“I am here, your Majesty,” said Demos Tiver.
Emperor Tyron looked at the Undersecretary of State, standing just inside the doorway of his audience chamber. Those Above, but he looked hideous! Fat, sweating so much, even in this relatively cool weather, that it had soaked through his clothes and fouled the air for a dozen yards around him. His face covered with sores and rashes. Tyron had tried so hard to overlook it, to tell himself that it was his loyalty and his intellect that mattered, but if the Brigadier was right he was a traitor to the Empire, to all humanity. Would he have spotted it for himself if Tiver had been of more normal appearance? If Tyron hadn’t been so desperate to be fair that he’d overcompensated and ignored his gut instincts, thinking them to be caused by his disgust at his appearance? He reminded himself that he still had no proof that Tiver had done anything wrong. Maybe the Brigadier was mistaken. That was why he'd summoned him here, to see the man with a clear eye. To see the truth.
“Come in,” he said, standing and coming around from behind his desk. “I asked you here to get an update on Skelby’s condition. Every time I ask the doctors I get the same reply. He's on the mend but not yet ready to resume his duties. I assume you're keeping a close eye on him, so please tell me the truth. How is he, really?”
“The truth is, the doctors have no idea what’s wrong with him,” the Undersecretary replied. He looked longingly at a chair, his legs complaining at having to support his weight, but one did not sit when the Emperor was standing. “Some kind of neuro-degenerative condition, they think now. It's possible that it’s relapsing and remitting, that it'll improve by itself at some point...” He gave a helpless shrug, then produced a handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped his brow with it.
“So, there's no realistic prospect of his returning to work, then.”
“Perhaps in as advisory role. After everything he’s done for the Empire, it would seem callous and ungrateful to just sack him. I'm sure that, with the right...”
The Emperor held up his hand, though, and Tiver fell silent. “The Empire owes Skelby a debt it can never repay,” he said. “However, we need a Secretary of State who is capable of fulfilling all the duties of his role. I will be announcing his retirement at this afternoon's assembly. The time has come to appoint his replacement.” Tiver nodded. His face was trying to look sad and regretful, but there was a gleam of excitement in his eyes.
“What is the situation in the outer provinces?” the Emperor asked.
“The new measures we've implemented in the western provinces are having the desired effect,” replied Tiver. “I am confident that the seditionists will be completely crushed within a couple of months.”
“And what are these new measures?”
“The army has implemented martial law. All public gatherings are banned. Trial by jury has been temporarily suspended, in order to allow the speedier processing of traitors. The death penalty has been brought in for all but the most minor of offences, and we are offering large cash rewards for information leading to the arrest of the ringleaders. These measures may seem extreme, but they are working and can all be reversed when this time of crisis has passed.”
“You don't think that these measures are more likely to stir up the provinces even more? Cause more resentment, incite more violence?”
“The people must understand that treason has consequences, your Majesty. I am confident that this crack down will see the return of law and order.”
The Emperor studied him carefully. He's lying, he thought, and the more he studied the man’s face, the more certain he was of it. There was something in his expression, a sly look, as if he was laughing internally. Laughing at him! How didn’t I see this before? he asked himself. Am I that blind? More to the point, why did none of my advisors warn me about him? They must know what he’s like! Does he have something on them? Is he blackmailing them? He remembered someone telling him that Fienwell was his ‘problem solver’. Did those problems include members of his own court who might have spoken out against him? I have to get rid of him! he realised. I can't arrest him, not even I can arrest a man without evidence, but I have to get this poisonous man as far away from any position of influence as I possibly can!
“I disagree.” He said therefore. “ We have tried cracking down again and again, and the result has always been an increase in violence and lawlessness. I think it's time we tried a new approach. Reaching out to the common people, finding the root causes of their dissatisfaction and trying to find common ground with them. They clearly feel they have legitimate grievances. Let's see if we can work together to deal with them.”
Tiver stared at him. “Your Majesty, I believe that would be a grave mistake. They would see that as weakness and be encouraged by it. It would make the situation a thousand times worse!”
“Well, I intend to discuss it with the new Secretary of State, see what he thinks. I was thinking of appointing Howell. What do you think of him?”
