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“From Caleb?”
“No. From Talwin Hawkins. He suspects that Varen is in the city of Kesh.” Nakor looked at the message that had arrived in a special cylinder created to transport such missives quickly, and handed it to Pug. “Caleb is well, if a little damaged from springing a trap.”
Miranda looked concerned. “Damaged?”
“He got himself wounded, again,” said Nakor with a serious expression. He shook his head. “He’s amassing a fine collection of scars.
Still, he is well and I will tell Marie only that, and leave out the part about the scars.”
“That would be wise,” said Pug as he scanned the report. “Kaspar has made contact with Turgan Bey as we expected, and Caleb thought he had found the Nighthawks, but apparently, they had found him instead.”
“Should we go down there?” said Miranda. “If Varen is in the city, those three have no protection against him.”
Pug shook his head. “That’s not entirely true. I have sent some people down there to keep an eye on our three agents, and we can be there in minutes if we must.”
“Well, why not just go now?” she asked, always the protective mother.
“Because if I appeared in Kesh and Varen got wind of it, he might eschew subtlety and try to blow up the city just to kill me. He also knows you, Nakor, and Magnus by reputation so it is just as dangerous for you to show.”
“What’s keeping him from doing that now, then?” asked Miranda.
Nakor shrugged. “If he wanted to plunge the Empire into chaos, that would work, but the effects would be short - lived; an external threat would bring them together and make them put aside their differences. If one side gains preeminence in the Gallery of Lords and Masters, especially if there’s bloodshed, then that is another thing entirely, and would cause years of turmoil in Kesh.
“If there’s enough bloodshed in the capital, the frontiers could become unstable. The governor of Durbin might feel confi dent enough to declare himself the ruler of a free city, or the tribes of the Jal - Pur 2 6 2
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might be encouraged to rise in rebellion. And it’s almost guaranteed that some of the client states in the Confederacy would rebel.
“Varen wants evil to linger, not a quickly resolved confl ict.”
Pug said, “Our mandate is to ensure that Varen doesn’t get what he wants.”
Miranda said, “I want him dead.”
“It’s keeping him dead that seems to be the problem,” said Nakor.
“What about that death rift in Opardum? Does that hold some answers?”
“I think so,” said Nakor. “The problem with the way our universe works is that all the necromancers are working for the other side. If we could find one who would work on behalf of good—” He shrugged.
Pug said, “The rapidity with which Varen has managed to jump from body to body leads me to believe that he must be using a vessel of some sort to house his soul.”
“I thought soul jars were only a myth,” said Miranda.
Pug shrugged, looking annoyed. “I have seen too much in my life to assume anything a myth. It is usually just something I haven’t seen yet.”
Miranda looked at her husband and frowned. “I meant the ones in the stories.”
“Were based on fact, apparently,” said Nakor. “There are many ways to possess another—your mother, for example, became very good at it. But she was vulnerable; if the body that she inhabited died, then she would die too.”
Nakor had never told Miranda that he had been the one to destroy the spirit of the woman who had been his wife and her mother. Miranda believed Jorma—also known as Lady Clo-vis—had died when the demon Jakar had taken over the Emerald Queen’s army.
“But Varen survives the death of his host and is able to fi nd another body. This must mean that his spirit, soul, mind, whatever you wish to call it, must rest somewhere else, and that part of it is tethered to something—perhaps a soul vessel, or another object. It could be 2 6 3
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a paperweight on his desk as easily as a true urn.” Nakor shrugged.
“It’s somehow related to that death rift he was fashioning. That is why I think it’s important that we keep trying to trace it back from that rift thing we discovered west of Maladon.”
“Our son?” asked Miranda impatiently.
“I will send Magnus,” said Pug. “He’s due to return from Kelewan shortly, and as soon as he does, I’ll send him down to Kesh to confer directly with Caleb. Tal’s report is certainly not comprehen-sive enough.”
Miranda looked only slightly mollified. “I’d rather go myself.”
Pug laughed. “First, Kesh is a culture where women of any rank whatsoever do not venture out after dark alone, and secondly, Magnus has a much more even temper than you, my love.”
She glared at him but said nothing.
“I’ll go down with you if the time comes to do serious harm to Varen,” Pug added.
Miranda seemed satisfied with that. “Very well, but I want to know as soon as we hear from Caleb.”
“Yes, dear,” said Pug as he looked at Nakor. The little gambler grinned.
Kaspar waited, surrounded by Imperial Household Guards.
Each man was physically impressive—not one of them was shorter than six feet, and many were closer to seven. All were dark -
skinned, suggesting their lineage, if not Trueblood, came from the closely allied tribes around the Overn. They wore the Trueblood linen kilt, and belts of bronze - studded leather. Their sandals, Kaspar noticed, were closed - toed, and he suspected they were designed for combat, not comfort. Each carried a long, curved blade at his hip and they all wore battle torques of silver- decorated iron.
Servants led Kaspar and his escort through gallery after gallery, many adorned with fountains or exotic birds, until he found himself in a gigantic room, dominated by an enormous bed. The bed easily measured twelve square feet, and it sat on top of a dais in the center of the room.
