The Path of Anger (24 page)

His intuition had never let him down. He felt death in the air.

‘The rebels are approaching Emeris!’ declared a voice like the crackling of flames, dry and unpleasant.

The doors swung open before the general and he crossed the room with an assured step, one hand on the pommel of his sword. Near some net curtains caressed by a light breeze, the Emperor’s solid gold and silver throne, shone with a dark gleam. The seated Emperor was wearing a great black cape which fell to his feet. A gold mask hid his face and revealed nothing except his eyes.

‘The West, the South and the Southeast all fell this morning.’

‘It’s here that everything will play out,’ predicted an elderly man, leaning upon a cane of twisted oak wood.

‘You should have acted sooner,’ concluded the man with the unpleasant voice, his double chin swelling when he tilted his head.

His body almost concealed the Emperor from view, his obesity lost within a vast cloak with tints of blue. No one present could have denied his resemblance to Captain Azdeki, standing just a few feet away. But while Etienne had a slender, proud figure, his uncle looked more like a pile of flaccid flesh on top of which jiggled a sole lock of white hair. Baron Azinn Azdeki of the East Vershan baronies tended to frequent banquet halls, like the ones where the Duke de Page organised his feasts, rather than battlefields. No one reacted to the general’s arrival, and only the Emperor seemed to pay him any attention, his gaze moving away from his advisers to stare at him. There were six advisers present. The Emperor’s own uncle, Grand Bishop Reyes of the Order of Fangol, was at his side. The Marquis of Enain-Cassart, his white hair tied back and his firm hand gripping the pommel of his oaken cane, stood near the throne. To Baron Azdeki’s right, his nephew narrowed his eyes pensively. To his left, the Duke of Rhunstag and the Count of Bernevin fidgeted, the first man robust in his fur cloak, the other dressed in a purple cloak cinched at
the waist by a silvery belt. The two were used to acting together since their fiefdoms adjoined one another, like two inseparable neighbours who were not actually friends. It was almost as if they each found in the other what they lacked as individuals to play an important role, one possessing the fine intelligence of a politician, the other the typical characteristics of a warlord.

All these noblemen present had formed the Emperor’s innermost circle during the last year. Little by little, as rumours grew that certain parties had allied themselves to Laerte of Uster and his rebels, the other members of the Imperial court had been ousted in favour of these six. Who were always ready to provide advice, generous with their compliments, and capable of expressing their viewpoint with surprising aplomb.

‘We need to commission Uster’s assassination,’ said Bernevin. ‘Without him, the revolt will be leaderless.’

‘No, no,’ retorted Enain-Cassart in a reedy voice. ‘We don’t even know where he is, or what he looks like. And it’s not he who is conspiring against you here in the palace.’

‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ interjected Rhunstag, sticking out his chest to give himself substance. ‘All the miners have joined the rebels’ cause. And that’s not counting the Nâaga who have been promised their freedom in the event of a rebel victory. Their troops have been reinforced considerably.’

‘We must prepare the palace’s defences right away,’ nodded Azinn Azdeki. ‘My nephew seems the best person to carry out this task which —’

Dun-Cadal gave a sigh, at last attracting a glance from the others.

‘— this task which must be carried out with ruthless efficiency,’ the baron concluded, his jaws clenching at the sight of Daermon.

Of all the generals in the Imperial Army, Dun-Cadal was certainly the highest in rank, but for many noblemen he remained an up-start of the worst sort. The Emperor had defended him from attacks within the Imperial court many times, arguing that he had won more battles than any other warrior. Like his grandfather before him, he had been wounded in the service of the Empire. He was at least as noble as any who merely boasted a title without ever having set foot upon a battlefield.

‘We must not wait any longer, Your Imperial Majesty,’ said Bernevin.

‘It’s time to face the facts,’ added Rhunstag. ‘The revolt is already running through the lower quarters of the city outside. We must make some examples.’

‘The Empire has never been so fragile and only a decision on your part, wise and enlightened, can repel the enemy from Emeris,’ assured Azinn Azdeki. ‘Arrest those who are conspiring against you and hang them without further ado, as you did with that traitorous blacksmith!’

‘Show the population that you are not afraid,’ advised Rhunstag. ‘Crush the revolt here in Emeris. And let us prepare our defences against Uster’s armies. They will no longer have any support here.’

