The False Martyr (65 page)

“
So these are the Exiles,”
Allard continued, eyes rising to Liano then Eia. He flashed a
knowing smile at Eia, gaze lingering on her shimmering forest green
dress. Cut in her, now signature, style, it conformed to every
curve of her body. “I have heard of their power, but seeing it, I
realize even more what a fool Kavich was. I urged him to surrender,
you know. We read the same reports from Thoren. He thought it
treachery that had undone the city. I knew that no matter of
treachery reduces a city to ash in the course of an
afternoon.”

He paused and walked from
the door toward Ipid, the striking of his cane muffled by the rich
Imperial carpet at his feet. They were in an intimate, but
immaculate, room defined primarily by the oval table that occupied
its center. Despite its size, it was a delicate thing, the top so
thin as to seem impossible. It richly stained maple surface was
inlaid with tiny patterned rings of dark wood running to its
center. Without visible legs or supports, it appeared to be
floating. Eight chairs, each the size of a throne, were spaced
around it with twice that number of their simple, low armless
cousins along the walls for the aides and advisors of the officials
who claimed a space at the table. Above those chairs, breaking the
dark wood paneled walls, sixteen ancient, fading tapestries hung,
showing intricate patterns carefully, flawlessly
repeating.

“
Weaver tapestries,”
Allard caught Ipid’s inspection and gestured toward them with his
cane, “from every significant era dating back to the creation of
the Empire. One of the world’s finest collections and my pride.
They say that each Weaver pattern depicts the history of its time.”
He pointed toward the second down the line on his right. “This one
is from the Liandrin Revolt. The pattern is almost indecipherable.
It looks like a jumble, discordant colors, uneven spacing, untied
knots. You wouldn’t even guess it was made by Weavers, that they
would allow something so erratic to leave their looms. Yet, even in
this, there is a pattern. No matter how difficult to discern, how
imperceptible, the pattern is always there. It changes from
tapestry to tapestry, but certain elements always remain, running
through them all from era to era.” He gestured toward each tapestry
in the line. “Even in times of great conflict, the Order maintains
Its patterns and the Weavers find them.”

He turned from the
tapestry and approached, peeling a kid leather glove from his hand
and offering it in greeting. “So I believe is this time. Even as
the Exiles return, the Order perseveres. Even as cities are
destroyed, the Order rises from the ashes. You, me, we are the
instruments by which the Order will be restored. We are the knots
that anchor the pattern and allow it to repeat.”

Ipid nodded and took the
man’s hand. His grip was strong, and he held Ipid’s eye for an
uncomfortable time. Ipid did not look away. He greeted his rival
but refused to be sidetracked by philosophical diversions meant to
reveal his loyalties and state-of-mind. He glanced to Eia when
Allard released him. Her attention was on the tapestries, which she
examined with contempt bordering on horror.

Allard chuckled. “Of
course, your wife does not share my sentiment. Though the rumors
that reach me are that the Exiles are no more than vassals now,
that they are here at the bidding of the Darters and have no desire
to oppose the Order. Is that true, Lady Ronigan, or should I use a
different title since you are not truly joined to our
Chancellor?”

“
You have been speaking
with our friend the ambassador,” Eia said in her universal
language. Her eyes moved to their host and remained there,
absorbing him in a way that made Ipid’s insides tremble.

“
Not nearly as much as I
would prefer,” Allard said. “I was able to wash some information
from him, though the brandy was far more expensive than any soap.”
Saying what he had been told to say, Ipid hoped for the
ambassador’s sake. “But I am being rude.” Allard stepped past Ipid
and approached Eia. “My name is Lord Allard Talgren Elias Stully,
duly elected representative of Wildern on Orm to the great
Parliament of the Unified Kingdoms, and Chairman of the Orm River
Shipping and Warehousing Company.” He paused for a breath after the
long introduction. “It is my understanding that we now kiss.” He
took on a confident air. His eyes darted to Ipid, looking for a
reaction.

