The Diamond Isle

8

The graveyard was dusted with snow. Freezing winds raked the bleak headstones and made the gaunt trees shiver.

A small crowd of dignitaries stood before a newly erected monument, a grandiose affair of polished stone three times the height of a man. It took the form of an obelisk, with a black marble apex and a flowing, gold-leaf inscription carved on its face. Above the inscription was an engraved coat of arms showing a rearing white horse, one of the emblems of the paladin clans. Bouquets of flowers were heaped at the obelisk’s base.

Two uniformed figures, draped in cloaks, detached themselves from the crowd and discreetly withdrew, taking a path leading to the cemetery’s exit.

‘A moving speech, if I may say so, sir,’ offered the younger of the pair.

‘You may, Meakin.’

‘I’m sure your uncle would have appreciated your eulogy, and the memorial.’

‘Perhaps. But if I knew Ivak he’d have preferred being in the old burial ground, out on the periphery.’

‘Where High Chiefs are traditionally laid to rest.’

‘Yes. But I’m damned if I’d put him in that decaying boneyard. No one ever goes there these days. I certainly don’t intend ending up in it myself.’

‘New leadership, new traditions, eh, sir?’

‘It’s past time a fresh broom swept through the clans,’ Devlor Bastorran replied, ‘and I’ll be wielding it.’

Bastorran, recently installed Clan High Chief of the paladin order, was impeccably turned-out, as was both his custom and that of the clans. His black hair was styled in a close military cut, and his dress uniform always looked freshly pressed. The immaculately tailored tunic he wore was scarlet, which distinguished the paladins from any other fighting force, and bore the various insignia of his exalted rank.

He was a man who harboured few regrets. Certainly he felt none in respect of how he’d gained his present position. To his way of thinking, speeding up the succession by clandestinely arranging his uncle’s murder was a small price to pay.

At around twenty years old, Bastorran’s aide was his junior by more than a decade. He was blond and clean-shaven, and though Lahon Meakin’s duties were basically administrative, physically he could have passed for a fighting man. Unlike Bastorran, he wore a black tunic. Triple red piping at its wrists, and a circular red patch on the left breast, told the world he served the clans while not born a clansman. The lack of a suitable bloodline meant a limit to how far he could rise, but further advancement was of no concern to Meakin. His ambitions lay elsewhere.

As they trod the gravel pathway, Bastorran’s slight limp was apparent, a constant reminder of his greatest humiliation.

‘I feel as though a chapter has closed with the paying of this final tribute,’ he said, tilting his head at the monument they were leaving. ‘The end of one era and the beginning of another.’ He seemed lost in reflection for a moment. ‘But dwelling too much on the dead neglects the business of the living.’ He was back to his normal brisk efficiency. ‘Any news of the woman?’

‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

If the aide was expecting a rebuke, it didn’t come.

‘So it appears that she had help from the Resistance?’

‘Almost certainly, sir. She could hardly have got away without it, particularly given her condition.’

‘Well, she’ll have little joy in their company.’

‘Should we step up the hunt?’

‘No. Keep her on the list of most wanted. Otherwise you can scale it down.’

‘The man she was with wiped out practically a whole patrol, sir.’

‘I know that, Meakin. And it’ll go on the balance sheet for when we have our reckoning with them. For now there’s no point wasting resources looking for one man. As to the woman, she’s served her purpose. She had nothing else important to tell me. I’d already loosened my leash on her, in fact. That’s how she gave us the slip in the first place.’

Meakin was impressed by a rare show of culpability in his superior. ‘Naturally I wouldn’t presume to ask about this woman’s identity, sir…’ He saw Bastorran’s quick, suspicious glance. ‘But I’m intrigued as to why anyone would betray their own like that.’

‘Love.’

‘Sir?’

‘Love, along with the application of pressure that played on her dotish affection. She thought she could regain something it was never really in my power to give her. Nor would I have done so, even if I could. People are slaves to their emotions. It makes them weak. Exploit them properly and there isn’t anything they won’t do.’

The road was in sight, with its fleet of waiting coaches and milling guards.

‘Anything else I should know about?’ Bastorran asked.

‘Mostly routine matters, sir. Nothing too pressing. Oh, Aphri Kordenza was in touch again. She wants to see you.’

‘That damn woman’s proving a nuisance.’

‘I’ll make your excuses, sir. Keep her out of your way.’

‘No. I’ll take care of the meld. She could still be of use to me. Have her come in to headquarters some time tomorrow.’

‘Very good, sir.’

They were through the gates now. As they neared their waiting carriage, Meakin spotted someone hurrying their way, cape flapping.

‘That looks like Commissioner Laffon, sir.’

‘So it is.’

They waited for the head of the Council for Internal Security to catch up with them. A man of perhaps sixty, Laffon was tall and skeletally thin, with slightly hunched shoulders. Completely bald, he had rangy, bird-like features, accentuated by a hook nose. His lips were thin to the point of non-existence, and his deep blue eyes hinted at a sharp intelligence.

