The Trials of Empire, page 23
“Yes,” I said slowly. Something in Vonvalt’s tone made me suddenly defensive.
“It is one of the few things he has left, since you burned the rest of the books in the sanctum.” He did not pose it as a question, and so I did not answer it as one.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“If you had seen those demons—” I began, but Vonvalt’s expression shifted.
“No, no, Helena, I am not blaming you,” he said, though it felt like that was precisely what he was doing. But before I could give him some choice words of my own, he said, “Well, we shall just have to think of a way to deal with those as well.”
“You are relentless, aren’t you,” Sir Radomir said with respect. “I confess… I have long abandoned hope for a successful outcome.”
“I know,” Vonvalt replied. Sir Radomir looked as though he had been slapped. “It is precisely why I must not. But seeing as we are confessing things to one another, then I have to tell you, I am absolutely exhausted of… this. All of this. Claver, the Templars, the Patricians… The whole lot of it. This ordeal will claim my life, I am sure of it. And I would welcome the end if I didn’t know what interdimensional horrors lay beyond the threshold.” He said, echoing my own sentiments. “From a living hell to a dying one. What a choice.”
Sir Radomir poured Vonvalt a generous measure of wine and passed him the goblet. With his thirst slaked, Vonvalt finally indulged.
“You asked me what Senator Jansen’s instructions were,” Sir Radomir said. “He is planning something. The coup has been a fractured and disorganised affair and I think he is deliberately orchestrating it so that it will fail. I know not the workings of his mind, but I think he is planning a move on the College of Prognosticators. There is a cabal of Nemans in there who are receiving Claver’s instructions and directing matters accordingly. There is talk of them preparing something, too. With all this pagan shit going on I have no doubt it is something appalling and terrifying.”
Vonvalt was visibly alarmed at this news. “What is your role in this plan?”
“Nothing as yet. I am to wait here in case he has need of me. What will you do?”
“I must speak with the Emperor, and soon. We will go in the same way we came out last time – you remember it, of course.”
“Aye,” Sir Radomir said wearily. He nodded to Vonvalt. “You look as though you are about to collapse.”
“I feel like it.” He looked about the place. It was slowly filling with dawn’s light. “We will spend the daylight hours here, take some rest,” he said, to my great relief. Another daylight attempt on the palace seemed like folly. “We make for the Imperial Palace tonight.”
We rose, and Vonvalt left. I heard his footsteps tramping upstairs.
I turned to Sir Radomir and immediately pulled him into a tight embrace. “Nema, I was sure I was never going to see you again,” I whispered into his shoulder. I had missed him sorely.
Sir Radomir returned my embrace, and then held me by the shoulders at arm’s length. “How is he treating you?” he asked me quietly. He looked up at the ceiling. “Our lord and master.”
“Fine. Well. The same as always. He has a great deal on his mind.”
“Don’t we all,” Sir Radomir murmured. He studied me for a moment, my face. “Look after yourself, Helena. Understand?”
I nodded. “I will. I mean—I am.”
Sir Radomir fixed me in the eye. “If you need me, for whatever reason, I’ll come running. You understand that?”
I smiled sadly and pulled him into another embrace. “I know,” I said quietly into his ear.
Then I went to find somewhere to sleep.
We departed the house that night, leaving Sir Radomir behind in case Jansen reached out to him with any fresh instructions. I felt greatly restored after eating, drinking and sleeping my fill, as well as having changed into some clean clothes. Still, another night of tension beckoned – of sneaking around, the threat of death hanging heavy over our heads.
Once again we crept through the city. We moved a little more surely, a little more quickly through the parts that Jansen had told us were largely clear of Savaran forces, though loyalist Imperial Guard were notable in their absence. Still, for all we moved cautiously, it was not a long journey, a little way down the Creus Road and then down to the embankment again. Opposite us, across the river, the Temple of Nema reared into the sky.
It took a much longer time to find the concealed entrance to the dungeon. It had not occurred to either of us that it might have been found and filled in, and fortunately it had not been. If it had, I do not know what we would have done. It already felt as though we were on borrowed time.
