Chapter 11

Laris Rychart, Prince of Osh’riyo, third in line to the Imperial Throne, scanned the parchment for the third time. His cousin, the Emperor had drafted a proclamation declaring that it was high time the desert folk be brought to heel. To that end, all of the desert folk found in the main body of the Empire were to be shipped to Osh’riyo for what the proclamation colorfully called “interrogation.” Since these men and women couldn’t be placed under Oath, Laris was ordered to be creative in his methods for securing accurate information.

“So, my cousin has taken it into his head that there’s a conspiracy against him, and that it took root among the desert people,” Laris said, speaking to Yokir, his seneschal.

“And what does he tend to do about it, your Highness?” Yokir asked. He was an old man. He had served Laris’s father and grandfather, although he was just a young man when he first started service for the Rychart family.

“Apparently, he is sending them to me to get to the bottom of this.” Liam looked at the date of the proclamation and cursed. “And it appears that the first boatload of suspects will be arriving within the week. Curse the griffin’s inability to fly over the seas!”

Yokir took this in stride. He had long heard his master complain about the limitations of the vaunted griffin cavalry his cousin and their ancestors put so much stock in. “Of course, your Highness, it is that same inability that makes you so powerful in the northern seas.”

Laris spat. “It’s that inability that makes me third in line for the throne instead of first. If those lice-ridden beasts could fly over the seas, my ancestor would not have been sent here to secure this rock, while his younger brother and his line ascended to the throne!”

Yokir bowed his head, properly admonished. Of course, he knew this story. He had grown up listening to the same complaints from three generations of Osh’riyo Rycharts. Laris was right. But then, so was Yokir. The griffin’s inability to fly over vast stretches of oceans is what allowed his master so much freedom. As much as Laris chaffed at not being Emperor, in a very real way, he was Emperor of the northern seas and Et’alash.

“Your Highness, we will have to hurry if we are to prepare the dungeons for the sheer numbers of prisoners they will be expected to hold.”

“What’s to prepare? Throw these desert dogs into the cells as they are now. Perhaps the cold and wet will convince them to speak more freely.”

“Be that as it may, your Highness, the cells we have now can only hold four comfortably. That means we can house a total of 250 prisoners. From the sounds of things, we’ll be expected to hold many more. We need to expand the cells.”

“Bah! Who cares for their comfort? They are prisoners!”

“That may be, your Highness,” Yokir replied with patience. “But they still receive the protection of the law. They will petition the courts for relief if you treat them badly.”

“And how are they going to do that, Yokir? They won’t have access to counsel. The Emperor’s orders are very clear. I am to take all necessary steps to get the information he demands. He said nothing about the legal niceties. He wants results.”

Yokir bowed. “As you command, your Highness. I will go speak with the jailor, to be sure things are ready.” He had concerns about the Emperor’s orders, but he had voiced them to his master. His duty was served. It did appear that Laris had approval from the highest authority to do what was necessary.

As Laris watched Yokir walk out of the throne room, he allowed a small smile to blossom on his face. Things were going very well.

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Chapter 10

Emperor Kilthane Rychart called Commander Liam Donal before him. In his hand, he held a scroll from the Imperial Prosecutor. The seal was broken and the parchment was gripped tightly in a fist that was nearly white. The Emperor’s eyes flashed fire. Liam Donal had never seen that look in his Emperor’s eyes, but he could guess at its meaning.

“You summoned me, Your Majesty?” He bowed low.

“Yes, Liam. I need you to do me a favor.” His voice was low and hard, as if he was struggling to keep it firmly in check.

“You have but to command, Your Majesty, and if it is within my power, it shall be done.” Liam fervently hoped that whatever he was about to be ordered to do was within his power. And that he could comply with the order with the minimum loss of life.

