From Across the Clouded Range (50 page)

With that thought, Jaret realized that
Nabim’s time was, thankfully, complete. The commander was just
summarizing his ineptitude as the final grains ran from the glass.
Jaret allowed him to complete his rant about the power and glory of
the Empire only because it would be mildly traitorous to disrupt
such a sentiment, and he didn’t need any more political
liabilities.

“
I am sorry, Commander
Rammeriz, that I have gone over my allotted time, but I am certain
you found it to be worthwhile.” Nabim concluded with a sweeping
bow. His robes ruffled loudly at the excess of motion, and he spent
several minutes adjusting them so that he could sit. The
over-puffed fool was wearing layer after layer of extravagant silk
even on this hot day and was not aided by fingers that were
encrusted in gold and gems so that he could hardly move them.
Finally, several servants, who had been taking up space at the back
of the room with no purpose that Jaret could ascertain, scurried
over and helped their master find his seat.

The spectacle was so disgusting that
Jaret did not know whether to laugh at or strike the ridiculous
little man. Undoubtedly, many of the extravagances that so burdened
Commander Nabim had been purchased with the money that was supposed
to buy food and equipment for the men under his command. The very
thought of it made Jaret ill, and from the look on Nabim’s face, he
did a poor job of hiding his contempt.

The puffed up little noble returned to
his seat with his great beak of a nose held as high as he could
manage and his layers of silk ruffling in a chorus of
self-approval. He scanned the room from his seat, accepting the
silent congratulations of his fellow appointees. They all looked
much like Commander Nabim – though none was as outrageously
ostentatious – and they were the only ones congratulating
him.

Jaret scanned his own friends and
advisors. Unlike Nabim’s cronies, his men were dressed in simple
military uniforms consisting of black pants, light-grey shirts with
banded collars, and dark-grey jackets that buttoned almost to the
collar. The breast of each jacket was embroidered with a golden
rising sun beneath which bars were arrayed to show the owner’s rank
as either a commander or sub-commander. Those jackets were
unbearably hot on a day such as this and almost all the men had
unbuttoned or removed them to show the sweaty cotton shirts that
hid beneath. All of those men had weathered faces and cold eyes.
None of them was smiling – though some were close to
laughing.

With one more look around
the table, Jaret rose to his feet and shook his head in
contemplation. He decided to be gentle with Nabim, mostly because
he did not feel like expending the energy on this hot day that
would be required to rebuff him properly. “As much as I believe in
‘reclaiming the glory and honor of the Empire’ and 'crushing the
rebellious dogs' who ‘dare to bow to some master other than the
Most Blessed Lord of the Morning Sun and Protector of the Holy
Order Kristor az’ Pmalatir,’" Jaret used the Emperor’s full title
with surprisingly little contempt. "I do not think that now is the
appropriate time to move on this plan. I think that we would be
better served by concentrating on the numerous problems here at
home before we create new ones with our neighbors. Perhaps we can
reconsider this suggestion at some other, more appropriate
time."
Hopefully never
, he thought as he looked down at his agenda ready to proceed
to the next fool in line.

"That is the splendor of this plan,
Warlord Rammeriz,” Commander Nabim said as if Jaret were not
capable of seeing the full depth of his genius. “Once the people
see that we are restoring the glory of the Empire, they will rally
to us. The troubles that now plague us will dissolve. The Empire
will be united, the people will cease their fool riots, and law
will be returned to the fallen lands."

A groan escaped Jaret. He scanned the
table. Nabim’s followers were nearly frothing at the mouth. He
would have to crush this plan before the others got it stuck in
their heads and decide to do something without his approval.
Preparing his response, Jaret sauntered to the side of the table
that depicted the border with Liandria. When he reached his
destination, he turned on Nabim with fire in his eyes. His long
sword slid from its scabbard and slapped onto the table in one
smooth motion that left the blade at the throat of the Commander of
the Imperial Guards – an imperial appointee. The man almost fainted
when the blade flashed before him.

"Do you have any idea what is waiting
for you on the other side of this line, Commander Nabim?" Jaret ran
his blade along the border between Liandria and the Empire but did
not wait for an answer. "There are forty thousand Liandrin soldiers
along that border according to my sources and another sixty
thousand behind those. Now, despite your years of military
experience and tens of successful campaigns,” many of Jaret’s men
did laugh this time – Commander Nabim had never seen a battle in
his life – “I don’t think that your ten thousand are going to
defeat that force.”

Jaret walked over to another section
of the map and slapped his sword down near the throat of another
imperial stooge. “There is also an entire nation of Morgs, in case
you have forgotten, who have not seen a proper fight in almost
twenty years. Now, I know that the Empire can’t afford to hire
them, so unless you plan on opening your coffers, I think they too
will be fighting for Liandria. And once they take the pass at Pada
Por, we might as well cut our own heads off because with two
hostile armies camped outside the gates of Sal Danar, it is going
to be very hard to convince the Emperor that his power still
reaches to the Clouded Range."

Despite the drumming Jaret had just
given him, Nabim remained calm and confident as if he knew
something that no one else could comprehend. He must not have read
the scouting reports that Jaret had sent him. They were false
reports designed to keep the man scared – Liandria did not have
nearly that many men, having scaled back their military – but the
reports were meant to be read nonetheless. Still, the fact that he
was smiling through Jaret’s insults was alarming. The man was
obviously a grander fool than Jaret had guessed possible. He pinned
the commander with another piercing stare and concluded in his most
sarcastic tone. "That being said, this is a free council, and I
will accept a vote on this proposal. If my commanders believe it
worthy, I will consider it. So . . . all who wish to invite
Liandria to burn our cities, pillage our lands, and separate us
from our heads, please raise your hands to be counted."

