14​ Of Black Magic & Ships

PETRAEUS STARED DOWN at his imperator. Tolan Laman’s face was unrecognisable; the body lay sprawled across the steps at the base of the dais in the throne room. The magic — used to boil the blood in his veins while bursting heart and eyeballs, not to mention blackening the skin ­— had been thorough. Magic often was, if the wielder knew their stuff.

There was a second corpse lying across the imperator’s legs. A dagger hilt was fused to the mangled bone of one hand, the blade melted. The damage to the boy, Actaeon, was as excessive.

Poor stupid bastard, thought Petraeus, uncertain which of the two he meant. Actaeon should’ve gotten out of the way, should’ve run for his life. The role of standard bearer was symbolic—an affectation left over from ancient traditions. Tolan would never have expected, or wanted, the lad to die for him.

‘You see it?’ Dares yelled, finger stabbing, head bobbing like a bird. ‘Do you see it?’

‘It is rather difficult not to,’ said Boethius, holding a piece of perfumed silk to his nose. The stench of death was pungent. The golden winged throne looked lonely upon the dais.

‘There is nothing for it now,’ said Andriscus. ‘The conclave must gather without further delay, and vote.’

‘A vote on what?’ asked another voice, and they all turned to see Xanthus strolling towards them. The conclavist had his hands clasped behind his back. His colourful robes, reminiscent of southern fashion, made the others look drab.

‘A vote on war of course, you Valtari dog.’ Dares was near frothing at the mouth, murder in his eyes. ‘Can’t you see it?’ Dares gestured like a wild man at the bodies. Andriscus reached out a hand to calm the man.

Xanthus met the body servant’s gaze as he spoke. ‘We do not know what has occurred here, other than the murder of our imperator, and heroic Actaeon. Our imperium will remember that name for centuries to come.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Dares, flapping his hands. ‘The standard bearer made a heroic stand for our imperator, yes, yes, a true hero ... although who knows what happened. Perhaps the boy was in league with—’

‘Dares,’ Boethius warned. ‘I will remind you the tale of Actaeon is spreading through the legions as we speak, no matter that his body is not yet an hour cold. It would be unwise to tamper with the matter at this point, lest you wish to start a rebellion.’

‘Oh, very well! Yes, yes, his name shall be recorded for all prosperity. Now, we must vote.’

‘It seems,’ said Xanthus, ‘a little precipitous to declare war, and might I ask, a war on whom?’

Dares’ face reddened to a dangerous shade as he was rendered speechless, a feat not often accomplished. It was Boethius who answered. ‘This is the result of viralic magic. There can be no other reason for the state of the bodies. It can only mean the remaining mages in the palace have turned on us. They must be captured, and destroyed.’

‘If you are correct,’ said Xanthus, hinting he was not convinced, ‘then I still do not see the need for a war. Find the mage responsible and put him or her on trial. If guilty, then sentence will be passed. The undead are subject to the same laws as the living, after all.’

‘You want a Grim-forsaken trial?’ Dares snapped. ‘You want a mockery of justice? You are protecting them,’ he then shouted, pointing at the other man, glancing at the others for support. ‘I vote we put you on trial, Valtari.’

‘It always amazes me,’ observed Xanthus, ‘how you manage to turn my place of birth into an insult. I am Valtari, yes, but I am also as Icarthian as you, my dear Dares. I am a citizen of this imperium. I protect the truth. What do you protect? Prove to me that this deed was done by viralic magic, and then we will set about finding the murderer. Despite your myriad of talents, you are not an expert in the magical arts, are you?’

‘He does have a point, Dares,’ said Boethius. ‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions without more evidence.’

‘Black-skinned, viral-loving bastard!’ Dares screeched. ‘I’ll see you flayed alive you sand-snake, you piece of—’

‘Let’s look at the facts, shall we,’ said Andriscus, putting a hand on Dares shoulder and squeezing hard. The other man relented, though he continued muttering to himself. ‘Magic killed the imperator and his standard bearer. None of us need be experts to see that much. Look at what’s left.’ He gestured at the bodies, without bothering to look himself. ‘Another fact: only virals are capable of magic. It has been that way for centuries, since Rasnal Nalrost’s death. There hasn’t been a spectral mage since.’

‘Is that so?’ asked Xanthus, with a slight smile.

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Andriscus demanded. ‘Virals use magic, and this was done by magic. What more proof do you need?’

‘You mean to destroy all of them, don’t you,’ said Xanthus. ‘Hardly seems proportionate.’

