The False Martyr (32 page)

Given that their
supporters tended to be traders, industrialists, bankers, and
craftsmen, they would have been an obvious coalition for Ipid, but
the Stullys had tried to block him from building his first mill in
Wildern. Chancellor Kavich had come to his rescue, and Ipid had
been his man ever since.

Now was likely the Stullys
greatest moment. The Chancellor and his entire Bureau were dead –
Ipid could only imagine his wife and children had died with him
when the palace was destroyed. Parliament had been out of session,
so many of its members likely lived, but they were scattered. It
would be weeks until a quorum could be found to select a new
Chancellor. Allard Stully was the obvious man to fill that gap, but
he would want to rule, could never accept Ipid or give him the writ
to do what had to be done.

Ipid watched the towers of
Stully Manor and nodded.
All the more
reason
. The Stullys had defiantly built
their manor outside the city’s walls a century before unification.
In the nearly two hundred years since, it had become a sprawling
palace in its own right. It had enough rooms to house an entire
government, stables large enough for the Darthur horses, and its
own walls to keep out those who would protest his undoubtedly
riot-inducing decisions. And even more important, seizing it would
force Allard Stully from the city.

“
I will be at Stully
Manor,” Ipid declared. “Captain, send men to collect Valati
Wallock. I want you and the remainder to ride ahead. Tell Lord
Stully that he and his family are to leave the house immediately.
See that they are escorted. . . .”

“
My lord,” Captain Tyne
quietly interrupted, “the Stullys have already evacuated the city.
Most of the west side was evacuated when the invaders arrived. We
expected an attack . . . .”

“
Even Lord Allard?” Ipid
asked. “I can’t believe he abandoned the city at such a
time.”

“
That I do not know, my
lord. I know that he commissioned barges to carry his household to
Aylesford. They left in a rush a week ago. I have had no reports of
Lord Allard since, so I assume he accompanied them.”

“
Maybe he was the smart
one all along,” Ipid said to himself. He considered for a moment
but decided it changed nothing. “Did the servants
remain?”

“
I am not sure, my lord. I
expect he would have kept a few people there.”

“
I suppose we will find
out. Captain, you and your men ride ahead. Be sure the house is
prepared to receive us.”

“
It will be as you say, my
lord,” Captain Tyne saluted, turned to his men, issued orders, and
rode away at the lead. Two of the men turned south, looking for a
way across the river to Valati Wallock.

Thirty minutes later, Ipid
and his host rode through the gates of Stully Manor. The great
oaken doors were thrown back, but Ipid admired the heavy carvings,
polish, and lacquer that made them seem more an extravagance than a
barrier. They stood at the end of a private lane, the only visible
break in the short wall that completely surrounded the sprawling
estate, its gardens, stables, servants’ quarters, and out
buildings. The wall stretched for blocks in either direction,
topped with metal spikes and interrupted by three low towers on
each side. It was a wall meant to keep out rabble, not armies. It
stood only fifteen feet and was only as thick as it needed to be to
remain standing. The towers were primarily for show. Even the doors
were not reinforced, had no slot for a bar and no portcullis to
back them.

Inside the wall, Ipid
admired the great house. In comparison, Ipid’s was a cottage. At
its center was a block of a building that held the public sections
of the house: foyer, galleries, dining room, sitting rooms,
kitchen, and library. Stretching from that four story granite
fortress to either side were the two wings. Spanning a hundred
paces each, they rose three stories to the green tin roof where
copper gutters were supported by a rushing river of moss-encrusted
granite. The wings housed the family and guests. Ipid had heard
that they collectively contained over
thirty bedrooms.
The wings were said
to contain other wonders meant only for the Stullys and their
guests: galleries of great art, libraries with ancient texts, hot
pools for swimming and bathing, gaming rooms, even a second and
third kitchen with tiny elevators to carry food between the floors
– if the stories were to be believed. And behind the main building,
lost from view was the Stully’s greatest pride, the largest
ballroom in the Kingdoms. A great round room, it spanned fifty
paces and was said to be modeled off of the Hall of Understanding
in Sal Danar with its own glass ceiling. The floor was tiled to
match the Palace of the Rising Sun as were the statues arrayed
around the room. Having been there himself, Ipid could certainly
attest to its extravagance, if not the accuracy of its
mimicry.

