The Trials of Empire, page 14
“I have heard of this. Sir Anzo told us, too.”
“Yes. The Kasaraad is losing patience. They believe the Empire is fixing to move south since its eastward expansion has been such an abject failure. It has been difficult to disabuse them of the notion. What you have told me this night goes a long way to explaining matters.”
Vonvalt leant forward, clasping his hands. “Excellency, I will be direct. My reason for being here is to beseech the Kasaraad for an army. I need soldiers. Powerful soldiers, soldiers who are familiar with the arcana and how it operates. I need as many Kasar as can be spared in order to engage Claver in the field, as far south of Sova as possible.”
Danai regarded Vonvalt for a long while. “I think Sir Anzo was right.”
“Right about what?”
“I think you will have extreme difficulty in convincing them to part with their soldiers. They do not have an army, not in the same way the Empire has—”
“I know that. Sir Anzo told me of the Grasvlaktekraag. They seem ideally suited for the task. Really, it would simply be an extension of what it is they are already doing. They would still be protecting the northern border; just several hundred miles further north.”
Danai sat back, thinking about this for a moment.
“I just cannot think of circumstances in which they will simply allow you to recruit their northern garrison. Think if the situation were reversed. And besides, you are no longer an agent of the Crown. The Magistratum has been disbanded. If anything, I should be ordering your arrest and execution. You are, technically speaking, a traitor.”
“Now listen here!” I turned sharply. It was von Osterlen who had spoken. Her resolve had evidently been bolstered by Vonvalt’s speech in the Spiritsraad. “Everything Sir Konrad has said is true. Sova has been overcome by brigands. The Emperor is indolent and Claver is a wound that has been left to fester. Once we might have lost merely a foot. Now we must cut off the whole leg. We are well past these niceties. It is time to take drastic measures. Make sure you are on the right side of history. Excellency.”
Danai accepted this minor tirade with the same expression one might wear when presented with a mouldy orange.
“You have power, here,” von Osterlen continued. “You are authorised to act on behalf of the Emperor, with absolute discretion, in the interests of the Empire. Well, I am telling you that it is in the interests of the Empire that Claver be stopped. It is, by happy accident, also in the interests of the Kasar, because I can tell you now, Claver will not suffer others to practise the arcana. He will seek first to consolidate and then to monopolise his power. He has already struck a bargain with Iliyana of Casimir that Kòvosk and the wider Confederation be left alone in exchange for blackpowder. Once he has withdrawn the Legions and weeded out any of those who will not rally to his cause, what do you think he is going to do with all those tens of thousands of men?”
Danai shifted uncomfortably. “You do not represent the Empire.”
“But you do,” Vonvalt said firmly. “Besides; the testimony of those Hyernakryger from the Spiritsraad should bolster your entreaties.”
“My entreaties?”
“Yes. The reason you have detained us is to hear an explanation, is it not?”
“If I have detained you it is only for your protection. It is a miracle the three of you are still alive.”
“Yes, but I asked you a question,” Vonvalt snapped. Danai looked at him sharply. “Excellency,” he added.
Danai sighed loudly. “I understand your position, Sir Konrad. And, I will freely admit, what you say does dovetail with the matters I have been apprised of – small morsels though they may be.”
“You will pass on my requests, then? Argue our case? You can tell them that their purpose is to kill as many Templars as they can. They should enjoy that.”
Danai grunted. “I will do what I can. But I warn you: you should be prepared for failure. The Kasar are inflexible and they are prone to infighting.”
“No different from the Senate, then.”
“No. Perhaps not. We shall find out soon enough.”
We spent the remains of the night in the ambassador’s residence, and much of the following day, too. We had been advised to distance ourselves from Sir Anzo, and Danai had dispatched servants to discreetly recover our belongings from the old Sovan’s residence.
