The Sepulchre of Lies
“No”, the king replied, and hope for the traitors vanished.
More mouths opened, to plead for mercy, but he silenced them with a look. He would become known for that gaze, for it pierced the soul. He would brook no shred of dissent, and where disorder of noise had reigned, now silence ruled.
Then the monarch descended from the throne and came to his childhood friend, who had thrice saved his lord’s life. He went up to Amalric, and gazed at him. Alone of the nobles, Amalric was not cowed by that gaze, and matched with his own defiant eyes. The King was silent for a long moment. Then with a single blinding strike he tore the traitor down with a sword of dark grey steel. This was the command, and the other traitors were shortly dispatched. Their bodies were thrown into the Lethran, the blood staining the water. But the King did not allow the same for Amalric. Instead, with the entire elite of the realm gathered, he took a torch and set it on the corpse. It was said the fire reflected deeply in his eyes, as he watched the body burn in pure silence.
It is, in my mind, that moment when Edric took up his ancestor’s mantle. When the frost crystallised over his heart, when his soul was tempered by the heat of a dark fury. Until that point, no one else had yet been worthy to wear that name. No son of the first Edric had survived to his father’s place, and yet here was his true successor.
-Saerd, ‘The Way of Kings’
Music
“Have ever considered the shadows?”
“Never.”
“But they hide so much from the light.” - excerpt from ‘The Duskman’s Way’, anon.
The man knew he was about to die. It didn’t stop him from running. Sprinting footsteps kept pace with heartbeats as adrenaline kicked in, and Sevra chased him through the shadows. The shadows of a necropolis. Old Astaria, the forgotten masonry of a lost segment of the capital, had submerged by the edifices of a modern city. A place to hide to escape into the deathly murk. She had to keep her quarry in sight.
The man launched back suddenly, coming straight for her. Sevra’s speed took her straight into his path. She didn’t stop. Instead, she spun, arcing his leg into his chest. he ducked out the way and she dodged his return strike. She kicked him again, and this time it connected, his shoes slid across the floor as he slid back, his hands raised in a perfect block. He gave two strikes back, swift jabs which she rolled away from. He was clearly trained well, and rolled away from her next attack. But his movements, they seemed overly jerky, energetic. Some control was missing.
And then he was gone, clattering down the hallway. She swore as she breathed and the chase began again. He climbed stairs, and Sevra followed him into the light.
She scrambled into a construction yard. One of Arcan’s new towers, powering the heights of industrial megalomania and the new property boom that funnelled Astaria upwards, grasping towards the sky with every shining edifice. These were the foundations. Mounds of ochre splattered dirt reared up, slabs of light grey, fossils of yellow and swarms neon safety jackets all bombarded the vision.
A streak of black flashed across her vision. There he was, darting through the moulded topography of wasted earth. Builders gawped as she sprinted through them, her boots leaving a trail of heavy imprints. She was tiring, panting under a combat vest. But her mind was agile as it cornered her prey. The prey, weaved its own path, twisting this way, before abruptly turning that, jerked forwards by some invisible puppet strings. Sevra caught his eyes once, darting glimmers of white and dark colour.
He halted. The pier extended into the river, all exclaimed land. Around them, the edifices of Astaria encrusted the river, unfolding along this threading current. Sevra halted behind him. She took out her pistol and levelled it at him. “On the ground. I have no problem shooting you right now.”
He turned, snarling. “Oh you’ve done it now, you bitch.”
“I said on the ground!”
To her relief, he crouched down. It would have to do. “Now tell me what you know.”
“To think, my life came to this.”
“I have no hesitation dropping you right now! Tell me everything!”
“Oh yes, of course. You so desperately need to know, that you’ll interrogate anyone, even a simple junkie like me. But you must promise me one thing, after this. You must.”
“Which is?”
Her turned and looked at her. His jaw was slack, his clothes creased. A brown stain ran down his shirt. His eyes, they darted for one brief flicker, before snapping into focus, locking onto her.
“You have to kill me.”
“Plots never feel small. On the contrary, they appear vast, engulfing one’s view until it is all one can see. That is how they prey on the mind, how they lure you in. There is something inevitable about such a plot, something enthralling about such a descent.” - Murlke
Ceorl Engavar Caraved was having a bad day. The Ceorl was young, and beset by a twitching irritation, one that plagued him right now. Fear had sunk its claws in, and was slowly tearing his mind to shreds.
