The Stealers' War (5 page)

‘All for the good, then. But I trust the threat of regiments moving along the border will not be lost on these quarrelsome mountain tribes,’ said Helrena.

More like poking a mountain lion with a stick
. Duncan watched Paetro exit the room on his way to their massive Vandian vessel of war squatting outside the city. ‘I wish it didn’t have to be this way.’

‘Our feelings are of little importance. If the family is to continue, if the house is to survive, I must be empress. A union with Prince Gyal is the most unwelcome price I must pay? Then perhaps I should count myself blessed?’

‘And what would a worse price look like?’

‘A blood price, of course. The lives of millions of loyal citizens under our house’s protection back in the Imperium. Cassandra’s, yours, Paetro’s, Doctor Horvak’s. Blood is always the currency you wager with inside Vandia. I still need your loyalty, Duncan. There are a hundred ways for us to fail and fall. Weyland was your homeland once. I need you to help me navigate these shoals.’

‘And after we rescue Cassandra?

‘Then we shall return home and we shall see.’

‘I am not sure I even know what victory would look like anymore.’

‘Gyal intends to use the diamond throne to expand the empire and keep it growing for all eternity – or at least, as long as his reign may last. I have other plans. I would use the throne to change Vandia for the better. Perhaps the world too.’

Duncan thought of the dangerous head of the Imperium’s secret police, Apolleon, and Doctor Yair Horvak labouring away for the house, and the oddly matched pair’s strange, mysterious schemes. ‘You’re keeping curious bedfellows to achieve your aims.’

‘You know I would keep you to warm my sheets. But if Gyal discovered it . . .’

Duncan understood. Helrena openly flaunting a lover would be seen as a weakness on the part of Prince Gyal. And all such weaknesses had to be ruthlessly destroyed, if not by the prince, by his many allies. ‘You’re protecting my back.’

‘As you still protect mine. Sharp eyes, Duncan. Daggers often multiply within victory’s shadow.’

Duncan gazed around the chamber. Prince Gyal. Baron Machus. Adella Cheyenne. His grasping dunderhead of a father.
Yes, and with allies like these . . .

Leyla waited for Prince Gyal to finish with the baron before she slipped to his side, carrying him a glass of sweet white wine from one of the tables at the room’s side.

Highness.’

‘Blood-red has always been the fashion inside Vandia, Lady Landor,’

said Prince Gyal.

‘You have good tastes. Ice wine is one of the few good things to

come out of the north these days.’

‘Not the only good thing, surely? Your house is one of the northern

loyalists taking a stand against these rebels.’

‘I came out of the south before I married into the north,’ said

Leyla.

‘Well, we shall travel back to your home together,’ said Gyal. ‘And

make an end of both our nation’s troubles.’

‘Will you present my own home back to me as a gift, Your Highness?’

‘King Marcus enjoys the Imperium’s trade and favour. At the far

end of the caravan routes, that must be considered the most rare and

valuable of our gifts.’

‘The king is well aware of his fine fortune when it comes to his

allies,’ said Leyla.

‘It is a rare thing to understand what is on a king’s mind,’ said

Gyal. ‘I had heard that you were well acquainted with court life in

the capital, once. A player in Arcadia’s theatres?’

‘More of a singer,’ said Leyla. ‘I am sure that our stages are very

humble compared to the theatres in Vandia.’

‘The Imperium also prefers its entertainments blood-red. Nothing

entertains the mob so much as seeing high-caste nobles murdering

each other in duels.’

‘How shocking,’ said Leyla.
And how exciting. I can think of many Weylanders at court who would benefit from gutting each other with sabres.

‘And you allow that?’

‘Allow it? We encourage it. The only thing more dangerous than opposing Vandia is to hold it,’ said Gyal. ‘Those who fall to their opponents’ blades keep the bloodlines pure and strong. And the empire must always stay strong to repel its enemies. To possess so

much wealth is to suffer the envy of the world.’

‘And is your emperor allowed to be challenged to arms?’ ‘A challenge must be between equals. An emperor has none.’ ‘And an empress?’ said Leyla, innocently.

