The Marriage of the Living Dark

CHAPTER-4

blood and iron

Egan sat far back in the great chair, his expression dour, the thumbnail of his right hand poked between his teeth as he thought back over what had happened. Below the broad steps of the dais on which he sat, the stone-flagged floor of the Great Hall of Victory was empty, the colourful banners that lined the massive walls - tokens of a dozen victorious campaigns - obscured by heavy shadow. Hours earlier he had ordered all his servants to leave, the lamps in the hall still unlit, the day’s business barely begun. Now the daylight slowly drained from the great window behind him with its panoramic view of the ocean. Five years. Was that all it was? A mere five years? Egan sighed heavily, then stood, looking about him at the growing shadows. Five years ago he had returned triumphant from the North-West, the tribes of Washington and Oregon subdued, his treasure chests filled with their tribute. To celebrate that triumph he had built this great castle, overlooking the modern high-rise city of Boston: a brutal place of ancient stone and metal, of twisting stairs and high battlements, but also of high-tech trickery and state of the art defences. Declaring himself “King of America”, he had set out to subdue those other parts of his great continent that yet stood out against him. A mistake. He knew that now. The old Han had been right, curse him. Yet, at the time ...

Egan took a long breath, then slowly descended the steps. This morning he had returned from the scene of his formertriumph, his tail between his legs, his armies thoroughly humiliated, the whole of the Western seaboard lost to him. Five years ...

“Master?”

He turned. A small wooden door had opened in the wall to his right. From its shadows now stepped a young man - a soldier; one of those who had made the long, tiring journey back with him from the battlefield in Spokane. Like Egan, he was still wearing the battle-soiled fatigues he had first put on four days ago. “What is it, Alan?”

“It is your Chancellor, Master. He has been waiting to see you this past hour.” “Ah ...” For a moment he thought of sending the man away; of making some excuse about tiredness, but he knew it would not do. The lesser men would do as they were told, but Harding was not to be put off. Besides, he had words for Mister Harding; things he wanted to get off his chest. “Give me a moment to compose myself, then send him in. And Alan ...”

“Yes, Master?”

“Get some sleep now, lad. You, at least, can hold your head high.” The young man bowed deeply. “Thank you, Master.” Then he was gone, the Great Hall empty again.

Egan sighed, then walked over to where the first of the great banners hung. The banners of his enemies. Well, now three of his own banners hung in enemy halls. And how many more before this year dragged to a close?

“How did it come to this?” he murmured. “How in God’s name...?”

“I beg pardon, Master?”

Egan turned. Harding was standing there, at the foot of the steps, his wine-red cloak of office trailing almost to the floor, his grey hair cropped close to his skull. He must have entered the moment the young man left, yet Egan had not heard him. I must watch that, he thought; for with such stealth and silence do assassins tread.

BLOOD AND IRON

He walked across and held out his right hand, letting Harding kneel and kiss the heavy iron ring on the second finger.

“And how are things, Mister Harding?”

Harding straightened up, his grey eyes meeting his Master’s. “Things here are well, Master. I came because I’ve heard disturbing rumours.” “Rumours?”

Harding hesitated, as if searching for the best way to couch what he was about to say, then came out with it direct “Word is, our armies have suffered a setback and that our grasp in the West has been weakened.” Egan smiled bleakly. He had never liked Harding; had never really trusted him. “The fact is, Mister Harding, our armies have been annihilated. The West is lost.”

Harding blinked, as if taking in what had been said, then laughed, as if Egan had made a joke. “Oh, very dry, Master. Very droll.” Egan stared at him. Didn’t he know? Hadn’t his spies told him yet? Or did he - as was far more likely - know precisely what had happened? If so, was he here to gloat? To indulge in a little schadenfreude at Egan’s expense? “There’s nothing droll about it, Mister Harding. I’m talking about a million men dead, four times that number taken prisoner. We have lost the West” Again Harding blinked; yet there was no real shock there, as one might have expected. “Then ...”

Egan looked past the man, focusing on the great gold and black banner that hung over the facing arch. “You are my chief advisor, Mister Harding, so advise me. Tell me what I should do.”

“Do?”

“The gods help us!” He turned away, suddenly angry with the man; all of the frustration and disappointment he had been feeling these past twenty-four hours spilling from him. “Yes, Mister Harding. Advice?’ “But what can I say?”Egan turned back, his face dark. “You could start by apologising.”

Harding gave a laugh of disbelief. “Apologise? For what?” “For counselling war against the Californians, when war was clearly not the best of options.”

Harding shook his head, astonished. “But that was your decision!” “Mine?” Egan laughed. “And my Counsellors said nothing, I take it? When the matter was discussed, you did not rush to oppose such a course. Indeed, if I remember things correctly, you practically urged me to take action!” “We but supported you.”

“Exactly!”

“I still don’t see ...”

“Don’t seel” Egan walked back to the man and stood there, glaring at him openly now. “That”s precisely what I meant. You didn’t see. You didn’t anticipate events. And now we’re in the shit up to our necks!” He gave a great huff of exasperation. “You were my principal advisors, damn it! You should have known what was going on out there, known just how strong they were. But you didn’t Or if you did ...”

Harding’s answer was immediate. He met Egan’s anger with his own. “That’s totally unfair! You knew everything we knew! Everythingl We held nothing back Whatever intelligence we had, you were party to. If I had suspected for a moment...”

“Suspected what?”

Harding hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation Egan understood. He had known. In fact, come to think of it, Harding more than any of them had pushed him to declare war on the Californians.