Path of Revenge (15 page)

‘Now, our dear Captain. We have some questions for you. Our fair cosmographer here will judge their worth, as will this court, so speak you true.’

Captain Duon nodded his head enthusiastically, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘I will, ma great sor.’

Torve pursed his lips.
Don’t overdo it, Captain. This is a cynical court.

‘Very well. You passed through Nomansland without incident?’

‘Yes, ma great sor. We engaged an excellent guide from among the Nehra and as a result lost only three of our porters, which is accounted an excellent passage.’

‘And then?’

‘We were warned that unseasonal storms had made hazardous the coast road fatherwards, so we wintered in the highlands of a country called Jasweyah. This allowed the sick and the weary among us to recover from the crossing of Nomansland, and gave me the opportunity to pick up a smattering of their tongue. In Jasweyah we first heard tales of the Undying Man, the ruler of Bhrudwo, the name they give to the fatherwards lands.’

The Emperor leaned forward, his lips parted. Torve sensed his excitement. ‘What tales, my Captain?’

‘Ma great sor, the inhabitants of Bhrudwo are diverse. Some are cultured and knowledgeable about civilised things, such that they may perhaps rival our more backward provinces. Others are uncouth mountain tribesmen or illiterate fishermen scrabbling for a living among bird-raddled seacliffs. Nevertheless, they all speak of their lord with fear and respect. He has turned Bhrudwo into a kingdom almost to be compared to Elamaq.’

‘And how long has it taken him?’

‘My lord, they say he has ruled this kingdom for two thousand years. Hence the epithet.’

Barks and titters of laughter drifted across the chamber.

‘Come now, man. Surely you mean his ancestors have ruled the kingdom for two millennia?’ The Emperor enjoyed scenes like this. He had already heard the report, but made a show of extracting the information.
Why, though, is Lenares here?
Torve wondered.

‘No, ma great sor. The people were adamant. The man who rules them now is the same man who ruled their fathers, grandfathers and so on back through time.’

‘It’s a trick, of course. A simple trick.’ An astonishingly deep voice rumbled through the chamber, right on cue. So predictable. The leader of the Grandaran Alliance, perhaps the richest man in the empire aside from the Emperor himself, clever and dynamic in his youth, but now a self-important man who could see little further than his belly. His Alliance had fallen apart around him in the last few years and he failed to mark it. ‘All disguises and misinformation, ma great sor. Why are y’ wasting our time with this nonsense?’

Ever-dependable Lord Tumille, a valuable if unwitting servant of the Emperor. Almost worth the trouble he caused. Torve smiled.

‘Do you not think that thought has occurred to the citizens of this Bhrudwo, Tumille?’ The Emperor spoke softly, with artistry, steering the court deftly towards some as-yet-unguessable conclusion. ‘Why would they believe this tale without evidence?’

‘Credulous and uncivilised, clearly, ma great sor,’ rumbled the reply. ‘What else can be expected from barbarians?’

The Emperor turned to Captain Duon. ‘Well?’

‘Ma great sor, we thought the same, but it was we who were considered barbarians for not knowing the story of the Undying Man. Time and again the story was told to us, and while there were regional differences the storytellers agreed on all important points. It seems that two thousand years ago a man challenged the gods and defeated them, forcing them to surrender the secret of immortality. Rather than sharing the knowledge with humanity, this man selfishly kept it to himself. The gods drove him away and he took the fatherwards lands as his own kingdom. From there he has waged war on the gods ever since.’

Lord Tumille laughed his heavy laugh. ‘Does everyone live happily ever after?’ His allies in the court laughed with him.

‘That was the story we were told, ma sor,’ the captain replied, his face impassive, though surely he must have been feeling uncertainty at this questioning. ‘From what I was told, the Undying Man is not happy, though he does live ever after. He has conducted two wars against his enemy—a land to the west that remains outside his control, in which live a people said to be favoured by the gods—and has lost both times, even though he is the strongest wizard in the fatherwards lands. The latter war was only seventy years ago, and the Undying Man was badly beaten, suffering severely. He has spent his time since then
regaining his wizardly strength. This tale is spread all over the lands we visited, and has not been suppressed by the Undying Man or his agents. Everyone knows it. Yet his hold on the fatherwards lands is secure.’

