The False Martyr (48 page)

“
Wait,” Ipid
managed.
Were both Eia and the ambassador
smiling at him as if he were the butt of a joke and couldn’t see
the fun that was being made of him?
“Start
with the new Emperor. What happened to Kristor? And who is Nabim? I
don’t even know that name.” He tried to remember what he knew of
the Imperial family. He had few dealings with the Empire but tried
to keep himself informed of international matters and thought he
had, at least, heard the names of all the Emperor’s sons. Nabim did
not sound like one of them.

“
My dear Lord Chancellor,”
Ambassador an’ Pmalatir sighed as if being overly indulgent. “I see
that we will get nothing done until I explain, though it means
little to our dealings.” He paused and brought his hands to his
belly, weaving his thick fingers together across its girth.
“Warlord Rammeriz attempted to take the Throne of the Rising Sun,”
he explained. “He and his men slaughtered almost the entire
Imperial family. In the end, Nabim an’ Pmalatir, the Emperor’s
cousin, and the last remnants of the Imperial Guard stopped him.
After such a slaughter, it fell upon Nabim to accept the position
of Emperor. He took the throne almost four weeks ago
now.”

Ipid’s could not grasp it.
For them to have gotten down to a cousin, there must have been
dozens killed, a slaughter. It did not fit anything he had ever
heard about Jaret Rammeriz. Yet even more disturbing was that the
new Emperor must have been far enough from the line of succession
to be informed. He would know that the Empire no longer ruled the
known world – a lie that his advisors had maintained for the
Emperors since the Liandrin Revolt. Ipid could not decide what the
implications of that would be but could not imagine they were good.
“And he
knows
? He
is
informed
?”

“
He is and does.” Vontel
nodded. “Which is why I was sent to you at this late hour, via such
strange means. Now, if we could discuss how I might assist you. . .
.”

“
Hold on.” Ipid was slowly
catching up to what he had been told. “Four weeks.” He calculated.
“The Darthur were barely across the mountains then. How can they
have orchestrated a new Emperor taking the throne in Sal Danar when
they didn’t even know that Sal Danar existed?”

“
I did not say that the
invaders had anything to do with the change of power.” The
ambassador sounded defensive for the first time. “It was Jaret
Rammeriz that killed the Emperor, not your invaders.”

“
But the new Emperor is
served by one of the te-am ‘eiruh. The Empire has allied itself to
the Darthur?” Ipid sat forward, finally gaining his balance enough
to push back. “You cannot think me naïve enough to miss the meaning
of that.”

“
It was part of Arin’s
plan,” Eia provided too quickly, falling back into her somehow
universal language.

“
No,” Ipid pounced. “He
could not have known. He didn’t even know where the Empire was four
weeks ago. It doesn’t make any sense that he could work that
quickly using the existing power structures. It would take months
to set that up.”

Eia drew a deep breath,
both men were now focused on her. Vontel did not speak, but his
fingers drummed his belly and his mouth quirked. “It was the
Belab,” she finally admitted. “We have studied you for a long time.
I have already told you that we are descended from your Exiles.
Though most of us had abandoned the idea, some of us maintained the
dream of returning and used their powers to watch your side of the
mountains. The city of Sal Danar is of particular interest to
certain members of our order. I do not know what they plan now, but
I am confident that the Belab has not sanctioned their
activities.”

“
Does Arin
know?”

“
I seriously doubt it. I
don’t even know if the Belab knows, but I doubt either of them
would much care. It changes little. Even if a nation fights with
the Darthur, they must be tested, and their actions prior to the
testing have no bearing on its outcome. A few nations on our side
of the mountains tried to endear themselves to the Darthur by such
means, but it did not save them from the testing, and if they
weakened themselves by attacking their neighbors on behalf of the
Darthur, it hurt them.”

“
A mystery then,” Vontel
said. “But it matters not to those of us who take orders from the
powers at play. The only thing I know is that my dear cousin Nabim
is the new Emperor, and he has asked me to aid you, so here I
am.”