Tiver stared even harder. He produced the handkerchief again and mopped more sweat from his face. “Pardon, your Majesty,” he said, “But I assumed that I would be the new Secretary!”
“I think a completely new approach is needed. Fresh blood, new ideas. Howell is devoted to the Empire, has a great many useful connections with the Constituent Assembly and has proven very capable at reforming the trade guilds. I think he would do an excellent job!”
“But, Sire, it would take too long to bring him up to speed! To brief him on the exact situation in every part of the Empire, for him to become familiar with all the active players...”
“That could actually be an asset. A fresh mind, seeing everything from a new perspective!”
“And, Sire, your comment that he is devoted to the Empire... Sire, are you suggesting that I am not?”
You bet your life I am! thought Tyron, but he couldn't say that. Not yet. He might be Emperor, but there were still powerful forces at play in his government that he couldn’t afford to offend. “Not at all!” he said, therefore. “No-one appreciates everything you’ve done more than I, but I feel that your talents would be put to better use in the diplomatic service. I'm appointing you Kelvon's ambassador to the Kingdom of Carrow.”
Tiver felt the room swimming around him as if he was drunk. “Ambassador...?”
“A position of great honour and importance. I’m sure you'll do an excellent job.”
“Sire, this is an outrage! I have great influence in the Constituent Assembly...”
“Watch what you say, Undersecretary,” growled Tyron. “That almost sounds like a threat.”
Tiver glanced at the two guards, watching him warily from the back of the room. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief again. The frilly cloth was so wet now that it was almost dripping, the Emperor observed with horrified fascination.
“I apologise, Majesty,” the Undersecretary said, a slight tremble in his voice. “You simply surprised me. To do something so drastic and dangerous...”
“Dangerous, Tiver?”
“Dangerous to the Empire! The provinces are a boiling cauldron, Majesty. We have been trying to keep a lid on it. You wish to lift the lid and let it all boil over!”
“To continue your analogy, Tiver, perhaps what is necessary is to turn down the heat.”
“Your Majesty, I beg you! You cannot do this!”
“It is done, Tiver. At least you will have all your staff with you in Carrow. You'll be in familiar company.”
“You propose to replace the entire Ministry?”
“Except for Ryan Tarnor. Someone from your staff needs to stay, for continuity. I'm appointing him Howell's new Undersecretary. Everyone else goes to Carrow, with you.”
“Sire the Ministry of State is the most important Ministry in the Empire! You risk throwing the entire Empire into turmoil!”
“The Empire is already in turmoil. That will be all, Tiver. You've got packing to get on with.”
Tiver’s face was sweating even more than before. He dabbed at it again with his handkerchief, then bowed and left. He looked back once before closing the door behind him, and the Emperor wasn't surprised to see a brief look of purest malice on his pimply, rash ridden face. A moment later the door opened again and Brownley, his Private Facilitator, entered. “He didn't look happy,” he observed.
“He didn't take his new assignment well,” replied Tyron. “Those Above, what an odious man! I should have gotten rid of him years ago! Well, he’s the Carrowmen's problem now. From what I've heard of the place, he'll fit right in over there!” The room was still full of the smell of Tiver’s stale sweat, he ordered one of the guards to open a window, let some fresh air in. “Did you get him?” he then asked.
“We went to the address you gave us,” said Brownley. “It was unoccupied. We left some men there in case he comes back.”
“According to the Brigadier, Fienwell's an adoptee. Half raised by the Radiants, possessing the powers of a wizard. Your men must be extremely careful.”
“We’re using wizards, as you advised. He'll find they're harder to curse than normal men. Don't worry, Majesty. If he comes back, they'll get him.”
“Good, because I've got some searching questions for him. Keep me informed.” The man bowed. “And send Howell in on your way out. We've got to reform the guard across the whole Empire, try to undo the damage Tiver’s done. Those Above grant it isn't too late...”
