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‘I see you’ve met Czar Moljon. Recently inherited, riding his father’s reputation.’ Dr Taproot moved beside me and guided me to Makin and the rest.
‘Jorg!’ Makin clapped a hand on my shoulder. ‘I was just telling Duke Bonne that you’d be the man to intercede on his behalf with his neighbours to the north. Cousins of our good friend Duke Alaric.’
I nodded and smiled, aware that in my scarred face my wolf’s grin might seem more fierce than friendly.
‘And where’s Miana?’ I asked. ‘And my son?’
‘She’s set off to find her father, sire. Sir Kent went with her. Gorgoth too, though he went sniffing for trolls,’ Marten said.
‘Trolls?’ I turned to Taproot.
‘It is reported that the last emperor had an elite guard, a guard within the guard if you like. The description I have read of them is “not men”.’ He put the matter aside with a shrug, a gesture as eloquent as the rest of his body language.
‘Tell me how we stand, Taproot,’ I said.
‘Watch me!’ And he laid it out for me in charcoal upon a scrap of parchment. ‘You have nine votes. Duke Alaric has two, and is like to swing two more, along with Gothman of the Hagenfast – his wife carries some influence there, I believe.’
‘Elin.’ I smiled, softer now.
‘Your grandfather carries two votes, Miana’s father another, and between them Earl Hansa and the Lord of Wennith are like to draw three more behind them. Watch me!’
‘I was just—’
‘Ibn Fayed commands five votes. And that makes our tally—’
‘Twenty-five,’ I said. ‘Not half of what I need.’
‘Twenty-six if Makin works his magic with Duke Bonne.’ Taproot marked Bonne down beside the caliph’s votes. ‘It speaks volumes for you that your support hails from the raw north to the deserts of Afrique. A man who can sway such disparate votes clearly has something to offer. The Hundred look at men like Moljon with a tight bloc of neighbouring states to back his play and all they see is special interest – a threat. When they look at a man who calls on favour from caliphs out of the hot sands and norse dukes in their mead halls – they might start to think they see an emperor.’ Taproot sketched the crown above my head. ‘And consider, you need fifty-one votes only if all votes are cast.’
‘Interesting,’ I said. ‘Get yourself and Makin amongst the Hundred and see who might be swayed, who our enemies are, and who heads any factions that might compete with ours. When a faction is broken it’s often the case that the pieces may be swept up easily.’ A bit of wisdom from the road. Kill the head and the body is yours. ‘Set Miana and Osser to it as well. And Gomst. Use Gomst on the pious ones.’
Taproot nodded. He started to go but I caught his wrist. ‘Oh and Doctor, there may be a rumour circulating to the effect that the Pope has been killed. Be sure to say I had nothing to do with it. And if there isn’t such a rumour – start one.’
Taproot raised both brows at that, but nodded again and went on his way.
‘Jorg!’ Lord Commander Hemmet surged through the Hundred as if they were sheep and he the shepherd. ‘Jorg Ancrath!’ Behind him the Custodian hurried in his wake, lips scarred and pressed tight. The story had it that he had emerged tongue-less from his centuries’ sleep. My guess is that when the Lord Commander finally unpicked the tangle of old-speech he found himself not liking what the Custodian had to say.
‘Lord Commander,’ I said. He had a face like thunder, suppressed energies sparking off him.
‘Jorg!’ He clasped both hands to my shoulders. Once upon a time he would have got a face full of my forehead for such a move, but life at court had taken that edge off. ‘Jorg!’ he repeated my name again as if somehow not believing it, and drew me close, so our bowed heads all but met, voice lowered. ‘You killed the Pope? You really did it?’
‘I damn well hope so,’ I said. ‘If she lived through that she’s made of sterner stuff than I am.’
A gale of laughter broke from him, drawing stares all across the hall. Then forcing himself to whisper, ‘You really did it? You really did it! Damn me. Damn me but that took some stones.’
I shrugged. ‘Killing old women is easy. But if I don’t walk out of Congression as emperor then I may only live a short while in which to regret the decision. There were, however, no witnesses other than my people and the Gilden Guard, and these are dangerous times. Even a Pope may meet a terrible end on the road these days.’ When you need something covered up in Vyene it’s good to have the Lord Commander’s favour.
Hemmet grinned, a fierce thing. ‘Yes.’ Then a frown. ‘More dangerous than ever I had thought. The dead are at our gates. Through them, even.’ He let me go. ‘It’s not a matter to trouble Congression though. Their numbers are too few to reach the palace. We’ll be riding them down within the hour.’
And with that he was gone, the Custodian trailing after him like a whipped cur.
49
Chella’s Story
The towns and villages along the Danoob grew close together as Chella’s column approached Vyene. Soon they would join into one unbroken sprawl, washing up against the walls of the imperial city.
‘Stop!’
It irked that she had to shout her commands but the necromancy still festering in her had retreated too far for the dead to respond directly to her desire.
The cavalry came to an untidy halt. The horses didn’t take well to dead riders, even if they were the same riders they had carried on the previous night and for weeks before that. Some had refused, screaming and bucking when their dead owners tried to reclaim them. Chella had thought to cut their throats, but Kai convinced her to turn the animals free and send the spare riders back to join the Dead King’s advance.
‘Why have we stopped?’ Kai leaned in toward her, guiding his horse with both knees.
‘I need to ask Thantos a question,’ she said.
There’s a slope down toward evil, a gentle gradient that can be ignored at each step, unfelt. It’s not until you look back, see the distant heights where you once lived, that you understand your journey. Chella looked up from her depths in sudden epiphany. Such moments had punctuated her life, her half-life, drawn out over a hundred years and more. Not once had they given her more than brief pause. Not once had she stepped back.
‘Come,’ she told him, a touch of tenderness in her voice. It should have been enough to set him running.
They went together. Kai not wanting to, but pushing down his fear.
Chella set her hand to the carriage door. The metal handle made her skin dry, made it old. She pulled it open.
‘Now?’ she asked, speaking into the empty horror of the carriage.
And by way of answer a grey contagion flowed out. Kai screamed as it wrapped him. For an instant Chella glimpsed the lichkin, its slim bones insinuating themselves into Kai’s flesh, through clothing, past armour. It took a while. Too long. Ages. Kai’s choking screams drowned out all other sounds, his flesh writhing to accommodate its new occupant, until finally his jaw snapped shut and left her ears ringing.