“
Truly,” Eia replied,
blushing –
she actually blushed!
“I am Eialia Oie Alliera of the house Eieniette,
Caliele Za’ of the great and wise Hilaal. Exile as you call us.”
She smiled fiendishly and approached. Her hips, perfectly outlined
by the flow of tight green silk, swayed. Her hand found his arm and
moved up it. Her head tilted to receive him. Allard for all his
bravado seemed unprepared for such a return – even whores in the
Kingdoms were not so forward. “But remember, my lord, that your
life, that of your wife, children, and precious corporation, ride
in the hands of the man who shares my bed.” With that, she rose to
her toes and kissed him. She was passionate, lips and tongue moving
aggressively. Ipid’s heart pounded despite his full knowledge of
the game at play. Allard pulled away almost as fast as it had
begun. He stared at Eia, looking more flustered than Ipid ever
remembered seeing. Ipid fought the smile that threatened to
overtake the stern resolution he had painstakingly forced upon his
expression.

Seeking a refuge after his
initial miscalculation, Allard turned to Liano, who hung to the far
wall. “And this is?”

Liano held up his hands
and pressed himself back. He lowered his head so that his face
would be entirely hidden in his hood.

“
His name does not
matter,” Ipid answered. “He does not need nor want
introduction.”

Allard withdrew his hand
slowly, mouth quirking. “I have to say that I was surprised when I
got your message,” he transitioned smoothly as he replaced his
glove and strode to the other side of the table. “Please, have a
seat.”

A tall, wiry man with a
thin rapier at his side stepped from a shadow near the room’s lone
door and pulled a chair back for his master. He took a place at
Lord Stully’s side, flanking what must be his twin on the other.
Both men were dressed as footmen, but the flow of the movements
even more than the swords at their sides marked them as bodyguards
of the highest order. Ipid had no fear with Liano and Eia there,
but they looked fast and sure. He wondered if even Elton could have
handled them.

Ipid pulled out a chair
and sat at the opposite end of the table. Eia took a seat next to
him, legs hanging over the broad arm, small body nearly lost in the
expanse of the seat, slippers dangling from her feet. Liano eased
into a corner and very nearly disappeared as the shadows merged
with the black of his robes.

“
How did you get Vontel to
work for you?” Allard asked out of the blue. He sat forward, hand
still gripping his cane, dark eyes blazing in the light of the
lamps. “He has always staunchly refused to have anything to do with
you. Even before the invasion, I couldn’t pry a thing from him
about you.”

“
It’s complicated,” Ipid
admitted, knowing the value of information, and the purpose of the
man with a trout as his emblem in fishing for it. “The important
thing is that he has informed me of your plans and brought us
together to discuss them.”

“
That wily bastard!”
Allard rapped the handle of his cane on the table for emphasis.
“The one thing you could always count on with him was that he was
feeding your enemy every bit as much information about you as he
was giving you about them. ‘Assured mutual defamation’ he called
it. Very concerned with a level playing field. Until now,
apparently.”

“
Apparently.”

When he got no more
response, Allard sat back. His mouth formed a hard line as he
studied the man across from him, calculating, considering. “You are
not here to kill me,” he finally decided on a course. “You could
have done that at any time without need for a meeting. That
Imperial bastard left me entirely at your mercy. I never would have
considered a betrayal from that flank. I have to admit, I was quiet
upset at first. I know my reputation, but when the safety of my
family is threatened, well, I have been known to be less pragmatic.
I’m afraid the ambassador may not have seen my best side, but after
some level of irrational panic and a great deal of thought, I
agreed to meet you.”

He paused, stared at Ipid,
then took a deep breath. “You see my dilemma. I am caught, jewels
in hand, conspiring against a self-proclaimed tyrant. The tyrant
who called for the death of a man on the steps of the Temple of
Order on the day of his inauguration. A tyrant who has declared
martial law throughout the land, rationed food to near starvation,
forced men into work crews. A tyrant who has a well-deserved grudge
against me. All this led me to expect a much harsher response. But
then, I realized that if you wanted to harm me and my family, you
wouldn’t send an Imperial ambassador to arrange a meeting.” Allard
spoke with the calm of great control, but the cracks were starting
to show.

