Imperiata and Other Stories

  Bahn decided, and smiled tightly. “As you say, royal cousin.”

  “Whatever is wrong, cousin,” Aluese said. She went over to him, stood close, breathing on his cheek as she had to Ribeag. Her companions walked with her.

  Bahn watched, and flexed his wings, a little agitated.

  Aluese noticed, and smiled. “You seem nervous,” she said. “Are you…”

  “Stop,” Ribeag said suddenly. “Stop now.”

  Aluese’s words were about to become an accusation of cowardice, and such an accusation could start a civil war.

  Everyone looked to Ribeag. Some stopped. A few did not. One black-haired youth kept moving. He smiled at Ribeag, an offence for which his eyes would be put out if he remained alive in a few moments more. Ribeag understood why. The black-haired youth smiled because with hair like that he would have been called a half-bred Tn’trith bastard all his life and asked if his mother was a whore. It was a shame, that for that he would die, but all had to die for something.

  Ribeag had meant Aluese to stop, and as soon as he had spoken he realized it had the sound of an instruction to all not to move. And as all now had taken stillness as Ribeag’s intent, that was what his command must be. Those who were obeying, they made it so.

  Most were obeying. A few, especially the black-haired youth, were not.

  “Captain,” Ribeag said. “Kill them all. Except the one who is missing the tip of her wing. Spare her.”

  Aluese’s companions looked up, some looked horrified, and some, especially the black-haired youth, looked happy. Ribeag was still watching that one, and saw joy on his face. As if he really thought he could fight the royal houseguard and live.

  “Brother,” Aluese said. “Please.” But by then all but one of her companions were dead.

  Those who had never seen the houseguard fight forgot what it was they were. In battle, when they fought, they were not, strictly speaking, alive. They were given orders, which they carried out, and matters of time and substance and impossibility were immaterial. Shadows flitted among Aluese’s companions, and flesh was rent, and a few more dozens were added to the dead on the field.

  The girl with the missing wingtip was dragged to Ribeag by her hair. Aluese called her name, but Ribeag did not catch it.

  “Strip her,” Ribeag said. “Flog her. She may keep her eyes and wings and tongue.”

  “Brother,” Aluese said, sounding petulant, “She is a noblewoman.”

  “Your men may have her,” Ribeag said. “All of them, and when they are done you may return her to my sister.”

  It would be unpleasant, even for one accustomed to Aluese’s orgies. Ribeag suspected many of the guard would not have her, would find others in the army to do their raping for them. The guard’s reputation for cruelty was useful, and needed to be known to the world, even if the guard had a certain distaste for earning it. Ribeag did not care, the girl would be would be returned to her sister broken and used, and it would seem to have happened.

  “Brother,” Aluese said.

  “Bahn is my flag captain, sister, and my cousin. Play games with him and you will be punished.”

  Bahn stirred, but saw Ribeag’s mood and wisely held his tongue.

  “Well done,” Ribeag told him coldly. “Had you used it, you would have lost it.”

  Bahn should not think he had been favored here in some way.

  “Brother,” Aluese said. “Please. Flog her if you must, but not the rest. She is special to me.”

  “And you must learn to be civil when matters of the realm are afoot.” He glanced pointedly at the Tn’trith, now close, watching.

  “Then have your monsters punish me.”

  Ribeag glanced at her and decided she was almost serious. He laughed, but decided a further lesson was needed if she did not fear for what she had offered. “Captain, wait. When you are done chain the girl before my tent. My court shall look upon your efforts. My sister may claim her back from me there.”

  They dragged the girl with the missing wingtip away. She tried to look defiant, but really just looked scared and young and sick with worry at what was to be done to her.

  Ribeag stood there for a time, looking up at the sky, until the Tn’trith general cleared his throat. Ribeag could have taken offence, since the Tn’trith was a general and not a prince, but he was tired of war for the day. He pretended not to hear. Ribeag saw these Tn’trith so often they were almost friends. They drank together after the battles. He decided he was ready, and greeted them, spoke to them by name, and was aware of both Bahn’s and his sister’s disapproval as he did. They began the necessary ceremonies to end a battle without acknowledging that anyone had won or lost.

