Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (21 page)

‘Well,’ Ramon said evasively, ‘there’s not
really
that much to tell.’

‘The Hel there isn’t! Three days ago I had an Imperial Arch-Legate tell me all about you: you’ve been issuing promissory notes on behalf of the Imperial Treasury! You’ve been trading in opium! You’ve been using false identification documents to gain the trust of some shady investors, and started a flood of money that’s destabilising the empire – not that I suppose you care.’

Ramon had the temerity to smirk. ‘Should I?’

‘When the whole Crusade could suddenly implode, leaving rankers in both armies stranded and starving because the Crown can’t afford to send food? How’d you like that, Sensini? Would that make you laugh?’

The Silacian continued to play, if not innocent, at least not very guilty. ‘As if . . .’

‘You think not? When you convinced some of the most powerful criminals in Hebusalim that you could ship the entire opium stock of the whole Crusade, tons of the accursed stuff, stored ready for the Third Crusade to arrive, and underwrite the lot?’ He jabbed a finger when Sensini looked startled. ‘Yes, I know now! The Arch-Legate told me, in Vida! You encouraged those men to find more investors: they call it a “Prism” scheme in Pallas – and it’s
illegal
! The Arch-Legate said that virtually all the gold coin in the army was diverted into your maniple’s hands! You and Storn have stripped the noble Houses of Rondelmar and Bricia! You gulled them with false returns and issued counterfeit promissories! Need I go on?’

Ramon raised a placating hand. ‘Can you keep your voice down,’ he said irritably. ‘There are men within earshot – at least, they are when you’re shouting the rukking hills down.’

Seth glared around him, saw the men digging trenches nearby, and scowled. ‘All right,’ he said, more quietly, ‘enough from me. Talk! You told us in Ardijah you had gold: is this how you got it? How much?’

Ramon frowned. ‘All right, yes, there is gold. About two hundred thousand gilden. That’s not so much. Your father spends that much in a year.’

‘My father’s the richest man in Bricia! And the gold price has soared! The Arch-Legate told me it’s at least ten times more valuable now!’

Ramon gave a low whistle. ‘
Fantastico!
But still no more than small change to the Imperial Treasury.’

‘The Treasury is indebted!’

‘Then they can mint more coins! Stop giving me the Arch-Legate’s arguments! To the empire these sums are a few percentage points, nothing more!’

‘Ha! Heads will roll over this!’

‘Then let them roll!’

Seth stared at him, then with an effort took another breath and calmed down. ‘How did this happen? Was it as Arch-Legate Milius said?’

‘That depends what he told you,’ Ramon replied, then he gave a sly shrug. ‘
Allora!
Very well, Lesser Son. I’ll tell you, if you can listen without shouting. Yes, I solicited money from investors, to give us liquidity. Such things happen every campaign. And yes, I used a Treasury seal that I was perhaps not permitted to use to get more investment.’

‘
Perhaps!
’ Seth echoed scornfully. ‘
Perhaps?
For as long as I’ve known you you’ve pretended to be an unacknowledged bastard, but you’re . . .’ He lost his flow as he remembered the old question-mark about Ramon Sensini: how had a Silacian low-blood ever been able to afford Arcanum training. ‘Who
are
you, Sensini? Who’s your father?’ Though he thought he knew now.

Ramon looked him in the eye. ‘My mother was a twelve-year-old virgin who had to work in a tavern so her family could make ends meet. She was raped by a Rondian mage, a promising Treasury official. Pater-Retiari realised that the official couldn’t afford the scandal and blackmailed him; he tightened the screws considerably when it became apparent that my mother was pregnant. Pater-Retiari demanded not just money, but guarantees of my acknowledgement, safety and continued education. He wanted an Arcanum-trained mage in his service, and my father wanted anonymity. So a deal was reached: I didn’t get his name, but I was secretly acknowledged. By the time I attained the gnosis thirteen years later, the scandal no longer really mattered, but the name got me into Turm Zauberin. It was Pater-Retiari’s money that funded my education.’

‘So you’re the tool of familioso scum, using the gnosis to help him steal?’

‘I’m no one’s tool,’ Ramon replied fiercely. ‘In addition to taking me under his wing, Pater-Retiari took my mother as his concubine, because she gained the gnosis while pregnant. No one ever taught her how to use it – not that it would have mattered, because he had her Chained. At least my father only raped her once. But Pater-Retiari, he’s on my list too.’

