The False Martyr (43 page)

Remembering that, he
forced his shoulders back, fixed his mouth into a scowl, made his
eyes hard. Still, he was troubled. He had the Church to support his
authority, the city watch to enforce it. In a few hours, the
Chancellor’s Own would return and – by the Order’s blessing –
provide a means to extend that authority across the country. He had
all the power he needed to rule. And no way to translate it into
the food and gold the Darthur demanded. He needed people to collect
the food and gold, transport it, count it and confirm its delivery,
and most of all, people to plan all the steps between. Right now,
he was little more than a foreman shouting at an empty workroom. He
could rant and roar and threaten until he was red, but until
someone appeared to work the machines, his words were just adding
to the echoes.

Lost in that thought, he
arrived at his coach, climbed the first few steps, and turned to
wave adroitly to the crowd. Their sullen, uncertain faces passed by
him in a blur until the answer to all his problems appeared. He
literally jumped out of the crowd and waved. Ipid nearly fell in
his haste to point the man out to the watch. “That man,” he yelled,
pointing desperately. “Have him brought to the coach. Make a way
for him.”

Stunned, Captain Tyne
looked from Ipid to the crowd. Spotting the waving man, he yelled
to his men to clear a way. The crowd accommodated. They moved away
with looks of fear, curiosity, and revulsion then stayed back as
the guards hustled the middle-aged man past them toward the
self-proclaimed tyrant, who was suddenly smiling and waving like a
child watching a parade.

Having completely
forgotten himself, Ipid met Jon Cubbington, his favorite manager,
with open arms, almost hugged him as he stared at the man who was
like a mirror of his former self. Ipid’s partners had often joked
that Jon was such a good manager that he even looked like his
employer. Certainly, he had been Ipid’s doppelganger before all
this started. They were the same age, of a similar height, had the
same round features, styles of dress, and receding hair lines. But
that was before the Darthur had arrived, before he had lost thirty
pounds to depravation, before the creases of pain and sorrow and
worry had been etched into his face, before the light had faded
from his eyes.

“
Jon, by the Order, it is
good to see you,” he greeted. “I saw what happened to the offices,
the house . . . the whole damned district. Then when the watch
couldn’t find you. . . . Well, I feared the worst.”

Jon looked nervous. He
eyed the restless crowd then motioned toward the coach. “Can we
talk inside?” he asked with his head bowed as if to
hide.

Ipid remembered himself
and the lesson of Valati Wallock from the previous day. He suddenly
admired Jon’s courage in coming forward and understood why so few
others would. The soldiers were one thing. Compelled by their
oaths, they were simply following orders. But for the private
citizens, working for the tyrant would be seen as a choice, an
opportunity to profit from the city’s misfortune. And when the
invaders were gone, the mob would not bother with excuses or
explanations.

“
It is good you turned
yourself in,” Ipid yelled, forcing his smile into a frown. “Any
longer and I may not have been able to forgive your
insubordination. Now get inside.”

Jon stumbled back. Ipid
gestured again to the inside of the coach. “Get in!” he yelled then
lowered his voice to a whisper. “A show for the crowd. We’ll talk
inside.” That assurance seemed enough. Jon stepped into the
coach.

Ipid turned to follow. Eia
caught him before he could make it through the door. She held out a
hand to block his way. “You are the Chancellor. Chancellors give
speeches. Get out there and say something.”

Ipid gulped. How had he
not thought of that before? Certainly Eia was correct, but he had
never had to give speeches before. He had served in government, but
his dealings had all been in back rooms or around negotiating
tables. In as much as he was elected, they were votes that were
decided before he even agreed to stand. He had never needed to
convince a crowd or speak to the masses.

But Eia showed no sympathy
for his plight. “Go!” she ordered.

