‘Do you have anything particular in mind, Majesty?’
‘News is coming in of attacks on our far north outposts.’
‘I’ve heard nothing about that, ma’am.’
‘We have our sources.’ She meant the matrix. A subject he was ignorant of, as were all but her inner circle. ‘Reports are vague at the moment, but naturally our first thought was that Rintarah was behind it. But we’ve learnt that their settlements have been attacked too. That, and certain features of the attacks, lead us to wonder if another might be to blame.’
‘Zerreiss.’ He all but whispered the name.
‘I give you credit here, Talgorian. You were one of the first to appreciate the threat this warlord might pose. The suspicion has to be that he’s expanding his dominance, and in attacking both empires perhaps he hopes to create even more bad blood between us. Should he and the rebels link up, we could be facing a major irritant. Can you see why it wouldn’t be in our best interests to obstruct Rintarah if it chose to oppose him?’
‘I can, Highness. Though it’s a strategy not without risks. If Rintarah and Zerreiss come to an accommodation, what’s to stop them forming an alliance against us?’
‘He’s unlikely to reach an understanding with them or us. The man has the instincts of a conqueror, not an appeaser. He’d see the empires as natural enemies.’
‘So the expedition we sent into his region, that we haven’t heard from-’
‘Must be assumed lost due to his actions, yes. Rintarah’s too, for that matter.’
‘That alone would constitute an act of war, Majesty.’
‘I’m aware of the rules of engagement, Ambassador. Not that we need be burdened by such niceties.’ She glanced at the sand-timer on the mantelpiece. The grains were running out. ‘We’ve aired these topics sufficiently for now, and other affairs will shortly require my attention.’
‘Of course, ma’am.’ He made to rise.
‘Stay where you are. This audience is not quite over.’
Talgorian lowered himself back into the chair, a sheepish expression on his face.
‘I have something else to convey. It concerns the Bhealfan domestic situation, and a task I wish you to handle personally.’
‘How may I be of service, Excellency?’ He said this with some trepidation.
‘We have spoken many times about Melyobar’s behaviour. It’s no secret that he’s a tremendous drain on the protectorate’s resources, and he brings authority into disrepute and ridicule.’
‘His eccentricities are well known, it’s true, Majesty. But the Prince is essentially harmless.’
Bethmilno didn’t look amused. ‘How do you know?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Our spies tell us something untoward is occurring at his court.’
‘There are always strange goings on in his circle, ma’am.’
‘Exactly. He’s beyond control, and it isn’t a situation we can tolerate any longer. The time has come to put an end to his antics. He’s to be relieved of his position, and direct rule imposed. We have that in all but name already, of course, but now the situation will be made plain.’
Talgorian was stunned. ‘It’s a sweeping change, ma’am. A major constitutional adjustment of that nature would require-’
‘It necessitates no more than my word. I didn’t bring you here to argue fine points of civic law. I am the law. Gather whatever force you feel necessary and remove him from office. I’ll see to it that the militia cooperates fully, as will the paladins.’
‘But…what do we do with him once he’s overthrown, ma’am?’
‘We are not insensitive in that regard. He is, after all, of royal lineage, though of no relation to my dynasty, fortunately. He’ll be transported here and allowed to live out his days in comfort, if not the extravagant luxury he’s been accustomed to.’
‘I feel bound to say that a move like this could antagonise the populace even further, Excellency.’
‘Does Melyobar still have a following?’
‘No one could deny that his personal following has diminished, Majesty.’
‘There you are then.’
‘But what he represents-’
‘He represents only his own unpredictable spirit. The example he sets as a figurehead has nothing to commend it. Whatever your feelings in this matter, I expect you to do as I say.’
‘Excellency.’ He bowed his head in acquiescence. ‘It was only my desire to remind your Highness that the Prince has always been seen as indispensable to our diplomatic strategy in Bhealfa.’
She fixed him with a hard gaze. ‘Graveyards are littered with the corpses of indispensable people, Ambassador.’
8
The graveyard was dusted with snow. Freezing winds raked the bleak headstones and made the gaunt trees shiver.
A small crowd of dignitaries stood before a newly erected monument, a grandiose affair of polished stone three times the height of a man. It took the form of an obelisk, with a black marble apex and a flowing, gold-leaf inscription carved on its face. Above the inscription was an engraved coat of arms showing a rearing white horse, one of the emblems of the paladin clans. Bouquets of flowers were heaped at the obelisk’s base.
Two uniformed figures, draped in cloaks, detached themselves from the crowd and discreetly withdrew, taking a path leading to the cemetery’s exit.
‘A moving speech, if I may say so, sir,’ offered the younger of the pair.
‘You may, Meakin.’
‘I’m sure your uncle would have appreciated your eulogy, and the memorial.’
‘Perhaps. But if I knew Ivak he’d have preferred being in the old burial ground, out on the periphery.’
‘Where High Chiefs are traditionally laid to rest.’
‘Yes. But I’m damned if I’d put him in that decaying boneyard. No one ever goes there these days. I certainly don’t intend ending up in it myself.’
‘New leadership, new traditions, eh, sir?’
‘It’s past time a fresh broom swept through the clans,’ Devlor Bastorran replied, ‘and I’ll be wielding it.’
Bastorran, recently installed Clan High Chief of the paladin order, was impeccably turned-out, as was both his custom and that of the clans. His black hair was styled in a close military cut, and his dress uniform always looked freshly pressed. The immaculately tailored tunic he wore was scarlet, which distinguished the paladins from any other fighting force, and bore the various insignia of his exalted rank.
He was a man who harboured few regrets. Certainly he felt none in respect of how he’d gained his present position. To his way of thinking, speeding up the succession by clandestinely arranging his uncle’s murder was a small price to pay.
At around twenty years old, Bastorran’s aide was his junior by more than a decade. He was blond and clean- shaven, and though Lahon Meakin’s duties were basically administrative, physically he could have passed for a fighting man. Unlike Bastorran, he wore a black tunic. Triple red piping at its wrists, and a circular red patch on the left breast, told the world he served the clans while not born a clansman. The lack of a suitable bloodline meant a limit to how far he could rise, but further advancement was of no concern to Meakin. His ambitions lay elsewhere.
As they trod the gravel pathway, Bastorran’s slight limp was apparent, a constant reminder of his greatest humiliation.
‘I feel as though a chapter has closed with the paying of this final tribute,’ he said, tilting his head at the monument they were leaving. ‘The end of one era and the beginning of another.’ He seemed lost in reflection for a moment. ‘But dwelling too much on the dead neglects the business of the living.’ He was back to his normal brisk efficiency. ‘Any news of the woman?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir.’
