‘I’m not given to empty flattery.’
‘I’m so pleased to hear you say that. There have been times lately when I’ve kind of wished I’d followed the path Varee took.’
‘Varee?’
‘My brother. He left to join the army when I was a kid.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, I’m glad you didn’t. It would have been a loss to the Craft.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And would have greatly disappointed your master, I don’t doubt.’
‘Yes, I think Domex would have been upset. But I’m pleased you’ve got confidence in me, Phoenix. It means a lot to me that you’d-’
‘Ssshh.’
‘What?’ Kutch whispered.
‘Someone approaches,’ the wizard replied in an undertone.
‘I don’t hear any-’
Phoenix waved a hand, silencing him. Kutch strained to listen. He heard nothing at first, and doubted the sorcerer’s senses. Then he wondered at them. Very faintly, the sound of horses’ hooves could be heard. As they grew louder, the wizard moved to a window and peered through a crack in the shutter.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘It’s friends.’
He went to the door and opened it, Kutch at his side. A blast of cold air slapped their faces.
Two riders were approaching, travelling fast, urging their mounts on with cuffs from the reins. One was Caldason, bent low into the cutting wind, cloak billowing. Serrah rode alongside, barley hair flowing free.
They arrived in seconds, their steaming horses kicking up clods of frozen earth as they were curbed. Caldason and Serrah quickly dismounted.
‘Reeth, Serrah,’ Kutch greeted them. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well, we set out to talk something over with you,’ Serrah told him. ‘But events seem to have overshadowed that.’
‘What are you referring to?’ Phoenix asked, less than amused by the interruption.
‘Come and see for yourself,’ Caldason said.
They donned cloaks and followed him. He led them away from the cluster of huts and to the cliff’s edge.
‘There.’ He pointed out to sea. Two ships were nearing the island, their purple sails swelling.
‘Another attack!’ Kutch exclaimed.
The pirate galleons hoisted black flags and began a tack for a less daunting shore of the island.
Serrah let out a weary breath. ‘Here we go again.’
11
A small battle raged across a myriad droplets of quicksilver.
Each shimmering bead reflected its own fragment of the event. They showed mobs sweeping through ruined streets, throwing stones, fighting, commiting arson. There were hordes of civilians clashing with uniformed, baton-wielding men at barricades. Magical discharges flashed like searing lances, setting people ablaze.
The pewter gobbets coalesced, mingled, became a shiny liquid. Then the fragmentation occurred again, and other, similar events unfolded. Gutted buildings, rampaging crowds, looting, cavalry charges and arrests. Repeatedly the fluid turned through its cycle, flowing, reforming, displaying scenes of civil disorder. Bodies littering city squares, prisoners herded into carts at sword-point, and roadside executions.
The hoary substance through which the drama played out, bubbling and seething, filled the bed of a smooth- walled pit. Two men stood at the polished handrail surrounding this cavity, looking down at the ever-changing vista. They wore fine robes of glamoured fabrics that coursed with colours and subtle patterns.
Both men were old. Cosmeticians and face glamours had alleviated their appearance to some degree, but not convincingly. The smoothness of skin and abundance of hair proved frauds on close inspection.
Elder Felderth Jacinth, the single most feared man in the empire, was marginally the older. But it was a near- run thing as to who was the grimmer.
‘Enough,’ he decided, slicing the air with an easy gesture.
The images in the pit dissolved; the not-quite liquid fell back to churning and grew quieter.
‘Do you still think this unrest is of little account, Rhylan?’ the Elder asked.
His brother seemed less ruffled. ‘Let’s not get this out of proportion; it’s not as bad as the visualisations suggest. The disturbances are restricted to isolated pockets.’
‘But they shouldn’t be happening at all.’
‘Our system’s too well ordered to allow such disobedience to persist for long. Besides…’
‘What?’
‘Besides which the greater part of the masses are bound to be restrained by their devotion to us.’
‘Please, Rhylan, let’s not stretch credulity too far.’
The Elder turned away from the pit and its faintly sulphurous fumes, followed by his brother.
They walked into the main body of an enormous, windowless chamber. It was fashioned from exquisite marble, and a score of pillars rose gracefully to a high, vaulted ceiling. An abundance of glamour orbs bathed the room in a soft glow. In keeping with old ways, the routes of subterranean power channels were marked out with coloured pigments. Red, blue, green, gold, a mesh of lines cut across the chamber’s floor.
Shaped like a shield and large enough to support a chariot and team, a table occupied centre stage. Clusters of the power lines ran to its sturdy legs, infusing the oak with magical essence to invigorate those who deliberated there, and to make vibrant the motif imprinted on the table’s surface. So that the emblem of empire-an eagle in flight against a backdrop of lightning bolts-was imbued with pseudo-life. The eagle soared, working its powerful wings as lightning crackled all around.
Upwards of twenty members of Rintarah’s Central Council were seated at the table. Had an ordinary citizen been admitted, which they never were, they would have noticed that the men and women present bore an obvious familial resemblance. Blood, rather than egalitarianism, had always determined the Council’s composition. An onlooker would also have been struck by the fact that the majority in attendance were very old.
Felderth Jacinth took his place at the head of the table. Rhylan made for the last vacant seat.
‘Some of you, including my brother here, feel that our current public order problems are no more than a passing nuisance,’ the Elder began without preamble. ‘I disagree. What we’re seeing on the streets of Jecellam, and throughout Rintarah, may not be widespread, but it is significant.’
‘More important than the unrest we’ve weathered in the past?’ a sceptical relative asked.
‘Yes, and for two reasons. First, we have something new in the mix: the Diamond Isle. From the moment dissidents from here, and from Gath Tampoor, were allowed to reach it, it kindled hope in the radicals’ breasts. The wretched place is a beacon for every malcontent, troublemaker and revolutionary.’
‘But we’re talking about a relatively tiny number of people,’ Rhylan argued.
‘Which wouldn’t ordinarily concern us too much,’ the Elder agreed. ‘But that brings me to the second factor, and one which I shouldn’t have to spell out. The Qalochian.’
‘Ah yes, a problem that should have been dealt with long ago.’
‘Had we been able to settle our differences about him, it would have. Now we have him entangled with the dissidents, and that’s like throwing oil on smouldering embers.’
‘Aren’t we in danger of exaggerating Caldason’s importance?’ another sceptic wondered.
‘That argument’s devilled us for far too long,’ the Elder replied. ‘If we forget his genesis, and his potential for harm, we do so at our peril.’
‘I agree,’ a female councillor interjected. ‘Caldason and the alienated ones are a volatile mix. There’s no question that action’s overdue.’
‘But we don’t even know if he’s aware of his latent capabilities,’ Rhylan responded, ‘let alone about to exercise them.’
‘There you have it: we don’t know,’ Felderth Jacinth said. ‘Are we prepared to take that risk?’