The tunnel, barely three feet across, was of course pitch-black. It was a long, claustrophobic crawl through reeking, effluent-infused soil – “shit mud”, as Sir Radomir would have called it – and there was no space to turn around inside. And all that was leaving aside where it led; after all, we came out into the Imperial dungeons. We ran a non-negligible risk of simply being killed out of hand the moment we emerged.
I was long used to taking risks in Vonvalt’s service, but the crawl through that tunnel I remember with particular clarity. I imagined all manner of horrible deaths – getting trapped in a collapse, suffocating in mud, being drowned by rising river levels… In the end, of course, nothing happened except a long and tedious crawl through the murk and muck.
Eventually, we emerged into the dungeons. It was not the dungeon proper; rather it was an empty storeroom or something of that ilk, a low-ceilinged and dank chamber filled with a few scraps of old paper and other paraphernalia that smelt of age. We stood there catching our breath. Both of us trembled with exhaustion; the crawl had been half a mile in which we’d no option but to propel ourselves on our elbows and knees. We were saturated with mud and we absolutely reeked. All our efforts to clean ourselves and don fresh clothes had been an exercise in futility.
“If this doesn’t work, I shall be very unhappy,” I said.
Vonvalt laughed with great mirth and slapped me roughly on the shoulder. “Come. Let us hope that I am right; Nema knows we are due some good luck.”
We fumbled our way through a succession of empty, disused chambers and corridors. The first time we had made this journey, both of us had just survived the initial stages of torture and had had our heads covered with bags. We were moving blindly, with only our innate sense of direction to guide us.
Eventually, we stumbled across a small dungeon, a far cry from the impressive – and impressively terrifying – main dungeon which housed the Truth-taker. It was an unremarkable, damp place, and largely empty. Lattices of iron bars demarcated individual cells, but the only light came from a single torch at the very far end of the chamber.
“Just stay behind me and do as I do,” Vonvalt said as we advanced down the walkway. Rounding the corner at the end, we came across a single guard, a long-haired and bearded man clad in a simple doublet and breeches who was attending to some papers in the wan firelight. Next to him on the floor was a breastplate and a short sword stacked against the wall.
Vonvalt cleared his throat, and the man looked up sharply. His mouth fell open at the sight of us.
Vonvalt held out his hand to demonstrate that he had no dagger in his hands, though he had kept the short sword from the slain Guardsman. “Please listen to me carefully,” he said. “I need to speak with the Emperor.”
The guard immediately lunged for his sword.
“Sit still,” Vonvalt said in the Emperor’s Voice, and the guard froze mid-lunge and toppled on to the floor. Vonvalt reached out and picked up his short sword, and handed it to me. Then he crouched down and helped the man back into his seat. He sat there in a daze.
“Here,” Vonvalt said, handing the guard the tankard of marsh ale which was sitting on the table. Eyeing Vonvalt unhappily, he accepted the drink, and saw it off.
“Listen to me carefully,” Vonvalt said. “I am not going to hurt you. I need your help. My name is Sir Konrad Vonvalt. Do you know who I am?”
“Y-you were the Lord Prefect,” the guard stammered, his eyes widening. “I thought you were dead, everyone did.”
“Well, here I am,” Vonvalt said. “Is the Emperor in residence?”
The man nodded.
“I need to speak with him. He will want to speak with me. Could you please arrange for that to happen?”
The guard looked uneasy.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“We shall wait here,” Vonvalt said simply.
The guard considered matters for a long time. “All right,” he said warily, and left.
We waited for what felt like an hour, but must only have been a quarter of that. Then the man returned, only this time he was accompanied by a pair of Imperial Guardsmen. One was black, a Southern Plainswoman, whilst the other was a white-skinned Sovan. Their noses wrinkled at the stench emanating from us.
“The Emperor will speak with you,” the white woman said.
Vonvalt exhaled. His grip on his short sword loosened.
