“They’re gone,” Lizanne replied, meeting Atalina’s gaze and speaking in a placid, unrepentant tone. “The threat is removed, without bloodshed I might add.”
“She has a fair point,” Arberus said. He sat atop his own horse close by, a squad of mounted Brotherhood guards at his back. Lizanne had noticed he never went anywhere without an escort now, as did the Electress. “An intact horse clan with no unsettled blood-feud will be more inclined to join us after Corvus falls,” Arberus continued. “It’s time we started looking to the future.”
The Electress glared at Lizanne a moment longer then slowly straightened, calming Dropsy with a scratch to her ears. She turned to regard the Corvus Road stretching out ahead, a near-straight line of gravel fringed by untended fields, empty all the way to the horizon. “You’re lucky I still have need of you, dear,” she muttered before kicking Dropsy into motion. “Don’t forget our agreement,” she added, starting up the road with her body-guard of Furies following close behind.
Arberus guided his horse close to Lizanne’s and they sat in silence for a time, watching the People’s Freedom Army pass along the road. Varkash’s command were first in the marching order, moving in tidy companies now. The uniformity of dress adopted by the Wise Fools in Scorazin had been modified into something that resembled military order, though they still felt obliged to tear the sleeves from the captured uniforms they wore.
“Sentiment?” Arberus asked after a lengthy silence.
They had children. Lizanne left the thought unsaid. Honesty was another thing they no longer shared.
“What was it?” Arberus pressed, apparently undaunted by her silence. “The agreement you struck with her?”
“Just another murder.” Lizanne stroked her heels along the grey stallion’s flanks, spurring him to a walk. “What else?”
? ? ?
The country grew more populous the closer they drew to Corvus, outlying towns yielding ever more recruits. Local militias either melted away or summarily executed magistrates and senior constables before proclaiming loyalty to the revolution and falling into line. Organised opposition flared intermittently, Imperial officers marshalling hastily assembled loyalists in order to block the road. Some were little more than poorly armed groups of nobles and Imperial functionaries and tended to flee at the first sight of Tinkerer’s rockets. Others were much more formidable, usually formed around a hard core of cavalry officers whose troopers were proving to be the least likely conscripts to switch sides. These formations were also more numerous, some numbering close to ten thousand troops and volunteers and requiring an organised assault before being overcome or set to flight. The fighting could be fierce, those with the most to lose in the impending fall of the old regime proving capable of desperate resistance. But numbers always told in the end. By the time Corvus appeared on the horizon the People’s Freedom Army counted over two hundred thousand souls in its ranks, and an unbroken line of victories at its back.
“Fires are burning out of control in several districts,” Korian reported to the army council after returning from a reconnaissance to the capital. “Though most of the actual rioting seems to have died down. In the aftermath the city divided itself into warring factions. As you might expect the richer the neighbourhood the more likely it is to remain loyal to the crown.”
He turned to the map of Corvus spread out on the Electress’s desk, his finger making a circular motion around the outer suburbs. “We’ve managed to make contact with Brotherhood agents in most of the outlying slums. We’re confident they’ll join us when the army enters the capital. They’re lacking arms and ammunition but so are the loyalists.” His finger moved to the central districts, hovering over the Imperial Sanctum. “There were some initial attempts to storm the Sanctum when the riots broke out, all bloody disasters. It appears the Blood Imperial has gathered every Blood Cadre operative he can to defend the heart of the empire. In addition, our agents estimate Countess Sefka has between six and ten thousand troops, all well supplied with artillery. Added to that”—his finger moved east to where six large crosses had been pencilled within the confines of the Corvus harbour—“there are two Imperial cruisers and three destroyers at anchor and most of the city is within range of their guns. We can thank the Arradsian disaster there aren’t more.”
“Quite a formidable knot,” the Electress mused, tapping a stubby finger to her chin before turning to Arberus. “Untangle it for us, will you, General?”
Arberus studied the map in silence for some time, gaze narrowed in calculation. “Given the weight of opposition,” he said eventually, “siege might be a better strategy than direct assault.”
“Starve them out,” Varkash said, grunting in approval. “Seems preferable to anodder blood-bath.”
“The Sanctum’s vaults are copious,” Korian said. “And we have reports from all over the empire of loyalist forces marshalling for a march on the capital. It will take months before Sefka’s forces are weakened by siege, by which time we could be facing a loyalist army equal in size to our own.”
“What other intelligence do we have on these ships,” Arberus said, pointing to the harbour. “Just how keen are their crews to fire on their own people?”
“The Imperial Navy has always been a bastion of loyalty.”
“To the Emperor, yes. But he’s gone, and his mad excursion to Arradsia can hardly have endeared him to the rank and file. They have to come ashore for supplies. Send agents to contact the sailors when they do, the ordinary seamen not the officers. See if we can’t foment some discord.”
Lizanne’s gaze lingered on the harbour and the pencilled crosses. “You said five Imperial ships,” she said to Korian. “I count six.”
“That’s not an Imperial ship,” he replied. “Your people, it seems, have either opted to stay or been forbidden from leaving.”
“The Profitable Venture is still there?”
“And possessing enough fire-power to blow every other vessel at anchor out of the water,” Arberus pointed out, meeting her gaze. Although their intimacy might not have survived the revolution, they still possessed a facility for unspoken communication.
“It seems I have another mission,” Lizanne said.
? ? ?
The sailor stationed at the Profitable’s aft-anchor mounting gaped at her for a full two seconds before fumbling for his rifle. A half-formed challenge died on his lips as Lizanne reached out with Black to pluck the weapon from his grasp. “Exceptional Initiatives,” she told him, climbing down from the anchor chain and shaking the less-than-fragrant harbour water from her hair. “Please tell the Duty Officer to rouse Director Thriftmor and inform him of my arrival.”