Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

S
yrene was furious at the intrusion, and threatened dire consequences for the harm done to her novices. But there was something theatrical about the way she protested, as though she were conscious that she had an audience, and the words were what was expected of her in such a situation. Meia ignored her entirely, and simply swept the bewildered Syl from the room.

But Syl was no sooner over the threshold than a squad of Securitats appeared to their right. Almost simultaneously, a dozen heavily armed soldiers, led by Danis, arrived from the left. When the Securitats saw Gradus’s guards lying motionless on the floor, they immediately raised their weapons, and Danis’s troops responded in kind. The three females were trapped between them, and all Meia could do was draw Syl and Ani to her and force them to the floor, shielding them with her own body.

“Stop!”

The voice was Syrene’s, and her tone brooked no opposition. Even Danis, who was clearly spoiling for a fight, raised a hand to his soldiers and ordered them not to fire, although he kept his own blast pistol trained on the guards before him.

Syrene appeared at the door.

“Let them go,” she told the Securitats.

“But Your Eminence,” said the Securitat sergeant, “your guards and novices have been assaulted.”

Syl peeked out from beneath Meia. Already the stunned guards were struggling to their feet. The novices looked like they might be out cold for a little longer. Good, she thought, recalling how they had looked at her when she had first arrived.

“Are they dead?” Syrene asked.

The sergeant checked the novices. “No, Your Eminence. They are merely stunned.”

“Then they, along with my dignity, will recover,” said Syrene. “Let the children rise.”

Meia stepped back, and Syl and Ani got to their feet. Syl felt as though a cloud were being blown from her mind, clearing her thoughts. She tried to remember what had happened in Syrene’s chambers, but she couldn’t hold on to the memories. They slipped through her mind like smoke. She was aware only of a feeling of intrusion, of violation, and that the Red Sister at the door frightened her. She was unsteady on her feet, and Ani had to support her.

Syrene stared at Meia, as though imprinting the image of her face upon her memory.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“I am Meia.”

“Meia.” Syrene repeated, tasting it with her tongue. “What is your bloodline?”

“I am an orphan. My heritage is lost to me.”

Syrene looked displeased with the answer. Bloodlines were important in Illyri society, and one of the roles of the Sisterhood was to record the histories of Illyri families, both major and minor. Births, deaths, and marriages, all were noted in the Sisterhood’s archives. Even an orphan would have a notation in their file, unless . . .

“You are a bastard?” said Syrene.

“I dislike that word,” said Meia. “I prefer the term
free agent
.”

The double meaning of
agent
was clear to Syrene.

“I know you now,” she said. “You are Andrus’s spymistress. Are you his mistress in other areas too? His bed has been cold for too long, and even the noble governor has needs.”

Meia did not take the bait. Her calmness under provocation was considerable.

“Your question contains its own answer,” she said. “The governor is noble. No more need be said.”

“Well then, spymistress, tell me why you assaulted my guards and my novices, and entered my chamber without permission.”

“We were concerned for Syl’s safety,” said Meia.

“On what basis?”

Meia paused. “Intuition,” she said at last.

“Mistaken, it seems.”

“As you say,” replied Meia.

Danis stepped forward.

“It did not help that every monitoring device in your room appeared to malfunction shortly after Syl entered your company,” he said, joining Meia, and in doing so making it clear that he supported her actions. “We were concerned that it might presage another terrorist attack. We were fearful for your well-being as much as for Syl’s.”

Syrene frowned.

“You admit that you are spying on me?”

“Would you have expected anything less?”

“Not from you,” said Syrene. “You never change, Danis. Your methods are primitive. It’s a wonder that you have survived for as long as you have. I’d have thought natural selection would have taken care of an old relic like you a long time ago.”

“I am a living fossil,” said Danis. “I endure. As for our monitoring of you, we wished only to ensure that your stay in the castle during these difficult times was untroubled. And brief,” he added.

But Syrene was no longer paying any attention to him. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Ani.

“And who is this?” she asked. “Answer, child.”

“I’m Ani.”

“Are you a friend of Syl’s?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,
Your Eminence
,” Syrene corrected, clearly tired of having her title ignored by both Meia and Danis, and refusing to accept similar insolence from a teenager.

“Yes, Your Eminence,” echoed Ani. She smiled her most disingenuous smile.

