Empire of the Fallen, page 34
‘We’re back on comms,’ Smith announced in his micro-comlink a few seconds later.
Yano jolted at the suddenness of the transmission. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Evidently, he had been unable to keep the start from his body language, as sa’Vah leaned forward against the straps holding him into his seat.
‘Is everything all right, Highness?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes,’ Yano said, relief washing through his body. Despite having secured the co-ordinates of Myaxomon for Seka to follow, he had still been terrified of being abandoned. He looked back out across the vast city.
‘It must seem strange, seeing your homeland again after so long. After centuries of torture at the hands of the provar.’ sa’Vah practically spat the last word.
‘It is,’ Yano murmured, then cursed himself inwardly. He didn’t know if vos’Shan had ever been to Myaxomon. It was careless, throwaway statements like that that could see him caught out.
Goddamn you, Smith, he thought. Their plan was already getting way too out of hand. They’d gone from zero to lightspeed in two days.
Ahead, the vast city seemed to bunch upwards and form a mountain, as if someone had dropped thousands of buildings from orbit into a colossal pile. On top of the huge pyramid of architecture sat an enormous palace that would have convinced the ancient Greeks that Mount Olympus was a real, tangible place, here on Myaxomon. Yano had no doubt that this colossal construction, towering over the rest of a metropolis already suffering from a surfeit of altitude, was the Imperial Palace, the seat of the Emperor and the government of the Kaygryn Empire.
‘What will happen to us now?’ Yano asked, indicating Lyra. She hadn’t spoken much since their transition from Kurwen to Myaxomon. Yano wasn’t sure whether it was because she was frightened or whether it was because she didn’t want to give anything away.
‘We have sent word ahead of your arrival. It is serendipitous; the Fleet of Reclamation has only just departed. The Prognosticators are naturally prescient, but in this instance they have predicted the timings with uncanny accuracy. I would take you to meet the Chief Prognosticator, but there is a delegation from the Conclaves who naturally take precedence.’
Yano swallowed. His anxiety must have been palpable, because sa’Vah smiled warmly. ‘I know this must seem daunting for you, Highness, but there is really nothing to fear. You are our holiest prophet, returned to us on the eve of the Reclamation. You are back among your people! There will be rejoicing in the streets!’
‘Have the people been informed of the prophet’s return?’ Lyra asked. They were the first words she’d spoken in a while.
‘The gormana have not yet been told, but they will be when the time is right,’ the priest replied. There was a trace of irritation in his voice. Yano wondered what the gender politics of the Empire were, whether the priest’s tone was more to do with Lyra being female, or simply because she was not as important as he was. Either way, it was not a good sign.
‘I expect her to be treated with the same respect and deference as you treat me,’ he said, modulating his voice to convey a slightly haughty tone.
The priest was more recalcitrant than he would have liked. ‘Of course, Highness,’ he said, but it was obvious that the ‘command’, whatever the capacity he’d had to issue one, had fallen on deaf ears.
They flew on, approaching the enormous Imperial Palace at speed. After another five minutes or so, their military escort branched away in an impeccably timed manoeuvre, leaving the space plane alone. Ahead, if he craned his neck, he could make out a landing platform at the side of the palace currently populated by another honour guard. He had to stop himself from sighing.
They touched down a few minutes later, and the debarkation ramp hissed open. A trio of officials, each in togas of differing colours and states of embellishment, waited for them. Either side, a hundred armed and armoured kaygryn snapped to attention and raised their halberds in salute, forming an archway for Yano, Lyra and sa’Vah to walk under.
‘They certainly rolled out the carpet for you,’ Smith said over the comlink.
Yano gritted his teeth.
‘In the name of His Most Excellent and Divine Majesty, Emperor vun’Daal XI, welcome, Highness, to Myaxomon!’ the foremost of the trio of officials said. He was wearing a crimson toga, trimmed with sky blue, and was bedecked in innumerable pieces of golden jewellery. ‘I am High Priest Oniser Kolvaar, First Member of the Conclave Ascendant, Leader of the Shen’ah and spiritual father to the gormana. Most precious and holy prophet, we are truly blessed that you have returned, as it was predicted, on the eve of our Reclamation. The omens are most propitious.’
