Mordraud, Book One (47 page)

Asaeld raised a hand and the
men in black and gold clicked their heels. The Lances seemed like a single compact body amidst a chaotic market. They didn’t drink, they didn’t smoke and didn’t even chatter in whispered tones like all the others.

‘
The only ones capable of behaving with a minimum of decorum,’ observed Loralon, bitterly.

“
It’s been a hard year: one rich in hopes but poor in results. We are gathered here today to discuss new ideas and to pursue unexpected solutions to stamp out, once and for all, the resistance from Eldain’s Alliance. I would like to hear each representative’s thoughts, starting from the lower ranks. Who’d like to begin?”

Dunwich
was seated at Asaeld’s side. He was wearing the prestigious Lance ceremonial armour: glossy, black and embellished with gold, like a jewel. And which weighed unpleasantly on his shoulders, and made him feel like an ungainly clot. He hadn’t the merest interest in the convoluted speeches expounded, one by one, by the so-called army experts. He’d tried all he might to talk to Asaeld in private before the meeting, but the general hadn’t had a moment to spare for him. Yet, what Dunwich had to tell him was far more important than all that pointless chatter. Traitors concealed within the army. An explosive discovery – with inconceivable consequences.

And
then, Mordraud. He’d finally pinpointed someone reliable to send to Eld, in the wake of the last disastrous attempts. An old Lance now out of the army and weakened through a taste for gambling. Dice, cock-fighting, boxing. Obsessed with betting. From what Dunwich knew, he’d lost all the money from his Imperial annuity and was desperate for gold to cover his debts. Dunwich wasn’t short on money, and the Lance had shown immediate interest in his simple proposal. It would be easy for him to move around in Eldain’s lands with his training. His need for funds meant he was compliant and could be blackmailed. His elderly appearance would help him pass unnoticed. Dunwich had supplied him with a detailed description of his brothers and had unleashed him. All he had to do now was wait for news.

‘
I need to know where Mordraud is, which front he’s on, and what his role is... I can’t risk bumping into him on the battlefield. I must understand what happened at home first,’ he reflected, looking around. ‘Perhaps the only way to do this is to talk to Gwern... But I know nothing of him.’

“
Did you hear that? We’re off to a good start...”

“
What?” inquired Dunwich, shifting his mind back to the meeting. Asaeld was bent towards him, smiling as he covered his mouth with the palm of his hand.

“
They want to build a road towards Hann Creek in order to manoeuvre the assault machines invented by the craftsmen’s guild. Timber monsters that, according to them, can spit flames, are full of battering rams and are moved by ropes... Monuments to wasting money.”

“
Hmm, I see.”

“
Aren’t you interested, Dunwich?”

“
Not at all. I’ve got more important things to think on.”

“
Really?” asked Asaeld, with an even subtler smile. “Would you like to enlighten me?”

“
I tried to, but you were too busy to give me any of your time.”

“
What’s that now, playing the jealous woman?!”

Dunwich whispered an insult under his breath and edged closer to
Asaeld. “I have proof that there are traitors within the Imperial forces. Perhaps the very same who warped our battle plans on the Night of Fire.”

Asael
d suddenly became serious. He clutched at the steel plate on Dunwich’s thigh and squeezed it.

“
And who would they be? What evidence do you have? How did you find them out?”

“
I’m not exactly sure who they are, or rather who’s at the very top,” Dunwich began, removing the hand, which bothered him. “They’ve tried to assassinate me, twice.”

He gave a detailed account of everything that had happened in the last few days, without listening to a single word of what was being said in the hall. He excluded only
Erain and his family, convinced they had no part to play in that business. Asaeld nodded slowly and mumbled something to himself, occasionally looking round and then going back to concentrating on Dunwich. When the narration was complete, the general sat down in a composed manner and a faint smile appeared on his lips. Dunwich’s words seemed to have instilled calm.

“
We find ourselves faced with a terrible threat. You’ve done an excellent job, Dunwich. As always.”

“
But I haven’t done anything yet...”

“
What do you mean?! You’ve weathered through, found the culprits and executed them. Now, thanks to your discoveries, I’ll be able to draw out the names of the other schemers, you’ll see. I just need to put the pressure on the right people...”

“
But we don’t know who the instigator of all this is. And if it were someone... very high up?” Dunwich tried advancing, in a whisper. Asaeld didn’t seem to be of the same opinion. He sealed the debate with a simple pat on the man’s shoulder, and returned his attentions to the meeting.

“
Is that it?!”

“
Of course, Dunwich. That’s it, for now. You’ve acted well – I thank you – and I’ll let you know how the investigations go. I’ll update you on everything.”

“
But I...”

“
Not now, my boy. We’re to speak shortly.”

Dunwich
let out a sigh and went back to following the pointless diatribe between the infantry captains, who were replying regarding the mistakes made during the battle of the Night of Fire. The meeting seemed to have little appeal even for the Emperor. Nobody wanted to take the blame for anything. Those in charge of supplies pointed to the harvests as the cause, the storeroom managers railed against the bad weather, the cavalrymen pointed their fingers at poor quality horses, the lieutenants asked for better weapons and in greater quantity. Dunwich cursed profusely under his breath, trying to stretch his legs burdened down by that wretched parade armour, but didn’t succeed in the least.

“
That’s enough now!” thundered Loralon. “Is there nobody here with even the faintest hint of a new idea?! You, strategists... Have you got an inspiring plan? Is there anybody competent left in my army?!”

“
The chanters,” Dunwich suddenly piped up. He was tired of wasting time, and could no longer bear to stay seated.