Syrene’s fingers twitched. The Red Sister had to make an effort of will to stop them from reaching for Ani, and Syrene’s reaction to her friend’s presence jolted free a small fragment of recollection in Syl’s brain. The cloud had taken with it most of her memories of the last hour, but not all. She had a clear image of Syrene reaching for her, and the cold burn of her fingers.

She touches. That’s how she does it. She touches you.

Ani continued to beam, bright and seemingly guileless. All waited to see what Syrene would do next. In the end, she elected to do nothing at all beyond making a single threat that seemed hollow to all who heard it.

“Be assured that Grand Consul Gradus will hear of this,” she said.

She retreated into her chambers, but it was Ani at whom she was looking as the door closed. The opposing Securitat and Military forces stayed in place for a moment, and then, as if by mutual but unspoken agreement, open hostility was replaced by submerged dislike. The stunned guards were replaced, the novices carried away for treatment, and Syl, Ani, and Meia were absorbed into Danis’s squad, the soldiers forming a protective wall around them as they departed.

They did not get far, though. Danis and Meia appeared to get the same message simultaneously, and both stopped as their earpieces lit up. Danis immediately left with his soldiers, instructing Meia to take the girls back to their rooms.

“What is it?” said Syl, and she did not like the look that Meia gave her.

“The Securitats have arrested two young men in connection with the explosions on the Royal Mile,” she said. “Come with me. It’s about time you showed me this spyhole of yours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T
he Great Hall was more crowded than before. Advisers, soldiers, Securitats, and representatives of both the Military and the Diplomatic Corps had assembled, some out of duty, many out of curiosity. The bombs on the Royal Mile had been significant not only for the casualties inflicted but because of their daring: never before had the Resistance managed to carry out a major attack so close to the Illyri center of power in the city. It suggested an escalation in the campaign against the Empire.

There were gasps when Vena led Paul and Steven into the room, surrounded by a cohort of Securitats and Corps guards. The captives’ hands were secured in front of them with heavy magnacuffs, and their legs were manacled. A short chain connected the two sets of restraints.

“But that one is so young!” someone said, giving voice to what many others were thinking.

Behind them followed Sedulus, and finally Grand Consul Gradus and his wife, Syrene. Gradus looked grave, while Syrene’s features were once again hidden behind her veil.

The boys glanced nervously around the room. Paul’s teeth were bared against his gag, giving him the look of a wild beast snarling at its captors. Beside him, Steven bore the panicked look of a small, cornered animal.

Be strong
, Paul willed him.
I’m with you
.

As though he had spoken aloud, Steven looked up at his elder brother. Paul winked at him, and somehow Steven found the strength to wink back. Paul stood ramrod straight and raised his head high, and he was pleased to see his brother follow suit. A memory of his father came to him, and an expression that the old man liked to use.

“Just look them in the eye and damn them for fools,” he would say when someone disrespected his sons, or tried to belittle them. That was what they were doing now. They were looking their foes in the eye, and damning them. They were staring death in the face, but they would not show fear.

•••

In the dimness of the spyhole, Meia saw Syl raise her hand to her mouth in shock as the boys were led in. There was only enough room for the two of them; Ani had been delegated to remain at the door and keep watch.

“What do I do if someone comes along?” she had asked.

“Distract them,” said Meia.

“How?”

“If they’re male, flirt with them.”

“And if they’re not male?”

Meia thought about the question.

“Try flirting anyway,” she said at last.

Now Syl touched her hand to Meia’s.

“What is it?” Meia asked.

“I know those boys,” said Syl.

“What?”

“Today, on the Royal Mile. They helped Ani and me. They stopped us from running back to the castle after the first bomb exploded. They said there might be another, and they were right.”

“That’s because they planted them,” said Meia.

But Syl shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I’m sure of it.”

She looked at the two young humans, so small and vulnerable among the taller, hostile Illyri, and felt a surge of sympathy for them. She remembered their faces, and how dismayed they’d been about what had occurred, and how concerned they were for her and Ani. Could they really have been such good actors, denying everything over a cup of tea and some cake? Could they have planted those bombs yet revealed nothing of it to the two young females on the Royal Mile, especially when one of them was Ani? It was hard to keep dishonesty from Ani. She picked up on it the way Agrons picked up on scents.

