The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (34 page)

To allow the girl to obtain the Pandora of Britan was unthinkable.  Inoldia decreed:  “Kill her.”

“Wouldn't it make more sense to follow her, interrogate her – “

“You may interrogate her fellow travelers, but she must die as soon as your men come upon her.  The Emperor has decreed that the girl is too dangerous to live.” 

Actually, it was the Mother's decree, but Bivera wasn't privileged yet to know of the Mother. 

“My lady, I beg patience . . . but it is my understanding that the Carrot is a witch, and employs her witchcraft to invoke inhuman powers.  Over the past two years, we have received reports of a girl with orange hair, who fights with the Leaf, who cannot be defeated in combat.  The connection with the Carrot, whose name derives from her orange hair, is obvious.  My spies, as well-trained and experienced as they are, may not be enough to subdue her, whereas you . . . you could do the job by yourself, could you not?“

“General, I have engaged the girl in personal combat thrice and defeated her thrice.  She is not the invincible creature that legend has made her to be.  Your three men should be adequate.”

“Still . . . her witchcraft . . . what if she casts a spell on them?“

“Think of this gift as a counter-spell.”  Inoldia placed on the table a corked vial, so tiny that it seemed almost a trinket.  “Your courier bird can carry this along with your message to your spies.  Have them see that she drinks it.”

“How will they be able to do that?”

“General, I honestly do not know.  Is there not a skill called subterfuge, in which spies are said to be deft?  Perhaps
they
will have an idea on how to deceive the girl into drinking it.”

Bivera gingerly plucked the vial and examined it against the lantern.  “I was informed that she is immune to poison.”

“Admittedly, she does have some resistance.  The potion in that vial will not kill her.  Even a single droplet will, however, diminish her strength to that of a baseline – that is, a mortal human – for a few minutes.  By which time, I would imagine, three trained soldiers should be able to execute one common girl.” 

“My lady, again please excuse me, but if the task is so urgent, wouldn't it be best if you do it?  You can fly there faster than men can ride.  You can fly over the reputed great hedge, it means nothing to you.  The giants who live in the northwestern lands are said to be most inhospitable.  And as you say, you've fought the girl and defeated her, while – “

“General, I don't have time to scour the far reaches of Britan, nor do I have time to listen to hearsay about 'giants.'  Have your spies cause the girl to drink the vial, and she will be no match for even one of them.  There are no more real problems here that we have not addressed.”

“It's . . . it's just that . . . . “

The part of her that was Inoldia saw a man fidgeting.  The part that was Matlid sensed his despair and knew the cause.  Bivera's real objection, she realized, was that he did not want to give the order to assassinate a young girl. 

How peculiar the Roman code of honor!  Female slaves could be raped with impunity, female non-citizens could be starved to death in siege, female citizens were subjugated to the whim of fathers and husbands and denied posts of authority, and the code even allowed women to be killed in combat.  But to assassinate a woman –
Oh no, it would be unmanly!
 

As contradictory as the code was, she could see that Bivera was genuinely distressed.

“General,” Matlid said softly.  “The directive comes from the Emperor.  Let's not disappoint him.”

Bivera bowed deeply.  “I understand, Lady Inoldia.  I will have done as you say.”

Inoldia pushed away her plate and wiped her face with her napkin, waiting a suitable pause for the General to realize that the subject had changed.

“Now, onto the matter of my assignment, the reason that I will remain in Londa for a time.  It is opportune that you mentioned the Leaf, for the Leaf is the main obstacle to the conquest of Britan and effort must be made to neutralize the Leaf as much as possible before legions arrive.”

“'Neutralize?'”

“We intend to infiltrate the organization, and co-opt the leadership.”

“We have tried that already, my lady, but we have been in dearth since the . . . time of difficulties . . .  and we have been unable to pay our informants.  Meanwhile, the Leaf has been awash in funding, and more than a few of our officers have been turned with bribes.  Thus it is that we no longer infiltrate the Leaf, but that they infiltrate us.”

Even Matlid's temper was beginning to fray at the human incompetence.  Nonetheless, she calmly responded, “Surely, General, there is someone who has contact with the Leaf, who can help us infiltrate.”

Bivera gazed blankly at the pattern of the new rug.  After a long pause, he replied, “We have prisoners who have cooperated with their interrogators.  Some claim to know about the Leaf.” At her nod, he unlocked a cabinet and brought file folders.  “I can read to you if you'd like.”

“I'll read myself, thank you.”

His eyebrows might have spoken aloud: 
You can read? 
He was right that Inoldia couldn't.  It was the persona of Matlid who paged through the folders, and then related the information to the persona of Inoldia.

Most of the interrogation summaries were of limited interest. 
Names of persons who might be members of the Leaf.  Names of sympathizers to the Leaf – which seemed to be half the population.  Nothing struck her as useful. 

Then she came to a folder marked 'Faron.'  The prisoner was described as the leader of a gang of brigands who operated in the north, in the region known as Umbrick.  Inoldia knew the place name well, for it was the home of the mutant girl.  A minor coincidence, she thought as first impression.   

Then she read on in disbelief. 

“General, it says that Faron appeared a little over two years ago, around the time that the villages of Umbrick were destroyed in the suppression of an insurrection.  Do you recall what happened to the chieftain of the village of North Umbrick?”

“I do vividly, for he was the leader of the local uprising.  I recall his name was Letos.” 

Yes
, Inoldia thought. 

Bivera continued:  “King Letos – every village chief calls himself a king up there.  Yes, I recall that he was captured soon after the failure of the uprising.  Standard legion procedure was implemented.”

“Which is?”

