A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (20 page)

There was no mistaking their intentions. Ormuz turned and lurched towards the entrance to the chamber. His foot slipped. He put out a hand to prevent his fall. Something struck him just below one knee. He continued to topple.

And fell from the gallery into the shaft.

He opened his mouth to scream but could only voice a croak. He fell beside a featureless wall, seemed to fall for an age. And then…

Everything went black.

Ormuz sat bolt upright in his cot. His heart was racing, his muscles spasming. He took great gulps of air and felt himself begin to relax as he took in his familiar surroundings. The burnished wood walls of his cabin aboard
Vengeful
. A neatly laid-out set of clothing for him to wear that day, put there by his valet, Komornik.

He fell back and closed his eyes. Opening them a second time, he still saw his cabin. He felt too numb from his ordeal to be properly grateful. Lying there, his arms down by his side, he stared up at the ceiling above his cot, his mind a blank.

What a horrible nightmare!

That monstrous creature. What could it have been? From where in his subconscious had he dragged that? Although the details were fading, he remembered enough to know it resembled nothing he had ever encountered. And the place, a stone labyrinth of featureless cells, populated by shambling men wearing no clothes. So strange, so far from understanding.

Was it some melodrama he seen? Had his mind warped and twisted it as he slept? But no, he hadn’t watched an entertainment for weeks, since leaving Linna, in fact. And while there, he had found himself avoiding those aimed at proles, with their fantastical worlds where life was so much better for all.

There was nothing “better” about the strange place Ormuz had dreamt.

Perhaps a novel had inspired it. He had tried reading the classics for pleasure, and certainly derived more enjoyment from them now than he had done when studying them at school. But not even the visions of the hells described so lyrically in Pisasz’s
Cities on Flames
bore any resemblance to what Ormuz had “imagined”.

Another thought occurred to him. “Visions of the hells”? Was that what he had experienced?

Ormuz was not by inclination religious.
The Book of the Sun
was, to him, an historical document. Chian and Konran did not exist; there were other, more reasonable, explanations for the “evidence” of their existence.

He swung his legs from beneath his sheets and calmed at the familiar comforting feel of wooden decking beneath his feet. Had it been the hells? Had he dreamt of the hells? Perhaps he should talk to Church Representative Sorio. Ormuz did not remember enough of his catechism to know if his vision matched that described in scripture.

But first—He had been to the nomosphere for a reason and he needed to tell the Admiral what he had learnt. The strange fragility he felt, as if his existence aboard
Vengeful
were as precarious as his existence had felt in his nightmare, he must ignore. After splashing his face with water, he dressed quickly and left his cabin.

The Admiral was not on the Captain’s Bridge nor in her suite. Her secretary was not yet on duty, and her footman gave only a vague apologetic smile when Ormuz demanded his mistress’s location. Heavy-footed, Ormuz made his way around the gallery to the lift and stepped out into the conning-tower well. A lift-shelf appeared beneath his feet. Once he was stood entirely on it, the shelf began to descend. At each deck of the conning-tower, Ormuz stepped off and searched for the Admiral.

She was not in in her suite, nor in Fire Control. The Chartroom was locked, and in Registrations/Acquisitions the plotting tables clattered quietly to themselves. The Signals House was empty, as was the Computational Office. Entering the chapel, Ormuz wondered why he had not tried it first. But she was not there.

The Admiral would not be in a wardroom. She ate in her suite. Unless there was some celebratory meal or other event and she had been invited by the wardroom. But at such an early hour? Besides, Ormuz would have been invited as well. He remained on good terms with the battlecruiser’s officers. Standing outside the Computational Office, hands to the railing before him, he gazed blankly for’ard, across the conning-tower well. The door he could see gave onto the Signals Distribution Office. That had been Commander Mubariz’s bailiwick. The executive officer was responsible for signals distribution, among other things. But Lieutenant-Commander Voyna was executive officer now, and he would not be on duty for several hours.

But, perhaps? Ormuz strolled along the gallery to the Office’s entrance and pushed open the door. He stood there in the doorway and smiled as the Admiral turned from a rated and frowned at him.

