Dark Legion Page 29

  A few turned my way, and I shrugged. “I thought you needed a bath.” Many laughed, and a few agreed that it was indeed long overdue.

  The man stumbled forward and swung a fist at me. I did not need Marcus’s years of experience to see it coming, and I moved aside with time to spare. With his weight behind it, and too much drink to compensate, his fist continued on. It connected with the man behind me. He was bigger than the drunk, perhaps even than Marcus, and head-butted the man. Soon, they wrestled on the ground, a tangle of limbs, sneaking punches where they could. Drunk men wrestling—people would pay for the sport, but those around me got a free show.

  I turned and looked out over the lake. I had come with the intention of seeing how my glass was holding up, but the surface was so covered in dead fish that this was an impossibility. I took heart in the fact that the fish were yet to be cleaned up, making it unlikely that anyone would have looked at the grate covering the opening. Besides, that number of dead fish were sure to do the job anyway, and I wished that this had occurred to me before. Well, had I known how many of the damned things there were, it might have.

  I left the pond and made for the train station, but it was not a day for getting things done quickly. What would have been a short walk on any other day took close to an hour. I half expected the station to be packed as well, but it was as empty as every other time I’d been there. The slaves were there, of course—more of them than usual. But the quiet, cavernous building, even with the slaves, was like an oasis, and I took a long slow breath.

  Ferran came to meet me, bowing. I nodded in return, then looked over to where the waterfall had once cascaded. Now it looked like a light rain, and I smiled.

  “My prince,” Ferran said.

  “Did you spread the word?” I asked.

  “I did, my prince.”

  “How many will come?”

  “Not all, but many. It’s hard to know exactly how many, but at a guess… a thousand? Maybe two.”

  My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat. I was expecting perhaps a hundred. A thousand or more was good—great, really—but that was a large number to sneak out. Especially if the tunnel was blocked.

  “Good work. Can you take me to the waterwheel? I want to check on something.”

  We passed the lone wagon on the tracks, still sitting and waiting with Malakai’s rockets strapped tight. Ferran led me through the door to the room where the waterwheel sat in the channel. The room was quieter than at my last visit, and the wheel turned slowly, barely at all. I stood on the metal grate that covered the channel and looked down at my escape tunnel. It was still filled with water, but perhaps only knee-deep. Dead fish floated here, too. It had not occurred to me that some would find their way down, though it should have. That could have been a nasty surprise.

  “Has anyone been here to check on why the waterfall stopped flowing?”

  “Yes, my prince. Several men came to check and wrote reports. They looked at the wheel but left soon after. Everyone is so busy preparing for the festival that no one has time to look at it right now. One said it won’t be till next week.”

  “Good,” I said. “I have an important job for you. I want you to lift the grate and make your way along the tunnel to see if it’s clear. Take several torches—it might be a long walk, but you have a few hours, and you should be able to check the length of it and return before I do. If it’s clear, mark the wall beside the door with a circle; if it’s blocked, a cross. If that’s the case we will need to postpone the escape. Understood?” He nodded. “Tonight, when the rest of your men arrive, make your way up the tunnel. I should be along shortly after.”

  “We will wait for you, my prince,” Ferran said.

  “No, you won’t. When we arrive, it’s likely to be with the force of the hells on our heels. You best be off before that. Best of luck, Ferran. Pray we meet again soon.”

  Back at the Eagle’s Perch, Marcus, Neysa and I sat in my sitting room, drinking coffee. Well, Neysa had an odd-smelling tea she called chai, but she was never one to conform. I was utterly exhausted and slumped in the settee. The first thing I did when I returned was have a bath and wash the filth and the sweat of the people from me. It helped settle my nerves, too.

  “Are we ready? For tonight?” Neysa asked.

  “As ready as we will be,” I said.

  “It’s a pity Malakai isn’t here with us,” Neysa said.

