organizing a plan of action, a counterplot, a piece of espionage. Thalric the Regent was not free to pursue such courses, and so it came out sounding like a whine for attention, a demand that something be done.
Pravoc's change of expression, however slight, conveyed the same opinion. 'Makes sense. Vargen was against the Empress and you're her man here. Makes sense that he might try to remove you.' He left a measured pause. 'But you came through all right, I see, Regent.'
With his ribs pulsing in pain, his arm bound up, Thalric felt unexpectedly lost for options. The Rekef man he once was would have accepted none of it. With the threat of the entire secret service behind him, he would have ensured that colonels, even generals, would gabble out anything they knew, rather than offer cool insolence. The Regent, though … he felt, as Regent, that he should have more respect from this brusque soldier, and at the same time the thought made him sick of himself. Respect for what? Earned how?
'I survived,' he said, turning to go. As he reached the doorway he stopped. 'I was surprised there were none of your men at hand, Colonel. When the attack occurred the camp all around me seemed quite deserted.' He turned, but surprised no admission of guilt, no new expression at all, on Pravoc's face.
'I was fighting a battle,' Pravoc said firmly. 'If you'd asked me for bodyguards, I'd have found them. Complain to the Empress if you want.'
Thalric's smile in response was thin. He appreciated this man's confidence in his own abilities, in his refusal to bow to such an empty thing as the Regent of the Empire, but also he did not trust Pravoc at all. For a Rekef man, trust came hard and often never.
'The Empress shall know that you have done your work here adequately,' Thalric declared blandly. 'What else is relevant?'
He made sure that his gait revealed nothing of the stabbing pains in his side, where the snapbow bolt had been within three layers of silk of killing him. Someone out there knew now that he had fought off three men and was still alive to complain of it.
Ten
Thalric had decided against returning home with the army. Even an Imperial army with a mechanized baggage train moved at a snail's pace. Besides, he was expected to return with it, and at this juncture he did not feel like doing anything that was too obviously expected. The fewer opportunities he gave his hidden enemies, the better.
So he commandeered an automotive. What was the point of being Regent of the Empire unless you could do that?
Sonn was one of the earliest conquests of Alvdan the First, one of the linchpins of the Empire. It had been conquered by force but the Beetle-kinden residents had soon seen the benefits of Imperial rule, and the place was now the heart of the Consortium of the Honest, the mercantile arm of the Imperial administration. The Beetle- kinden traders, slavers, shippers and bankers had soon made themselves an indispensable part of the Empire, and their kinden had proven the very best of second-class citizens.
Changes were happening in Sonn, and changes for the better, as far as the locals were concerned. Thalric had heard how the city was being expanded, with factories and foundries being thrown up as fast as was humanly possible. The loss of Szar, as a manufacturing base, had been a blow to the military and industrial capability of the Empire, but the Beetles of Sonn were quite willing to make themselves more essential. Even forewarned, the bustle of the place surprised Thalric. There were acres of scaffolding and part-completed buildings lining the road. The Beetles had planned to expand their city by almost as much again, and this addition would all be factories. In a year's time, Thalric guessed, you would barely be able to see the sky for all the smoke generated. It would be like a new Helleron, he thought.
When he disembarked, he realized why. The place was seething with artificers already installing the factory machines, the boilers and steam-powered toolbenches and assembly lines. Many were local people but many more were not. Thalric had travelled enough to recognize Helleren men and women. They had come here in their droves, wearing their scuffed leather and canvas, to sell their expertise to an Empire that only last year had claimed conquest of their native city. Helleron was now proudly neutral again, and no hard feelings, so tramp artificers were flooding in to help the Empire rebuild its losses and to take Imperial coin in exchange for the uncertainties of working for such a belligerent employer. The Helleren were good at what they did, better than any of their Imperial counterparts. They swallowed their pride and doubled their fees, and there were so many of them in Sonn that there was talk of building a railroad.
Thalric had heard that the late General Malkan of the Seventh Army had conquered Helleron single-handed merely with a threat. When the Empire turned its attention west again, he reckoned that the reconquest could probably be effected by letter.
He abandoned his automotive at Sonn, leaving the crew to enjoy some leave in the city until Pravoc's army caught up. As of a month before, there was a rail-line from Sonn to Capitas. It was ridiculous of course. The new peace with the Lowlands was making the Empire strong enough that the next war, when it came, would be over in tendays.
By train he travelled to Capitas wearing anonymous Imperial armour, just a soldier engaged on official business. This anonymity served a purpose, but he was surprised to find what a weight it lifted from him. For such an empty honour, the title of Regent was a heavy thing to bear.
The weight of it came back to him once the outskirts of Capitas began passing by on either side. The rail depot was located in view of the great ziggurat of the Imperial palace. The sight of it made his stomach twitch.
Just seeing the palace, and what it represented, he could barely think about the assassination.
They had put up a gilded statue of Alvdan the Second before the gates of the palace. It was interesting, in Thalric's opinion, how the glitter of the gold distracted from the fundamentally mediocre workmanship. He passed it quickly, because the really clever statue was inside. The grand entrance hall of the Imperial palace had once been darker, all guards and armour and the iron fist of power. The Empress had since ordered two more windows to be sunk through the stone, so it was now as bright and airy as a garden when the sun came from the right quarter. At its heart the first thing every visitor, general, dignitary or ambassador saw was the statue.
The likeness of Seda was stylized but unmistakable. The sculptor genius had eloquently portrayed her determination, her youth, her femininity. It showed her with a spear held proudly in one hand, a shield in the other, representing the hope of the Empire. Her image was at the centre, but kneeling, and around and behind her stood her people. They stood tall, protecting her without overshadowing her, and they were cast in the same heroic manner — blocky, larger than life, projecting loyalty and fervour. There was a soldier in the armour of the Light Airborne, an artificer with his toolstrip, a Consortium factor with his scales and quill. The fourth figure was still being chiselled out of the stone, and Thalric wondered who he would be. A Rekef agent? An aviator? He would stand with the same pride and passion as the others, one hand raised, palm outwards, at the world in defiance and a threat of power. The whole piece was a work of art and even Thalric, cynical as he had become, felt his heart swell with pride when he saw it. Pride at being Wasp-kinden, the superior race.
In this statue, he could look on the face of Seda and not quail. Now he braced himself for the real thing.
The style at the Imperial court was currently for robes, or for tunics with long sleeves that hung uselessly behind the arms like limp wings. Thalric, however, dressed like a military man of high station, in white tunic and a cloak edged with black and gold. It was a kind of desperate defiance, his private little rebellion that he knew would be overlooked.
Alvdan had kept his throne room empty, that was another thing. He had held his councils and conferences, but afterwards the great room had lain empty save for dusting servants. Seda kept a proper court, however. It was