“
No,” Ipid answered. He
forced his face to be impassive, to keep from smiling as he
congratulated himself for having read Allard Stully
perfectly.

“
By the Order,” Allard
finally declared, after a long pause. “I am glad I never invited
you to cards, Ronigan. We’d be all night waiting for you to take
your turn. That is how this is supposed to work, you know? Even if
you’re holding nothing but trump, we still have to lay the cards
and count the points. The very fact that you are here, shows that
you have won, so you might as well gather your coins.”

Ipid watched, eyes stern,
face set. The cracks were there and multiplying. Sweat beaded on
Allard’s lip. His cane trembled where he clutched it just a bit too
hard. His eyes darted to his guards, to Eia, to Liano, then back to
Ipid. Ipid smiled. He looked to Eia, who turned her languid
attention to the other end of the table. She nodded. Ipid
acknowledged her confirmation of what he already knew: Allard
Stully was his. “Your analogy is flawed,” he finally said. “First,
we are not playing one another. Second, I am a long way from
winning.”

Allard slapped his free
hand hard on the table. Ipid barely kept himself from jumping. “I
knew it! You want me to betray my fellow conspirators. You think to
turn the head against the body, but it will never work.”

“
I want to make you
Chancellor,” Ipid cut him off before he could get going.

Allard stopped mid-breath,
hand held above the table, body frozen. Not a muscle on his face so
much as twitched. Finally, the corners of his mouth began to creep
up, his eyes narrowed, and he laughed. It was a constrained laugh,
holding little humor, calculated and cold. “Word has always been
that you had not an ounce of humor in you. Resolute Ronigan, we
used to call you. Lord Conneray does the most marvelous impression,
all puffed up and serious, frowning and adjusting his glasses, but
it is clearly you that is toying now.”

Ipid spared him the
memory. He sat forward, frowned, and adjusted his glasses. “I want
to make you Chancellor.”

Allard straightened. He
moved the cane in front of him and looked to each of his guards in
turn. “I see,” he said, voice straining. “I can’t. I was prepared
to give up everything, to give you the name of every man conspiring
against you, to give you every detail of our plans if that was what
was required to save my family, but this is too much. You clearly
think that I can bring my allies to your side. You think that if
you use me as your puppet, they will not see you pulling the
strings.” He laughed at that. “No one will be fooled. The people
have no love of me. They follow me only because they hate you more,
especially outside Wildern where your soldiers rule with all the
compassion and subtlety of the swords they carry. The only thing
that would be accomplished by making me Chancellor is to convince
the common people that all their leaders have turned against them.
There will be no controlling them. Even your knights and wizards
won’t be able to hold them back. The whole country will fracture
and burn. Better to kill me than to make me oversee that.” He sat
back, closed his eyes, and took a long breath as if expecting Ipid
to take him up on the offer then and there.

It was Ipid’s turn to
laugh. “And I always thought you a man who eschewed dramatics. As
steady and unchangeable as the river they say of you. It was
Kavich, himself, that had the impression of you.” Ipid took on a
serious countenance, pretending to grip a cane before him. “So
you’re saying that a hundred men lined up to fuck my wife,” he
mocked Allard’s soft, steady voice. “That’s fine. Just make sure we
charge them next time.” Ipid gave a bittersweet chuckle at the
memory. “Kavich used to say that every time your name came up, and
we always laughed.” He snickered again then turned serious. Allard
could not hide his offense for all his obvious effort.

“
I’m not an idiot,” Ipid
declared. “Do you think I cannot see the situation before me? You
are absolutely right, installing you as Chancellor now would be a
disaster. You are far too aloof, too proud, too stiff to ever be a
man of the people. Even Kavich who spent his youth swaddled in silk
and gold could put on the airs of a common man. Whenever you are
among them, you looked like you are walking through a recently
occupied corral with new shoes. No, I am under no delusions that
the people will rally to you out of love.