Past the outbuildings,
they rode through the manicured garden in full bloom and found two
lines of servants standing prepared to meet them. All told there
were a score of men with a few women. Not surprisingly they looked
to be the oldest, least capable, and most expendable of the small
army that typically tended the house. They watched Ipid approach
with bent backs, bowed knees, and rheumy eyes. Many of them looked
to have only recently risen, their clothes and hair rumpled and
unready – apparently, their discipline had fallen precipitously
with the master gone and invasion imminent. Ipid was not sure if
they had enough vigor left to keep a shanty, which only left one
more thing to do – finding a staff large enough to run this
monstrosity – but that was a problem for another day.

“
My name is Ipid Ronigan,”
he announced, looking down on the line of servants from his saddle.
For their part, the servants watched the gravel before them, but
Ipid could see their hands, their shoulders trembling. “You should
know that Chancellor Kavich and all his Bureau are dead. They were
killed yesterday in the invaders’ attack on the city. However,
before his death, the acting Chancellor accepted the invaders’
terms of surrender. I have been sent to ensure that those terms are
met. I am claiming this manor as the new administrative center of
the Unified Kingdoms.” Ipid took a deep breath, forced himself to
think of these ancient servants as he would have worn cogs in one
of his factories. “Your duties will be strenuous. My demands will
be extensive, and I will expect them to be met immediately. I will
seek to bolster your numbers, but know that I will accept no
excuses. If you cannot complete your duties, you will be
dismissed.” He forced himself to glare at the servants though not a
one of them came close to meeting his eyes. “Now, I need you to
prepare rooms for me and my escort, see to our horses, and set a
lunch. That is all.”

Ipid dismounted. He wished
that the gesture had been bold and sure, but it was halting and
clumsy. It took him a moment to steady himself, then he walked on
stiff legs up the steps toward the door. Luckily, a cadre of stable
boys who had been standing off to the side ran up to take the reins
of the horses, and an old butler opened the door for his new
master. The other servants broke their ranks and filed toward doors
hidden to the side of the main stairs.

Ipid strode past the
silver embossed trout that was leaping from a golden pond across
the double doors and into the great foyer of the Stully estate. He
spared only the briefest glance at the marble statues of the great
Stully patriarchs that stood guard around the circular room. He was
struck most by how cool the room felt, how the marble seemed to
have held the cool of the night. He shivered slightly at the change
then turned to the butler, who remained by the door. The old man
was popeyed watching the te-am ‘eiruh such that he barely seemed to
notice the huge warriors that were now streaming in behind them.
Ipid followed his eyes and watched Eia and her partner circle the
room, inspecting the statues.

Eia approached him,
running a hand down his arm. “Good,” she said. “You have done well
thus far.”

He glanced at her but did
not want to draw attention to their relationship. “I will use Lord
Stully’s offices,” he declared as he walked from her. “Please,
escort me there immediately. Have my guards shown to their rooms.
The men in robes,” Ipid watched Eia’s head turn at that, but he had
just had a revelation that included keeping her identity hidden,
“will need rooms near my own. The warriors will want simple rooms.
They have no love for extravagance. Servants’ quarters will suit
them best. And have Captain Tyne sent to me as soon as I am
settled. Do you understand?”

“
Certainly, my lord.” The
butler bowed and shuffled from the door toward a sweeping
staircase. He led Ipid up the stairs then back until they arrived
at a set of doors with a thousand or more tiny fish carved into
them.

