She heaved a sigh of relief and turned to see the three lords standing in the room behind her, guards filing around the perimeter.
“Lady Asima, I believe” the satrap Ma’ahd smiled mirthlessly. “I am given to understand that you were one of Amashir’s favourites and that you were one of my girls from M’Dahz. It seems I chose well.”
Asima smiled meekly. No time to push things, now.
“My Lord Satrap.”
Ma’ahd nodded, deep in thought and then turned to a guard and gestured at her.
“Take her back to the harem; and while you’re there, do a complete count of wives, courtesans and other women. I fear we may have to perform a cull. Amashir had a broad palate.”
The look of complete unconcern on Siszthad’s face brought a mix of dry humour and disgust from Asima.
She could survive a cull. She had survived far worse.
Part Three: Cargoes
In which a new page of history begins
Ghassan shuffled his feet nervously and glanced sidelong at captain Jaral. In the past few years, their life had become surprisingly mundane.
The Pelasians seemed to have turned their attention west, toward their own people. The civil war there may have been quick and brutal, but the resulting peace had been long and just as brutal. For three years now Pelasia had cut off most of its remaining ties with the Empire or, at least, with the former territories of the Empire. Black ships had rarely been seen anywhere near the border zone, concentrating instead on keeping the new reign imposed on an unhappy and restless population.
Consequently, the only target for the militia was the pirates and, with what was essentially the closure of Pelasian waters and therefore a massive increase in Calphorian military concentration on anti-piracy activities, the villains were generally staying well away from the coastal regions and picking on the occasional brave merchant who crossed the open sea.
It had been rumoured that the Lord of Calphoris was considering reducing the size of his navy and pushing any spare militia into the land forces. The idealistic side of Ghassan approved of the move and realised that a reassignment to dry land could be a step toward his goal of directing the strength of Calphoris against M’Dahz. The practical side of him also realised, however, that since satrap Ma’ahd was now one of the top men in Pelasia, any move against them would likely result in Calphoris being squashed like an insect under the weight of the Pelasian army.
Also, frankly, he’d grown to love life at sea.
And so it was with some trepidation that he stood now with his captain outside the doors of the Lord’s council chamber in the palace of Calphoris. The next few minutes could change his life entirely; he could even be pensioned out. He swallowed nervously.
“Enter!”
Ghassan straightened his hastily-washed uniform and watched as the huge cedar doors swung slowly inwards to reveal the great court chamber of the provincial capital. The Lord of Calphoris sat at the far end not, as Ghassan had expected, on a high throne surrounded by vassals and servants and plotting campaigns on grand maps. The Lord of Calphoris was, in fact, sitting at a plain wooden desk with two elderly men and scribbling furiously while discussing something in low voices.
Ghassan looked around at the room. Large and high and fancy enough in which to hold great state occasions, the hall was certainly the largest single room Ghassan had even seen. Poles jutted from the wall high on both sides, having once held banners of some kind. The room was of white and yellow marble, with an inlaid and patterned floor.
He looked at the captain, who shrugged and gestured forwards.
The two men fell easily into step and strode with a clacking sound across the hard floor. As they approached the far end, the Lord looked up and blinked. Sitting back as they came to a halt and saluted, he frowned and then nodded.
“Captain Jaral and Officer Ghassan of the ‘Wind of God’ yes?”
“Sir.” They both replied in the affirmative. The Lord of Calphoris, ex-Imperial provincial governor and the most powerful man south of the sea was a surprisingly small and mousy nondescript man in an ordinary, plain tunic and breeches. He scratched his chin and fixed the two of them with the most piercing gaze Ghassan had ever seen. Those emerald eyes seemed to have weighed up Ghassan’s worth in a glance. This, despite his ordinary appearance, was an exceptionally intelligent man.
“I have important news to impart to you, gentlemen. Please… stand at ease.”
As the two sailors relaxed a little, though not enough to appear insolent, the Lord leaned back and stretched.
“You have been in port for three days. I believe…” he fished around among his papers, found one and ran his gaze down it. “Of sixty two militia craft in varying sizes, the ‘Wind of God’ is the only one currently in port and the ‘Shadu’s Arrow’, which we are not expecting for several days, will be the next.”
He smiled as he leaned back.
“It is good to see the navy so active, though I might prefer a few vessels close enough to afford protection to the city.” He shrugged.
“Did either of you see an unusual vessel arrive this morning?”
The captain nodded.
“There was a fast northern courier bearing a flag I didn’t recognise, sir. A raven, a dog and a cat or some such. Looked a lot like the old Imperial flag. A new lord in contact, sir?”
The Lord smiled.
“It was actually a raven, a wolf and a lion; silver on black. If you had looked carefully, you would have seen the crown between them also.”
Again, those piercing eyes weighed the two men up.
“News, as I said; brought on a courier ship from the north. Important news that directly affects myself, you and your crew, and indirectly everyone in Calphoris. But for now I want the flow of this news restricted. I need you to remain collected and deal with this professionally, yes?”
The two men frowned and nodded, uncertain of what was happening around them. The Lord breathed in and out several times and then straightened.
“There has been something of a development in the interminable power struggles of the central provinces, gentlemen. A week ago, give or take a day or two, lord Avitus of Velutio met the infamous general Caerdin in battle somewhere near the capital. It would appear that, although the general himself did not survive the battle, his liege lord has been crowned Emperor; the first in two decades to dare claim the title.”
The surprise was evident on the sailors’ faces and the Lord of Calphoris smiled quietly.
“According to my dispatches, this Darius, as he is called, has received overwhelming support from the northern and central provinces. The Imperial government is being reconstituted and commissioners sent to all Imperial territories to aid the transition of power as soon as things are settled at Velutio and on Isera.”
He sighed sadly.
“There are a number of lords both here in the south and along the eastern coast that will be unwilling to accept the mastery of a new Emperor and may well declare independence. I, on the other hand, am more than satisfied to return to my original role as governor of Calphoris if the commissioners will allow it, and I believe they will. By declaring for the new Emperor, it is entirely possible that I have made enemies for us of several of the more powerful lords in the southern provinces. Do you see why I bring this to your attention?”
Captain Jaral tapped his lip.
“With respect, my Lord…”
“Governor or ‘your Excellency’ will do nicely, I think.”
“Excellency, what does this mean for the militia? Are we to be disbanded, maintained, or integrated into new
