The Righteous Blade

18

Of all the major cities of the known world, Merakasa, capital of the western empire of Gath Tampoor, was one of the most colourful and vibrant.

Like its eastern counterpart, Rintarah’s Jecellam, Merakasa housed a city within a city. This nucleus, or unlanced abscess as some saw it, was the leadership’s citadel. It was a self-contained metropolis that provided everything the ruling clan needed to keep them isolated from their subjects. So that with the exception of ceremonial occasions, or affairs of national importance where their fleeting, distant presence was unavoidable, the empire’s masters could live in shadow.

But it was necessary now and again for the elite to come into contact with the lesser mortals who served them. This could be to dispense rewards or punishments, or where news concerning their far-flung interests was best heard directly from the mouths of their representatives.

Today it was the turn of Andar Talgorian, Imperial Envoy to the Sovereign State of Bhealfa. Though the term ‘sovereign’ was misleading.

Whether he had been summoned to Merakasa for reward, punishment or the imparting of news was something

Ambassador Talgorian never entirely knew in advance. Which made his job all the more exciting. Exciting in the sense that a drowning man thrown a lead weight as a life-belt might use the word.

This wasn’t the only reason the Envoy always found an audience with the Empress an unnerving experience. She was a disquieting presence. Partly this was due to the power she wielded, and the knowledge that his life was worth no more than a capricious snap of her fingers. Partly, he had to admit, it was her appearance.

He couldn’t begin to guess how old Bethmilno XXV was, beyond very old indeed. Like her Rintarahian counterparts, whom Talgorian had never seen, she sought to disguise the ravages of age. So she caked her face in white rouge, and coloured her lips in pigment redder than blood. Her eyelashes, eyebrows and suspiciously full head of hair were all densely blackened. That all this looked so synthetic was due either to the artlessness of her maids or to the fact that her great age was beyond masking.

He sat opposite her in a grand reception room on the palace’s ground floor, where one entire wall was occupied by casement windows, affording a panoramic view of the estate. A subterranean power channel ran beneath the chamber. He knew this because the imperial household kept the tradition of marking out these conduits of magic, and a tincture had been used to show its course across the floor. The incongruous gold line, ramrod straight, passed almost exactly through the centre of the apartment. He thought despoiling the room in this way took respect for custom too far.

But the outrage to Talgorian’s aesthetic sense was forgotten when, midway through their conversation on security matters, the Empress declared, ‘It might well come to war.’

The Envoy was taken aback. ‘Excellency?’

Feigning patience, Bethmilno spelt it out. ‘With the other side.’ She almost always referred to Rintarah as ‘the other side’.

‘Forgive me being dull-witted, Excellency, but we’ve been fighting against Rintarah with proxy wars for a very long time.’

‘I’m referring to

open

war; a direct confrontation.’

‘May I be so bold as to ask what has brought you to consider such an option, ma’am?’

‘Impatience, Ambassador. I grow weary of this eternal game of cat and mouse with them.’

‘Would not stepping up our present activities be sufficient, Excellency?’

‘How?’

‘Perhaps by offering more assistance to the insurgents within Rintarah’s borders?’

‘It may have escaped your attention, Ambassador, that giving money to their terrorists amounts to handing it to our own. Besides, I regard the so-called Resistance as a disorganised rabble, and of doubtful use as a weapon against the other side.’ She anticipated his rejoinder, and waved it away. ‘I don’t say they aren’t a problem. But they could never overthrow even the smallest of our protectorates. Essentially they’re just an irritant.’

Begging to differ was more than Talgorian dared. So he fell back on diplomacy. ‘Quite so, your Highness. Although even an irritant can tie up valuable resources, and on occasion inflict real damage. As we’ve discovered in Bhealfa.’

‘Yes, it does seem a particularly troublesome little island.’ She shot him an accusing look that chilled his backbone. ‘But I anticipate a lessening of their activities now that I’ve ordered our law enforcers to bear down more heavily on the insubordinates.’

He wanted to believe that would happen.

‘And in that respect,’ she went on, ‘authorising the Council

for Internal Security to operate beyond our shores strengthens our hand immeasurably. I could wish we’d done that long since. Commissioner Laffon himself is in Bhealfa at the moment, as you know, and proving as loyal a servant as ever.’

Talgorian noted her approving tone, and judged it prudent to show his solidarity with someone she favoured. But he kept it low-key. It didn’t do to be

too

closely associated with a man who might yet fall. ‘A commendably industrious worker, Excellency. The Commissioner has already been instrumental in at least one high-profile arrest.’

‘Indeed. And if he succeeds in Bhealfa, as I have no doubt he will, the CIS will have my blessing to extend its operations to all other protectorates.’

Making Laffon even more powerful,

Talgorian thought. But his only response was a smile.

