‘Are you telling us anything we didn’t already know or hadn’t guessed?’ Caldason asked.
‘Hear me out and decide. The Founders moulded existence to their own design. They even defied death, gaining immortality or something very much like it. You Reeth, and Phoenix and myself, have all had a taste of that, just from touching the hem of the Founders’ gown, so to speak. You could say they created a kind of heaven. They certainly seemed to think so. But there was just enough of the beast in them still, a trace of the savage from the days when they were like us. And they did as savages will do and fell into dispute. They had two basic philosophies, opposing ways of reckoning with life, and a schism opened up. There was war in heaven. The upshot of all the destruction they wrought wasn’t extinction, as you might expect, but a fall from grace.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Serrah confessed.
‘Simply that. They fell. The heights they’d attained were lost to them. Their towering triumphs slipped from their grasp. They were relegated to flesh again, which they found loathsome. But they still had power, and they survived, and their quarrel carried on. For ages the two groups have been locked in a death struggle like a pair of scorpions. They’ve battled each other with humans as their pawns, perpetuating their ancient war. Only now, fearing a tangible threat, have they finally reunited to preserve themselves.’
‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’ Serrah said.
‘The Founders didn’t die. Nor do they survive as a line of mere offspring with watered-down blood in their veins. Aided by what was left of their magic, they founded the empires. And now they’re coming to get us.’
30
The weather in most of Bhealfa was abysmal, and particularly along its eastern coast. High winds, driven snow and freezing sleet. No one should have been travelling, and sensible people weren’t, particularly at night, but Prince Melyobar’s court never stopped under any circumstances. Movement was its rationale, its reason for being. And in theory at least, it was better protected than other forms of transportation and more able to withstand bad weather.
None of that stopped Andar Talgorian cursing the Prince. Gaining entrance to the palace was difficult enough at the best of times. Getting aboard when the elements raged, in the dark, was nightmarish.
The envoy was accompanied by a detachment of hand-picked empire troopers. He had agonised about its size, but in the end decided that Melyobar’s arrest would best be achieved by twenty experienced men. He also brought an approved sorcerer along, naturally. A larger company would have aroused suspicions and possible hostility. This more modest number could be passed off as a bodyguard for troubled times.
In any event, he intended the task to be carried out quickly and efficiently. He even dared to hope that many in the Prince’s court would be relieved to see him removed, and support the empire’s edict. However, despite sending a message beforehand requesting an audience as a matter of urgency, citing major affairs of state, he was kept waiting. The Ambassador chided himself for thinking Melyobar would have responded rationally. He should have insisted on an immediate audience, or even had his men force their way in. Instead he clung to his diplomatic instincts. He had the foolish idea that his mission could be realised civilly, with the Prince giving way to the higher authority Talgorian represented.
Now Talgorian was ensconced in an anteroom bordering the royal quarters while, at his hosts’ insistence, his troopers loitered in the humbler surroundings of a nearby guardroom. He paced the opulent chamber, on the verge of acting. Then something caught his eye and he stopped.
A previously hidden door in a far corner was edging open. Fearing some kind of treachery, Talgorian tensed.
A young man furtively entered. He wore the distinctive robes of a sorcerer, specifically a version that identified him as being in the service of the sovereign. He looked young for a ranking sorcerer, and unlike most of his brethren, he was clean-shaven.
‘It’s all right,’ he whispered, holding up his hands placatingly, ‘I’m not here to harm you.’
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
‘My name is Okrael. I’m a one of the palace’s sorcerers. In fact, we’ve met before. I think we even exchanged a few words.’
‘You do look familiar. But why the cloak-and-dagger tactics?’
‘I need to speak with you, Ambassador.’
‘There are official channels. If you’d care to get in touch with-’
‘I have to speak to you now.’
‘This isn’t an ideal time. I’m expecting to be called in to the Prince at any moment.’
‘That’s exactly why I need to talk to you now, before you see His Royal Highness. I have something to tell you.’
‘What?’
The young wizard looked hesitant. ‘I’m taking a hell of a risk here…Can I trust you? Can you be relied on to do something?’
‘About what?’
Okrael nervously scanned the room. ‘The Prince.’
Talgorian wondered if he should explain that that was why he was here. But he thought it best to be cautious. ‘What of him?’ he said; adding, ‘Anything you say will be treated as privileged. You can trust me.’
‘I’ve no choice, I suppose. But then, what’s there to lose? If he goes ahead with his scheme we’ll all be dead anyway.’ Okrael looked pale and sick.
‘I know that his Majesty’s methods can sometimes seem a little draconian, but-’
‘No, no, no. I’m not talking about the small, everyday cruelties; I’m referring to something far more profound.’
Talgorian glanced up at the ceiling and the several objects silently hovering there. ‘Is this the most appropriate time and place for such a discussion?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve temporarily immobilised the spy glamours. We can talk freely. But not for long.’
It occurred to Talgorian that this was all an elaborate plot to trick him into saying something incriminating.
As though he’d read his mind, Okrael said, ‘If you’re worried that this is some kind of ploy, since when did Melyobar bother with trifles like evidence?’
‘Are you implying that His Majesty would employ summary justice in the case of someone like me? I am Gath Tampoor’s Imperial Ambassador, after all.’ He found it hard saying this without a slight swelling of the chest.
‘Do you really think that would sway him in any way if he wanted your throat cut?’
The self-evident truth of that deflated the Envoy somewhat. ‘All right, I’ll listen to what you have to say. But I hope you’re not wasting my time.’
‘Then I’ll keep it brief. The Prince has had us working on a special project for months now. A project with only one objective: mass murder.’
‘But he has no legions under his command, no army to wreak destruction. There’s no more than his palace guard, essentially. How are they to undertake a slaughter?’
‘You’re thinking conventionally. Melyobar has no intention of killing by force of arms.’
‘Then how? Magic?’
‘Magic’s played its part. But you might say that what he’s really employing is nature.’
‘Explain yourself.’
‘A great deal of effort’s been put into making this place even more independent of the outside world than it already is. We’ve not only taken on enough supplies to feed a city, we also have things the Prince wants preserved.’
‘Preserved?’
‘Animals, for example. Beasts of all kinds in mating pairs. The lower levels are crammed with pens and cages. It’s a zoo down there.’
‘They’re just diversions, surely? For His Highness’s entertainment.’
‘No. They’re not there for his edification; he has them because he wants them to survive. To populate a new world.’
‘How could he possibly-’