Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) (37 page)

CHAPTER 68

S
yl didn’t realize that she was crying until her vision began to blur. The sound of the First Five begging to be killed echoed in her head even as the voices themselves began to fade, the horrors of the chamber left farther and farther behind as she ran. As she fled she was listening: her greatest fear was that the creature, the Other, might somehow find its way out and pursue her. The decontamination chamber was too narrow to admit it, but suppose it broke the glass and escaped through the window? It didn’t look like it could move very fast, which was something, but the thought of being trapped in the tunnel with it was horrifying.

She reached the rock wall and found the button embedded in the stones. She pressed it, but nothing happened.

“Please, please!” she cried aloud, banging at the button, wanting to be gone from this place. She was sorry that she had ever started to explore it, sorry for her curiosity, sorry for everything.

She wanted to
unknow
, but her mind felt wide open now, exposed, like a coconut split by a machete. Everything came spilling in as if she were a satellite dish. As she stood there, she was picking up the thoughts and signals of all that was alive in this vile Realm. She could feel the furious probing of the Other, and the whispering tendrils of despair from the Sisters tickling like flyaway webs in the corners of her mind. She was intensely sensitized, aware even of the garniads living in the rocks. She sensed them deep in the crevices and felt their consciousness, something entirely alien to her, a dark mess of base appetites and nothing more. In their way, they were like the Others, but without the intelligence. She could almost taste the bugs, so deep inside them was she.

And they were clearly aware of her; she could feel them coming as if drawn by some primal instinct.

But there was another coming too. She felt it, and swooned with fear.

Reeling, she thumped the button again with her right fist, but something crawled over her hand. She froze. It was a garniad. It had to be. Its hard legs danced over her skin, and then it was probing at her thumb. She didn’t want to be stung, not even once, for each sting would emit a chemical signal drawing more of its kind to the source of prey. In that way, even large animals could be overwhelmed by enough of the bugs.

There was a crash in the room behind her.

“Please. Not that,” she whispered.

Keeping her right hand completely still, the garniad balanced delicately upon it, Syl lifted her left and held her finger down on the button this time.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .

On five, the mechanism rumbled, and the doorway opened. As slowly as she dared, she slipped through the gap, twisting as she went so that her hand was the only part of her that remained in the hallway. Fingers outstretched, she waited, watching the garniad, barely breathing as the entrance began to creak closed. At the last possible moment, a fraction of a second before the door would crush her wrist, she yanked her hand back through the gap, knocking the creature off against the wall and hoping the door would do the rest as it clanged shut. The garniad toppled to the ground, where it lay like a dung beetle on its back, waving its legs indignantly. Syl looked at it and found herself giggling with hysterical relief as she watched it right itself: relief that she hadn’t been stung, but mostly at putting the rock wall between her and all that lay behind it.

She turned to go, and the laughter died. Oriel was standing in the tunnel, her hands clasped before her.

“I never trusted you, Syl Hellais,” she said. “There was always something dishonest about you. Now you’ve been poking your nose in places that don’t concern you, but it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

With her consciousness laid bare, Syl felt the loathing behind the words too, like needles in her head, yet her initial shock at seeing Oriel was already giving way to rage.

“You
knew
?” said Syl. “You knew about that—that
monster
back there, about the First Five and how they’re suffering, and you did nothing? You’re a Nairene. They’re your Sisters! How could you let them go through that? How could you stand by and let that monster torture them? They want to
die
.”

“But you didn’t kill them either,” said Oriel. “They cried out to you, and you didn’t lift a finger to help them. You just ran away. You’re like a child that finds an animal with a broken back, but won’t put it out of its misery. Instead you whine and moan and beg someone else to do the dirty work for you.

“Except, in this case, the dirty work is keeping them alive. You think that it doesn’t trouble me, knowing what they’re going through? You think I don’t wish that I could put an end to it? But they have sacrificed themselves so the rest of us can flourish.”

“No,” said Syl. “The First Five thought they could outwit those creatures, but they didn’t realize how terrible they are, how
hungry
they are. And they’re never going to stop: entire worlds won’t be enough for them. They live to feed and to breed. The First Five showed me. I saw it all.”

