Imperial Traitor (32 page)

‘Ah, well, it was to be expected, I suppose. You don’t happen to know anyone else with your skills who might like some work, do you?’ he asked hopefully.

‘The only other sorcerers I’ve met would not be the sort of people you would want to do business with. I shouldn’t worry about any rival companies being able to recreate what
we’re doing here. I find it highly unlikely that there are any other sorcerers around who would do something like this.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Femke noticed Lord Kempten lurking in a corner nearby. He had not gone out on stage with the others, as it was deemed an unnecessary risk. One of the regular troupe
had taken his place for the final bows. Sliding away from the group, she stepped discreetly across to speak with him.

‘I gather from the applause that all went well,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Yes, my Lord – very well. We have our invitation to the Palace for tomorrow and everyone knows the plan. Serrius wasn’t happy to see Commander Lutalo and his men, but when I
explained that they were to be your bodyguard whilst he and the other gladiators led the assault, he calmed down.’

‘Good. So everything is set. Tell me honestly, Femke, do you think the plan will work?’

Femke looked him in the eye and took a deep breath. ‘It will have to, my Lord.’

‘Have to? You don’t sound very sure of something. What’s wrong?’

‘There’s been an unexpected development. I got some bad news from one of my agents this morning. I’ve been wondering how to tell you this all day. There’s no easy way to
say it.’

Kempten’s face drained of colour. ‘What is it, Femke? Tell me. Does the Guild know what we plan? Have we got a traitor in our midst?’

‘No, it’s not that. I’m afraid it’s worse. The Guild has taken Lady Kempten hostage, my Lord. I can only assume that she’s being held, as I was, somewhere in the
Guild complex.’

‘Oh Shand, no!’ he breathed. ‘I should have listened to you and had her move from the country house. This is exactly the sort of thing I was worried about from the beginning.
Have they issued any demands in return for her release?’

Femke nodded.

‘Well? What are they?’

Femke pulled out a small piece of folded parchment from an inside pocket. Without a word she handed it to him. He snatched it and opened it with trembling fingers. His eyes raced back and forth
across the page, his lips tightening with each line read. When he reached the end, he closed his eyes, drawing the parchment close to his chest.

‘I realise this places you in a difficult position, my Lord,’ Femke said softly. ‘I did think about concealing this until after we had carried out the raid, but I realised that
I could not in all conscience bring myself to do it. We’re your servants in this, my Lord. I’ve spoken with Reynik. He feels, as I do, that we pushed you down the road this far.
We’re ready to face the consequences of our actions if you so desire. We couldn’t ask you to choose in our favour.’ Kempten looked down at the parchment again and read it a second
time:

‘The third day of Channis – that’s tomorrow, but it doesn’t give a time. Does it mean I have until midnight tomorrow? Or sundown? Or until the end of
today? The sun has already set. Am I too late? When did you get this, Femke? How long have you known and not told me?’

Although he kept his voice low, there was no mistaking the anger in Lord Kempten’s tone. Femke was not surprised. On the contrary – but she was impressed at how calm he was staying,
given the circumstances.

‘The interpretation of the letter is debatable, my Lord. I would read it as until midnight tomorrow, but that may be wishful thinking. I got the message this morning, but there’s no
indication of how old it is. My agent got it from one of the better-known tattle touts in town. He claimed he had not had the message for more than a day. They cannot have been holding Lady Kempten
long. I took a trip to see Toomas as soon as I got this. Higher priorities had prevented my doing so until now.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He was most talkative once I had a blade to his throat. Assuming he told the truth, he didn’t sell information about you to the Guild until five days ago, so even if Ferdand moved
the instant he heard you were still alive, there’s no way he could have got someone to your estate and back more than three days ago. Two is more likely.’

Kempten pursed his lips into a tight line and screwed the parchment into a tight ball. ‘That’s still two days too many,’ he said bitterly. ‘Shand, but I should never have
agreed to all this! My one concern from the beginning was my family. Now look what I’ve done.’

‘My Lord Kempten, you’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘My actions have placed Izzie in danger. If she’s been hurt . . . I . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.’

‘What would you have us do, my Lord?’ Femke asked.

‘I don’t know. Give me some time to think. Damn it, Femke! You should have brought this to me as soon as you received it. If Izzie is already dead, I doubt I’ll ever forgive
you.’

Femke bowed and turned away. She felt terrible. They were so close to making her plan a reality, yet one word from Lord Kempten and everything she and Reynik had gone through over the past weeks
would be rendered a wasted effort. Femke had always known the possibility that her service to the Empire might require her to give up her life. Reynik, as a member of the Legions, was similarly
braced for the possibility. It was the manner of that ultimate sacrifice that promised to be galling. To give up her life knowing that they had lost – that the Empire was to fall under the
control of the Guild of Assassins – was what hurt most. All she could hope was that Lord Kempten would be brave and bold. In her gut, though, she knew this was unlikely. She knew his heart.
He would do anything to save his wife.

The decision had been agonising. As Kempten stepped up to the Palace gates with Femke on one side and Reynik on the other, his sense of guilt peaked once more. Had he made the
right choice? Would this be a day that he would forever look back on with remorse and guilt?

Femke sensed his growing tension and glanced across at him. The glamour image that Calvyn had given Kempten this time was almost too good. It was reacting to his emotions. The Lord’s skin
looked almost as grey as his hair. There was little Femke could do to help him with his conscience. Everything she could say to help him had been said.

