Authors: Michael A. Stackpole
"Not so today, I take it."
Gena blushed. "No, not so."
"I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean to embarrass you." Berengar hunted for the proper words. "Your affection for Durriken was obvious yet circumspect. I didn't know . . . not that I cared . . . well I cared, but I did not wonder . . ." He blushed in turn. "Forgive me. This is none of my business."
"You are forgiven if you wish, but I did not count it a fault against you." Desirous of moving away from a discussion of her personal life, she smiled at Berengar. "How long is it since you last visited your uncle?"
"I was a child when last I spent any real amount of time with him, but most recently I was here when I traveled to Jarudin for our family's investiture." Berengar shook his head slightly. "The years have not been kind to Atholwin. His health was declining then, and I do not imagine his sons' deaths have improved things very much. It will be interesting to see him again."
Gena looked up as they came over the hilkop. Hoping to burn the melancholy note from Berengar's voice, she pointed to a huge budding oak halfway down the hillside. "There, is that the tree you remember?"
"Yes, yes it is." Berengar's face brightened. He touched his heels to his mount's ribs and started to trot toward it. "There, on the eastern side you can see a couple of boards .Still in the branches. Likely not our fortress, but another. Uncle Atholwin must have great-grandchildren who still play in those boughs."
Gena laughed and rode after him, then reined back when Berengar raised his left hand. "What is it?"
"Something we never had in that tree."
Closer in, swinging from a limb jutting north, Gena saw a stretch-necked corpse. She rode forward and worked around to the east to keep the wind coming from her back so she'd not smell the body. By the look of the flesh and the clothes, it had been hanging there for the better part of four days, for the weather had been dry and hot and the corpse showed every sign of being desiccated by the wind and sun.
Drying had tightened the lips to reveal a meagre collection of yellowed and rotting teeth in the dead man's mouth. His eyes were gone and a raven perched on the branch above him. It had a bit of something in its beak, but flew off to the north when she came in too close for the bird's comfort. "There is a sign on his chest."
Berengar rode up beside her and studied the corpse as it slowly twisted around and back again. "The Truth is life. In life he lied, now he is denied the Truth."
Gena shivered. "That's not the sort of acorn I would hope my oaks would produce."
Berengar focused his eyes further down the valley. "This is not the same place I remember from last year. . . . I mean to say, we have come to Atholwin's holding, Blackoak, but the village looks smaller, and the roof is gone from one of the castle's towers."
"Yes, but there are still people down there, and fresh pennants flying from the other towers."
"True enough." Berengar took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Let us ride to the castte and see how things stand there. If Atholwin lives, there will be an explanation for this."
"And if he does not?"
"That, Lady Genevera, could also explain this."
They rode around the village instead of through it, keeping to a huntsman's trail that had partially returned to the wild. The bridge over the dry moat had a few rotted timbers in it, but the patches proved strong enough that their horses did not punch a hoof through. In drawing nearer the gray stone structure, Gena did see that the smallest of three towers had fallen into disrepair, though the walls looked strong and were manned by soldiers in livery that Berengar identified as belonging to his mother's uncle.
Two young grooms accepted their reins in the small courtyard, and an elderly servant answered the sergeant-at-arms call for someone to attend them. The old man, stooped with age beneath a pate festooned with thin threads of gray hair, smiled when he saw Berengar. "Come, come, Count Fisher. My master is expecting you."
Berengar and Gena exchanged surprised looks, but followed the man nonetheless into the musty, dark building constructed around the base of the main tower. Torches burned in every fourth sconce, providing just enough illumination for Gena to pick her way around haphazard barricades and caches of weapons stored in shadowed niches. She could see no rhyme nor reason to any of it except to wonder if the master of the castle feared a coming need to defend his home even into the hallways.
