14 A Meeting of Equals

SARSCHA WIPED AT the blood spatter on her face, tossed the rag and stepped over the body to accept the clay cup. Five dead and all before breakfast. Her head was thumping, her stomach roiling. She drank deep knowing it would help the head. The water tasted of metal and grit. The cleanest in this part of Byrsa though.

‘You did warn ’em,’ said Narl with a wide grin. He had a red beard with a piece missing from his upper lip. A spear jab to the face. Falling backwards was what had saved him. Tripped, according to Pint, who’d witnessed it. Narl always claimed it had been his quick reactions.

‘Not a bad meeting all round,’ said Tame, examining the bodies, and relieving them of anything useful. By the look on her face there wasn’t much.

‘Perimeter secure,’ announced Pint.

‘Dump them out back,’ ordered Sarscha.

‘Movement in the street,’ said Krasta, one of her people who was on watch by a window. They had the entire upper floor of Scurvy’s. Captain Krasta Remus was a good man if a little stiff. He didn’t drink though. What sort of soldier didn’t drink? Still, he’d proven himself in several nasty scraps. Sarscha had promoted him twice.

‘How many?’

‘Don’t like the looks of this,’ said Tame. ‘They gotta know we didn’t accept their offer.’

‘Looks to be several dozen,’ said Krasta glancing back. ‘Wanna go greet?’

Sarscha shook her head. The five they’d sent her had been a test. Did this prime still want to go ahead with the meeting? It intrigued her. What sort of man was he? That it was a man was all she knew. A new prime, who’d gained following and territory in a matter of days, usurping several others. She wiped her dagger clean while they removed the bodies.

This city has fallen far, she thought, as has the imperium. Huh, what imperium? Eight primes had fought for control of what remained, some of them former legionaries, most of those bluecloaks, the rest outland mercenaries who enjoyed killing. There were those like Sarscha and her loyal twenty-six, those who didn’t choose a side. It had caused problems. Apparently, she and her lot couldn’t be trusted. Therefore, everyone wanted to sway or kill them.

Months earlier, she had started out with fifty. The fact she had killed more than she’d lost was what kept the offers coming. She worried about the primes forming an alliance to deal with her. There were rumours.

‘Take up your positions,’ she ordered. There were two rear exits, both guarded from outside with a dozen of her people watching from a distance. She often left the taproom downstairs free, to drawn them in, and then attack from above. ‘Tame, you remain here.’ The woman didn’t blink at the change in plan. She did mutter as she crossed the room to set aside her Atlantian crossbow. The heavy-duty weapon fired larger than normal bolts. It took too long to reload to be of any use this time. A shoot from cover weapon. Instead, she readied twin bronze knives, forsaking the short sword. In a confined space, knives worked better.

Voices drifted up from below as negotiations began. Her soldiers wouldn’t allow many in, but this prime would want as many as he could get away with. Trust no longer existed in Byrsa.

‘Sounds like it’s going okay,’ muttered Tame. Sarscha nodded. If they had wanted a fight it would’ve begun like last time.

Slow creaking steps on the wooden stairs. Pint backing into the room, sword in hand. A large broad-shouldered man entered behind him. His hair had less iron in it than grey these days. His face was rock-hard as always. He held his hands out to either side showing he had no weapons.

‘Interesting,’ said Sarscha, and she meant it. ‘A brave choice, but you were never the cravenly type.’

Markus Cipius smiled. A warm smile, but she still didn’t trust him, not in this city. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I see the rumours are true.’ A scan of the room, a lingering gaze on Tame Vara and her hidden knives. He ignored Pint. ‘The infamous Sarscha Todralan like a rat in a trap. You killed that last lot, I see. Don’t worry. Weren’t mine.’

‘Oh, it’s a trap alright.’

‘I come in good faith.’ He tapped at the empty scabbard on his hip. ‘I know your reputation. Trained you well. Unless, I’ve completely misjudged the woman you’ve become, you won’t kill me. Not if I don’t give you a reason.’

‘See that you don’t,’ she growled, sheathing her weapon. The man had entered alone and unarmed, unless Pint had missed something. It was enough for her. Treachery wasn’t this man’s style. ‘What do you want, Cipius?’

He began to approach her. Pint raised his sword and tapped the man’s chest with the flat of the blade. The conclavist’s smile vanished. ‘Sarscha, you can’t leave Byrsa. Not without fighting your way out. You don’t have the numbers. I see you’ve still got the spirit. It won’t save you, but I can.’

‘They got to you, didn’t they?’ He would lead her into the open where her enemies would be waiting. They would slaughter her soldiers knowing anyone who served under Sarscha Todralan was loyal to a fault. Like as not, they’d take her alive, what with her damned reputation. She wouldn’t let it happen.

‘Who do you mean?’ He seemed genuinely confused.

For a moment Sarscha began to hope, but the unusual feeling didn’t last. Perhaps it was a soldier’s instinct. Something about him just wasn’t right, yet she couldn’t put her finger on it. She’d learned not to ignore those warnings, however.

‘The primes,’ she said, scrutinizing every inch of his face, every flicker of his eyes. ‘Who do you think? They rule this city, but you walk about freely. You are in their employ. You must be. Two of them? Three? You playing them against one another, Markus? Dangerous game. Could see you gutted and left to rot in an alley. Would be a terrible shame.’