He turned, stood on the
coach’s top step, and looked out at the crowd. They looked back at
him with shock, fear, and simmering hatred. The majority were men,
and their faces were hard. Hands were clenched at their sides –
fists already bared. Ipid wondered what he could ever say to stay
their anger. “People of Wildern, citizens of these Unified
Kingdoms,” he started, praying for inspiration. “I come here today,
I wear this chain only with the heaviest of hearts.” He held up the
heavy gold chain and saucer-sized medallion that very literally
weighed on his neck and looked humbly toward the ground.
“Chancellor Kavich was one of my dearest friends, my mentor, and my
Chancellor. It was my only goal to serve him. . . . Ahh!” Something
stabbed him in the leg, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground
as he retracted. He looked behind him and saw a needle
flash.

“
No!” Eia hissed. “You
need them to obey you, not like you. Better to say nothing than
that drivel. Be strong or fail.”

Ipid rubbed the side of
his leg and looked out over the crowd. Their grumbles grew, spread,
and consolidated into dissent.

“
Murderer!” someone
yelled. The crowd rippled as a man tried to fight his way through.
“Murderer!” he yelled again. His fine clothes suggested that Ipid
should know him, but he was covered with soot, face streaked black,
dark suit a dusty gray. His face was distorted with a rage fueled
by madness. A knife appeared in his hand, dirty and chipped so that
it no longer even looked like metal. “You killed them. You murdered
them all. The Chancellor, the Bureau . . . my wife . . . my
children. You are a murderer! The Malestrom take you.
Murderer!”

The crowd parted around
the man, equally afraid of him and the likely response to his
words. Their eyes darted from the man to the Chancellor to the
soldiers all around.

Ipid knew he had only one
choice. He took a deep breath, met the man’s wild eyes, and
gestured, finger pointing out like a dagger of his own. “Kill him,”
he said in Darthur.

Three warriors broke from
the line they’d formed around the coach and closed on the madman.
The crowd collapsed before them, people crushing their neighbors to
be out of their way. The man stumbled, realizing only then what he
had done, and seeking now to escape. The lead warrior pulled a
knife that might have counted as a short sword. His companions
fanned out to enclose their, now desperate, target. Cause lost, the
man dropped his knife and fell to his knees, hands rising to beg or
pray. Ipid forced himself to watch as the warriors closed, showing
all the concern of men sent to slaughter a pig for the
spit.

“
Stop!” a voice yelled
from the other side of the crowd. “This ground is sacred to the
Order. You will not desecrate it with your violence. Stop!” Ipid
looked up to find Di Valati Wallock standing on the top step of the
temple. Dressed in brown robes, he did not look like much except
for the rising sun talisman that marked his position as the voice
of the Order for the Unified Kingdoms.

“
Hold!” Ipid yelled in
Darthur. The warriors looked back at him. They had the man now. Two
held his arms as the other prepared to drive his great knife
through him. The man sniveled and begged, eyes pleading, fear
overwhelming. “Arrest him,” Ipid declared in the Imperial tongue
for the crowd. “Tie him and bring him,” he added in Darthur. The
warriors scowled but did as they were told, pushing the man’s face
hard to the ground and crushing him with a knee as they bound his
wrists.

Ipid looked to the valati
and scowled though he saw now the favor that the man had done him.
“Di Valati Wallock is correct,” he called. “Today is sacred to the
Order, so I will stay the hand. But not even the Order can protect
you from the invaders. It could not save Chancellor Kavich or Di
Valati Rylan. Even now, on this sacred day, in this sacred place, I
am the only one who could stop more blood being spilled. I am the
only one that can protect you!” He paused and watched the crowd,
eyes blazing, hand a fist to emphasize his cruel words.

“
Kavich is dead because he
was too proud to listen. Do not repeat his mistake. If you obey, if
you do as you are told, you and your city will be spared. If not,
the invaders will burn this entire city to the ground and leave you
to the crows just as they did in Thoren. This is your final
warning. There is no Parliament, no Bureau, no counselor that you
can turn to. I am the law. I am your only hope. Call me traitor,
call me tyrant, but know that I am the only thing standing between
you and annihilation.”