The following morning Danai left early and made for the Spiritsraad, accompanied by her guard. She bade us wait in situ, and the servants provided us with fruit platters to break our fast, which we picked at idly, and a drink called kafé, a type of hot tea made from roasted and ground beans which was supposed to be sipped slowly. I found the drink to be bitter, and it made me feel lightheaded and anxious, and I had only about half of mine.
The servants informed us apologetically that they had not been able to remove the bloodstains from our clothes, and instead provided us with fresh local garments in much the same vein as those Sir Anzo had provided us with – loose, light fabrics which were designed to keep the wearer cool and protect skin from the sun. For me it was another white kirtle fixed at the waist with a sash of orange silk.
The morning was a tense one. We were used to constantly moving, constantly striving for and achieving the next goal. The unstructured time unsettled us. I felt pent-up. Von Osterlen spent most of the morning meditating in prayer; I joined Vonvalt on a balcony which overlooked the street, and together we watched Port Talaka come to life.
“It is remarkable,” he said. He nursed a glazed clay pot of kafé, which he had taken an immediate liking to, though it had given him an excitable, agitated air. The view was indeed extraordinary; the long channels of the Yaro Delta, sparkling gold in the morning sunlight; the old stepped pyramids, rising out of the city like the spikes of a morningstar, all greys and earth reds and mustard yellows; the pleasant geometric lakes and hanging gardens; the melting pot of cultures, Southern Plainsmen, Qareshians, Zyrahns, Ereban and Balabrian Dynasts – and even the odd white-skinned Sovan – mixing with Kasar, all going about their business, much like in Sova itself.
“A whole Empire, millions of people, living here, working, trading, just going about their lives. It makes one wonder. How many more empires are out there? How many more nations can there be, entire countries of people of whom we have no notion? What other creatures are there? Who is to say it is only the Kasar and the Stygion mermen who were created by the Cataclysm? What other manner of intelligent creatures exist out in the world?”
“It boils my brain to think about,” I said absently.
“Aye, and mine. If I survive this, if we defeat Claver and restore some semblance of order to the Empire, I should like to explore it. To just… leave.”
My blood surged to hear this. It had never occurred to me that Vonvalt would leave the Empire. As he had rightly identified, he was one of its modern architects. Within these volumes I have focused on the ascendancy of Claver, but it is important not to overlook Vonvalt’s many contributions to the Two-Headed Wolf. Through his legal practice, he had moulded and shaped the Empire as effectively as any statesman.
“You would go?” I asked.
Vonvalt nodded, not taking his eyes off the city. “The world is changing. The Magistratum is disbanded. Even if we are successful in our mission, I do not think it will be reincorporated. I do not think there is a place for Justices any more. People do not trust us. The power we wield. It is too much for one person.”
My heart was pounding. Vonvalt had never spoken like this before. “Where would you…?”
He shrugged. “Here. Further south? Who knows. Perhaps I shall go east, across the steppe. Find out just exactly where it is Kòvosk has been getting all of its blackpowder from.” He snorted.
I did not say anything for a minute or two. “What would I do?” I asked quietly.
Vonvalt turned to look at me. “You are young, Helena, and intelligent, and beautiful. In Sova, every door there is will be open to you.”
I did not expect to be so stung by this, but I was. Vonvalt, and what he represented to me, was something I found myself still turning over in my mind. Sometimes I found him intolerable; other times I craved him as though I were addicted to him. Our lives were so thoroughly and inexorably entwined it was impossible not to think of him constantly. And besides, Vonvalt had confessed his love for me, or certainly something approaching that intensity of feeling. I had not forgotten the letter he had written me on his deathbed in Südenburg, the letter which I was not supposed to have seen – but which von Osterlen had slipped me. For him to now speak both candidly and casually of plans to simply disappear on some hermitage was almost physically painful to hear.
“You would not have me accompany you?”
Vonvalt shook his head sadly. “I would not shackle you to me, Helena. You know I care about you deeply—”
“Do you?” I demanded. “Do you care?”
