The Crown of the Usurper (9 page)

  Anglhan wanted to laugh at the naiveté of Urikh's ploy. It was more obvious than a ten-thousand strong army marching down a road. The lure of gold and soldiers was not tempting at all, because Anglhan had no desire to leave his mark anywhere near the death of Ullsaard. In becoming governor of Magilnada, Anglhan had put himself into the view of the powerful and the ambitious men around him. That had been his mistake, not greed. This time he would work through others – Leraates and Asuhas for the moment, and ultimately the king. They would be the public face of Anglhan's private power.

  "There has been a disturbance in the lower halls," announced Asuhas, having dismissed the blackcrest captain. "It seems there has been some fighting between the Brotherhood guards and the Twenty-first."

  "As I understand it, the blackcrests are not very popular," said Anglhan. "This hardly seems to me to be pressing news."

  "While it is true that there is always tension between the Brotherhood troops and traditional legions, it is also normal for legion discipline to be maintained. There was a particular event that triggered the animosity into confrontation, and that is the cause for my concern."

  "A trigger?" asked Anglhan, not really interested. The bully boys of the Brotherhood and Captain Lutaan's men could slaughter each other for all the difference it made to the former governor.

  "It seems that some of the Twenty-first, and it is unclear how many, were masquerading as members of the brotherhood detachment. I cannot fathom why that would be the case."

  "Just stirring trouble, no doubt," said Anglhan, although now he was convinced that earlier he had not been hallucinating. That legionnaire
had
been old Gelthius. He hadn't seen the former debtor since Thunder Pass, but he could now see a connecting line going from what had happened between the Twenty-first and the blackcrests through Gelthius and back to Ullsaard. It was just a suspicion at the moment, but there would be records at the Brotherhood precinct that would confirm or dispel those suspicions.

  "I'm sorry, were you talking?" Anglhan said, realising that he had not been listening to Asuhas for a short while. "Please, forgive my insolence."

  "I asked you what you planned to do about this situation with the Brotherhood," the governor said. "You know that I have pledged every assistance to you, but I cannot aid you with these damned black-crested enforcers looking over my shoulder. You must speak to Leraates and have him pull back his hounds."

  "I'll see what I can do, but Leraates doesn't answer to me, friend," said Anglhan. He patted Asuhas on the shoulder. "Please excuse me, I will go and speak to Leraates now."

  It was time, Anglhan had decided, to set the fox amongst the chickens and see what would happen. Asuhas was already clucking madly. How would Leraates react?

 

Anglhan crossed the square at a fast walk, cloak wrapped about his body, one hand holding his hood over his head. The market traders were packing away their stalls and heading off with wagons and handcarts, as the last buyers had all been driven back to their homes by a resurgence of the autumn rains. In front, the rain glistened from the grey slabs of the Brotherhood precinct. Its arched tiers were just a little lighter than the cloudy sky, which was growing darker every moment, hiding the setting sun.

  The hour did not matter to Anglhan; the precincts of the Brotherhood never closed their doors. Day and night the courts and tax collectors worked, keeping the empire sailing smoothly along like a galley on the Greenwater.

  Reaching the cover of an awning stretched over the upper steps leading to the precinct, Anglhan untied his cloak, shook it out and bundled it under one arm. He wiped his sleeve across his face, soaking up the rain that had reached his skin. A soft but pointed cough halted Anglhan as he took a few steps towards the dark opening of the doorway.

  The small, leathery-faced man who sat behind a table at the precinct's main portal had seen Anglhan come and go more than a dozen times, and yet the clerk's officious nature could not allow him to let the Salphor past without comment.

  "Name?" said the clerk.

  "Karoom Karaa, said Anglhan, earning himself a scowl and pursed lips.

  "That is not the name you gave to me before," said the clerk, laying down his stylus and wax tablet to fix Anglhan with a scrutinising stare.

  "If you know my name, why do you keep asking me what it is?"