‘I know you are reluctant to pass summary justice upon your subjects in this fashion,’ Enain-Cassart said with a benevolent smile. ‘But you did so in the case of Oratio of Uster. If his ideas have outlived him, then let us act now before they reduce your Empire to ashes. You must either punish those you suspect of plotting against you or else hope that the storm will somehow pass. I have no doubt you will choose the right course.’

Silence fell. The Emperor’s eyes remained fixed upon Dun-Cadal, as if the general alone were worthy of his attention, the only person whose approval he sought. A flock of sparrows fluttered their wings, their black shadows taking flight behind the gauzy curtains.

‘What do you think . . . my friend . . . ?’

All the advisers waited for the general’s response, hiding their enmity as best they could behind hollow smiles. Dun-Cadal paused, search for adequate words to express his opinion. There was no need to provoke the ire of the noblemen present by criticising their total lack of good judgement. And while he held them in part responsible for the current dire situation, he could not afford to raise their hack-les by accusing them directly.

‘I think they are right, Your Imperial Majesty,’ he finally said. ‘We must prepare for the coming attack against Emeris.’

‘But beyond that?’ enquired the Emperor in a terribly low voice.

‘But hanging those you believe guilty of conspiracy is surely not the best means of aborting an uprising within this city itself.’

Azinn Azdeki stifled a harrumph of surprise, offended that anyone might contradict him. The advisers looked like barnyard roosters, swelling their necks and ready to beat their wings. Enain-Cassart managed to hide his discontent by simply lowering his eyes.

‘On the contrary, it would stir one up,’ asserted Dun-Cadal.

‘Really?’ sighed the Emperor.

‘The revolt is already here!’ Bernevin exclaimed angrily.

‘Would you dare to deny, General Daermon, that certain noble-men have already lent their support to the rebels?’ hissed Rhunstag. ‘The Duke of Erinbourg fled Emeris two months ago. Everything leads us to believe that some of his men are still here, preparing the ground. Not for a mere revolt . . . but for a revolution!’

And so they imagined that spectacle of alleged traitors dangling from the end of a rope would be enough to counter any leanings towards rebellion within the capital. They understood nothing about the common people, had no idea the courage the rebel commoners had displayed on the field of battle. All those mere
peasants
Dun-Cadal had been fighting since the beginning of the war . . . none had laid down their weapons upon seeing their brothers fall at their side. Quite the opposite, in fact . . . He noticed the glance the baron gave Enain-Cassart as the latter approached the Emperor.

‘I suppose you have summoned me for a particular reason,’ declared the general, preferring to cut short any debate. ‘And evidently it’s not for me to advise you on the proper course of action, as Bernevin does so ably.’

Ignoring the jibe, Bernevin looked away, raising his chin proudly. In other circumstances, Dun-Cadal would have liked to prove the man wrong, but not in the presence of Reyes. If the Emperor had called for the general, it was surely to entrust him with the defence of the palace. Otherwise, why hadn’t he sent him to the front, along with Negus and the other military leaders?

Behind the golden mask, the Emperor’s eyelids closed. He was duty-bound to make the right choice. Lives depended on it . . . Or . . . was there something else weighing on his mind? He lifted a hand to the bishop on his right. His uncle gripped it fondly, with a weak smile.

‘I understand your point of view, my friend, truly I do,’ the Emperor assured the general, nodding his head. ‘So I ask you do the same with me, whatever it may cost you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ the general blurted in surprise.

‘It is written . . . General,’ the bishop added sadly. ‘No one can evade divine decisions.’

The doors at the end of the room opened and a dozen soldiers entered very quietly. Dun-Cadal could barely hear them. But he perceived their presence, just as he noticed the unusual absence of one person in particular.

‘You’ve said so yourself, my advisers are right,’ continued the Emperor in a quavering voice. ‘While the furious masses approach our gates on the orders of a madman, their poisonous ideas have already been filtering into the city . . . for a long time now . . .’

‘Your Imperial Majesty . . .’ murmured Dun-Cadal.

He did not know what was being hatched. How could he have guessed it? All the same, his heart beat faster and he felt anxious. Logrid wasn’t there. The Hand of the Emperor, the ruler’s personal assassin, was not lurking in the shadows of the columns as he usually was, ready to defend his master. Only one thing could explain his absence . . . he’d been sent away on a mission.