“I have more information,” he told her.

“Is it good?” she asked.

“I think so.” Unbidden, an image from his nightmare came to mind and he scowled.

“You do not appear to be sure,” the Admiral remarked.

“No, it’s not that.” Ormuz shook his head, as if to dislodge the image. “That’s… something else.” An idea occurred to him: the Admiral was well-versed in Chianist scripture and creed. “I’d like to talk to you about it, if you permit.”

“Your news first, I think.” She gave the rated beside whom she stood a terse nod, then turned about and crossed towards Ormuz in the doorway.

He stepped back, still holding open the door. Once she was on the gallery, he let the door to the Signals Distribution Office swing shut. “Ahasz,” he said, “is besieging the Imperial Palace. His attack has failed.”

“So far,” the Admiral corrected. “He may succeed yet.”

“The Emperor will defend himself,” he pointed out. “He has the Imperial Regiments and the Martial Orders.”

“You yourself have said the Housecarls are the Serpent’s,” replied the Admiral.

She put up a hand before Ormuz could respond. “Somewhere more private is required.”

At a smart pace, she rounded the conning-tower well and entered the chapel. Ormuz trailed after her and, once inside, followed her to the front pew. They were alone. The Admiral sat, indicated that he should join her and gazed implacably at him.

“Speak,” she said.

Ormuz sorted through what he had discovered in the nomosphere. “The Serpent attacked the Palace but was beaten off. He’s now caught in a siege. And has been for several weeks.”

“You are certain he will remain there until our arrival?”

“After Geneza? Yes. From what I saw.” Ormuz frowned. “One thing puzzles me, though. It all seems too…
convenient
.”

“I do not follow. What is convenient?”

Ormuz sat back and tried to order his thoughts. Going over his discoveries from the nomosphere with the Admiral, certain facts had fallen into place and he now wondered at the pattern they revealed. He was no strategist, nor was he well-educated in Imperial history. Despite his ducal blood, his “princedom”, he had been schooled with proletarians.

“Your father did nothing, although he knew about the Serpent. He just sat back and let you defend the Throne. But you could only do that by removing yourself from the Navy chain of command. He must have known that, but I’m having trouble believing He’d rely on you to mutiny.”

“You may be seeing more than exists,” the Admiral replied. “I know my father and such forward-thinking is not in his nature. Nor is a reliance on events that may not happen.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Ormuz, “your father knows you better than you think.”

The Admiral stared at him icily.

He quickly continued, “It’s not just that, ma’am. We have to go to Geneza first—the Serpent has forces gathering there and we can’t allow them to reinforce his attack on the Imperial Palace. So it will be weeks before we reach Shuto. So what happens? Ahasz attacks… and is immediately stuck in a siege. He’s probably going to be there for many weeks. Long enough to
still
be attacking the Throne when we arrive.” He paused, gave a puzzled smile. “Don’t you find that suspicious?”

“What are you suggesting, Casimir?” asked the Admiral, her voice low.

He opened his mouth to respond, when it suddenly struck me what the Admiral meant. “No!” he said quickly. “No. I’m not saying I think the rebellion has been planned like that. I know you and Ahasz are enemies —”

“I allow you certain liberties, Casimir,” the Admiral snapped. “Do not abuse them.”

He jumped to his feet, agitated by his inability to communicate his meaning. “No, no,” he insisted. He strode back and forth. “It’s like it was all planned. But not by us. Perhaps by Ahasz. Although I can’t understand why. A quick victory would be better for him.”

He came to an abrupt halt. “Maybe it
is
just coincidence, the way events there have transpired. Perhaps there
is
no pattern. Or none that was designed.” He turned to gaze up at the chapel’s stained-glass window, but saw little more than shapeless blobs of glowing colour. “Geneza will tell us. We know the fight ahead of us is difficult. The Serpent has numbers on his side.”

The Admiral completed his thought: “If victory is too easy, then there is more to this rebellion than there appears.”

Ormuz nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

“What makes you think this is a scheme?”