Someone met him at lobby. A tall, middle-aged man, smartly dressed. He kept pace as they walked, Engavar not willing to give the other man the lead, even though he didn’t know where he was going. “I am Commander Norved, Ceorl. I’m glad you could come on short notice.”
“Don’t give me that crap now.”
Norved nodded amicably. “This won’t take long, I hope. Its only a single væklas.”
Caraved frowned. “What does she know.”
“She chased a target across central Astaria. Had him at gunpoint, before being attacked by an unknown assailant, and being forced to kill him. The other man then told her several things, before expiring himself.”
“And you believe that there is such a conspiracy?”
“We have found… connections.” Engavar twitched. Was it him or had the day gotten darker? To even imagine a conspiracy…
Sevra was sitting quietly as Engavar entered, her head bowed, hair pulled back almost savagely in a pony tail. It exposed her jawline, and the sharp focus of her blue eyes. Her hands didn’t tremble.
Engavar stood for a moment. He breathed slowly, and then intruded onto the scene. “Do you know who I am, væklas?
Seva looked up. “No.” She replied, before adding, “sir.”
“I’m Ceorl Caraved, of the Fifth rank. Engavar Caraved.” She nodded. “It appears that you killed one of our retainers. I would like to know the reason why.”
Her eyes flickered first to her boss. He nodded. “He charged at me, after recounting the details of the conspiracy. He said-”
“Yes, I heard the report your superior gave to me,” Engavar interrupted. “A grand conspiracy and all, or so the dying man said. Naturally no specifics on the names.”
Sevra looked at him. And asked a simple pointed look that unnerved the shit out of the noble. “Ceorl, are you at all afraid?”
“Are you implying I should be?”
“I’m stating it outright.”
Engavar moved for another quick fire dismissal, but it caught in her gaze. I’m terrified. He moved to speak again, to let the words strip away his cloak of dismissal. “I’m-”
“Ceorl, someone is calling for you,” Norved interrupted. “They are outside now, apparently. A lord.”
“What?” Engavar felt his stomach clench. He turned to Norved. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at the operative. Her face stayed rigid, and the Ceorl left, his mind contracting into layers of fear.
* * * * *
Nethri de sol Savran smiled as Engavar came into view. “Engavar, isn’t it?” He flashed a row of white teeth. A dozen retainers flanked him, the bulk of muscled men hefting machine guns so very prominent in the Engavar’s vision. “I’m sorry to hear one of your men was killed.”
Ambition glistened from Nethri. The Patriarch of a rising family, he was ascending faster than anyone predicted. Rumours swirled, like currents in a dark wine. They whispered that he was one of Osteric’s followers, or he had made a pact with anyone, everyone. But to the lowly Ceorl, all he knew was that he was confronted with something far out of his league. “I didn’t know him,” he responded blandly.
“Ah yes.” Nethri gave a dismissive wave. “Well that is still a shame, all the same. After all, such a man may have held quite valuable information, theoretically speaking. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Theoretically speaking.” Engavar’s tone was guarded.
Nethri smiled. “It might be quite damaging for such information to leak. Such knowledge… has an inherent value.”
“I’ve often found that it does.”
“Tell me, what is it like, being such a low member of the Caraved?” The change in tack was sudden. And the whirring thoughts in Engavar’s brain clicked. He resisted a smile, for it would have shown the fear too obviously. He was about to be offered something, but it was not something he could decline. He swallowed.
“Stifling.”
Nethri sighed. “I had imagined so. No room for… ambition. Which is undoubtedly a shame, when such talent is on display.” His eyes flickered up, back to Engavar. “But ambition is a jealous creature. It has but one master, which in turn leads to disloyalty. The last thing a noble house wants is disloyalty.”
“Perhaps if there was a way to prove my loyalty,” Engavar fixed his stare to Nethri as the pieces slotted into place. “I would grasp it.”
