The Trials of Empire, page 46
It was at that time, as we all stood-to to wait for another attack, that someone came to find me with a rare morsel of good news.
“Uck ’ee,” Sir Radomir croaked from his bed. Next to him, Heinrich, missing his left ear, half his tail, and his left hind leg, whined and nuzzled and licked my face and hands with great urgency.
I lay my hand on Sir Radomir’s shoulder, too overwhelmed to do anything except quietly cry. The sheriff was naked except for a sheet about his hips – he was much, much hairier than I had expected him to be – and was slathered in huge quantities of salve where he had been burned down his left side. His cheek, which had been torn away by the thrall, was strapped up in bandages and a poultice, and a splint sat between his teeth.
“’Ou are still alithe then?”
I nodded, and tears pattered down on to his chest. Next to me, Heinrich once more buried his face in my hip, and I stroked his big black head with my right hand. It still ached from where the Decapitator had ripped its ghost from my wrist.
“Will you live?” I asked him quietly.
“I hucking ho’e so.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. My heart ached with relief. He asked me what had happened, and I gave my account of it, omitting the vast majority of what had taken place in the afterlife. I spared him giving me an account of his own misadventures, not that it seemed there was much to tell. I think he was suffering more from withdrawal from alcohol than from his wounds, for he sweated and trembled, though the physicians would not let him take on the great quantities of wine that his body was used to. It was ironic that these injuries, grievous as they were, would ultimately kill off the worst of his alcoholism – though it made his convalescence diabolical.
I sat with him for a long time, holding his hand, talking with him, passing the time. Towards the evening, I heard a great commotion rising up from the Nastjan Fields outside, and I left, bidding Heinrich to stay with Sir Radomir. My heart raced, for I had neither the energy nor the stomach for another battle, and my biggest fear was that the host from the Confederation had arrived. But instead of soldiers and Kasar readying themselves for another battle, I found the host marshalled on the fields there cheering.
“What’s going on?” I asked a man nearby.
“It is over! The Lord Regent has made peace with the Kovans! It is all done with, Nema be praised!”
I felt relief wash through me. But I did not stay there to celebrate. Exhausted, mentally, physically, spiritually, I turned away up the high-way, across the Sauber, past the watch house, and to the Imperial Palace. By the time I reached it, I had walked for the better part of two hours. I trudged through the Hall of Solitude, through the southern chambers and hallways and corridors, and sought out my bedchamber.
There, finally in silence and at peace, I lay down on my bed, and slept.
Sir Radomir had survived, but where he had, many others had not.
The cream of the Hauner lords who had ventured south, those few who had listened to Vonvalt’s pleas, had given their lives defending Sova. It was like watching an abused, estranged child sacrificing himself for his father. They were given lavish, ostentatious burials in the coming days and weeks, and that was only right; I was just bitter that any of this had happened in the first place.
Count Maier had died; the curmudgeon, Duke Hofmann, too. Captain Rainer, who had already done so much, had been grievously wounded on the Aleksandra the Valiant High-Way and would succumb a fortnight later. Baron Hangmar, who had saved Vonvalt in Galen’s Vale and who had pledged himself and his men to Vonvalt’s cause here in Sova as well, suffered life-changing injuries that would claim him several years later.
Llyr ken Slaineduro, the Brigalander captain who had led the cream of the pagan force into battle, had survived, with several new scars to add to a no doubt impressive tally. I was pleased to see Sir Gerold had lived, too, which I was surprised about given I had seen him at the front of some of the direst fighting.
It is a strange thing, to continue, to survive where so many have perished. It felt wrong to consume life in their wake, to see things, taste and touch and hear things, to endure and experience where they could not – and never would again. Whilst all around me were elated to have survived such historic times, and saw little except the opportunity to trade war stories, I felt only… guilt. A profound weight of guilt.
But I had to carry on.