  I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “What?” Neysa asked. “The man knows stuff! He probably has some idea of how tonight will pan out. If he was here…”

  “You’ve become awfully fixated on that old bastard,” I said. “Just marry him and be done with it.”

  “Don’t be sick,” Neysa said.

  “I have to admit, I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up,” Marcus said. “Or his raven. Though he may surprise us yet.”

  “I won’t hold my breath,” I said. “If we need a fortune-teller, we have you.”

  “Oh, ha ha,” Neysa said. “He doesn’t know his face from his arse—what in the hells does he know of the future?”

  “Little do you know Neysa,” I said. “Our Marcus is an expert at reading tea leaves. Or coffee grains, same difference. He did it once before, and pretty much everything came true.”

  “Piss off,” Neysa said.

  “No, really.”

  Neysa looked at Marcus, and he nodded sheepishly. “Then why the hells has he not done it since, may I ask?”

  Marcus looked at me, and we shrugged. “Kinda forgot about it, I suppose,” Marcus said.

  “You just forgot about it? Do it now then—here you go. We’ll see about this.” Neysa drained her cup and handed it to Marcus. Marcus shrugged and took it, swirling the cup, tilting it this way and that, and gazing into the tea leaves for a long time before speaking.

  “Enough with the dramatic tension,” Neysa said. “I’m an actor, remember? I know the tricks.”

  Marcus scowled at her and looked back at the cup. “I see… two doors, one open, one closed. Could mean many things, like options opening or closing to us. Or you know… a door.”

  “You’re right,” Neysa said. “This guy is a genius.”

  “I see a fox, meaning treachery, often by a friend,” Marcus said, narrowing his eyes at Neysa. I nearly choked on my coffee. “Or it could indicate an unseen enemy. I see a thumb, I think. Which shows an opportunity to prove oneself. I see a boat, or a ship, which could mean news from distant lands. Though, if we survive this night, I bet we’ll be going on a long journey. Lastly, I see a wagon? Something like that. We’ll go with wagon. A wagon is usually given to mean approaching poverty. Maybe I should change that one…”

  “I see why you didn’t do this more than once,” Neysa said. “Bunch of crap. A door? I see several from where I sit. We have no choice but to use one unless you grow some wings.”

  “You know,” Marcus said. “The last person I did a reading for wasn’t nearly as much of a bitch.”

  Neysa gasped. “Sir! You wound me.” She made a rude gesture.

  “Problem is,” I said. “Marcus’s readings only show themselves to be true after the fact.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient?” Neysa said and got to her feet. “I’m getting dressed. I suggest you do the same.” She stormed through the door and called back. “Oh, look, I used a door. Prophesies are coming true before our eyes.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Reception

  We arrived at the palace fashionably late. That is to say that we were fashionable, and extremely late. As we walked through the door, I saw Hobart standing, waving frantically. He looked relieved to see us. The rest of the room paid us little attention, though some ignored us with purpose, and a few raised their noses. The stuck-up bastards had no idea who we were, but perhaps that was reason enough.

  The banquet hall was enormous, the ceiling hidden in shadow far above the chandeliers, and the room long enough to fit the ship I had burned with room to spare. Pillars,
carved with all manner of leaf, bird and vine, lined the walls, and the red and gold banners of the empire only served to detract from their beauty.

  I puzzled over that. The pillars were absent from the plans I had of the palace. They were too decorated to serve such an ordinary task as supporting a roof, and I decided they had been added more recently, just for show.

  At the center of the hall sat a large horseshoe-shaped table, filling most of the room, and around it sat a couple of hundred finely dressed arseholes. You could put makeup on an arsehole, but it would still be an arsehole. My father had taught me that. Well, I’d overheard him tell it to an adviser once; almost the same.

  At the far side of the hall was a dais, on top of which rested a massive skull, sharp teeth sticking from it. The huge jaws were open, as if ready to snap up the throne that sat inside. I was sure it had come from the kronos that was beached near the tavern.