Jaret's hard eyes scanned the room
inviting men to vote. Many of his generals put hands over their
mouths to hold back laughter while Nabim’s followers lowered their
heads in shame for having listened to the idea in the first place.
No one, not even its originator, voted for the strategy, but the
smile never left Nabim’s face.

#

Several hours later, Jaret was finally
away from the briefing and walking through the long halls of the
Great Chamber toward his rooms in the northern wing. He had a
pounding headache and was thanking the Holy Order that those
dreadful meetings only took place twice a year. There were so many
more important things that he needed to do than listen to that
bunch of buffoons and their increasingly foolhardy plans for
reclaiming imperial glory, as if each were trying to outdo his
fellows in absurdity.

Even after he had put down Commander
Nabim, other appointees had found the courage to offer only
slightly less preposterous plans of their own. The best of those,
for comedic value, had been made by the Admiral of the Imperial
Fleet, a squadron of a dozen ships meant for ceremonial events and
to impress the Emperor when he looked out of the palace windows
toward the naval yards. The admiral, Koray an' Pmalatir, a brother
of the Emperor but not a well-liked one, had suggested that the
fleet be sent to raid the coasts of Kiz, which were covetously
guarded by the mighty Pindarian Fleet.

Jaret had actually considered letting
him go. He would not have gotten within fifty leagues of Kiz before
the Pindarians found him. Once that happened, it would be all over
except for a few crashes and a loud gurgling sound as his ships
sank to the bottom of the sea. The plan would have been a good way
to get rid of the expensive Imperial Fleet and its ludicrous
commander, but it was not worth the risk of the Emperor missing his
favorite ships and wondering about the change.

Laughing sullenly to himself, Jaret
marched down the empty corridors of the Great Chamber. Not even a
rug ran beneath his feet to mute the clack of his boots on the
stones. The massive building was a bleak warren of rooms that had
been stripped of every extravagance over the past two hundred years
with everything of even marginal value making its way to the palace
in the form of “tributes”. The halls were especially quiet today,
he realized, as he walked. He was in the military wing of the
building and most of the men who lived here were probably at the
evening drills, but he was still surprised to see not another
living person down the long corridor.

Thinking of the evening drills made
Jaret anxious to get back to his rooms, and he increased his pace.
If he hurried, he could change in time to get the exercise he had
missed that morning. There were also a large number of legionnaires
and officers in Sal Danar today for the briefing, and he was
looking forward to seeing his friends. After the drills, they were
planning to spend the remainder of the evening carousing around the
city like the soldiers they used to be rather than the bureaucrats
they had become – such camaraderie was the only thing that made the
seasonal briefings tolerable.

Though he was not married
and did not have any children – at least none he knew of – Jaret
often felt like he had wed the San Chier Empire and lived a fairly
chaste life as a result.
More due to lack
of time than choice
, he grumbled. Still
the idea of being married to the Empire made him laugh.
If that’s the case
, he
chuckled to himself,
then why am I the
only one not screwing my wife?

He was still chuckling at the dark
joke when he strode around the final corner into the northern wing.
Around that corner along the inside of the hall stood a huge set of
double doors that reached ten feet to the ceiling above. The doors
were there to block one of the many passages that connected the
Great Chamber to the palace, but Jaret had to look twice as he
passed because the doors actually blocked the passage. He walked by
those doors several times on the average day, but he could not
remember ever seeing them closed.

They’re probably cleaning
them
, he guessed and continued on without
concern. He did, however, take the opportunity to admire the
beautiful gold and silver inlays on the huge doors – a rare treat
given that the guards who usually blocked them were nowhere to be
seen. He had become a great lover of imperial antiquities over the
last twenty years, so he slowed his walk and studied the
magnificent doors in their undisturbed grandeur. They were set to
depict the sun rising above the ocean with the water done in silver
and the huge sun a burst of gold. It was a magnificent sight, and
he suddenly wished that he had one of his notebooks with him so
that he could add this to his collection of sketches. If he were
not already late, he would have run back to his apartment and done
just that, but as it was, he needed to hurry.

His eyes scanned the doors one last
time from top to bottom.

His sword flew from the scabbard at
his hip. His body coiled like a spring as his eyes and ears scanned
the halls for some indication of a threat. He glanced at the bottom
of the door again to confirm what he had seen. He shook his head in
disbelief, but there was no way to deny the pool of crimson
creeping from under the crack.

Holding his blade out
defensively, Jaret concentrated on protecting himself from
attackers who might still be in the halls, but to his simultaneous
relief and chagrin, there was not the slightest movement along the
hall. The obvious lack of an immediate threat eased his fear as it
stoked his concern.
There should be
someone around
, he told himself.
This hall is never this empty
.

Jaret’s heart hammered. If someone had
killed the guards that stood by that door, it did not suggest
kindly as to their motives for visiting the palace. He was the
Emperor’s sworn protector, had pledged his honor and soul to the
task, and as much as he disliked the Emperor, he had to fulfill
that obligation. He raced through his options. His first thought
was to solicit help from the barracks of the chamber guards some
distance down the winding halls, but by the time he gathered the
guards, it might be too late. The other option was to go through
the door by himself and rally the patrols of imperial guards on his
way to the throne room. As soon as he thought it, he knew that was
what he had to do.

He turned to the door, grabbed the
gold-encrusted handle, and gave it a mighty heave. The door proved
to be heavier and less well oiled than he had hoped. Instead of
swinging smoothly, it crept toward him and stopped. Undaunted, he
continued to tug and realized only slowly that he was leaving
himself open to attack. He scolded himself for his carelessness as
he jumped behind the door half-expecting assassins to pour from the
opening he had created. When there was no attack, he glanced around
the portal and saw a crumpled figure lying with his back against
the door.