Dark Empress (10 page)

As the guard led them across the courtyard toward the governor’s building, Asima glanced around her and noted with interest the small party of four people just arriving at the gate, well dressed and carrying bags, escorted by another white-clad guardsman.

As they reached the entrance to the house and the guardsmen stepped aside, the next group caught up with them. A nod of recognition passed between her father and the portly gentleman in the other party.

“What do you suppose this is all about?” her father enquired quietly.

“Not sure, but I’m damn glad I’m here and not one of the poor folk being beaten to death that we passed on the way!”

Asima’s heart skipped a beat. Ghassan and Samir and their mother were out there somewhere.

“Why are they doing this?” the man asked.

“I’ve no idea,” her father replied, shaking his head, “but I suspect we’re about to find out.”

The guards escorted them up the ornate steps and into the house. The first storey consisted mainly of a large hall, with several doors leading off. A floor of decorative multi-hued marble lay beneath them, while wide, beautifully curved staircases rose to both sides, meeting at the far end to create a wide balcony that overlooked the hall. Guards stood on the platform, while the hall itself below thronged with people, all well dressed and from the lower nobility or wealthy mercantile class. In this one room stood most of the wealth of M’Dahz.

Asima and her father, along with the new arrivals, tried to find enough space to stand comfortably. Minutes passed, accompanied by a low murmur of troubled conversation, and heads turned occasionally as further groups of blessed citizens arrived and were ushered into the room.

Finally there was a brief conversation in some strange guttural language between the guards outside and one of them stepped forward and closed the door.

Asima cursed her imagination. Was it her own thoughts or the influence of Samir and Ghassan’s quick minds that made the situation suddenly worrying and uncomfortable? It occurred to her momentarily that everyone in M’Dahz who was of worth to a conqueror was gathered in one room. The old adage of eggs and baskets leapt to mind and she found herself looking carefully around the stairs and at the guards, searching for something that might signal a doom for those present.

Her imaginings of a gruesome end flittered away as the door above the stairs opened and the governor, with two of his aides, stepped up to the balcony rail and waited for silence to fall across the hall. Once the assembled crowd had noticed the new arrival and every face was tilted up toward governor Talus, the man cleared his throat.

“I expect everyone here would like an explanation.”

There was another unhappy murmur that came and went quickly.

“Satrap Ma’ahd has set his men loose in the city. I have lodged the strongest complaint with his second, but the satrap is unwilling to grant me an audience.”

Asima noticed for the first time the tired and defeated expression on the governor’s face.

“It seems,” the man continued, ”that the satrap had promised his men a sacking of M’Dahz, and he intends to keep his word despite my attempts to end this without incident.”

He took a deep breath and Asima noted the way, though his face maintained a strained composure, he repeatedly slapped his palm on the balustrade in irritation.

“I am quite simply unable to protect the people against this wanton destruction, but I have done what I can: I have taken in those we deem the most valuable of our citizens to protect you from the worst of these troubles.” He glanced sidelong at the guard commander next to him. ”I can only hope that my doing this without seeking the satrap’s approval is not enough to anger him, as that may well place us all back in direct danger.”

He straightened.

“I have had rooms prepared for you all in this building. There is little space and things will be cramped. You are, sadly, required to share living space. I can only apologise for the conditions, but I had to try and save as many people as I could. Once I leave here, my staff will help you all settle in and see to the provision of food and bedding. I, regrettably, must visit our new overlord and attempt to smooth things over and secure your safety. If all goes well, the satrap is mollified, and the army run out of places to loot and rape, then it is my fervent hope that you will all be able to return to your houses in a matter of days. Thank you for your patience and I hope that we will ride this through safely.”

With a bow and a sombre look, the governor turned and left the balcony. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then suddenly the noise burst like a dam and angry and despairing voices flooded the room. Asima looked up at her father, who had remained silent and gaunt.

She had her own worries.

Samir and Ghassan burst through the door to find their mother sitting cross-legged by the wall, rocking slowly back and forth.

“Ma?”

The woman raised her face sharply and the boys saw with heartbreaking sadness the tears running down her cheeks.

Samir sighed. What more could the Gods have thrown at their poor mother? Her husband had died long before his time and left her all but penniless to bring up two headstrong boys. There had been a brief interval when Faraj had returned and things had once more become easier and hopeful. And then the Empire had left and Faraj had gone off to fight and die.

And then her boys began to follow in his footsteps. They had prepared themselves for death this morning; it had seemed inevitable. She had ordered and then cajoled and finally begged Samir and Ghassan not to go with the militia, but they had been defiant and proud. Strong. Like their father and their uncle. And then they would be dead like their father and their uncle. Likely their mother had spent the morning preparing to be utterly alone.

But miraculously, they had survived. Nadia wiped the tears from her face and blinked.

“Samir? Ghassan?”

As the boys ran across the room and threw themselves at her, their mother opened her arms and turned to them.

“Then there is no invasion? But I can hear fighting…”

Samir hugged his mother with rib-breaking force. Ghassan sat back a little. His face was not the mask of joy she had expected.

“Not entirely, mother. The governor has surrendered M’Dahz to Pelasia, but their army is laying waste to the town anyway. It is the Pelasian way when victorious to sack the conquered town. They will harm us and destroy our property throughout today and tonight. Tomorrow they will stop.”

Samir nodded.

