Blood of Empire

Chapter 45

Etzi wrung his hands in the first show of genuine nerves since Styke had arrived at the compound. Both men were in the compound stables, just across the courtyard from the kitchens. Etzi paced in the straw, while Styke rummaged through his saddlebags that hung from a crossbeam outside Amrec’s stall. He paused in his rummaging to reach over the door and let Amrec nuzzle his hand, patting the warhorse on the nose before returning to his search.

As Etzi paced, his face drawn up into a focused frown, he grumbled, “I don’t know why they’re summoning you to the Quorum Hall.”

“So you’ve said,” Styke replied, finally finding the wax-paper package that contained his carefully folded dress uniform. He set it on the floor, unwrapped it, and checked the cloth for stains or damage. “Can someone iron these?” he asked.

“Gorlia!” Etzi barked. A stable girl detached herself from a pile of hay at the end of the stables and ran to attention. “Are your hands clean? Good. Take these to the steward. They must be ready in thirty minutes.” The stable girl took off, and Etzi resumed his pacing. “There should be no need for your presence. Ji-Patten is going to try something. I can sense it.”

Styke laced both arms over the stall door and scratched Amrec’s cheeks. Etzi’s disquiet filled the building, but his own was no less present. He’d never been good with politicians, officers, or any sort of authority figures. Not one-on-one, and much less so in groups. Yet they’d summoned him to stand before the Household Quorum. According to Etzi, everyone who was anyone would be there: five hundred or so Household heads or ranking representatives, all present to gawk at the foreign giant being protected by one of their own.

The whole idea made him want to break something.

“Anything I need to know before I go up there?”

Etzi flinched. “You cannot – I emphasize, cannot speak to the Household Quorum the same way you spoke to Ji-Patten. We are a people steeped in tradition and decorum. For a foreigner to even enter into the Quorum Hall is uncalled for, but if you so much as raise your voice…”

“Then what? They’ll have me whipped?”

Etzi sniffed. “We’re not barbarians. Half the people in that room have already formed an opinion about you. Of those, they can be divided between Sedial’s allies, who have been told what to think, and Sedial’s enemies, who hope to use you.”

“And the rest?”

“The rest are those I hope to influence. In my lawsuit I’ve framed you as Orz’s traveling companion and friend. They’ll be curious what the friend of a dragonman looks like.”

Styke turned around, leaning against the stall door. Amrec nibbled at his ear. “Would this be easier if I just called Ji-Patten out?”

“Eh?”

“A duel. Can I just have some sort of trial by combat?”

Etzi’s eyes widened. “No! No,” he repeated again, shaking his head. “That’s not how we do things here. Remember that dragonmen are the property of the emperor. Attempting to duel one would be like calling out god himself. Do that, and they’ll think you a savage.” He held up a finger. “Pretend that you’re speaking with your own governing body.”

Styke bit his tongue and nodded.

Etzi went on. “Speak when spoken to. Ji-Patten knows you are a man of violence. He may even try to provoke you into attacking him.”

“I can’t rise to his provocations?”

“No. This is important.” A flurry of emotions crossed Etzi’s face. “It is more important than you can imagine. Any violence in the Quorum Hall will be taken as an affront to the members. I know that I don’t tell you much, and that you are confined to this place, but you have to understand: There is a war of ideals taking place within the Household Quorum right now. My lawsuit has unleashed something larger than I imagined, and may very well shake the foundations of Sedial’s power.”

Styke intertwined his fingers to hide his own nerves. He’d rather charge five hundred soldiers alone than stand in front of them, expected to be a compliant little child. “You think this will be that important?”

Etzi didn’t hesitate before he nodded, and his face was so earnest that Styke felt as if he had no choice but to believe him.

“All right,” Styke said. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Have one of the boys saddle my horse. Where do I find the steward to get my uniform?”

Styke rode in the center of Etzi’s Household guard – three dozen soldiers in breastplates, morion helmets, and white-and-turquoise uniforms in a slightly different style than those of the city guard or regular soldiery. Etzi rode at his side with his head high and his gaze cool, all trace of nerves left back in the stable. Styke followed his example. He wore his dress uniform, an outfit he’d brought with a mind bent toward accepting the surrender of an enemy army, not attending a trial.

