Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides (38 page)
Read Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides Online
Authors: David Hair
Justina stepped into the room. ‘No. That.’ She pointed to a stone slate on the desk. ‘Touch the base, where the green gem is set.’
Ramita reached out, then paused. ‘What is it?’
‘A message.’
‘From my husband? Have you read it already.’
‘Give me some credit, bint,’ Justina replied indignantly. ‘Anyway, you don’t read it; it will speak to you.’ She dropped her chin. ‘I was wrong: you should have been allowed in here from the start.’
She’s just admitted being wrong … unprecedented
. Ramita decided not to comment, though. She stared at the slate before slowly reaching out to the green gem – then she stopped again, suddenly afraid of what it might reveal. ‘My husband has left a message? For me?’
‘I’ve just said so, haven’t I?’ she said impatiently.
Ramita nibbled at her lower lip, scared that it might be some kind of repudiation.
I only pretended to care for you; You’re only a market-girl.
Or worse:
I know about Kazim
.
She looked back at Justina. ‘I want to be alone.’
Justina exhaled sharply. ‘He’s my father.’
‘Then listen to it yourself later.’
Justina wrung her hands in annoyance, then turned and stomped out, slamming the door behind her.
Alone, Ramita sat on the end of the bed, trying to build up her courage. At last she reached out and firmly touched the green gem.
It tingled at her touch as imprisoned gnosis energy was released, energy that came with the mental impression of dry paper she had always associated with her husband. It made her feel both comforted and sad. Then a cloud of light shimmered above the plinth and her husband appeared, a tiny foot-tall version of her husband, seated in an armchair. He looked relaxed, and her pulse quickened to see him. Her throat went dry. No sound came, but his voice filled her head.
Ramita tried to send back:
She felt her hands clasp her belly, the tight bulge pressing against the fabric of her salwar kameez.
Ramita wiped away the tears she’d barely been aware she was crying.
I do. I truly do.
She found she was scarcely breathing.
Not true?
It felt like the stone at her feet was turning to mud: unsteady, shifting, untrustworthy.
What is my husband saying? He always told me our children were the key
…
yourself, not your children.
You
are the one who can end these shameful wars; you are the one who can bring peace to the world again.>
Her heart thudded.
Me?
That he could so easily predict her emotions made her almost forget that he was not truly there with her. ‘How can this be?’ she whispered uselessly, looking at the image of her husband for answers, for reassurances.
<
I have studied the phenomenon of Pregnancy Manifestation carefully, though I have always hidden my interest in the subject. I found only one previous instance where a mage has fathered a multiple birth. Normally we
struggle to conceive at all, let alone father or give birth to twins or triplets. But I found one case, of a young Dhassan girl – sadly, she was a rape victim of the Second Crusades who conceived and was taken in by Justina’s healing order. She gave birth to twins; the father was a quarter-blood Rondian who never knew of the children. The girl and the children all died when Rondians sacked the convent, so none survived, but records suggest her pregnancy manifestations were much stronger than they should have been. Despite having only birthed eighth-blood mage-children, she herself had the raw strength of a pure-blood.>
Ramita found she was holding her breath. Her arms crept back around her belly protectively as she started shaking her head in denial.
Antonin Meiros’ face softened and he rubbed at his close-cropped beard.
Ramita glanced back at the closed door behind her. No, she and Justina certainly did not get on. But they were getting by, somehow.
you give birth, Ramita, you will already be on a journey towards being the most naturally powerful mage in the world. Go home to Lakh and seek out Vizier Hanook. Do you remember I once told you that your name would be made known to him? It has been – and he knows that if I am dead, he should await your coming. You can trust him – he will look after you, and he will give you temporal power to match the power of your gnosis. Call the Ordo Costruo to you: you can trust Rene Cardien to support you. Use the power of the Ordo Costruo and Hanook’s influence to lean on Salim of Kesh; use it to defy Emperor Constant of Rondelmar. You will have the chance to impose peace on them both when you are standing at the head of a Lakh army. Ramita, you can stop the Crusades once and for all.>
She gaped open-mouthed at the tiny image, her head shaking in denial. This was all insane.
Her breath caught at the words:
I believe in you
.
The image died away.
For long minutes she sat on the bed, trembling, as tears streamed down her face.
It’s not the children. It is
me.
He expects me to save the world.
She couldn’t think about it. It was too big. Too much.
But after a time she raised her head, stretched out and triggered the message again, to imprint it on her memory. And to hear his voice again.
*
She was sitting in the lounge, late in the evening, when Justina finally appeared from below. Ramita had saved her dinner, lamb curry. She was staring at the rose-gold skylight as it faded to grey. She’d spent
the afternoon outside on the viewing platform, watching the waves shatter and thinking about her husband’s message.
‘He was insane,’ Justina said eventually.
