‘Yes. But Melyobar’s state of mind is hardly news. Why do you ask?’
‘Her Royal Highness has decided that the time has come to take steps as far as the Prince is concerned.’
‘Steps?’ Laffon echoed.
Talgorian produced two folded parchments bearing the Empress’s personal seal. ‘These should explain everything.’ He handed one to each of them. As they tore them open he added, ‘You’ll see that Her Majesty requires the paladins and the Council for Internal Security to cooperate fully.’
Bastorran read quickly, then looked up. ‘You’re in charge of this operation?’
Talgorian nodded.
‘Why you?’ Laffon wanted to know.
‘It’s not for me to question the Empress’s decisions. But perhaps she thought the CIS and the paladins would have enough on their plates. And strictly speaking it is a diplomatic matter; after all, Melyobar is constitutionally Bhealfa’s sovereign.’
‘Naturally I bow to Her Majesty’s wisdom on the matter. In fact, I expect to be summoned to an audience with her myself quite soon. No doubt she’ll expand on her wishes then.’
‘In the meantime you have what you need in that letter.’
‘I’m pleased the Prince is finally going to be dealt with,’ Bastorran declared. ‘Something should have been done about the man long since. When are you going to tackle him, Ambassador?’
‘I’m not sure yet. It’s obviously a delicate situation and needs to be handled discreetly.’
‘I wouldn’t leave it too long if I were you. The last time I was at the palace I saw something rather curious.’
‘Oh? Stranger than usual, you mean?’
‘Point taken. I don’t know if it fell into the category of abnormal or not, seeing as we’re talking about Melyobar. But he’s installed a battery of siege catapults, and it looked as though the fortifications had been beefed up even further. I can’t help wondering why.’
‘As you say, curious. But I don’t intend storming the place. I’m thinking of a more tactful approach than that.’
‘What are you going to do, reason with him?’ Bastorran came back acerbically.
‘Essentially, yes. But I’m not so naive as to think he’ll appreciate Her Majesty’s proposal. Which is why I’ll need a robust escort to accompany me. And I think it should consist of personnel from different services, given the sensitive political nature of the operation. We’ll need to liaise on this.’
‘It’ll have to be large if he decides to be uncooperative.’
‘I don’t think it’ll come to that. It’s not as though the empire intends making a prisoner of him; he’ll be treated as an honoured guest.’
‘You might have a job persuading him of that. Don’t underestimate his liking for power. After all, no one’s ever tried restraining him before.’
Any response Talgorian might have made was pre-empted by a rap on the door.
‘Come!’ Bastorran snapped.
Lahon Meakin stuck his head into the room.
The paladin glared at him. ‘I told you we weren’t to be disturbed!’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but something’s come up.’
Bastorran rose, mumbling apologies, and joined his aide in the corridor.
‘This had better be important, Meakin,’ he hissed.
‘We’ve news of a disturbance on the streets.’
‘Is that all? You should know better than to bother me about such a-’
‘This is something different, sir, and I think you’ll want to attend to it personally.’
15
Somebody was running along the street, smashing windows with a chain.
A roadblock of wagons sealed one end of the road, manned by dour-faced militia. At a distance, an angry mob faced them. Every so often, people ran forward to lob stones. Houses and a shop burned and no one was trying to put them out. Behind the barricade, mounted troopers were arriving.
Sheltering in the mouth of a nearby alley, Quinn Disgleirio and a pair of Righteous Blade members watched the confrontation.
‘What started it?’ Disgleirio said.
‘There was a raid on a local house,’ one of his companions explained. ‘The militia were heavy-handed, as usual, and this crowd gathered.’
‘It doesn’t take much to set off a riot these days,’ the other added.
‘Well, we don’t need it,’ Disgleirio told him. ‘There’s enough oppression on the streets without inviting more.’
‘Can’t see us stopping it now,’ the first Bladesman reckoned.
‘No. But we can try to limit the damage.’
There was uproar at the roadblock as uniformed riders moved through the crowd, laying about them with clubs and sabres.
‘Looks like we’re too late,’ the second Bladesman said.
The fight quickly turned into a rout. People scattered, pursued by baton-wielding militia, and the first of the runners were approaching the alley where Disgleirio and his men sheltered.
‘Chief?’ one of his companions queried.
‘Protect as many as you can.’
They stepped into the slush-covered street, drawing their swords.
The stream of fleeing protestors was turning into a flood. Some were cut down by the cavalry chasing them; others fell, to be trampled by the charging horses.
Disgleirio and his men fanned out, three rocks in the current of panicked humanity.
‘Stand firm,’ he instructed, ‘and watch your backs.’
A screaming woman dashed past, two militia on her tail with blades in their hands, but they lost interest in her when they saw the trio of Bladesmen. Disgleirio left his comrades to deal with the troopers. His attention was on a cavalryman sweeping along the street, lashing out at fleeing citizens.
The Bladesmen and the militia engaged. Those trying to escape gave them a wide berth as two frantic duels spilled from the pavement into the road.
Disgleirio concentrated on the trooper’s galloping horse. As it drew level he slashed at the rider, hewing the man’s leg. The rider cried out and tumbled from his saddle, hitting the ground heavily and bouncing several times on the cobbled surface before coming to rest. His horse bolted into the jostling crowd.
But Disgleirio had no time to enjoy his luck. Another group of militia was sprinting his way. He turned back to his men just as one downed his opponent; the other had already triumphed and stood over his prone adversary.
‘More!’ Disgleirio yelled, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Cluster!’
At his command they swiftly came together in a well practised manoeuvre. They formed a circle, shoulders touching; sword in one hand, dagger in the other. A formation some called the Porcupine. When the fresh group of law-enforcers arrived, hotfoot, they faced a defensive ring bristling with steel barbs, but as they outnumbered the Bladesmen two to one or more, they thought to overwhelm them.
One of the militia fell immediately, lung punctured. Another reeled away bearing the yawning gash of a knife stroke. A third toppled with his chest perforated.
Odds thinned, the Bladesmen abandoned their huddle and set to in a general melee. A quick and bloody round of swordplay ensued, the participants huffing steam in the chill air. In short order, two more foes suffered lethal strikes. The remaining pair of militia, lightly wounded, took to their heels.
The Bladesmen caught their breath, sweat freezing on their brows.
‘They’ll be back with reinforcements,’ Disgleirio panted. ‘We can’t do much more here. I think it’s time
