Mage's Blood (73 page)
‘I agree on that point, if no other,’ growled Josip Yannos.
‘Gentlemen,’ Cera snapped, slapping the table, ‘this is unseemly. I want a solution.’
‘Apparently there is no solution,’ Comte Inveglio rasped. ‘They would march off to death or glory, leaving the Rimoni to face the Dorobon alone.’ He looked at Ilan Tamadhi. ‘Or is there a solution?’
‘Those who speak against the Convocation are inviting death,’ Ilan replied, his expression neutral.
‘Are you threatening our queen-regent?’ Luca Conti snarled, and Elena wished once again that Lorenzo were here.
‘No,’ Acmed put in, ‘no, we are not. The queen-regent is beloved by us all. You Rimoni are not threatened by the shihad, not unless you align against it. But the Gorgio must be your problem.’
The argument went round for hours, a storm-tossed sea of words that crashed against the will of the Convocation and broke apart. Elena feared a breakdown, but Cera kept stepping in. At last she asked Elena to speak about the capabilities of a Rondian legion.
‘The Dorobon are Rondians from the north,’ Elena told the council. ‘They are wealthy beyond your reckoning, with all the arrogance that brings. They are closely aligned to the emperor, and highly favoured – the Dowager, the wife of Louis, who you poisoned, has the ear of the Empress-Mother Lucia Fasterius herself. They will invade by windship before the year is out. That is not a guess.
‘The Dorobon legion is extremely well-equipped. Though five thousand men does not sound like a lot, these will be mostly mounted, many on gnosis-creatures designed for the battlefield. They will bring winged steeds, and at least a dozen battle-magi. They will be of many levels of blood-purity, but many will be stronger than me. A force like that could destroy an army ten times its size.’
While they were still taking this in, Cera asked, ‘What of an army
twenty
times their size?’
Elena blinked. They all did. ‘Well,’ she started, ‘if they held together, if they were not panicked by the awful losses they would incur – even pure-bloods tire; even a construct-beast can be brought down … but there is no such army, not here in Javon.’
Cera stabbed a finger in the air. ‘Yes there is.’
Everyone looked at her blankly.
‘The Harkun,’ she answered their silent enquiry.
Every man in the room except Harshal ali Assam rose to their feet, the expressions on their faces ranging from shock to scorn to outrage, but Cera did not flinch.
Finally they fell silent to allow Comte Inveglio to lead the protests. ‘Queen-Regent, the Harkun and the Jhafi have been at war for centuries. Their atrocities are legendary – even in my time we’ve had to fight them on our southern borders. Those memories still haunt me. They torture captives to death and enslave our women. Even the Keshi will not deal with them – they are
animals
, Queen-Regent!’
Cera turned to Harshal ali-Assam, and Elena watched with interest. Harshal had obviously known Cera’s suggestion was coming; she wondered what had already been negotiated.
And why was I not included in this discussion?
‘Harshal, I believe you have contacts among the Harkun?’ Cera asked. ‘Tell us of them.’
Harshal stroked his shaven skull. ‘I have made contact with the Harkun through a man of mixed blood. His name is Ghujad iz’Kho and he is known in all the major nomad camps. The Harkun enter our southern marches through mountain passes hundreds of miles east of the Krak. They are impassable in winter so they summer here, in the cooler north, then winter in Kesh. They are devoutly Amteh, but do not acknowledge the Convocation, nor do they swear allegiance to Kesh or Gatioch. They are fiercely independent, and very warlike.’
‘Precisely,’ exclaimed Pita Rosco. ‘Warlike and lawless and owing no allegiance to anyone – let them into our lands and they will run amok!’
‘It’s only the height of the Pedrani Rift and the forts atop it that keep them out of Javon proper,’ Inveglio added. ‘Without that natural border we would be overrun.’
‘Yes, yes,’ replied Harshal quickly, ‘we all know this. But the Harkun are not mindless barbarians. They are Amteh, and they adhere to the codes of the Prophet. They also live in the real world. Our commerce with them remains valuable. I have met one of their chieftains, and he can read and write and speak articulately.’
Comte Inveglio grunted, unimpressed. ‘Regardless of that, why should they fight alongside us? Would they restrain themselves from
plundering whilst in our lands? And how would we make them leave afterwards?’
‘By giving them what they want,’ Cera responded levelly.