Ramita turned her head to face her. Her husband’s daughter was ashen-faced, and she moved shakily. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘He left me a message too, about you and the gnosis.’ There had clearly been more to her message than that, but she obviously didn’t want to discuss that. ‘He tells me I have to teach you all I know. I’m doing that anyway,’ she muttered, like a sulking teenager. ‘He says that you’re going to outstrip us all.’
I bet you don’t like that.
Ramita had to restrain a smile.
‘He may be wrong, you know,’ Justina added waspishly. ‘He’s not omniscient. That poor Dhassan girl he mentioned could be a one-off. This might all be a waste of time.’
‘I suppose we’ll just have to see.’ Ramita observed. ‘Daughter.’
Justina scowled. ‘Then tomorrow, be prepared to do some real work.’ She stalked to the kitchen bench, seized her plate of cold curry and stomped away.
Across Kesh
Windship Travel
One of the magi’s first and most valuable discoveries was how to imbue wood with residual gnosis so that it could be made to support large weights. The next step, to build a hold around the enchanted timber and then add sails to capture the wind, came gradually, but by 420, forty years after the Ascendancy of the Blessed Three Hundred, air travel was a reality in Yuros, and it immediately proved its value both militarily and commercially. After observing sailing craft on Lac Siberne, more efficient sail and hull designs were designed, and superior airmanship followed. Rule of the air has been the cornerstone of the empire.
A
NNALS OF
P
ALLAS
Hebusalim, Dhassa, Antiopia
Rami (Septinon) to Shawwal (Octen) 928
3
rd
and 4
th
months of the Moontide
Pallacios XIII marched into the Hebb Valley under the full moon in the third week of Augeite. Mater-Lune’s face was the same pockmarked expanse as in Yuros, but little else was the same. The lands were brown and arid, almost lifeless, or so it looked at first glance. The few riverbeds were dry, not even muddy, and even the most spindly tree had been hacked down for fuel. The villages they marched through were empty, the local people long gone. The buildings were quite unlike those of Yuros; they were often entirely open on one side, to admit the air, and few windows or doorways had shutters or even doors. It made them look half-finished, just dried-mud shelters with roofs of straw. It was five days before they saw a Dhassan, a black-skinned old man hobbling along the road with cloth-wrapped feet.
Bondeau hurled the old man off the road with a hand gesture, making the column laugh. The old man just sat there and watched them tramp past, his eyes defiant.
At night the temperature plummeted, but it was still hotter than sultry summer in Silacia. Thankfully, the air was so dry it did not overwhelm the senses the way a heat wave in Yuros could; it was somehow a little more bearable, so long as you had enough water. Many of the wagons were massive water barrels on wheels, so heavy only a hulka could pull them.
‘Look at them,’ Kip marvelled. ‘How many steaks would you get from one of them?’
‘We may find that out before the end of this journey,’ Baltus Prenton commented.
‘I don’t like them,’ Ramon said. ‘Animals that can understand verbal commands? That’s creepy.’
‘I don’t disagree.’ Baltus looked at Ramon. ‘You have some air-affinity, don’t you? Ever flown a skiff?’
‘Si, of course – at Turm Zauberin. It is fun.’
‘Excellent. You and Severine are going to be my back-ups. We’re getting two skiffs when we arrive in Hebusalim. I need to know you can handle one if you have to.’
Ramon grinned. ‘I’ll be fine. It was my old friend Alaron you’d need to worry about. He flew a skiff into his own house once. Wish I’d been there.’ He grinned at the thought of his earnest friend, wondering as he did where he was, and if he’d found Cym yet, and the Scytale.
Just then, they topped a ridge. As the sun fell towards the west they found themselves looking down upon the holy city of Hebusalim, where the Amteh prophet Aluq-Ahmed spent much of his life. The inner part was walled, but the vast expanse of the city lay outside the defences, a sprawl of desolate-looking buildings from which hundreds of threads of smoke arose. The vast golden dome of the Bekira, the largest Dom-al’Ahm in the world, the resting place of the Prophet’s wife, Bekira, and the Governor’s Palace, a massive expanse of gleaming marble, its great rival, dominated the roofscape. Above it all stood the Domus Costruo on the westward hill, a stark, lifeless
silhouette. Word was that Ordo Costruo had relocated to their wartime retreat, the Krak di Condotiori.
To the east was the distant line of the Gotan Heights, rimmed with legion fortresses, with a wall running along the ridgeline. The camp beneath was as large as the one they’d left at Northpoint. Legion encampments, with thousands of tents and pens for livestock, were dotted across the plain, and above and beyond shimmered the Dhassan mountains, looking so near but really far, far away across the desiccated plains.