Liam was a lifelong soldier. In his time he had found there were two schools of thought about a soldier’s duty. Some held it was a soldier’s duty to die for his Empire or Kingdom. Others believed that it was a soldier’s duty to live for it. He was firmly in the latter camp. If ordered, he would send men to kill and men to die. But he preferred to rely on the threat of force, rather than its application. He had a strong sense that his preferences were to be damned in this instance.

“I have been informed,” the Emperor replied, “that the vicious attack on me and my family was orchestrated by the desert folk. I want you to find out who did it and why. I want answers. And I don’t care what you have to do to get them.”

Liam nodded. “Very well, sir. I will order the local constabulary here in Maruth to round up the desert people for questioning. I’ll have them interviewed under Oath here at the palace.”

“Under Oath?” the Emperor scoffed. “Liam, the magicians who administer the Oath are desert men themselves!”

“I am aware of this, Your Majesty. Certainly you’re not suggesting that they might be derelict in their duty—“

“I am suggesting,” the Emperor spat, cutting him off, “that the desert people hold more to their own kind than in their loyalty to the Empire. They have no need to pay heed to us, because their kind are autonomous from the Empire. No, Commander Donal. I believe there is more to this than the actions of one desert man. I will not trust in the interrogations of their own kind. No, I think something else is in order.”

“And what would that be, Your Majesty?” Liam asked.

“Send them to my cousin, Laris, on his island of Osh’riyo. I’ll draft a proclamation placing him in charge of the interrogation. I know I can trust him to get to the bottom of this. After all, he is of the blood Imperial. He could be next.”

“Very well, Your Majesty,” Liam said. He wasn’t sure about the legal niceties, but it wasn’t his job to be concerned with those. He had an order from his Emperor and he would carry it out. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, Liam, there is. Once you’ve finished rounding up the desert men in the 11 kingdoms that make up the Empire, I think it’s time we expanded a bit. We need to finish what my ancestors started. I want you to take the army and your griffins and invade Yometh Robak and Kolam Robak.”

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Chapter 9

Coren sat in his chair, facing the man in the traditional uniform of an Imperial mage. The man looked tall. He had the same dark skin of all his kind. His hair was that shiny black and it was braided, with feathers and beads hanging off of each braid, near his elbows. Coren wondered why it was that only the desert people seemed to possess the talent for magic.

These thoughts fled as the magician looked down on him with his deep brown eyes. There was something mesmerizing about them. And Coren realized he was feeling the presence of the magician’s power.

The mage started to move his hands in a mystic pattern, softly speaking words in a language Coren had never heard before. He felt a subtle pressure on his mind, as if something was probing into his thoughts.

“Do not resist the feeling,” the magician spoke for the first time. “If you do, you could do permanent harm to your mind. If that happens, there is no help for you.”

Coren swallowed heavily and tried to relax. His eyes were locked on the magician’s as he continued to intone the mystic words. Slowly, the mage reached a hand out and placed it on top of Coren’s head. As he did, Coren felt his mind open.

Memories came flooding through him, in random patterns.

…a girl from his youth….

…the first taste of whiskey…

…a frantic run through a deep jungle, the sounds of pursuit hot on his heels…

…the last time a magician had placed him under Oath….

He also felt his ability to lie removed. He knew that he would answer whatever question was placed to him, and that he was incapable of speaking any deception. He could still, with careful control, give answers that weren’t the whole truth. But he could speak no deliberate falsehood.

“Now,” Kilthanis said. “Tell me about the desert man who purchased the poison from you.”

“He was dressed in traditional garb. The leggings and jerkin were the color of desert sand. He had a headband over his ears, keeping his hair from his eyes and shielding them from the sun. His skin was the dusky color of all desert men. His hair was long and braided.”

“What about his eyes? You said there was something about his eyes.”

“Yes. They weren’t right. They were green. In all my travels, I’ve never seen a desert man with green eyes.”

Kilthanis turned toward the mage, a questioning look on his face.

“It is rare,” the magician replied. “But there are some of our race who have eyes of that color. Most likely, an ancestor of his dallied with someone from elsewhere in the Empire. Still, it should make him easy to spot.”

