If he lived, he’d have to burn the wretched thing before Bil found it. If he died, it would probably be burnt unopened when they torched the house and everyone he’d ever known. But it had felt necessary to pretend that Bil, at least, might survive until sunrise.
Tam Rhyl’s men were waiting for them in the palace square. Ten men, well armed in good polished bronze. They blinked when they saw the numbers Orhan was leading but fell into line behind. Good. All set and waiting. They had mercenaries to kill.
A woman appeared at one of the shattered windows, her dress on fire, screaming. She seemed about to jump, but flames billowed up around her and she disappeared backwards. Nobody can be alive in there, Orhan thought. Nobody. At least it made it easier for them, if everybody was already dead. Though it astonished him just how quickly the place had gone up. He thought of his sister’s litter, enchanted against fire. And in a few paces, they’d be going in there. He drew a deep breath as they marched forwards. His hand brushed Darath’s and they looked at each other. ‘I’m glad,’ he said quietly. Then they went through the great arch of the main entranceway that yawned open before them. In through the inner courtyard of the gate, where a fountain played, its water murky with blood. In through the first of the great audience rooms, floored and lined in gold, that led in and up to the throne room itself.
In and on, killing a handful of confused mercenaries as they went. In and on, until the doorways were choked with bodies and the walls ran with fire and blood. In and on, until they were too far to go back.
And then the doors closed on them. And then ten more men appeared, dressed in Tam Rhyl’s colours, swords drawn. And then Tam Rhyl’s men turned on them, cutting down several of their troops before they even had time to react.
Darath looked at them in utter confusion. Cursed as the realization took hold. Orhan didn’t even wonder. Betrayed. He’d known all along, in the back of his mind. Nobody got away from something like this unbloodied. If Tam hadn’t turned on him, he’d have had to turn on Tam. He raised his sword as the men came for him. I’m sorry, Darath, he thought. Really I am. But you did talk me into bringing you in on it. He’d almost suggested Darath didn’t come at all, stayed safe at home waiting for news. No need for him to be here. No need for them both to die like this. Not when Darath could have lived a little longer and poisoned himself painlessly when he heard they’d failed.
There was another violent howl, nearer now and more terrible. Orhan shuddered. Too loud. No one should be able to cry out that loudly. Or as though they were in that much pain. The sound made the men squaring off against each other shudder, almost break off fighting to check that they were still alive.
Tam’s men were fighting defensively, keeping together as a block, not trying anything too risky. They’re trying to stall us, Orhan realized. They probably wanted him alive, to grovel and confess all before being horribly executed.
Orhan began to edge along the wall towards the further doors leading to the throne room. Gestured frantically to Darath to follow his lead, shouting an order to the men to push forward. Amlis was already dead, useless as he was. Sterne was down and dying. Might be best if he died, in some ways. Awkward, in an impossible future where they all survived, the four of them bending over the baby’s cot. He signalled the men to press more aggressively, try to break through. If they only had orders to hold them …
Darath shouted and slumped over, and Orhan let out a cry of grief. No. No. No. He cut through a man to try and get to him. Couldn’t see Darath die. Not like this. Tam’s men’s stance became more aggressive, no longer holding them back but trying to gain an advantage over them. The walls were beginning to burn. It was all going so wrong.
Several men from each side down, the fighting getting less organized, more spread out. A couple of Rhyl’s men broke and ran. Orhan pushed forward again and found himself near the doors. Got one open and called to his men to rally through it. Couldn’t see Darath any more. Couldn’t wait and look for him, they’d all be dead anyway if he didn’t finish this.
I’m sorry, he thought again as he ran.
In the next room, two servants were dead. In the room after that, he and Darath and Tam and the Emperor had sat together only a few days previously and pretended to discuss the affairs of Empire. Whoever survived would sit here in a few days’ time and do the same. It’s all just a bloody game, he thought. It doesn’t matter to anyone outside this building. What does it matter who rules, as long as the gold keeps circulating? Nobody cares. Except those of us who live and die for it.
And then they were at the throne room itself, the doors crashing open, an utter catastrophe being played out inside. He’d planned for the Emperor to die, the whole damned point was for the Emperor to die, but it still struck him with astonished fear, to see a blood-soaked figure turning towards the throne, sword raised. Orhan shouted something incomprehensible. The men, his own and Tam’s both, screamed with rage.
The bright figure lunged. I’m actually going to see it, Orhan thought wildly. I’m going to see the Emperor die. Whatever comes after, I’ve done it. I’ve brought down the throne. I’ve ended a reign that has lasted a thousand years.
It took him rather by surprise, therefore, when three of the men he’d paid to kill the Emperor pushed the fourth out of the window before he managed it, and then jumped out after him.
The men froze, swords pointing at each other, baffled mutters on their lips. The Emperor collapsed into a heap with eyes so wide with terror they looked like wild horses’ eyes, shit spreading in his lap. Tam Rhyl and Orhan Emmereth faced each other, frowning, each daring the other to make the first move.
Orhan took the only course he could see open to him.
He stepped forward, stabbed Tam in the stomach and prostrated himself before the Imperial Throne.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thalia opened her eyes. Utter darkness, as always, the shutters of her bedroom closing out all light. And silence. The deep silence of the Temple at night, no one waking, the darkness of the God filling everything.
But something was wrong. She could feel something, pressing around her. A weight. Fear, flowing over her like water. An ache filling her head and her heart. Something was coming. Something was there.
She slid quietly out of bed and lit a candle. The tiny flame was like a jewel in her hand. Without thinking why, she changed from her night robe into a dress. Then she extinguished the candle again. Her eyes blinked for a moment, but the darkness was easy for her. She opened the door to her bedroom and stepped out. The corridor outside was faintly lit, moonlight and starlight filtering in from high windows. And another light. She started and peered out, almost needing to rise up on tip-toe to look. There was a red light in the sky, and smoke.