Syl stopped. She stared at Oriel. Now, for the first time, she truly understood.

“But none of this is news to you, is it?” said Syl, quieter now. “It’s not the First Five who have sacrificed themselves to those monsters.
You’ve
sacrificed them; you, and Syrene, and the other senior Sisters. You’re not the ones trapped back there with that creature. You’re not the ones constantly dying, yet forced to stay alive. Everything you’ve just said to me is a lie. You don’t feel any pity for them at all.”

If the truth of Syl’s words troubled Oriel, she gave no sign of it.

“You’re young and ignorant,” said Oriel. “But that won’t save you.”

“Just like it didn’t save Elda or Kosia?”

“You have been a little snoop, haven’t you?”

“But I’m right: you killed them, or had them killed.”

“Either. Both. It hardly matters now. I will give you some credit, though; you hid your powers well. Yes, Syl Hellais, I felt your strength when Ezil reacted to your presence. I felt it through her, for then you were not blocking me. Until then I didn’t think it was possible for one so young to conceal herself from me, but you managed to do it. You have such potential. We thought it was Ani who represented the best hope among the latest first-year Novices, but
you
—you’re truly exceptional. If Syrene knew what you could do, then she might well want to spare you.”

Oriel advanced a step.

“But we can’t have that,” she concluded. “You’re dangerous. As far as I’m concerned, the benefits of keeping you alive are far outweighed by the drawbacks. And now I know to be true what I had begun to suspect: you are responsible for the murder of those promising young Novices. For whatever reason, you conspired to maroon them out on the veranda, and leave them as prey for the ostraca. For what you did to them, there must be recompense. For that alone, you must die.”

Oriel reached out with her right hand as though grasping an apple in her palm, and tightened her grip, turning her fingers to claws. Syl experienced a sensation of pressure on her heart, and then stabs of pain as Oriel tested the walls of it with her fingernails.

“So much life,” said Oriel. “And soon it will be gone.”

Syl closed her mind to the old Sister. She searched the darkness. She felt for the garniads again, reaching into their awareness. The pressure on her heart increased. She heard a gasp of pain—but it came not from herself, but from Oriel.

When she looked again, the first of the garniads had found Oriel, and stung her on the ankle. Its legs gripped its prey as the venomous barb from its underbelly entered the flesh. The second and third of the creatures were already crawling up Oriel’s left leg, stinging as they went, and more were pouring from the cracks in the tunnel and from the rock wall behind Syl, carving a path around her and then coming together again as they flowed toward the old Sister. Oriel tried to slap
them away from her skin, but their grip was fast, and their response to any attack was simply to sting again.

“I killed only because I had no choice,” said Syl, “but
you
are a torturer, and a murderer. So feel it. Feel some of the First Five’s pain.”

But Oriel did not hear her, for she was lost in her own agonies. Within seconds her entire body was covered head to foot in bugs, and the tunnel filled with her screams until the first of the garniads found her mouth. Briefly, Syl felt Oriel’s pain as her panic clawed its way into her own psyche, but it was over almost as soon as it began.

When Syl stepped over the Grandmage, she was already dead.

•  •  •

Nobody else challenged Syl as she made her way to her quarters, and as she walked she felt things she hadn’t felt before, hearing the thoughts and silent whispers of others in her head. She found that she was able to repel them more easily, too, as if the intrusions were rubber balls, bouncing in, then knocked out again at her will. And she felt strong, stronger than she’d ever been in all her young life.

Back in her bedroom she changed into her yellow ball gown and filled a small backpack with a few essential belongings. She would not be returning to the Marque, whatever happened. She would try to find a way to escape from Erebos. If she could not, then she would go down fighting.

Only when she reached the door of the nearest waiting shuttle did a Nairene pilot emerge and ask her business.

“My name is Syl Hellais,” she said. “My father is marrying the Archmage. I wish to be taken to Erebos for the ceremony.”

The Sister examined the electronic manifest.

“You’re not scheduled to depart until later today,” she said.

“I should like to be there when my father arrives,” said Syl. “I think the Archmage Syrene, my stepmother, might appreciate the gesture too.”