  *

  The girl with the missing wingtip was brought to Ribeag halfway through the banquet. The crowd watched, a little quieter. Some were sympathetic, perhaps, as she was carried into the throng and chained before Ribeag. She was cut and bruised and battered. Some of that may have been the battle, but not all. She had fought his guards. There was fresh blood on her mouth and wrists and ankles, where she had tugged at her chains.

  That was done with now. Her defiance was gone. She looked at the floor, watched her own feet, and was passive. For now at least, she was no longer a warrior. Aluese stood and rushed over, brought watered mead to wash the girl’s cuts and tore a strip from her gown to bathe the wounds. The girl looked at her, and bit her lip, and started to slowly sob and Ribeag wondered what was between the two of them.

  “Sister,” he called, “This is undignified.”

  Aluese ignored him.

  “Sister.”

  She spat, and the room went still. Ribeag knew why. They hoped to see a princess of the royal blood raped before them. Ribeag was tempted, had been tempted before, but it would be a disaster. The attempt would cause a slaughter. Fools would rush to defend her, and rush to join in, and once news of it was out, it would doubtless cause a war. Aluese was still a princess, and a lord in her own right with equal standing to Ribeag, and her people would not stand to see her treated so.

  “Sister,” Ribeag said again, his voice hard, and reluctantly, very slowly, Aluese stood and came over.

  “You need but ask,” Ribeag said. “To have her back.”

  Aluese did not answer.

  “Well?” Ribeag said, expecting his sister to walk away.

  She did not. She was considering it. That was interesting in itself. Aluese cared for nothing and no-one in the world except herself. She encouraged mortal men to worship her as a goddess, and led her companions to their deaths without a concern, protected by her rank. She cared for no-one, but she considered this, considered the little humiliation Ribeag demanded, and then slowly nodded.

  “Very well,” she said. “May I have her please, royal brother?”

  “Of course,” Ribeag said. “Take her.” And watched as Aluese had the girl unshackled, and carried away.

  He was curious, and deeply puzzled, and almost troubled by this new side to his sister. Inconsistency in Aluese was a worrying turn. It could lead anywhere.

  Ribeag noticed the Tn’trith general watching, equally puzzled himself. Ribeag wondered what the general made of this, whether the dark court would see a weakness in Ribeag, and there would be another battle sooner than Ribeag expected. Probably, he decided. The dark court had their habits too, and misunderstanding Ribeag was one of them. The old ways, the peace they had between them through the field of blood, was useful, but there were times when it was trying.

  “I shall retire,” Ribeag said, and stood up. The court scurried and the nobles stood and the greatest of the Tr’nah leapt to Ribeag’s whim. He considered companionship, taking a few of the greater nobles’ wives or husbands with him, but he refrained. He was not in the mood, was never in the mood, and he worried that rumors would begin if he was forever demanding his royal privileges and never actually using them.

  *

  Ribeag did not think of his sister and her dishonored companion for several weeks.
He saw them once, out the window of the Acorn Palace, in a garden, Aluese leading the torn-winged girl towards a bench near a fountain in the sun. Ribeag paused and watched and reminded himself he had wondered how close they really were and had not made an effort to find out. That was a mistake, and not the kind he usually made, dealing as it did with information. It was really something he ought to know. He watched and considered, and then a clerk brought news of more Tn’trith misdeeds and the matter slipped his mind.

  A few days after that, returning from a hunt, he saw them again. The hunt had gone wrong. It was not the great moonlit hunt, but a small daytime one, for crickets. A mortal’s cat had seen the Tr’nah and been about to pounce, and the household guard had slain it only just in time. Then a mortal child had began to wail that the fairies had killed its pet, for some mortal children retained the sight, even though their elders did not, and on this occasion, rather than slapping the child and naming it a liar, the parents had looked around, and there was a very dead cat to make the child’s words a convincing half-truth. The Tr’nah party had made an undignified retreat, and had not found a cricket, and Ribeag, although not overly dismayed, had been wondering to himself if the power of a small mortal child could be harnessed and directed toward the Tn’trith. He had been quiet as they returned to the Oak Gate, considering how, and Aluese had been standing waiting as they dismounted.