‘Very well, but what matters this talk of wars and wizards to us?’ This from a pasty-faced young man with a thin beard standing beside Lord Tumille. An ally, a son perhaps, but new to the court. Torve had not seen him before. Vacuous, if his first public comment was typical of the man.

‘Perhaps it will help, ma sor, if I describe the fatherwards lands to you.’ Duon turned and raised an eyebrow to his Emperor, who nodded. Lenares stood nearby, her whole attention on the explorer, as though she sought to absorb his words through her flesh. Torve shuddered.
How could one defy such a gaze?

The captain screwed his eyes shut. ‘I remember my first sight of the coast,’ he said, opening his eyes again and massaging his temple with long fingers. ‘We came over a ridge some time after dawn just as the mist cleared. Below us lay a patchwork of fields, some planted, some ploughed, some fallow, surrounded by tall trees, all glistening in golden sunlight. Such colours! A crystal stream flowed through the fields.’ He closed his eyes again and waved his hand in front of him as he spoke, shaping the folds and valleys, perhaps, or the rippling of the water. ‘The stream runs all year round, our guide told us. We didn’t believe him. He laughed and pointed to the ocean. The water was not bronze like our oceans, but cool and blue. As we watched, a squall swept across the water and up the coastal cliffs towards us. The guide grumbled, but we lifted our faces to the soft rain. Water, everything is water, the whole of the fatherwards lands is defined by it.’ He opened his eyes. ‘My lords, the land is rich beyond belief. While we suffer drought after drought and our children die, Bhrudwo offers mead and honey
for us and for our children. And, my lords, there are few there to stop us taking it.’

‘Do you speak of trade or of conquest?’ Tumille got the question out just ahead of a dozen other lords.

The Emperor smiled at his court. ‘Does anyone here think there is a difference?’

Ah. Here was the plan, then. A campaign of conquest, the first of the reign. Destabilising the mounting opposition to his restrictive policies, undermining the positioning of the major factions, just as Torve and his master had often discussed.

The cleverer ones grasped it straightaway. Heads turned to neighbours, and for a moment the chamber was filled with whispered speculation. Torve diligently noted which courtiers appeared confused and which looked satisfied.

‘Are a few exotic luxuries really worth the attention of my court?’ The Emperor was being disingenuous, even the slowest among them knew it. The nuance seemed to have escaped Captain Duon, however.

‘Ma great sor, there are treasures beyond the telling in Bhrudwo!’ he said anxiously. ‘Permit me to read to the court from this list—’

‘We have already indicated that an inventory is not necessary. Be silent, Captain, or risk doing your cause further harm.’

Captain Duon’s face turned pale. He replaced the notebook he had been fingering inside his tailored jacket. He wanted to lead the next expedition, Torve guessed, and had just clumsily shown his hand to a number of powerful potential rivals. The next venture would be far better equipped, with the capacity to bring much wealth back to Talamaq. There would be many candidates for such a position.

Torve’s mind raced ahead. His master must already have decided: there would be another expedition, and Captain Duon would lead it. The Emperor could not
risk giving such a prize to anyone in the court with true power.

‘Now, we invite our cosmographer to comment on the veracity of Captain Duon’s assessment.’ The Emperor turned to face Lenares.

The girl’s face coloured in response. Clearly she knew she was being asked a question, but just as clearly she did not understand it. Torve watched her.
If the silence continues much longer, the Emperor may damage his own cause
…

‘Is Captain Duon telling the truth?’ A few titters of laughter accompanied the Emperor’s clarification.

‘Everything he says is true, but none of it is accurate.’ Lenares snapped out the words. Clearly she knew she was being mocked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He believes what he says. He is not lying. But he has exaggerated some of what he says because he wants us to feel how strange things are in the fatherwards lands.’

‘Oh? Captain, is the cosmographer correct?’

Such a dilemma.

‘Ma great sor, I have tried to help you and the court understand the wonder of the fatherwards lands. If you had wanted only the bare facts, my inventory would have sufficed.’

Oh dear. A clever answer, but not a wise one.
The Emperor would use his dark voice.

‘Captain, is the cosmographer correct?’