“Good,” he replied.
The woman leant in close, though certainly she was not pleased to do so. “The Emperor may command us to slay you.” She looked at him meaningfully. “Know that if he does, we shall not.”
Vonvalt did not quite know what to make of that, but he inclined his head nonetheless. “Well, I am certainly grateful for that.”
The Guardsmen both turned to leave.
“You will see what I mean. Come.”
I had expected to be taken to the Emperor’s strategium, where private and extremely sensitive matters such as ours could be discussed. Instead, and to my surprise, we were taken to the Hall of Solitude.
If the hall had once felt grand and imposing, now it felt gloomy and drawn-in. Braziers, which had once kept the darkness and shadows at bay, were unlit. Instead, the only light came from the wan orange glow from the city’s street lamps, which slanted weakly through the enormous windows lining the hall.
The question of just exactly where the Imperial Guard loyalists had been was answered very quickly: here. The place was filled with them. There were at least several dozen milling about, with more visible in the chambers that sat between the hall and the main entrance of the palace. Vonvalt eyed them all with contempt. I knew precisely what it was he was thinking: why were they here? Why were they stuck inside, duplicating the job of Kimathi a hundred times over, instead of out there, retaking the city?
The wolfman himself was there, too, motionless. Armed with new context, I noticed things about him that I had not before: his armour was the same as that worn by members of the Grasvlaktekraag, and the sash about his waist was in the Westereik Dynastic colours. It was strange to think that he had a brother in Ran-Jirika, whom I had met. Hell, he had a whole family – a noble family, for all intents and purposes – back in the Kyarai.
Finally, my attention settled on the throne, where the Emperor himself was slouched. He looked gaunt and haggard, his skin wax pale, his beard and hair unkempt. Nothing – the Autun of wrought gold, the Kliner tapestry behind him, the fine marble of the pyramid beneath the throne, his magnificent cloth-of-gold robes – none of it could elevate him above the shabby, despondent old man that he was. His transformation into this wretched, deflated creature was a remarkable thing to behold.
“Sir Konrad Vonvalt,” he declared. His voice echoed unkindly across the chamber. Everyone looked over to us. We cut the shabbiest of figures, clad in our muddy, reeking rags; and yet, in spite of this, Vonvalt still managed to look the more imperious.
“Majesty,” Vonvalt said tightly. He made no obeisance, and physically prevented me from doing so as well. The Emperor regarded this spectacle with a sneer.
“So. You make a point of disrespecting me.”
“You exiled me,” Vonvalt said, his voice ice. “You disbanded the Magistratum and sentenced me to death. I am afraid you will have to endure a little frostiness.”
The Emperor’s sneer transformed to a grin, and then he laughed heartily. “Blood of gods, Konrad, you never did have a head for politics did you?”
Vonvalt made a show of looking around the Hall of Solitude. “I might say the same of Your Majesty.”
The Emperor’s laughter died immediately. There was an intake of breath from the group of advisers hovering near the door. I looked at Kimathi briefly, to see if there was any flicker of emotion there; but the huge Kasar simply stood as he always did, immobile, like a statue.
“You are currently alive, Sir Konrad, because I am intrigued. I am most intrigued. How did you come to be here? Precisely where have you been? And how did you slip past my guards? Once these questions have been answered, rest assured you shall perish.”
Vonvalt did not seem to be in the least bit concerned by this. He jabbed a thumb into his chest and snapped, “I have been doing what you should have been doing. What I have been warning you about for months. Opposing Bartholomew Claver. Calling on our allies. Gathering forces together. Trying to disrupt our enemies. And yet I find the capital ready to accept the Templars with open arms. You must—”
“Must? I must? Kasivar Prince of fucking Hell, I cannot believe what I am hearing! I can. Not. Believe. It. Truly!” The Emperor sat forward in his throne, spittle flecking his lips, his face a mask of rage. He seemed to experience a brief spasm whilst he considered his different options, before he settled on: “In the name of Nema, Rainer, kill them. Kill them both, right now!”