‘Andriscus is correct,’ said Boethius. ‘They are too dangerous for us to allow within our midst one day longer. They will murder us all if we do nothing.’

Xanthus raised one eyebrow as he glanced at the white-haired conclavist. ‘You do seem to have difficulty making up your mind, Boethius.’ The other man’s face darkened, but he averted his eyes.

‘Once we go after them,’ said Andriscus, ‘the undead will band together and they will fight back. They will gather about the murderer to protect it. The conclave will have no choice but to send the legions to destroy them all. I’m afraid there will be no trials, Xanthus. This is not Valtar, after all.’

‘Obviously. In Valtar, we investigate crimes and find the guilty party. We do not jump to assumptions, no matter how obvious things may first appear.’

Andriscus frowned, appearing thoughtful, but said nothing.

‘Wait, wait,’ said Boethius, waving his hands. ‘We are forgetting something.’

‘What is it now?’ Dares snapped, rounding on the man.

Petraeus knew Dares would prove to be the bigger problem. He would brook no dissent. If left unchecked, he would whip the conclave into a frenzy, no matter that Boethius outranked him. Andriscus had some influence over him, due to certain secrets of Dares’ past, but it wasn’t certain he could control him. Despite this tragedy, there was perhaps, still time. I should kill Dares first. He met Xanthus’ gaze, and saw in those dark eyes, behind the pain, agreement.

‘The Necropolis,’ said Boethius, almost out of breath, and still flapping like he was going to attempt flying. ‘We’ve forgotten that Grim-damned Necropolis.’

‘It’s thousands of miles across the ocean,’ noted Andriscus with a dismissive gesture. ‘It does not worry me in the least, and it should not worry you. Take hold of yourself man.’

‘The most powerful undead mages in the world are on those islands,’ Boethius shot back, anger in his eyes. He was after all, the most senior present. ‘If we take action here, they will learn of it sooner or later, and they will return. They will seek vengeance.’

‘Good,’ said Dares, ‘because we shall be waiting for them. In the meantime, we don’t have them here to worry about, as Andriscus says. The undead facing our legions here will be understrength.’

‘And you believe we would stand a chance against Beezer, Lyrin or that spiteful wretch, Ragon?’

‘Enough of this spineless drivel,’ Dares spat. ‘We must—’

Footsteps echoed from outside the throne room’s doors. A soldier stopped just inside, and announced Calac Tolan Todralan, grandson and heir to the imperator. His sister followed, bedecked in her usual golden head chains and earrings. A dozen guards in green cloaks marched in behind the siblings, but halted half way. As Calac and Antipa approached, the conclavists moved off to one side, although Xanthus remained where he was, as did Petraeus.

Calac halted beside the bodies, and after a moment, knelt. He began to weep, reaching out to touch his grandfather, but then recoiled. Reed thin, he wasn’t a soldier as his father Akeran had been. Of course, soldiers also wept. Petraeus had seen plenty of it in the aftermath of battle. There was no shame in tears. Calac was, however, of a more sensitive disposition, easy meat for his sisters.

Antipa, in gilded attire, was pale and cold. She had shoulder-length blond hair and striking golden eyes, which she locked onto Petraeus. ‘Well,’ she said with a hint of a smile. ‘I imagine you did not expect to see me so soon.’

Petraeus did not satisfy her with a reply. He didn’t even blink.

‘You were here, servant,’ she snapped, ‘when it happened?’

Petraeus noted Dares and the others watching him. He would not be able to hide his true role much longer, it seemed. So be it, but he wondered what game she was playing at. She had gotten free of the dungeon, meaning the mages guarding her were destroyed. He had warned Tolan that two might not be enough. ‘I was not,’ he said after a moment, ‘but I was the first to find him. I was on my way here to speak with him.’

‘Where were his guards?’

Petraeus smiled at her. ‘A good question, my lady, and I had to go far to find any to bring back here. There were none posted at the doors or here within the throne room as there should’ve been. The captain of the guard could not explain it. He has since been arrested. It’s almost as if someone had arranged it all.’

Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced down at her brother. ‘Enough of your blubbering, Cal. You know I cannot stand it. He was old, wasn’t he? He would have soon passed anyway.’

‘But, to die in this manner,’ said Calac, ‘and what is that thing lying atop of him? Get it off him, immediately. How dare it violate my grandfather’s body.’

