14 A Face In The Crowd

SARSCHA TODRALAN STALKED the corridors of power in Icarthya. The Black Palace complex was vast, a city within a city some would have suggested. As daughter to an imperatrix, these corridors were home. Later, as the imperial marshal, they came to represent everything she had been denied. Now, as the imperatrix, they were a cold reminder of all she could not do. It seemed the more power she possessed, the more powerless she became.

Her red gown brushed the marble floor as she passed by carved columns depicting Icarthya’s former rulers. She wondered if one day her face would join them. For now, she had forbidden any such thing. Inside her, the heart of a military commander still beat no matter that politics was her battlefield these days. She did not want her likeness in stone, at least while alive.

The imperial marshal was at her side despite his recent wounding, with a dozen imperial guardsmen and women marching behind, and another half dozen ahead. She saw it as too much, but Artorius was fiercely protective. She glanced at him, worried for him. He took his role seriously, especially when her Darken wasn’t around. Only he knew who that person was, of course.

She wondered if Ralan had been whispering in her marshal’s ear, but she supposed not. The Son of Grim knew better than to interfere in her business. Likely the reports of the spate of killings in the capital and in the wider imperium had rattled Artorius. She was also aware of his troubles at home, but it was not her place to inform his wife of her husband’s condition. There were few secrets in the legions, and though she might be above and apart from the soldiery these days, her heart was not. If the woman found out the truth, she would be there for her.

She entered the throne room, to discover a host of politicians awaiting her. Lucius Aidarius, the most impatient and prominent of the lot, was held up by a knotted walking stick. Beside him stood several paladins with their leader, Benedict, at the front.

Sarscha did not bother to climb the dais and take her rightful seat. She was past caring what others thought. If she did not follow custom, what of it? What changed? Nothing.

Rumours of her looming abdication were of course absurd, but she did not believe in the ancient traditions and customs associated with her role, especially now. Their imperium was at war, and what it needed was a commander.

Her imperial marshal stood before the lot of them, as if ready to hold back a surging tide of complaints. It was tempting to order him to throw them out, but she knew she couldn’t avoid her role. She was their imperatrix, and they needed guidance now more than ever.

There was a low muttering as she stood at the base of the dais, and surveyed them. Beyond the gathering were wide pillars of red-veined marble, her imperial guard standing between them. Another group of supplicants stood beyond them in the shadows, consisting of merchants and representatives of the Muck and Prole Quarters.

She had insisted all quarters of the capital be represented, but she did not like how those people got shunted to the back. She would have to speak with Artorius later about allowing everyone a proper audience, though she suspected Benedict had more to do with it.

Sunlight briefly glanced through the windowed dome above, and illuminated the throne behind her, as though to remind everyone who she was. Like they need reminding, she thought. She was well aware both her face and name were better known throughout the imperium than her father’s had been.

Paladin Benedict stepped forward, hands clasped in front of him, not in the least bit nervous, unlike the other conclavists. Fine, so she had lost her temper a few times. Maybe she had shouted and thrown something, but they were often an irascible lot.

And she was imperatrix, wasn’t she? She had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Benedict was a tall thin specimen, with a nose that reminded her of a falcon. A dangerous but intelligent man, she’d come to appreciate him far more than his predecessor, a man of ambition and desire, but at least he seemed to appreciate her authority.

‘Imperatrix, forgive us for bothering you at so early an—’ he began, but never got the chance to finish.

Lucius Aidarius shoved him aside, smacking him with his walking stick, hobbling into the same spot Benedict had occupied seconds before. ‘These murders have gotten out of hand,’ he spat, not having changed a hair in the time since she’d seen him last, which was several months ago due to some ailment of his. ‘What we want to know, what we demand to know, is what you are doing about it?’ He stamped his stick with a hollow echo reverberating around the throne room.

Artorius stared at the old man, eyes going wide, and his hand hovering near his sword hilt. Sarscha gave him an exasperated look, and he resumed his vigil, though he kept glancing warily at the elderly conclavist. Last time an elderly politician had been yelling at her, he had turned into a pile of crabs. Poor old Polius.