‘I’m glad I caught you,’ he called out, panting faintly as he approached.

‘Commissioner,’ Bastorran greeted him.

‘Excellent eulogy, High Chief. Quite moving.’

‘Thank you. If, er, that was all you wanted to say, I trust you’ll forgive me if I don’t linger. I have matters that need-’

‘I’d appreciate a moment of your time. I’ve one or two things to discuss, and a possible piece of news.’

‘Then perhaps you’d care to ride with us?’

The trio climbed into the carriage. It pulled away, and two other carriages fell in, one ahead, one behind, containing an armed escort. Mounted paladins rode at the front of the convoy, making sure the streets were clear.

Laffon said, ‘I’m pleased to tell you, Bastorran, that preparations are in hand for the new series of raids on the insurgents. My people are ready whenever you are.’

‘That’s gratifying, Commissioner. But it’s hardly news.’

Laffon smiled. ‘News, in the sense of hard facts, is a flexible term, as I’m sure you’re aware. What I have is a deduction based on intelligence, and a rumour.’

‘Let’s have the deduction first, shall we?’

‘I think Reeth Caldason’s on the Diamond Isle.’

Meakin reckoned his master did a good job of disguising his fury at mention of the Qalochian’s name.

‘I suspected as much,’ Bastorran replied.

‘Really? I was under the impression you were expending a lot of resources searching for him here in Bhealfa.’

‘It’s necessary to explore all avenues, Commissioner. Anyway, what makes you think that’s where Caldason is?’

‘We’ve had reports both of his departure from these shores and his presence on the island. Or at least someone bearing an uncanny resemblance to him.’

‘I’m not surprised he’s run away. Any man who could stab another in the back, as he did to my beloved uncle, is nothing short of a coward. Why someone like that should have a special dispensation from our rulers is something I’ve never understood.’

‘You know it isn’t an exemption as such. It’s more an instruction that he should be handled with particular care. I have no idea why these rules were devised, but our betters have their reasons, I’m sure.’ Laffon shrugged.

Meakin wished he could ask what those rules were.

‘Well, perhaps it’s time to throw out these instructions pertaining to Caldason.’

‘I’ve always believed they should be obeyed, given their source. But the murder of someone of your uncle’s status changes things. I, for one, would be willing to petition our superiors to look at the policy again.’

‘I’m obliged, Commissioner. The lifting of the restrictions would be pleasing to me. It’s just a pity that, if your information’s correct, Caldason’s beyond our present reach.’

‘He might not be.’ Laffon eyed Bastorran.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The rumour I heard. There’s talk of a fleet being sent to the Diamond Isle.’

Bastorran’s eyebrows raised. ‘You’re sure? My information is that Gath Tampoor was holding back in hope of Rintarah dealing with the matter.’

‘My source is good. I can only imagine that Gath Tampoor’s worried about Rintarah getting an edge in that part of the world, and decided they should have a presence there too. No doubt we’ll be informed officially soon, one way or another. Though I have to say it’s a bad time of year for such a venture.’

‘If this is true, the paladins are sure to be represented in the invasion force.’

‘As indeed will the CIS. We suspect there are a number of felons out there of interest to us. Not least the woman I told you about, who’s a known associate of Caldason. We both have scores to settle on that island.’

‘If there’s a reckoning to be had,’ Bastorran declared, expression intense, ‘I want to be there.’

‘You’d go yourself?’

‘Absolutely. I owe my uncle the task of exacting vengeance on his murderer. It’s not something I’d see delegated.’

‘Ah. A matter of family honour.’

‘Family and the clans. A blood debt,’ Bastorran replied coldly.

‘And the opportunity to exact retribution for your own…indisposition at Caldason’s hands.’

Bastorran flashed the Commissioner a hard look. ‘The issue is clan pride, not personal revenge.’

‘Of course, High Chief. But there’s little we can do about the problem just yet. We can, however, continue our purge of the terrorists here.’

‘We’ve broken their backs. It’s only a question of time before we eradicate them entirely.’

‘Perhaps. The rebel movement may be weakened, but it’s still capable of causing havoc. Why, there’s unrest even as we speak, not ten blocks from here.’

Somebody in the crowd threw a device.

Magical munition or conventional bombard, it made little difference to the effect. It fell just short of a line of shield-bearing militia, producing an intense flash, a loud explosion and an eruption of noxious smoke. The cloud dispersed to show several troopers ablaze, their uniforms splattered with glutinous burning oil. Comrades rushed forward to beat at the flames.

The crowd and the militia took to exchanging missiles-rocks, arrows, slingshot and the occasional spear flew. On both sides, men and women fell. Then a trumpet sounded, and as one the lines of militia parted and let through a detachment of charging cavalry. The disturbance was becoming a full-scale riot.