“Can you think of anything else that distinguished him from other desert men?” Kilthanis asked.

Coren shook his head. “No. As I said, I try not to focus too much on my clients. I only noticed his eyes because he woke me and I was angry at the disturbance. I was yelling at him when I opened the door and looked him fully in the face. When he told me what he wanted, I stopped caring what he looked like.”

“You sold him poison?” Kilthanis asked.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you who his intended target was?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

“Only that he wanted a slow-acting poison. He wanted his victim to suffer for at least three hours.”

Kilthanis flipped through the parchment spread on the table. “It says here that the poison worked very quickly. What happened?”

“I made a mistake. I added too much betosh to the mixture. I failed to inform him of my error.”

Kilthanis nodded. He turned to the magician. “Thank you for your aid. That will be all. You will tell no one of what you heard here.”

The magician nodded. He was aware of the scope of this particular investigation. And magicians were never called upon to testify in open court. It would jeopardize their role as vouchsafes of truth.

The magician turned and left the room.

“Well,” Kilthanis said, as Coren felt the spell lifting. “I think we have something we can work with.

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Chapter 8

Kilthanis looked at Coren. “Not necessarily. We might be able to trade information in exchange for your life.”

“What information?” Coren demanded. “I don’t know anything!”

“Well, you mentioned a desert man. If you can give an adequate description and they can find this man, then perhaps that information will be worth your life. They know you didn’t act alone, Coren. You’ve never been inside the Imperial Palace. You certainly don’t have access to the kitchens. Therefore, whoever bought the poison must have brought it in.

“As far as I know, the only desert men in the palace work as Imperial Magicians. That means there’s a conspiracy against the Emperor. If you can help root it out….yes, I think I can convince the Imperial Prosecutor and the judge to spare you.”

Desperate hope sang in Coren’s dark eyes. “I’ll tell them anything, ANYTHING, to avoid the executioner.”

“Well you can start by telling me about this desert man. And remember, Coren, they will put you under Oath to ensure you’re telling the truth.”

“Oh I am, I am….I just wish I could remember more about him. I wasn’t paying that much attention. I try to avoid noticing my clients and with those desert folk…well, I was more concerned with where his hands were than what he looked like. I wanted to make sure that my property didn’t walk off with him unless he paid for it.”

Kilthanis masked his disgust at the blatant racism that was spewing from his client’s mouth. These sorts of rumors had plagued the desert people for years. It didn’t help that they were so secretive, and only rarely ventured out of their home. Still, that was no excuse. “Still, I assume you don’t see desert men everyday. You must have noticed something about him.”

Coren sighed. “To be completely honest, I was drunk. Your little dossier mentioned that I crawled into a bottle. Well this morning was no exception.”

“Hmmm. Well, I can probably use that as part of your defense. Voluntary intoxication is no excuse, but it can mitigate your role in the conspiracy. Clearly, you weren’t in your right mind if you did give this man poison in a vial with your mark on it. That may help convince the judge not to sentence you to death.”

“Terrific. Drinking is actually good for something other than hiding out from life.”

“Indeed. Now concentrate, Coren. Is there anything else you can tell me about this desert man? I’ll need more if I’m going to convince the Prosecutor to let you live.”

Coren scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his face, then closed his eyes tight, in thought. “He was dressed in their traditional garb. Long, black hair. Braided. He looked like every other desert man I’ve ever seen!”

“Well, then I’m-“

“Wait!” Coren cried out. “His eyes! There was something about his eyes. They…weren’t right. Gods help me, I can’t remember what, though.”

Kilthanis thought for a second. “We might not need the Gods’ help, Coren. There is one other option I’d like to explore.” So saying, Kilthanis rose and walked over to the door, banging loudly. When a guard answered, Kilthanis spoke with him briefly. The guard returned a question, looking skeptical.

“Just do it,” Kilthanis said. “If you’re questioned, tell him I asked for it. If that’s not good enough, go ask the Emperor. I’m sure he’ll approve.”