‘Which is what? Our lands to graze and our children as slaves?’
‘We can promise them all of that, for all that it will matter,’ Cera replied. ‘They will cease to be a problem after we send them in first against the Dorobon.’
Her words hung in the suddenly silent air. Elena stole a stunned glance at the girl, her heart a lump of ice in her breast.
Great Kore, did my little girl just say that?
Even Acmed was lost for words, though he recovered quickly. ‘You would send the men of an entire people to their deaths just to soften up the Dorobon for the kill?’ He blinked thrice, his eyes glazed.
‘These are desperate times, my lords,’ Cera replied, her voice devoid of emotion.
‘They would never agree,’ Pita Rosco said in a shaken voice. ‘If they are as intelligent as Harshal says, they will know that a pitched battle against a Rondian legion is tantamount to suicide.’
Harshal shook his head. ‘They have heard tales of the Rondians, but they do not credit them. They think they are stories made up by the Keshi to explain their defeats.’
‘Then all the more will they panic when they confront the reality,’ Elena put in. ‘When winged gnosis-beasts soar upon them and the battle-magi bring fire and lightning they’ll run like devils.’
‘Not so: the Harkun are raised to the blade from childhood. They are utterly fearless in battle,’ Cera replied, stubbornly backing Harshal.
‘But they’ve not faced magi!’ Elena retorted. ‘Remember your own men, when the Dorobon came last time? Believe me, in the Noros Revolt we took on the Rondians head-to-head, with our own magi. The battlefields were wastelands, for years after! This will be beyond the ken of the nomads; they’ll think themselves facing all of Heaven and Hel, and they will flee and not even be shamed in doing so. They will believe themselves caught in the end of all times.’
‘They will fight,’ Harshal responded. He looked at Cera. ‘Ghujad iz’Kho claims they have more than one hundred thousand warriors.’
‘And we Javonesi can almost equal that number,’ Cera added. ‘That’s enough men to finish the job when the Dorobon battle-magi have expended their powers against the Harkun.’ She looked about the table. ‘It does not matter what we promise the Harkun; we will never have to deliver. And we will be freed of two problems with one blow.’
So cold and calculating – it’s a plan such as Gurvon might concoct
. Elena hung her head.
Yet these were the lessons I taught her myself
.
‘Even if we can do this, what do we tell the sultan’s ambassadors?’ Ilan Tamadhi asked, frowning. ‘Will the shihad be appeased?’
Cera shrugged. ‘I believe so. I have a plan for that too …’
Two days before the end of Maicin, Queen-Regent Cera Nesti sat upon her throne with her Regency Council and court gathered about her to receive the emissaries of Salim, Sultan of Kesh. The portly Faroukh of Maal, an uncle of the sultan, was here, and with him was the renowned Amteh scholar, Godspeaker Barra Xuok. They took turns at beseeching her to aid the shihad.
‘Join us in this righteous quest to rid the world of the invaders, Majesty – surely all the blood in your veins cries vengeance, for you are of the Rimoni, alone of the folk of Yuros you do not bow the knee to the Rondian emperor. You are also Jhafi: you have felt the heel of their oppression, right here in Javon. You have felt the scourge of their magi – your spirit is with us already, Queen-Regent, so let your body join it, united in one purpose.’
Faroukh unfurled the white banner of the shihad, the crescent and star foremost, framed by the four scimitars representing the four corners of the world. At the centre of it was embroidered a castle and a word:
Hebusalim
, the goal of this shihad. ‘The Lakh are with us; all of Antiopia rises as one. Let not the Jhafi be denied their place in this holy brotherhood.’
Elena watched from a hidden alcove, as her open presence would be inflammatory. She did not wish to be present, in any case; she felt shut out of this matter. After the last meeting she had told Cera her plan was manipulative, deceitful and destructive, but Cera now believed herself above being criticised by her bodyguard. ‘You’re an
outsider, and you offered no solutions of your own,’ she had said, her voice harsh, dismissive. ‘You gave me no support, just scary stories about the might of your own people. Perhaps you’d be happier back among them.’ She had stormed out, and had not spoken a word since to Elena that was not a direct order.
To be estranged from Cera’s affection was horrid, and with Lorenzo away, Elena felt isolated and afraid. Borsa was busy with Timori, preparing him for his ceremonial role greeting the ambassadors. There was only Tarita’s company to console her.