He gripped his reins with his white gloves, half wishing he’d brought the skull-and-lance banner and flown it from his lance. But he was not here to intimidate. He was here to grin at Ji-Patten, answer a few questions, and go on his way. Respectful. A tad arrogant – but not too much so. Upright. Friend of the pardoned dragonman, Orz.

He’d dismissed Etzi’s earlier claims that Styke had become some kind of celebrity, but reassessed them in light of the crowds. The route from Etzi’s Household to the Quorum Hall was packed. People gawked from the streets, windows, and rooftops. They waved handkerchiefs at him. They called him names. A thrown piece of fruit barely missed his head, and at another point three pretty young women appeared in a window wearing next to nothing, calling to him in broken Adran.

A city divided indeed.

They rode up the main thoroughfare toward the palace complex, but took a sharp left before coming within the shadow of the godstone. Their path crossed a wide square of tiled marble, approaching a building of immense, dusty red stones whose face stretched across the entire side of the square and more beyond. A mighty archway led inside. Styke followed Etzi’s lead, dismounting and giving Amrec’s reins to one of the Household stable boys.

“Are you ready?” Etzi asked.

The question only caused Styke’s nerves to jump. He forced himself to grin. “Of course.”

Etzi gave a curt nod and led Styke through the archway and down a long hall. Styke removed his hat, holding it under one arm, feeling the reassuring cadence of his cavalry sword slapping against his thigh. Their footsteps echoed in a silence, disturbed only by a distant roar. The roar grew in intensity with every step. They turned at the end of the hall, walked through another archway, and the roar resolved itself into the sound of hundreds of people speaking over one another in a huge concert hall.

The hall was shaped like an amphitheater, with seats rising up in three directions from a platform of white marble. They had entered directly onto that platform, and Styke suspected that the distinct feeling of smallness imposed by the high-domed ceiling, the rising seats, and the crowd that hushed upon his entry was all thoroughly engineered.

The sudden silence left him with an imagined echo in his ears. He stood stiffly at attention, back straight, trying to remember the last time he’d bothered to show the respect of parade posture to an audience. During training, maybe?

“Meln-Etzi,” Etzi presented himself in a soft voice. The voice carried clearly throughout the room, not requiring him to speak any louder. “I present to the Household Quorum my guest, Colonel Ben of Fatrasta, companion of my brother, Ji-Orz.”

Continued silence.

Etzi gave a small frown. “I was instructed to present him here?”

“You were,” a voice boomed.

Styke glanced to his right to find Ji-Patten stepping up onto the speaker’s platform, about ten paces from Styke. The dragonman seemed in his element, an easy smile on his face, something strangely triumphant in his eyes. Styke was momentarily confused, and then his eyes fell upon a group sitting at the front of the audience just over Ji-Patten’s shoulder.

It was his men, all twenty – or nineteen rather, without Jackal – of his Lancers. Styke’s fists clenched involuntarily and he resisted the urge to reach for his knife. The Lancers returned his gaze with curious ones of their own. Even without exchanging a word, Styke could feel their nervousness and confusion. They didn’t know why they were here any more than he did.

Etzi bowed his head respectfully to Ji-Patten. “Servant,” he said formally. “May I ask what a representative of the emperor wants with my guest?”

Styke ran his eyes across the audience. It was as varied as any street crowd – old and young, men and women. No children, of course. All of them wore formal, loose-fitting clothing embroidered with Household crests. There were a lot more than five hundred people in this chamber, and he realized that many of them were assistants or those who were second in command. Everyone had turned out to see this.

See what? He realized something else, and that was that no one looked like they were ready to participate. They wore the curious expressions of people who’d turned out for a boxing match. This was a spectator sport, and he was one of the participants.

But in what way?

“You may,” Ji-Patten answered after a moment of theatrical pause. Another such pause followed the statement.

Etzi coughed into his hand, clearly unimpressed. “Servant, I was told that my guest would not be disturbed by the Quorum. He is the companion of Ji-Orz, who is on a task from the Great Ka, and he is beyond reproach.”

“This matter does not concern your guest.”