“For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.” - Agency proverb
Sevra fidgeted. It was never a good sign. The youthful Caraved hadn’t been gone long, and yet she was nervous. Things were moving too fast, even as her hands began to shake, feeling the phantom grip of a knife clenched between fingers-
The Ceorl returned. It had been a short meeting. But his attitude looked changed. Gone was the consternation, replaced by detachment. There was a neutral tone to his voice, summoned by one practiced in elocution. He avoided her gaze. “You will be pleased to know that the Caraved have decided not to place charges for the murder of one of their retainers.” The Ceorl intoned this slowly, acting as if it was some success. “However, we expect there to be serious repercussions for this clear transgression of the Private Officer Decree, and thus any information or use of his death will be rendered void. Any attempt to transgress on this point will be met in court. Perhaps next time, you might wish to restrain your operatives.” He turned to Sevra. “And perhaps, next time, you ought to control your aim.”
“Perhaps fear had clouded my judgment, Ceorl,” she snapped back, pissed off by his aloofness.
The officer began began to admonish her but Engavar waved him away. “No, Commander Norved, its fine. I am certain that she is just feeling the stress of a difficult job.” He paused, appearing to consider something. “Maybe a rest is advised, if its taking such a toll.”
Her glower answered him as he left.
“And they tell me sexism is dead.”
Sevra despised one so easily bought. His casual sexism nearly as bad, but the blatantly bribery that had just taken place was far worse. Nobles and their schemes, she would say. Or be tempted to say, for any other time.
“Do you think we should have told him the full truth?”
“No. It was more important to see who they sent to bribe Engavar, and for that matter, to see whether it would work, than to attempt to convince one member of the Caraved on such flimsy grounds.”
It made sense. And Engavar had aptly demonstrated just how unreliable he was. It still hurt through. They had a chance, right there, to… convince someone. It wasn’t like they needed absolution, but it would have somehow made things seem more tangible, rather tun the insane ramblings of dead men. I killed a man for this? “Who did they send then? Sir?”
“Nethri de sol Savran.”
“Shit.”
“Quite. Its worse than imagined, if they can afford to use him as a lackey.”
“Well, we already knew how far this went, if the target’s report is true.” She looked up at him. “I think this is the part you tell me that we’re out of our depth, sir.”
“I’m not sure when we were ever in our depth, Sevra.”
“But their suspicions have been raised. And early, too.”
It had been unintentional, but a trembling note had crept into her voice. Norved looked down at her, features tinged with concern. “Sevra, how are you feeling?”
* * * * *
“I’ve said everything you want to know.”
“No, there must be more.”
The man laughed. “There is so much more, but I am no oracle. Only a fool, who was ensnared like the rest. The Hayabusans are all in it, as are half the nobles in Astaria. The legions too. Maybe even Flint, who knows what that spider does?”
“You’re feeding me rumours.”
“No. No, no, no, I’m telling you the truth, if there is such a thing. The heart of the scheme rotting the Empires’ Valaran and Artalia.” His eyes were bloodshot. “The maggot is under our skin. Its laid its eggs, and they will hatch soon, burrowing their way through organ meat and blood matter. You know it, and,” he made a clawing motion with his hand, “you know the only way is to dig them out, taking flesh with them. You will feel the truth, one way or another.” He tottered to one side. “And all you need for the truth, its in Edenguard. Edenguard and my home. I have laid everything out, as neat as I could. Neatness is important, yes?” The eyes darted downwards to the creases in his clothes.
“I’ll need you to verify your statements.”
“No, you owe me a promise.” He pointed a finger at her gun.
“I should bring you in. What you’ve said needs more verification and you need help.” I’m not about to shoot someone.
“Don’t you see? I’m already a dead man, so kill me now.” His eyes began twitching again, as his voice pleaded with her. “Pleeeaasse. I need to die. I need to.”
“We can help y-” He lunged for her. It was a snarling, animalistic leap. There was no attempt at distraction, or jumping to the side. He simply went for her, charring straight into the barrel of her pistol. Her gaze met his and Sevra was confronted by a frenzy, the inchoate anger of someone who is truly lost.
And she hesitated.
The man smashed right into her. A shot rang out, a bullet skimmed into the water, and Sevra was thrown right back, slamming into the ground. She tried rolling, but suddenly the man was on her, grappling at her wrist, lunging for her neck. He was overpowering her with sheer force of frenzied will. Her hand slipped to her boot, fingers scrabbling for the sheath. It took too long, and he jumped at her again. His teeth descended.