The servant led them into a small room with moldering tapestries covering all the walls. Across from them, behind a thick oaken table set with a pair of burning candles, a wizened old man sat huddled in a huge chair. His pale flesh had faded past the white of his hair and long beard to the point where it appeared blue in some places and ivory in others depending if it covered meat or bone. Most of it covered bone, leaving Gena with the impression that she stood before a skeleton encased in glass.
One hand rose as if a puppet's limb being manipulated by an arthritic puppeteer, and the long-nailed finger that came out to point at them quivered. In a voice not much more stable than the finger, the old man croaked, "So you are Berengar Fisher. My spies told me you were coming."
As if on cue, a raven descended from the blackness overhead and landed on the table. Its talons scrabbled against the wood as it walked forward, its head bobbing. It twisted its head to peer down into the heavy goblet on the table; then the bird swung around to face them. It cawed loudly, and the old man started as if he had drifted off to asleep after speaking.
Berengar took one step forward. "I am Berengar Fisher, pleased again to be in the company of Earl Blackoak."
"Is that so?" The man's cloudy blue eyes barely seemed to move, and Gena wondered if he could even see her in the gloomy light. "Then you will indulge me, nephew."
"As you wish, uncle."
Gena heard noise in the hallway and glanced back to see a number of the castle's soldiers gathering at the threshold
"If you are Berengar Fisher, then you are an assassin. Tell me how you will slay me." The old man's eyes sparked with energy "And tell me truly, for I will know if you lie, and you will not like the consequences of trying to deceive me."
A shiver ran down my spine as I again stepped into the Reithrese chapel at the base of the Imperial Tower in Jarudin. Though the month since I had fought here had wrought many changes in the city and the world, the burn scar on the back of my left hand reminded me how close I had come to dying. While I was not so certain that the average member of the Elder races was that much tougher than the average Man, I knew the elite among the Elder races had great power, and I wondered how long I would be able to defy such people without paying for my audacity.
Xerstan, the balding, bulbous architect whom the Red Tiger—better known now as Emperor Beltran Primus—had assigned to designing new constructions and renovations, bowed his head to me as he entered the room The yellowed light given off by the tallow candles illuminating the room made him look jaundiced, but I preferred that to the bloody pallor that the now-dead fires had spread across the room when I first saw it. "Forgive my being late, Lord Neal, but my apprentice was tardy in making the wax impressions of your dagger."
He held Wasp out to me, and I returned it to the sheath at my right hip. "I trust, then, that the emperor has agreed to the plan we discussed?"
The small man nodded confidently. "He is still of a mind to fill this room and seal it for all time, but your idea has piqued his sense of irony. Preparations will take a year, though if things go the way the first month of conquest has gone, we may be ready by spring." He walked past me and squatted awkwardly beside the hilt of the emperor's sword. "I do not know if I am comfortable with this being here, or if I would feel less so if we removed it. It was rather nasty as I understand it."
I scratched at the twisted flesh on the back of my hand. "I think leaving it here is appropriate." I glanced up at the effigy of Tashayul. "Strikes me as appropriate that it should have burned out in roughly the same spot as Tashayul's heart. I think it requires a prayer to Reithra to activate, and I'm thinking I've no desire to hear such a thing uttered in earnest here."
"May the gods grant everyone your wisdom in that matter. Fortunately I don't think there is a Reithrese left in the city, so this will not be a problem."
He was correct. The Red Tiger had declared martial law immediately and dealt harshly with looters and vandals. Because Jarudin was a northern city, the Reithrese population tended to migrate back to Reith for the winters, and a great number of them had taken time to travel with the army that had moved through the Elven Holdings to trap us in the mountains. As a result, the Reithrese population remaining in the city was relatively small. The empress gave Beltran her parole and led the remaining Reithrese back toward their homeland with no more than they could fit on wagons. Haladina rode as their guards and departed in good order.
