As Aralim descended into the Third Court amphitheatre, he looked through the crowd in the direction of the Fortress Marana. There were twice as many soldiers in front of it, including a troop of about twenty soldiers, standing in block formation. He had not heard announcements of any military drills, so he claimed his seat with an inquisitive look on his face. To Dullah, he leaned over and asked, “Have you heard anything?”
“About what?” she asked.
“The soldiers.” Aralim leaned his lantern staff across his knee, so the lantern itself rested on the warm stone next to him. Dullah shrugged. There was already a female magistrate from a nearby village on the dais, speaking to the Selected about a food shortage due to a Primal attack on one of his hunter’s lodges.
Aralim listened politely for the duration of the address, and then for the next one. The third citizen to take the stage was briefly interrupted by the sound of metal armour, and all eyes were turn to the right, to watch as a detachment of soldiers climbed the steps of the Iron Palace. They marched alongside the queue for the Second Court, and right past the councillors themselves, vanishing amidst the metal columns.
Everyone went back to their tasks. The crowd in the courtyard had barely been interrupted, and the woman who had just started her address to the Third Court continued it. Aralim leaned over to Dullah and confessed, “That looks more interesting than Court this morning.”
Dullah laughed quietly. “Go for it. I, for one, know that I can’t just walk past the Second Court whenever I want to, but you probably can.”
“Let me know if any interesting people come by,” Aralim said, with a wink. He didn’t raise his lantern staff to its full height until after he had shuffled in front of Selected Hogar and out, onto the stairs of the amphitheatre. He had only just reached the top of them when a surge of excitement passed through the crowd. The crowd’s cliques, bartering lines, and discussion groups were quickly separating as all eyes faced the front of the Iron Palace.
The Eternal Emperor strode, without pausing, past the councillors and down the steps. The line of citizens before the Second Court quickly dispersed to get out of his way. Tag’na wore a plain robe from just above his waist to his feet and a cloth mantle around his shoulders. He was unarmed, but moved with the brisk gait of a warrior, not the gentle presence of his Ascendance. In his wake, rushed the Aura and his soldiers, attempting to keep up.
Murmurs and cheers spread through the crowd as the Emperor entered their midst. Aralim looked around—he could probably get a view on the steps of the outer wall, so he strode against the flow of the crowd to find such a vantage. By the time he had, he realized that Tag’na was not halting in the crowd to address them. The bare-chested man marched through their midst toward the gate. Aralim got a glimpse of his face—he had never seen Tag’na mad, but he knew that the Emperor was certainly not pleased right now.
As he left the gate, the Aura that watched their entry and the Emperor’s Blade followed closely, but the Emperor led. The Eternal Emperor had never left the Iron Palace in the entire nine months Aralim had been in Rema. The Walker quickly descended his vantage point and attempted to follow, but the crowd surged through the gates and into the streets, pressing shoulder to shoulder. All those they passed in the market places and the squares began to follow as well. Aralim had a few glimpses through the masses, to see that no one stood in Tag’na’s path. Those who tried to moved aside at only his glare.
As they descended a slope on the street of iron, he suddenly wondered, are we going to Ovoe’s? He hastened down a side street to gain ground, and, at the head of that street, he entered the riverside. He had walked here last with Miresh, he realized, though not this far north. He hugged the waterfront and saw the people on moored boats faces as they realized that the man of similar stature to his accompaniment was in fact the Eternal Emperor of Numa’nakres.
Tag’na swiftly jaunted across the plank and onto Ovoe’s yacht. Aralim pressed through the crowd, to where the Emperor’s Aura and guards held the crowd at bay. There were mercenaries on the boat, bristling with armaments. One stepped in the Emperor’s way and said, “Please wait. We will see if—”
Tag’na knuckles bruised the man’s windpipe and sent him stumbling back. Instinctively, another of the warriors started to draw a sword. The Emperor drew it for him, smashing the man in the nose with his hilt and then plunging the blade an inch into the wood floorboards so as to cut no one. Perhaps the most foolish mercenary was the one who tried to jab a fist at the Emperor’s side. Tag’na moved like flowing water, around the man’s aggression and into his personal space. The hand was bent back until the wrist popped, and then two ribs were broken with a pair of punches to the leather jerkin the man wore.
A fourth mercenary leapt to another boat to get away as the crowd gasped and watched their leader beat those who approached him senseless. The last merchant tried to scrambled across the catwalk only to be stopped by the Emperor’s guards and slammed bodily to the ground.
The soldiers keeping the crowd at bay recognized Aralim’s lantern staff and rough brown beard and let him enter the circle of space in front of the river ship’s moorings.
Ovoe the Keeper emerged from the yacht’s cabin—where once he and Aralim had spoken of the woman Zarru. If Zarru’s death had not beckoned any emotional outburst from the Emperor, save resigned sadness, what could have brought on this violence? An errant sense of worry pervaded Aralim’s senses—was Miresh alright? He watched Ovoe walk onto the deck, half dazed to find Tag’na standing there, not even breaking a sweat, amidst all his guards.
The Emperor seized Ovoe by the throat and slammed him loudly against the wooden wall of the cabin. “Is this what you wanted?” Tag’na cried. His hands were wrapped around Ovoe’s throat, his muscles bulging.