She rammed the knife into the side of his head. It was a desperate attack, aimed too high to hit the soft pulp of the neck. Instead, the blade bit into the skin before skidding of the skull. Blood spattered downwards, drops landing in her eyes. The man screamed, howling anguish borne of something more than physical pain. Sevra stabbed a second time, her face a mask of gritted horror. There was one final sickening crunch, as the metal sheared through bone and skin.
When it was finally over, she rolled to one side, panting for breath. His eyes had fixed onto her as he had died. Fixed their gaze, so that she wouldn’t escape their pain.
* * * * *
Sevra looked up at her commander, steely eyed resolve filling her gaze. “I’m absolutely fine.”
-20 klicks from Astaria-
This was not a place to meet kings. And yet here the monarch sat, legs splayed, head resting on a hand as he surveyed Andurian. Examining him.
“Colonel Andurian, is it? Step forward.”
“My… liege.”
Edric peered forward, interested by this specimen. “You were going to say emperor, weren’t you? It should fit, shouldn’t it. But it doesn’t quite. Catches in your throat.” Some emotion passed across his amused eyes. “Or were you going to dispense with formality and call me Edric?”
“If you would prefer.” Andurian sensed the invitation.
“I would. Tell me though, what do you think of my name?”
“Your name?”
Edric smiled disarmingly. “Yes. What does the name Edric conjure for you?”
“Nothing,” he ventured cautiously. What was the Emperor hinting at? “Except… what I know of history. Of the other Edrics…” He trailed off. Did I say wrong? What is his point?
“Ah yes. My forebears. Such a rare name in the lineage of kings. We have half a dozen Lyrias’ all in quick succession. Five who bore the name Magnus. But there were only two Edrics. They were cold men, Andurian, used to war. Edric I, the reaver, who usurped the throne. And Edric II. Edric the conqueror. The Edric of the north, the one who broke Alaved. A calculating man, by all accounts, and a ruthless one. He held his own elite within a steel grasp.” The monarch withdrew into himself, introspecting. “It was said, by Seard himself, that only he was fit to bear the name Edric, that only he was a worthy heir to that reaver of the north. So why then, I wonder, did my father chose such a name for me? What was he harking back to? What did he hope to install in me with such a bitter legacy?”
Andurian gave his sovereign a level stare. “Piracy, clearly.”
Edric laughed. A deep, smooth sound, layered with articulate gravity and the ripples of subtle emotions. “Clearly. Or perhaps, it was as a reminder. A reminder of what the monarchy was then, and what it is now. This is not the era for reavers, and that was the lesson in my name.” He paused, and the smile became a shade closer to a grimace. “Perhaps there was also a hope. A hope that I would give the name Edric a new legacy, one not borne of bitter conflict.”
“Did it work?” It was a foolish question. Andurian should not have blurted it out.His nerviness had faded, when perhaps it remain useful. But he had been curious, seeing a window into the Emperor’s mind, and he mistakenly assumed that he had been granted access.
Edric’s smile faded. “As with anything my father imparted to me, it worked, at a cost. A cost I would not consider worth his aim, and one I have always borne.” He gestured to the throne. “I am the weakest Edric ever to hold court at Veldaron, and all present know it. All the politicians see it, and quietly include me as a piece into their schemes. And the nobles, they are worse. They care so much about lineage, so behind the fluttering eyelashes, the titters of an gaudy, ephemeral elite, they mock me.”
Caution took hold of Andurian once more, and he was reminded of the context of this meeting. “Your Majesty, are you sure that you should be telling me this?”
“Is it wise to hide the presence of a secret known to everyone? Why pretend otherwise?”
“Saying things like that might damage your reputation.”
Edric gestured again. “My reputation means nothing here. All those who I trust, know me,” His gaze pierced Andurian. “Do you know me?”
A command. Anduran knew what this meant. He went to one knee. “What does your majesty want of me?”
Edric gazed at him. And in that gaze, there was a single hint, a flicker of the cold eyed legends that were Edric’s ancestors. A single guileful hint of the reaver, and the embedded steel of authority. The Emperor of so many millions raised his head, the light casting shadows over his cheekbones.
“I am lord and master of the Valaran Empire, and I would have you root out traitors.”