Four of the guardsmen rushed forwards, to lift the body of Actaeon from off the imperator. Petraeus then noted what Antipa and Calac did not. The four soldiers carefully hefted the body onto their shoulders and carried it reverently out of the chamber. No Dares, he thought, that is one tale you will not twist to your advantage, for it is well out of your hands. The story of Actaeon, a boy falling in defence of his imperator, might yet change the imperium forever. It was such tales, which gave the ordinary soldier a reason to believe, to go on. It was a tale Petraeus had already made certain would spread.

‘I said, enough!’ Antipa clipped her brother’s ear.

Calac’s shoulders ceased their shuddering, and he rose to his feet, wiping his eyes. Within seconds, it was as though he’d never wept. Petraeus gaze narrowed on him. Had it all been an act? Most dismissed the young man as a wimp, a shadow of his father, but there was a calculating mind in that scrawny youth.

‘Who did this?’ Calac demanded ‘Whose skin should I have peeled from their bones?’

Dares Avitus took a grovelling step towards them, dry washing his hands and nodding. ‘Viralic magic is at the root of this horrid crime. My lord, if I may, there can be no other explanation for the manner of your dear grandfather’s death. Observe the damage—’ He faltered and took a few steps backward at a vicious glare from Antipa.

‘Petraeus, have you anything to add?’ she demanded.

‘Unknown, my lady, what magic was responsible,’ he answered in a tone, which suggested he did not wish to discuss it, which he didn’t. At least, not with her.

‘There is only one type of magic left in the world,’ Dares interjected.

Antipa sniffed. ‘This is hardly getting us anywhere.’

‘My lady,’ Dares ventured further, finding some measure of bravery. Petraeus had to admit the man was persistent. ‘Your grandfather’s Darken has failed to protect him. He must be punished accordingly since he should have at least died with his imperator. Is that not the role of an imperial bodyguard?’

‘Yes, yes,’ snapped Calac. ‘Unfortunately, the identity of grandfather’s Darken was known only to him. That is how it works, you imbecile.’

Dares coughed into his fist, and then stared at Petraeus, who had to fight back a smile. Oh, so that is what you think, eh, Dares? You are both a clever and stupid little man.

‘Oh, don’t be so simpleminded,’ Antipa growled seeing who Dares was looking at. ‘Petraeus is the imperial spymaster, and has served as such in secret for decades. Since the role requires frequent travel, he could not have fulfilled the role of a Darken.’

They all stared at him, Dares’ eyes widening. Even Calac looked at him with new interest, but not Xanthus. No, the Valtari held his dark gaze on Dares Avitus.

‘I do not need further proof,’ Calac announced. ‘The conclave will meet this very day to vote for me as imperator. Once that is over, they will vote for war. The undead murdered the imperator. They will pay.’

Dares was nodding with such vigour Petraeus was certain his head would fall off. Andriscus looked pale, and Boethius was frowning. It was one thing to hold a vote, another for the presumptive heir to decide on the vote’s outcome beforehand. It suggested how politics in the conclave would be in a post Tolan Laman imperium, and they didn’t like it.

Calac stalked towards his guards, and with a wave of one hand, half their number escorted him out. ‘You have two hours,’ he called over his shoulder, as he strode out the door, ‘to gather yourselves for the vote. Do not be late.’

As the others left in a hurry, all but Xanthus, the imperator’s granddaughter took a step closer to Petraeus. Her body swayed with such sensuality any other man would have fallen at her feet. ‘I pity you, spymaster,’ she said.

He did not reply. Instead, he appraised her, and came to the same conclusion he had a hundred times before. What, he thought with a hint of irony, did you think you’d find something different? She is who she is, and nothing will change this one.

‘You cannot stop me,’ she whispered. ‘It is inevitable, something Tolan Laman never understood, but then you know that.’

‘He understood loyalty,’ said the spymaster. ‘He understood the necessity of pain and suffering for the greater good. He understood what it meant to rule, and to serve. The two are not mutually exclusive, but then you know that.’

‘The plagues will end,’ she snapped, ‘and the undead will vanish from this world, burned to ash. All of them, Petraeus, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.’

‘Beezer might have something to say about it though, don’t you think?’

Antipa giggled. ‘Some spymaster you are. Did you think we would forget about those islands? The Necropolis is what they call it, isn’t it? Yes, so remote, so far away and for a good reason, but not untouchable. My sister has—’

‘A treacherous brat, psychotic, murderous and possessing terrible power. Yes, I remember, or wait—no, that’s you I’m thinking of. Rade Wyntara Todralan, exiled by a grandfather, who couldn’t bear to have her executed. Her twin, however, remained to wreak havoc. I wonder, which of you is the more dangerous of the two?’