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The room, however, looked more like a pavilion, hung with many curtains that could be moved as privacy dictated. Currently, they were all thrown back, affording the Emperor a stunning view of the palace below and the city beyond, in every direction.
Diigai sat on a carved chair a few feet in front of the bed. Upon a table before him rested the most splendid chess set Kaspar had ever beheld. The Emperor waved him closer and said, “Sit, boy. Let us play.”
Kaspar sat and looked around. All around the chamber stood young women of stunning beauty, dressed in the scant Trueblood fashion. Not a man given to being swayed by a pretty face or ample bosom, even Kaspar was impressed by their exquisiteness and sheer number.
The Emperor waved his hand and said, “I wish as much privacy as possible, my loves. Go away.”
The girls left with whispers and giggles, and servants drew gauzy curtains so that only one view of the city was left open.
“This is as much privacy as I’m allowed, Kaspar,” said the Emperor, dropping the formality of speech used in public. “I’ll give you white.”
Kaspar nodded and picked up a pawn.
The board appeared to be carved from rosewood and had been crafted with eye - catching precision. The squares appeared to be ebony and ivory and were framed with tiny bands of gold set so perfectly that the surface was completely smooth. The pieces were not only made from the finest black onyx and white chalcedony, the carvings were also works of art. Kaspar picked up the white queen and beheld a face of regal beauty. Each crown was made of gold, and as he inspected the other pieces more closely, he could see the tiny gems set into the priest’s scepter and that the horseman’s sword was fashioned from platinum.
“Move, boy,” urged the Emperor, and Kasper pushed his king’s pawn forward. He smiled. It had been many years since anyone had called him “boy.”
Th
e Emperor leaned forward and said, “I wager you’re wondering about all those pretty girls.”
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Kaspar laughed. “I must confess, Majesty, I was nearly overwhelmed by their beauty.”
The Emperor grinned, and Kaspar was struck by how strong and white his teeth appeared against his aged, dusky skin. “What is the saying? ‘I’m old, but I’m not dead yet’?” He chuckled. “They are only here to spy on me. I think each of them works for some different minister, general, nobleman, or guild in the city. They’re all presents, you know?”
“Slaves?”
“Hardly. No slave would be permitted within a hundred paces of the imperial personage. And Truebloods can never be slaves. If you break the laws enough to deserve slavery, we toss you to the crocodiles instead.” He moved his own pawn. Then, lowering his voice even more, he said, “One of the benefits of rank. I bed one now and again, and even if . . . nothing significant occurs, I do hear things.”
Diigai motioned for Kaspar to lean closer and whispered, “They think I’m senile.” He chuckled, and Kaspar saw a light in his eyes for the first time since he had been a boy. “And I let them think so.”
Kaspar said nothing, wondering why he, a renegade outlander was being admitted . . . no, not admitted—dragooned—into the Emperor’s inner circle. Kaspar moved again.
The game continued slowly, until Diigai said, “Kaspar, I suspect that at this time next year I will not be alive.” He surveyed the board, and added, “Perhaps not even this time next month.”
“Someone plots against you, Majesty?”
“Always. It’s the Keshian way. My sons all died young, and only one had a son of his own. If I had a reasonably intelligent granddaughter, I’d marry her off and make her husband emperor, just as I was named when Leikesha married Sharana to me.” He smiled as he moved a piece. “Now, there was a woman. Did you ever sleep with her?”
Kaspar chuckled. “I never had that honor.”
“You may have been the only ruling noble to visit Kesh who didn’t.”
“I believe I was only fifteen years old at the time, Majesty.”
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bedding your father, then.” Before Kaspar could respond, the Emperor continued, “I have it on good authority that she took both the princes of the Isles to bed. But it was before we wed. Ah, Trueblood women of power; there are none like them in the world.”
“I can easily believe that,” said Kaspar.
“Sharana was a strong - willed, opinionated woman with an unforgiving nature. There were times she wouldn’t speak to me for weeks if she was mad. I must confess, I grew to love her after a fashion.” He sighed. “I still miss her after forty years.
“If I had a granddaughter like her, I’d marry her off to you, Kaspar.”
“Me, sire?” said Kaspar, genuinely surprised.
The Emperor took one of Kaspar’s pieces and said, “Four moves to checkmate if you don’t pay attention. Yes, you, and it’s not because I like you particularly, because I don’t. You’re a murderous bastard with no remorse in your soul, but that’s exactly what it takes to run this Empire.”
“Thank you, Majesty. I think.”
The Emperor laughed. “At least you’d hang on to what was given to you, with every trick you have. I fear that my grandson will see the Empire broken up into many smaller nations before he’s done.”
“Sezioti?”
The Emperor shook his head. “No, Dangai. Sezioti is a scholar, so our hunters and warriors underestimate him, but he would fi nd a way to keep the peace. But he is unlikely to inherit the throne; Dangai is too powerful. Even though Lord Rawa endorses the elder Prince, many of his Royal Charioteers are friends of Dangai. The same is true of the Imperial Cavalry; Lord Semalcar is close to Sezioti, but many of his riders are not.