“No”, the king replied, and hope for the traitors vanished.
More mouths opened, to plead for mercy, but he silenced them with a look. He would become known for that gaze, for it pierced the soul. He would brook no shred of dissent, and where disorder of noise had reigned, now silence ruled.
Then the monarch descended from the throne and came to his childhood friend, who had thrice saved his lord’s life. He went up to Amalric, and gazed at him. Alone of the nobles, Amalric was not cowed by that gaze, and matched with his own defiant eyes. The King was silent for a long moment. Then with a single blinding strike he tore the traitor down with a sword of dark grey steel. This was the command, and the other traitors were shortly dispatched. Their bodies were thrown into the Lethran, the blood staining the water. But the King did not allow the same for Amalric. Instead, with the entire elite of the realm gathered, he took a torch and set it on the corpse. It was said the fire reflected deeply in his eyes, as he watched the body burn in pure silence.
It is, in my mind, that moment when Edric took up his ancestor’s mantle. When the frost crystallised over his heart, when his soul was tempered by the heat of a dark fury. Until that point, no one else had yet been worthy to wear that name. No son of the first Edric had survived to his father’s place, and yet here was his true successor.
-Saerd, ‘The Way of Kings’
Music
“Have ever considered the shadows?”
“Never.”
“But they hide so much from the light.” - excerpt from ‘The Duskman’s Way’, anon.
The man knew he was about to die. It didn’t stop him from running. Sprinting footsteps kept pace with heartbeats as adrenaline kicked in, and Sevra chased him through the shadows. The shadows of a necropolis. Old Astaria, the forgotten masonry of a lost segment of the capital, had submerged by the edifices of a modern city. A place to hide to escape into the deathly murk. She had to keep her quarry in sight.
The man launched back suddenly, coming straight for her. Sevra’s speed took her straight into his path. She didn’t stop. Instead, she spun, arcing his leg into his chest. he ducked out the way and she dodged his return strike. She kicked him again, and this time it connected, his shoes slid across the floor as he slid back, his hands raised in a perfect block. He gave two strikes back, swift jabs which she rolled away from. He was clearly trained well, and rolled away from her next attack. But his movements, they seemed overly jerky, energetic. Some control was missing.
And then he was gone, clattering down the hallway. She swore as she breathed and the chase began again. He climbed stairs, and Sevra followed him into the light.
She scrambled into a construction yard. One of Arcan’s new towers, powering the heights of industrial megalomania and the new property boom that funnelled Astaria upwards, grasping towards the sky with every shining edifice. These were the foundations. Mounds of ochre splattered dirt reared up, slabs of light grey, fossils of yellow and swarms neon safety jackets all bombarded the vision.
A streak of black flashed across her vision. There he was, darting through the moulded topography of wasted earth. Builders gawped as she sprinted through them, her boots leaving a trail of heavy imprints. She was tiring, panting under a combat vest. But her mind was agile as it cornered her prey. The prey, weaved its own path, twisting this way, before abruptly turning that, jerked forwards by some invisible puppet strings. Sevra caught his eyes once, darting glimmers of white and dark colour.
He halted. The pier extended into the river, all exclaimed land. Around them, the edifices of Astaria encrusted the river, unfolding along this threading current. Sevra halted behind him. She took out her pistol and levelled it at him. “On the ground. I have no problem shooting you right now.”
He turned, snarling. “Oh you’ve done it now, you bitch.”
“I said on the ground!”
To her relief, he crouched down. It would have to do. “Now tell me what you know.”
“To think, my life came to this.”
“I have no hesitation dropping you right now! Tell me everything!”
“Oh yes, of course. You so desperately need to know, that you’ll interrogate anyone, even a simple junkie like me. But you must promise me one thing, after this. You must.”
“Which is?”
Her turned and looked at her. His jaw was slack, his clothes creased. A brown stain ran down his shirt. His eyes, they darted for one brief flicker, before snapping into focus, locking onto her.
“You have to kill me.”
“Plots never feel small. On the contrary, they appear vast, engulfing one’s view until it is all one can see. That is how they prey on the mind, how they lure you in. There is something inevitable about such a plot, something enthralling about such a descent.” - Murlke
Ceorl Engavar Caraved was having a bad day. The Ceorl was young, and beset by a twitching irritation, one that plagued him right now. Fear had sunk its claws in, and was slowly tearing his mind to shreds.