The guard looked shocked at the suggestion, but hurried away.

“What did you ask for?” Coren inquired.

“I asked for the help of a magician.”

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Chapter 7

Coren knew the story. Anyone with an even passing knowledge of Imperial history knew the story. Taylor D’Endray, a colonel in the infantry, had been assigned to clear out the jungles of Et’alash of those who would resist rightful Imperial rule. After a career of loyal service, he and three units of Imperial troops, totaling some three thousand men, had turned traitor and joined the rebel forces. When the war ended four years later, the survivors of these units, including Colonel D’Endray himself, had been dealt with harshly. The punishments doled out by the then-Emperor were legendary.

“So am I to understand you’re the Emperor’s hand-picked man?” Coren asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Kilthanis replied.

“So I’m to only receive a farce of a trial then? Is that what the Emperor calls justice?”

“Far from it. The Emperor asked for me precisely because I’m so good at my job, and because of my ancestor’s actions. He wants there to be no doubt in anyone’s mind that you had the best defense available. If you’re convicted for this, it’ll be because you committed the crime, not because you didn’t have adequate counsel or a fair trial.”

“Well, then Lord D’Endray, let’s talk about my defense. What evidence do they have against me? I assume they’ve captured the desert man?”

“Kilthanis will be fine, Lieutenant. From what I was reading, they apparently have a vial, found in the Imperial kitchens, with your mark upon it. There was no mention of any desert man.”

“Well please call me Coren. I haven’t had a rank in over a decade.” He paused, then muttered to himself. “So they claim to have a vial with my mark. I must stop drinking when I work.” To Kilthanis he said, “It’s possible that one of the kitchen staff were using a cure I created for them. I am an apothecary after all.”

“I doubt you’ll find a servant working in the kitchens who will admit to having visited you, with the charges that have been laid in this case. There’s also the small matter that there’s poison residue in the vial. The Imperial Physician checked it himself.”

“Well, there’s no evidence that I placed the poison in that vial. I have no idea what becomes of the vials I use after I sell them to my customers. Perhaps one of them used it.”

“Perhaps. But again, you’d have to have sold a remedy to someone with access to the Imperial kitchens.”

“Not necessarily,” Coren said. “Someone could have sold the vial in one of the market squares. Anyone could have picked it up. My mark doesn’t cease being on it merely because the vial has left my possession,” he pointed out.

“True. But I am assuming the magicians can put the vial in your hand within hours of the poisoning,” Kilthanis replied.

“Magicians?” Color drained from Coren’s face.

“Indeed. Remember, Coren, we’re not out in some backwater kingdom, without resources. This is an attack on the Imperial family we’re talking about. The Emperor will bring to bear all the resources at his disposal. And that includes use of the Imperial magicians. I understand they can read the impressions on objects. And the courts are very sympathetic to their testimony.”

“But…but…I didn’t know!” he cried. “There was no way I could know what that man wanted the poison for. I find it best not to ask. They can’t prove I intended to hurt the Emperor!”

Kilthanis nodded. “Correct. They can’t force you to testify, and I believe that if they did, you would be able to testify under Oath that you had no idea the Emperor was the intended victim. Unfortunately, trafficking in poisons carries a death sentence. And I don’t think you could testify under Oath that you weren’t doing that. And I can’t prevent the Imperial Prosecutor from asking, if you do decide to testify.”

“So I’m a dead man, either way.” Coren’s voice was flat.

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Chapter 6

Coren awoke in a cell beneath the palace in Dhekar. At least, he assumed that’s where he was. It was dark and he felt water dripping down around him and on him. He looked to the only source of light, a large wooden door with small iron bars set at eye level.

He idly wondered - were all cells in the Empire built to the same specifications? He knew he was in trouble, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had known for years that he traded in death, in more ways than one. Yes, he sold potions and powders that could kill. And the penalty for that was death. He knew he would have a trial and that could take a while. He wouldn’t live a comfortable life, but at least he would live, for a time.