His list
. Something in the way he said the words called to mind tales of Silacian vendettas.
Holy Hel, he means it – and he’s smart enough to do it, too
.
He pretended all through college to be a low-blood, but if I’m right he’s a half-blood!
Seth recalled times when Malevorn Andevarion and Francis Dorobon had beaten Ramon Sensini and Alaron Mercer to a pulp.
He hid his true power the whole time
. He could barely comprehend the self-discipline that must have taken. Suddenly Ramon Sensini was a very frightening proposition indeed. ‘And your father?’

‘His name is Calan Dubrayle.’

The Imperial Treasurer
 . . . Guessing right didn’t make Seth feel any better.
Holy Kore in the heavens . . .
He filled in the gaps himself. ‘So when you gulled those crime-lords in Hebusalim, they thought that you were a cast-iron investment! The son of the Treasurer – under Rondian law the father guarantees the debts of his sons! You reeled them in using Dubrayle’s name? You’re incredible!’

Ramon sketched a mocking bow. ‘I do try.’

‘It’s not a bloody compliment.’ Seth scratched his scalp. ‘Why? Was it just greed? Did you think you knew what you were doing and just lose control? If we could tell the Arch-Legate that you didn’t realise, then maybe—’

‘Rukk off, Lesser Son,’ Ramon drawled. ‘It’s sweet that you want to protect me, but I knew exactly what I was doing. Pater-Retiari’s money-man dreamed up the scheme with me about three years ago while I was visiting during a break from the Arcanum. His plan was to ruin the opium traders and bring them under our control. I’m aiming a little higher: I want to bankrupt the Imperial Treasury and destroy my father’s career. If that hurts the empire too, well and good.’

Holy Kore, what do I do?
He looked at the wagons. ‘It’s all down there, isn’t it?’

Ramon grinned sideways. ‘What we’ve got left after Ardijah, anyway. Getting out of there was expensive. There’s about two hundred thousand gilden left.’

With a current market value in the millions . . .
‘The Arch-Legate said he’d let us cross the river if I handed you over. Do you realise how tempted I am right now?’

‘That bridge is already burned, Seth. We know about the khurnes and we know about Shaliyah: they’ll lock us up and let our men be decimated for desertion.’

Damn, he’s probably right.
‘If you’re planning to run away, I’ll send Jelaska to hunt you down.’

Ramon winced. ‘So little trust! No, Lesser Son: somewhere along the way, this Crusade became personal. I’m going to get Sevvie and our daughter home, and I’ll smash Siburnius and whoever else gets in our way. I’m going to ruin my father and my familioso head, free my mother and leave every man in this column rich. So you’re stuck with me until then.’ He pulled an ironic face. ‘It’s good to have ambitions, si?’

*

The basic equipment of every legionary included a shovel. And while they spent plenty of time with the sword and spear, and learned to love and hate their heavy shields, it was the shovel that defined their lives. Every evening they dug: sanitary trenches, defensive ditches and palisades. Every camp had to be ready to be defended.

Right now, the entire line was digging in, and even Ramon’s maniple were doing their bit. As most of his men were clerks and engineers, he had no choice but to anchor the northern end of the line in person, with his guard cohort. As the night fell on their third day there, he supervised their excavations with Pilus Lukaz.

‘The lads want to know if you’ve any tricks to help ’em out, Magister?’ Lukaz enquired, slyly wiggling his fingers in a magical way. The Vereloni pilus wasn’t prone to humour but he had a dry touch that Ramon liked. ‘They’re thinking you don’t like hard work.’

‘I like hard work as well as the next man,’ Ramon chuckled. ‘That is to say, not at all. I can watch it for hours, though. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to deprive them of the exercise.’ He and Lukaz were atop a low ridge that ran right to the bank. The river lay about thirty feet below the top of the bank at the highest point, at high tide at least: it dropped another ten at low tide. Even so far from the seas, the pull of the moon could still lift river-levels appreciably.

‘How long have we got before the Keshi arrive?’ Lukaz asked.

‘A good question.’ Ramon replied. ‘Apparently they’re still messing about in a camp ten miles west of here.’

‘I thought they’d come at us like an avalanche,’ Lukaz remarked. ‘They gave us until the end of Septinon and that was almost a week ago.’

‘Perhaps they’ve got other problems.’

‘We can but hope.’ Lukaz stood and shouted down at the men, ‘Manius, I want that damned hole another yard deeper! Yes,
a yard
! That’s three feet! Or two of yours!’