There was an awkward, uncomfortable silence as Yano stood there, the warm wind tugging at his robes, as he wracked his brain for something to say. He had been a scientist, after all, a well-known, brilliant scientist, but a scientist nonetheless. It would be out of character to speak in the same way as a grand legate.
Kolvaar let his hands slowly return to his sides.
‘I am Anmet vos’Shan,’ Yano replied after a short while, bowing.
Kolvaar smiled. ‘This is—’
‘I am Executor Lorn ja’Guhrn, First Representative of the Conclave of Will and Leader of the Gormana,’ the second kaygryn said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. He was dressed in a white toga, trimmed with both crimson and sky blue. He wore some but nowhere near as much ornament as Kolvaar.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Yano replied. He felt Lyra wince next to him. He felt Smith wince in orbit above.
The last kaygryn, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, announced himself in a truculent, aggressive way. ‘I am Executor Vagr han’Kanar, Fifth Member of the Conclave Militant and nine-hundred-and-seventh Fleetmaster of the Imperial Fleet,’ he growled. Kolvaar gave the kaygryn a sideways glance.
‘Anick sa’Vah, High Priest of Kurwen, has told us that you are Anmet vos’Shan reincarnate, that you speak sacred Old Argish and that you bleed clear blood,’ Kolvaar said officiously. Yano found his attention drifting to the arms of the kaygryn honour guard, which were surely aching as they held their halberds aloft. Yano had suffered through enough diplomatic introductions to learn to tune them out.
sa’Vah stirred behind Yano. ‘I did indeed, Ascended One,’ he said. Yano detected a hint of discomfort in the priest’s voice. Now that they were here, surrounded by all the trappings of the highest functions of the state, it must have seemed ridiculous even to the provincial holy man that Yano was a prophet incarnate. But, like Yano, the kaygryn was in too deep. Here, among the harsh, savvy eyes of the governing minds of the Empire, there was no option but to forge ahead.
‘This, after the College of Prognosticators foretold your return,’ Kolvaar continued. ‘This truly is a holy day. I must say, the resemblance you bear to the frescoes of the Folhara are striking. Highness, will you accompany us inside? We three would dearly love to hear what you have to say, to accept your teachings and disseminate them to the gormana so that their lives can be—’
‘Get on with it, priest,’ han’Kanar snapped. Yano had to stop himself from wincing. A few of the kaygryn behind him stirred.
‘Please, Highness,’ Kolvaar said, patiently ignoring the fleetmaster and gesturing with his left hands. ‘And what might we call your companion and protector?’
He was referring to Lyra. Yano realised, with a jolt of adrenaline, that they hadn’t actually given her a kaygryn name yet.
‘I am Yanna ly’Rah,’ she replied, taking a step forward.
‘Original,’ Seka muttered over the comlink.
‘Yanna ly’Rah is from Ven’Ya,’ sa’Vah volunteered from behind them.
‘One of the core worlds,’ Kolvaar remarked. ‘We cannot wait to hear what tales you have to tell. Come.’
Yano swallowed but forced a smile as they were led inside. Behind, the honour guard performed a sequence of elaborate drill moves, the hafts of their halberds ringing against the platform like drummers at the gallows.
They were led through a maze of cold stone corridors crowded with ornaments. Imperial prizes—vases, jewels, marbles, busts—lined the walls, while thick fabric tapestries displayed the subjugation of hundreds of alien races Yano had never even heard of. In those that appeared to depict religious scenes, the demons looked uncannily like provar.
They were led down a long colonnade that looked out over the northern stretches of the city, currently drenched in bright morning sunlight. If Yano closed his eyes, the sounds of the metropolis seemed almost human—the rumble of vehicles and the whine of skimmers, the distant babble of hundreds of voices, the trill of the local avifauna. Even the air smelled like distant Vargonroth, hot and dusty and filled with pollutants.