‘The same custom holds. However, some of the best duels in the

arena are between celestial caste women. The head of a house in

the Imperium must rule through force and resilience, irrespective

of gender. It is my observation that women rarely fall short of the

challenge.’

‘Most refreshing,’ said Leyla. ‘In Weyland few object to a woman

thinking for herself, but only so long as she is thinking of a man. I

do so admire equality of manners. That explains it . . .’

‘Explains what?’ asked the Vandian.

‘Why Princess Helrena appears so radiantly satisfied. She always

keeps a few particular favourites to keep her attentions engaged.’ ‘
Particular
favourites?’

‘Surely you must have noticed how Helrena’s face lights up when

my husband’s son Duncan is around? He serves her
very
diligently, but

then, I would expect nothing less of him. I understand that in Vandia

your rulers are expected to keep a harem? Hundreds of partners to

enliven the high-borns’ existence. I suppose it must be considered bad

form to have favourites when you reach such an exalted position?’ ‘Diversion was never the purpose of the harem,’ said Gyal, his

expression turning dark. ‘It is maintained so the imperial bloodline

can fill the houses of the empire with strong leaders. It gives the

powerful a fair chance at claiming the Diamond Throne when next it

sits vacant. A carrot to dangle in front of our allies . . . the opportunity

for foreign daughters to become part of Vandia. It is the reason why

so few empresses ascend the throne alone. A single woman is limited

to a single womb. An emperor can gift the Imperium with thousands

of vigorous rulers.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Leyla. ‘So in the end it’s all about duty and obligation? King Marcus seemed much taken with the idea when last we talked. I suspect he will be rather disappointed when he discovers your splendid institution is more about the lineage of the realm and less about amusement.’
Not that it’ll put the rutting goat off. And nor should it. Not when Marcus has promised me the job of selecting the noblewomen to fill it. What kind of entertainments would I turn to if I didn’t have the powerful and high-born simpering and kissing my feet for a chance at making their silly bitches the mother of the next monarch?

Gyal stared icily towards Princess Helrena and Duncan. ‘Disappointment is part of life. It comes to us all.’

Leyla took a glass of ice wine from a passing servant and pressed it into the Vandian prince’s hand.
And what a pity when it comes visiting Duncan Landor. That will only leave a fugitive rebel girl wanted for murder and one stupid old man standing between me and the House of Landor’s wealth.
Leyla smiled happily. ‘Let us trust that a few good things may enter our lives, Your Highness.’

There were many days, Carter Carnehan mused, when he’d sell what little he possessed for the chance of solitary confinement. The rebel skyguard pilot he shared a cell with seemed to have two moods. Sardonic, or icily condescending and distant. Sometimes she even combined them together to make a third mood. He wasn’t sure what to call this third state, although Carter had been given plenty of time to consider the matter. Beula Fetterman had escaped from a prisoner-of-war camp down south to end up in Midsburg, flying missions for Prince Owen against the usurper’s forces.
I bet when it came time to draw lots to see who was to escape, the soldiers in the camp fixed it so her name came out first. Just to be shot of her
. Sadly, the hard stone walls which separated Carter and Beula’s cell from the rest of the Rodalian capital were thick enough that her manners hadn’t yet irritated the guards enough for them to transfer her over to someone else’s care.
The day will come, though. The day will surely come
. It might have come faster if the guards assigned to imprison them had been able to speak trade tongue rather than the local mountain dialect. But the authorities clearly didn’t want unauthorized communications passing between captors and prisoners.

‘Another day in paradise,’ said Beula. She idly tossed pebbles that had come in with the guards’ boots into an empty wooden rice bowl at the foot of her bunk. When she was out of ammunition, she emptied the bowl and started again. The irritating thud-thud-thud of the pebbles landing was just the smallest part of her charms.

Carter.

‘You keep on saying that.’

‘Only because it’s true.’

It had taken the hurried appearance of Nima Tash, the daughter

of the murdered Speaker of Rodal, to calm the patriotic crowd down enough for Carter and his quarrelsome pilot to escape being lynched. Before Nima had come into sight, the mob which greeted Carter’s landed plane hadn’t seemed particularly willing to understand that there were two sides fighting in Weyland’s civil war, and he hailed from the faction that
hadn’t
executed the Rodalian political leader in a fit of pique. While Carter might have been spared being torn apart, he had traded his liberty for internment.
With her
. They were well treated enough. A mattress apiece in their dry if windowless cell. Warm food and enough of it not to go hungry. Even a separate privy in a side-chamber off the cell. What Carter didn’t have was any news of how matters were progressing beyond the border, and that was torture enough.