The mention of Syrene was all that it took to overcome any opposition. Syl didn’t even have to use her mind to manipulate her—or she didn’t think she did. Such manipulation was becoming so natural to her that sometimes she didn’t even notice.

CHAPTER 69

P
aul could not help but gasp as the palace at Erebos came into sight.

“My god, just look at it,” he said. “It’s huge.”

They had left Melos Station early that morning in order to be present for the marriage of the Archmage and Lord Andrus. Tiray appeared tense. Peris was silent and watchful.

“It’s beautiful,” said Rizzo, who was seated across from Paul on the
Nomad
. Her response surprised him almost as much as the size of the palace. Rizzo was not usually one for appreciating the aesthetics of anything that didn’t fire a projectile.

Erebos was not a single building but a series of interconnected structures joined by covered walkways and galleries, and encircled by great walls some twenty feet thick, linked to the main buildings by arched bridges that radiated inward. The centerpiece of Erebos was the Grand Hall, constructed entirely from crystal, both tough enough to withstand a direct hit from a small missile yet pure enough to be entirely transparent, with no distortive effect. In total, the palace covered over one hundred million square feet of buildings and gardens, with the Great Hall alone accounting for one-tenth of that space, making it larger than the entire Palace of Versailles in France. The scale of it, the opulence, was breathtaking, even from high above the moon’s surface.

The
Nomad
was not permitted to land at Erebos. To ensure that no breaches of the weapons code occurred, all ships were required to dock at one of a series of eight floating platforms, each capable of accommodating twenty vessels. From these a steady stream of small shuttles ferried guests down to the surface. Each VIP was entitled to bring two guests with them; they could be family members who had
not received personal invitations, or guards. Most, Tiray assured Paul, would be bringing guards. Despite the thaw in relations between the Military and the Corps, old enmities still ran deep.

Paul would be heading down to Erebos as one-half of Tiray’s security team, but Thula would not be able to form the other.

“It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately it is,” Tiray conceded. “No non-Illyri has ever set foot on Erebos. The authorities would never permit it. With his visor down to cover his eyes, Paul is just about tall enough to pass for a pale-skinned Illyri. The same cannot be said of you.”

“It’s racism.”

“On so many levels,” said Tiray.

“You’ll need more than one guard,” said Peris. “I’ll take Thula’s place.”

“Agreed.”

Paul deeply regretted the absence of Thula. But on the other hand, he didn’t need to attract any attention to himself on Erebos, not if he was to find Syl and somehow manage to get her off the moon without being apprehended, and Thula certainly caught the eye. There was also the small matter of Syrene and Lord Andrus: Paul had stood before both of them down on Earth, and each had good cause to remember his face. The less anyone suspected, the better. On the other hand, if he had to fight his way off Erebos, even unarmed, he wasn’t sure that he could rely on Peris to help him, especially if Paul had to hurt, or even kill, Illyri to escape.

He was sure he had been in worse situations. He just couldn’t recall what they might have been.

But he reminded himself that it was not very long ago when any hope of rescuing Syl had seemed faint and distant, and now he was about to be in the same building as her; a huge one, admittedly, but if she was there, he would find her.

Peris traced the direction of his thoughts.

“What are you going to say to her when you see her?” he asked.

Run
, thought Paul, but he contented himself with telling Peris that he was sure he would come up with something appropriate when the time came.

The
Nomad
docked without incident. Tiray, as a figure of some importance, was bustled toward the nearest available shuttle, Peris and Paul behind him, Paul’s visored face not attracting a first glance, never mind a second one. The shuttle had fifty seats, most of which were already occupied when they arrived. Tiray greeted many of the other guests by name, shaking hands and patting backs like the career politician that he was.

Paul’s attention, though, drifted to the cockpit, where the pilot and copilot were making the final checks. They were both female, and wore uniforms both strangely familiar yet unlike any he had seen before—red and ornate, with short decorative cloaks held in place by a bright clasp bearing an engraved eye.

“They’re Nairene Sisters,” Paul whispered to Peris.