He paused, stared at the
stunned crowd, fought the shaking that threatened to take him. They
were as silent as the dead. He was not even sure if they were
breathing. No one had ever heard anything like this. The Kingdoms
had been a republic for the entirety of these people’s lives. They
had never known tyranny, had never known war or destruction. If
Ipid could finish the job, they might not recover in time to oppose
him.

“
In the coming days, there
will be edicts. You will do exactly as they say. There will be no
discussion, no negotiation, no order advisor to present your case.
You will not leave this city. You will stay in your homes. And you
will work.

“
After tomorrow’s Teaching
Day lesson, every able-bodied man will register his skills and be
assigned a job within the city. You will report to those jobs on
First Day and do them without question. Food will be rationed.
Those who do not work will not eat. Further, any man with a good
writing hand, bookkeeping skills, or training as an order advisor
will report to Stully Manor today. Those who are accepted will be
guaranteed work in their field of training. Those who do not come
willingly will be assigned to clearing rubble.”

Another pause and a deep
breath. Ipid glowered at the crowd, made himself stare into their
stunned eyes, forced his fists to clench and teeth to grind.
Almost there
, he told
himself to keep the pounding in his chest from taking him down. “To
mourn will be to guarantee more sorrow. Go home. Be with your
families, relish the fact that you are alive. Remember how lucky
you are, how quickly that can change. This is your last day to
weep. Tomorrow we work.”

He stared out at the
crowd, sought as many eyes as he could, and forced them to the
ground. His stomach churned, his mind swooned, his hands shook, his
chest ached, but he forced his face to be hard, his eyes to be
death. He found the closest Darthur. “Uhurrump!” he yelled. The
warriors echoed him, thunder exploding from their mighty chests,
and the crowd stumbled back in shock.

Before they could recover,
Ipid climbed into his coach. He found a seat but shook so that he
could barely sit. Someone, he could not see who with his head
buried in his hands, slammed the door shut. He felt a hand on his
back. Someone whispered in his ear, but he could only hear the
words he had just said, could only see the crowd’s fear, disgust,
hatred, and shock.
This is how they will
remember you
, he told himself.
This is what you will be.
This is what you have become.

#

“
You have all seen what
the Darthur can do. You understand their willingness to do it. You
know that we have no hope of defeating them. You have seen the
terms of surrender. Captain Tyne was there to witness the
agreement.” The big soldier nodded as Ipid reiterated his words. “I
have brought you here because I believe that the four of you
represent the best chance these kingdoms have of delivering these
terms and avoiding further destruction.”

Ipid paused and caught the
eye of each man – the di valati, the captain, the knight, and the
administrator – ending finally on Eia sitting at his side in the
same shimmering blue dress she had worn to the inauguration. They
were arrayed around an inlaid table that was large enough to house
three times their number. The dark wood in its center shone until
it nearly reflected the image of each man. The paneled walls were
equally fine as was the rug beneath their feet and the portraits
that stared down at them on either side, but the windowless room
was hot and stuffy so that Ipid felt lightheaded and tucked away so
that he did not even know where he was in the great manor. It all
left him feeling agitated and unsure even as the Order seemed,
finally, to be smiling on him.

The sun had not even set
on the day of his inauguration, and Ipid had already gathered the
four men he most needed to rule, had brought them to his side,
given them directions and time to turn those into plans. They had
returned here, gathered together for the first time, to finalize
those plans. By all accounts, everything was proceeding exactly as
it should, but Ipid could not dismiss his nagging
uncertainty.

His eyes crept across the
men. Wallock was with him, had already given his commitment and
done his part. There was no reason to believe he would not do
everything required – at least until the mobs came to end it all.
Tyne was every bit the soldier. He would do what he was told
because he didn’t know what else to do. The other two, however. . .
.