“Then why is he here?”

“It concerns one of his soldiers.”

A murmur went through the crowd. It was quickly hushed by the crowd itself. People leaned forward in their seats.

Etzi blinked back at Ji-Patten. Styke took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was important – he needed to remain silent. Let Etzi handle things. Any word he spoke would be used against him in the minds of the Quorum. Etzi finally cleared his throat and cast an expansive look across the Quorum. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Your guest – Colonel Ben.” He emphasized “Ben” as if he knew it wasn’t his full name. “I have not called into question his place alongside Ji-Orz. But he is a commanding officer, is he not?”

“He is.”

“To these soldiers?” Ji-Patten thrust a finger toward the Lancers sitting behind him.

Styke noted that several of his soldiers were already looking at one of their own. They knew as much Dynize as Styke, and even those who weren’t quick with languages had already gotten the gist of what was going on. Zac squirmed in his seat, sweating heavily, while his brother whispered urgently in his ear. Styke wanted to walk over to them and demand to know what was going on.

“He is their commanding officer, yes,” Etzi said to the last question, the words much slower and more hesitant. Whatever was about to happen, it had blindsided him.

“Good.” Ji-Patten strode to the Lancers and snatched Zac by the front of his shirt, dragging him off his seat and onto the speaking platform. The rest of the Lancers surged to their feet, but Dynize soldiers sprang to attention around them, forcing them back down at bayonet point.

“What’s going on?” Styke whispered angrily.

“Quiet!” Etzi snapped at him. “Ji-Patten, explain yourself!”

Ji-Patten dragged a struggling Zac into the center of the platform until they were mere feet from Styke and Etzi. Zac wiggled and squirmed, but to no avail against the iron hold of the dragonman. Ji-Patten locked gazes with Styke, ignoring his prisoner as if he were a panicking rabbit. “Yesterday morning, your man murdered another prisoner.”

“It was self-defense!” Zac shouted.

“Silence!” Ji-Patten cuffed Zac on the side of the head, hard enough that Zac’s struggles ceased entirely and his face took on a look of confused stupidity. “He murdered another prisoner,” he repeated.

“Then he should have a trial.” Styke forced the words out, trying not to look at Zac and certainly not to look at the worried faces of his men.

“Exactly! I am glad you agree, Colonel Ben, because the trial has already been conducted. This soldier has been found guilty of murder. A tribunal has sentenced him to death.”

“What tribunal?” Etzi demanded. “What trial? This is preposterous!”

It took every ounce of willpower for Styke to keep himself from falling forward, knife drawn. A cold fist seemed to curl around his stomach, leaving him ill and weak. This was it, then? This was Sedial’s first real blow – a way of getting at Styke without laying a finger on him and, presumably, to show Styke that he could do anything he wanted to the soldiers in that prison.

Ji-Patten’s glare drove Etzi back to Styke’s side. “Meln-Etzi, remember yourself! The trial has occurred and there will be no dispute.”

“What do you want?” Styke demanded.

“Ben!” Etzi whispered in warning.

“Want?” Ji-Patten asked. “I want justice. Nothing more.” A bone knife suddenly appeared in his hand, as if drawn from thin air. The audience gasped. Ji-Patten spun it in his fingers, offering it hilt-first to Styke. “As a show of respect, I will allow you, his superior officer, to carry out the execution.”

Styke stared at the hilt of the knife. His fingers twitched. He felt Etzi touch his arm, and heard his urgent whisper. “He’s trying to provoke you, into either violence or rebuttal. If you claim not to recognize the judgment, he’ll hold you in contempt of our courts and bring you into the suit. If you…” Styke stopped listening. All he could hear was the murmur of the audience. All he could feel was fury. All he could see was red.

“I won’t have his blood on my hands,” he finally answered stiffly.

“I see.” Ji-Patten took a sudden step back. He jerked on Zac’s collar, rag-dolling the Lancer to one side. His knife hand suddenly dipped, almost too fast to follow. Zac stiffened, letting out a terrible gasp, and then slid from Ji-Patten’s fingers to splay on the floor. Blood poured from the side of his neck, spreading across the platform. Etzi retreated back almost to the entry hall. Styke let the blood pool around his boots, unmoving.