Someone met him at lobby. A tall, middle-aged man, smartly dressed. He kept pace as they walked, Engavar not willing to give the other man the lead, even though he didn’t know where he was going. “I am Commander Norved, Ceorl. I’m glad you could come on short notice.”
“Don’t give me that crap now.”
Norved nodded amicably. “This won’t take long, I hope. Its only a single væklas.”
Caraved frowned. “What does she know.”
“She chased a target across central Astaria. Had him at gunpoint, before being attacked by an unknown assailant, and being forced to kill him. The other man then told her several things, before expiring himself.”
“And you believe that there is such a conspiracy?”
“We have found… connections.” Engavar twitched. Was it him or had the day gotten darker? To even imagine a conspiracy…
Sevra was sitting quietly as Engavar entered, her head bowed, hair pulled back almost savagely in a pony tail. It exposed her jawline, and the sharp focus of her blue eyes. Her hands didn’t tremble.
Engavar stood for a moment. He breathed slowly, and then intruded onto the scene. “Do you know who I am, væklas?
Seva looked up. “No.” She replied, before adding, “sir.”
“I’m Ceorl Caraved, of the Fifth rank. Engavar Caraved.” She nodded. “It appears that you killed one of our retainers. I would like to know the reason why.”
Her eyes flickered first to her boss. He nodded. “He charged at me, after recounting the details of the conspiracy. He said-”
“Yes, I heard the report your superior gave to me,” Engavar interrupted. “A grand conspiracy and all, or so the dying man said. Naturally no specifics on the names.”
Sevra looked at him. And asked a simple pointed look that unnerved the shit out of the noble. “Ceorl, are you at all afraid?”
“Are you implying I should be?”
“I’m stating it outright.”
Engavar moved for another quick fire dismissal, but it caught in her gaze. I’m terrified. He moved to speak again, to let the words strip away his cloak of dismissal. “I’m-”
“Ceorl, someone is calling for you,” Norved interrupted. “They are outside now, apparently. A lord.”
“What?” Engavar felt his stomach clench. He turned to Norved. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at the operative. Her face stayed rigid, and the Ceorl left, his mind contracting into layers of fear.
* * * * *
Nethri de sol Savran smiled as Engavar came into view. “Engavar, isn’t it?” He flashed a row of white teeth. A dozen retainers flanked him, the bulk of muscled men hefting machine guns so very prominent in the Engavar’s vision. “I’m sorry to hear one of your men was killed.”
Ambition glistened from Nethri. The Patriarch of a rising family, he was ascending faster than anyone predicted. Rumours swirled, like currents in a dark wine. They whispered that he was one of Osteric’s followers, or he had made a pact with anyone, everyone. But to the lowly Ceorl, all he knew was that he was confronted with something far out of his league. “I didn’t know him,” he responded blandly.
“Ah yes.” Nethri gave a dismissive wave. “Well that is still a shame, all the same. After all, such a man may have held quite valuable information, theoretically speaking. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Theoretically speaking.” Engavar’s tone was guarded.
Nethri smiled. “It might be quite damaging for such information to leak. Such knowledge… has an inherent value.”
“I’ve often found that it does.”
“Tell me, what is it like, being such a low member of the Caraved?” The change in tack was sudden. And the whirring thoughts in Engavar’s brain clicked. He resisted a smile, for it would have shown the fear too obviously. He was about to be offered something, but it was not something he could decline. He swallowed.
“Stifling.”
Nethri sighed. “I had imagined so. No room for… ambition. Which is undoubtedly a shame, when such talent is on display.” His eyes flickered up, back to Engavar. “But ambition is a jealous creature. It has but one master, which in turn leads to disloyalty. The last thing a noble house wants is disloyalty.”
“Perhaps if there was a way to prove my loyalty,” Engavar fixed his stare to Nethri as the pieces slotted into place. “I would grasp it.”