☆☆☆
Fienwell had been meeting with members of the popular uprising, arranging a protest outside the Ministry buildings in three days time in which there would be a major battle between protesters and the guards. They wanted several high profile deaths among the protesters, to fire up the common people even further, and they would arrange an invasion, by screaming, torch bearing workers, of the building itself, in which several junior executives would be injured, even killed. The government Ministers themselves would be put in fear, would be made to feel personally threatened in a way they hadn't before. It would be the excuse they needed to bring the same draconian measures into play in the capital as they had in the provinces.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
That, and the guns they were placing in the hands of the protesters, meant that a full scale uprising was very close now. It might even be impossible to stop, even if he and the other agitators did nothing more. So thin, the veneer of civilisation, he mused as he strolled along the sunlit street. So easy to tear away, to reveal the raw savagery beneath...
*Go no further!* warned a voice in his head. *There are men ahead, waiting in ambush!*
Fienwell looked up, at the Radiant floating above the rooftops. It was the only one close enough to have spoken to him. Then he looked ahead, to the small, dingy apartment he’d been using as a base of operations while in the city. He would have preferred something larger and grander, but he met with members of the popular uprising here sometimes and he had to appear to be one of them. On those occasions when he had to meet with government Ministers and captains of industry, there was always a spare office in the palace he could use and it only took a moment to change clothes.
He didn't see anyone. There were people in the street, passing by, but no-one loitering around his home. *Are you sure?* he asked.
*They are in the empty apartment opposite your home. Another of us saw them enter three hours ago. They have not left.*
*Who are they?*
*Wizards. We can sense that they are fractionally above other humans on the rungs of life. It means the authorities suspect you. Possibly they were warned by their former Helberion allies. We knew it was just as matter of time once we declared open warfare against them. We are warning all our adoptees to cease their activities and lie low. The task you have been performing is over. Soon you will be given a new task.*
*What new task?* Fienwell turned on his heel and headed back the way he’d come, trying to look relaxed, nonchalant. Had his ambushers seen him? There was no outcry, no pursuit, and so he allowed himself to relax.
*If The Empire fails to fall into civil war, we will have to attack directly, as we are in Helberion. If that happens, you will be needed as a foot soldier. Your ability to move among humans and your ability to cast curses will make you a useful assassin.*
“An assassin!” He realised he’d spoken the words out loud and looked around to see if anyone had heard him. A postman, sorting through his mailbag for anything on this street, looked up in surprise, then put him out of his mind. *I can't be an assassin! They'll catch me! They'll kill me!*
*You will do what is required of you. If you do not, you will be of no further use to us and will be discarded.*
*Discarded? What does that mean?*
*There is never any shortage of humans willing to be adopted. Many of them, thanks to your efforts, are angry enough to be willing to sacrifice their lives to kill those we name as their enemies.*
*Because they think you want to help them achieve justice and revenge! They don’t know what you really want!*
*Nor shall they.* There was a pause, and Fienwell looked up to see the Radiant getting closer. It was following him along the street, low enough for pedestrians to have to swerve to avoid its dangling tentacles. *You are thinking of betraying us. Of telling humans what our true objective is.*
*Of course not! I'd never do that!*
*I sense falsehood. You do not wish to die in battle and will betray us if you think that will save you.*
*Look, I didn't sign up to be an assassin! I thought I would just stir things up a bit, then become one of you and live in one of your cities! That's all I wanted, to be one of you!*
*There are enough of us at present. We are not like humans and other lower life forms who multiply without thought until they exhaust their resources. We adopted you to be a tool, not a Radiant.*
*You lied to me! You lied to all of us!*
*Yes. We do what he have to in order to achieve our objectives.*
The Radiant was close now. It was going to carry him off, he realised, and nobody would bat an eyelid because Radiants carried people off all the time! If he screamed and fought, people would probably think he was crying out with joy! It would take him to some remote spot, then tear him apart!
He turned back the way he’d originally been going, back towards his house, and ran. Tentacles reached out for him, he dodged them and then he was past it, sprinting for all he was worth. The Radiant was slow and clumsy and continued on for several more yards, blowing gases out of its siphon in an attempt to change direction. By the time it had turned to follow Fienwell, he was fifty yards down the street and still running.