“The Sisterhood is in charge of all arrangements for the ceremony,” Peris replied. “Transport, food, lodging, security—everything is in their hands. Syrene apparently insisted, and Lord Andrus did not dissent.”

Paul wasn’t yet sure if this was a good or bad thing. He was inclined toward bad. Most things involving the Sisterhood seemed to be, in his limited experience.

The shuttle door closed. A recorded announcement advised everyone to take their seats and secure their belts. A small vibration rocked the ship as the docking gantry disengaged, and then they were descending rapidly to Erebos.

•  •  •

The glass roof of the reception hall was supported by massive trees in full bloom, their crowns stretching across the dome high above. The trees were genetically modified, spliced with the DNA of the bioluminescent organisms found on the Marque, so that the hall was filled with a faint green glow.

The Sisterhood was out in force. Red-garbed Nairenes stood at every doorway, mingled among the crowds gathering in the anterooms for food and refreshment, and walked in the grounds or on the battlements, always in pairs and always with a slight smile on their
faces, as though they had recently experimented with a mild but pleasing drug. Flitting among them like smaller birds of a different plumage were Novices in various stages of their training: pale yellows, sea greens, and the occasional flash of rich blue, like a kingfisher darting through reeds. They served food on polished trays, offered glasses of the finest cremos, and guided to their quarters those guests who were sufficiently grand to be offered their own private areas in which to wash, dress, or rest before the ceremony.

“What color robes will Syl be wearing?” Paul asked Peris.

“Yellow, I imagine. That’s what the Novices wear.”

Paul carefully examined the face of every passing Novice in yellow, but could find no trace of Syl. Then it occurred to him that Syl was unlikely to be reduced to the status of a serving girl if it was her own father who was getting married. She was Lord Andrus’s only daughter, not Cinderella. She would be elsewhere. She might even be in wedding finery. At the thought, his confidence briefly wavered, for perhaps she would even be helping Syrene to dress, a devoted stepdaughter-in-waiting. Perhaps things had changed, for so much had happened since last they were together. He looked at the refined, composed Novices, so unlike the awkward Syl he remembered best striding across the Highlands in a tatty farmhand’s shirt, with dirty hands and the wind whipping at her copper hair, the girl who became tongue-tied when he’d touched her. Might she have changed?

Peris nudged him, and Paul jumped.

“Your best chance of seeing her is at the ceremony, and the celebration to follow,” said Peris. “For now, try to keep your mind on Tiray. I can already tell that some here are no friends of his. Look to your right.”

Casually, Paul risked a glance. He saw a knot of five older Illyri wearing white robes, their fingers heavy with bejeweled rings: senior consuls. Beside them stood two more Illyri—one male, one female—wearing the black of the Securitats. All of them were watching Tiray carefully, and none of them looked very pleased to see him. Tiray seemed not to notice them, and his own expression of good cheer never faltered, but Paul saw his eyes flick once in their direction, then pass on.

Through Peris, Tiray had made arrangements to meet with three Illyri at Erebos: the first was a senior Military commander named Joris; the second was the leader of the Civilians in the government, a younger politician called Hanan; and the final, and most surprising, was Kellar, a junior consul in the Diplomatic Corps related by marriage to the late Consul Gradus. These three were among the most influential of the Illyri who shared Tiray’s concerns about the future of their race, and were most disturbed by the growing power of the Corps and its Nairene allies. Others present on Erebos for the wedding undoubtedly felt the same way, but they would follow Tiray’s lead.

The meeting with Kellar would be the hardest to manage, and the most risky, especially if Tiray was already being watched by the Securitats. But the palace was even older than Edinburgh Castle, and had been a hotbed of plots and intrigue for many centuries. It had more secret passages and hiding holes than it was possible to count—and the Illyri, with their fondness for secrecy, kept adding to that number at every opportunity. It was a wonder that the whole complex didn’t collapse into a big crater in the ground caused by all of the digging that was going on beneath it.

Hanan, the Civilian, was the first on the schedule. The meeting would be held in his quarters, since he was senior in position to Tiray. Then they had to get to Joris too, before the wedding ceremony began.