“
I appreciate your offer.”
Ipid could not decide what to think of any of it. “I will consider
the role you can play.”

“
I think you are
underestimating me, Lord Chancellor,” Vontel said. He sat forward
in his chair, eyes sparkling. “You see, being the ambassador to a
country on the other side of the continent is . . . extremely . . .
boring. No offense, but you’re all so good and orderly that it is
hard to find any excitement, and, even so, how many petty laws and
morays can a man break before even that loses its zest. So it was
out of boredom (and a certain level of desire) that I started
building a network of . . . . What is the best term, rumors,
informants, spies? Take your pick. I intended to use them at first
to seduce the wives of your nobles – a man such as me cannot rely
on his looks, you see – but I soon learned that wives here are not
chosen based on their abilities between the sheets. The only thing
left to do with all that information that would provide any
enjoyment at all was politics.”

Vontel stopped and spread
his arms wide as if revealing some spectacular bit of magic. Ipid
failed to see it. “Don’t you see, my dear Chancellor? I am the
spider behind the web. I control all intrigue within this city. No
scandal breaks, no malfeasance goes unrecorded, no dissent is
uttered without my knowledge. And now all that is available to you.
Do you still struggle to understand why the Emperor has sent me to
you?”

Chapter 29

The
30
^th
Day of Summer

“
Lord commander,” the most
resplendent of the Knights Imperial greeted as he leapt from his
horse. He pulled off his helmet and dropped to a knee before Jaret,
head bobbing before rising to catch his eye. His men formed around
Jaret and the legionnaires where they stood before the carnage that
the imperial regiment had become. They slowly followed their
commander’s example, dismounting and falling in a creaking,
clamorous wave to a knee.

Jaret’s attention went
from the kneeling knights to their commander. He had long, shining,
dark hair with a natural curl that Jaret could only picture on a
whore. His face was long, bones pronounced, nose a beak. Not a scar
or blemish marred his tan skin. A stubble beard had formed across
his cheeks and chin in a way that was simply unfair to any other
man. Jaret had no doubt that artists across the Empire fought to
put this man in their portraits. And worst of all, he seemed to
know it. Despite kneeling, he was exceedingly pleased with himself.
His broad lips slowly rose in a self-satisfied smile, revealing
large, white teeth. With that smile, Jaret realized that he knew
the man. “Commander Yatier as’ Pmalatir?” he nearly stammered as he
tried to make sense of the man who was kneeling before
him.

“
An’ Pmalatir now,” the
knight corrected. “The new Emperor is my uncle.” The legionnaires
bristled at this as if the man who had just saved them from certain
death may still be an enemy.

“
I’m still not sure I
understand what just happened,” Jaret admitted, “but I thank you
nonetheless.”

“
It is my honor, lord
commander.”

“
What’s this then?” a
powerful voice bellowed, cutting off Commander an’ Pmalatir just as
he opened his mouth to say more. All eyes shifted to a great barrel
of a man on a horse even larger than those that carried the
knights. He wore light mail and a helmet engraved with the eyes and
beak of an owl. A long beard quickly turning from brown to grey
flowed from beneath the helm down across the chains that covered
his wide chest. In his free hand was a single-bladed, long-handled
axe that he swung to emphasize each word so that the knights around
him ducked their heads and moved from his path. Behind him were
half-a-dozen other men in similar light mail and helms. They
remained in their saddles, weapons drawn, countenance
wary.

“
Joal?” Jaret asked again,
turning his attention to the new arrival. He shook his head in
disbelief and stared at his old friend, but there was no mistaking
the Commander of the Northern Peace, Joal Quindin.

“
Who’d ya think it was?”
Joal answered. “We’ve been running for three days to get here.” He
dismounted slowly and awkwardly then straightened with a mighty
grunt. “I’m not sure I’ll ever walk correctly again. I’m an
infantry man. I’m made to defend walls, not ride across hill and
dale.” He stretched out his back, which gave a mighty
pop.

