Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (80 page)

Ramon concluded for him.

Ramon snarled.
so
indiscreet.>

Dubrayle’s voice became distant, haughty
.

His voice became more relaxed as the discussion became less personal.

Ramon bit at his lip. The offer wasn’t unexpected. Bring the gold to Papa and you’ll be safe.

Dubrayle sighed ironically.

Dubrayle’s mental voice softened, a stage actor’s version of ‘paternal’.
will
react: with
force
. There will be chaos, and the millions who deserve it least will suffer most. That is why the status quo must be supported, and why those bred to rule must be permitted to do so. Elites must be sustained, for the alternatives are unthinkable.>

Ramon inhaled. It all sounded so
reasonable
, in Calan Dubrayle’s matter-of-fact yet
caring
tones. Yet it also made him angry.
Elites must be sustained, must they? The alternatives are unthinkable, are they?
He wanted to lash out, but he had to admit to being captivated by hearing this giant of the empire – his natural father – speak. It was like being permitted to interview a deity. He wished Vann Mercer, Alaron’s father, who’d been responsible for shaping his political beliefs to a large extent, was here to help him frame the questions he wanted to ask. But he was alone, and Dubrayle wanted answers too, and soon.

he asked, then added,

Dubrayle’s voice became warmer.

*

‘So what happened next?’ Seth Korion asked, leaning forward as Ramon paused and took a swallow of brackish, lukewarm water from his bottle. ‘What did he say?’

They were watching their men tramp down a dusty road towards a flat horizon. The sun was its usual oppressive presence, but the rankers were singing, and so too the Khotri women riding with the baggage train: two songs merging into one.

Ramon laughed. ‘He said that if I surrendered myself and all the gold I have to him, he’d pardon me, acknowledge me publically and give me a position as a Junior Legate in the Imperial Treasury.’

‘Holy Kore! What did you say?’

‘I told him to go and rukk himself with a sharp stick.’

Seth’s jaw dropped. ‘Seriously?’

‘Well, no, actually. I told him I needed to think about it – if I can string him along, it might buy us some time. I told him that I’ve no longer got the gold, and said that it’s been dumped in a series of marked sites on the Tigrates River, and that no one person, not even me, is aware of all the sites. I thought that way he might hold off trying to just snatch me from the column.’

‘Do you think that will work?’

‘Not for long. But he says your own loving ex-Papa has despatched men to intercept us, and the Imperial Volsai and the Church are converging on us too. He also said that Saint Lucia is terrified that whoever succeeds in snatching the gold will seize the throne, so she’s trying to create alliances in each camp. This could buy us time.’

‘To do what?’

‘To come up with a better plan.’ He winced. ‘Sorry, I’m running out of ideas.’

They fell silent for a minute, then Seth said, ‘So he would actually
acknowledge
you? And take you under his wing?’ He was still in agony over being rejected by his own father.

‘Dubrayle doesn’t want
me
,’ Ramon said. ‘He wants to preserve the wealth of “his people” – the Elites. He’d be more than happy to have me executed as a traitor, provided he gets the gold first.’

Seth listened gloomily. ‘Look at us: both illegitimate sons of powerful men who’d happily see us dead. And we even went through the Arcanum together. Incredible.’

‘There aren’t that many Arcanums,’ Ramon replied. ‘Don’t invent coincidences, General Korion.’

‘Fetallink,’ Seth corrected.

‘No, you’re a Korion – sorry, but you really are. So, anyway, Dubrayle tried to scare me with all his “world will collapse unless we let rich pricks rule for the rest of eternity” shit. It just left me twice as determined to get our rankers home with gold in their pockets. Dubrayle can go to Hel.’

Seth listened, then solemnly shook his hand. ‘So then. We’ve got the whole of the empire lining up to annihilate us. What are we going to do?’

‘Honestly? I don’t know.’

‘Come on, you’ve always got a plan,’ Seth teased, his voice light and his eyes fearful.

‘Not this time. We need a miracle.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in those?’

‘I don’t. But I’m thinking I better get praying.’

He didn’t actually get around to praying; instead Ramon worried at his problems as the column wound west of Medishar, buying what food they could from a destitute rural populace. He insisted on paying – the Crusade had done enough damage here, and the exorbitant prices were easily affordable to him – and before long Dhassan merchants began to come to them, lining the roads to sell, knowing they’d get more than from the locals, not caring that their own people might starve. If he’d had a choice, he’d rather have hung them for profiteering. Instead, he made them rich.

Everywhere they went they saw the suffering the invasion had caused, and it affected the rankers especially, despite all they’d seen and been through, not to mention their own predicament. The best and worst of their natures came out: some of the men were foolishly generous to the locals; others were cruel and bullying – and sometimes it was the same man, just on a different day, when stress made him snap.

The time passed in a haze, the road like a burning dream.

