‘It’s all about his obsession with death, of course. Putting one over on his old adversary. The way Melyobar reasons is, what better way to find a man hiding in a forest than to burn down the trees?’
‘You’re saying he plans destruction, but by what means?’
‘He’s had us collecting corpses, putrefying flesh, all manner of vile, corrupt things. The aim was to identify those humours that breed in filth and bring sickness, and having isolated them, to produce a distillation of pestilences. The plan is a cleansing of the world through the spread of plague. He claims his dead father gave him the idea.’
‘Could it work?’
‘Oh, yes. We’ve arrived at a particularly virulent strain of the malady. We know it works; it’s been tested on live subjects.’
‘It’s Melyobar’s objective to introduce this…essence into the world?’
‘He favours scattering it with the catapults you’d have seen arrayed on the battlements. Though in truth it could just as easily be introduced into wells or rivers, or in any number of other ways. Simply forcing people to drink the distillate and sending them out contaminated would spread the disease.’
‘And the result would be…?’
‘With no known protection against the strain, and no cure, numerous fatalities. Perhaps even the world denuded of human life, as Melyobar dreams. Purged of all, that is, except him, his servants and obsequious courtiers.’
‘All the better to see Death.’
‘Yes. At last, there’d be no hiding place for the Prince’s enemy.’
‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘I didn’t become a sorcerer to have a hand in massacring my own people. It has to be stopped. Few outsiders come here, and you’re the only one of late with any power, Ambassador, and not in his thrall. At least I hope so.’
Talgorian was reeling. Okrael’s story had an awful ring of plausibility. ‘As it happens,’ the Envoy said, ‘our aims regarding the Prince aren’t dissimilar. I’m here to bring about changes.’
‘Then I’m more relieved than I can say. But you have to hurry. The quintessence is almost ready.’
‘You said magic had a part in this. I don’t see where.’
‘The essence is unstable. Extremes of heat or cold can neutralise its virulence. Magic binds it, keeps it sure.’
‘You’re a sorcerer. Can’t you interfere with that binding?’
‘I’m far from being the only one working on this, and certainly not the most senior. One or two of my brotherhood are sympathetic, but most are too frightened to express an opinion. I don’t know who’s against me or with me. I can’t do more than I’m doing, Ambassador. Now it’s down to you.’
‘Very well. Before the day’s out, things are going to be very different, Okrael, I can assure you of that.’
They made their farewells, promising to talk again later, under a new regime. Then the wizard slipped away, leaving Talgorian to mull things over.
A long time seemed to pass before they came to fetch him, though in reality the minutes elapsed were barely into double figures. He was guided by a pair of liveried servants, who true to form remained aloof.
He was surprised to find that he wasn’t taken to the throne room, where audiences usually took place. Instead, he was escorted up flights of stairs to a much higher level. He asked his guides what was going on, but they remained noncommittal. His anxiety built, and he found himself nervously fingering the document he had in his pocket.
Finally they reached what Talgorian thought of as the wheelhouse; the area from which the palace’s movement was controlled. The spacious room was dominated by a large panoramic window that occupied almost all of three sides. Its view was one of nearly complete murk, patterned with swirling snowflakes. The glamour orbs that lit the space had been dimmed to improve visibility.
There were a number of people present, mostly the wizard crew, along with guards and various servants. It was very much the way it had looked the only other time Talgorian had been there.
Melyobar sat on a throne-like chair set higher than any other, not far from the wheel that directed the massive palace’s movements. He was addressing an individual Talgorian recognised as the Captain. The Ambassador caught only the end of their exchange, but apparently the Captain had objected to the route the travelling court was about to take.
‘Enough!’ the Prince exclaimed. ‘I’ve no interest in your snivelling misgivings! We’re following a course through the great lakes area, and that’s an end to it. Unless you want to have your loyalty put to the question.’
The man grovelled, apologised and withdrew crushed. No one else seemed in the least interested in his humiliation, an indication of how common such occurrences were.
Only then did the Prince notice Talgorian. ‘Ah, the Ambassador has arrived,’ he announced loudly. ‘Come, step forward. Let’s not delay the progress of affairs of state.’
The Envoy did as he was bidden, thinking that perhaps the monarch was a little sharper than usual. ‘Greetings, Your Highness. I trust I find you well.’
The Prince ignored the banality. ‘And what brings you to court with such urgency?’
‘These are difficult times, Your Highness. As you’ll be aware, your nation and mine are engaged in a military mission of great importance.’
‘Are we?’ A look of befuddlement fleetingly occupied the Prince’s face.
It was something Talgorian often found when talking to Melyobar about the wider world, and it gave him brief comfort. ‘Indeed. A Gath Tampoor fleet, including representatives of our Bhealfan allies, is dealing with an enclave of rebels as we speak.’
‘And what do you expect me to do about it?’
‘As such, Highness, nothing at all. I merely draw your attention to events in order to give my succeeding statements a relevant context.’
‘We’re at war again. What’s so different about it this time?’
Was his attitude a mite more aggressive than usual? Incisive, even?
‘It’s not so much a matter of difference, sire. I mention it only in order to illustrate the great burden our dear Empress shoulders at such times, and to underline the difficulty of the decision she has had to make.’
‘Decision?’
Talgorian slipped out the document he’d been harbouring, and unfurled it. ‘I think it would be best, Highness, if I were to read you the edict drafted by Her Imperial Majesty’s advisers.’ He looked about and saw that furtive eyes were on them. ‘Bearing in mind that this refers to matters of a delicate constitutional nature, perhaps Your Highness would prefer to be informed of its contents in private?’
‘No,’ Melyobar responded bluntly.
‘Very well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In accordance with the powers invested in me by the relevant authorities, I, Andar Talgorian, Imperial Ambassador to the Royal Bhealfan Court, do hereby submit an official proclamation relieving Prince Melyobar of his position as-’
‘As I suspected!’ the Prince roared. ‘Treachery!’
‘This is a situation I’m sure we can reasonably discuss and-’
‘Guards!’ Melyobar yelled. ‘Guards!’
Men rushed forward with swords drawn and seized the Envoy.
‘Unhand me!’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
‘Their loyalty lies with me,’ Melyobar told him. ‘Though I wish I could say the same for all my subjects.’ He raised an arm and clicked his fingers.
The signal brought in a group of guardsmen shoving a bound prisoner, and Talgorian’s heart sank.
Okrael could barely walk. His face was bruised and bloody.
‘Your co-conspirator,’ Melyobar announced.
‘No,’ Talgorian replied. ‘There’s no plot, only the writ of higher authority. I act under orders, Your Highness. I’m just the deliverer of my superior’s wishes.’
‘You must think I’m very stupid,’ the Prince snorted.
‘I’m not here alone. I have an escort of-’
‘Your cohorts are in no position to help you. Did you really think I’d allow a band of assassins to wander loose in my palace?’