  A wiry old man approached us, his long coat streaming behind him as he walked our way with purpose, one arm held to his chest, his other hand holding a scroll. He unrolled the scroll with a flurry and pushed his spectacles back up his nose. “Names?”

  “Owners and employees of the Bleeding Wolf,” I said.

  He ran his finger down the scroll, and when he found our names listed, gestured to the table. I got the impression that, had we been more noteworthy, he would have announced us and probably led us to our seats.

  No matter. I was happy to remain as anonymous as possible, though I doubted it would be for long if we succeeded that night. Besides, Hobart still stood beside our empty seats. He rocked on his feet, looking nervous as all hells. I felt much the same. We walked to him, and I noticed that two guards stood between each of the pillars. There were a lot of pillars. I pulled out Neysa’s chair for her and found my own. I noticed that ours were the last empty chairs left around the table.

  “A bit late, aren’t we?” Hobart asked.

  “Have you seen how many people there are out there?” I asked. “It took forever to get here, and it’s not like it’s a long walk. Some even have tables and chairs in the avenues. What in the hells?”

  “I guess I should have warned you,” Hobart said. “Harvest Festival is kind of a big deal in Morwynne. Some hold parties at their homes, but most take to the streets.”

  “Evidently so,” I said.

  Hobart waved at one of the men standing behind the table. The man, one of the slaves, was dressed all in red. He bowed and scampered off to pour us a tankard each. I noted that it was from one of our blue barrels, those without poison. When we had a tankard each in hand, Hobart held his up. “Cheers.” To my relief, the ale tasted great. I knew it would, but a part of me still worried that the ale would turn, throwing a year’s work into the privy.

  “Are we clear on how the night proceeds?” Hobart asked. I had a few ideas but thought better than to share them with him.

  “Please enlighten us,” Marcus said.

  “First, the emperor and the princess will come out. He’ll make a speech, and then they’ll leave to a separate dining hall.”

  “They don’t stay?” I asked.

  “They used to,” Hobart said. “But the emperor has become increasingly paranoid… or, I should say cautious. More so now with the princes dead.” Hobart looked around, checking if anyone had overheard him. “Then, the mayor of Morwynne comes out and makes the toasts. This continues until either he or the guests are too drunk to continue. Then we eat. Frankly, there is not a lot of eating. Most here know that and come with full stomachs. I hope you did the same?”

  “We did,” Marcus said, rubbing his gut.

  “Now, when the toasting starts, it helps to pace yourself. If a toast applies to you in some way, it is customary to take a generous sip. If you are named directly, you have to finish your drink in one go, and slam your tankard upside down to show you have finished. Please… do keep with the traditions. It is considered rude not to. Unthinkable, even.”

  “How about the guards?” Marcus asked. “Do they drink too?”

  “No, they do not.”

  Marcus looked at me. That would mean trouble. Marcus was a great fighter, but there were an awful lot of guards. And more beyond the hall—that was certain.

  A hush fell across the room, and we all stood as a dozen men came walking into the room from a door beside the dais. The sight of the men sent a chill up my spine. They wore the red robes of the Inquisition, but black armor covered them where tattoos usually showed. They were Dark Legion, but not as I knew them. As time stretched, the cold down my spine continued. I realized then that it wasn’t just the sight of the men; there was magic at work.

  “By the Gods,” Marcus whispered. “What is this?”

  The Inquisition were known for their fighting prowess. They were veterans before being selected and had been trained by the best weapon masters for hours each day since their acceptance. But they never wore armor. They also never used crossbows, and yet four of them held them now. The crossbows were unusual in appearance, and though I had seen many designs, I could not see the string on these, nor the bolts. Still, these men carried them as though they were loaded, and I was inclined to treat them as such.

  The four crossbowmen climbed the dais and kneeled at the edge, facing the table. The remaining eight Inquisitors lined up in front of the dais, drew their swords, and took a knee, dipping the tip of their blades to the floor. Their blades shone even though the room was dimly lit. These were not their traditional swords. The Inquisition were known to use rapiers exclusively, but these blades were wider, heavier. Short swords.

