The outrage about the table was almost tangible to him, loudly audible to her, but she felt as though, despite the others present, there were now only the two of them truly there in that room: the Queen of Sarn and this young man with his disturbing smile.
‘You are here with a proposal, young prince,’ she informed him.
‘Certainly,’ he agreed. ‘For the moment, the city of Sarn presents a line across which the Wasps dare not go, not until they are fully ready for their great battle. I have with me thousands who cannot fight: the young, the old and the wounded. I know Ant city-states well enough, and you will have hoarded enough within your walls to withstand a siege lasting years. You have therefore enough to provide for those of my people that I cannot.’
‘And in exchange you will make yourselves soldiers of Sarn?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Under no circumstances. We know what that would mean: to be the least valued, the first sent into the fire. We are free, your Majesty, no subjects of yours, nor of any ruler’s.’
‘So, in return, what?’ Her Tacticians were now hanging on her words, trying to keep up with the way the world around them had suddenly shifted.
‘In exchange we will do what you cannot. We will tell you all that we discover about the Wasps. When they advance, we will harry their vanguard and ambush their baggage train. We are woodsmen, trackers, thieves and brigands, your Majesty, and we will become the very land about them, which turns upon them. We are not many, but we are still an army. More, we are an army without shield-wall or formations, an army that moves swiftly, that has no home, that cannot be pinned or broken against a solid line. They do not know how to fight us. This is what you shall have, in return.’
‘And where will this proud independence of all rulers take you at the last, young prince?’ she asked him, and he knew from the question that he had won, that she would agree.
‘A city, your Majesty. A city west of here, where my people can stop running. We do not know where it is, yet, or what it shall be called, but when we see the land just so, we shall build there.’
The flurry of conflicting voices in her head rose high, some saying that he should be instantly destroyed, others that he should be used, but still more that he was an ally worth having, now and for the future.
For the future, she agreed, If there is to be one for any of us, a new community built by those who have cause to love us is no bad thing. And it would not be hard to commandeer, if that were to become necessary.
Nine
‘Who else is aware of this?’ asked Alvdan, revealing just a hint of uncertainty that was unbecoming in an Emperor. The news had shaken him a little.
‘The servants within the harem, and of course the other concubines,’ General Maxin said. ‘Two other servants from the palace proper. They are presently being held to my order.’
‘Let it be known they have incurred our displeasure,’ said Alvdan, which meant death, of course: he had taken a liking to the phrase recently. ‘General, this could have just as easily been our throat laid open.’ He splayed his hands anxiously, feeling the charge of his sting build in them. The news was so fresh that he was still in his nightshirt, alone with General Maxin in his bedchamber, even his personal body servants having been dismissed.
‘The chief of the harem guards shall be disciplined, your Imperial Majesty,’ said Maxin smoothly.
‘She shall be more than disciplined, General!’
‘Your Imperial Majesty, we must not draw unnecessary attention to this.’
Alvdan looked at him, narrow-eyed. ‘You mean the situation in Szar?’
‘I do.’ General Maxin’s mind was spinning, laying the pieces of his plan into place. Another step intervening between the Emperor and his Empire. Another few bricks in the wall he was building around the man, until it was General Maxin who would have sole access to the throne – and thus become the power behind it. ‘The Bee-kinden of Szar are extremely important to the war effort. You must know how much we rely on their foundries and forges. The presence of their queen here has so far guaranteed their loyalty. As a result our Szaren garrison is currently one of the lightest in the Empire.’
‘Have it strengthened then, and damn their suspicions,’ Alvdan snapped. ‘Who would inherit now? How do the Bee-kinden manage their idiot succession?’
‘By simple primogeniture in the female line. There are two princesses and a prince, my records tell me.’ Maxin said. He had known of Tserinet’s death for less than an hour but he had the most efficient clerks in the world within the Rekef’s administration. ‘Maczech, the eldest princess, is currently a house-guest of the garrison commander, Colonel Gan, treated with all honour but still a hostage to her mother’s good behaviour. The prince, her junior and not eligible by their customs anyway, is an Auxillian captain garrisoning Luscoa near the Commonweal border. The younger girl is about twelve and lives in Szar with her family. She is not of the direct royal lineage but a niece to the late queen. We must move carefully, your Majesty, and meanwhile I will ensure that Maczech is kept secure.’
‘Do so,’ Alvdan agreed, ‘and think up some excuse for tripling the garrison at Szar. Tell them we are suspicious of another Mynan rebellion or something.’ He sighed. ‘It seems today shall no longer be mine to dispose of. The Sarcad was to examine my sister once more, was he not? Let him know he should proceed in my absence, because I shall not have time to indulge myself.’
As if suddenly struck by a thought, or hearing a voice otherwise unheard, Uctebri grinned to himself, needle teeth stark white against withered lips. He was such a repulsive little man when he was not concentrating on impressing her, she decided, with his head bald and veiny, and his scant, lank hair thin and grey. His features were hollow, his lips wrinkled and the few fangs they concealed were like needles of bone or the lancing teeth of fish. On his forehead, beneath his translucent skin, was a red patch that constantly shifted and squirmed, and his eyes… his eyes were evil. Seda had not believed in evil before she met him. His red and piercing eyes seemed to stare into her very being, flaying her layer by layer.
But he claimed to be on her side, so that must be all right.
Seda, youngest and sole surviving sibling of the Emperor, did not trust Uctebri the Sarcad one fraction, yet still he was more on her side than anyone else she knew. He had a use for her, clearly, while to the rest of the world she seemed simply to be filling space. Or at least until Alvdan had decided on the succession, whereupon she would finally incur his displease, as her brother was now phrasing it. She would be then seen no more in the world of men, which was Uctebri’s phrase, and one she marginally preferred.
Uctebri called her Princess sometimes, too, a Commonwealer title she had no right to, but that was pretty enough. In truth she could not even claim to be a Chattelaine, the half-derogatory term for an influential Wasp’s wife. She had neither husband nor household. Her life, her bloodline, had left her nothing but fear as an inheritance.
Seda had never known her grandfather, and her father had spared no time for her, but here was a surrogate relative of an older generation for her: Uncle Uctebri of the fabled Mosquito-kinden that they frightened children with. When he made the effort, he showed her exactly how his grotesque kind had survived so long. When he put his mind and his Art to it, he could show himself so engaging and compelling that she found herself forgetting his grotesque appearance and provenance.
He claimed he was preparing her for the ritual that her brother so much desired, a ritual that would gift Alvdan with eternal life. She believed none of it. What she did believe, though, was that Uctebri did not trust her brother. It was a sentiment she easily concurred with.