1163rd Year of Blaze’s Slumber

  105th Year of the Nazalam Empire

  9th Year of Empress Lasean’s Rule

  The imperial trireme carved the deep-sea troughs like a relentless axe-blade, sails stretched and spars creaking under the steady wind. Captain Ganoe Pa’an remained in his cabin. He had long since grown tired of scanning the eastern horizon for the first sighting of land. It would come, and it would come soon.

  He leaned against the sloping wall opposite his bunk, watching the lanterns sway and idly tossing his dagger into the lone table’s centre pole, which was now studded with countless tiny holes.

  A cool musty brush of air swept across his face and he turned to see Acme emerge from the Royal Warenne. It had been two years since he’d last seen the Talon Leader. ‘Cowl’s Puff, man,’ Pa’an said, ‘can’t you find another colour of cloth? This perverse love of green must surely be curable.’

  The tall half-blood Cest Velle seemed to be wearing the same clothes as the last time Pa’an had seen him: green wool, green leather. Only the countless rings spearing his long fingers showed any splash of contrary colour. The Talon Leader had arrived in a sour mood and Pa’an’s opening words had not improved it. ‘You imagine I enjoy such journeys, Captain? Seeking out a ship on the ocean is a challenge of sorcery few could manage.’

  ‘Makes you a reliable messenger,’ Pa’an muttered.

  ‘I see you’ve made no effort to improve on courtesy, Captain – I admit I understand nothing of the Supplement’s faith in you.’

  ‘Don’t lose sleep over it, Acme. Now you’ve found me, what is the message?’

  The man scowled. ‘She’s with the Linktorches. Outside Liet.’

  ‘The siege continues? How old is your information?’

  ‘Less than a week, which is as long as I’ve been hunting you. In any case,’ he continued, ‘the deadlock is about to be broken.’

  Pa’an grunted. Then he frowned. ‘Which squad?’

  ‘You know them all?’

  ‘Yes,’ Pa’an asserted.

  Acme’s scowl deepened, then he raised a hand and began examining his rings. ‘Uiscejacques’s. She’s one of his recruits.’

  Pa’an closed his eyes. It should not have surprised him. The gods are playing with me. Question is, which gods? Oh, Uiscejacques. You once commanded an army, back when Lasean was named Glum, back when you could have listened to your companion, when you could have made a choice. You could’ve stopped Glum. Hell, perhaps you could have stopped me. But now you command a squad, just a squad, and she’s the Empress. And me? I’m a fool who followed his dream, and now all I desire is its end. He opened his eyes and regarded Acme. ‘Uiscejacques. The Conquest of Seven Metropolises: through the breach at Arnold, the Sacred Wasteland Rano, Hol’basday, Latog …’

  ‘All in the Emperor’s time, Pa’an.’

  ‘So,’ Pa’an said, ‘I’m to take command of Uiscejacques’s squad. The mission will take us to Matlabistan, to the city of cities.’

  ‘Your recruit is showing her powers,’ Acme said, grimacing. ‘She’s corrupted the Linktorches, possibly even Drin Firstbranch and the entire 2nd and 3rd Infantries on Pueblos.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. Besides, my concern is with the recruit. With her. Only her. The Supplement agrees we’ve waited long enough. Now you’re telling me we’ve waited too long? I can’t believe Drin’s about to become a renegade – not Drin. Not Uiscejacques either.’

  ‘You are to proceed as planned, but I have been instructed to remind you that secrecy is paramount, now more than ever. An agent of the Talon will contact you once you reach Liet. Trust no one else. Your recruit’s found her weapon, and with it she means to strike at the heart of the Empire. Failure cannot be considered.’ Acme’s odd eyes glinted. ‘If you now feel unequal to the task…’

  Pa’an studied the man standing before him. If it’s as bad as you describe, why not send in a hand of Talon assassins?

  The man sighed, as if he’d somehow heard Pa’an’s silent question. ‘A god is using her, Captain. She won’t die easily. The plan for dealing with her has required … adjustments. Expansion, in fact. Additional threats must be taken care of, but these are threads already woven. Do as you have been commanded. All risk must be removed if we are to take Matlabistan, and the Empress wants Matlabistan. She also feels it is time for Drin Firstbranch to be …’ he smiled ‘… disarmed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He has a following. It’s still held that the Emperor had the old Firstbranch in mind as his heir.’

  Pa’an snorted. ‘The Emperor planned to rule forever, Acme. This suspicion of Lasean’s is plain ridiculous and persists only because it justifies her paranoia.’

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  ‘Captain,’ Acme said quietly, ‘greater men than you have died for less. The Empress expects obedience from her servants, and demands loyalty.’

  ‘Any reasonable ruler would have the expectation and the demand the other way round.’

  Acme’s mouth thinned to a pale line. ‘Assume command of the squad, stay close to the recruit but otherwise do nothing to make her suspicious of you. Once in place you are to wait. Understood?’

  Pa’an looked away, his gaze finding the porthole. Beyond was a blue sky. There were too many omissions, half-truths and outright lies in this … this chaotic mess. How will I play it, when the time comes? The recruit must die. At least that much is certain. But the rest? Uiscejacques, I remember you, you stood tall then, and in my dreams I never imagined this growing nightmare.

