled bits, and sported a strong, square jaw, to boot. He’s a bit swarthy, though. I bet he doesn’t even shave his chest! She imagined running her hand over his face, feeling the point of his cheekbones and the rough scratch of late day stubble. I most certainly could get used to the idea.

  His eyes, however, were cold like winter wind on wet skin. Perhaps ‘angry’ was a bit of an understatement. ‘Murderous rage’ might be more appropriate. “Is war reason enough?” he growled through clenched teeth.

  Kariana adjusted her shift to cover her breasts as she rose. “That’s not even a little funny.”

  “Have you ever known me to joke with you?”

  Kariana felt a chill down her spine at this, and her frivolous manner fell away with her lewd thoughts. “Why are you here, Caelwen?”

  Caelwen nodded, his jaw working as he struggled for words. “This will sound mad,” he began and then trailed off.

  He is actually speechless! She was torn between shouting for joy at his unprecedented display of humanity and collapsing in panic at whatever could shake him like this. She settled for prodding at him. “Since when has the Stone had trouble expressing himself? Out with it!”

  Caelwen shot her a glare, then squared his shoulders and said bluntly, “I believe that I have captured a scouting party of Southlanders.”

  Kariana rubbed at her throbbing eyes, trying to understand. Southlanders were some ancient thing, evil men from...the South, somewhere. “What?” she groaned. This must be a dream.

  “What part did you not understand, Empress?”

  Kariana looked about her chambers. They seemed real enough, but then dreams often felt very real. She reached beneath her sheet and surreptitiously pinched her nipple to make certain. It was painful enough, but nothing changed. “The part about there being Southlanders here. Where are they from?”

  Caelwen looked a bit uncomfortable at this and shrugged. “From the South, I suppose.”

  Oh, good! At least I am not the only idiot! Kariana pinched herself again,
for all the good it did. “Well, what makes you think they are Southlanders, then?”

  “Dark-skinned men, fierce warriors of iron will, thick men, almost misshapen. Fearsome brutes.” He shrugged. “They certainly match what I learned in school.”

  “It cannot be true.”

  Caelwen’s jaw bulged as he ground his teeth. “I used to try that, as a child, just deny bad things. My sorcery failed me, but perhaps yours is stronger, eh?”

  “Bastard!” Kariana reached for an ashtray and hurled it at him. Caelwen stepped deftly aside, allowing the glass to shatter against the doorframe behind him in a spray of glass and cinders. “It’s insane! Why would they return after so long?”

  “They say they are exploring.”

  “They are not Southlanders!”

  “I say they are. I have seen Talus’s paintings, read Amrath’s descriptions, as have you. It is simple enough for you to have a look at them and decide for yourself.”

  Kariana simmered in silence for a moment, absorbing the implications. Her mind was working slowly. Too many drugs, too little sleep. “Let us say you are correct. Why would you capture them? Why provoke an incident?”

  Caelwen nodded, looking, to her amazement, quite abashed. “Mistakes were made. They surprised our patrol, actually introduced themselves. The sergeant in charge sent back to the city for instructions and support. I was sleeping at the time. My second sent the wrong man to handle it, and that man turned a diplomatic situation into a battle. I chose the man who gave the order. I accept full responsibility.”

  Kariana could feel her eyes bulging from their sockets with fury and fear. “How could this happen?” she shrieked. “What were they thinking?”

  “They weren’t thinking. They were reacting as they have been trained.” He shrugged. “They are commoners, Empress. They are largely idiots by design.”

  “Mei! How many are dead?”

  “Of them? None. They crushed our people with brutal efficiency. They killed nine of ours outright and wounded another twenty-three. If I don’t get my men medical attention quickly, at least ten of those will be dead by morning.”

  “Why are you waiting?”

  “Containment, Empress. Everyone involved is under lockdown until you decide how to handle things.” Caelwen clenched a hand into a fist and pounded at his leg. “And I beg you decide quickly. Those are young men, many with families.”

  Kariana breathed a sigh of relief. Then it was not yet war. For once, she was profoundly grateful for Caelwen’s rigidity. “They must have ambushed our men? Or were they outnumbered?”

  “Neither. There were twenty of them. Our men outnumbered them five-to-one.”

  “Mei!”

  Caelwen nodded gravely. “Now, perhaps you understand why I believe as I do.”

  Kariana returned his nod, her eyes darting back and forth as she tried to make sense of things, to find a path out of this disaster. “Send to House Amrath for Aiul. Have him tend to your men. Him and no one else, do you understand? And tell him nothing! I need time to think.”

  Caelwen left quickly, concern for his men spurring him onward, no doubt. The moment her chamber door closed, she leaped from her bed and rushed to her bar. With trembling hands, she drank straight from a bottle of brandy until the burn overwhelmed her.

  For a while, the panic owned her. Southlanders! They had defeated even the founders. What hope could she have against them? She could no more meet them in war than a mouse could battle a lion. Nihlos would be crushed!

  Before long, the brandy had the desired effect. Her mind grew slower, calmer. She was not entirely defenseless. The Spirit Shield would keep them out, or kill them if they tried to enter the city. But it would only delay the inevitable. How long could the city last without its outlying farms?

