The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) (74 page)

Kelturin could not speak.  He heard Annia’s murmur of confusion behind him, but all he could think was,
Vedaceirra’s alive.

She’s alive and she’s working against me.

He felt warmth like a sunbeam touch his face, and snapped from his thoughts to meet his father’s amused gaze.  “Now, Crimson General,” the Emperor said, “I would like to know what you have to say for yourself and your Hunter.”

His mouth worked soundlessly, too caught in shock to form proper words.  All this time, she had been out there, alive.  She had cut her ties with the Crimson and gone to the enemy—chosen a possessed human boy over him.

He wanted to storm from the chamber, but the eyes of his superiors pinned him in place.  Behind him, the subordinate witnesses were dead silent, and he realized that this was no meeting.  This was his trial, the only one he would get.

And Enkhaelen had said nothing.  Though this had been his project, he seemed more than happy to lay it at Kelturin’s feet.

The tattoos on his back tingled as his temper flared.  “Majesty,” he said, struggling to stay professional, “in my defense, the project involving the Guardian vessel was initiated by Inquisitor Archmagus Enkhaelen.  He was the one who assigned Vedaceirra to the subject; I was not aware of the project until this spring.  Additionally, I lost contact with Vedaceirra when the Crimson team turned back from Wyndon on Sebryn the 23
rd
.  At no point since then have I had any contact with her, directly or indirectly, nor have I had any knowledge of her movements or intentions.”

“
And your lack of communication?  Your failure to file a timely report to the Weave,” the Emperor prompted.

As the influence of the tattoos began to dampen his ire, the words came more smoothly.  “Majesty, as I was uncertain of the final disposition of all my troops involved in the action—namely the agent Vedaceirra—I was incapable of making a full report.”

Which was a lie.  He knew he should have submitted a preliminary report.  The others knew it too; he saw on General Demathry’s stiff face, in General Lynned’s smirk, in the Field Marshal’s slow shake of the head, that he had botched it.

But setting pen to parchment to detail his inability to contain a single slave, his wavering control of Bahlaer, his acquiescence to Enkhaelen’s bizarre demands and his blind near-nepotism in assigning Vedaceirra to the pursuit had been too much for him.  In all the hardships he had encountered since taking on the Crimson Army, all the setbacks and losses, this had been his first truly personal failure.

And if the Guardian was as powerful as the rumors claimed, it was the worst thing that could have happened.

“
I see,” said the Emperor.  “So you admit to sitting on information that could have saved hundreds of soldiers’ lives, prevented significant damage to our arcane infrastructure, and kept a serious threat to the Empire and the Light under proper lock and key?”

“
Majesty, it was not solely my responsibility to—“

“
You are the General, yes?”

“
Yes, but the Inquisitor—“

“
I am not addressing Inquisitor Archmagus Enkhaelen, General.  I am addressing you.”

Kelturin saw the glitter in his father’s eyes and knew without a doubt that the Emperor was enjoying this.  Aradys did not care about soldiers or infrastructure, and he relished threats to the empire—thus why he kept pushing the expansion of his territory.  This was not about the outcome of Kelturin’s mistakes.  It was about there having been a mistake at all—and it was even more about boredom, which for the moment had been banished.  Despite his placid mien, that morning-light gaze was as avid and gleeful as Kelturin had ever seen.

His gut tightened.  He knew what it meant.

“
Father,” he said, hating the word but hating even more what might come next if he did not head it off, “I erred in my judgment.  I admit this.  But it is the first time in nine years that I have caused an inter-army issue.  In that time, I have lost thousands of men and dozens of mages because of the other armies’ flat dismissal of my requisitions, refusal to forward full personnel files, refusal to break mind-locks on transferred personnel, blatant disregard for border protocol and my authority within my territory—“

"Your men crossed into my territory in pursuit and then failed to inform us of what they were pursuing," said General Lynned.  "That is the issue at hand, not your previous record of not foxing up."