The Quorum was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Through it, suddenly, burst a sob. Markus tried to crawl over the soldiers holding him back. At a gesture from Ji-Patten, he was suddenly allowed to run forward. He slipped in his brother’s blood, sliding and stumbling, until he cradled Zac’s head in his lap. The weeping filled the hall.

Ji-Patten returned his knife to his shirt and strode over to Styke. Styke towered a full head above him, but Ji-Patten approached until their chests almost touched. Styke ignored him, looking down at the sight of Markus holding his brother.

“Not strong enough to do the deed yourself, are you?” Ji-Patten demanded.

A little part of his brain told Styke that he had won. Somehow, in a twisted way, he had bested Ji-Patten. This spectacle had been a battle of wills. If he raised a fist now, he would ruin it all. His hands trembled.

“You should have done it yourself,” Ji-Patten growled. “Are you not man enough?” He raised a hand slowly. His palm opened. The gesture was so clearly conveyed as to be impossible to miss. Ji-Patten drew back and slapped Styke across the face.

Styke shifted his gaze to look at Ji-Patten.

“Do I have your attention now, Ben Styke?” Ji-Patten whispered.

“Servant!” Etzi shouted angrily. “Stop this at once!”

“Will you not fight back?” Ji-Patten asked. His hand raised again. Another slap, this one significantly harder, like the sharp crack of a belt across Styke’s jaw.

Styke sniffed. “Is that all you’ve got?” he asked just loudly enough that his voice carried.

Ji-Patten took a step back and raised his arm once more. Closed-fist this time. “If I kill you with this blow, I will barely be punished.” A whisper. Styke didn’t respond. He kept his eyes locked with Ji-Patten’s.

The fist struck him just below the heart and felt like a kick from a warhorse. Styke leaned into it, letting his weight absorb the impact, refusing to be driven back even half a step. It took a few moments to regain his breath, but he let nothing show on his face. Slowly, deliberately, he let the corner of his lip twitch upward in a sneer. He put every bit of his fury into it.

Ji-Patten’s cheeks twitched; his eyes widened. His expression very clearly said that he’d killed men with such a blow – and Styke did not doubt it. That punch would have made Valyaine proud.

“Your god needs a new servant, Ji-Patten,” Styke said loudly. “Because I’ve been struck harder by a child.” His voice echoed throughout the audience hall. The Quorum watched, every one of them slack-jawed.

Ji-Patten drew back his fist again.

“Servant!” Etzi barked. “Enough.”

The words finally seemed to get through to the dragonman. He blinked, shaking his head slightly, and only now seemed to see that he was standing in Zac’s blood. He cast about him in disgust, then turned and strode off the platform and down to the side exit, leaving bloody footprints behind. “Return them to their cells, and burn the murderer’s body,” he barked at his soldiers.

Styke remained where he was while his soldiers were filed out. He watched them drag Markus through his brother’s blood, then take away Zac’s body. Porters appeared to clean up the blood, while the Quorum erupted into a shouting match that drowned out any thoughts that may have been creeping through Styke’s head. It wasn’t until he felt a gentle hand on his arm that he allowed himself to be led into the same large hallway through which he’d entered. Once they were out of sight of the Quorum, he sagged against the wall, resting a hand on his chest and staring at the blood all over his boots.

“I’m sorry.” Styke looked up at the soft words. Etzi stood across from him, looking ashen and defeated. Etzi continued, “I didn’t know they would stoop so low.”

“Evil men will stoop to anything they see fit,” Styke responded without feeling. “I’ve done so myself.” He wanted to shout and flail, to pick up Etzi and throw him against the wall. The vision of Markus cradling his brother’s body was now burned into his memory.

“Thank you for not responding.” Etzi gazed at Styke’s cheek. It still burned, and he imagined that it was very red.

“Once in a very great while, I do as I’m told,” Styke said. His fury was still there, burning in his belly, but it seemed muted and distant. He pressed his thumb against the lance tip of his big ring until he felt it draw blood. “But your arrogant prick of a Great Ka still hasn’t learned his lesson.”

“What lesson is that?”

“That I’m Ben Styke.”