  “What is it, sister?” Ribeag snapped, handing his mouse’s reins to a page. “I am not in the mood.”

  “It is Dilee.”

  He looked at her and truly did not know. “Who is Dilee?”

  “The woman you had raped and nearly murdered.”

  “I have thousands raped and entirely murdered, sister. You will have to be specific.”

  She looked at him, cold and furious.

  “Tens of thousands,” Ribeag said. “Even though I gather I ought, I truly do not know.”

  “My companion. From the day of the battle.”

  Ribeag stood there.

  “The most recent battle. The one you had flogged.”

  “Oh. What of her?”

  “I will not forgive you, that is all.”

  “Of course not.” Ribeag was becoming impatient. “Well then, farewell.”

  Aluese nodded and made her bow. “Farewell, royal brother.”

  “Indeed,” Ribeag said, and watched her go. He really ought to find out more, he decided. He was known as the prince of secrets and information and cleverness, and it was unforgivable this eluded him under his own nose.

  But a clerk brought a message that the Sunrise Emperor wished to see both him and the generals of the Tn’trith, and although the Sunrise Emperor was the sort of formality Ribeag wished they could do without, the doing without was not possible, so he made his preparations and put on his formal attire and gathered his guard again and departed. And predictably, the Emperor wished to settle some matter of policy dispute, which would have no doubt eventually led to another battle and another hundred thousand dead, but which Ribeag had not even begun to plan for, so he was outmaneuvered on that matter also. He thought it was the same general who had fought that day at the battle, but many of the dark ones were outwardly the same – and inwardly too, for that matter – so he could not be sure. He wondered if it was some play to make use of his perceived distraction, and decided it probably was.

  Not a battle, at least, so he supposed that was a favorable outcome.

  *

  Ribeag sat in a chair, in his bedchamber, watching the wives of two minor noblemen pleasure one another, and a female Tn’trith slave, with their mouths. It was perverted, most Tr’nah would not approve, but he liked the contrast of light skin and dark on one another. The noblewomen were happy – their perversion was their prince’s bidding, not their own and without the slave girl they would pleasure one another anyway – and the slave girl seemed happy enough too.

  He liked these little tableaus, mostly because he liked ordering the women not to speak of what occurred and thus driving their husbands into furies of repressed jealous curiosity. It entertained him, but he was bored.

  “I grow bored,” he announced to the room, but none of the three women seemed to hear.

  He sipped his wine. It was precious, harvested from rare grapes somewhere he forgot and aged in ways he cared little about, and it was dull, lifeless. He threw the goblet against the wall, so it bounced and rang, just to see what the women would do. As it happened, they ignored him.

  “Call my cousin Bahn,” he shouted, to no-one particular, and after a while there was a knock at the door.

  “Come,” Ribeag shouted.

  “My prince,” Bahn said, entering, and then saw the bed. “Oh.”

  “You have something to say, cousin?”

  “Nothing, my prince.

  “Please, cousin, tell me of your mind. It may relieve my boredom.”

  “Does Lord Gataan know where his wife is? And… Lord Dee?”

  “Of course they know,” Ribeag snapped. “I sent the summons to their houses.”

  “Ah. My prince…”

  “Ask.”

  “How many women of the court have you used in this way?”

  “Hundreds.” Ribeag shrugged, becoming bored again. Why talk of corruption when you can force any to do your darkest will. “Most of them.”

  “And the noblemen…?”

  “In their shame, none speak of it to the others, so few realize how widespread my entertaining is. It amuses me to learn when they will let their feelings of being unmanned overcome their common sense and rise against me.”

