Imperial Traitor (33 page)

The only people in the party seemingly unaffected by the hall were the six gladiators. If anything they seemed more at home in the hall than they had in the corridors. Femke put that down to
their experience in the arena. Standing in that huge, sandy bowl, surrounded on all sides by a high wall and tier after tier of shouting, screaming people would likely be more intimidating than a
silent hall, no matter how big. Both structures had been designed to make the person in the centre self-conscious. It was only the context that differed.

‘The Emperor thought you might like to use the dais at the far end of the Great Hall as your stage. I assume it is large enough for your needs,’ the steward said, sounding pleased
with his effort at sly humour.

‘I should think it will do. What do you think, chaps?’ Devarusso asked, turning to the rest of them with a twinkle of excited amusement in his eyes.

‘We can slum it for one night, I suppose,’ Reynik quipped. A smattering of chuckles echoed with a disconcerting hollow ring.

‘Is there somewhere that we can use as a dressing room? There are quite a lot of us, so we might need more than one. Ideally we’d also like access to the stage from the side. At our
open-air stage we have screens to allow the players to get on and off without the audience seeing their approach. Have you anything we might be able to set up for this purpose?’

The steward scratched at the back of his head as he thought for a moment. ‘I’m sure we’ll have something to suit your purposes,’ he said. ‘This way.’

The party was led forwards to the dais and then over to a side door to the left of the raised platform. Through the door was a corridor running parallel to the side of the Great Hall. An
Imperial guard was positioned on the other side of the door. Lover of the theatre or not, Tremarle was clearly not prepared to let the troupe of players have the run of the Palace. Once through the
door, the steward turned right along the corridor. He did not take them far. There were two doors on the left. Both were open.

‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and see what we can do about setting up screens. Do you need them on both sides of the dais, or will just the one side do?’

‘Ideally, both,’ Devarusso said without hesitation, ‘but we can manage with one if that’s not possible to arrange in time.’

‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do. These two rooms should suffice for your dressing area. If you need anything further, ask one of the guards. The Imperial party will begin to
assemble at the seventh call. You should be ready to begin shortly after that time. Good luck.’

‘Thank you.’ Devarusso turned to the rest of the party. ‘All right, everyone. Bring all the gear in here,’ he said loudly, indicating the left door of the two.
‘Group one should then gather all their things and go next door to prepare. We have about an hour, maybe a little more, so we need to be slick, people.’

The steward, seeing that the company was now in the right place and being chivvied into motion by Devarusso, set off at a brisk walk to find suitable screens with which to form the wings of the
stage. Femke took her bundle of costumes into the room and then returned to Devarusso, who was clearly pleased to find his orders followed so swiftly and precisely.

‘You know, it makes a change to see a group react to commands so swiftly,’ he said with a bemused smile. ‘I normally have to talk myself hoarse trying to get the troupe
organised in time for a performance. I think perhaps I ought to look out for a few ex-military people who fancy a spell on the stage. They might whip the others into some sense of order. Look, the
gladiators are just as efficient. Tell them to do something and they get on with it. I could get used to this.’

Femke patted him affectionately on the shoulder. He was to stay with Lord Kempten, Reynik, Calvyn and the six Legionnaires whilst Femke led Serrius, his fellow gladiators, the knife-men and
Jabal in the assault on the Guild.

‘Are you content with your part of the plan?’ she asked the troupe leader.

‘Absolutely. If Calvyn can recreate the atmosphere he did last night, then I guarantee the audience will be spellbound. You’ll not have any problems on that score. What about those
guards in the corridor? Are they going to prove a problem?’

‘With the resources I have to draw on, they could have put a Legion out there and we’d get past them,’ Femke said with a wicked grin. ‘Don’t worry about the guards.
We’ll deal with them when the time comes.’

‘Good luck then, Femke. Be careful, won’t you?’

‘You can count on it.’