No one moved. Kimathi stood stock-still. The clusters of Imperial Guard arrayed about the Hall of Solitude remained where they were. Everyone else – for there were plenty of other people in there, too, from advisers to members of the Royal household – watched this scene aghast.
“I said kill them! Nema’s blood, do it! Now!”
The Guardswoman who had forewarned us of this stepped forward. “Remain where you are,” she said loudly to her subordinates.
I was surprised at how calmly the Emperor took this piece of treachery, almost as though he had expected it. He reclined in his throne. “Enemies without, enemies within,” he said, darkly amused. “What about you, Warden?” he asked Kimathi. “Would you still obey my orders as your oaths demand? Would you kill Sir Konrad, here?”
Kimathi said nothing – did nothing. The Emperor’s lip curled.
“I am not your enemy,” Vonvalt said. “Though Nema knows, I should be.”
“Well why aren’t you, then?” the Emperor snapped, petulant.
“Because some of us must rise above these things if we are to preserve the realm. I have said many times that my interest is in safeguarding the lives of the commonfolk. Your subjects. That is all I have ever been interested in. That the preservation of the Imperial throne aligns with that goal is at this point a bare convenience.”
“Do you know, Sir Konrad, that you may just be the most offensively insolent man I have ever met?”
Vonvalt opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He looked critically at the Emperor. When he spoke, it was with confusion. “Majesty… has someone…” He paused again, and took a few steps forward. There was a general stirring, but no one moved to intercept him. “You are not the man I know.”
The Emperor regarded Vonvalt with astonishment. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Vonvalt squinted at him. “You have been shown things. Things to break your spirit. There is an aura of despair about you – I can all but…” he rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, as if examining some oily substance “… see it.”
The Emperor shifted uncomfortably in his throne. “I have seen certain things, aye,” he admitted. “In my dreams. My nightmares,” he added bitterly.
Vonvalt advanced another step. “What things?” he asked in a careful tone.
The Emperor’s expression hardened. “Things no mortal man should have to bear witness to!” he snapped, suddenly infused with energy. “Face it, Sir Konrad! Your mission ends in failure. It all ends in failure. There is nothing to do now but wait for the clock to stop ticking. I have seen it, you have seen it. Even your bloody girl here has seen it!”
My blood surged as attention unexpectedly fell on me. The mark of the Trickster on my chest ached like an old wound. Somewhere in the back of the Hall of Solitude, I heard a drip, drip, dripping of something pattering against the marble.
“Majesty, this matter is far from over. Sova has weathered rebellion before, and under our careful guidance, it shall do so again. The commonfolk have been led astray by promises of – well, all manner of things – but the brutal realities of a theocratic dictatorship will soon become apparent. But the time to act is now. I would share with you my plans – in private.”
The Emperor regarded Vonvalt for a long time. He had been made to look a fool – indolent, incompetent, and worse, tainted by these visions which had left him miserly and depressed – and Vonvalt was not going to give him a way to save face, either. I expected him to refuse outright and force the issue, but to mine and everyone else’s surprise, he acquiesced.
“Fine,” he muttered. “I will hear what you have to say.” He pressed himself up, and walked down the steps which led away from his throne. “Let us speak in the strategium.”
“You,” Vonvalt said, pointing rudely to the Imperial Guardswoman who had but a minute before saved his life. “What is your name?”
“Serjeant Rainer, sire,” she replied.
“You come with us, too.”
The Emperor cast a sidelong glance at Vonvalt, but said nothing.
And just like that, Vonvalt became the de facto Emperor of Sova.
We made for the strategium, up that horse-powered elevator that provided the only access – or rather, the only access that I would ever know. Once we had achieved the top, I looked out across the dark, silent city, and shivered. Sova was in the grip of a profound eeriness that night.
We sat down. The Emperor walked the length of the map table, retrieved a bottle of wine and several goblets, and poured each of us a generous measure. Rainer, unused to these private luxuries, seemed very much out of her depth.