Torve felt his stomach flutter. His chest constricted as though some great weight had settled on it. So much of his life’s effort had gone into ensuring the dark voice was not used.

‘She is, ma great sor.’

‘Hah! Anyone who knows these explorer types could have guessed that.’ Tumille again, taking a risk by interjecting so soon after the Emperor had used the
dark voice. ‘Stands to reason. The boy wants to tell a good story.’

Lenares lifted her chin and turned her blazing eyes on the lord. ‘Why are you still sleeping with your daughter?’ she asked.

A collective indrawn breath followed the words, then a dozen things happened at once. Torve found himself hard pressed to keep up. Lord Tumille roared an angry denial, and beside him his wife turned and slapped his red face, her own face pinched and white. To Tumille’s left a slim girl, new to the court, fell to the floor in a faint. The thin-bearded man bent to help her to her feet, then recoiled from her in obvious disgust. A babble of voices erupted across the chamber, ripples from the stone Lenares had thrown amongst them. The cacophony was completed by the sound of the Emperor laughing.

‘Ah, Lenares,’ he said as Tumille’s friends led the disgraced man out, arms under his slumped shoulders, while the slim girl lay on the mosaic floor unregarded. ‘I am convinced. You have a dangerous gift.’

His master was right, Torve acknowledged. Lenares was dangerous. She had no social grace, no sense of situational awareness, to keep her from speaking the truth she saw. An opponent with no understanding of the rules. Someone to be avoided no matter the cost.

Someone to be pursued with all he possessed.

ALL HEADS TURNED TOWARDS Lenares the moment she walked through the door into the cosmographers’ house. People filled the wide hallway leading to the living quarters: sixteen cosmographers, twenty acolytes, all the servants, even the cleaners, clucking at the dirty sandals treading on their polished stone floor. Including herself, ninety-six feet dirtying the flagstones.

She was beseiged with questions. Where had she been? Where was Mahudia? What did the Emperor want? Where did she get that dress? On and on they went, jabbering at her, leaning towards her, touching her, not respecting her need for space, for silence, ignoring what she was trying to tell them.

Lenares found it unbearable. She put her hands to her head and screamed.

The babble ceased. The silence eased her like scented oil, the kind the women of the Palace had poured over her after the scratching of the pumice loofah. Lenares wanted to tell all the people to go away, but that would only make them angry.

‘I’ll answer your questions, one at a time, please,’ she said primly, and sat down on the nearest bench. ‘Can someone bring me something to eat? A spiced sausage would be nice.’ One of the acolytes—she
didn’t see who—scampered off towards the kitchen. That felt good. Lenares the Cosmographer, favoured of the Emperor, whom people obeyed.

‘I saw the Emperor,’ she said, unable to help herself. ‘He invited me to speak at his court.’

Two girls rolled their eyes at each other. Lenares knew what that meant.

‘I don’t care if you believe me or not. I’m just telling you where I’ve been. That’s where I got this dress; the Emperor gave it to me. If I didn’t go to his court, where else would I have got it from?’

‘Never mind the dress,’ said Nehane. The older of the two male cosmographers and the highest ranked behind Mahudia herself, Nehane was a nice man, short and round, bald except for a funny tuft of white hair behind each ear. He was very clever, but there was something sad in his past. Lenares had never learned exactly what it was, but it concerned his mother. ‘Where is Mahudia? Why did she not return with you?’

‘Mahudia is in the dungeons,’ Lenares replied. Her words were received with a chorus of anxious groans.

Nehane knelt down in front of Lenares, his brown eyes wide open, fixed on her. ‘The dungeons? What has she done wrong? What are they doing with her?’

‘They asked us questions. About the earthquake, about the hole in the world and the missing god. They believed me, even if none of you do.’ She looked past Nehane’s concerned face, trying to catch the eye of Rouza or Palain. Neither paid her any attention: Palain was in Rouza’s ear, no doubt gossiping.

‘Asked you questions? You were both in the dungeons?’ Nehane scratched his head, then puffed out an annoyed breath. ‘You had better tell us the whole story. And we had better listen carefully,’ he said, raising his voice at this last. He turned and got to his feet. ‘I’ll tolerate no fun-making. Lenares is a
cosmographer now, and is to be accorded the respect you others hope one day to receive. Am I clear?’