Syl watched Syrene. Her attention was fixed on the boys before her, and the raised dais beyond them. This time, she was not trying to find eavesdroppers in the room. Either she did not care, or she did not sense their presence. It was the absence of Ani, Syl was certain. It was Ani who had come to Meia to tell her that Syl was in trouble. She had felt it: Syl’s fear, the Red Sister’s presence, all of it.

And Meia had believed her. She had not doubted her at all.

A door opened behind the dais, and Lord Andrus emerged in his official uniform, accompanied by Danis, Balen, and half a dozen of his closest advisers. Only Meia was absent.

“Shouldn’t you really be down there with them?” said Syl.

“I’m not an adviser,” said Meia. “I’m a spy, and I’m doing what spies do. Now shut up and listen.”

•••

Lord Andrus waited for silence to descend. While the room grew quiet, he whispered something to Balen, who left the dais and approached the prisoners. He examined Steven’s still-swollen hand, and the inflammation on his arm. He returned to the governor, and reported his findings. As he spoke, Andrus fixed his disapproving gaze on Vena, who returned it without flinching.

When all was quiet, Vena and her guards forced the boys forward. Gradus and Syrene took up positions to their right, Sedulus to their left.

Gradus cleared his throat.

“Lord Andrus,” he said. “It seems that the Diplomatic Corps has succeeded where the Military could not. We have tracked down the humans involved in today’s atrocities.” He waved a hand in the direction of the boys, and assumed a theatrical expression of surprise. “And they are
children
! How can the Military claim to be in control of this city, this
planet
, when mere boys can come almost to our walls and kill us at will?”

Lord Andrus ignored the questions, and Gradus’s rhetorical flourishes with them. He would not have his reputation put on trial here to further the Grand Consul’s aims.

“What proof do you have of their involvement?” he said.

Vena looked to Gradus for permission to speak, and it was given.

“My lord, we found traces of inorganic compounds on their skin that matched the explosives used today. Their DNA was tested against specimens taken from the scene, and a reconstruction was carried out.”

Vena waved a hand in the air, and the DNA-derived images of Paul and Steven loomed large, along with a barrage of chemical information. The sight incited an angry buzz in the room, as though a nest of bees had been roused.

“There can be no doubt,” said Vena. “The tests are foolproof.”

“In my experience, nothing is foolproof,” said Andrus. “You will, of course, provide my specialists with those test results?”

“Are you doubting the reliability of our methods, Lord Andrus, or our word?” said Gradus.

“Your methods appear to involve the torture of children,” said Andrus. “Your word I will have to take, reluctantly, on trust.”

Gradus stepped back so that he stood behind Paul and Steven.

“Careful, Lord Andrus,” he said. “When you insult me, you insult my office and, by extension, the Diplomatic Corps. More worryingly, you seem to place a greater value on the gentle treatment of two terrorists than you do upon our own dead.”

Murmurs of agreement traveled through in the hall. It was clear that there were those present who felt Gradus might have a point, and they were not all Diplomats. Gradus sensed that there might be an opportunity to be grasped here, a way of further undermining the governor’s authority. For a moment, he had a considerable section of the crowd behind him, but like all those who are vain and foolish, he threw his advantage away by overstepping the mark. Before anyone could react, he slammed the boys’ heads together with a resounding crack. A collective gasp went up, and the shackled prisoners toppled to the ground.

“No!” shouted Andrus.

Gradus ignored him and grabbed the captives by the hair, smacking the boys’ heads down hard on the marble floor. Tears of anger pricked Syl’s eyes. The smaller boy remained facedown and motionless, while the older one was moaning, his head on its side, his lids closed, blood flowing from his shattered nose to pool on the floor.

“There,” said Gradus. “This is how we avenge our dead.”

He turned in a circle, his arms outstretched, a performer waiting for applause that never came. Instead, even some of his own retinue looked disgusted. The Illyri prized honor, and there was no honor in hurting two young shackled boys, regardless of what they might or might not have done. Too late, Gradus realized that he had gone too far, but he could not back down now.

“These humans have committed a capital crime against us,” he said. “An example must be made of them. They will be shown no mercy.”

“What are you talking about?” said Andrus. For the first time, he sounded doubtful. There was something new here, something of which he had not been made aware.