‘She and I are not alike in the least.’

Petraeus smiled. ‘No, you’re not. The slaughter of a mother, a father, and the horrible death of half an imperial legion. A family secret buried for all time, those who knew anything vanished. The witch-girl exiled to islands owned by the undead. Islands, which dampened her power and imprisoned her for your crimes.

‘Yes, even now,’ he continued, ‘Rade Wyn plots the destruction of the Necropolis. Why do you think Beezer and Lyrin returned there, after making you believe it was your plan? You are right, Antipa, there is much I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter because Beezer knows what I do not, and he is ready for you and your sister.’

Antipa’s face was a mask of rage, but it quickly melted into a disarming smile, full of knowing. ‘Ah, but my dear, you didn’t mention the ships. A small detail, but so important in our grand scheme.’

Her words gave him pause, and he felt his heart hammering in his chest; a very human reaction.

‘The black ships,’ she went on, reaching out to scratch his right cheek with a lacquered fingernail, drawing blood. ‘You know too much, Petraeus, not that it will avail you much. A gift sails east, well beyond even your reach. In fact, I imagine it has reached the islands already. The power of this gift cannot be so easily, dampened.’

She turned, and stalked out of the throne room. Xanthus approached his friend, face grim.

‘You heard all of that?’ asked the spymaster.

‘I do not think I will sleep tonight.’

‘Is it possible?’

The Valtari’s face was grave. He hid the pain of the imperator’s death well, but Petraeus saw through the mask. ‘Two of them, born here in the palace­ yes—I’m afraid it is. I knew they were sisters, twins with abilities, but ... do you remember the night they were born? That terrible storm and all those deaths?’

Petraeus shook his head. ‘They don’t even look alike, Xan, but sometimes twins don’t. There had never been two sisters before.’

‘Yes,’ the Valtari repeated. ‘I know. I think we now know which is the more dangerous, at least. You’re right; always two, but never from the same bloodline.’

Petraeus couldn’t help but laugh, which drew a sharp look from his friend. ‘Oh, poor Calac, the fool hasn’t a clue, does he?’

‘We cannot allow her to become imperatrix,’ said Xanthus. ‘The consequences, well, I don’t need to list them for you.’

‘Calac may sit on the throne,’ said Petraeus, ‘but it is Antipa who will hold the imperial sword. She will be the real power. Her brother will become imperator, and the fool will believe it.’

‘Then, there is only one thing to be done.’ The pain in his eyes deepened.

The spymaster would not try to talk him out of it. Both knew their roles, and the dangers inherent. Both knew Xanthus had to at least try. ‘I will miss you,’ said the spymaster, holding out his arm. ‘It has been an honour working together all these years.’

Tolan Laman Todralan’s Darken clasped his arm tight. ‘Like me, you’ve lived too long.’

‘I feel the truth of it in my bones,’ said Petraeus. Yes, Xanthus saw clearer than most, and unlike most, he knew when to speak, and when not to.

He gave Petraeus’ arm a final squeeze. ‘On the other side, my old friend.’

The spymaster nodded, and watched him walk away for the last time. ‘On the other side,’ he whispered. Xanthus hadn’t failed his imperator, despite Dares’ foolish accusations. Tolan had been old and riddled with tumours, though he’d borne it well. Beezer’s constant interventions had kept the inevitable at bay, but death would not be denied. No, his Darken hadn’t failed, because Tolan Laman had wanted to die, to greet his death with open arms.

Petraeus had lied to Antipa. He’d hidden in the shadows, and had witnessed her murder the old man. She’d ensured all guards would be absent. As the imperator had requested, he had not intervened. It would not have saved him anyhow. Antipa was far too powerful.

Xanthus had been elsewhere, also under Tolan’s orders. The old man had known what was coming, had anticipated the very moment it would occur. Now, the imperator’s Darken would give his life to take hers, and thereby fulfil his role. There could be no other path for the man, and Antipa needed to die. However, Petraeus feared he would not succeed.

Petraeus watched the servants arrive, a full legionary guard of honour in tow to remove the imperator’s body. The funeral would be a private affair, the public’s attention diverted by the coming war. Petraeus knew he would be the only mourner present.

As he turned to leave, a sound made him glance back. The remaining soldiers drew weapons and pulled away, their commander instinctive in his orders. The servants hadn’t seen the danger, however.

As the dead imperator twitched on the cold stone, the first of the beetles burst free from his mouth, and the screaming began.