  “We cannot rise against you, my prince. It is certain death.”

  “Of course it is, you fool, but it would amuse me if they tried.”

  “Indeed, my prince.”

  “You should marry, cousin. Then I could have your wife join me too.”

  “It would be, ah, an honor, my prince.”

  “Indeed. I am bored.”

  “Perhaps a hunt?”

  “Not a hunt.”

  “More wine? These,” he glanced at the bed, “To do something different?”

  “Not that. Wine bores me. They bore me. Battle bores me. The hunt bores me to a breathtaking degree.”

  Bahn remained silent.

  “I am corrupt, cousin. I am stained.”

  “Indeed, sire.”

  “I have run out of things to sample.”

  “I have heard tell of this complaint, sire.”

  “I have done everything imaginable just to see if it amused me.”

  “And did it, sire?”

  “No. Eventually, no.”

  “The burden of rule, sire.”

  “I should have you gutted, Bahn. I would be curious to see if you squealed.”

  “I would think not, sire.”

  “I think not too, which I why I haven’t done it. I cannot imagine anything more dull than having you tortured and you, throughout, grinning at me with that inane grin.”

  “My prince would honor me with his presence.”

  Ribeag overturned a table. Bahn didn’t flinch, although the slave girl did and the two noblewomen looked over. Ribeag waved at them, said, “Continue.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “I thought I might go out into the world.”

  “Which world?”

  “The world, cousin. The mortal world.”

  Bahn considered. “That seems… unwise.”

  “But yet, I think I shall…”

  One of the noblewomen began to climax. Her shrieks were loud. They both fell silent while she did, and watched. Her noises ceased, her wings became still, and she went back to her work with a willing mouth.

  “The emperor…?” Bahn said, as if they had not been interrupted.

  “I shall have someone tell it after I am gone.”

  “The kingdom.”

  “Yes, I wished to speak to you of that. Would you care to wed my sister?”

  “My prince?”

  “Oh d
on’t act the fool, Bahn. It has occurred to you. Marry her, become regent, begone with me and my whims and trying ways. At least for a time.”

  “Sire, I do not think your sister would wed me. And it is not something you can force her into, after all.”

  “Indeed.” Any other woman he could, not one of equal rank to his own. “We could reason with her.”

  “I do not think…”

  “But try we shall.” Ribeag raised his voice again. “Fetch my sister.”

  “Sire…?”

  Ribeag waved him to silence, and they both watched the women writhe.

  Aluese arrived, swept into the room, saw the women and stopped and smiled. “My brother,” she said. “How thoughtful. For me?”

  Ribeag decided to assume she was jesting.

  “Would you marry Bahn if I asked it?’

  Aluese considered that for a while. She had Ribeag’s mind, but usually chose not to use it. She thought, and then said, “Why?”

  “Because I asked it.”

  “But why?”

  “To make him regent.”

  “I can be regent, should you wish.”

  “You are mad. Handing you the throne would cause a civil war.”

  “As would, no doubt, deposing me.”

  “Indeed.”

  “No,” Aluese said. “I think not. He may woo me if he wishes, but I think not. Shall I join your women in your bed?”

  Ribeag shook his head and waved her away.

  Bahn watched her go. “A concession, my prince. More than I had thought.”

  “Indeed.”

  Aluese’s consent that Bahn court her put things on the slightest part of a formal footing. It meant Bahn committed neither treason nor impropriety with his advances.

  “May I suggest, my prince, that if you are bored we attempt to defeat the dark ones. Rather than flee into the world.”

  “I could,” Ribeag said. “But then life would be even more dull.”

  “But you could do it. If you wished.”

  “Indeed.”

  “They say you have the cleverest mind in a thousand years.”

  “So clever, cousin, that idle flattery will not coerce me into winning this pitiful war for you.”

  Bahn shrugged.

  Ribeag sighed. “I could defeat them, cousin. I worked out how long ago. But where is the interest in it, now that I know how it will go in my imagination?”