The three officials who led them—and the pair of armed guards who led them—did not speak as they walked through the palace complex. Yano wondered, with a horrible sense of anxiety, whether they were being taken to meet the Emperor as sa’Vah had excitedly predicted, but their journey ended in a huge, vaulted room, its north side columned and open to the elements, thin gossamer drapes fluttering in a pleasant breeze. It was well appointed with what looked like incredibly old, ornate furniture, and in the middle of the room was a dais with a long table laden with food. Yano found his stomach grumbling despite his nerves.
‘Even holy reincarnated prophets have to eat, it seems,’ han’Kanar said pointedly.
‘That is enough, Vagr,’ Kolvaar admonished, availing himself of a comfortable-looking chaise longue. ‘Please, Highness, have a seat.’
‘Stop calling him that,’ han’Kanar snapped. ‘Prophet my sheath.’
Yano’s—clear—blood sang with adrenaline. Did they know? Had it all been a ruse from the very beginning? For the first time since this debacle had begun, doubt about their story had been openly expressed.
‘You aren’t acting regal enough,’ Smith’s voice sounded across the comlink. The line was crackly and rife with atmospheric disturbance. ‘They aren’t buying it. You need to convince them you’re holy. Start talking like a bloody ghost.’
Yano had to stop himself from screaming.
‘Shut up, please, Vagr,’ Kolvaar said. ‘Do you doubt the observations of the Emperor’s holy agents?’
‘It will take more than the ramblings of one mad priest from Kurwen to convince me that this creature is Anmet vos’Shan reincarnate. The provar killed him a thousand years ago.’
‘The word of the High Priest of the Overpresidence of Kurwen—’
‘I am Anmet vos’Shan!’ Yano shouted as imperiously as he could muster. Next to him, Lyra jumped.
The room lapsed into stunned silence. The three officials turned to face him. He would have put money on them having forgotten he was still there.
‘I am sorry if I am not what you were expecting. When I was taken by the provar, I was not a holy man. My… reincarnation has done little except addle my mind. Perhaps you were expecting someone more sanguine talking in nothing but beatitudes.’
The three kaygryn looked at him. Kolvaar wore a wry smile. jah’Guhrn’s expression was unreadable. han’Kanar continued to look aggressively irritated.
‘You must forgive us, Highness,’ Kolvaar said eventually, wryly. ‘You do not reach our respective positions in the Conclaves without becoming a little jaded. I’m sure Vagr wishes more than anything he could share in the enthusiasm of my brothers of the shen’ah, but like me, he also has a duty to protect the gormana. We must carefully manage the news of your return. We do not wish to start a panic.’
‘What is it about me that you find unbelievable?’ Yano asked han’Kanar placidly. The fleetmaster huffed his distaste.
‘Do not push me, prophet,’ he snapped. ‘Just because you talk like my grandfather’s grandfather doesn’t mean you are who you say you are.’
‘That is an interesting point,’ ja’Guhrn said thoughtfully, breaking his silence. ‘Your dialect is astonishingly old. I confess I have to listen very carefully to understand you. Where else do they speak like this in the Empire? Old Argish died out centuries ago, and only the most dedicated scholars of the Imperial College can speak it with any degree of fluency.’
Kolvaar turned to the fleetmaster with a smile on his face. ‘Well, Vagr?’
‘So he has access to public documents and an education,’ han’Kanar said, shrugging. ‘A talented fake. We waste our time with this clown. I say we execute him.’
Yano felt his mouth flood with saliva and his lips begin to splay. It was an odd, evidently kaygryn reaction to the fleetmaster’s words, but completely commensurate with human dread. Despite the priest’s and the politician’s words, Yano did not think that anyone could stop han’Kanar if he tried to kill him.
‘By the gods, Vagr, will you show some respect!’ Kolvaar snapped. ‘This is the Father of the Empire, present at the very beginnings of the Rift, Navigator of the Anohat and Reclaimer of our Birthright. The Prognosticators themselves told of his return at this exact time!’
han’Kanar scowled. When he spoke, it was in a dangerous, low tone. ‘Of course, it would be of the greatest benefit for the Conclave Ascendant if this character were indeed Anmet vos’Shan, wouldn’t it?’
‘Hello,’ Smith said, sensing a cache of intelligence. ‘Disunity? Press them.’