Gradus ignored him. When next he spoke, his voice was like a whip crack. “I hereby sentence them to death.”

There was silence for a second or two, and then Andrus started to laugh. It was a laugh without mirth. There was only mockery in it.

“In case you have forgotten, we do not impose the death penalty on children, Gradus. That is
our
law, set down by the Council centuries ago. Furthermore, in my jurisdiction we do not impose the death penalty at all. Imprisonment, yes. Banishment to the Punishment Battalions, yes. But we do not execute! Killing two teenage humans would only exacerbate the problems we already face from the Resistance here on Earth. It would be an invitation to open revolt. I forbid it!”

A silken voice interjected before Gradus could reply. “Lord Andrus, I believe there are fresh developments of which you have not been made aware.”

All eyes turned to Syrene. Despite her veil, her words were clear to all.

“By presidential order, the prohibition on the execution of children has been lifted. The Resistance on Earth has taken advantage of our mercy, using its children against us because it knew we would hesitate to hurt them. That is no longer the case. Order must be restored on this planet and, regrettably, it must be restored with a little bloodshed.”

A minor Diplomat, his fingers still more flesh than rings, stepped forward and presented Lord Andrus with a sealed document. Gradus used the moment to pick up where his wife had left off. It was clear from his face that her interruption had angered him. He had wanted to be the one to take Andrus, but, once again, the truth about where the real power lay in the relationship between Syrene and Gradus had been revealed. Gradus was his wife’s creature.

He spoke as Andrus broke the seal on the letter.

“The order gives the Diplomatic Corps full control, through the Securitats, over all judicial procedures on Earth, including imprisonment, banishment, and execution. In decisions on which the Military and the Corps disagree, the opinion of the Corps will have precedence. That, you will note, refers to
all
decisions, not merely questions of law. You will, of course, retain your position as governor, Lord Andrus, but you and your fellow governors will defer to the Corps. For now, you will report to me, as the senior Diplomat on this planet, but in a few days I will appoint a permanent Diplomat to implement our new policies on Earth.”

Lord Andrus spent a long time staring at the letter, as though he could not quite believe its contents. Syl and Meia watched from their hiding place. Syl wanted to run to her father, and it was all she could do not to cry out. With one edict, her father had effectively been deprived of his power, and the Illyri set on a path of slaughter. These two boys—boys with whom she had eaten and drunk, boys who had saved her life—would be only the first to die, and others would follow. Syl felt only shame and anger. She was of the Illyri, and the Illyri were about to become killers of children.

“It is decided,” said Gradus. “The executions will take place thirty hours from now, at dawn on Sunday. That will give us time to arrange a worldwide public broadcast, which will serve as a warning of the consequences for murdering Illyri. In the meantime, the interrogation of the suspects will resume tomorrow. They may have more information that will be of use to us.”

“Don’t do this, Gradus,” said Andrus. “It is wrong.”

“No,” said Gradus. “It is the law.”

He nodded to Vena, who raised the boys to their feet. Steven sagged, clearly unconscious, and Syl saw that tears were washing blood down Paul’s face as he stood wobbling before Gradus. He tried to speak, but the gag muffled his voice. Almost tenderly, Gradus pulled the gag down so that his words could be heard.

“Kill me,” he said. “But spare my brother. Please.”

Gradus touched Paul’s cheek, his ringed fingers brushing the boy’s skin.

“If only I could,” he said. “But as you fought together, so shall you die together.”

Paul pursed his lips, as though considering the wisdom of this, then spat a string of bloody phlegm straight into Gradus’s face. After a startled pause, Gradus punched him squarely in the jaw and the boy crumpled, but was prevented from falling again by the guards.

“Give me your pulser!” Gradus ordered the nearest guard. Syl was sure he was about to kill Paul right there, but Syrene moved forward with an otherworldly speed and put her hand on her husband’s arm.

“Not yet,” she said. “A secret death, unseen by the masses, will serve no purpose. Let him suffer on the gallows.”

A cloth was produced, and Gradus used it to wipe his face. He held the bloodied fabric before Paul.

“For this, I’m going to hang your brother first, and make you watch as he dies,” said Gradus. “Take them away!”

And Paul and Steven were dragged back to their cells, there to await their execution.