Nearer the palace itself, the pastoral met acres of white marbled courtyard. Here there were arbours, arches, and benches no one ever sat on. Where grass ended and flagstones began the tradition of marking subterranean power channels was respected. Coloured lines, unerringly straight, homed in from all compass points. A spider’s web of red, black, peach, blue and a dozen other shades, all kept freshly tinted.
The vivid stripes continued inside the palace itself, running the length of corridors and under walls, cutting across the floors of rooms. They intersected deep in the palace’s heart, in the
sanctum sanctorum
which only Gath Tampoor’s ruling dynasty had ever entered. A massive vaulted chamber, ringed by impossibly tall pillars, lit by radiances whose source could not be seen. Quietly opulent in its decoration, sparely but tastefully furnished, it was perfumed by rare essences smouldering in iron braziers.
Entering from every direction, the lines gave up their rectilinear courses, curved, intermingled and flowed into an enormous circle upon the floor. Their colours blended too, and became glistening silver. Within the circle, and linked to it, shimmered the burnished emblem of Gath Tampoor: the pyramidal teeth of a stylised sunburst, enclosing a magnificent dragon. Permanently glamoured, the coiled, scaly beast belched sheets of orange flame.
One of the dragon’s great eyes was a hollow cavity. A smooth-sided pit large enough to comfortably drop a stagecoach into. The content of all the channels fed the pool at its bottom. Magic’s chariot, quicksilver with the consistency of honey, coursed and blended there. The pool’s shining surface, agitated as the liquid ebbed and fluxed, would often settle and take on the properties of what might best be described as a window. A window that showed images from a myriad elsewheres.
Not that most people would recognise the images as such, or indeed the window.
A small group clustered around the eye. One of them held the most powerful position in the empire. The others had blood ties to her. They dressed in spectacularly expensive glamoured raiment, and several were accompanied by chimera companions. These were beautiful or repulsive in the extreme, as dictated by taste.
Empress Bethmilno XXV was very old. Though assuming she was senile could prove fatal. She wore thick white face powder. Her lips were a scarlet wound, her eyes and lashes heavily lead blackened. Artificially dark, her hair was piled up and lanced with long silver pins. Her garb was light-coloured and delicately glamoured, so that its continuously shifting display of patterns changed subtly.
The group studied the recess, seemingly untroubled by the intense cold it gave off.
‘There!’ the Empress exclaimed, pointing to a stir of shadows in the quicksilver. ‘And again, there.’
‘Does it have the same source, Grandmother?’ a young man asked.
‘Yes, the barbarous lands. Though not so far north this time.’
‘These disturbances in the grid grow stronger and more frequent,’ an older man remarked. ‘It beggars belief that one human being could have such an effect.’
‘Yet it appears so,’ Bethmilno said, ‘for all that he’s an ignorant savage.’
‘Is there any precedent?’
‘None.’
‘This should have been nipped in the bud,’ another grumbled. ‘It’s past time this upstart was dealt with.’
The Empress viewed him sternly. ‘You can’t honestly believe the warlord could endanger us in any way. When has any threat from the people ever done that? To interpret this as some kind of hazard to the imperium would be to take it too seriously.’ She paused, and added, ‘We have not come this far, however, by being incautious. And there are considerations beyond the problems a single warlord may bring us.’
‘Rintarah,’ the grandchild supplied dutifully.
The Empress smiled indulgently. A sight which, to an outsider, might appear grotesque. ‘I could wish others were as focused on realities as you, my dear. It should never be forgotten who the true enemy is.’ She looked to them all. ‘Rintarah. Of course.
Always
Rintarah. An alliance between them and the barbarian could seriously upset the balance.’
‘As could a union with the insubordinates,’ the first man suggested.
‘We are alive to that possibility. Although for my part I consider them more a nuisance than a threat. A disorganised rabble.’
‘Not everyone holds that opinion.’
‘I am aware of that. We take every precaution.’
‘But still they strike at us.’
‘The way a gnat might attack a buffalo.’
‘Surely the real danger is the possibility of the Resistance and Rintarah uniting against us?’ another of her kin offered. ‘It would make sense, backing one side against the other.’
‘I consider that the least likely option. The insurgents are equally opposed to both empires, and their movements in both are linked. No, Rintarah wouldn’t unite with them any more than we would.’
‘The Resistance shows signs of greater organisation. That must be a cause for -’
‘There’s something you should try to understand about them,’ the Empress stated, every inch the condescending matriarch, ‘however long it takes you. And it applies to all our subjects. Anarchy is their natural state. Look at how they treat the magic we permit them. They resent control, yet, save a minority, have never marshalled themselves sufficiently to oppose it. They are cattle, and cattle don’t have the imagination to run the farm.’
‘True. Though some are of hardy stock.’
She waved away the qualification. ‘The bulk of their fellows can be relied on to drag them down. Don’t underestimate the power of apathy. Overwhelmingly, the people are too preoccupied with the baubles we throw them to bother us. But don’t take that to mean we ignore the so-called Resistance. Steps are being taken against them, and this renegade warlord.’
‘What steps?’
‘We’re continually tapping the essence,’ she nodded at the pit, ‘for a clue to the nature of his power. In addition, there’s the fact-finding expedition to the northern wastelands we’ve decreed, under the Bhealfan flag. As a precaution, the crew will be allowed higher grade glamours as part of their arsenal.’ She noted her family’s apprehensive expressions and made to reassure them. ‘That’s not a matter for concern. The magic will be supervised by trusted servants, and is sorcerer-specific and non-renewable. There’s no chance of it proliferating.’
‘And the Resistance?’ someone prompted.
‘I’ve ordered that action against them be more draconian. The paladins are proving a useful tool in this respect, and they’ll be given greater overall control of strategy. We’re increasing infiltration of the dissidents’ ranks, too, and that policy is already paying dividends.’
‘What if things come to a head with the warlord despite these efforts?’
‘I grant we may well have to meet him in open conflict. Be assured, that would be a long way from our borders, and the outcome would not be in doubt.’ As she spoke, the Empress absently worried a tiny scab on the bridge of her nose. The flap of skin detached. She looked at it, flicked it away. ‘As far as our own subjects are concerned, that could be a bonus. There’s nothing like a war to distract the populace.’
Someone who hadn’t spoken before cleared his throat and ventured, ‘There is one possible aspect to all this we haven’t considered.’
The Empress raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Oh?’
‘The Qalochian,’ he replied hesitantly.
Her gaze narrowed at mention of it. There was a general shuffling of feet. One of the chimeras, emotionally linked to its owner, briefly transformed from comely to hideous.
‘What of him?’ she asked tightly.
‘You know that our intelligence indicates he may have fallen in with the insubordinates. Potentially, that’s the most perilous development of all.’
‘I know that. The situation is under review.’
‘But this isn’t as straightforward as our other problems, is it? Given the rules of engagement that must be followed in respect of this man, our hands are tied.’
‘It’s time that was re-examined, too,’ someone muttered.