A Radiant could not keep pace with a running man unless there was a strong breeze behind it, blowing it along, but every Radiant in the city had stopped what it was doing and was closing in. Fienwell saw them in the sky ahead of him, looking like toy balloons that had been released by careless children. They looked harmless, and to most people they were such a common sight that they barely noticed them, the way most people barely notice the full moon, but the sight of them sent a surge of desperate fear through Fienwell. The wind was picking up, lifting dirt and litter from the streets and blowing it past him from behind. The Radiant behind him had summoned a gale to help it catch up. It would hinder the creatures ahead of him, but that didn't matter so long as they could keep him within a slowly contracting circle. There was no escape!
No, there was one hope! He reached his house, but instead of entering it he dashed across the street, almost getting run over by a horse and carriage, and hammered on the door of the house opposite his. “Let me in! Please, let me in! It's Fienwell! It's the man you were sent to get! Please, let me in!” He looked back the way he'd came. The Radiant was much lower now, moving fast with the help of the wind from behind. Its longest tentacles touched the ground, lifted, then touched the ground again further on, as if it was walking on them. The carriage that had almost run him over had to swerve to the other side of the street to get past it, the driver staring in astonishment.
He wasn't the only one. Everyone in the street had stopped to watch the Radiant. This kind of behaviour was completely out of character for the normally docile, serene creatures. “What's it doing, mummy?” He heard a half raised fox asking. His mother, her dress billowing in the wind, ushered him inside their house and slammed the door.
Fienwell reached down to his belt and pulled out a six inch dagger. Pitifully inadequate against the creature, it was nothing more than part of his clothing, part of his attempt to look like a normal citizen, most of whom carried small weapons as a defence against muggers. His knuckles went white as he gripped it tightly, though, drawing some measure of comfort from its reassuring weight, and he turned his back on the door, determined to give as good an account of himself as he could. He could at least hurt the creature! He could at least do that!
The wind died down as the Radiant came opposite the house and tentacles reached out for him. Fienwell held the knife out in front of him, and then the door opened behind him and a hand grabbed his elbow, pulling him inside. “Drop the knife!” another man demanded as the first slammed the door closed. There was a third man at the window, he saw, his eyes wide and staring at what he was seeing outside.
The third man threw himself backwards, just in time as a thick tentacle burst in with a crash of smashing glass. The three occupants of the house all drew pistols and fired at the tentacle, which lashed around, trying to find them by feel. When it came close to Fienwell he gave a swipe with the knife, opening a long gash in it from which green ichor splashed across the walls and ceiling.
“Save me!” cried Fienwell. “Save me and I'll tell you everything!”
There was a heavy thump from the front door as something heavy crashed into it. A drift of plaster dust fell from the ceiling, but the door held. The tentacle reached further in through the window, followed by two thinner ones, and the four men backed away into the back rooms. Their windows also smashed into fragments as tentacles reached in. The creature must be directly above the house!
“It's going to hold us here until the others get here!” he cried. He brushed sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. The sleeve took some of his skin powder with it, allowing his luminous skin to shine through in a long streak above his eyes.
“Then we've got to get out of here before they arrive!” said the leader of the men that had been waiting for him. “Which way were they approaching from?” The thick tentacle leaped towards him as if it had heard his voice. Maybe it had, for all Fienwell knew. It wrapped around his waist and the man cried out as he was pulled towards the window, his face turning red as it crushed the breath out of him. Another of the men shot it several times with his pistol, to no effect, but Fienwell stabbed with his knife, cutting deep, and it dropped the man before pulling out of sight through the window.
“The east!” cried Fienwell. “They're coming from the east!”
“Then we go west,” said the man with the pistol, helping his superior back to his feet. The man massaged his chest, tried to speak, then just nodded, pointing back to the front door. “We run!” the subordinate said. “Just run. They can't keep pace with a running man, unless they summon a gale, and then they can't change direction easily. So long as we don't get surrounded, we should be able to get away.”
“Get away to where?” asked the fourth man. “There’s nothing but the city wall to the west! If we get trapped up against it...”
“Let's just get out of here first,” gasped the leader. “One step at a time. And you...” He pointed at Fienwell. “You stay close! You try to lose us and I'll shoot you in the back!”