There was so much to do, so many demands on Vonvalt’s time, that I barely saw him until most of a week later. It was in a meeting in the strategium of the Imperial Palace. A collection of Hauner lords were present, those I knew only by sight, standing in for their slain lieges. Most notable amongst the attendees was Captain Llyr. I could tell that her presence rankled slightly with the Sovans, in spite of everything the Draedists had done to save them. Had it been Maier and Hofmann and Hangmar, the atmosphere would have been very different.
Also attending was Zuberi, Ran-Jirika and his brother Kimathi. I had not seen it, but apparently the latter had heard – and smelt – the arrival of the Grasvlaktekraag and left the Imperial Palace to join in the fighting. With the Kasar Kyarai so far south, it was only the Templars who frequently saw the wolfmen, and their presence in the capital was causing a great stir amongst the commonfolk.
Severina von Osterlen and Luther de Rambert were there, too. I was glad to see both of them, though we were not given much chance to speak.
The most notable aspect of this gathering was the lack of armour. I had grown so used to seeing everybody clad in mail and plate and surcoats with swords buckled about their hips. Now, everybody wore simple clothes, doublets and hose, hats in some cases, sarongs for the Kasar. Von Osterlen wore a headscarf as she did when she was not dressed for combat, and it was interesting to see that this, her concession to Nemanism, had survived, given all that had come to pass.
“My Lord, what of the priest?” one of the young Hauner lords called out to Vonvalt.
Vonvalt, who looked oddly diminutive out of his ostentatious plate, nodded to himself. He looked grey and drawn. Helming the Empire did not suit him.
“My plan is to try him.”
I could tell that this did not sit well with those assembled. Many had tried to impress upon Vonvalt the importance of killing Claver as soon as possible – so much so that I had even begun to doubt my own injunction. But Vonvalt had made up his mind, and when Vonvalt made up his mind, no force on heaven or earth could move it.
“The Magistratum is disbanded. Does that mean that you plan to re-establish it?” It was von Osterlen who had asked the question, and there was an edge to it. Now that the immediate threat had been neutralised, there was the thorny issue of Vonvalt’s legitimacy to grapple with. Sova was no stranger to armed rebellion, and not a few of its leaders in the past had achieved their position through violence. But although there was no question Vonvalt had saved the city, and had been one of the very few people with the foresight and bloody-mindedness to bring about its salvation, the quiet and unexplained death of the Emperor had raised the eyebrows of those most loyal to him.
Vonvalt shook his head. “No. I have thought long and hard on this. And although it is my belief that the Magistratum was a force for good in this world, I think it is time we removed the arcana from mortal hands entirely.”
This caused quite a stir around the table.
“What do you mean?”
Vonvalt gestured to me. “Some months ago, now, I mounted an expedition to the Frontier. Claver had stolen a number of codexes from the Master’s Vaults. He wielded the magicks therein to terrible effect, as we have seen. Helena here had the presence of mind to burn those books in the sanctum of Keraq.”
It was interesting to see the reaction to this. Most people in the Empire never saw the arcana in action. But to many people it represented a secret weapon that the Sovans possessed, something which gave the Empire an edge over the other civilisations of the world. Especially given that other practitioners would remain – the Kasar, for one; the Draedists to the north, for another – it seemed like we were divesting ourselves of an important tool to maintain parity with these countries.
But Vonvalt was unmoved. “The greatest risk to Sova is Sova herself,” he said. “There would be no war in the Confederation without Sova. There would be no risk to the Kyarai without Sova and the Templars, or to Qaresh, or to any of the nations on the Southern Plains.” He paused. “No. For Sova to truly achieve peace, it needs to stop making war.”
“You sound as though you have designs on the Legions!” someone said, alarmed.
