Rise Of Empire (103 page)

“Probably think we’re behind it. We’re lucky they didn’t just kill us.”

“Not sure that’s lucky. A nice, quick decapitation is kind of appealing right now.”

“How long do you think before the Ba Ran find us?” Royce asked.

“You in a hurry?”

“Yeah, actually. If I have to be eaten, I would sort of like to get it over with.”

Hadrian heard the sound of breaking glass.

“Ah, well, that didn’t take long, did it?” Royce muttered miserably.

Footsteps shuffled in the outer room. There was a pause, and then the steps started again, coming closer. There were sounds of a struggle and a muffled cry. Hadrian braced himself and watched the door as it opened. What stood in the doorway shocked him.

“You boys ready to go?” Derning asked.

“What are
you
doing here?” they both said in unison.

“Would you prefer me to leave?” Derning smiled. Noticing the riveted manacles, he grimaced. “Thorough buggers, aren’t they? Hang on. I saw some tools out here.”

Royce and Hadrian looked at each other, bewildered.

“Okay, so he’s not a beautiful princess. But it works for me.”

There were sounds of slamming and an “Aha!” Then Derning returned with a hammer and a chisel.

“The Ghazel fleet arrived and Drumindor isn’t working, but it didn’t blow up either, so I guess we have you to thank
for that,” Derning told them as he went to work on the manacle pins.

“Don’t mention it. And I’m not just saying that. I really mean … don’t mention it,” Hadrian said with a wince.

“Now half the folks—the smart half—are running. The others are going to try to fight. That means we don’t have much time to get out of here. I have horses and provisions waiting just outside town. We’ll take the mountain road north. I’ll ride with you as far as Maranon and then I’ll be going my own way.”

“But I still don’t get why you’re here,” Royce said as Derning finished with one of the metal bracelets. “Don’t you work for Merrick?”

“Merrick Marius?” Derning laughed. “That’s funny. Grady and I were convinced you two worked for Marius.” Derning finished cracking open the manacles on Royce, then turned to Hadrian. “We work for Cornelius DeLur. You might know him—big fat guy, father of Cosmo. He pretty much runs this country—or owns it, depending on your viewpoint. Imagine my surprise yesterday when I checked in and found out you worked for Melengar. DeLur got a big kick out of that. The old fat man has a sick sense of humor sometimes.”

“I’m confused. Why were you on the
Storm?”

“When the Diamond found a message from Merrick, Cosmos thought it was important enough to relay to his daddy, and Cornelius sent us to check out what was going on. Grady and I started as sailors and are still well known on the Sharon. We were so sure Royce killed Drew, which is why we thought you two were mixed up with Merrick. We thought it had something to do with that horn comment that Drew made.”

“Bernie killed him,” Royce said simply.

“Yeah, we figured that out. And, of course, that horn thing
had nothing to do with Merrick. That was all Thranic’s group. When we heard you had been arrested, it wasn’t too hard to find ya.”

He finished freeing Hadrian, who rubbed his wrists.

“Come on, most of your gear is out here.” He pulled Alver-stone out of his belt and handed it to Royce. “Took this off one of the guards. I think he thought it was pretty.”

Outside their cell the tiny jail office was empty except for two guards. One looked dead but the other might have just been unconscious. They found their possessions in a series of boxes set aside in a room filled with all manner of impounded items.

Outside, dawn rose and people were running with bundles in their arms. Mothers held crying children to their breasts. Men struggled to push overfilled carts uphill. Down in the harbor they could see a forest of dark masts. Drumindor stood a mute witness to the sacking of the city.

Derning led them up refugee-choked streets. Fights broke out. Roads were blocked, and finally Derning resorted to the roofs. They scaled balconies and leapt alleys, trotting across the clay-tiled housetops until they cleared the congestion. They dropped back to the street and soon reached the city’s eastern gate. Hundreds of people were rushing by with carts and donkeys—women and children mostly, traveling with boys and old men.

Derning stopped just outside the gates, looking worried. He whistled and a bird call answered in response. He led them off the road and up an embankment.

“Sorry, Jacob,” said a spindly youth, emerging with four horses. “I figured it was best to wait out of sight. If anyone saw me with these, I wouldn’t keep them for long.”

From the crest of the hill they could see the bay far below. Smoke rose thickly from the buildings closest to the water.

“We weren’t able to stop it,” Derning said, looking at the refugees fleeing the city, “but between you defusing the explosion and my reporting to Cornelius so he could raise the alarm, it looks like we saved a lot of lives.”

They mounted up and Hadrian took one last look at Tur Del Fur as the flames, fanned by the morning’s sea breeze, swept through the streets below.

M
errick entered the great hall of the imperial palace. Servants were hanging Wintertide decorations, which should have given the room a festive feel, but to Merrick it was still just a dreary chamber with too much stone and too little sunlight. He had never cared for Aquesta, and regretted that it would be the capital of the New Empire—an empire whose security he had ensured. He would have preferred Colnora. At least it had glass streetlamps.

“Ah! Merrick,” Ethelred greeted him. The regents, Earl Ballentyne, and the chancellor were all gathered around the great table. “Or should I call you Lord Marius?”

“You should indeed,” Merrick replied.

“You bring good news, then?”

“The best, Your Lordship—Delgos has fallen.”

“Excellent!” Ethelred applauded.

Merrick reached the table and pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time. “The Ghazel invaded Tur Del Fur five days ago, meeting only a weak resistance. They took Drumindor and burned much of the port city.”

