Stryke sprang forward, snatched the pouch and dived out of the carriage. Thinking he'd be struck down at any instant, he ran towards Haskeer.
His sergeant had decapitated the zombie and was staring down at it. Even headless, the creature still showed signs of life, writhing and twitching in the dirt.
" Move it! " Stryke yelled. "Run!"
Haskeer fell in behind him.
Stryke looked back. He expected to see Jennesta coming out of the coach, but there was no sign of her. Up ahead Coilla, Dallog and the others were surveying the corpses of the troopers littering the road.
Loosening the drawstrings on the pouch, Stryke checked its contents. The instrumentalities were inside. Triumphant, he stuffed the pouch into his jerkin.
"Got them?" Coilla asked as he approached.
He gave her a thumbs-up.
" Company! " Dallog shouted, pointing with his sword.
A detachment of cavalry were heading their way from the direction of the barracks, and they were moving fast.
Stryke ordered a retreat. They ran into the trees and mounted hidden horses.
In her carriage, Jennesta smiled.
They split into four groups to avoid attention, with Stryke, Coilla and Haskeer staying together. As a precaution, the safe house had been changed following the incident with Standeven, and they rode hard for it to beat the curfew. But they slowed their pace when they got into the inner city's narrow, winding streets, where many others were hastening home before full dark. Finally, finding the lanes too crowded to ride, they had to dismount and lead their horses.
"Now we've got the stars back," Haskeer said, "we can leave anytime we want."
"Not until things are settled here," Stryke replied sternly.
"Didn't say we should. It's just good to have the option."
"I'll drink to that."
"Now you're talking." Haskeer spat plentifully, narrowly missing the feet of an irate passing citizen. "My throat's as dusty as a troll's crotch."
"Is it just me," Coilla wondered, "or did this mission seem just a little too easy?"
"You wouldn't say that if you'd been in there with Jennesta," Stryke replied.
"You're still alive, aren't you? And, all right, we met some opposition, but nothing we couldn't handle."
"We got lucky."
"Don't you think Jennesta would've taken more precautions? Not just for herself, but the stars?"
"You know what it's like with rulers. They get full of themselves. Too brash. They never think anybody'd dare go against 'em. The important thing is we got these back." He patted his jerkin.
"Guess so." She didn't sound entirely convinced.
"We're nearly there," Stryke said, changing the subject. "Expect the rebels to be nosy about what we've been up to today, and stick to our story. Remember, we've just been harrying the militia."
Coilla and Haskeer nodded.
But when they got to the disused grain store the resistance were using they found the place abuzz. No one seemed interested in where they'd been. Eventually Chillder located them, and she was animated.
"What's happening?" Stryke asked.
"The resistance council's decided the Primary should come out into the open. Isn't it great? Our mother's going to issue her rallying call!"
"When?"
"In the morning."
"That soon?"
"The time's right, Stryke. Make sure your band's ready; we're heading for the revolution!"
9
Hacher had grown used to Jennesta's nocturnal habits. Or at least accepting of them. In the weeks she had been in Taress as the empire's special envoy, he had reason to wonder if she ever slept at all.
So it was that Hacher found himself in her chambers near dawn, having been at her beck and call for most of the night. Jennesta herself was outside on the balcony, watching Grilan-Zeat. The comet was big in the sky, a boiling light to rival the Sun that was soon to rise.
Hacher was alone in her apartment. His aide, Frynt, had been despatched on some errand Jennesta demanded, and Brother Grentor had likewise been dragged from his bed to attend to her whims. Her undead personal guards were nowhere to be seen. Hacher suspected that they were slumbering in some state of coma necessary to revitalise their strength, but preferred not to dwell on the thought.
He was bored as well as exhausted, though the anxiety Jennesta always managed to generate in everyone gave his fatigue an edge. It was rather like the way he remembered feeling as he prepared to enter a battle when he was a younger man. But this night trepidation had reached new heights, given Jennesta's ambush during the evening. Not that she had done more than mention it, almost in passing, let alone discussed it with him. He wasn't so naive as to think it would end there, and his concern was about when and how she might show her displeasure.
As he pondered, she entered the room. Hacher intuitively stiffened, almost to attention, as he always did when she was around, and doubly so when there was a chance she was going to be wrathful.
Worn out by anticipation, he decided on the risky strategy of preempting her by broaching the subject first, greeting her with, "I owe you an apology, my lady. The assault you were subjected to earlier was inexcusable."
"Yet you are about to make excuses for it, no doubt."
"No, ma'am. I merely wish to express the military's regret that you should have been put in harm's way." He consulted a parchment he'd been reading. "And I see from the report that you lost a personal possession to the outlaws."
"The item in question is not your concern, General, and in any event it was unimportant, trifling."
"I'm pleased to hear it, ma'am."
"The matter of my personal security, however, is not insignificant. In allowing my convoy to be attacked, those under your command were both incompetent and cowardly."
"A number of men gave their lives for you, ma'am."
"But not all, I think."
"Ma'am?"
"Who survived the raid?"
Hacher scanned the report. "A coach driver, and one of the troopers accompanying you, though he's severely injured."
"Execute them."
"With all due respect, ma'am, I think — "
"Only you don't, do you? Think, that is. The only way you're going to put down this growing rebellion is by being utterly ruthless with your underlings. They need to be toughened to pass that mercilessness on to the scum on the streets."
"I have complete confidence in our armed forces," Hacher protested indignantly. "Their expertise and bravery are next to none."
"The rulers of every nation tell their subjects lies. Do you know one of the biggest? That they have the best army in the world. While in actuality armies are a rabble, a dumping pit for felons and cutthroats. Only absolute obedience, born of the rope and the lash, enables them to function."
"Our forces are properly disciplined, ma'am. And as a result, as fighters they're peerless."
"You don't know the meaning of the word. Nor will you until I fashion a force that's truly peerless. Merciless and totally compliant. The executions will go ahead. As to your own behaviour, as the one ultimately answerable, I've issued you with enough warnings about your behaviour. Be sure that this is the last one."
"Ma'am." For all his iron reputation, and his position of command, he lowered his eyes from hers.
"Cheer up, General," Jennesta told him. "Your forces will have the chance to prove you right very soon." She looked out at the rising Sun, bloody red on the horizon. "Something tells me it's going to be an interesting day."
On the periphery of the city, in a location passed on by word of mouth in marketplaces, taverns and cornfields, a crowd was gathering. The area was shabby, with little to tempt visitors, and dawn had barely broken, yet a large number had collected. More were arriving by the minute, on foot, by horseback, in packed-out wagons.