  A hushed whisper sounded through the room as two more figures came through the door. Emperor Solas and princess Milliandra walked in. They walked like they owned the place, which of course they did. As they stepped onto the dais, the Dark Legion lifted their blades, the tips of their swords sparking as they scratched the stone. They leveled their blades at the crowd. I couldn’t help but jump, and many around the table did the same. The emperor stood in front of the throne, inside the jaw of the massive creature. How I wished it would slam shut. The princess stood to the side, where an empty chair, just short of a throne itself, awaited her evil arse.

  Solas gestured for the room to sit, and he did the same. Those Inquisitor blades did not drop, however, the gleaming edges pointing straight at us, almost accusingly. It was as though the emperor knew something was afoot. Solas spoke to his daughter for a while, and the hall was quiet in anticipation.

  The emperor stood and looked out across the sea of faces for a long moment. I hoped that I would look that good at the age of sixty. He barely looked older than his daughter, and had I not known better, I would have assumed them to be husband and wife.

  “Greetings,” Solas said. “It is an honor to stand before you again. This time of harvest is a time to rejoice, a time to celebrate, a time to reap that which we have sowed, and it pleases me that this great empire reaps far more than it sows.” A few in the crowd cheered at this, taking the opportunity to clink tankards and drink. Their enthusiasm rang false, like a few had been chosen to act a part. Solas waited for them to quiet down before continuing on.

  “It’s not always easy to be great… and we are great. To stand tall among our lessers, to unify the scattered, to lead the way. And I alone cannot do all that is required to make this great empire all that it can be. Though this is a time of celebration, I wish to take a moment to remember my sons, taken too early by the scum of the Serpent Isles—the scourge of White Lake.” I believe I was the only one in the crowd who smiled. I might be scum, but I had as little as possible to do with that vast stretch of water. “A moment of silence, please,” Solas said.

  Most bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Marcus was one of them. I was not. Perhaps it was unfortunate that so many had died on that ship, but for the princes, I had no remorse. Solas had killed my mother and father in front of my eyes, and I was happy to return the favor. I’d rather he had been there to see it, but you couldn’t
have everything.

  “It pleases me that I have a daughter who eases my burden, and who will one day step into my shoes to continue this difficult work.” That was not as well received. The sound that flowed through the chamber was like the rumbling in a giant’s belly. Even there, right in front of their emperor, the nobles made it clear how they felt about being ruled by an empress. Not all, mind you, but a decent portion. The more old and gray, the louder the dissent.

  “And it pleases me that you, loyal men and women, do your own part for this empire. Because it is our empire, and it is our children’s empire. May its days never be numbered. May it stretch across time as it does across this continent, ever onward. So tonight, celebrate, for we have much to be thankful for. To the empire!”

  The crowd cheered and stood to their feet, lifting tankards and draining them. Solas rose, nodding to himself. The emperor and princess stepped from the dais and walked back through the door. The Dark Legion stood suddenly, in concert, the clank of armor resonating through the quiet room. The Inquisitors at the front sheathed their blades in a showy arc, stomped the ground once with a loud thump, then turned and marched out behind their emperor. The crossbowmen followed last.

  No one dared move or make a sound. The crowd watched the door for a long minute, watching to see if the Dark Legion would return. When it became clear that they would not, a short pudgy man leapt to his feet and walked to the dais. The people cheered, and it seemed as though the mood of the room changed in an instant, the tension evaporating. This was real cheering, not the show that had just been put on for the emperor’s sake.

  I had no idea who this man was but presumed that he was a jester. His patterned pants looked as though a rainbow had thrown up on them, while the shirt he wore could only be described as pink, with more than half of it consisting of a mass of frilly collars. The man soaked in the admiration, nodding to the crowd, but made no move to quiet them down. It was clear that he loved it, and as he nodded, light glistened from his oiled hair and mustaches.