She crossed the room to where Reynik was chatting with his father. On seeing her approach, Lutalo nudged his son and turned away to concentrate on changing into his uniform. They faced each
other awkwardly for a moment and then Reynik stepped forward and drew her into a tight hug. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to be said. After a long moment, Reynik took a half step
backwards, still gripping her upper arms loosely with his hands.

‘You know, I quite like you as a redhead,’ he said, his eyes sparkling with cheeky humour as his illusory face twisted into a recognisable parody of his boyish grin. ‘And the
green eyes are fantastic. I think I’ll tell Calvyn he’s not to change them back. They suit you.’

‘What’s this?’ she asked with a spark in her tone that most would take as a gentle warning. ‘Am I your doll then, to dress as you see fit?’

‘No, but when this is all over I’d like you to be more than just a friend,’ he said softly, his cheeks colouring at the admission.

Femke put her arms around his waist and pulled him back close again. ‘You’re already more than just a friend,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Make sure you’re still
alive when I get back and I’ll prove it to you.’

She kissed him. The kiss was not long, but both felt the significance of it. It was a pivotal gesture. When she stepped away this time, she turned quickly and left the room without looking back.
Reynik did not feel slighted. He understood perfectly. Femke needed to focus, and so did he.

The hour passed quickly. Everything was in position. The steward had managed to find screens. Ordinarily they would not have been adequate, but Devarusso was quick to assure the steward that the
actors would make do with them. In truth they were not required at all, but the entire plan hinged on perception.

As Calvyn began to create the opening sequence of imagery, Femke gathered her assault party together.

‘Master Jabal, I intend to have our team of gladiators take out the guards. I must admit a certain amount of ignorance as to the scope of your abilities. I’ve not worked with
magicians before. If the gladiators kill the guards, there’s likely to be some noise. Is there any way you can contain the noise they make?’

The magician nodded. ‘I can,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But it might be better if I deal with the guards. They’ve done nothing wrong other than to draw an unfortunate duty.
There’s no need to harm them. Let me put them to sleep. Trust me – if I put them to sleep, they’ll not wake up for anything other than the counter-spell,’ he said.

Serrius frowned, looking at Femke with clear disapproval. His ‘I told you so’ went unspoken, but Femke could read it in his expression as easily as if he had shouted it.

Femke thought for a moment. ‘How long will it take?’ she asked.

The gladiator’s eyebrows shot up, his questioning expression reflecting his disgust.

‘Give me about two minutes,’ Jabal replied.

‘Let the magician use his skills, Serrius,’ Femke ordered, her voice low, but firm. ‘Your turn will come soon enough.’

Serrius muttered something inaudible under his breath and turned away. Femke ignored his reaction. She knew him well enough to see that his response was born out of a desire for action. The
waiting was all but done. He would get over it as soon as they were on the move.

The old magician closed his bright blue eyes and fiddled for a moment with his ponytail of steel-grey hair. His lips began to move as he formed the runes in his mind. With the sequence fully
formed, he pictured the runes spinning out through the door and along the corridor in both directions to the unsuspecting guards, who then unwittingly inhaled them like smoke. When Jabal opened his
eyes again, there was an air of mischief about his expression. ‘You can send your men out to get them if you like,’ he said. ‘They’re sleeping like babies.’

The look that Serrius gave the old magician before opening the door was sceptical, but when he and the other gladiators re-entered the room less than a minute later carrying the two sleeping
guards, his eyes held considerably more respect.

‘Serrius – you’re with me. We’ll lead. Derryn will follow. Bartok – take backward point. Is everyone ready? OK, let’s go.’

They swept through the Palace at a fast pace to the main stairwell down to the cellars. They met no one along the way. The Palace servants were too busy to be abroad in the corridors. Those who
were not preparing the food and rooms for the celebrations to follow the play were hanging around the Great Hall trying to get a glimpse of the show.

In silence they descended to the lower levels. When they reached the cellar door, three of the men lit spare torches at Femke’s direction. These were spread through the party and held
aloft to give a reasonable level of light with which to aid their silent movement.

