Arberus spent several hours formulating a detailed plan for the seizure of Hervus. The Brotherhood’s riders were sent to scout the approaches and the regiments were drawn up to assault the town walls in several places at once. The army’s two cannon would be used to pound the bastion that housed the main gate, principally as a diversion whilst the assault parties scaled the walls with hastily constructed ladders. So it was with some small amusement that Lizanne noted the disappointed frown on Arberus’s face when they approached to within a mile of Hervus, finding the gates standing open and a truce-flag flying above the bastion.
“Never mind,” Lizanne told the major with a grin. “I’m sure it would have worked.”
She attached herself to the delegation accompanying the Electress as she made her way to the gate. Atalina bounced gracelessly on the back of a massive dray-horse she had named Dropsy. Lizanne thought the woman made a defiantly impressive sight as she dragged her mount to a halt a few yards short of the town’s gate, the impression of bulk and purposeful aggression overcoming any humour aroused by the otherwise unedifying spectacle she made. Lizanne watched her take in the grisly spectacle that greeted her at the bastion; six naked bodies hanging by their ankles from the arched entrance. The corpses were perhaps two days old by Lizanne’s reckoning, the blood dried on their flesh into brown stains and their skin not yet begun to blacken. Their wounds were clustered around the chest and abdomen in a pattern Lizanne knew well. These men had died by firing squad. Beneath the bodies stood a cluster of young men wearing the uniforms of mixed Imperial soldiery: short-jacketed cavalry troopers, infantrymen in their grey-green long coats and blue-jacketed artillerymen. The motley group numbered twenty in all, fidgeting in silence under the Electress’s scrutiny until she deigned to address them, “Who the fuck are you lot?”
One of the young men stepped forward, trying and mostly failing to put some stridency into his voice as he provided a clearly pre-rehearsed response, “Elected representatives of the Council of Free Soldiers.” He coughed and pointed to the corpses dangling above his head. “This town has been liberated and those who held us in bondage subject to just execution.”
“So I see,” the Electress replied. “These your officers?”
“Those that failed to join us when we raised the standard of freedom.” The young soldier had gained some confidence now and straightened his back as he resumed his prepared speech, “Too long have the honest soldiers of this empire borne the yoke and the whip of the officer caste. It’s time for a new army, a people’s army . . .”
“Alright, give it a rest, lad,” the Electress said, wincing at the youth’s increasing volume. “How many of these newly free soldiers have you got in there?”
The soldier’s composure faltered a little but he held himself in place with what Lizanne thought was commendable self-control. “Enough to defend this station,” he said. “Should it prove necessary.”
“Balls,” Atalina replied, smothering a yawn. “We killed most of your lot at Scorazin. That’s where we’re from, if you hadn’t guessed. Me and all my friends.” She turned in the saddle, gesturing at the assembled ranks of the army drawn up some two hundred yards short of the gate. “Cutthroats, bandits and killers,” she said turning back and favouring the young man with a surprisingly sympathetic smile. “And that’s just the nice ones. Does this really have to get unpleasant, lad?”
“We want no trouble,” the youth replied, his face paling and voice taking on a thin, reedy quality. “In fact we wish to negotiate an alliance. News of your victory was the second spark to our rebellion.”
“Nice to know. I’m sure we’ll get on famously, ’specially if you’ve got any cigarillos going.” The Electress groaned and climbed down from Dropsy’s back before stepping forward to offer the young man her hand. “Name’s Atalina, but you can call me Electress.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I didn’t inherit the title, but don’t tell anyone, eh?”
“Jarkiv,” the soldier replied, grimacing as he shook the proffered hand and no doubt suffered a demonstration of brute strength. “Corporal Jarkiv.”
“That won’t do.” The Electress released his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Smart lad like you should be a captain at least. Make a note will you, General,” she called, waving Arberus forward. “Captain Jarkiv and the First Free Soldier Brigade welcomed into our ranks on this day.”
Lizanne followed as Arberus walked his stallion closer and dismounted, offering Jarkiv a smart salute, which the youth returned in an automatic reflex. “Welcome, Captain,” Arberus greeted him in brisk tones. “I’ll need a full accounting of your numbers and supplies.”
“Yes, sir!” Jarkiv saluted again, the cluster of soldiers at his back all snapping to attention and following suit. Lizanne suspected that, for all his revolutionary rhetoric, Jarkiv and his comrades were too steeped in the military mind-set not to welcome the arrival of competent authority, however unexpected the source.
“Excellent,” Arberus said, glancing up at the bodies hanging above. “And let’s get this mess cleaned up, shall we?”
“Very good, sir.”
“The second spark,” Lizanne said, making Jarkiv and the others pause as they turned to follow their orders.
“Ma’am?” he asked with a cautious glance at Arberus and the Electress.
“You said our victory was the second spark to your rebellion. What was the first?”
Jarkiv frowned at her in bafflement. “You mean you don’t know? We assumed it’s what sparked your own uprising.”
“Know about what, lad?” the Electress said.
“The Emperor,” Jarkiv told her. “The Emperor’s dead.”
? ? ?
The Electress had been quick to take possession of the offices once occupied by the colonel who had commanded this station. After securing the town and its precious supplies she convened a council of the army’s captains where Jarkiv related what he knew of the momentous event. Atalina reclined behind the fallen officer’s desk, a contented grin on her broad lips as cigarillo smoke leaked from her mouth and nostrils.
“A Blood Cadre agent brought the news ten days ago,” Jarkiv said. “Apparently, the Emperor suffered a fit and drowned in his bath.”
Lizanne exchanged glances with Arberus, finding his sceptical frown a mirror of her own. “If he drowned, it wasn’t due to a fit,” she said, experiencing an unexpected pang of regret for the passing of poor mad Emperor Caranis Vol Lek Akiv Arakelin. His delusions had been entertaining, if nothing else. “Has an heir been named?”