Now at last there were local people: dark-skinned men who had set up row upon row of food stalls and were now busy roasting meat and nuts over tiny fires. A string of Rondian legionaries guarded them, making any who bought pay fair price. The legions had learned from two previous invasions that not paying the locals meant the stalls vanished, together with a good third of the food the men might otherwise have had to requisition. Protecting commerce helped the Crusades – and there were other incentives, too. Beyond the stalls were tents where slender figures in diaphanous cloth lounged under the awnings. The Dhassan prostitutes always had a male protector nearby, usually a husband or brother. The women had a dangerous-looking beauty, and the legionaries nudged each other, their heads drawn inexorably sideways as they marched past. The more brazen of the women paraded half-dressed, calling out to the men in broken Rondian.
‘Eyes front, you slugs!’ bawled the centurions. ‘Get your hands off your cocks and think about your shovels! You’ve got trenches to dig!’
Ramon glanced at Kip, who was staring at one dusky creature with golden skin and tangled hair that fell to her waist. ‘Shizen, look at her,’ he muttered.
‘Not as pretty as a Silacian girl,’ Ramon remarked for form’s sake.
And she’s got dead eyes and she hates every one of us almost as much as she hates herself.
‘She’ll have more diseases than a leper colony. Don’t go there, amici.’
‘Schlessen girls are the best,’ Kip proclaimed, though the way his eyes were roaming made it sound like he was speaking to reassure
himself. ‘Blonde hair and big—’ He cupped his hands over his chest. ‘Boom, boom.’ Then the girl he was looking at slowly parted the front of her gown, and he shut his eyes and groaned.
Further up the line, Severine Tiseme was riding on her own because Renn Bondeau was gawping at the whores as lustily as any ranker. Seth Korion seemed to be trying to reassure her, but judging by his scarlet face and stammering, he wasn’t managing so well. On impulse, Ramon spurred his horse and joined them, leaving Kip to pant over the next exotic beauty to bare her wares for him.
‘Milady Severine, isn’t it wonderful to have arrived,’ he said cheerily.
Seth Korion looked at him worriedly, and nudged his khurne away. Severine turned, her face wearing an expression of surprise, presumably at his effrontery in speaking to her. ‘What a ghastly place. It must remind you of home.’
Nice.
‘It reminds me of Coiners’ Alley in Norostein, but the girls are prettier.’
‘It’s disgusting,’ Severine said loudly, her eyes on the back of Renn Bondeau’s head.
‘So is destroying the local economy so that women have no choice but to prostitute themselves or starve,’ Ramon replied evenly.
Severine tossed her head. ‘A woman of Yuros would not descend so low.’
Ramon tilted his head. ‘You think not? They did in Noros during the Revolt. I have that on good authority.’
Severine scowled. ‘Noromen are
provincials.
A woman of Rondelmar has greater moral fibre. Her virtue is her banner.’
Rich, coming from the girl who’s trying to get with child so she can go home.
‘I gather we will fly together,’ he commented, changing the subject.
‘I think not. I will fly with Windmaster Prenton.’
‘Have you ever used a skiff?’
‘The good colleges do not teach girls such menial tasks.’
‘So “no”, then?’
She pouted. ‘I am a fast learner.’
‘You’ll need to be. Prenton tells me that skiff-pilots who crash here end up as bones in the desert.’
Severine tossed her head. ‘I will be fine. Look to yourself, Rimoni.’
‘Silacian,’ he corrected.
She faced him fully. ‘What do I care what breed of rodent you are?’
‘Charming. Still, I suppose you hope to be with child and halfway home within a month or so, si?’
Severine flared. ‘I demand you retract that insinuation.’ Renn Bondeau’s head spun and he began to rein back.
‘Keep moving,’ snapped Rufus Marle from somewhere behind them, his voice edged with menace. Ramon saluted Severine ironically and edged back into line with Kip.
Ramon glanced at Kip, who had torn his eyes from the Dhassan women long enough to realise that there was tension in the air. ‘What is happening?’ the Schlessen demanded.
‘Just making new friends.’ Ramon winked.
Kip laughed. ‘Hey, you notice how Seth Korion runs away from you all the time? Did you push him round at your fancy college?’
‘Hardly. Seth runs away from everything,’ Ramon replied.
‘He is the big general’s son, yar?’
‘Sometimes big fathers have little sons.’
‘This is why you call him “Lesser Son”, yar?’
‘You’re right on the mark. So, worked out how you’re spending your hard-earned pay yet?’
Kip glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Broadly speaking, yar. Specifically, neyn. You?’
Ramon shook his head slowly. ‘I think I’ll stay in camp. Five fingers are cheaper and carry less risk of pox.’
Kip winced. ‘Most nights, I agree with you. But you have to do some things once, I think.’
Ramon snorted. ‘No, you don’t have to everything, even once. But I can see I won’t persuade you otherwise.’
Kip laughed. ‘You are smart for a rat-faced Silacian sneak-thief.’