Aralim held his breath, watching in disbelief. The crowd was a mix of shocked shouts, religious lamentations, loud discussion and interpretation. Aralim didn’t say a word, so he could capture any that Tag’na revealed. And speak the Emperor did.
“Your worthless plots will amount to nothing,” Tag’na said, in a speaking voice, his face close to his adversaries. Ovoe’s eyes bulged. “Your task was to spy on my enemies, not become one. In patience I let you have your games, but you continue to seek my weaknesses.”
Briefly, Aralim considered if he should say something religious to the crowd, to put a better context on this appalling attack.
But then he heard the Emperor say something he didn’t quite understand. Tag’na growled in a low voice: “You’ve done enough to him… was killing his wife not enough?” Aralim blinked—was he referred to General Ro’s wife?
Ovoe’s hands moved jerkily, as his body fought for air. He grabbed hold of a knife from amidst the pouches and ruffled robes at his waist and plunged it into the Emperor’s abdomen. A sigh went through the crowd—even Aralim wasn’t certain what he had expected to see, but he saw the Emperor’s skin broken and blood dripping.
“I am a god,” Tag’na said to Ovoe, not even blinking at the dagger in his gut. His grip did not falter. “You are a termite. This is all you ever amounted to.”
Ovoe yanked his knife free and lashed out with it again, but Tag’na shifted his position and the blade only grazed his ribs. He let his right arm release the man’s neck, while his left still held the choking spy master in place. With his fingers soon placed around Ovoe’s jaw, the Emperor snapped his neck.
The knife blade thudded into the deck a moment before the body followed it.
Silence cut through the crowd as swiftly. Aralim’s jaw dropped despite himself as he stared at the Eternal Emperor. Tag’na stared at the corpse for a moment, still not acknowledging anyone else’s existence. After a moment, he visibly exhaled. Blood was still spreading down his dark robe skirts. He stepped to the door of the cabin and looked inside briefly. When he turned away from it, his eyes brushed across the wharf and briefly locked on Aralim’s, if only in recognition. Then the Emperor stepped into the centre of the boat’s deck again and looked at the waiting royal soldiers. “Find where the wretch put General Ro. Scour this damned city until he is found!”
Aralim stumbled back into the crowd as the soldiers dispersed. The Emperor crossed the plank to his Aura, who immediately began checking his wound. The soldiers had helped break up the crowd—many still remained, staring at their leader, while many others broke off, discussing and debating what they had witnessed. Some of the citizens were speaking with guards or going with the soldiers to help search for Ro.
The Emperor’s Blade led an escort of Aura, with the wounded Emperor in their midst, back the way they had came, while Aralim blended with the crowd and spoke briefly with one of the sergeants. The man recognized him and asked if he knew anything to help with their predicament. Aralim considered what he knew, and offered two names. “Mistress Athanu and Aglo the Industrialist might know more.”
“Commander Vanra is the only one with authority to question Aglo, but I will take a platform of guards to the estate of Miss Athanu,” the soldier replied.
Aralim asked how long Vanra would take, but it seemed that Vanra would have to wait on his Ascendance’s decision. The soldier didn’t know where Aglo was presently, so Aralim had no choice but to head to the Palace to do anything about their situation.
He asked how long the General had been absent, assuming that Ovoe’s machinations had been the cause of the General’s absence from Aralim’s tea invitation. The sergeant informed Aralim had there were signs of a struggle found after General Ro did not appear for his usual responsibilities this very morning.
This happened fast, Aralim realized.
He made good time walking back to the Iron Palace, and spotted the Emperor’s escort climbing the steps. Though he was certain no one would notice unless they had spent enough time around his Ascendance, Aralim noticed that Tag’na was standing upright with the assistance of the Aura on either side of him. Then they disappeared into the shadows.
When Aralim finally caught up, he called across the last few steps, “How can I help? Where are the others?”
The Emperor’s Blade raised a hand to stop his approach, but Tag’na called, “Aralim, it’s alright.”
They had seated the Emperor on a reclined chair, while the Aura changed blood-soaked bandages at his waist. He drank an herbal tea of some kind, but lowered it to speak with Aralim. “Rattar will be here momentarily, but do not worry. Miresh and her protector are safe, in his quarters.”
Aralim sighed in relief. “Then the next step is finding Ro. Do you know if the other conspirators know anything? I’m assuming you’re alright?”
“I will be, of course” Tag’na replied. “You won’t tell a soul that I can be hurt, will you?”
“You look fine to me,” Aralim said. He forced a smile and added, “Possibly even stronger.”
Tag’na smiled too. He talked in sighs, like a man in a lot of pain, but his expression was calm and collected. “I suspect after that display that whoever is holding the General will release him. But if they do not, we’ll find him. Aglo has sworn he knows nothing of this, which implies Ovoe kept his plan private to himself.”
“Then there’s not much I can do to help with finding Ro. Are you concerned about your sudden publicity at all?”
Tag’na leaned his head back and sighed. “I’m at a fork in the road. Over the next few weeks, my people will wait to see if, after that, I will appear before their celebrations, if I will still accept their offerings and their servitude. The man I was today… he was the same man who ruled the Merciless Years.” He took another deep breath. Aralim noticed Rattar waiting nearby, but the Emperor continued. “Say nothing to my people. Let this be a merciless night, but in the morning, come speak to me again, and perhaps we’ll have a hopeful sunrise.” Then he waved the Grand Mage over to treat his punctured abdomen.