He turned a crystal knob
and opened the door to one of the largest offices Ipid had ever
seen. The back wall held a line of tall, lead-lined windows that
looked out over the gardens at the front of the house then on to
the city in the distance. Before those windows was a mighty black
desk that shown in the sparse light that made it through the
west-facing windows. Along one wall was a bookcase that rose to the
ceiling twelve feet above. On the other was a great hearth with a
beautiful Imperial rug and a quartet of generously padded leather
chairs set before it. In the corner behind those chairs was a small
bar stocked with bottles. The walls to either side of the hearth
held portraits of Allard Stully and his wife. Behind him, flanking
the door he had entered were massive landscape paintings, one
showing this very estate in all its sparkling glory as it would be
seen from one of the towers flanking the main gate and the other
showing the river, the docks and warehouses that had financed all
this. Finally, leading from the desk to the door was a passage
defined by two lines of small desks where secretaries, order
advisors, bookkeepers, and other officials could complete their
work at Lord Stully’s beck and call.

Ipid tried to maintain his
purpose as he walked to the desk, circled it, and pulled back the
great leather armchair behind it. Certainly, he had the means to
build a room such as this, but he had never even considered it. His
own offices now seemed bleak, barren, and utilitarian to the point
of being spare. As such, he allowed himself a moment to acquaint
himself with his surroundings. In the end, he decided that the room
was no more extravagant than the Chancellor’s office in the palace,
but that had been the center of state. It had always seemed more
formal, more a part of the government than someone’s personal
abode. This, he realized, was something else altogether. And it
would serve him perfectly.

He looked up at the butler
still standing at the door. “What is your name?”

“
James, my lord,” the old
man answered with a bow.

“
James, are there
residences in this part of the house?”

“
Yes, my lord, on the
third floor.”

“
I will take one of those
rooms. Please, put the robed men in rooms nearby. Also, my wife is
with us. She will need ladies to attend her.”

“
Your wife, my lord?”
James could not contain his shock – Ipid was well known as a
widower.

“
Yes, the invaders have
forced me to be joined.” Ipid explained himself only because he
wanted to rumor to spread. “It is part of their way of binding me
to them and keeping an eye on me. You will treat her with the
greatest respect and all due deference.”

“
Of course, my
lord.”

“
Now, please, send up
Captain Tyne. And some tea or coffee. That is all.”

As soon as the door closed
behind the butler, Ipid sank into Lord Stully’s great leather
chair, utterly drained. The sun was barely above the buildings, and
he had already killed a man, seized another’s home, and threatened
far more. He dropped his head into his hands and tried to forget
the look on Hector Bellon’s face. It was only the image of the
thousands of others who could have replaced him that finally made
it fade.

Chapter 20

The
23
^rd
Day of Summer

Jaret could not understand
how he kept getting into these situations. He looked down the
length of the stable, at the big open doors, at the soldiers
forming outside, and wondered what in the Order’s holy name he was
doing. An entire Imperial company was camped at this farm, at least
fifty men. It appeared that they had been stationed here for some
time – probably to put down local uprisings. They had no idea that
he was in the area, had not been searching for him, had not had
scouts out, had barely even posted sentries. Jaret and his men
could have easily gone around, could have snuck through the
surrounding fields with no chance of discovery. There was no need
for this fight, but for some reason still unknown to him, he had
ordered his men into one.

But very little of what he
did made sense to him anymore. Most of the time, he felt as if he
weren’t even aware of the orders he issued, like a conscript forced
to follow senseless orders without a word of reason or explanation.
And whoever or whatever was issuing those orders was every bit as
sadistic as the generals who’d sent him charging the impenetrable
Brak Wall day after day as if the Pindarians might simply tire of
killing children and surrender out of basic compassion. It was that
disregard for the lives of his fellow soldiers that had shaped
Jaret as a commander. Even as the Empire’s last line of defense, he
had planned only to harass and delay the army marching on Sal
Danar. He had used the advantages the Order had given him –
charging downhill out of the sun while his enemy was divided by a
river crossing – but he had not dreamt that he would defeat the
mercenaries. His only hope had been to perform his duty while
preserving as many of conscript under his command as possible.
Whatever controlled him now shared no such concerns. Far from
avoiding fights, he had sent his men charging into them again and
again since his escape. Far from choosing strategies that would
conserve the lives of his men, he set them up to die. The fact that
none of them had was, he knew, entirely due to luck, luck that
would fail soon enough.