Manius pulled a face. ‘It’s solid stone, Lukaz.’ He flexed his shoulders ruefully. The front-rank men, including Ferdi and Dolman, the biggest in the cohort, had been doing the most work, though Ramon had seen no shirking.

‘Then grab a pick! Dig, lads! The Noories could be here tomorrow.’ Pilus Lukaz knew how to get his squad working, needling them with comments about how little they did until they set to proving him wrong, then encouraging them as if it was the first time they’d ever stepped up. It was an old routine by now, but it always worked.

‘I reckon they found some drink and got lammy,’ scrawny little Bowe suggested. His perpetual shadow, the tall, rangy and almost preternaturally stupid Trefeld, guffawed. The squad erupted with counter-proposals, and droll imitations of drunk Keshi.

‘P’raps the Gen’ral made a deal wi’ that Sultan fella?’ the flaxen-haired swordsman Harmon put in perceptively. ‘They got close, I heard.’

‘Swappin’ poetry an’ all,’ Vidran added wryly. ‘Gen’ral was jus’ leading him on, I reckon, knowing what them Noories is like.’

The cohort chuckled uneasily at that, glancing sideways at Ramon. He pretended he hadn’t heard, because there really wasn’t anything to say. He turned to Lukaz again as he rose. ‘Make sure they get a swim afterwards, Pilus. They’ve earned it.’

This earned him a low cheer, and he acknowledged it with a small wave. These men would be closest to him when the fighting began. Their wellbeing and good spirits mattered. And he liked them, as a group. He wandered south along the river, which in contrast to the earthworks, looked like some kind of Noorie bathing festival. The off-duty rankers were swimming in the shallows, in little enclosures made by the Earth-magi to shield them from the fast-flowing current. The Tigrates had a vast catchment area; it was the liquid spine of Kesh.

Watching the thousands of men frolicking naked in the water like children reminded Ramon of summer by the lake in Norostein, only there the water had been frigid. Here it was bath-warm. There was a strange innocence to the scene, as if these were not trained fighting men come to pillage and destroy, but pilgrims joyously washing away their sins as the Lakh were said to do. And it reminded him of how sweaty and dirty he was himself after an afternoon amidst the digging.

I might have a dip myself later, when it’s quieter.

‘Magister Sensini,’ a woman called.

He peered behind him and saw Lanna Jureigh sitting on a mound of earth. ‘Not swimming, Lanna?’ he asked as he joined her.

‘Gracious Kore, no! There are catfish the size of horses in that muck. I’m amazed we’ve not lost anyone.’ The healer looked like someone who would have been thought of as matronly from about six years old, but she was smiling gently as she spoke, with a hint of longing. ‘Look at all these big strong men, playing like children. Even the greybeards are swimming. Don’t men ever grow up?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ramon chuckled. ‘Ask me in fifty years.’ He ran his eye over the acres of bare-skinned men and figured it was no wonder every woman in camp seemed to be here. There was even a cluster of Khotri women in the water, the new wives and camp followers who’d left Ardijah with the legions, gathered in a knot and covering themselves with their hands while peering shyly at the men who circled them like crocodiles. ‘Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.’

Lanna harrumphed. ‘It’s all right for these Khotri girls; they’re all so young and beautiful. I rather suffer by comparison, I’m afraid.’

‘No one would mind if you stripped off, Lanna. I’m sure the rankers would look away out of politeness.’

The healer-mage sniggered girlishly. She fought the illnesses and wounds of the army day in and day out, alongside the Brician, Carmina. Somehow, despite being surrounded by men, she’d not just remained single, but managed to maintain an air of mystery. Ramon reckoned she was thirty years old or more; she could have passed as younger, but her eyes were tired, haunted by the blood and suffering they’d seen.

‘I’ll restrict myself to a rinse in my tub later on,’ she said, ‘or maybe a midnight swim on my own.’ Her eyes went back to the Khotri women, basted golden by the sunset. ‘Dark skin loves the sun, doesn’t it? They never seem to burn, but we do.’

‘Speak for yourself.’ Ramon, swarthy as any Silacian, grinned.

‘I do worry for those young girls, heading into the unknown.’

‘I’m sure their new husbands will look after them.’

Lanna gave him a pitying look. ‘Oh please! Most of these relationships won’t last out the year. What feels like burning passion and eternal love in the midst of a war is an entirely different thing when you’re home in the cold, trying to till frozen soil while your sun-dark woman struggles not to freeze to death. The brothels of Yuros do quite a trade in cast-off Noorie women in the years after a Crusade. It’s terribly sad.’