I had not expected things to go as well as they had. Sulane, the imperial widow, accepted Beltran's terms quickly, as if she had anticipated something harsher. Aarundel said she'd heard stories about my intent to make her my wife, prompting her to leave as quickly as possible. While that rumor might have been a contributing factor, I assumed she agreed because Beltran asked only one thing for ransom for her and her people: time. In return for five years of peace, he let her go.
The Human population in the city moved from their hovels into the grander homes of their Reithrese masters, but that migration likewise worked on a system Beltran had devised. That the transition went smoothly made me thankful once again that I had avoided temptation and had given him the crown. Not only was he a leader, but he was thoughtful. He considered laws and policies, their implications and problems, before imposing a solution.
The trade of time to the Reithrese was a brilliant example of his forethought. He knew that time meant nothing to them. Five years would pass before they noticed, but it would be seen among Humanity as a veritable eternity. It would allow him to consolidate his grip on Ispar and to promote revolts in Barkol and Esquihir, while Sture headed off to Irtysh to liberate it. Thousands of Human children would become world-aware with a Human empire dominating the world's geography. They would take pride in it, and when the time came, they would rise to defend it.
Likewise, his system for parceling out homes worked to bring people together and make them mindful of the sacrifices endured in winning the empire. The grandest houses were given over to his allies and commanders in repayment of their service to him. A whole section of the Inner Ring was set aside for the Mountain Men, and everyone was looking forward to the spring and their liberation from their icy prison. Aarundel and I were given homes in that area, but I declared mine the Roclawzi embassy and sent word to my brother that he should send an ambassador or two.
The rest of the homes were given out based on the number of years individuals and families had been in thrall to the Reithrese. An effort was made to redress the losses of those who had seen their homes destroyed, their families slain, and their wealth stolen by Tashayul's host. Disputes arose and there was some fraud, but Beltran and his judges cut through all, meting out justice swiftly and sharply to those who deserved it, rewarding honesty and redressing tragedy wherever they found them.
In many ways I think the two most difficult cases for the Red Tiger to deal with were Aarundel and myself. Sture had been easy to appease. Newly freed Irtyshites who had been brought to the capital by their Reithrese masters swelled the Exile Legion's ranks to nearly double. With Beltran's blessing, Sture left amid fanfare to liberate his frozen homeland.
Aarundel studiously sought to downplay his role in the affair, but did accept a home and a title. Beltran sought to reward him with more, but Aarundel continually refused. Finally the emperor offered to write and send to Aarundel's kin an accounting of his exploits, and the Elf relented with the proviso that the Red Tiger would no more press him on the matter of reward.
The Red Tiger could understand, with Aarundel being an Elf and all, why he might refuse Man-offered honors. I confused him more when I turned down his request to become his warlord. He wanted to bring the Steel Pack into imperial service as one of his two bodyguard companies—an idea to which I agreed after polling my Men and discovering they wanted that as well. I granted him that pleasure and nominated Fursey Nine-finger to replace me. Other than that, as I told him, hot food, a warm bed, and cold ale would be more than enough reward for me.
That was not sufficient for him, however; he advanced a number of reasons for his opinion, and I had a hard time disagreeing with any of them. If I did not accept some sort of position, it would be assumed that I had repudiated our alliance and it could be taken that I had no confidence in him. Moreover, I had become a symbol of the revolt, as had he, and order had to be imposed over things while it still could be, or the rebellion against the Reithrese might fall apart without any preparation for the battles that would still come.
He pointed out, for example, that a number of very idealistic young men had taken to burning the backs of their left hands with brands and glowing irons to ape the scar I had from killing the emperor. The Red Tiger and I agreed this was nonsense—and regretted the clumsy ones who managed to burn their hands off—so we established that the soldiers in Emperor's Own Steel Pack were to wear a branded leather glove on their left hands in honor of Lord Neal, Knight-Defender of the Empire, and that they would not take kindly to anyone lampooning this tradition outside their ranks. As the brand they used the six-lined rune for the Roclaws, which didn't look anything like my scar, but reminded people of me anyway and got their point across.