Vonvalt shook his head. “No. But the Empire’s aspirations in the east are at an end. The war with the Confederation – a fool’s errand if ever there was one – is finished. The problem with having abilities such as the arcana is the temptation to use them never goes away. Claver achieved a great deal in a very short space of time, and he was not a particularly intelligent man. What if Nathaniel Kadlec, ten times the man Claver could ever hope to be, had had more ambition? What if he had sought to play a larger, more active role in the downfall of the Empire? No. For the same reason that the Magistratum cannot be re-established, so too must the arcana be purged from Sova. For too long the nation has sought to invest and consolidate power in individuals. Power must be dispersed, not consolidated.”
“Sir Konrad,” one of the Hauner lords asked, “what is it you mean to do? Please speak plainly on the matter.”
“I have done nothing but,” Vonvalt said. “But you are right. Let us speak with precision. I mean to dismantle the Empire.”
There is not much point in reflecting in this volume the great outcry that ensued; one should have no difficulty imagining it. I was as surprised as the rest of them. I knew of course that Vonvalt had promised to repatriate huge swathes of Haunersheim and Tolsburg to the Draedists in return for their assistance. But a part of me did not think he would have the strength of will to go through with it.
I should have known better.
“So. That is why you have the Legions encamped outside of Sova,” von Osterlen said, after Vonvalt had explained the undertaking he had given in the Velykšuma all those weeks ago. “You mean to pass word to them of your designs before opening the gates.”
“Indeed,” Vonvalt said.
“I don’t know what you are all getting so het up about,” Captain Llyr said to the assembled Sovans. “Without us you would all be dead.”
“My Lord Regent, please,” one of the Hauners implored, ignoring the Brigalander. “You cannot trust the Draedists. They have been making war in the north for decades.”
Llyr laughed heartily. “And just who do you think started that war?”
“I give not a pauper’s piss for your opinion, Northerner—”
“Enough,” Vonvalt said, his voice iron. “In exchange for a force of three thousand men and shamans – and I do not need to remind you of the instrumentality of the latter – I promised to turn over the northmarks of Haunersheim and Tolsburg. These are Draedist lands, and were for many thousands of years.”
“You will give them Seaguard!”
“They already have it.”
“This is cowardice!”
Now there was another uproar, but this time it was in defence of Vonvalt. Vonvalt held out his hand for peace, and got it.
“This is nothing of the sort. I gave my word, and I mean to honour it.”
“The people in the north will revolt,” another Hauner said, weakly.
“The people in the north are all practising pagans,” Vonvalt said. “Every last one of them. The only thing I am doing is making a de facto situation into a de jure one.”
“The Legions will not stand for it.”
“The last time a Legion tried to tame the north, they were killed to a man and the Emperor lost a son.”
“What do you mean to do with the Templars?” von Osterlen asked.
“Keraq will be abandoned, as will Zetland. There is nothing further south of Südenburg that anybody can sensibly claim is holy land. You can retain the title of Margrave if you so wish, and restore Südenburg. The Templars there, those of the Order of Saxan Knights, shall continue to protect the pilgrim path to Balodiskirch, though I hope it shall have no more need of protecting. I shall ensure that the Order is recognised on the Imperial Roll of Honour. The Empire owes you its life.”
Von Osterlen inclined her head in gratitude. “If the Empire owes my Order its life, then it owes the Kasar the same.”
Vonvalt nodded. “I agree. I have asked Kraagsman Zuberi and Ran-Jirika to think of an appropriate reward.”
“I suspect with the abandonment of the Frontier you will have given them it.”
“Yes, I suspect I have.”
I studied the table’s occupants, and not without a sense of pessimism. The goodwill that Vonvalt had incurred in saving Sova would only stretch so far. But what he was decreeing – the abandonment of thousands of miles of Imperial territory – were things that would come to pass anyway. If Vonvalt did not cede the north, the Draedists would retake it with force. There were no Templars to garrison Zetland and Keraq even if Vonvalt had wanted to, and so the Frontier, too, would be reclaimed by the Saekas. In fact, the Legions who had fled west from the Kova would have difficulty in simply maintaining what remained of the rump Empire, let alone the occupied lands in Kòvosk. Rather than let all of those things play out with violence, Vonvalt was simply cutting off the limb now in the hope that the body would survive. If he had to incur the ire of a few lords, he would.