Vonvalt’s eyes widened in brief astonishment. “Of course I do!” he said. “But—”
He stopped, his attention drawn by something on the street. It was Danai, not only accompanied by her warden, but by several Kasar clad in loose robes. They, too, wore silk sashes about their waists, each of a different pattern, and I wondered whether those fabrics denoted some kind of dynastic allegiance.
Vonvalt stood. Danai obviously saw him, for she motioned for us to come downstairs.
“We can talk about this later,” he said to me.
We made our way downstairs, gathering von Osterlen on the way. My heart, which before had been pounding with thoughts of Vonvalt’s affection – or lack thereof – now pounded with fear. I had faced death so many times, and yet I could never overcome my fear of it. I did not know how someone like Vonvalt, or Sir Radomir, or von Osterlen, did it; how they managed to overcome that physical fear of dying. I had made a good account of myself in many fights, I had endured brawls and melees and even battles, but nothing had rid me of my fear.
Danai entered the residence alone, her Kasari companions waiting outside.
“What news?” Vonvalt asked. “Will they fight?”
“We have a long way to go before we grasp that nettle. I am here to take you to the Kasaraad. You are to be questioned. Your answers will dictate what course of action the Kasar will take.”
“Regarding the Grasvlaktekraag?”
Danai shook her head. “No. Regarding whether you will be executed this afternoon.”
X
The Kasaraad
“A foreign land,
With foreign laws
No better or worse
Just different to yours.”
FROM “THE MERCHANT’S PROLOGUE”, BY DUŠANKA LILJANA
We were taken back through the city, clad in foreign garments and without any weapons. Simply being in a foreign nation carries with it some innate discomfort. Your language is useless, your customs alien, your appearance conspicuous. But here in the Kyarai, we had caused so much upset, been responsible for so much calamity – and in such a short space of time – that this feeling was exacerbated a hundredfold. I was extremely pessimistic about our prospects of survival.
Neither Vonvalt nor von Osterlen spoke as we were led through the streets. The sun climbed higher through the haze and filled the city with light, though there was cloud in the sky and it would be gloomier later. Still, it was warm, and smelt of foreign spices and incense, and in any other circumstances it would be a pleasant and adventurous time.
We were returned to that central part of Port Talaka where both the Spiritsraad and Kasaraad existed. Once again we surmounted steps too steep for our human legs, and by the time we reached the top, in spite of our light clothing, the four of us were sweating with the exertion.
“Not many humans have seen the Kasaraad in session,” Danai said as we achieved this summit. “You will be intimidated. That is natural. They will be speaking Kasari, not Kasarsprek, so I must concentrate. I will give you what information I can, but you should be prepared for this to be lengthy. I have gone to the trouble of laying some groundwork, and you are not without allies, but there are plenty who still cannot – or will not – disassociate you from the Templars.”
“Will we be given an opportunity to speak?” Vonvalt asked.
“You will be expected to,” Danai said. “But do not until I tell you. Appear contrite – they are familiar enough with humans and our emotions to know what that looks like, and it will make a difference. I will translate where appropriate, so do not speak too quickly.” She lowered her voice. “I have withheld two pieces of information; the first is that you have been disavowed; the second is that Severina is a Templar. I know that she is not a Savaran, but—” she shrugged “—the distinction will not matter.”
“Judicious omissions,” Vonvalt said, inclining his head in gratitude.
“I will do my very best, Sir Konrad, and I shall beg for clemency should the need arise. But you should be prepared to die today.”
“Then I hope,” Vonvalt said, “that your best is good enough.”
“As do I. Come, they are waiting.”
I took a great deal of comfort from the presence of Vonvalt, von Osterlen and Danai, but our entry into the Kasaraad was still an overwhelming experience. We were taken through a short corridor and into the main chamber. Here the Kasari dynastic representatives stood, one for each house – fifty in all – though there were closer to several hundred. Judging by the coloured and patterned sashes each Kasar wore, I guessed that each individual representative was supported by a small cohort of retainers.