“
Yes?!” asked the Emperor, curtly silencing a small group of councillors bickering in the front rows. “What do you mean, Lance?”

Dunwich
had spoken without thinking, exasperated by his taut mood and by the pitiful scene he was forced to take part in. He wasn’t expecting to have to explain his statement. He thought for an instant, collected his courage and stood up, observed by Asaeld’s unbelieving eyes.

“
The rebels have only got a couple of resonance experts, while we have the Arcane. The Empire can rely on great chanters – truly accomplished maestros. I was wondering why this aspect had never been looked at in more detail.”

“
Stop it,” hissed an annoyed Asaeld. “You’re wasting your breath.”

“
Why?! It’s a good idea.”

“
It might be, but...” Asaeld tried to return, but Loralon’s voice covered what he was about to say.

“
Please go on, Lance... You must be Dunwich, or am I wrong?”

“
No sir, you’re not wrong.”

“
Very good, Dunwich. What do you have to say?”

“
Well...” Dunwich took two steps, caressing his chin with a meditative air. He of course already knew what to say, but he wanted to convey the impression he was about to voice something delicate, to attract everyone’s attention. “It’s probably a banality – something you’ve already considered – but I’d like to suggest it in any case...”

“
Fine, please go on,” said Loralon, leaning forwards on his ornate seat.

“
Great things can be done with harmonies, as you well know. We can make the earth quake, fill the sky with fire, make life impossible... poison water, infect livestock with pestilence...”

Dunwich
strode in long slow sweeps up and down the hall. “We should develop something to wear down the rebels’ resistance, to then home in with a more precise strike, without wasting time along the front.”

“
Do you already have something in mind?!” Loralon had eyes for him alone. The whole room awaited his proposal. The situation was taking a fascinating turn, he reflected, smiling.

“
An assault launched by all our chanters, and the Lances as back-up. The power of Cambria’s music, concentrated on a single spot and all in one go. We could devise a harmony to be chanted by our best choir, with the aim of overturning the climate for a night – perhaps an appalling tempest with tirades of water from the sky, thunderbolts, and a gale so strong as to even wipe away the horses. The Rampart would be a perfect target. Once the choir’s work is done, the Lances could storm in and break Eldain’s last resistance. The rebels don’t possess the means to defend themselves from our chanters.”

“
So a new chant would have to be devised...” uttered Loralon, mulling it over. “Something to strike from very far away and in one exact point...”

“
It can’t be done!” exclaimed a spokesman for the Arcane, making his way through the crowd. We’d need hundreds of chanters, all singing in perfect unison – even the smallest mistake could cause disaster!”

“
That’s not necessarily true,” retorted Dunwich, without losing his composure. “We could overcome this by doubling, maybe tripling the voices in every harmonic line. It’s not unfeasible. I’m sure the Arcane, and all its greatest maestros, can come up with a polished and well-articulated melody to serve this purpose. The quest for this resonance doesn’t have to be hasty. The longer the preparation times, the easier the results.”

Out of the corner of his eye
, Dunwich saw Asaeld mutter something, but he couldn’t catch what he was saying. The Arcane master who’d stood up to rebuff his idea shook his head for a moment, gazed about, and when he began speaking again seemed somewhat more pliant. It was a swift shift disorienting Dunwich.

“
Approached this way, the idea is, of course, not at all bad... It might take days of study, involving only our best... But we could work on it.”

“
Really?!” asked Loralon in an excited tone. “Could a divine squall be hurled at the Rampart? Something to sweep away all resistance?”

“
Not only that!” the chanter went on, impassioned. “Why stop at one isolated event? We’re capable of far more with our available force!”

Dunwich
looked first at the tutor and then at the Emperor. They were missing the essence of his idea. “We shouldn’t attempt anything too extreme though, otherwise the rebels might concoct something to...”

“
I have a great vision!” cried the master in a resounding voice. Dunwich recognised him only at that moment. Raelin, the Arcane dean. The most acclaimed and authoritative harmonies scholar in the Empire, in theory. “I see a cold endless winter, I see frozen rivers and broken lifeless lands, even in mid-summer. If we were to create such a complex harmony as to
alter the climate
, then we could crush Eldain and his men in a lethal icy grip! We could win the war without risking our men on the battleground!”

“
That’s not what I’m talking about!” shouted a dismayed Dunwich. The situation had shifted to absurdity. That wasn’t his plan, although it did have a few points in common. “I was speaking of something targeted, swift and effective! And then attack with all our forces to seize Eld! A long winter... That would be pointless!”

Loralon
looked from Raelin to Dunwich, but the Arcane master’s words were more attractive to him.

“
Would something like that really be feasible?!”

“
Certainly, if we focused on seeking out the right resonance! Our voices would have to interact with the clouds and the wind, the basses would have to prop up the skies, the soloists to unleash the storms! Wonderful, don’t you think? What an eloquent image of our might! A long winter...
The Long Winter
! That’s what we’ll call this chant enabling us to win! We at the Arcane can develop it, Emperor. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with it!”

“
And what would you need to achieve such a miracle?!” Loralon inquired anxiously.

“
Firstly, we’d have to send some of our men inside Eldain’s territories to map them and the boundaries... We require perfect knowledge of the area – every stone, every stream – that’s to be affected by the climate change...”

Dunwich
slumped into his chair, shocked by the direction events had taken. Asaeld stopped muttering and turned towards him, nodding with great satisfaction.

“
Outstanding – your usual! An eternal winter... Where on earth did you get that one?”