Cipius scratched at his chin. ‘Cooped up here with just your little spies for information.’ He spread his arms and beamed. ‘I am a prime. I took the Hallow Quarter first, street by street. The Mammon proved difficult and many perished. Such is the way of war. “No glory without guts in the mud,” remember? I control most of Byrsa, and the Blue Palace is also mine. I’ve confined the remaining holdouts to the Muck and here in the Prole. I’ll root them out. They are no threat.’

‘So,’ Sarscha sneered, ‘you are Byrsa’s new governor. You know, that appointment is by imperial decree. You got the writ to go with it?’

‘Rylana,’ he said, his face a cold mask, ‘my beautiful sister, is dead. She was discovered in a gutter in Icarthya with her throat cut.’

‘I remember her,’ said Sarscha, offering him a dark smile. ‘She wasn’t much. Always over dramatic.’

Cipius hands formed fists. Sarscha knew the man’s reputation, his fighting skill. He had been a formidable marshal before he’d turned to politics. She had respected him, and still did to a degree, but she wanted him angry and off balance. ‘I came here to offer you a way out, Todralan, and you insult me and my family?’

‘No,’ said Sarscha. ‘You came here to force my allegiance, to strengthen your rebellion. Did you really think I was that clueless? I know all about your cause, although I did not know you’d stoop low enough to become a prime. Who better to stand at your side than the woman whose sister sits on the Icarthian throne? A woman whose hatred for her sister is well-known. Although, people don’t always know what they think they do.’

‘That undead witch murdered Rylana!’ he spat, his true nature revealing itself. He had been infamous for his temper, though politics had tempered it. Odd, since politics made Sarscha furious.

She’d heard the rumours of her old friend’s death. ‘You have no proof to link it to Aiyana. Your sister is dead. Yes, someone murdered her, but it could have been anyone. Besides, my sister is a viral with magic at her fingertips. A cut throat isn’t her style.

‘The imperium has become a dangerous place, Markus. We’ve all heard the story of her death, but neither you nor anyone else knows who killed her. You’ve decided to blame my sister because it suits you.’

His face was like a thunderhead. ‘Rylana and I both opposed her, and Todralan had her murdered for it. That is what happened, and I will stop at nothing to rip that viral bitch to pieces. You are going to help me.’

Silence ensued, while Cipius attempted to calm himself. Both Tame and Pint watched him as though a rabid mongrel. Sarscha had hated her sister and her brother, once. The years since had changed many things however, including her. She no longer knew how she felt. It wasn’t hatred. It was ... complicated, and she preferred things simple. Kill or don’t, fight or don’t. A soldier’s life.

‘No,’ she said at last. ‘This rebellion is an unlawful one and, in your heart, you know it, or you would if grief hadn’t blinded you. My sister is a viral, but she is my sister. After all, I am a Todralan or have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?’

He took another step and Pint moved to stop him. Markus’ hand grabbed the soldier’s throat, choking him. Pint’s sword was to the conclavist’s neck and the edge drew blood, but Markus appeared not to notice. ‘You gave up all rights to throne and title,’ he growled. ‘You chose a soldier’s life. You will choose to join me and I will be imperator. The time of the Todralans is ended.’

Spotting Tame’s questioning look, Sarscha narrowed her eyes, considering the options. Killing him wasn’t something she wanted to do. ‘I gave up soldiering,’ she said, ‘in case you hadn’t noticed. Killing my man here won’t convince me. It will see you die along with your rebellion. One life to save the imperium and my sister. I think that’s a cheap price. Go ahead.’

Growling, Markus shoved Pint aside. The sword tip had scored a bloodied line across the side of his neck. ‘You are a fighter Sarscha, and you are loyal to your family. I both understand and respect that, but you are also someone who observes imperial law. Aiyana is not imperatrix. There is no conclave to raise her and yet she sits in the Black Palace and rules. The witch must at least leave the city and go into exile.’

Sarscha laughed. ‘If anything, she is a mage not a witch, but yes, the imperium is in a shambles. There is no money because the likes of you have stolen it. That’s how you’re funding your rebellion isn’t it? Your Church, Paladin Cipius, is the most corrupt entity in this imperium. No, my sister isn’t imperatrix, but she is the one with the most right to the Icarthian throne. She is a Todralan and so long as one of our family lives no other can rule. That is imperial law, and you know it.’

‘You’ll die here. All those who follow you will die.’

‘We’re here of our own free will,’ spat Tame, giving him a vicious glower as she took out her knives, ‘and you don’t know anything about us. You don’t want to pick this fight.’

Sarscha said nothing.

Markus glowered and turned away, but paused at the door. Pint was picking himself up, holding his neck and gagging. ‘There is one flaw in your logic, former Imperial Marshal.’ Cipius’ voice was calm, and the warm smile had returned. ‘Since you gave up all claim to the throne, there is no Todralan living with a right to rule as things stand. Both of your siblings are undead, non-living. And as you rightly point out, I’m a paladin of the Church, which condemns virals as evil. No one will see it differently, I promise you. It’s time for a new ruler.’

‘Get out.’

‘You have one day, Sarscha, to decide.’

She listened to the sound of Markus’ boots on the stairs fade away. Pint stumbled after him to make certain he left.

‘Well,’ said Sarscha with a wild grin, turning around to take in all the room. ‘That went well, right?’

Tame Vara just blinked at her, and Sarscha burst out laughing.