Survivors in the farmers’ ranks could only cower and witness their ruination.
The inhabitants of the gliding structures looked down on all this with ill-concealed boredom. As though destroying people’s homes was a common event. Which, of course, it was.
At the window of a chamber high in Melyobar’s travelling palace, one particular observer watched with an expression that was almost vacant.
‘How much longer’s he going to keep us waiting?’ an impatient voice demanded from behind him.
Andar Talgorian, Gath Tampoor’s Imperial Envoy, slammed the shutters and turned to the questioner.
Clan High Chief Ivak Bastorran, hereditary leader of the paladins, was above middle years, and his neatly trimmed hair and beard were touched with silver. But his physique was still impressive, the heritage of a lifetime of soldiering, and his eyes were sharp and artful from nearly as long a career in scheming. He wore the clan uniform – red tunic, black breeches, knee-high leather riding boots – as though it had formed around him. Tight, crisp, no creases. His boots shone almost as brightly as the decorations and braid he wore.
‘It’s getting here at this hour that irks me,’ Talgorian complained.
‘Nothing special for a soldier,’ Bastorran snorted. ‘Pity you never had the discipline of a military background.’ It was intended as a dig. A small barb in the ongoing mutual loathing between men of equivalent power and differing aims who vied for the Prince’s attention.
Talgorian refused to bite and said nothing.
An eavesdropper glamour hung in the air just below the sumptuous anteroom’s ornate ceiling. It took the shape of a large brass ear. There was no pretence as to its function, no subtlety intended. Beneath his shirt Talgorian wore a medallion containing a blocking glamour which overrode the eavesdropper. He was sure Bastorran had something similar. Visitors were forbidden to bring spells of any kind into the palace, but it was unlikely anyone would challenge such men.
‘The waste of time is what I find frustrating,’ Bastorran added. ‘I have more important matters to attend to.’
‘Such as increased Resistance activity?’
That was a hit. The paladin glowered. ‘We try not to call them that. Makes it sound like they have a just grievance. I prefer deviants, hooligans, misfits -’
‘However you name them, they
are
more active. In both empires and in the colonies. Not least here in Bhealfa.’
‘The clans are on top of it. We have informers in the insurgent ranks, and there’s little happening we’re not aware of.’
‘All interested parties have their spies.’
‘Not as highly placed as mine.’
Talgorian regarded that as a bluff, else the paladins would have made better headway with the problem. He tried steering back to the subject. ‘Well,
our
sources indicate the rebels are involved in more attacks and criminality than ever before. That has to be of concern to all of us.’
‘It’d be less of a concern if we were put in sole charge of dealing with them.’
‘You know that would be politically unacceptable.’
‘Unacceptable my arse. Politics is a mire. It bogs things down when speed’s of the essence. It conciliates when we should be striking without mercy. You’re in it by choice. It’s your
job
to spew silken words amounting to no more than a pile of horse shit. I wade in the privy out of necessity.’
‘Your views on the subject are well known,’ Talgorian replied dryly, ‘so let’s not rehearse them again, shall we? The fact remains that politics is what we’re engaged in, like it or not, and that means we practise the art of expediency. It’s how we get things done.’
‘My point exactly. Expediency. Compromise, concessions, give and take. Allow us a clear path and you’d see improvements in the situation then.’
‘I would hardly say that the regime we have now is particularly soft, any more than the penalties meted out by your clans could be called lenient.’ He didn’t wait for Bastorran to contradict that, and pushed on. ‘And you have to admit the paladins are in a delicate position with regard to the Resistance, what with you serving both Gath Tampoor
and
Rintarah. You’ll never have a free hand as long as that’s the case.’
‘Now we have a subject
your
views are plain about,’ Bastorran replied heatedly. ‘We make alliances. It’s our tradition.’ He spoke deliberately, as though instructing a dim child. ‘The paladins bear arms for anyone who needs our services.’
‘Anyone who can pay for them, you mean.’
‘Do you do your job unpaid? Or is your patriotism so great your services are given freely? There’s no contradiction in what we do. We’re stateless, remember, and by choice. Which makes it possible for us to serve and fight without being hampered by ties of nationhood. In any event, no one clan serves both empires.’
‘Nevertheless, a paladin of whatever clan is ultimately loyal to all clans.’
‘If conflicts of interest arise, paladins withdraw. If that’s impossible we serve faithfully, and that includes meeting brother clansmen in battle if need be.’
Which had never been known, Talgorian reflected. And he was far from alone in thinking that if the paladins’ stateless condition, a privilege accorded to no other group, wasn’t expediency, he didn’t know what was. The word mercenary hung in the air, but he had no appetite for using it. He didn’t want to make more of an enemy of this man. ‘The idea that you could take up arms against yourselves,’ he said, ‘I always found that difficult to understand.’
‘You would, you’re a civilian,’ the paladin responded, appending, ‘With respect,’ though he meant no respect at all. ‘It’s about honour.’
Talgorian raised a cynical eyebrow at that. ‘The reality of the situation is that the clans are never going to be entirely…’ He was going to say trusted. ‘The clans are unlikely to be granted the latitude you want as long as you insist on this particular… tradition,’ he rephrased diplomatically.
‘Over the centuries many have tried to persuade my predecessors away from our customs. I very much doubt the present administration, or indeed your good self, is going to have any more success than they did, Ambassador.’
‘I would never be so presumptuous, Clan High Chief.’
They exchanged professional, insincere smiles and mentally crept away from the topic.
There was a soft bump as the palace flattened something. A farmhouse perhaps, or somebody’s orchard. Nothing of any importance.
Bastorran said, ‘I will concede that difficult problems do arise in respect of security.’ He noted Talgorian’s guarded expression. ‘I’m thinking of recent events concerning your Council for Internal Security,’ he clarified, ‘and the disappearance of a certain special unit captain.’
It was Talgorian’s turn to hide embarrassment. ‘You suspect the Resistance had a hand in it?’
‘She’s a reasonably important middle-ranking operative by all accounts. Certainly an asset to them if she has defected, and her escape
was
assisted. On the other hand, things often prove more complicated than they first seem.’
‘What’s your interest in the matter, beyond the security implications?’
‘Several clansmen were killed during her escape. Losing our own isn’t something we take lightly.’
‘I’m told her escape was purely a criminal matter.’
‘Whatever it was it should never have been allowed to happen. The whole affair was a botch from start to finish. When a member of one of the great families gets killed, like this Phosian boy, even if it was incompetence and not assassination, heads should roll. Anything less and the mob loses proper respect for authority.’
‘You may well be right. But the fate of a lowly captain isn’t what concerns us at the moment.’ He nodded towards the pair of elegantly carved doors at the far end of the anteroom. ‘It would benefit us both if we had a united front when we see the Prince. I suggest we keep the agenda simple for him.’
‘Don’t we always?’
‘More so today, I mean. By concentrating on one or two issues of special importance.’