If only it didn’t all feel so suicidal
. She remembered the devastation battle-magi could wreak: the ruined bodies, burnt beyond recognition; the bulging faces of men drowned on dry land; the corpses of men torn apart by construct-creatures with hideous powers. What hope did Javon have, even if Cera sold her soul to gain Harkun aid?
Finally, the Keshi finished their appeal, a beautifully choreographed finale that found Faroukh on one knee, holding the banner of the shihad, while the Godspeaker clutched the Amteh Book with his right hand pointing up to the heavens. Elena, like the whole court, held her breath, their eyes on the eighteen-year old-girl who held the fate of their land in her youthful grasp.
When Cera spoke, her voice rang out clearly. ‘Lord Faroukh, Godspeaker Barra, I have heard your words. I have heard also the words of the people of Javon, from northern Hytel, where the Gorgio hold out against the just rulers of Ja’afar, to the fortresses on the Rift, warding us from the Harkun; from Lybis, whose farmers just want peace, to Baroz, which hungers for war.
‘All men speak of the justice of the shihad – none would have their lands sullied by the ferang. I hear this, and I echo it, but just as in battle, you cannot take your eye from the man before you to face the distant threat. Nor can we Javonesi turn our backs upon the Gorgio. We must crush them, to be one people once more.
‘Nor can we allow our borders to be violated. We know that our southern fortresses have stood between independence and slavery to the Keshi in the past. I cannot blindly say to Sultan Salim, “Send me your warriors that we may crush the Gorgio.” Even in the days of
the shihad, that much trust is not permissible, though it aches my heart. But I ask you this: allow me to raise the banner of the shihad, here in Javon: a special banner, blessed by the Godspeaker, bearing the legend “Hytel”. Let us raise shihad upon the Gorgio and Dorobon and then, once purged, we will take up the banner of the Hebusalim shihad.’
Elena observed the murmuring of the court, listening to Cera’s plan, an attempt to convince the Keshi that Javon resisting the Gorgio and the Dorobon was sufficient call to arms to appease the Convocation. The secret negotiations prior to this reception had been inconclusive.
She held her breath as they all did, waiting to hear the ambassador’s response.
Faroukh conferred with his Godspeaker, then he turned back to Cera. ‘Queen-Regent, we have heard your request. We acknowledge its wisdom and the love it shows for both of your peoples, and for peace, and for Ahm in Paradise. Sultan Salim has given me some discretion to reach accommodation with you. Your proposal has many points in its favour.’
The court went utterly silent, hanging on the ambassador’s words.
‘Lady, Salim the Great will look upon your request with favour. But he would urge me to note that it runs counter to the will of the Convocation, which summons all warriors of the shihad to the conflict in Hebusalim.’ He paused significantly, as the court took this in. ‘However, Mighty Salim also notes that the Convocation gave the leadership of the shihad to him alone. It does not remove the right for him to protect what is his.’
What is his?
Elena leaned forward from her vantage.
What does that mean?
Faroukh bowed to Cera. ‘Salim is a great admirer of your courage and intellect, lady. He has heard of your valiant and victorious struggles against the treacherous Gorgio and evil Dorobon. He has heard the reports of your gentleness and beauty. He humbly asks for your hand in marriage.’
Cera’s mouth fell open.
‘Were you his bride, dear lady, he would acquire the right to protect you, even as he protects his own household. Then he could grant your request without impugning the shihad.’
Cera’s hand went to her heart. ‘Emir Faroukh, I am overcome. So lowly a person as I, a mere regent with no right to the throne once my brother comes of age, is unworthy of Salim the Great’s notice.’
Oh, well said!
Elena almost clapped her hands, aching to be beside the girl.
You remind him that he cannot have Javon just by marrying you
.
The emir bowed, his composure unruffled. ‘Lady, Salim does not wish to claim the throne of Ja’afar. He wishes only to secure his northern frontier. He would expect nothing more than the right to have an observer at your council table until your brother attains his majority. He would not even require your presence in his court until after this war is fought.’
‘My lord Sultan Salim is generous,’ Cera whispered, her voice husky.
‘Then you accept his proposal?’ Faroukh asked warmly.
Cera looked around.
Cera heard; she turned her head and met Elena’s eyes. Then she turned away. ‘I accept the sultan’s magnanimous proposal,’ she murmured.