In a room on the upper floor of a nearby house, derelict and half burnt out, two people watched the confrontation. One was Quinn Disgleirio.

He took a peek through the window. ‘That could take some time.’

Dulian Karr sighed and parked himself on a battered wooden crate. ‘At least we were lucky enough to find this place to shelter in. I’ve never seen a conflict blow up so quickly.’

‘We’re living in volatile times. And it’s going to get worse.’

Outside, the sounds of fighting swelled. Screams, shouts and explosions could be heard, backed by the crowd’s constant roar.

‘Is there nothing we can do?’ Karr asked.

‘Only sit it out. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t agreed to undertake this reconnaissance with you. It’s not as though we’ve gathered intelligence of any real importance.’

‘I’m not dead yet, Quinn. The day I can’t go out on a field trip is the day you can consign me to the Pastures of Sleep for real.’

‘Do you still think we’re right about trying to get more of us out to the island? Rather than staying here and making the best of it, that is?’ said Disglierio.

‘It was always the plan to get as many people over as possible, you know that. If things hadn’t gone so terribly wrong we’d probably be there now.’

‘But circumstances have changed, haven’t they? The gods forgive me for saying it, but the Diamond Isle doesn’t seem so much like a haven now as a rat trap. For all the restrictions here in Bhealfa, at least there’s plenty of scope for hiding and hitting out at the occupiers.’

‘True. But let’s not fool ourselves. The best we can hope for if we stay here is to harass them. For myself, I can see the attraction of making our stand there.’

‘You’re an old romantic, Karr. My ideal would be to stay. But then, I’m a patriot. That’s what the Fellowship of the Righteous Blade’s all about, after all.’

‘Then you’re a romantic yourself, Quinn.’

Disgleirio smiled. ‘Could be. I just hate the idea of surrendering my soil to a foreign power and scuttling off to a run-down pleasure resort.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not going?’

‘No. I may be a romantic but I haven’t lost my reason. There’s a chance we could hold out there. And just maybe something will turn up to help us. Don’t ask me what.’

‘If we don’t have hope, we have nothing.’

‘I do worry that we couldn’t possibly get all of our people out there. Choices are going to have to be made, and that seems cruelly unfair.’

‘I know. Decisions of that kind are never easy. But that shouldn’t stop those of us fortunate enough to have the chance.’

‘We’re talking as though reaching the island’s going to be easy. This could all be academic.’

‘It’s a big ocean, Quinn. Short of a complete blockade of the Diamond Isle it’s impossible to close every loophole.’

‘That’s what they’ll do though, isn’t it? Gath Tampoor, or Rintarah. They’ll seal it tight as a drum and-’

‘Perhaps. We have to hope we find a way of preventing that.’

In the streets below the commotion increased again. Karr rose to take a look. The security forces were fighting back with magic, and concentrated energy beams scythed through the crowd. Militia used glamoured stun batons to down protestors, against a background of dazzle charges and concussion rounds.

Karr resumed his seat, shaking his head sadly. ‘It’s not the way the noble art should be used,’ he complained. ‘They debase it.’

‘You sound just like Phoenix. But we do the same whenever we can,’ Disgleirio reminded him.

‘In self-defence. There’s a distinct moral difference involved.’

‘I daresay that’s the way they see it too.’

‘Then they’re barbarians. The occupiers and their collaborators both. They cloak themselves in a mantle of civilisation, but they’re barbaric all the same. That’s another difference, Quinn; between what they say and what they do.’

‘By now you should be used to the way they employ language as a weapon against us. Taking another’s land is liberation. Suppressing the people’s right to speak is freedom. Executing a patriot is an act of public order. And anybody opposing them is a terrorist.’

‘What depresses me is how many believe it. Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes a kind of truth. Couple that with keeping the populace in ignorance and you have a situation where most citizens of the empire are happy to send troops here but couldn’t find Bhealfa on a map.’

‘They don’t need to. They’ve swallowed the oldest propaganda trick in the book. All you have to do is tell people they’re under threat and they’ll let their rulers do anything they want, no matter how draconian,’ Disgleirio said bitterly.

‘And they call magic an arcane art. It’s nothing compared to the subtle craft of deception.’

‘As an ex-politician that’s something you know all about, isn’t it? But we shouldn’t fall into the trap of blaming the citizens of either empire. They’re as much victims as the rest of us.’

‘Of course they are. But we can’t do much about their salvation. What we can do is look after our own kind, diminished as our ranks may be. Small triumphs, Quinn. That’s what we have to content ourselves with now.’

Disgleirio nodded. ‘Tanalvah’s a good example. Finding her was a piece of pure luck.’

‘Ah, yes. If ever there was a case of someone more sinned against than sinning, it’s that young woman. It would be nice to think we could bring about an improvement to her tragic life.’

‘That’s the way I see it. Tan’s done nothing to harm anyone. She deserves a little happiness.’