"And that itself is in doubt, yes?" said General Demathry coolly.  "With your prolonged stalemate at Kanrodi."

"Three months is not a prolonged stalemate," said Kelturin, glaring at his fellow generals.  "The first fall of Savinnor took three, and the High Country Kerrindrixi bastions—"

"Which spelled your predecessor's doom.”

"We are not in the same situation," said Kelturin.  Demathry's eyes narrowed, but he nodded marginally.

Taking a deep breath, Kelturin turned to his father.  "Emperor, I need you to understand that your plan for the west is not feasible.  We have seen it in High Country Kerrindryr, we have seen it in Jernizan and we are seeing it now at Kanrodi.  We can not maintain a force at all three fronts—"

"Three?" said General Lynned.

"Jernizan, Padras at Kanrodi, and the internal Illanic front—the threat of the Shadow Cult and the potential for an insurgency in the plains.  And there are four if you count Gejara, then five or even six if you consider the threat of the Mist Forest and the creatures on Varaku.  They have not acted against us but they watch, and I have agents watching them back.  We've spilled over the Rift and spread in all directions, antagonizing everyone, and I can not sustain this behavior without the Empire committing more soldiers, more mages, more support to my territory.

"And even with more men—even if the Gold and Sapphire Armies joined me on the field—I am uncertain we would do anything more than incite a greater conflict.  Padras is the Serpent Empire's vassal state, its proxy.  The Serpent Empire has ignored the siege so far, but were we to take Kanrodi—"

"That is your mission," said the Emperor mildly.

"Fa—  Emperor, that is my point.  Our effort is too disjointed to wage a campaign based on conquest.  Our enemies are not the scattered tribe-lands of the Imperial Unification Wars; they are strong kingdoms or full-fledged empires, and they will not roll over and show throat.  The Serpent Empire does not want a repeat of the Great War of Empires or its devastation, but it will not surrender to us, and if we breach its border it will respond.  Then Jernizan will respond on our weak flank, and Gejara may discard its neutrality.  We should be wooing them with Imperial diplomats, but instead only the Silent Circle has done any outreach to them, and I think the Gejarans have had more success swaying the Circle than the other way around.  We can not conquer and hold any more territory than we already have, father, not without committing all our forces and all our energy to a war on every border."

"Then you should not have let all those refugees escape you," said Field Marshal Rackmar.  “We could have used the converts.”

Meeting his commander's gaze, Kelturin struggled not to snarl.  Of all the men here, Field Marshal Rackmar was the one who should have known better.  He had masterminded every Imperial campaign for the last twenty years, including Kelturin's, and though Kelturin had adapted the strategies he had been given to fit his evolving situation, the Field Marshal's instructions and backing had been invaluable.

Until the old orders—
conquer and hold
—became
convert and raze
.  When Kelturin resisted, Rackmar's support dried up.

It had been the same schism then as now.  Kelturin had reconquered Savinnor with the intent to keep it as a trade-route cornerstone, prosperous and now beholden to him, only to receive orders to empty the city.  To send every man, woman and child to the Palace for conversion, then burn Savinnor to the ground.

A hundred thousand people.  The logistics of it were insane even with magic, and he knew that if word of the order reached the Shadow Cult, he would have a war of assassins on his hands.  His father and Rackmar, so steeped in the glory of the Light, laughed at the idea that anything of shadow or darkness could threaten them, and Kelturin hated them for that—hated the whole blind, overconfident faith for driving this conquest forward.

So he had upped the number of rebel executions and sent his men to terrorize the populace.  Ordered them to kill cats, conscript men, confiscate property, wreck homes and businesses—do everything they could to frighten the people away.  Become the Bloody Army.

And the Illanites, nonviolent by nature, had fled in droves.  First from Savinnor, then from Bahlaer upon the approach, then from Fellen.  Whole city blocks emptying out as families made for Padras and young men escaped into the plains, whole sectors of the merchant and agrarian economy collapsing as they were abandoned.  Kelturin knew they hated him, as they trembled in their houses and whispered and stared, as they dispersed across the land, as they slowly began to starve.