And besides, that’s all I need, she thought, my imperial marshal gutting a veteran politician in my throne room. That wouldn’t cause any problems, I’m sure.

There was murmuring now from the others gathered there, and Sarscha raised her hands to quieten them. ‘The deaths are under investigation as we speak.’ She gestured at Artorius. ‘My imperial marshal here assures me he has everything in hand.’

‘Doesn’t look like it,’ grumbled Aidarius, stamping his stick again. ‘There’s something dark and strange going on in this city. Remember poor Polius?’

Another conclavist spoke up, a woman who was one of the Brutus family. There had been some survivors from Liviana Avitus’ purge, mostly because these were distant relatives who’d lived in Paldan, but some had returned to Icarthya to take up the family seat in the Cipius Conclave.

‘The deaths aren’t natural,’ the woman said in a shrill voice. ‘Dark magic is responsible! Where are those viral pests you keep around here? We never tolerated their sort in Paldan, let me tell you.’

Sarscha felt herself bristle at those words and tone, but she held her tongue. It wasn’t as though anything she said could undo centuries of bias towards the undead.

‘The bodies blacken and rot away in minutes,’ shouted another, this one a Cipius.

‘I heard they get up and start tottering about afterwards,’ said another voice. The crowd beyond the pillars had grown restless too, with several Muckers and Prolers getting in their two coppers worth.

Then a paladin by the name of Marl spoke up. ‘We demand soldiers to defend our homes.’

The grumblings grew louder, and her imperial marshal simply shrugged at her when she glanced at him. She tried quietening them again, wishing she had sat on the throne after all. At least, sitting above them, she might have exerted a greater presence and authority, but it was too late to climb those steps at this point. The crowd beyond the columns had grown restless, likely feeding off the grumbles they were hearing from their politicians.

‘The plebians are fearful,’ announced Benedict, spreading his hands to show it was something he would personally have loved to fix himself, but it wasn’t his job. It was hers.

‘We don’t call them by that name anymore,’ Sarscha snapped, feeling a little irritable, and a little hot. ‘All people within the imperium are now equal under the law. You know that.’

She had written it personally, but had fought for several weeks in conclave to get it passed. She’d had to exercise her own imperial power to force it through in the end. Not what she had wanted, and it had left her exhausted and not a little perturbed. There were numerous other laws she wanted to enact too, but where was the time?

The temperature outside was more than tolerable, but she felt like she’d been stuffed into an oven. Was she ill? Overwhelmed? She would have snorted with laughter at that last, but she didn’t feel up to something so strenuous. The imperial marshal appeared to notice, and discreetly moved to her side, whispering through the corner of his mouth. ‘Imperatrix, do you wish to leave?’

She could have given the command, and had them all cleared out, but they had a right to answers. Her father wouldn’t have tolerated such insolence, but then, she wasn’t him. She had always insisted on lower-ranking officers speaking their minds when she’d commanded the Actaeon Guard. She didn’t see why she should change something that had always worked for her. It was just harder than she had expected.

‘You have three hundred imperial guards,’ someone shouted. ‘What do you want with all of them?’

‘Give us some to defend ourselves.’

‘We can’t sleep at night.’

Hearing the self-centred pleas of the politicians did nothing for the mood of the merchants, Prole workers, and Muckers. It didn’t sound like the politicians cared what happened to them. The situation began to deteriorate and the soldiers, though well-positioned and prepared, began to look nervous.

The problem facing her wasn’t that she didn’t know what to say, it was that she didn’t have anything to tell them. The deaths were a mystery, and they were multiplying. She suspected magic of a foul and dark sort, but she could hardly tell them that. Nerves were frayed ever since it became clear the rest of the world was falling to the sorceress and her dark armada. Rumours abounded, many not so far-fetched from what Sarscha had seen of the reports.