“For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.” - Agency proverb
Sevra fidgeted. It was never a good sign. The youthful Caraved hadn’t been gone long, and yet she was nervous. Things were moving too fast, even as her hands began to shake, feeling the phantom grip of a knife clenched between fingers-
The Ceorl returned. It had been a short meeting. But his attitude looked changed. Gone was the consternation, replaced by detachment. There was a neutral tone to his voice, summoned by one practiced in elocution. He avoided her gaze. “You will be pleased to know that the Caraved have decided not to place charges for the murder of one of their retainers.” The Ceorl intoned this slowly, acting as if it was some success. “However, we expect there to be serious repercussions for this clear transgression of the Private Officer Decree, and thus any information or use of his death will be rendered void. Any attempt to transgress on this point will be met in court. Perhaps next time, you might wish to restrain your operatives.” He turned to Sevra. “And perhaps, next time, you ought to control your aim.”
“Perhaps fear had clouded my judgment, Ceorl,” she snapped back, pissed off by his aloofness.
The officer began began to admonish her but Engavar waved him away. “No, Commander Norved, its fine. I am certain that she is just feeling the stress of a difficult job.” He paused, appearing to consider something. “Maybe a rest is advised, if its taking such a toll.”
Her glower answered him as he left.
“And they tell me sexism is dead.”
Sevra despised one so easily bought. His casual sexism nearly as bad, but the blatantly bribery that had just taken place was far worse. Nobles and their schemes, she would say. Or be tempted to say, for any other time.
“Do you think we should have told him the full truth?”
“No. It was more important to see who they sent to bribe Engavar, and for that matter, to see whether it would work, than to attempt to convince one member of the Caraved on such flimsy grounds.”
It made sense. And Engavar had aptly demonstrated just how unreliable he was. It still hurt through. They had a chance, right there, to… convince someone. It wasn’t like they needed absolution, but it would have somehow made things seem more tangible, rather tun the insane ramblings of dead men. I killed a man for this? “Who did they send then? Sir?”
“Nethri de sol Savran.”
“Shit.”
“Quite. Its worse than imagined, if they can afford to use him as a lackey.”
“Well, we already knew how far this went, if the target’s report is true.” She looked up at him. “I think this is the part you tell me that we’re out of our depth, sir.”
“I’m not sure when we were ever in our depth, Sevra.”
“But their suspicions have been raised. And early, too.”
It had been unintentional, but a trembling note had crept into her voice. Norved looked down at her, features tinged with concern. “Sevra, how are you feeling?”
* * * * *
“I’ve said everything you want to know.”
“No, there must be more.”
The man laughed. “There is so much more, but I am no oracle. Only a fool, who was ensnared like the rest. The Hayabusans are all in it, as are half the nobles in Astaria. The legions too. Maybe even Flint, who knows what that spider does?”
“You’re feeding me rumours.”
“No. No, no, no, I’m telling you the truth, if there is such a thing. The heart of the scheme rotting the Empires’ Valaran and Artalia.” His eyes were bloodshot. “The maggot is under our skin. Its laid its eggs, and they will hatch soon, burrowing their way through organ meat and blood matter. You know it, and,” he made a clawing motion with his hand, “you know the only way is to dig them out, taking flesh with them. You will feel the truth, one way or another.” He tottered to one side. “And all you need for the truth, its in Edenguard. Edenguard and my home. I have laid everything out, as neat as I could. Neatness is important, yes?” The eyes darted downwards to the creases in his clothes.
“I’ll need you to verify your statements.”
“No, you owe me a promise.” He pointed a finger at her gun.
“I should bring you in. What you’ve said needs more verification and you need help.” I’m not about to shoot someone.
“Don’t you see? I’m already a dead man, so kill me now.” His eyes began twitching again, as his voice pleaded with her. “Pleeeaasse. I need to die. I need to.”
“We can help y-” He lunged for her. It was a snarling, animalistic leap. There was no attempt at distraction, or jumping to the side. He simply went for her, charring straight into the barrel of her pistol. Her gaze met his and Sevra was confronted by a frenzy, the inchoate anger of someone who is truly lost.
And she hesitated.
The man smashed right into her. A shot rang out, a bullet skimmed into the water, and Sevra was thrown right back, slamming into the ground. She tried rolling, but suddenly the man was on her, grappling at her wrist, lunging for her neck. He was overpowering her with sheer force of frenzied will. Her hand slipped to her boot, fingers scrabbling for the sheath. It took too long, and he jumped at her again. His teeth descended.