  She allowed herself a small hope. Perhaps they were not here for war? Perhaps it was true that they were exploring. Perhaps they had forgotten their old enmity. A millennium was a long time. If they had come for war, would they not have brought more than twenty? Perhaps, perhaps not. It would make sense to send an innocuous party to probe their defenses, spy upon them. And such spies would report terrible weakness, a defenseless city ripe for plucking.

  She began to pace, a plan forming slowly in her mind as she weighed the possibilities and alternatives. One possibility was war with the Southlanders. This was unthinkable. At the very least, she needed time to muster an army, and even then, she doubted her chances at matching them. Under no circumstances could she take any action that might lead to war. Not yet.

  Yet weakness itself might well provoke an attack, if they were hostile. If they were truly peaceful, then insult or injury could likewise trigger disaster. There had already been a fight. Who knew what they thought, or what the repercussions of that might be?

  If they were truly here in peace, then it would be very good for Nihlos, and for her personally. And yet, how could she know? Asking would be useless. Surely, they would lie if they intended harm?

  Unless, of course, she ripped the truth from them. That would solve the one problem. Their deaths would solve the other. If they were peaceful, then so be it. No one need ever know what had happened. No one in Nihlos had ever seen them.

  She took another drink, feeling the pounding in her temples slowly subside. She could control this. She could reset this.

  It would be easy.

  Aiul woke to the sound of shouts. He was confused, sleep-addled. What was going on? Lara was just beginning to stir when Garas’s cry of pain sliced through the fog in his head. Aiul leaped up and grabbed his robe, fear for Garas dancing in his chest, driving him forward.

  Lara moaned softly as he shrugged his way into the robe. “What’s going on?” Aiul gave no answer. Instead, he took a heavy candle holder from beside her and slipped out into the hallway.

  “You have no right to be here!” Garas cried out from the front door. “There are other physicians. It’s after midnight!”

  “I have orders to bring this physician, and I follow my orders, slave. If you did the same, you should not be bleeding.” Aiul’s felt his guts twist in fear and confusion. He recognized that voice. What could Caelwen Luvox want here in the middle of the night? Could this be some play by his mother, having him arrested to split him from Lara?

  “My master is resting!”

  “Slave, you have three choices: lead, get out of my way, or pain. Think of it this way, how can he rest if he’s up all night repairing what I am about to do to you, eh?”

  Aiul had heard enough. If it was his mother’s trap, so be it. He could not allow Garas to take a beating from the police simply to protect him. He cinched his robe and strode into the foyer.

  “What is going on here?” he asked as he took in the scene. Caelwen stood in the open door, a mailed fist raised to strike. Garas, blood running freely from his nose and mouth, was doing his best to block Caelwen from entering. “You dare strike my slave?”

  “It is nothing, master,” Garas assured him. “Go back to sleep.”

  Caelwen lowered his fist and turned to Aiul. “I did. I am here under orders, as I told him.”

  “Orders from whom?”

  Caelwen rubbed at his temple, muttered something under his breath, then nearly shouted, “Who do you think orders the Commander of the Guard to your home at such an hour, fool?”

  Aiul nodded, feeling a bit staggered. This was not his mother, then. This was something serious. “That still does not give you the right to strike my slave.”

  “Then sue me, House Amrath. Isn’t that one of your family’s more disreputable arts? But for now, you’ll come with me, or you’ll get the same.”

  Aiul stared at him in shock. “You threaten me?”

  “It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” The look in Caelwen’s eyes was undeniable. He was absolutely serious. “You do not know the severity of the situation, and I am not at liberty to reveal it. Now will you come, or must I drag you?”

  Aiul stammered momentarily, angry at s
uch treatment, but knowing the only reason one summoned a physician at such an hour was that people were dying. “Let me gather my equipment.”

  “Quickly, doctor. As quickly as you possibly can!”

  The imperial infirmary had been closed off to serve the wounded. Aiul had asked for assistants, but his request had been denied. “State security,” was the only reason Caelwen offered. Had men not been dying in front of him, Aiul would have told Caelwen where he could stuff his state security, but for now, saving those he could took priority.

  Aiul knew about triage, had been trained in how to choose who lived and died, but he had rarely needed to practice it before, and never without others skilled in medicine. Caelwen was his only helper. It was difficult, far more than he would have guessed.

  This one might live, if he were the only one, if I had time, if you had gotten him to me sooner, but now I inject him with morphine to ease his passing and move on to the next. This one is already dead. Next. This one is screaming loudest. Mei, the stench! His guts are penetrated and spilling into his bloodstream. Another for morphine. Next. Mei! It’s bad, blood everywhere, but it’s still pumping, so maybe there is a chance. If I can just find the source. There, but Mei! I can’t mend that! Fine. Morphine, but this time with purpose. Bring me a burning iron and a saw! Now!

  On and on it went, too long and too urgent. When it was done, he collapsed into a corner of the royal infirmary and covered his face with bloody hands, trying not to sob. In truth, he had done much better than he had imagined. Twenty-three wounded, ten mortally so. Of these, two were dead when he arrived, another died while he was tending the others, and two were far away on clouds, awaiting their time. He had saved five (four-and-three-quarters counting the leg he had sawn off, he reminded himself). No so bad for a hopeless situation. Half was good, considering.

  When he finally looked up from his minor collapse, Caelwen was standing over him, splattered with blood, yet impassive as ever. “I owe you thanks, surgeon.”