  "It is my job to ascertain the identity of everybody who enters the precinct. It is not my duty to assume I know that identity." The wiry official glanced over his shoulder, towards the two blackcrests standing at sentry beside the open doorway into the building. He returned his gaze to Anglhan. "Name?"

  "Daefus Maron," said Anglhan, using the alias he had established for himself in Thedraan. He and Leraates had been in agreement that it made no sense for the name of Anglhan Periusis to ever be entered into any official records of the Brotherhood.

  "Purpose?"

  "Crown business," said Anglhan. He fished into the pouch at his belt and brought out a Brotherhood token. It was much like the tax tokens Leraates and others often gave out as rewards and bribes, except that it was made of silver and marked with a series of numbers on the reverse.

  The clerk took the token and inscribed the numbers into his wax slate before pulling out a roll of paper from a box beneath the table. Anglhan folded his arms while he waited for the door warden to verify the numbers against his list.

  "Host?" said the man, handing back the token.

  "Brother Leraates," said Anglhan, tapping his fingers on the bulge of his arm.

  The clerk produced a ledger and turned the pages until he came to the one he wanted. Running a finger down the page, the man tutted and shook his head.

  "You have no appointment to see Brother Leraates."

  "Is he here? He will see me regardless of appointment."

  The clerk consulted his book again, brow furrowed. He gave a quiet snort and darted a dirty look at Anglhan. The same had happened on every previous occasion, and Anglhan was starting to enjoy the charade.

  "Very well, it appears you have open privileges," said the clerk. He gestured to the blackcrests and one of them came over. "Arrange for someone to escort this visitor to the meeting chambers of Brother Leraates."

  Anglhan was forced to wait, during which the city rang in the second hour of Duskwatch. The sun was almost set and the steps of the precinct were lit by four massive lamps hanging to either side of the doorway. Eventually a black-crested legionnaire emerged from the open door and nodded for Anglhan to follow.

  Inside the precinct was dry and dusty, unlike the rest of the city which was almost permanently damp. Anglhan had no idea how the Brothers managed to keep out the rain all of the time, and he had not seen any evidence of fireplaces during his visits. While the outside of the precinct was clad in the grey stone that made up most of the city, the inside showed exposed walls of light orange brick. The floor underfoot was of the same, and Anglhan wondered how the Brothers could work in such monotonous environs. There was not a mat, carpet or hanging to be seen; not in any of the parts of the precinct he had been.

  "This place could do with a mural or two," he said to his escort. The man shrugged with indifference. "Or perhaps a mosaic?"

  He tramped after the blackcrest, heading along low steps that led up into the heights of the ziggurat, slowly winding around themselves, doorways and archways and branching passages to either side. There was the muted murmur of conversations through some of the doors, and clacks of counting beads moving from bowl to bowl. Aside from the jingle of the blackcrest's armour, Anglhan thought he could also hear the barely audible scritch of stylus on wax and nib on parchment. The Brothers made no sound as they shuffled from room to room in their black robes and slippers, and twice he had to stop suddenly as one of the silently-moving civil servants emerged from an archway just ahead of him.

  "Lava, it must be," Anglhan said out loud. Rather than echo his words, the bare walls absorbed the noise, stilling Anglhan's voice.

  "What's that?" said the legionnaire, looking over his shoulder for a moment.

  "The heat and dryness, it must be lava in origin. You know, heated from underneath, like bath houses."

  "You might be right, I've never thought about it before," said the blackcrest. "I know they must make it here somewhere."

  "What about ailurs? Do they breed them here?"

  The soldier shook his head.

  "Just at the Grand Precincts in Askh, I hear. Maybe they used to at Oorandia as well, I don't remember. Certainly not seen any ailurs around here, not even Asuhas has one."

  "And who is your commander?" They turned and took a steeper flight of stairs, which narrowed quickly, almost to the point where Anglhan's bulk would not fit between the brick walls and the legionnaire had to hold his shield edge-on in front of himself. The tapered stairwell opened out a short flight later, into a high-ceilinged chamber that ran from one side of the precinct to the other; Anglhan could see the palace through the windows to his right and the distant Ersuan hills to his left.