  Will I have your blood on my hands when all this is done? At the very heart of things, he realized, he no longer knew who was the ultimate betrayer in all this, if a betrayer there must be. Was the Empire the Empress? Or was it something else, a legacy, an ambition, a vision at the far end of peace and wealth for all? Or was it a beast that could not cease devouring? Matlabistan – the greatest city in the world. Would it come to the Empire in flames? Was there wisdom in opening its gates? Within the troubled borders of the Nazalam Empire, people lived in such peace as their ancestors had never imagined; and if not for the Talon, for the endless wars in distant lands, there would be freedom as well. Had this been the Emperor’s dream at the very beginning? Did it matter any more?

  ‘Are my instructions understood, Captain?’

  He glanced over at the man and waved a hand. ‘Well enough.’

  Snarling, Acme spread his arms wide. The Royal Warenne yawned behind him. He stepped back and was gone.

  Pa’an leaned forward, his head in his hands.

  It was the Season of Streams and in the port city of Puerlos the heavy Nazalam transports rocked and twisted, straining at their ropes like massive beasts. The piers, unused to such gargantuan craft moored alongside them, creaked ominously with every wayward, savage pull on the bollards.

  Crates and cloth-wrapped bundles crowded the yards, supplies fresh in from the Seven Metropolises and destined for the front lines. Supply clerks clambered over them like monkeys, hunting sigils of identification and chattering to each other over the heads of dockmen and soldiers.

  The agent leaned against a crate at the foot of the pier, his burly arms crossed and his small, narrow eyes fixed on the officer sitting on a bundle some thirty yards further down the pier. Neither had moved in the last hour.

  The agent was having a hard time convincing himself that this was the man he’d been sent to retrieve. He looked awfully young, and as green as the rancid water of this bay. His uniform still bore its maker’s chalk lines, and the leather grip of his longsword showed not a single sweat-stain. He had the stink of nobility about him like a perfumed cloud. And for the past hour he’d just been sitting there, hands in lap, shoulders hunched, watching like some stupid cow, the frenzied activity swirling around him. Though he ranked captain, not a single soldier even bothered to salute him – the stink wasn’t subtle.

  The Supplement must have been knocked on her head during that last assassination attempt on the Empress. It was the only possible explanation for this farce of a man rating the kind of service the agent was about to deliver. In person, yet. These days, he concluded sourly, the whole show was being run by idiots.

  With a loud sigh, the agent pushed himself upright and sauntered over to the officer.

  The man didn’t even know he had company until the agent stepped in front of him, then he looked up.

  The agent did some quick rethinking. Something in this man’s gaze was dangerous. There was a glitter there, buried deep, that made the man’s eyes seem older than the rest of his face. ‘Name?’ The agent’s question was a strained grunt.

  ‘Took your time about it,’ the captain said, rising.

  A tall bastard, too. The agent scowled. He hated tall bastards. ‘Who’re you waiting for, Captain?’

  The man looked up at the pier. ‘The waiting’s over. Let’s walk. I’ll just take it on faith you know where we’re going.’ He reached down and retrieved a duffel bag, then took the lead.

  The agent moved up beside the captain. ‘Fine,’ he growled. ‘Be that way.’ They left the pier and the agent turned them up the first street on the right. ‘An Emerald Whirl came in last night. You’ll be taken directly to Lour Woods, and from there a Darkness will take you into Liet.’

  The captain gave the agent a blank stare.

  ‘You never heard of Whirls?’

  ‘No. I assume they’re a means of transportation. Why else would I be removed from a ship a thousand leagues distant from Liet?’

  ‘The Anisoptera use them, and we’re using the Anisoptera.’ The agent scowled to himself. ‘Using them a lot, these days. The Emerald do most of the courier stuff, and move people around like you and me, but the Darkness are stationed in Liet, and the different clans don’t like to mix. The Anisoptera are made up of a bunch of clans, got colours for names, and wear them too. Nobody gets confused that way.’

  ‘And I’m to ride with an Emerald, on a Whirl?’

  ‘You got it, Captain.’

  They headed up a narrow street. Nazalam guards milled around every crossing, hands on their weapons.

  The captain returned a salute from one such squad. ‘Having trouble with insurrections?’ he asked.

  ‘Insurrections, yeah. Trouble, no.’

  ‘Let’s see if I understand you correctly.’ The captain’s tone was stiff. ‘Instead of delivering me by ship to a point nearest Liet, I’m to ride overland with a bunch of half-human barbarians who smell like grasshoppers and dress like them, too. And this way, no one will notice, especially since it’ll take us a year to get to Liet and by then everything will have gone all to hell. Correct so far?’

  Grinning, the agent shook his head. Despite his hatred for tall men or, rather, men taller than himself, he felt his guard going down. At least this one talked straight – and, for a noble, that was pretty impressive. Maybe Loren still had the old stuff after all. ‘You said overland? Well, hell, yes, Captain. Way overland.’ He stopped at a nondescript doorway and turned to the man. ‘Whirls, you see, they fly. They got wings. Four in fact. And you can see right through every one of them, and if you’re of a mind you can poke your finger through one of those wings. Only don’t do it when you’re a quarter-mile up, right? ‘Cause it may be a long way down but it’ll seem awfully fast at the time. You hear me, Captain?’ He opened the door. Beyond rose a staircase.

  The man’s face had lost its colour. ‘So much for intelligence reports,’ he muttered.

  The agent’s grin widened. ‘We see them before you do. Life’s on a need-to-know. Remember that, Captain … ?’

  The man’s smile was the only answer he gave.

  They entered and closed the door behind them.