That evening the camp emptied out. Ramon could see queues of men twenty-deep outside some tents, the three Andressan magi among them. Coulder and Fenn had found fellow gamblers among the Argundians and were off carousing. He wasn’t tempted by either, though he found himself amused at how base the motivations of most men were. For himself, he had higher things on this mind. But only slightly higher. He pulled on civilian clothes and headed for the windship yards.
A trader had touched down an hour before and was unloading under the close watch of an imperial inspector. Ramon watched proceedings until the inspector left, then approached the captain, who was drinking from a flask while his men lounged on deck, looking longingly towards the whore-tents.
Ramon sauntered up. ‘Evening, Shipmaster,’ he called. He extended a hand. ‘Ramon Sensini of Retia.’
The captain paused in his drinking and grudgingly accepted a handshake. ‘Faubert, of the
Fleur-Rouge
. What do you want, Silacian?’
‘Oh, just seeing if you had anything for sale.’
‘Not me, lad.’
Ramon raised an eyebrow, ‘Really? No sculf-hold?’ He cocked his head knowingly.
Faubert frowned. ‘No sculf-hold here, lad.’ A sculf-hold was a hidden compartment used for smuggling. ‘I’m an honest trader.’
‘This windship is what, Andressan?’ Ramon asked. ‘There’s usually a crawl-space behind the bow-sprit, a false-bottomed hold and a shallow space the size of a mattress in the ceiling of the captain’s cabin.’
Faubert’s eyes narrowed. ‘The inspector’s been through us, lad. We’re clean.’
Ramon shook his head. ‘The inspectors don’t know shit.’
Faubert flicked his hand to his neck and tugged on a leather cord, revealing a glittering periapt. ‘You want to make a thing of this, boy?’
Ramon shrugged and revealed his own periapt. ‘No, but I could.’
Faubert looked taken aback. ‘Not many of your people have those,’ he noted carefully. ‘What do you want?’
‘Not much,’ Ramon smiled. ‘Just give me a good reason not to go and have a chat with that inspector and I’ll be on my way. He’ll confiscate all you have and clap you in irons. I’m much cheaper to get rid of.’ He pulled out his legion identity medallion. ‘Pallacios Thirteen, Tenth Maniple. I’m interested in trading.’
Faubert frowned. ‘Perhaps. How come you know Andressan ships?’
‘My familioso have dealings with Andressan smugglers.’
‘Huh, figures. All right, what do you want?’
‘What have you got?’
Faubert pursed his lips. ‘Brevian whiskey. Very strong.’
The whiskey he’d got from Giordano was long gone. Ramon grinned. ‘Sounds good. I’ll take a keg. And some of whatever it is you’re shipping back.’
Faubert shook his head. ‘Going home empty, lad.’
‘Hogswill. With respect, no trader flies empty. What is it: poppy?’
Faubert clenched his jaw. ‘Look, I like you, boy, Silacian scum or not. Let’s just acknowledge that if you dob me in to the inspectors I’ll smash your legs so badly the healers will amputate out of pity.’
Ramon grinned. ‘Would still be hassle for you, Captain Faubert. Whereas if you give me a few ounces of ground poppy and that keg of whiskey, you won’t see me again.’ He offered a hand. ‘Deal?’
Faubert scowled, then spat on his hand and they shook.
Ramon was waiting when Kip returned from the tents, an awestruck look on his face. ‘These women … unbelievable, meyn freund. The way they move their hips …’
Ramon snorted, and slipped him a thimble of amber liquid. Kip sniffed it curiously and his eyes lit up. ‘This is … what I think it is, yar?’
‘It certainly is.’ He showed the Schlessen the keg. ‘You can have one more thimble tonight, no more,’ he warned. ‘This might have to last us the entire Crusade.’ He patted Kip’s shoulder. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Where are you going now?’ Kip frowned.
Ramon winked. ‘Can’t tell you. But stand by for some entertainment.’
*
‘
I AM AN ANGEL OF KORE!
’ bellowed Renn Bondeau, his voice filling the camp.
‘
I AM CORINEUS ALMIGHTY!
’ Seth Korion cried.
They roused the camp with their clamour. Ramon, who was awake anyway, grabbed Kip and they hurried to the scene. They were amongst the first group of legionaries and officers, who were all staring up at the roof of a tall building, looking at Bondeau and Korion, who were perched there unsteadily.
Both of the young magi were naked. In their hands were bottles of red wine, and between them was a terrified-looking Keshi girl, wrapped in a sheet and wailing. An angry Dhassan man on the ground was shouting up at the two magi. Gold stars and flashes of blue light were pulsing from Bondeau’s fingers and out of his mouth, and he was swaying impossibly at the apex of the roof. He had no balance, but somehow his gnosis was keeping him upright. ‘
I AM THE EMPEROR OF ALL THINGS!
’