  It looked like a storage area, filled with barrels and cupboards and crates, but Anglhan had been here before and knew that it was the precinct's hall of records and not some menial store room. Somewhere in here would be the recruiting papers of the Twenty-first. If Gelthius had been with the legion for some time, that would put paid to Anglhan's suspicions. If he was a newer recruit, that would mean he spent plenty of time with the Thirteenth after Thunder Pass, and was likely one of Ullsaard's men.

  It might be coincidence, but Anglhan would never take coincidence for granted. Besides, it worked in Anglhan's favour if the tale was true.

  "You didn't answer my question," said Anglhan.

  "Don't have a commander, as such," said the blackcrest. "We've got second captains and third captains, a few of them around, but the senior Brother is Leraates. Before him, it was Brother Sangaal."

  "Seems a bit odd, having Brothers in military positions. Impractical."

  "It's not like a Brother's ever going to be leading us into bat tle, is it?" said the blackcrest. "We just guard stuff, for the most part. The regular legions are for fighting wars."

  "You can leave me here, if that's all right," said Anglhan. He flicked a finger towards the curtained doorways that led to the offices of the senior Brothers. "You can tell Brother Leraates I'm here."

  "Tell him yourself, I'm supposed to be off-shift," said the blackcrest. Anglhan watched the soldier turn on his heel and stride back to the stairs.

  When the thump of the legionnaire's tread on the stone steps was distant, Anglhan set about looking through the records. He did not know the intricacies of the Brotherhood's system, but had been observant when he had made previous visits. To aid him, there were signs hung at regular intervals on the shelves and cupboards, and wax slate logs were also attached to each shelf and drawer.

  It was simple enough to find the section that was concerned with the latest raising of the Twenty-first. A sheaf of parchments were tied together with cord, and on them were listed the names of all of the recruits so far. Reading from the end of the list backwards, it was not long before Anglhan found Gelthius' name, and a notation to the effect that he had been dismissed from the Thirteenth for serving his ten year term and re-signed with Captain Lutaan.

  That was all the proof Anglhan needed. Gelthius had been on his landship ten years ago, and so the documentation had to be fabricated. It was possible that Gelthius had forged them himself, but it made no sense to desert one legion in order to join another. Looking at the record, Gelthius saw that there were four others who had signed on to the legion rolls at the same time – all of them veterans of Ullsaard's Thirteenth.

  "You sly bastard," said Anglhan, shoving the papers back into their drawer.

  "Who is a sly bastard?"

  Anglhan's blubbery body wobbled as he straightened with shock. Stumbling around, he found Leraates standing just behind him, hands at his stomach, tucked into the sleeves of his robe. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

  There was something about the precinct – maybe the dim light or the colours – that made Leraates seem more menacing than when Anglhan had first encountered him. His eyes had pinpricks of light reflected in them, stabbing into Anglhan like inquisitive, distrusting daggers. Leraates had more confidence here too, Anglhan was certain. Like a predator on home ground, the Brother was more certain of himself, and his authority, when surrounded by the trappings of his position.

  "I was just about to tell you," said Anglhan, recovering from his fright. "It is not good manners to sneak up on a man like that."

  "I heard you rustling about and came to see what had so intrigued you," said Leraates. The Brother waved a hand to the doorway of his chambers, where the red curtain had been pulled back, revealing the lamp-lit room beyond. "I assume some discretion is required?"

  "Yes, that would be good," replied Anglhan.

  He followed Leraates across the room, sweat pickling on his forehead and jowls.

  "Why is it so hot in here?" he asked, dabbing at his face with his sleeve. He glanced outside to see rain sleeting down on the rest of the city.

  "Airflow and lava vats," said Leraates, standing to one side of the doorway, inviting Anglhan to enter with a waved hand. "Heat rises, so the upper levels of the precinct get warmer. However, the very top of the building is exposed to the elements more, which chills the air. This is about the hottest storey."

  "And you can work here, like this?"