palace’s movements. He was addressing an individual Talgorian recognised as the Captain. The Ambassador caught only the end of their exchange, but apparently the Captain had objected to the route the travelling court was about to take.
‘Enough!’ the Prince exclaimed. ‘I’ve no interest in your snivelling misgivings! We’re following a course through the great lakes area, and that’s an end to it. Unless you want to have your loyalty put to the question.’
The man grovelled, apologised and withdrew crushed. No one else seemed in the least interested in his humiliation, an indication of how common such occurrences were.
Only then did the Prince notice Talgorian. ‘Ah, the Ambassador has arrived,’ he announced loudly. ‘Come, step forward. Let’s not delay the progress of affairs of state.’
The Envoy did as he was bidden, thinking that perhaps the monarch was a little sharper than usual. ‘Greetings, Your Highness. I trust I find you well.’
The Prince ignored the banality. ‘And what brings you to court with such urgency?’
‘These are difficult times, Your Highness. As you’ll be aware, your nation and mine are engaged in a military mission of great importance.’
‘Are we?’ A look of befuddlement fleetingly occupied the Prince’s face.
It was something Talgorian often found when talking to Melyobar about the wider world, and it gave him brief comfort. ‘Indeed. A Gath Tampoor fleet, including representatives of our Bhealfan allies, is dealing with an enclave of rebels as we speak.’
‘And what do you expect me to do about it?’
‘As such, Highness, nothing at all. I merely draw your attention to events in order to give my succeeding statements a relevant context.’
‘We’re at war again. What’s so different about it this time?’
Was his attitude a mite more aggressive than usual? Incisive, even?
‘It’s not so much a matter of difference, sire. I mention it only in order to illustrate the great burden our dear Empress shoulders at such times, and to underline the difficulty of the decision she has had to make.’
‘Decision?’
Talgorian slipped out the document he’d been harbouring, and unfurled it. ‘I think it would be best, Highness, if I were to read you the edict drafted by Her Imperial Majesty’s advisers.’ He looked about and saw that furtive eyes were on them. ‘Bearing in mind that this refers to matters of a delicate constitutional nature, perhaps Your Highness would prefer to be informed of its contents in private?’
‘No,’ Melyobar responded bluntly.
‘Very well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In accordance with the powers invested in me by the relevant authorities, I, Andar Talgorian, Imperial Ambassador to the Royal Bhealfan Court, do hereby submit an official proclamation relieving Prince Melyobar of his position as-’
‘As I suspected!’ the Prince roared. ‘Treachery!’
‘This is a situation I’m sure we can reasonably discuss and-’
‘Guards!’ Melyobar yelled. ‘Guards!’
Men rushed forward with swords drawn and seized the Envoy.
‘Unhand me!’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
‘Their loyalty lies with me,’ Melyobar told him. ‘Though I wish I could say the same for all my subjects.’ He raised an arm and clicked his fingers.
The signal brought in a group of guardsmen shoving a bound prisoner, and Talgorian’s heart sank.
Okrael could barely walk. His face was bruised and bloody.
‘Your co-conspirator,’ Melyobar announced.
‘No,’ Talgorian replied. ‘There’s no plot, only the writ of higher authority. I act under orders, Your Highness. I’m just the deliverer of my superior’s wishes.’
‘You must think I’m very stupid,’ the Prince snorted.
‘I’m not here alone. I have an escort of-’
‘Your cohorts are in no position to help you. Did you really think I’d allow a band of assassins to wander loose in my palace?’
‘Assassins? Your Highness, if those troopers have come to any harm, Her Imperial Majesty will be extremely displeased. Likewise this man.’ He nodded towards Okrael, who blinked back through unfocused eyes. ‘He may have evidence germane to my mission, and as such should be afforded the empire’s protection.’
‘So you do admit you’re in this together.’
With an icy fist clutching at his innards, Talgorian could see that he was getting nowhere. ‘Please be aware, Highness,’ he said, playing his last card, ‘that I have the backing of the Empress herself.’
‘The backing of my enemy, more likely! Death’s agent!’
‘This is absurd, sire! You’re making a terrible mistake!’
The Prince glared at him malignly. ‘We’ll see how much of a mistake I’m making when torture extracts the truth. Take them to the cells!’
It was still snowing on the Diamond Isle, too, albeit less fiercely.
Vivid eruptions and the flicker of magical beams lit up the night. On the redoubt’s parapet, Serrah and Caldason gazed towards the sea. They could just make out a multitude of masts, shrouded in white canvas.
‘I don’t care what your parentage is, Reeth,’ Serrah said. ‘It’s you I love. Everything else is background chatter.’
‘Look at it from my point of view.’ He gestured in frustration. ‘I’m proud of being a Qalochian, but ashamed of my Founder blood. That Founder heritage has effected me in all sorts of disturbing ways. My rages are obviously due to it; the two opposing sides of my nature are at war, I see that now. And maybe there are other little gifts I don’t even know about yet.’
‘But if it hadn’t been for the life extension the blood gave you, you’d be an old man now. Or quite possibly dead. We would never have met.’
‘I’ve thought about the irony of that a lot, Serrah, believe me. I’ve also worried about the great age difference between us.’
‘Oh, don’t start that again, Reeth. It’s not a problem for me; it shouldn’t be for you either. Let’s just be grateful that fate brought us together, shall we?’
‘You’re right. But that’s kind of ironic too, isn’t it? Finding each other at a time when future prospects hardly look bright. Assuming we have any future prospects.’
Serrah looked at him meaningfully. ‘We have each other and we have the moment. That’s more than a lot of people get. Look, forget us for a minute and think about the bigger picture. What did you make of what Praltor said about the Founders surviving?’
‘It occurred to me to wonder if it was some kind of mistake, or if he was imagining it all.’
‘Reeth. I know it’s hard to take, but don’t go into denial over this. It wasn’t Praltor’s opinion, it was from the Source. He couldn’t fake that.’
‘I know. As you said, it’s not easy discovering certain things about yourself.’
‘Look on the bright side. It’s not every day you find out you’ve got such influential relatives.’
Caldason had to smile.
They kissed.
A chorus of shouts went up. The lookouts stationed on the battlements were sounding an alarm.
‘What is it?’ Serrah said.
‘Look.’ He pointed.
A wagon was heading for the redoubt, accompanied by a handful of riders. The group rode hell for leather.
Serrah had a spy tube. ‘Reeth! It’s Dulian and Quinn.’
They were being pursued. Several dozen mounted soldiers were after them, their horses huffing white clouds in the chill air.
One or two of the redoubt’s sentries began unleashing arrows. Serrah and Caldason ran for the stairs, and went down them in a breakneck clatter.
When they reached ground level they found the gates had already been opened. Defenders were roaring encouragement at the approaching wagon, and adding to the rain of arrows zeroing in on its pursuers. The latter