Paul and Peris kept an eye out for any sign that they were being followed as they made their way to Hanan’s rooms, but they detected no trace of Securitats. On the other hand, Sisters prowled everywhere, watching all, hearing all, but Tiray had no concerns about being seen with Hanan, for they were both Civilians, and it was only natural that Tiray would take this opportunity to pay his respects to his superior.

The corridor in which Hanan’s rooms lay was quiet when they reached it. Hanan’s name was displayed on a screen by one of the doors. Paul pressed the buzzer beneath it, but the door did not open and the screen display did not change to show the face of Hanan or one of his assistants.

“He was expecting you, Councillor Tiray?” said Peris.

“Of course he was. You brought his reply to me yourself.”

“I didn’t read it, though. You could not have misunderstood it?”

“No, it was clear. Try him again.”

Paul hit the buzzer a second time. Still nothing happened. He looked to Peris for a decision. On the off chance that it might work, Peris swept his hand across the door’s sensor. The door opened silently, sliding into the wall. The room beyond was brightly lit and furnished with Illyri antiques, all of which looked more old than comfortable.

“Speaker Hanan?” Tiray called. “May we come in?”

No reply came. Paul sniffed the air. He could smell cooked meat.

“Stay with the councillor,” Peris instructed Paul.

Peris entered the room, his right hand instinctively reaching for a weapon, and freezing by his side as he remembered that he was unarmed. Paul and Tiray watched him slip into a side room. Neither of them spoke. The corridor remained empty. Paul wondered where the surveillance cameras were. None were visible, but he thought it unlikely that a place like Erebos would not have such a system.

Peris appeared again, moving with care, being careful not to touch anything.

“You’d better get in here,” he said. “And close and lock that door behind you.”

Tiray entered first, Paul behind him. He made sure that the door could not be opened from outside, then joined Peris and Tiray. They were standing at the entrance to a huge bedroom, dominated by the biggest bed Paul had ever seen, suspended from the ceiling by thick chains. Beyond it was an open doorway leading into a tiled bathroom. The smell of charred meat was stronger here—unpleasantly so.

“In there,” said Peris. “But I warn you, Councillor, it’s bad.”

Tiray ignored him. He probably shouldn’t have. Paul saw him freeze at the entrance to the bathroom. He stayed there, unmoving, for four or five seconds, then turned away and vomited on the bed. Paul passed him and looked for himself.

This room was almost as large as the bedroom, with two massive sunken baths in the floor. No water filled either of them, but they were not empty: three burned and blackened bodies lay in them, two in the first and one in the second. The white enamel inner surfaces had black
ened and melted with the heat of the flames, and the room smelled of strong, roasted flesh, but Paul could see no sign of the fire that had done this, and the alarms and sprinklers had not been set off by it.

Paul turned away. Peris found a napkin in the main sitting room and handed it to Tiray so that he could wipe his nose and mouth.

“What do you think?” Peris asked Paul, while Tiray recovered himself.

“It looks like they were forced into the empty baths, then something was poured on them—an accelerant or fuel—and then set alight. But any flames should have set off the alarms, unless they were deactivated.”

“They weren’t. I’ve checked. And those bodies aren’t just burned—they’re incinerated almost to ash. That takes an incredible amount of heat.”

“We have to inform the Sisters,” said Tiray. His skin had a gray tinge beneath the gold.

“But this may be linked to you, Councillor,” said Peris. “You were to meet with Hanan, and now he and his staff are dead. We have to warn Joris and Kellar before we do anything else.”

“But the Sisters—they must be told!” said Tiray. “Security here is their responsibility.”

“Councillor Tiray,” said Peris gently. “Think about what you’ve just said. If the Sisterhood is running this show, nothing happens here without their knowledge.
Nothing
.”

Tiray seemed at a loss for words. If Peris was right, they had all walked straight into a trap.

“We must leave,” he said. “We have to get off Erebos.”

“And we will,” said Peris. “Just as soon as we’ve located Joris and Kellar. Kellar is nothing to me, but I know Joris. She is a good soldier. I will not abandon her.”

Tiray nodded. He was already ashamed at his moment of panic.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. Of course you are. Let’s find them, and any others who may be on our side. The wedding be damned. They can’t stop us all from leaving.”