“And what of us, then?” Jurak asked, a cold shiver of fear coursing through him when the full enormity of what he had just heard struck him.
Velamak smiled. “He of my order, who I suspect even now is moving toward final control, he will guide the way.” Jurak lowered his head. For the first time since meeting this envoy he felt at last that he understood what was hidden beneath. This man wasn’t just an envoy, he was a fanatic, a believer, who had come to prepare the way for the madness to come.
“So you survived after all, Hazin.”
Hazin smiled, bowing low before the Grand Master of his order. He could see the wary gaze, the shift of the Grand Master’s weight as he leaned forward ever so slightly, ready to spring if Hazin should make a threatening move.
“My master, I must protest the indignity of a personal search before entering your quarters,” Hazin replied. “I would not be so disloyal as to strike you now.”
There was a sarcastic grunt of bemusement. “The whole city has been in turmoil since your ship docked, wondering what news you bring.”
Hazin chuckled. So they weren’t sure. Good.
“Hanaga is dead, as you ordered.”
There was an exhale of relief.
Ah, so he did fear the plot within a plot. Fine, that would have diverted his thinking for the moment. “There was no sense in keeping the news hidden. I’ve already sent one of our acolytes to the palace to give his most exalted highness the good news. I thought it best, however, to report to you personally.”
The Grand Master stirred. “Are you certain he is dead?” His voice was filled now with menace.
“If you doubt, fetch the Shiv who were aboard the ship and put to them the question. They disposed of the body after we were done.”
“You should have kept some proof for the satisfaction of Yasim.”
“The acolyte bears a basket containing Hanaga’s head. Is that proof enough, my master?”
There was a chuckle of bemusement. “He’ll most likely vomit at the sight of it.”
“And vomit again when you press for payment,” Hazin replied.
The Grand Master nodded, picking up a dagger resting on his desk to examine the blade.
“He’ll pay. He knows the result if he doesn’t.”
“Yasim might appear a weakling on the surface. But is he?”
“He’s a fool. Hanaga was different. Once the civil war was decided, we all knew he would turn on us. We were the one threat left to the Golden Throne. Yasim will be too afraid of us to strike. That, besides the wealth offered, was good enough reason to switch sides and support him.”
“The war, however, is all but finished now,” Hazin replied. “Playing one against the other was our own path to power. The remaining Banners will submit. And then what?”
“We consolidate our hold. With the payment offered we can expand our temples, gather more recruits. In ten years the cycle of struggle for the throne will start again, and yet again we shall play the game. This new emperor is morally a weakling, but he is lusty enough in his private chambers. Soon enough he will breed the next generation for us to play with.”
Hazin nodded, though he did not agree. The Master was old, the fire was going out of him. He was thinking now like an old one, seeking security, warmth, a comfortable seat by the side of Yasim at the banquet table and amphitheater.
He did not know the full measure of the one he had just placed on the throne. For that reason alone he should die, and for the simple fact that he was in the way.
“The journey has been a tiring one,” Hazin replied. “May I have your permission to withdraw?”
The Master nodded, then held up his hand just before Hazin backed out of the door, motioning for him to close it.
“One question.”
Hazin kept his features expressionless.
“Your order was to kill Hanaga. It is rare indeed for one to survive such an assignment.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Yet you obviously arranged it so you would.”
“Yes.”
The moment has come, Hazin thought. If he has any wisdom, he should kill me now, this very instant.
“You knew my intent in assigning you.”
“Yes, to ensure that I would die as well, but I did not.”
“And?”
“You could kill me now and find out the result, or let me live and find out the result.”
There was a long moment of silence, the master holding the dagger in his hand. At one time, long ago, this one had been his first mentor in the order. Hazin had loyally followed him, because that loyalty had been properly rewarded with advancement. Now he had only one step left to achieve-the final rank within the order, and the master knew it.
Hazin finally looked straight at him. “Better the threat you know than the one you don’t,” Hazin whispered. “For someone else to get at you, they will still have to contend with me.”
There was a subtle nod of agreement.
“The dynamic between us will keep the balance. If there is another rival within the order, such as Grishna or Ulva, they know that if they strike you down I will still take revenge, and if I should be stricken, then you will mete out revenge. As long as we are careful, we can both survive.”
“Are you pleading for your life, Hazin? I always thought better of you than to sink so low.”
“No, rather suggesting that we both can live or we both will die. I know why you assigned me to kill Hanaga. That was the business of our order, and I could accept it.”
He pitched his voice carefully. The master had trained him in the reading of the finest nuances of expression, the slightest change in tone, the flicker of an eyelid, the ever so subtle glancing away when a lie was spoken. That was yet another power of the Order, the training to be a truth sayer, one who could detect a lie in another, no matter how carefully crafted.
He thought of the human Cromwell for an instant, the sharp honesty that was so easy to read, and yet so difficult to penetrate. Then he pushed the thought aside. He had to remain focused.
“I assigned you to Hanaga to get rid of you. The needs of the Order are changing now that the civil war is ending. You, Hazin, thrive on conflict and manipulate it to your own advantage. I am not sure if you can survive now that it is ending.”
“We must still contend with the human rebellion to the north.”
The master snorted. “Time enough later.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“We encountered a ship of theirs.” He briefly explained the battle with the Gettysburg, but left out the detail of taking the two prisoners.
“Trivial.”
“An opportunity. We know that the Golden Throne is increasingly suspicious of the Shiv. The fact that we breed thousands more than will ever be needed for sacrifice, that we have trained them in war, and that they have fought to victory in every engagement makes the emperor nervous. Unleashing them against the human Republic will give us millions to rule and can perhaps reveal as well the location of a Portal.”
The Grand Master openly laughed. “You and that mad dream of leaving this place. Is not scheming for one empire enough?”
Hazin could see that the true focus of the conversation had wandered. His own life still hung by a thread.
“I want to ensure the survival of the Order, of our own personal survival.”
“Our survival or yours, Hazin?”
“My staying alive guarantees yours as well, Master.”
“Is there a threat in those words?”
“A statement of reality,” Hazin said quietly, his voice cool, even, without a hint of emotion.
The master stared at him and then ever so slowly put the dagger back down.
“For the moment, then, we shall leave things at that.” Hazin bowed and turned to open the door, using his left hand, which he had kept concealed in the folds of his robe.
Leaving the master’s chamber, he hurriedly went down the open flagstone corridor, past one of the pleasure gardens where several of the new initiates loitered, drifting in their hazy drug-induced visions, and entered his chamber, sweeping past the Shiv guards, careful to open and close the door to his room with his right hand.