‘You speak out of turn, Vagr,’ Kolvaar warned.
‘Stop this bickering, please!’ ja’Guhrn snapped, all four of his hands clenched into fists. ‘This could well be the most important day in the history of the Empire since the Rift. Let us address the facts. His return was predicted by the Prognosticators—as was the end of the crusade fleets, the latter of which came true. He speaks Old Argish with a cadence and fluency that only a true native could. And he bleeds clear blood, according to the High Priest of Kurwen, an educated kaygryn and the voice of the shen’ah.’
‘And where in the legend does it say that vos’Shan will return with clear blood?’ han’Kanar growled.
‘And the Father of the Empire will return to them when the Empire has need, and by his life blood, clear of all the sins of the Brothers in shen, the Kaygryn will be Ascended and Reclaim their Home Lands,’ Kolvaar intoned smugly. ‘The fifth scripture of the Book of Lon.’
Thank sweet Christ for the Book of Lon, Yano thought.
‘Bah,’ han’Kanar grunted, waving his hand. ‘I know a better way to disprove this nonsense.’
‘Vagr—’ ja’Guhrn started, but the fleetmaster was already striding across the room. He shouldered past Lyra, opened the door, and snatched one of the halberds from the guards outside.
‘Stop!’ Lyra shouted.
‘Yano, watch out!’ Seka shouted over the comlink.
‘Quiet!’ Smith snapped.
‘Vagr!’ Kolvaar shouted, but han’Kanar expertly launched the halberd like a javelin. Yano had time to feel his bowels loosen before the blade sang past him and embedded itself in the wall beyond. His heart thumped so hard it felt as though it were about to punch through his sternum. The smell of ionised air filled his big, kaygryn nostrils where the charged blade had scorched the air.
‘By the Ancients!’ Kolvaar shouted angrily, rushing to Yano’s side. The blade had scored a thread-thin, five-centimetre line across his top left shoulder. The flesh had parted only a few millimetres. Clear perfluorocarbon blood, like plasma, welled up from the wound and soaked his fur.
‘By the Ancients,’ Kolvaar repeated. He looked up into Yano’s eyes. ‘How is this possible?’
han’Kanar strode back across the room, once more pushing Lyra out of the way, and grabbed Yano roughly by the arms. Though his features remained a picture of distaste, even he could not conceal his surprise.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked Yano gruffly. ‘Some disease?’ There was doubt in the fleetmaster’s voice for the first time. Without a working knowledge of medical technology—which he assumed, like the average UN citizen, the kaygryn were largely shielded from—the perfluorocarbon blood would have seemed nothing short of miraculous.
‘How can that possibly be explained?’ ja’Guhrn whispered.
‘I am Anmet vos’Shan,’ Yano said as steadily as he could, trying to keep his voice from trembling. ‘I have returned to you on the eve of Reclamation.’
A deep silence seized the room. han’Kanar visibly wrestled with his conscience. Eventually, he said, ‘It’s a trick. The provar have turned you. You’re their man.’
‘Vagr, please,’ Kolvaar said. ‘How could the Cursed Ones possibly accomplish such a task?’
‘I would not put it past them,’ the fleetmaster growled. ‘They are desperate. Their crusade fleets and tactics have not evolved for centuries. Now we are more powerful than they ever were. This pretender could be a plant, here to whip up the gormana into a frenzy.’
‘Listen to yourself,’ ja’Guhrn said. ‘Your theory is preposterous.’
‘And the reincarnation of a thousand-year-old corpse is not?’
‘I don’t know what else I can do to convince you,’ Yano said hotly. He did not have to fake his anger now. ‘Nor do I see, frankly, why I should have to. If you do not believe me, turn me loose. The gormana can decide if I am worthy to be called their prophet.’
‘The rabble aren’t fit to decide anything,’ han’Kanar growled, but the savagery of his scepticism had diminished somewhat. ‘If you truly are Anmet vos’Shan, then who is your companion? The Book of Lon might blather on about Ashan, but I don’t recall any mention of his female consort.’
All attention in the room turned to Lyra.
‘Keep it vague,’ Smith said quietly. ‘You don’t remember anything.’