He was contemplating the various options he had. It was possible that they hadn’t caught the desert man. Clearly, some of his poison had gotten through to a member of the royal family. That didn’t exactly calm him. Nothing he could offer them would make up for the death of the Emperor.

He was pursuing these dark thoughts when he heard a rattle of keys outside and the door opened. He looked up and saw two guards waiting for him.

“On your feet, Vishod,” the one on the left said.

He slowly rose, using the wall to steady himself. “Where are you taking me?”

“The lawyer you requested is here. And he’s a good one. You might get out of this yet.”

The guard’s voice carried true admiration in it, and for a brief second, Coren dared hope that he might yet see the outside world again.

His guard escorted him to the end of the long hall and up a flight of slick stone stairs, to a waiting area near the surface of the dungeon level. Sitting at a round table was a well-dressed man, with dark brown hair and green eyes. He was reading a piece of parchment. Before him, he had a stack of blank paper, an inkwell and a griffin-feather quill. This last marked him as someone both well-off and important. Most people used bird-feather quills. Coren was confused.

“Hello? Are you my lawyer?”

The man looked up from his reading. “That depends. Are you Coren Vishod?”

Coren nodded.

“Then I’m your lawyer, Lieutenant Vishod. Please, have a seat. This is quite the list of charges. We have quite the battle before us.”

Coren took a seat, his hands shaking a bit and his knees feeling weak. “You needn’t call me Lieutenant. I am but a simple merchant,” Coren protested.

“Come now, Lieutenant Vishod. No need to be modest. I know you used to be a messenger for the royal family of Mareth’totam. I know you have done some military service, in their intelligence core in Ethsheya. And I know you’ve been living in a bottle for the last seven years, since you were discharged."

Coren looked pained at the memory of his dismissal from service. But there was something else on his mind.

“I…” He paused. “I’m sorry, sir. I just wasn’t expecting such a….What I mean to say is, I didn’t think I’d be assigned….” He didn’t know how to say what he wanted.

“Well, you have a right to have a lawyer assigned to your case, and I understand you requested one.”

“Yes, sir. I did. And I know my rights. I’m just not sure I can afford someone of your obvious cost.” He eyed the quill.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that Lieutenant. My services are complimentary.”

Coren raised his eyebrows.

“Well, Lieutenant, this is the first case of treason in the Empire in over two centuries. And I have some…unique…experience in the area. So I’ve been asked to defend you.”

Coren’s eyes widened as the implication of what his lawyer said sunk in. “You mean…?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. I’m Kilthanis D’Endray. And my ancestor defected from the Imperial Army during the Third War for Et’alash.”

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Chapter 5

Coren was startled awake for the second time that day by loud banging on his door. He looked around the darkened interior of his wagon and guessed it was sometime in the middle of the night. Who could possibly want to see him now?

That thought triggered a memory of the first knock on his door that day and his blood ran cold. He was suddenly sober. There was only one reason anyone would be slamming on his door at that time of night, and that reason meant his death. He had left the Imperial City shortly after he had made the earlier sale. He found it best not to stick around after dealing in his less legal commodities, even if there was nothing to link him to the poison. How in the name of all the Gods had they found him?

“Open up in the name of the Empire!” A muffled voice shouted through the door.

“Uh...just a…just a moment!” Coren called back. He looked around the wagon. He had left nothing out in plain sight, and his hiding space had fooled customs officials in a half-dozen kingdoms. He smoothed his hair and put on his best innocent face. There was no way they could link him to the desert man. Unless he had talked. Coren gulped nervously, then opened the door.

“Good evening, Captain,” he greeted the man in the blue and silver uniform. “How may I help you?” That was odd. These men were dressed in the uniforms of Imperial troops, not those of the Maruth constabulary.

“You are Coren Vishod?” the man asked.

Briefly, Coren considered lying, but there was really no point to it. They’d just take him in anyway and probably have him mind-probed. If he started out with a lie, it would only make him look guiltier.