Ormuz wondered if he should make some excuse, or mention what had really occurred to him. It did not sound sane; it might even possibly be offensive to a religious person. But…

“I think,” he said, “I met Konran.”

He had anticipated several reactions—from disbelieving laughter to mild scepticism. He did not expect what the Admiral actually did. She gazed at him intently, her face expressionless, and said, “Explain.”

He told of his dream, how he had been returning from a visit to the nomosphere when he had found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. And the creature he had seen. It had not been human, for all that it possessed a human shape. No person could grow so large. Ormuz had heard of near-giants, approaching eight feet in height; but the creature of his dream was near twice that again.

“You think it was Konran?” the Admiral asked.

“Is his shape described in scripture?” returned Ormuz. His catechism had been years before and he’d not concentrated much during it.

“No. It only describes Him as the antithesis of Chian.”

“So it could be him.” Ormuz did not really believe it. The heavens and hells enumerated in
The Book of the Sun
were not real physical places.

But neither, he realised, was the nomosphere.

He sat back, stunned by his epiphany. He remembered nothing from Chianist scripture which might describe the nomosphere—or even the toposphere, the existence of which had been known for several millennia. But it might well be that there were other dimensions nestled alongside the three of which Ormuz knew. His dream could have been a visit to one such realm. And his strange detachment during that visit a result of the fact he was not of that universe. He did not manifest as himself in the nomosphere, after all, but as a black featureless human-shape, almost a shadow.

“I want to believe my dream was real,” he told the Admiral, “and yet I want it to be anything but real.”

“Perhaps you simply wish it to have meaning.”

“Do dreams have meaning?”

The Admiral made a noncommittal gesture. “Some would have it so. Myself, I sometimes feel the thoughts and actions of a day may appear, disguised or transformed, in that night’s dreams. Recognising them in these states may give useful information, may show how you feel about those thoughts and actions.”

“You think the creature I saw was something I invented to represent the Serpent?”

“Possibly.” The Admiral looked away. “Lieutenant Sorio could tell you more. He is trained in these matters.”

She gazed at him a moment. “I had not thought your beliefs strong in this area.”

“They’re not,” he admitted. “But my dream was so vivid, so real, I’m convinced it was no dream.” He gave a shrug. “I visit the nomosphere and I go there while I sleep. So why could this place not have been somewhere like it?”

“An interesting theory. Certainly your description fits no scripture of which I am aware.” She gestured vaguely. “No matter. Speak to Lieutenant Sorio, if it will set your mind at rest.”

A lake of light filled the valley below Ahasz, stretching to left and right and spilling up the sides. Across from his vantage point on Shield, the golden dome of Congress glowed with an inner light, like a sun seconds away from setting or rising. He put his foot on the embrasure before him, bent and rested an arm on his upraised knee. Life in Toshi continued as normal. He could see so before him.

A train rattled along a raised track, traversing his view from right to left. Passengers visible through the carriage windows were rendered silhouettes by distance. Above the railway, vehicles flew along Imperial Boulevard, itself a path of stars across the night sky.

How, the duke wondered, could they be so oblivious to what was occurring in the Imperial Household District?

He glanced back over his shoulder and, as if to underscore the thought, witnessed a bolt of brightness shoot from an upper level of the Imperial Palace. It hit somewhere near his trenches. The barrage was almost constant.

Turning back to the city, he watched its nightly routine continue for several long minutes. At this time of day, an hour or two after working hours ceased and shortly before the night-life began to take over, there was little to see. The streets were hidden between the blocks of buildings, so foot traffic was invisible to Ahasz. The Electorate and its ancillaries had closed for the day, only a few windows on Congress shone golden. Some were still lit too on Ministries. Bureaucrats working late, Ahasz surmised. Busy siphoning funds into their private accounts, ruining the lives of people they would never meet, bettering their lot at the expense of others… He wished he could bring a field-piece up here onto the knights’ stalwart fortress and blast the butte across the valley.

But no. He had been “permitted” to besiege the Imperial Palace
because
he had assured the civil government he would target only the regnal government. They saw no reason to come to its aid.