“And the Nationalist army?” Ethelred asked, sitting down
comfortably in his chair with a smile stretching across his broad face.

“As expected, the army packed up and went south the moment they heard. Most have family in Delgos. You can retake Ratibor at will. You won’t even need the army. A few hundred men will do. Breckton can turn his attention north to Melengar and begin plans for the spring invasion of Trent.”

“Excellent! Excellent!” Ethelred cheered. Saldur and the chancellor joined in his applause, granting each other smiles of relief and pleasure.

“What happens when the Ghazel finish with Delgos and decide to march north?” the Earl of Chadwick asked. Seated at the far end of the table, he did not appear to share his companions’ gaiety. “I’m told there’s quite a lot of them and hear they’re fearsome fighters. If they can destroy Delgos, what assurance do we have they won’t attack us?”

“I’m certain the Nationalists will halt their ambitions in the short term, milord,” Merrick replied. “But even if not, we face no threat from the Ba Ran Ghazel. They’re a superstitious lot and expect some sort of world-ending catastrophe to beset them shortly. They want Drumindor as a refuge, not as a base for launching attacks. This will buy the time you need to take Melengar, Trent, and possibly even western Calis. By then the New Empire will be supreme and the Nationalists a memory. The remaining residents of Delgos, those once-independent merchant barons, will beg for imperial intervention against the Ghazel and eagerly submit to your absolute rule. The empire of old will be reforged.”

The earl scowled and sat back down.

“You are indeed a marvel and deserving of your new title and station, Lord Marius.”

“Because you already have Gaunt and Esrahaddon is dead, I believe that finishes my employment obligations.”

“For now,” Ethelred told him. “I won’t let a man of your talents get away that easily. Now that I’ve found you, I want you in my court. I’ll make it worth your loyalty.”

“Actually, I already spoke with His Grace about the position of Magistrate of Colnora.”

“Magistrate, eh? Want your own city, do you? I like the idea. Think you can keep the Diamond under your thumb? I suppose you could—certainly, why not? Consider it done, Lord Magistrate, but I insist you do not take your post until after Wintertide. I want you here for the festivities.”

“Ethelred is getting married and crowned emperor,” Saldur explained. “The Patriarch will be coming to perform the ceremony himself, and if that’s not enough, we will be burning a famous witch.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Excellent!” Ethelred grinned. “I trust accommodations in the city are to your liking? If not, tell the chamberlain and he’ll find a more suitable estate.”

“The house is perfect. You are too kind, my lord.”

“I still don’t see why you don’t simply stay in the palace.”

“It’s easier for me to do business if I’m not seen here too frequently. And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must—”

“You aren’t leaving?” Ethelred asked, disappointed. “You just got here. With news like this, we have to celebrate. Don’t doom me to merrymaking with the likes of an old cleric and a melancholy earl. I’ll call for wines and beef. We’ll get some entertainment, music, dancers, and women if you’d like. How do you like your women, Marius? Thin or plump, light or dark, saucy or docile? I assure you, the lord chamberlain can fill any order.”

“Alas, my lord, I have some remaining business to which I must attend.”

Ethelred frowned. “Very well, but you must show up for Wintertide. I insist.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Merrick left while the imperial rulers exchanged congratulatory accolades. Outside, a new carriage waited, complete with four white horses and a uniformed driver. On the seat rested the package from the city constable. Merrick had offered brandy in trade and the man had leapt at the opportunity. A bottle of fine liquor in return for the worthless remnants of the defunct witch hunt was the sort of good fortune that the sheriff was unaccustomed to receiving. Unwrapping the package, Merrick ran his fingers over the shimmering material of the robe.

The carriage traveled up The Hill and turned on Heath Street, one of the more affluent neighborhoods in the city. The homes, though not terribly large, were tasteful and elegant. A servant waited dutifully to remove his cloak and boots while another stood by with a warm cup of cider. Merrick no longer drank wine, ale, or spirits, and was amused to see this accommodation taken into account. He sat in the drawing room, surrounded by burgundy furnishings and dark wood paneling, sipping his drink and listening to the pop of the fireplace.

A knock sounded at the door. He nearly rose to answer when he spotted one of his new servants trotting to the foyer.

“Where is she, Merrick?” he heard an angry voice shout.

A moment later the valet led two men into the drawing room.

“Please have a seat, both of you.” Merrick reclined in his soft chair, warming his hands with his cup. “Would either of you care for a drink before we conduct business? My servants can bring you whatever you like, but I must say the cider is especially good.”

“I said, where is she?”

“Relax, Mr. Deminthal, your daughter is fine and I’ll bring her down shortly. You fulfilled your end of the bargain brilliantly, and I always honor my commitments. I merely wish to go over a few details. Only a formality, I assure you. First, let me congratulate you, Wyatt. May I call you Wyatt? You’ve done an excellent job. Poe’s report gave you extremely high marks.

“He tells me you were instrumental in getting Royce and Hadrian on board, and even after the unexpected sinking of the
Emerald Storm
, your quick thinking saved the ship’s orders and the mission. I’m especially impressed by how you won over Royce’s trust—no small feat, I might add. You must be a very convincing fellow, as demonstrated by how you persuaded the Port Authority that Royce and Hadrian were in Tur Del Fur to destroy Drumindor. I’m convinced it’s only by your skill and intelligence that the operation was such a wonderful success.”