Lucius was stamping his stick, the other conclavists’ anger fuelled by his ranting demands. The paladins remained placid, at least on the surface, but their stares were full of meaning. They did not like what they were seeing. Since the fall of the Forum, they had been allowed back to the pantheon, their personal guards absorbed into the legions, but they had lost none of their calculating arrogance.

The crowd beyond the columns grew more restless and scuffles broke out.

Artorius touched her arm gently. ‘Imperatrix, I think we should leave.’ Of course, by we, he meant specifically, her.

Sarscha was having none of it. Something wasn’t right here, and she knew it had a taste of magic about it. Maybe she’d been around Licolo too long, but she’d developed a sensitivity for such things. They had become too erratic, even Lucius Aidarius, and he was irascible by nature.

She tried again. ‘I promise you, I will get to the bottom of these murders, and I will see the city is safer and more secure in the coming days. I have ordered over a thousand extra soldiers for—’

Whatever else she had been going to say, never got said, and never would. An old woman in a dark blue cloak stood among the angry throng as soldiers moved in to try and control them. In her veined, liver-spotted hands she held a massive book, a grimoire far too heavy for one of such age to hold easily. The book itself held a faint glow between its ornate leather covers, and what looked like chains wrapped it tight.

Artorius was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him, as she stared past the politicians and paladins, their voices also raised, but they might as well have been whispering from a mile away.

The old woman smiled, and it was like the rictus of death. Sarscha was a formidable woman in her way, having led men and women in battle, sometimes to their deaths. She had ridden a warg, and faced down the mighty Nephilim of Raddhon. She had fought a vanth and won.

Now, she took several steps back, feeling the blood leach from her face. A cold terror filled her belly, and she found herself unable to speak.

Paladin Creed’s smile grew wider as she opened the Book of Chains. Sarscha raised one hand, and pointed right at her, at first unable to get the words out. She didn’t know if Creed had done something to her, maybe using the book, or if she was just terrified, but paralysing fear wasn’t something she was used to. Everyone felt fear, even the vaunted Sarscha Todralan, but not like this. This was ... different.

‘Imperatrix!’ came her imperial marshal’s voice, as the noise of the throne room came thundering back in. ‘What’s wrong? Should I set to clearing everyone out?’

‘There, do you see her? The old woman holding that ... book!’

Artorius took a few steps forward scanning the crowd now beginning to shove against the guardsmen who struggled to hold their line.

‘Somebody, arrest that woman!’ Sarscha ordered, and then even Lucius Aidarius and his cronies shut up. The paladins turned to see what she was talking about, or who, and then Sarscha realised that the old woman wasn’t there.

She marched forward and placed a finger under the nose of a bemused Paladin Benedict. ‘You knew she was alive, didn’t you? You knew Creed had returned to Icarthya.’

He radiated smugness as he answered, ‘Imperatrix, I can honestly say I have no idea who you mean. Are you well?’

Sarscha whirled and gestured to one of her aides, one of several dozen in fact, who kept to the shadows until needed. They always seemed to know when that was. This one stood waiting as she turned. ‘Find me Tezcat Licolo and quickly. Have her meet me in fifteen minutes in the Red Room. Tell her it is urgent!’ The aide turned and ran to obey.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Lucius stamping his stick again. Storming past him, Sarscha felt like grabbing the stick and shoving it somewhere that would ensure he’d stay upright forever, but she managed to keep control. Just.

Exiting the throne room, into one of the palace’s private corridors, she turned at a junction and took the stairs down, her aides, her imperial marshal, and dozens of soldiers who weren’t stuck clearing out the throne room, in her wake.

She left the palace proper and headed for a more secure meeting room they had come to call the Red Room, on account of its red wall panelling. It was one of three she frequently used since the Tower of Aurealis had burned to the ground. Threadfin’s Tower might have suited her better, but it was a long climb up to Wept.

Once secure, with a doubled guard on the doors, which for once she felt was necessary, she turned to Artorius. ‘You saw her, didn’t you? Tell me you saw her.’

‘There were a lot of people in there, including several older men and women. I didn’t see anyone holding a book, though.’