The Palace gates opened wide to admit them and the guards waved them through without question. A small contingent of guards was waiting inside the wall. The soldiers formed up in loose files on
either side of them to escort them into the main building. Given all the recent troubles in Shandrim, it seemed strange to gain such easy access to the Palace, even if the guard force was watching
them closely.

They followed the road through the gardens and up to the main Palace entrance, the guards shadowing them silently on either side. The last time Femke had entered through these doors was for
Surabar’s coronation. It was amazing to think that only a few short months had passed since that day, yet so much had happened since. Was this to be the end? Femke had never been one for
morbid thoughts, but she could not shake the air of impending doom that had settled on her heart. Reynik looked as calm and intent as ever. Was that because he had no fear, or because he was better
at hiding it?

They climbed the grand steps up to the main entrance to the Palace and entered through the huge double doors. Inside the doors a steward awaited them.

‘Are you Devarusso?’

‘I am,’ Devarusso responded from the front of the line.

Femke turned to Lord Kempten and whispered softly in his ear, ‘You’ve done the right thing, my Lord. Don’t worry, we won’t let you down.’

Lord Kempten nodded, but he did not try to answer aloud. Femke wished with all her heart that her feelings would match the confidence of her words, but right now she was sick to the core with
nerves.

‘Come this way and I’ll show you where His Imperial Majesty would like you to set up your show.’

‘His Imperial Majesty? Has the coronation already taken place, then?’ Devarusso’s question mirrored the thoughts of many in the party.

‘The coronation was a small private ceremony this morning. News of it will be released to the public tomorrow. Your show is to be the highlight of the Emperor’s private celebrations.
It was commissioned at the request of his son, Lord Shalidar.’

Devarusso gave an elaborate bow. ‘We’re honoured,’ he said.

Femke looked first at Reynik, and then at Kempten. They met her eyes with the same silent questions evident in their features. Does he know it’s us? Are we walking into the jaws of another
of the Dragon’s traps? If he knew, then the game was up. If he didn’t . . . the irony of that thought caused Femke’s lips to twitch in amusement.

‘One way or the other, it’ll be the highlight – no doubt about that,’ Femke heard Kempten mutter softly.

That much was certainly true, Femke reflected. Morose thoughts surfaced. People were going to die today. The only questions remaining were: who, and how many?

Lord Kempten had made a very brave choice by electing to continue with the plan. It had surprised her, but also had filled her with an added sense of accountability. It was her plan. If it went
wrong, all fingers would point at her. What if Lady Kempten were to die? What if the assassins proved better fighters than Serrius and his fellow gladiators? The weight of responsibility pressed
down hard on her shoulders. There were nineteen in the party, leaving herself aside. In the past she had only ever had to worry about her own skin, and occasionally that of one or two agents. Today
was very different.

She looked back and forth along the line. All were heavily laden with ‘costumes’ and props, most of which were totally unnecessary for the play, but served to conceal the very real
nature of the weapons and armoured clothing they would use for the assault on the Guild. In all, there were six gladiators, six soldiers and two knife-throwers, plus Reynik, Kempten, Jabal, Calvyn
and Devarusso. Feeling responsible for so many people made her wonder for a moment what it must be like to be a military commander, or worse still, Emperor. She did not envy Lord Kempten his
future, no matter what the outcome.

Not least of her worries was Reynik’s role. She stepped behind Kempten and up alongside the young soldier.

‘Are you
sure
you’re going to be able to handle Shalidar?’ she asked discreetly.

‘Yes, Femke. For the last time, I’m sure,’ he whispered back. ‘I don’t want anyone else interfering. He’s mine. I have more than one score to settle with him.
Don’t worry, I won’t let him get away this time.’

‘Don’t forget that I know how good he is, Reynik. No offence, but he is a master swordsman. Your desire for vengeance won’t neutralise his abilities. I don’t want you
doing anything stupid, like letting him kill you.’

He flashed her an amused grin. ‘What’s the matter? Worried I won’t be around to rescue you next time you get into trouble?’

‘Something like that,’ she said, deliberately looking away so as not to meet his eye. ‘Is this just an extreme case of nerves?’ she wondered. ‘Or am I experiencing
fore-warnings? Oh, Shand! I hope it’s nerves.’

‘Don’t worry, Femke. I’ll have Calvyn, my father and six highly-trained Legionnaires to help me if I need them. I’ve crossed blades with him before. I’ll be
careful. What are you going to do if Jabal can’t find the entrance?’ he said, turning the tables.

‘He appears confident that it won’t be a problem,’ Femke replied. ‘I’ll give him his chance. But don’t worry, if it’s there, then we’ll find it
one way or another – and I’m sure it’s there. I take your point, though. Sorry, but old habits are hard to kill. I’ll concentrate on my problems and leave you to handle
yours.’

They filed through to the Great Hall. Femke fell silent. She knew better than to whisper in here. The acoustics were such that the echo of a whisper in some parts of the hall would magnify their
volume by several factors. It was not a good place for loose talk.

For the majority of the party, this was their first time in the Palace. They looked around in wonder at the immense scale of the architecture. The Great Hall had been designed and built to
inspire awe. Its great vaulted ceiling and towering pillars evoked a sense of reverence and majesty not unlike the great temples many cultures built in honour of the gods. The architect had been
briefed to build suitably intimidating surroundings in which to host visiting royalty. The hall had achieved that aim for nearly six centuries.