‘Bernevin,’ the Emperor called out. ‘Make sure that the people understand that I will tolerate no disturbances and that anyone who calls into the question the greatness of my Empire or speaks in favour of this insurrection will suffer the consequences. And anyone with allegiances to Oratio of Uster shall be punished! Starting with all the refugees from the Saltmarsh region.’

‘Very well, Your Imperial Majesty,’ replied Bernevin, saluting him with a low bow.

‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ repeated Dun-Cadal.

‘My friend, you have accomplished so much,’ the Emperor sighed. ‘So very much, and this is how I thank you. But your sentiments have blinded you.’

‘What have you done?’ asked the general in alarm.

Behind his back, the soldiers advanced.

‘I welcomed them here . . .’

The Emperor’s voice trembled, from sadness as much as hatred, bearing a tone of wounded betrayal and the most complete contempt for those he sought to protect.

‘. . . and this is how they thank me!’

‘The girl,’ intervened Etienne Azdeki brusquely. ‘The one who hangs about with your Frog. Her name is Esyld Orbey.’

‘The daughter of the Count of Uster’s personal blacksmith,’ his uncle added with smug satisfaction. ‘Together, they were fomenting a plot. The two of them, along with others . . .’

‘What have you done?’ roared Dun-Cadal, placing a hand on his sword.

But the soldiers had already started to encircle him, pointing their spears at him in a threatening manner.

‘I am merely doing my duty!’ the Emperor declared stoutly, straightening up in his throne.

A hand appeared beneath his cape, he grasped the armrest to keep his balance.

‘And it is because you have accomplished so much that I am acting in this fashion,’ he continued. ‘Your pupil does not deserve to be dragged out in front of the public, like Orbey and his daughter.’

‘By all the gods, what have you done?’ repeated Dun-Cadal, on the edge of tears.

‘Only what the gods expected of us!’ affirmed the bishop. ‘Nothing happens that is not in the
Liaber Dest
! Call upon your faith. Do not remain blind!’

So Logrid had been sent hunting. His vision blurry, Dun-Cadal searched desperately for a means of escape. He must leave here immediately, run and join Frog, stand against the assassin, fight, defend the lad, save his life, not let him down, not abandon him, fight, defend him . . . not leave him . . . alone . . . without defence. It was as if Frog were still the child he’d found in the Saltmarsh, without experience, weak.

‘Captain Azdeki, make sure General Daermon is treated with all due respect to his rank,’ ordered the Emperor. ‘And then, see to the defences of Emeris . . .’

‘You can’t do this!’ yelled Dun-Cadal, drawing his sword.

The soldiers stiffened, ready to intervene, but Azdeki raised his hand, signalling them to do nothing. Alone, surrounded, Dun-Cadal struck defiantly at their spear tips with the flat of his sword, hoping that one of them would break formation and give him a chance to flee. Where was Frog? In which hallway was Logrid waiting for him, hidden in darkness?

‘He hasn’t betrayed you! He fought for you! He killed the red dragon at Kapernevic! All on his own!’

‘General Daermon—’

‘Your Imperial Majesty, he’s still just a child! He can be stupid at times, but he’s the best we have! You have no right!’

‘General Daermon!’ the Emperor repeated, raising his voice.

Dun-Cadal began to turn around inside the circle, lunging on occasion with his sword, but each time the soldier he targeted retreated a step before retaking his position.

‘He fought for you! He fought for
you
!’ Dun-Cadal bellowed. ‘He defended the Empire!’

Would Frog see the sword come plunging towards him? Would he have time to parry the stroke? Would he manage to defend himself ? Alone . . . bewildered . . . unable to comprehend why those who had welcomed him were now treating him so despicably. He was still just a boy . . .

In the shadows of the columns, Logrid’s silhouette approached. How he would have liked to remove the hood concealing the man’s face, to be able to see the spark of fear in his eye as Dun-Cadal charged towards him, howling in fury. But the soldiers took hold of the general despite his mighty struggles to escape their clutches. They immobilised the hand holding his weapon.

‘
Logrid!
’ spat Dun-Cadal, drunk with rage. ‘Logrid! Scum, filth!
Logrid!
’