“Yes,” he replied. “That’s my name. Can I help you?”

“In the name of the Emperor, I place you under arrest,” the Captain said. “Please step out of the wagon and accompany us.”

“Arrest?” Coren feigned shock. “On what charges?”

“Trafficking in illegal poisons, conspiracy, murder and high treason.”

The blood drained from Coren’s face. “High treason?” He had been arrested before and had faced charges of trafficking. Liberal bribes had gotten him out of some scrapes and a lack of evidence had helped him escape others. But treason? What the hell had the desert man done with that vial?

“Step down from the wagon and come peacefully, or we will take you by force.”

Coren stepped down, briefly contemplating a run. It would cost him his wagon, but his freedom was worth that. Unfortunately, there was no cover. Furthermore, he found the wagon surrounded. In addition to the men on the ground, he saw several griffins being tended by their riders. For whatever reason, they wanted him badly.

“On what basis do you charge me with high treason?” As he spoke, men walked up to him and grabbed his arms, binding his hands together behind his back.

“The evidence against you will be presented later, before a court of law,” the Captain replied.

“That’s not what I meant, Captain. You’re an Imperial soldier, not a member of Maruth’s or Dhekar’s constablary. On what basis do you charge me?”

“There’s been an attack on the royal family. That makes this an Imperial matter, rather than a kingdom one or local one.”

Coren stammered. “I…I want a lawyer!”

“That’s your right, sir. But for now, you’re coming with us.”

He was guided to a waiting griffin. Coren shied away from the large beast. It looked down on him with impassive, avian eyes. The large beak clacked and Coren cried out in fear. This brought some low chuckles from some of the men.

“Enough of that,” the Captain barked. “Let’s get mounted up and head back to the palace. Commander Donal wants to have a word with him.”

Coren was unceremoniously heaved up onto the griffin’s leonine back, then tied to the saddle. The creature’s rider placed one foot in a stirrup and vaulted up to sit astride the saddle lashed between its wings. The others mounted up as well. At the Captain’s signal, the great beast reared onto its hind paws and launched itself into the air, it’s large wings spreading to catch the wind.

Coren made the mistake of looking down. As the ground sped away beneath him, Coren Vishod fainted.

Chapter 4

Men in the blue and silver of the Imperial guards drew weapons and moved to surround the Emperor and his dead bride. Various nobles and dignitaries stepped back to give them room, the more curious craning their necks to try and see past the human wall.

Liam Donal stepped forward, signaling to a pair of officers and the Head Steward. He turned to one of the officers, a lieutenant. “Seal the kitchens. Everyone there must be questioned. This is an attack on the royal family. We must figure out who is behind it as quickly as possible.” He turned to the other officer, this one a captain. “Get to the gates and have them closed as well. Chances are, the culprit or his accomplices are long gone. But we must make every effort to try and capture the men responsible.”

The officers nodded and hurried off to carry out his commands, gathering men as they went, while the Head Steward waited for orders. Normally, the Head Steward wouldn’t respond to a military commander. He worked for the royal family. However, Liam was right. This was a special circumstance.

“First, we need to clear the Hall and get these nobles back to their homes. There’s little we can do to stop the spread of the story. We certainly can’t hold them here in the palace against their will.” The steward nodded. Liam continued. “Once they’re gone, you and I need to go through the kitchen staff. You served his Majesty, so you know who last had his plate before you. And you know who’s new to the kitchens.”

The Steward breathed a sigh of relief, noting that Commander Donal didn’t consider him a suspect in the poisoning. Otherwise, he would have had him held with the kitchen staff, rather than allowing him the opportunity to slip away as he was showing the guests out.

Liam moved to the Emperor, signaling for his men to spread further out, giving them privacy. He leaned down and spoke quietly. “Your Majesty…we must get you out of here.”

Kilthane shook his head, still staring down at the body of his wife clasped in his arms.