“And what do you mean to do, Sir Konrad?” It was Sir Gerold who had spoken. It was the first thing he had said since we had all assembled.
“You mean, over and above everything I have already done?” he said. There was a wryness to his voice which I do not think everyone there detected.
Sir Gerold, however, smiled broadly. “Indeed.”
“I have told you. I mean to try Claver.”
“In what capacity?”
“In my capacity as a Justice. The last Justice.”
“And after that?” the sheriff pressed. “The Emperor and his sons are all dead. The Haugenate line is finished. Do you mean to rule Sova?”
“I have not decided yet,” was all Vonvalt said, and the meeting was over.
I did not get some time completely alone with Vonvalt until the following evening. Even then, there were plenty of demands on his time. But he seemed untroubled by these endless petitions.
“If you let people think you can be bothered at any time, they will try and bother you all the time,” Vonvalt said. It was a warm, pleasant evening, and he and I were sitting on the rooftop terrace which abutted the strategium. We were clad in loose, casual garments, enjoying goblets of unspeakably fine wine. As we drank it, I thought of the Emperor and the first time I had met him. He had offered me a bottle of sixty-year-old Pjolskimis as though it were nothing.
“Why did you listen to me?” I asked, after we had spent the better part of an hour talking about the battle.
I had expected Vonvalt to ask me what I meant, but he knew precisely what I was referring to.
“In the Temple of Nema,” he said. He looked out over the city, lost in thought. From where we were, here in this small, pleasant oasis above Sova, one would not know there had been a battle at all.
“Yes.”
Vonvalt was quiet for a very long time. He studied the Spear of Vangrid, which I had shown him and which he held for the duration of our conversation. He was drawn to it, instinctively, like a moth to a flame; but the thing was so unremarkable, so inscrutable, it defied examination. He had insisted I keep it close, until I could decide on the best thing to do with it. After all, it was an attenuation artefact; in the wrong hands, one could cut through the aether and directly into the holy dimensions with it.
“You remember what I told you in Südenburg?”
“That you were not – are not – the paragon I considered you to be? I shall never forget that conversation.”
Vonvalt was quiet again. Eventually, he said, “Well perhaps I wanted to be.”
“A paragon?”
“Something approaching it.” He took a deep breath, and let out in a long sigh. “I think I just became so… tired of evil men succeeding. Not because they are right, but because they are bull-headed. Brazen. And it is not just on the Frontier, or to the east, or on the northern coast. You see it in the Senate; men and women saying things, terrible things, things that no one would have dreamt of saying ten years ago.” He pinched his index finger and thumb together and held them out to me, an intense look on his face. “They test the water, first with things designed to irritate, and then offend, and eventually to outrage. And nothing happens. Nothing is done to stop it. We who sit on the side of good, of law, of order, who believe that those who govern society should lead by example, allow it to happen. We are so consumed by playing fair, by sticking to the rules, that we lame ourselves. I was just so very tired of evil men, chancing their arm with these malevolent acts, advancing their malice in increments, until the time to remedy the situation had passed. It is like… like sitting on the top floor of a burning house. First you smell the smoke; then you feel the heat of the flame. By the time you decide to leave, all the exits have been consumed.” He shrugged. “I wanted to fight for good. To do something. Not to wait around, to let the house burn, but to get a bucket of water and start…” He held out both hands as though he were gripping two balls of air. He shook as he spoke. “Fighting the flames. And it felt good, Helena. It felt good to be doing, something.
“I want to live in a world where we can arrest evil men, try them, and imprison them. I have always wanted to live in that world. But what if the man in question represents some greater evil? What if he is privy to powers that no earthly force can defeat? What if he stands at the head of an army?”