“
How’d you . . . ?” Jaret
could not seem to finish his question as his eyes bounced between
the two commanders. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised
that Joal remained loyal to him, but an Imperial brat . . . ? And
how did either of them still have men to command?

“
Crest should be a badger
instead of this cursed owl. Hunkered down in a hole is where I’m
best.” Joal lifted the visor on his helm, revealing his round, red
face. Heavy wrinkles cascaded from under his eyes showing his age
even more than the grey in his beard. “That rat bastard who’s named
himself Emperor tried to get rid of me, but if the Morgs can’t do
it, you know he’s got no chance. But what about this one?” He
turned to Commander an’ Pmalatir then to his knights, who had risen
from their knees. He looked to the officers who had accompanied him
then back to the infantry he’d led. Those were just now sorting
themselves out at the northern end of the field and rounding up the
half of the regiment that had been lucky enough to surrender. He
seemed to reconsider what he was about to say then, in true form,
said it anyway. “It’s imperial bastards like him that’s killed
almost all our officers, Jaret. Killed and replaced ‘em every
chance they’ve gotten. I barely knew there were that many of them,
but Nabim keeps finding cousins and nephews and bastards and
cousins of nephews of bastard. He’s killed our men and put them in
charge of anything and everything he can think of.”

“
Commander Quindin,”
Yatier greeted before his adversary could get himself up to full
bluster. He rose, extended a hand, and smiled, broad lips
separating to show deep dimples. “You are almost as much a legend
as Lord Commander Rammeriz. I must have read the accounts of your
stand at Pada Por fifty times. I had such hopes that I would meet
you at the seasonal briefing.”

Commander Quindin spent a
long moment searching for the insult that must be hiding in the
compliment. “You read those, eh?” He grinned and took Yatier’s
hand. As the two men drew together, Jaret realized that the knight
was every bit as tall as Joal and almost as powerfully built –
where that had come from in the Imperial linage was a question that
might have cost his mother her head.

“
I did,” the knight
answered. “I have always admired how you conceded the northern end
of the pass to concentrate on the more defensible
south.”

“
Now wait,” Joal growled.
“We had no chance of holding the northern wall. The Morgs had an
open field to come at us. And your – I can say it now –
bastard
of a grandfather
had sent half my men to throw themselves at that idiot wall in
Pindar. And you were probably suckin’ on some rich whore’s tit. So
what makes you think you can . . . ?”

“
My apologies.” Yatier
stepped back, but the smile did not leave his lips. “I understand
that history has not been kind, but my praise was honest. You held
the pass for months against a far superior force of Morgs. If you
had failed, it wouldn’t have mattered what Commander Rammeriz was
doing in the south.”

“
Damn right. And it’s
about time someone realized that.” Joal looked meaningfully at
Jaret. For such a seasoned commander from a line of seasoned
commanders, Joal’s ego was as fragile as a flower, and the young
commander had touched the most sensitive petal.

“
Now that you two have
been introduced, can someone tell me what, in the Order’s holy
name, is going on?” Jaret finally asked.

“
That’s what I’m trying to
establish!” Joal shouted, throwing his arms in the air. “We’ve been
running since the moment we heard that you were heading north.
We’ve gone nearly twenty miles a day on foot carrying weapons,
food, and gear – just about killing ourselves – to find you
charging headlong into a force fifty times your size. I thought
we’d run ourselves to death just to watch you get cut to pieces.
Then this . . . .” Joal seemed unable to find a word to describe
the former prince now that he couldn’t insult him, “. . . this
knight and his friends ride in like the original Pmalatir. And I
still can’t understand why.”

Neither could Jaret, but
he wanted to deal with one mystery at a time, and Joal seemed least
likely to stay quiet. He put up a hand to stop the rant. “So you’ve
maintained resistance to Emperor Nabim?”

“
Damn right I have. You
think I’d bow to that worm? Bad enough I had to serve his witless
cousin.”