“It is horrible, but it is true, so we must leave here. We are a way down the slope of the town from where the army entered, but they will reach here long before nightfall and when they do…”

His voice tailed off, but all of them knew what would happen when hungry Pelasian soldiers spotted the still-handsome Nadia. According to some stories that were told about the Pelasian men, it was possible even that Samir and Ghassan would also be in danger.

“We’ve been thinking as we came back” Ghassan said, grasping his mother’s wrist. “Nowhere in M’Dahz will be safe until at least dawn, so we must leave the town.”

Nadia shook her head. “You think fast, my boys, but their army surrounds the town. There is nowhere to go.”

Samir grinned.

“Yes there is, mother. There is only one place that is safe tonight.”

He shared a glance with Ghassan and they both nodded.

“The satrap led his entire force across the desert. This means he has no navy. We take two or three of the small fishing boats, some heavy blankets and food to last a day or more and we row out from the port and along the coast until we find somewhere safe to moor.”

Ghassan smiled at the relief on his mother’s face.

“We can return once the town has settled.

Nadia had to smile at her sons. They were often a source or worry or grief but then, when troubles seemed insurmountable, they were also a source of wonder and pride.

In which Asima denies the Gods

Asima crouched by the window, hugging her knees and gazing out between the filigree shutters. The past eight months had plodded by in a blur of misery; not only for her, but for every captive soul in this benighted place.

Governor Talus had visited the satrap in the wake of that disastrous first day and made his case for the safety of the people in his care. His presumption had cost him his left eye, burned out with a heated blade on the floor of the council chamber of M’Dahz, and yet the sacrifice of that eye had bought the safety of those in his house. The satrap had granted sanctuary to anyone in the governor’s mansion but had made it perfectly clear that this rule applied solely to the building itself.

The looting, burning and abuse had slowed through that first night and had stopped the next morning, leaving M’Dahz damaged, burned, and in a state of shock. One or two of the more daring refugees in the house had taken this as a sign of safety and had collected their belongings, despite the warnings of the guards, and left the complex, returning to the town. Severed heads both old and young decorated the main gate for weeks thereafter as a reminder that sanctuary stopped at the governor’s doorstep.

As the weeks rolled past and the captives mooched around their packed quarters, despair became the theme. Every morning was greeted with sobbing from somewhere in the building and every night ended with a tense and oppressive silence broken only by the Pelasian temple bells.

The first two months saw a thinning of the crowds in the house. A few brave adults had left at night, climbing down the outer wall and running through the maze of alleys in an effort to flee the cursed town and reach Calphoris. Perhaps they made it; certainly their heads never returned to the spears above the gate. Others, enterprising as they were, had brought great wealth with them to the palace and had visited the Pelasian overlord and bought their freedom with breathtaking sums.

Sadly, others had succumbed altogether to despair and had taken their own lives quietly in the night. The months had not been kind.

Asima sighed. She had no idea what was happening out there. Were her friends still alive, she wondered? What of her house? This whole situation set her teeth grinding. Her mother was Pelasian and had been a beautiful and kind woman. Merchants from across the border had traded at M’Dahz for centuries. The Pelasians she had known had always been a kind and exotic people, so why had the Gods seen fit to send the most heartless and twisted son of a whore in the whole world to crush the people of M’Dahz? Three satraps held lands at this border, so why him and not one of the others?

She knew why not, of course: because Gods did not exist and misery and cruelty were the baseline of the world. She had toyed with the idea that Gods were a fiction when her mother was taken from her years ago, and nothing she had seen since had given her cause to change her conclusion. As she sat staring across the roofs, something fell into place in Asima’s mind. She had always been fast and smart; perhaps not quite as fast or smart as Samir, but she would always come out on top, because Samir was soft. Asima was, and she recognised this in herself, quite capable of hardening her heart and combining an iron will with her other talents to achieve her goals.

And that was why she would survive all of this. Maybe the boys would, or maybe not. She could no longer afford to gaze longingly out of the window and hope for them. Whether they were alive and well or not, they were lost to Asima now and, unless she wanted to sit here and wither away in the shadows, she was going to have to do something to save her father and herself.

She turned to look at him, sitting dejected in the shade by the wall. She had not seen a hint of a smile in eight long months and the light had all but gone out in his eyes. A quick glance around told her that they were practically alone, the only other occupants of their living space currently standing out on the roof and breathing clear air.

“Father?”

“Mmm?” The man looked so much older now and had lost a great deal of weight.

“Father, I want you to listen to me.”

He turned to frown at her. A year ago he would have disciplined Asima for speaking to an adult in such a fashion. Now, even the thought seemed absurd. He merely frowned and shrugged.

“Father, I am going to do something and I want you to be prepared, as I am not sure how this will work out. You won’t like it, but we have no choice.”

A raised eyebrow only; she squared her shoulders and went on.

“There is no magical solution coming, father. No Gods or heroes are going to strike down the satrap and save us; he is not going to have a sudden change of heart. If we do not do something we will slowly wither away in this building until we crumble and die.”

For a moment it looked as though he might argue, but slowly, unhappily, and silently, he nodded.

“So, father, I intend to seek an audience with the satrap. I am the daughter of a Pelasian. I have Pelasian blood in my veins and I need to make him see that.”

“Asima…”

“No, father. I know what you are about to say, but this is the way. There is no luck and no fate, father. We make our own futures and I, for one, do not intend for mine to be as a prisoner.”

“Asima, you cannot…”