Sarscha marched towards the long table of black oak and then whirled. ‘I want the entire palace complex searched. Art, I want her found.’

‘Um, if you don’t mind my asking, who do you want found exactly?’ There was a look of confusion and apprehension on his face, which made her madder.

There were times when Sarscha felt like hurling something heavy across a room. This was one of those times, but she managed to control her emotions. She was a soldier, and there was an enemy in the camp. There were protocols for this in the legions. She would handle this in the same manner, and calmly.

‘Paladin Creed was in the Throne Room in the shadows at the back. I saw her, and she saw me. She looked right at me. Find her!’

‘I’ll see to it right away, imperatrix,’ said Artorius, with a salute.

Tezcat entered as he left, and strode right up to Sarscha, her usual giddy self. ‘See, I used the door this time,’ she announced with a bright smile.

‘Yes, thank you, Cat.’ She uses the door when it suits her, and when it matters least, but never when she should. She had to control her thoughts. It wasn’t Tezcat’s fault, and she had grown quite fond of the girl and her idiosyncrasies.

‘I is hearing rumours Creed is returned?’

Sarscha felt astonished at how fast word had spread, but then she had created a bit of a scene and Tezcat had her ways of knowing things. She could still see Creed standing over her, dagger in hand, while she lay on the stone altar waiting to be sacrificed. Being a victim was different to holding a sword and leading soldiers in battle. One meant control, the other a complete lack of it.

‘Can the Book of Chains be responsible for what is happening? The killings in the city, I mean. The burnt-looking bodies, the mysterious deaths? Could someone use that book to create mayhem, panic, disorder, that sort of thing?’

Tezcat pursed her lips, and put one slender green-grey finger to them, furrowing her brow. The undead girl often put too much effort into looking intelligent when there was no need. She was far more intelligent than most people Sarscha knew.

Tezcat also looked a little older, more worn than when Sarscha had first met her, but she’d come to rely heavily on the girl in all things magical. Ralan was useful in that area, but he wasn’t always around when she needed him, and forget about Threadfin. For a mage, he went out of his way to avoid all things and people magical, or so it seemed.

‘I suppose it could be,’ Tezcat said eventually, tapping her lip. ‘I isn’t certain though, but I can go and looks in the library. There’s a stack o’ rare books and other stuff I discovered last month. Might be somethin’ in them abouts this.’

Sarscha nodded, feeling impatient for answers. Of course, they wouldn’t get all the answers, but seeing Creed again unnerved her. I suppose, she thought, that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Get a grip on yourself, woman. You’re imperatrix now. If you lose control, everything falls apart. She managed to calm her thudding heart. ‘Then please, Cat. If you wouldn’t mind.’

The girl nodded, turned to go, but then paused, her cloak billowing as she whirled around. ‘I has ordered mages to go about in small clots o’ threes or fours, until them killings stop. There’s been more bodies today, and they’s the same. All black and rotten.’

The girl paused, and Sarscha’s heart began to beat faster again. ‘Yes, and what else?’

‘Um, you isn’t goin’ to likes this much.’

‘Cat, I hear things every day I don’t like, but it’s my job to hear them nevertheless, and it’s your job to tell them to me.’

‘One o’ them corpses sort o’ started movin’.’

Sarscha stared at her. ‘It what?’

‘Then it sort of stood up, you know, off the ground. Walking and stuff.’

She couldn’t help it. Sarscha let out a groan. Not again, she thought. She had heard the shouts in the throne room suggesting that very thing, but she’d hoped they were mere hysteria.

‘We burnt it up good though. It weres on fire and dancin’ and wavin’ and stuff.’ The undead girl had the audacity to giggle until she saw Sarscha’s face. The giggles were cut short. ‘I has best get going to the library then.’

‘Yes,’ agreed the imperatrix, ‘I think you’d best.’ The girl didn’t bother using the door this time, vanishing in a welter of black fog, leaving Sarscha alone and feeling the most vulnerable she had ever felt in her life.