The assault team moved into the cellar. Femke immediately had two men bar the door from the inside and listen out for anyone approaching. The rest she bade be silent whilst Jabal searched for
the opening. The magician moved to the centre of the room and began muttering in the strange runic language of magic. As he muttered, he turned slowly full circle. The sound of his low, whispered
syllables seemed to reverberate unnaturally in the large cellar space, the echoes growing until it sounded as if there were a chorus of magicians muttering spells. He kept turning round and around.
Everyone else watched, mesmerised by the strange sight and ghostly whispering.

Suddenly Jabal stopped moving, but his whispering voice did not falter. He was facing diagonally across the room at the wall to the right of the door. He stepped forwards, at first tentatively
taking a single pace. Then he took another step and another. Within three strides he was walking forwards with conviction.

The point on the wall that he walked to looked no different from any other. As he reached the wall, Jabal spread his hands and placed them against the surface in front of him as if he intended
to push against it. The pattern of his muttered sequence of syllables changed, and his voice grew from a whisper until he was speaking in an everyday volume. His tone became at once more commanding
yet lost the echoing quality of just a few seconds earlier.

Femke walked quietly across until she was standing just a few paces behind the magician. If she had not been so close, she would have been unlikely to hear the tiny
snick
of the lock
opening within the wall. A large section of the wall, about double the width of a normal doorway, suddenly began to retreat silently from Jabal’s hands. There was barely the tiniest of
scraping sounds as it slid first back, and then to the side to reveal a dark, descending stairwell on the other side.

A gesture to the rest of the group and they were all in motion. Femke let Serrius and Derryn lead the way. If there was to be a physical confrontation, it made sense to have those best suited to
dealing with it at the front. Femke and Jabal slotted into the middle of the group. After a dozen steps down, the stairwell turned through ninety degrees to the left. Another dozen steps followed
and a further right-angled turn. Down and down they ran, flight after flight, turn after turn, until finally they reached the bottom. Ahead was a long, straight passageway wide enough for two
people to pass with ease. They raced along it until they reached a closed door at the end. Serrius took a quick look back to see that everyone was in position and then he turned the handle. The
door was locked. Femke signalled to him from her position in the middle of the group and silently moved through to the front, drawing out her lock picks as she went. The men pulled back a few paces
to give her more space, while Serrius held a torch to give her light to work with.

It was not a complex lock. Femke made no noise as she opened it. Having done so, she moved back to allow Serrius and Derryn to resume their positions in the lead. Derryn had a knife in each hand
and Serrius had drawn the shorter of his two swords. The tension was palpable as she weaved between the fighters and back into her position next to Jabal. The gladiators looked poised, almost
eager, while Derryn and Bartok looked decidedly nervous. Jabal was positively white in the flickering orange light of the torches.

‘Are you all right?’ she whispered.

‘I’m beginning to experience the effects that Calvyn told me about. I can counter them, but it will take a lot of concentration and I don’t want to use more magic until I have
to,’ he replied. ‘It seems Darkweaver was very protective of his projects. What he has done here must have taken a huge amount of magical energy.’

Femke nodded, but did not respond further because as Jabal finished his explanation, Serrius threw open the door and they were carried forward in the surge out into the corridor. As soon as she
entered the corridor, Femke knew instantly where she was. The straight passageway must run underneath the main chamber, she realised, for they were on the level of the Guildmaster’s quarters
and this was the corridor that led straight to his door.

A servant emerged from the left-hand side of the corridor about twenty paces ahead of Serrius and Derryn. The man in his brown robes had barely turned into the corridor before Derryn’s
knife struck him squarely in the throat. He sank to the ground, clutching at the handle but completely unable to cry out.

Serrius ran forward and plunged his blade through the man’s heart. The unfortunate servant’s legs kicked once, then he was still. The entire encounter had taken just a few seconds
and had been blessedly silent. Femke hissed at Serrius to stop for a moment.