But they were alive.  First thousands, then tens of thousands, and now a quarter of a million people who had fled Illane to escape his wrath.  Who could not be converted because he had let them go.

The land was a wildfire waiting for a spark.  He had struggled for months to prevent its ignition—had even inaugurated his own diplomatic corps after his father's resounding silence on the matter.  The situation with KRD1184 had nearly ruined it all, but the Shadow Cult's rage had been salved with gold and they had returned to wary cooperation.

Only to be imperiled by this.

"Field Marshal.  Emperor," he said measuredly.  "I can hold Illane.  I can rebuild it into a jewel of a protectorate, capable of raining gold into our coffers.  I can quell the hostilities on all of its borders and give us time to fortify, to build alliances and a force that can properly pierce our enemy's defenses without calling all others down upon our heads.  All I require is permission to move my bastion back from Kanrodi, to turn it into a fortification instead of a siege camp, and to open negotiations with the local rulers—"

"The Dark," said Field Marshal Rackmar.  "You would deal with the Dark.  These are old arguments, General, and as I have responded before, you need not fear the Serpents nor the Dark itself, for we have the greater force on our side.  Your army may be weak, but that is due to your choices—your inability to press the advantage, your lack of will and faith.  I opposed your appointment as General in the first place, and it seems my caution was correct."

"Respectfully—"

The Emperor cut Kelturin off with a flick of his hand.  “No more tiresome speeches.  General, you have done so much to coddle the heretics that a Dark spirit infiltrated your precious camp, and so little to uphold the Light that you dare consider negotiating with our sworn enemies.  This is far from appropriate for the General of the Imperial Third Army.”

“Father, this has nothing to do with the Light.  Your policies and the Field Marshal's plans will lead to—"

“
Silence, boy.
”

Kelturin flinched.  His hands clamped on the sheath of the greatsword across his back, as if he could draw strength from the caiohene blade within.  He felt its thrum even through the enchantments on sheath and gauntlets.

“It seems something is lacking in the Crimson Army,” the Emperor continued, his eyes paling.  Kelturin looked away.  “Perhaps a sense of leadership, of Imperial discipline, of proper obeisance to the Light.  I am told that you eject all of my proselytizers and that you have renounced the faith.  Publicly.”

Kelturin said nothing, only stared past his father to the filigreed white wall.  Radiance grew to fill Aradys’s eyes, painful even from peripheral vision.  No soothing glow, no warm shimmer, but the scathing Light.

“Were you less than my flesh and blood, that would be enough,” said the Emperor with that gentle calm that so put Kelturin’s back up.  “But I have been willing to indulge your whims, to disregard your contrary nature because of my abiding love for you as my son and heir.  Sadly, it seems I have given you too much credit.  You are still a willful child, Kelturin, and do not understand the virtue of sacrifice.  You are not fit to control even the least of my armies.  I turn the mantle of Crimson General over to Field Marshal Rackmar and remand you to the ranks of the White Flame.  As a Knight-Lieutenant, I think.  Certainly not in command.”

The words struck him like a slap.  His army—his men—in Rackmar’s hands.  Rackmar, the loudest voice in the chorus for conversion.

He did not even realize he had moved, felt nothing but the rage and the crackle of the sigils on his back, the hilt of the caiohene sword under his hand as he started up the dais.  Even in the chamber’s constant light, the blade shed a deep red-violet radiance over his shoulder as he began to draw it.  He saw Lynned’s expression turn to shock, saw Demathry reach for his own sword, and then he was past them, the great blade slipping through the warded side-slit of its sheath to rise in a shining arc.

In mid-step, he accidentally met the Emperor’s radiant gaze.

The Emperor smiled.

All became Light.  Fire.  On the physical plane he felt his muscles lock, felt the tattoos crawl on his skin and the teardrop pendant shatter, but saw nothing.  There was only the pallid, awful flame that filled the world.