“You must remember that these men are not common soldiers.
Each soldier in the Cavalry and Charioteers is a noble of the Trueblood.” The Emperor took a sip of wine. “We have too many damn nobles in Kesh, Kaspar.”
“Lord Bey says you can’t toss a barley cake from a vendor’s cart in the lower city without hitting one.”
The Emperor laughed. “He did, did he? That’s funny, and true.”
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Lowering his voice again, the Emperor said, “You’re working with Bey, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Majesty,” said Kaspar, moving a pawn to blunt the Emperor’s attack.
“Bey’s a good man, one of the best, but like the rest, he thinks I’m a doddering old fool, and like the rest of them, I let him.
“I’ll get to the point. I don’t know what you are doing here; that pathetic attempt to sneak into the Empire disguised as a Kingdom noble was so transparent that even a ‘doddering old fool’ like me didn’t take it at face value. You obviously expected to be caught, and you expected to end up in Turgan Bey’s tender care. I must admit the asylum request was unexpected, but a nice touch. Who thought that up?”
“I did, Majesty.”
“Well, I don’t expect you’ll stay in Kesh one minute longer than it takes you to deal with whatever brought you here in the fi rst place—I expect you to ignore that oath you made—”
“I will never violate that oath, Majesty.”
“Then you are a fool, Kaspar. Oaths are made to be broken, if you can get away with it. If Dangai comes to the throne, Kesh may be pitted against your masters, whoever they may be, and you will take arms against us.”
“Masters?”
“Your nation did not rise against you without help, Kaspar.” He pointed his finger at the former duke. “Have you forgotten that those were Keshian soldiers assaulting your citadel while the Kingdom was taking its merry time wandering around on their way to Opardum?
And don’t think I’m not aware of how you were banished to the backside of the world, but here you are less than three years later, and you didn’t arrive in rags. You had resources, Kaspar, and some of the most skillfully forged documents I’ve ever seen—yes, I had them filched from Bey’s office and studied them closely. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Prince of Krondor and Duke Erik had them drawn up for you.
“I know you’re here for a reason, and what I wish to know is whether that reason makes things in Kesh better, or worse?”
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Kaspar sat back. “I hope to make things better, Majesty.” He leaned forward. “You are right, I serve men who wish to see a dangerous situation put right.”
“That crazy magician, Varen?”
“Now I am impressed.”
The Emperor leaned forward, as well. “With all the spies running around Kesh these days, didn’t you think that a few of them might work for me?” He sat back. “We’ve had suspicions for some time now, but your arrival convinced me. The reports from Opardum said he died at the hands of Talwin Hawkins—by the way, that was the one thing that did genuinely surprise me, the two of you arriving together, alive.”
“We’ve come to an accommodation.”
“Anyway, I’ve received reports that didn’t make sense, so I took them to some of my magicians who can interpret things—a few up in Stardock. The consensus was that either a crazy sorcerer named Sidi whom we tried to kill about a hundred years ago has returned to haunt us, or that your Varen had escaped and was here in Kesh, or that a third monster had risen from nowhere who just happened to be a powerful necromancer, as well. The second choice seemed the most likely.”
Kaspar saw no harm in telling the Emperor what he had learned from Pug. “It appears that Varen is Sidi.”
“Ah, that explains a lot. I prefer simple answers and that is the most elegant answer to the problem. And why are you here?”
“I’ve come to settle accounts.”
“Good, and while you’re at
it, see if you can keep my empire intact for a while longer.”
“I’ll do what I can, Majesty.”
“I have a plan, if I can live long enough to see it to fruition. If Dangai can resist his worst usurping impulses a little longer, I may have a solution that will bring about another hundred years of peace.
If not, I fear that we face civil war.”
Kaspar said, “Our goals are much the same, for a great deal of the Empire’s current problems can be traced back to Varen. He wishes rebellion.”
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“Why?”
“Because he serves evil, Majesty. The rebellion wouldn’t even have to succeed; the repercussions of the sedition would be felt throughout the Empire for a decade or longer. Guilt by association would be an acceptable standard and even the innocent would suffer.
“And if the coup were successful, other powerful families would be fair game for jackals and the other carrion - eaters.”
The Emperor said, “Why?”
“Varen’s goal isn’t to obtain power for himself, he seeks to undermine everyone else’s power. He thrives on chaos and has a larger agenda, he wants nations at war, crowns toppled, and armies on the march.”
“I’ve lived too long,” said the Emperor. “By the way, you’re in check,” he said, moving a piece.
Kaspar considered his situation while he looked at the board.
The more chaos there was in the land, the more room there was for evil. After spending nearly two years with Pug and his colleagues on Sorcerer’s Isle, and after what the god Kalkin had shown him about the Dasati, Kasper knew that Varen was but the first of many worries facing the Conclave.
But for all his power, Varen was still mortal and he could be taken.
Kaspar laid down his king, conceding the match. “Your game, Majesty.”
“It always is, Kaspar,” said the Emperor with a keen eye. “I’m not dead yet.”
Presuming much, Kaspar reached over the table and took his imperial hand. “Not for some time to come if I have any say in it.”