On the last day of Aprafor, under the Darkmoon, they reached a place marked on the maps as ‘Bassaz Junction’. They’d approached from the east; there was wilderness to the south and the city of Bassaz itself was fifteen miles further westward. But the northern route was the great road of the Dhassan kings, and it went all the way to Hebusalim.

Ramon was riding next to the Souldrinker Delta, who was quietly lugubrious company, and not unpleasant if you could ignore what he was. They crested a rise and found themselves overlooking a low valley. Coll and his fellow scouts were waiting for them, because the Lost Legions could go no further: above the crossroads, blocking the northern route, was another army, some fifteen thousand men or more, according to Coll’s estimates. ‘They’re First Army, sir, with plenty of Inquisition and Kirkegarde – all cavalry, mounted on those damned khurnes.’

Ramon’s spine stiffened at the thought of a whole lot more Siburniuses and Nytrasias and their ilk. He glanced at Delta.
His kind too, perhaps?

‘What else, Coll?’ he asked, because the scout was almost bursting to go on.

‘They’ve got hordes of war-hounds – I barely got out. And I saw venators . . . and worse.’ Coll’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I was there in Pallas when Lucia Sacrecour got ’erself Sainted, sir. These two giant flyin’ reptiles flew over the plaza, breathin’ fire – Drakken, sir, jus’ like the legends, come to life.’

Drakken? Oh . . . that’s just
rukking
wonderful . . .

32

Limits of Power

The Elder Gods of Gatioch

Great Masters, I swear that this was the only way of inculcating these heathens with the Word of Ahm! They just could not conceive of the Prophet as being divine, yet not one of their pantheon. So yes, I allowed them to think that we regarded Aluq-Ahmed as a child of Markud, the king of their gods! Yes, this was a heresy! But it has brought them to the Faith! I beg you for clemency!

G
ODSPEAKER
G
ULBRACH,
A
MTEH MISSIONARY TO
G
ATIOCH, AT HIS TRIAL FOR HERESY,
Y
132 (
A
586)

Valley of Tombs, Gatioch, on the continent of Antiopia

Thani (Aprafor) 930

22
^nd
month (of 24) of the Moontide

The thrum of the Keshi windship was clear, even in the after-deck cabin, which told Alaron they were still making good speed. He, Ramita and Corinea were crammed together, poring over the map on the table dominating the tiny cabin. Coloured stones etched with runes covered the parchment.

They were somewhere over Gatioch, flying under a burning sun. Corinea had been scrying the route ahead so that they could narrow down where to find Malevorn and Huriya; it gave them something to do as they flew northeast, aided by the spring winds rolling across Ahmedhassa from the western seas. Free of the mountains, they’d come up against strong wards whenever they tried to scry Malevorn, Huriya or Nasatya directly. But Corinea was focusing on something else right now, what she referred to as a ‘snail’s trail’ of gnostic echoes that apparently bore ‘his taint’. Alaron wasn’t sure if the ‘his’ referred to Malevorn any more.

‘This is the position of the Crusade now,’ Corinea said, indicating the map. ‘Kaltus Korion’s forces are arrayed north to south, facing Rashid from atop the Ebensar Heights, east of Galataz. They’re only two months from Pontus if they march quickly. I presume they’ll stay in Ebensar until the beginning of Maicin.’

‘That’s only a few weeks away,’ Alaron mused.

‘Indeed.’ Corinea pointed to a number of markers in southern Dhassa. ‘Here we have the southern Keshi army, led by the sultan himself. He seems to be moving into Dhassa, trailing a number of smaller Rondian forces: the former garrisons of the southern cities.’ She tapped the marker for the sultan. ‘The Keshi armies are huge.’

‘Remind me about this one?’ Alaron asked, pointing to a marker in the south of Kesh. They were Rondian, apparently marching from Medishar to Bassaz in good order. He’d been rather optimistically scrying for Ramon – more in hope than expectation – but if he was out there, he was warded too. He could have tried calling for him, but that was noisy and might have alerted unfriendly minds to their presence.

‘A small Rondian force,’ Corinea replied. She indicated another marker. ‘They appear to be linking up with this force that’s come south, very swiftly, from the First Army.’ This was well out of their way – Corinea’s ‘snail’s trail’ began in Gatioch, far to the east.

‘What about Huriya?’ asked Ramita, who cared little of the Crusade’s progress. ‘What about my son?’

She knew the answer; they all did: Huriya was nowhere to be found, and nor was Nasatya. ‘They’re just warding too strongly for us to find them,’ Corinea said soothingly, though the growing fear that the boy was dead gnawed at them all.

Ramita wasn’t mollified. ‘So: we know where all manner of people are: just not those we actually want to find.’ She brushed Alaron’s hand away irritably. She had a temper she seldom showed, but when she did, the world knew it.