“Routine beheading and ceremonial parading of body and head on carts through the surviving villages as public testament to the futility of rebellion against the authority of the Imperium.”

“How sure are you that it was Letos who was captured and executed?”

Bivera went to another cabinet, perused a single file.  “According to our records, he was betrayed by several associates, who brought him bound to us. They were very positive in their identification and so I have absolute confidence that the man was in fact Letos.”

Matlid appreciated that while Bivera was no clod, his idealism prevented him from comprehending that an innocent person might be falsely accused and presented by opportunists wishing to claim a bounty.  Having survived as an orphan on provincial streets, she knew that the more certain a government official was that justice had been done, the more likely it had been done perversely. 

“The associates who brought him in, they were paid?”

“Yes, the standard payment for information leading to arrest and capture.  Did you want to see the receipt?”

Both her personas almost laughed.  “That won't be necessary.” 

The woman in the form of Inoldia walked to the wall and touched the wine shelves.  Inoldia had no interest in wine and the bottles may as well have been full of stale water.  Matlid had invested a sizable portion of her allowance as a servant in wines, and knew which were best.  She selected a bottle and took from the shelf a pair of ornate goblets. 

“My Lady?”

“I should like to meet the prisoner named Faron.”

“Well, at the moment I have an appointment – “  Bivera halted at her gaze.  “Uh, yes.  Now.”

Bivera summoned a colonel, who summoned the captain of the guard.  Together they were led by the warden to a windowless building at the opposite end of the government compound.  Past three layers of barred doors was a dank courtyard surrounded by barred doors.  The warden stopped at a door.  Guards readied swords and the warden twisted keys in multiple locks. 

The door swung open.  A wave of stench gushed forth.  Inside the tiny squalid cell, sprawled on the floor, a ragged man with an explosion of filthy beard and hair blinked in the daylight.  Inoldia took the lantern and entered alone. 

“Close the door,” she said.  She heard the locks click.  She turned to the man and said, “Hello, Letos.”

A defiant stare.  “Who the hell are you?”

“One who has your fate in her hands.”

“Are you come to have me executed?”

“Oh no.”  She knelt, opened the bottle and poured the wine, handed him a goblet.  “I've come to celebrate your release.  But first, we shall talk.”

He lifted his manacled wrists and sullenly glared.  “You're within reach.  I could strangle you.”

You're welcome to try
, Inoldia thought. 

Matlid said, “You'll want to hear what I have to say.” 

Letos hesitated, then clumsily gripped the goblet with both bound hands and maneuvered it to his mouth.  He tentatively sipped.  “Tell me, why do you say that I am 'Letos?'” 

“The man able to marry Prisca, the most beautiful woman in Britan, would be a man with great ambition.  A man with great ambition would be a king.  A king with great ambition would rebel against the Romans.  When the Romans destroyed his rebellion, the man with great ambition would become a brigand.  After all, what is a brigand but a king without a crown?  And so here is Faron.  Is it not plausible that Letos and Faron are the same?”

“Yet according to Roman justice, Letos is without his head.”

“Roman justice can be fallible.”

“Never heard a Roman admit that!”  Letos laughed in a wheeze.  “I like you.”  Then he spat:  “What do you want?”

“To give you another crown.”

“I never had a first one, but I'll let the turn of phrase go.  I take it you're promising to restore my kingdom?”

“Oh no, I'm giving you a bigger kingdom.”

“You are, are you?  How big?”

“All of Britan.”

Letos gulped the rest of his drink.  “You're jesting at my expense!”

Matlid refilled his goblet.  “I would never do such a cruelty.”

“Why do such a favor?”

“Direct Roman rule leads to unrest.  Rule instead by indirection, through a king who is of their own, and the people will believe their nation free, and so they will remain placid.”

“If you know that I'm Letos, then you know that I led a rebellion.  You still want me?”

“At the time, you believed a rebellion could be successful.  Now you know it can only end in blood.  That is bad for Rome, for Britan, for you.  You see the futility now, don't you?”

He chugged the goblet.  “Yes.”

“Then you possess a wisdom that few in Britan seem to have learned.  Now, King Letos, for you to ascend to your throne I will need your cooperation.  This is not a matter of exchange for mutual advantage, or anything so tawdry.  It is simply that in order to install your rule, we must take control of the Leaf.  And to do that, I must know of someone who is part of the Leaf.”

“I've given six names already.” 

“All of them proven false.  Perhaps they were the names of your political enemies, or of suspects that your interrogator suggested and you agreed rather than face torture.”

“My lady, you're quite insightful.”  He mulled the empty goblet.  “But I know of no contact.”

Inoldia poured again.  “I believe you.  Yet nonetheless I also believe that there was a contact.  The Leaf would have had someone close to an ambitious king, watching the king without the king being aware.”

“Well . . . Geth was my second.  If ever a man hated Rome enough to join the Leaf, it would be him.”

“We know of Geth, but no, the agent we're looking for would have been more subtle than Geth.”

“Then he was too subtle for me.  I am at a loss to discern.”

“Here is a question that might.”  She locked onto his eyes, and spoke softly:  “Was there ever a person in your association who hated Rome with passion, and then without explanation seemed to lose that passion, even to becoming neutral toward the Romans or even a sympathizer?”

His eyes widened.  

A few minutes later, she exited the cell and gave instructions to Bivera:  “Have him fed and washed and taken to a barber.  Give him some sun, else he'll be too pale to play his part convincingly.  Also, ready a detail of twenty soldiers.  Ten in uniform, the other ten dressed as Britanian civilians.”

“They are to be infiltrators?” Bivera asked.

“See that they know how to speak with a Britanian accent.”  She headed to the courtyard door.