She rammed the knife into the side of his head. It was a desperate attack, aimed too high to hit the soft pulp of the neck. Instead, the blade bit into the skin before skidding of the skull. Blood spattered downwards, drops landing in her eyes. The man screamed, howling anguish borne of something more than physical pain. Sevra stabbed a second time, her face a mask of gritted horror. There was one final sickening crunch, as the metal sheared through bone and skin.
When it was finally over, she rolled to one side, panting for breath. His eyes had fixed onto her as he had died. Fixed their gaze, so that she wouldn’t escape their pain.
* * * * *
Sevra looked up at her commander, steely eyed resolve filling her gaze. “I’m absolutely fine.”
-20 klicks from Astaria-
This was not a place to meet kings. And yet here the monarch sat, legs splayed, head resting on a hand as he surveyed Andurian. Examining him.
“Colonel Andurian, is it? Step forward.”
“My… liege.”
Edric peered forward, interested by this specimen. “You were going to say emperor, weren’t you? It should fit, shouldn’t it. But it doesn’t quite. Catches in your throat.” Some emotion passed across his amused eyes. “Or were you going to dispense with formality and call me Edric?”
“If you would prefer.” Andurian sensed the invitation.
“I would. Tell me though, what do you think of my name?”
“Your name?”
Edric smiled disarmingly. “Yes. What does the name Edric conjure for you?”
“Nothing,” he ventured cautiously. What was the Emperor hinting at? “Except… what I know of history. Of the other Edrics…” He trailed off. Did I say wrong? What is his point?
“Ah yes. My forebears. Such a rare name in the lineage of kings. We have half a dozen Lyrias’ all in quick succession. Five who bore the name Magnus. But there were only two Edrics. They were cold men, Andurian, used to war. Edric I, the reaver, who usurped the throne. And Edric II. Edric the conqueror. The Edric of the north, the one who broke Alaved. A calculating man, by all accounts, and a ruthless one. He held his own elite within a steel grasp.” The monarch withdrew into himself, introspecting. “It was said, by Seard himself, that only he was fit to bear the name Edric, that only he was a worthy heir to that reaver of the north. So why then, I wonder, did my father chose such a name for me? What was he harking back to? What did he hope to install in me with such a bitter legacy?”
Andurian gave his sovereign a level stare. “Piracy, clearly.”
Edric laughed. A deep, smooth sound, layered with articulate gravity and the ripples of subtle emotions. “Clearly. Or perhaps, it was as a reminder. A reminder of what the monarchy was then, and what it is now. This is not the era for reavers, and that was the lesson in my name.” He paused, and the smile became a shade closer to a grimace. “Perhaps there was also a hope. A hope that I would give the name Edric a new legacy, one not borne of bitter conflict.”
“Did it work?” It was a foolish question. Andurian should not have blurted it out.His nerviness had faded, when perhaps it remain useful. But he had been curious, seeing a window into the Emperor’s mind, and he mistakenly assumed that he had been granted access.
Edric’s smile faded. “As with anything my father imparted to me, it worked, at a cost. A cost I would not consider worth his aim, and one I have always borne.” He gestured to the throne. “I am the weakest Edric ever to hold court at Veldaron, and all present know it. All the politicians see it, and quietly include me as a piece into their schemes. And the nobles, they are worse. They care so much about lineage, so behind the fluttering eyelashes, the titters of an gaudy, ephemeral elite, they mock me.”
Caution took hold of Andurian once more, and he was reminded of the context of this meeting. “Your Majesty, are you sure that you should be telling me this?”
“Is it wise to hide the presence of a secret known to everyone? Why pretend otherwise?”
“Saying things like that might damage your reputation.”
Edric gestured again. “My reputation means nothing here. All those who I trust, know me,” His gaze pierced Andurian. “Do you know me?”
A command. Anduran knew what this meant. He went to one knee. “What does your majesty want of me?”
Edric gazed at him. And in that gaze, there was a single hint, a flicker of the cold eyed legends that were Edric’s ancestors. A single guileful hint of the reaver, and the embedded steel of authority. The Emperor of so many millions raised his head, the light casting shadows over his cheekbones.
“I am lord and master of the Valaran Empire, and I would have you root out traitors.”