The chamber was surprisingly Sovan in design – because that’s precisely what it was. Its plans had been drawn up by a Sovan architect almost a century before, which was why its sweeping curves, so reminiscent of the Senate, were at odds with the rest of the geometric architecture of Port Talaka. It was structured in tiers, with the more elevated the tier, the more junior the dynasty represented. There were three tiers in total, including that at ground level. Behind the benches of the highest tier was a ring of tall and broad windows which let in a great deal of sunlight. Each tier was held up by a column of jadestone, with each having been wrought into some sort of beast, presumably from Kasari legend.
The Kasari representatives let up a great clamour as we were corralled in. We were ushered into a small wooden box in the centre of the floor, which put me in mind of a witness box in a Sovan courthouse – an apt comparison, given what we were about to endure. As for the members of the Kasaraad themselves, they looked to be a diverse group. There was no specific physical feature that seemed to denote some special societal preference, such as the colour of their fur; the Kasar were human / plains wolves hybrids, rather than Sovan wolves, which gave many of them fur patterned with dark splotches and stripes. A range of colours – black, brown, orange, grey, red – were represented in equal measure. Some human sensibilities still prevailed: the females had their breasts covered, though that was the only thing that distinguished the sexes. Indeed, the only thing that seemed to unite them was advancing age: greying muzzles were in abundance.
I could not understand most of what followed. Kasari – the natural tongue of the Kasar, as distinct from Kasarsprek, the pidgin language they spoke to humans – was a curious mix of human-esque phonemes and guttural, multi-pitched growling which was to be expected from a creature that was a mixture of both human and plains wolf. It was a harsh, intimidating language, and one that hovered at the very edge of comprehension, which made it frustrating to listen to.
We watched as the Kasar spoke and shouted and gesticulated to one another – and to us – over the course of perhaps an hour. At one point, Hyernakryger were brought in, and Danai briefly explained that they were talking about the fight in the Spiritsraad. It was during this that the first respectful silence fell, and it was clear to me at least that the Hyernakryger were held in some esteem.
“They have given an accurate account,” Danai said quietly to us at the end of the testimony. “Based on what you have told me.”
“Where are Kimathi’s people?” Vonvalt asked.
Danai indicated a group of Kasar wearing sashes of orange, black and brown, a conspicuous – and conspicuously wealthy, if their gem-encrusted rings, bangles and chokers were anything to go by – collection on the lowest tier. It was clear they enjoyed great status within the Kasaraad. “The Westereik Dynasty,” she said, gesturing subtly.
“What of the—” Vonvalt began, but he was shushed by Danai as the debate resumed. Now it appeared altogether more heated, infused as it was with matters spiritual.
Eventually, some change came over the chamber, and the talking died away. A new Kasar appeared, grey-furred and elderly, clad in threadbare blue robes fastened with a sash of faded yellow. The wolfman – or wolfwoman, rather, to the extent the distinction meant anything – leant heavily on a cane of black lacquer.
“This is the Official Questioner,” Danai said to us. “Speak plainly and truthfully. I will translate, though she will be able to understand a little Saxan.”
“Let me do the talking,” Vonvalt said to von Osterlen and I, as if there would have been any other option.
The Questioner said something to Danai in that guttural tongue, and I held my breath.
Danai leant in slightly to Vonvalt. “She asks what your purpose is for being here.”
“To ask for help,” Vonvalt said. It was not the rousing bout of oratory I had expected.
Danai duly translated his words into Kasarsprek. There was a ripple around the chamber, but the Official Questioner was clearly well respected, and when she held up a hand for silence, she got it.
“Help with what?” Danai asked, and then, quietly, “You must have expected that.”
“Help to prevent the destruction of the Kyarai.”
Danai looked at him warily, pursed her lips, and translated once more. This time the Kasaraad erupted in a predictable manner, and even the Questioner had to shout several times to obtain quiet.