‘I wonder if Midsburg is still under siege?’ said Carter. ‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Beula. ‘King Marcus and his armies reached the city and declared a national holiday, pardoning every rebel soldier north of the Spotswood line who ever supported parliament in raising arms against him. He’s real generous like that.’

Carter still lived in hope that Sheplar Lesh would turn up outside their cell one night. The Rodalian aviator clutching a copied set of keys to release Carter, giving him the good news that Lady Cassandra was locked securely away inside Hadra-Hareer, their old gask friend Kerge watching the hostage like a hawk. Now that the empire had entered the civil war on the usurper Marcus’ side, Prince Owen required the imperial brat for whatever leverage she was good for to regain his rightful throne.
I need to find the girl. To get my father back. To bargain for Willow’s freedom
.

‘Sheplar must have heard we’re locked up here,’ said Carter. ‘Hell, half the city came down to throw rocks at our aircraft.’

‘They weren’t aiming at my kite,’ said Beula. ‘They were aiming at
us.
And your so-called Rodalian friend’s showing more good sense than we ever did. Flying unannounced into the mountain kingdom like a pair of trusting rubes.’

‘I might have done things differently if I had known the country had closed its border. But strangely, King Marcus and his Vandian butchers didn’t see fit to consult me before they stretched the Rodalian First Speaker’s neck. I’ll be sure and have words with the usurper next time I’m at his court.’

‘Do that. And while you’re there, get a pardon for us and a steak sent up from the palace kitchens.’

‘Bloody and raw.’

‘And while you’re at it, give me a damn night’s peace. You were yelling again last night.’

Was I?
All of Carter’s dreams in Rodal seemed to be bad ones. His mother dying in the slavers’ raid on Northhaven. The dead faces of all the friends he had left behind in the sky mines, bones in a volcano-blackened landscape full of them. More corpses from the rebellion at home, soldiers he had known and fought alongside. All of his nightmares suffused with the worries of what was passing unknown to him beyond these ancient walls. His father and Willow. Carter ignored the pilot and gripped the iron bars that ran from floor to ceiling at the front of the cell. The corridor outside was illuminated with the same diffuse, slightly gossamer light that infused much of the city. The bulk of Hadra-Hareer lay deep within the mountains, relatively little of the Rodalian capital exposed clinging to the canyon walls outside. If Carter lived somewhere winds tore through narrow passes to reach many hundreds of miles an hour, he supposed he would have burrowed into the safety of the rocks for his home too. Not for nothing was this area of Weyland’s northern neighbour marked on maps as the Valley of the Hell-Winds. Their Rodalian captors had constructed mirror arrays in the cracks and crevices at the top of the mountain range, capturing bright sunlight and spreading it through the safely buried city. There were chimneys too, clinging to the crevices, where cold fresh air came inside at incredible velocities, slowed in granite buttresses and then dispersed across Hadra-Hareer’s chambers and man-made caverns. Carter might not be able to see the daggered mountains outside, but he could hear when the winds were roaring. The corridors’ air vents rasped like soft voices always just beyond understanding, hurricane forces tamed to sing their alien tale. It was little wonder Rodalians worshipped the spirits of the wind. To live in any Rodalian city was to wake up with their whispers and go to sleep listening to the same. Down in Northhaven, they said traders who visited the mountainous country sometimes went mad from the spirits’ singing.
And they didn’t have Miss Fetterman to contend with, either
.

‘I need to see the Weyland Ambassador,’ shouted Carter. ‘I know there’s an embassy in the capital. Give me some news, damn you. A newspaper, anything.’

There was a rattling from the end of the corridor as the door opened. A soldier Carter didn’t recognize strolled in, gazing at Carter angrily through the cell bars. ‘Visitors,’ said the guard in trade tongue. For a moment Carter thought he had imagined understanding the word, so long was it since he had heard anything apart from Beula’s snide asides.