Fienwell nodded. Running would be useless anyway, he knew. Wherever he went, the Radiants would find him sooner or later, and now that the skin powder trick to hide luminous skin had been discovered, he couldn’t hide among humans either. His one hope was that the information he could give them would be enough for the Kelvon authorities to spare his life. If he could make them see him as a defector instead of a captured traitor, he might be able to bargain a good deal for himself.
The Radiant had stopped trying to catch them. It seemed content to just hold them in the house until the rest of its kind arrived. The windows were all broken, tentacles protruding through them, waving like seaweed in a slow current, and when the leader of the house's occupants gently opened the door, they found more tentacles dangling like a curtain of ribbons. He leaned his head out and looked up, then ducked back in.
“It's directly over the roof,” he said. “So it can keep an eye on all the exits at once. If we're fast, we might be able to get far enough away to be out of its reach before it can react. You ready?”
“Let’s just do it before the others get here!” said one of the others.
The leader nodded. “Okay, then. Ready? Let's go!”
He dashed out, brushing through the curtain of tentacles. Fienwell followed, then one of the subordinates. When the fourth man tried to follow, though, several of the tentacles wrapped themselves around him and lifted him up into the air. Then the Radiant rose up into the sky, carrying the unfortunate man with him, whom it then dropped casually as if it had no further interest in him. He cried out as he fell, followed by a sickening thump of bursting organs as he hit the compacted gravel of the street.
The second subordinate paused and looked back. “Keep going, you fool!” shouted the leader.
“He might still be alive! We can't just...”
“There's nothing we can do! Run!”
Fienwell was running, no thought in his head except to get away from the creature pursuing him. He was vaguely aware of a four horse carriage clattering down the street towards him, the only other thing in the street now that everyone else had fled, either indoors or down side streets. Some small part of his mind wondered why the carriage was going towards the Radiant, instead of away from it, until it drew up alongside , the driver pulling up on the reins to stop the horses and simultaneously slamming his foot on the brake block. The door opened and a man in army uniform leaned out. “Get in!” he shouted. Fienwell needed no other urging and leaped through the door, followed by the surviving two men sent to capture him. There were two more soldiers in the carriage, leaning out through the window to shoot at the Radiant, their bullets having no more effect than before.
“Carter! Thank Those Above! What are you...”
“Later! Just get in!”
Once all three men were inside and the door closed, the soldier rapped in the front wall and the driver slapped the reins. He pulled hard on the right hand set of reins, urging the horses to pull hard to the right. The street was narrow and the carriage scraped hard against the houses on the other side of the street. For a moment Fienwell feared that it would become jammed in the narrow alley between one house and the next and he looked out the window to see that the Radiant was almost on top of them, followed closely by half a dozen others. It was being blown by another gale and its tentacles were reaching forward, only a few feet away from being able to grasp the carriage. The soldiers continued to shoot at it, just to be doing something, and splatters of ichor flew from the tiny wounds inflicted, but then the carriage pulled free from the houses and moved away at good speed, putting the airborne creatures behind it.
Fienwell sagged back in his seat in relief, but then tensed up again as the Radiants’ telepathic voice sounded in his head. *Fienwell! We have reconsidered. You are clever and resourceful. You would be wasted on an assassination mission. We want you to train the new recruits. Come back to us, we need you.*
“Lying bastards!” cried Fienwell out loud. “I'm just cannon fodder to you! We all are! You lied to us! Now I'm going to tell these people the truth!”
*That would be a mistake. We are going to destroy this civilisation. They cannot protect you.*
*We'll see who destroys who! I know how scared you are! I know what you're scared of! You've declared war on the wrong people!*
There was no reply, and Fienwell looked out the window again to see all the Radiants rising high into the sky, the pursuit forgotten. Now the storms and earthquakes will come, he thought, but they can only cause one earthquake in each city, releasing whatever stress there is in the underlying bedrock. Once they've shot their bolt, the damage they can do is limited. Storms, curses... A civil war was their best chance to destroy the Empire. Is it too late to prevent it?
His thoughts were interrupted as the man sitting beside him grabbed his wrist and closed a manacle on it, then on his other wrist. “Rastor Fienwell,” he said, “you're under arrest.”