‘However, we drift from the point,’ the Empress continued. ‘Some of my advisors-’ by which she meant her family ‘-have expressed concern about the progress of this new northern warlord, Zerreiss. For myself, I have yet to be entirely convinced that he represents any kind of threat to our interests, though one or two factors have given me pause.’ She meant the upheavals in the essence, but naturally wouldn’t mention that to Talgorian. The knowledge required to read the matrix was available only to those of her blood, and was never to be revealed to outsiders. ‘We must be alive to the possibility, no matter how remote, of a pact between the warlord and our enemies.’ She fixed her stern gaze upon him. ‘What word is there of our expedition to the northern wastelands?’

It was a question he dreaded. ‘As of yet, your Imperial Highness,’ he replied carefully, ‘we’ve had few tidings from them.’

‘None, you mean. And what about the party sent by Rintarah? Have we heard how they’re faring?’

‘Information concerning their progress is equally-’

‘So nothing about them either. We need information, yet we’re working in the dark regarding this man. And I don’t like working in the dark. Efforts to make contact will be redoubled.’

‘Excellency.’

‘And if that yields no fruit, I’ll seriously consider the option of sending you personally to the northern wastes to assess the situation.’

Talgorian suppressed a shudder. ‘I understand, Excellency.’

‘Should the barbarian and Rintarah unite,’ the Empress said, ‘the consequences could certainly include all-out conflict. But even that has its compensations. A distraction for the populace in a time of strife isn’t necessarily a bad thing.’

‘But…

war

, Excellency?’

‘I said that it

might

come to war.’ She huffed an exasperated sigh. ‘As a diplomat your impulse is towards compromise and negotiation. But there are times when the silken tongue must give way to steel.’

He bowed his head low in the customary show of obeisance. Her will was law.

‘My spies tell me that fool Melyobar continues to squander Bhealfa’s resources on harebrained schemes,’ she added.

Talgorian looked up. ‘It’s always been our policy to allow certain conquered rulers to remain in place as puppets, as your gracious Majesty knows. It’s proved a cost-effective way of administering protectorates.’

‘It’s a close-run thing in this case. His excesses have come near to draining the coffers. Perhaps it’s time to rethink the whole issue of titular rulers of our colonies.’

‘It is worth considering that peoples taken into the empire’s embrace, ma’am, are generally more manageable if their own leaders remain in office. They tend to respect the monarchs they know.’

‘What respect can the rabble have for a madman?’

Talgorian was mindful that hereditary rulers could be touchy about suggestions of insanity, despite what they might say.

‘Mad, Excellency? That is perhaps a

little

harsh.’

Prince Melyobar had spent the morning chatting with his dead father.

Not that he was dead as far as the Prince was concerned, albeit the many experts who had been consulted remained undecided on the matter.

Melyobar’s discussion with his technically late parent, King Narbetton, had proved very beneficial. He now knew what further elements were needed to ensure the success of his plan. A plan that would result in the exposure and inevitable death of Death.

At the moment, the Prince was nervous. A case could be made for him being in a constant state of nervousness, but under the present circumstances he was even more jumpy than usual. He always was when forced to bring his moving court to a standstill, however briefly. And the pausing of Melyobar’s travelling abode was such a rare event that once word got out, people came from far and wide just to watch. This added to the Prince’s trepidation, and ever more elaborate defences had been put in place to protect him from his ultimate enemy. For who was to say that the reaper wouldn’t use the commotion to slip through unnoticed?

The royal palace was stationary, but continued to float despite its immensity, hovering at roughly the height of a farmhouse roof. In order to help guarantee the Prince’s safety, he had ordered all the other magically impelled castles and villas of his courtiers to continually orbit the palace. The result was a gigantic merry-go-round, covering many acres of verdant countryside. An arrangement which, if viewed from the air, looked like a queen bee circled by anxious drones.

Beyond the circling mansions and chateaux a vast temporary encampment had sprung up, girdling the whole affair. Here the thousands of court followers had billeted themselves, resembling an army preparing for battle. An instant town of tents and lean-tos, herds of horses and idle wagons. For many of its occupants, being still was an uncommon experience. For some, born on the move, it was completely novel.

At the motionless palace itself, a walkway had been erected, running from its lower levels down to the ground. Its elevation was gentle, and it was wide enough to allow two wagons to travel abreast. The function of the gangplank was to take on cargo. Normally, provisions of all kinds were loaded in transit, and many elaborate contrivances and procedures had been devised to achieve this. But occasionally the unusual nature of certain cargoes defeated the cunning of the Prince’s engineers.

Melyobar sat on a throne placed at the top of the walkway, looking over everything being brought aboard. He had an aide at his side and a bevy of minions dancing attendance. As the cargo was led, steered, carried and dragged past him, and identified by the aide if required, the Prince indicated acceptance or refusal. All the items, without exception, were in pairs.

Two thoroughbred horses were nodded through, followed by a couple each of donkeys and oxen. A bull and a cow were herded past, along with sheep, goats, pigs and boars.

‘Let’s take all useful beasts as read, shall we?’ the Prince decreed.

‘Very good, your Majesty,’ the aide confirmed, scribbling a note.

All variant breeds of horses, sheep, goats and the like were consequently hurried by. But Melyobar’s definition of a useful animal was by no means consistent.

‘Are all dogs to be considered acceptable, Majesty?’ the aide wondered, as a yapping, barking horde approached.

‘Yes.

No.

I don’t like those.’ He pointed to pairs of bulldogs and pugs, which were promptly hived-off. ‘Ugly brutes.’

Cats he said yes to, as he was fond of them. But he saw no benefit in accepting mice or rats. Frogs, too, were vetoed.

He had no doubt that those who served him burned with curiosity about the menagerie he was gathering. But of course none dared question him on it. Besides, it was none of their business.

‘What’s that?’ the Prince demanded of a soldier carrying a straw-lined box. The man showed it to him. Two tortoises dozed inside. ‘I’m not sure these things serve much purpose,’ Melyobar remarked.

The soldier looked to the aide. ‘That’s a no,’ the aide mouthed at him. The tortoises were taken to the reject line.

A stag and a deer went past. Then a variety of fowl were shown. Melyobar was keen on the eagles and hawks, and a diversity of songbirds were admitted. A cockerel and a hen were let in, naturally, but the Prince dithered over the owls. Eventually he nodded, but was firm about partridges, which he thought ungainly. Swans and geese went through. There was some doubt about ducks, until he was reminded that they provided eggs, as did quail. Pigeons and doves passed the test.

A batch of exotics from far-flung lands appeared, causing no little excitement. Two tigers, well manacled and with three handlers apiece, were paraded.

‘Excellent for sport,’ Melyobar declared.

He was no less enthusiastic about a lion and lioness. When a pair of crocodiles slithered into view, however, he was less eager. ‘Can’t see how you could do much more than club them to death. Not much sport in that.’

‘Quite so, Majesty.’ The aide waved the crocodiles aside, and wrote himself a memo concerning alligators.

The coming of the elephants was an awesome sight. Their

legs were shackled in robust iron, and each had a skilled rider on its neck. None of that mitigated their sheer size, and the Prince cricked his neck staring up at them.

‘Extraordinary,’ he allowed. ‘But have they a use?’

‘Indeed, sire. As beasts of burden they’re unsurpassed. And it is said their appearance on a field of battle has a most salutary effect.’

He was convinced.

The camels made him laugh, and they were admitted on that basis. He was baffled by a couple of giant, slow-moving lizards, green-scaled, with flicking tongues.

‘If I wanted grotesques,’ he decided, ‘I could have glamours conjured.’

The lizards were taken way.

Snakes he likewise forsook, but was persuaded to relent in the case of several species whose venom, his head apothecary explained, had healing properties.

He kept the monkeys, which he found amusing, and likewise two saucy parrots. Insects he universally refused, seeing this as an opportunity to be rid of them. Though he did hesitate when a pair of exquisitely marked butterflies were produced. They fluttered in a charm-warmed glass container to preserve them from the autumn chill.

‘Such creatures are problematic, Majesty,’ his aide said.

‘They are?’

‘Insects require other insects on which to feed. I don’t believe it’s possible to be selective about them, Majesty.’

‘What about the birds? They eat insects, don’t they?’

‘Ah. You’re absolutely right, of course, sir; some do.’ He wrote himself yet another note. ‘I’ll look into that.’

‘Yes to rabbits,’ Melyobar announced as they were carted on in a wooden hutch. ‘But definitely no more than two, mind!’

Moles he thought useless for all but irksome tunnelling. But badgers were let aboard, as were the brown bears. Baiting

was one of his favourite pastimes, and he had to think of future leisure.

Then they began toting barrels and tubs of fish to him. Most he agreed to, but he turned away those he didn’t like the look of. So pike, eels and catfish found no home. Crabs and lobsters he wanted because he relished their taste.

He glanced at the seemingly endless line of animals and their handlers making their way up the gangplank. And now a line of rejects was working its way down on the other side. In the confusion it was hard to keep predators and prey apart, and there was a deal of snapping, slashing and biting. The noise and smell was growing intense. A clean-up crew had its work cut out shovelling away droppings.

‘Are there many more?’ the Prince asked.

‘We’ve barely begun. You did order two of everything, Majesty.’

Hunting parties were scouring the land for mating pairs. He had agents purchasing specimens from zoos and private collections, and bartering with merchants as they returned from foreign climes.

His father’s instructions had been quite explicit. Animals were to be acquired two by two, to serve the Prince’s needs in a world in which there was no death. Or, indeed, many other human beings. Melyobar determined to marshal his stamina and see it through, for the sake of the plan. And for his salvation.

An unseemly honking and a fleshy slapping sound broke his reverie. A walrus waddled over for its audience, its mate close behind. Attendants walked ahead of them, holding out fish to keep them moving, while others doused them with buckets of water.

The walrus turned its whiskery face up to the Prince and they locked gazes.

He thought its eyes were very sad.