“Your Majesty, please. We don’t know if this is the extent of the attack, or merely a distraction. The men responsible –“

The Emperor’s head snapped up, a look of hatred in his ice blue eyes as he interrupted Liam. “The men responsible will be captured and executed. They will feel my wrath. They will suffer as no men have ever suffered before!”

Liam looked around, realizing that many of the notables who had come to celebrate the Empire’s birthday were still within earshot, despite the attempts of the soldiers and the Head Steward to escort them out. While the Emperor’s feelings could well be understood, such talk was disturbing to a people who loved their freedom and respect for the rule of law.

“Your majesty, I’ve already ordered the kitchens and gates sealed. If the people responsible are still within the palace, we have them.”

“That’s not good enough!” The Emperor’s voice was sharp, but low, tightly controlled. “Seal the city! You and I both know that the men behind this aren’t here in the palace. Even if we catch the man who poisoned my plate, he didn’t act alone!”

Liam was taken slightly aback. The Emperor was talking about declaring martial law, something that hadn’t happened in the Imperial City in over 300 years. But he wasn’t being irrational. It was clear from what he said that he was aware of the implications of an attempt on his life, and was thinking strategically. Yes, the city hadn’t been sealed in three centuries, but then, there hadn’t been an attempt on the life of a member of the royal family in at least as long. He realized he hadn’t responded to the Emperor as he thought this through.

“At once, Your Majesty.” He turned to one of his men, pulling off a ring with a griffin rampant over a flag on its face. “Head to the West Gate. Tell the officer there to seal the city. No one goes in or out but by my order. If he has any questions, show him this. Then head to the East Gate and give the officer there the same message. Then return to me. Take a griffin to speed you.”

“Yes, Commander,” the soldier replied, taking the ring and turning toward the door. He broke into a run as soon as he felt decorum would allow. Clearly, speed was of the essence.

Liam turned and surveyed the Hall. Most of the nobles had been shepherded out by this point, but one delegation, that from Reth’methil, was still in evidence. Chancellor D’Inday stood to one side of the large doors, eyeing the Emperor.

Liam walked over to her. “Chancellor, is there something you needed?”

She eyed him carefully, a thoughtful look on her face. Liam knew that she was a shrewd politician. She had to be, to be elected by the Senate of Reth’methil to the position of Chancellor. She was also a part of the most powerful family within that Kingdom.

“Commander Donal,” her voice was low, for him only. “Clearly something terrible has happened here. This was not an attack on the Emperor or his family. This was an attack on the Empire itself. You need to make sure that the blow wasn’t more successful than it at first appears.”

Liam nodded, in understanding. Allyson D’Inday was warning him that the proper forms had to be followed. Martial law would have to be lifted as soon as possible, and he couldn’t allow the Emperor to order summary executions in a fit of pique. “I am pledged to defend the Empire, Chancellor.”

“It is well you remember that, Commander. You are pledged to the Empire, not the Emperor. And as he himself reminded us not ten minutes ago, it is the will of the people, and not a grieving husband, that is the law of this Empire.”

Liam stiffened as she reminded him of his duty. “I thank you for your words, Chancellor,” he said, his words clipped. “I am well aware of my duty, both to the Empire and the man who runs it. Now, if there’s nothing else….” He let his voice trail off.

Allyson D’Inday knew she had upset Liam. He had been a faithful servant of the Empire for over thirty years. He had served in the Griffin Cavalry the whole time, starting as a private in the Emperor’s father’s time, and had worked his way up to his current position. He was widely regarded as an excellent officer, with a refined sense of duty. But he had known the Emperor since he was a boy. That was why Allyson had felt it necessary to remind him of that duty now. He would get over whatever insult he felt.

“No, Commander. That was all I had to say. May your investigation be as swift as the griffins you command.” Liam nodded to her, and she and her party turned to leave. As she did, the Head Steward returned to the hall.

“See to His Majesty,” Liam ordered crisply. “Have the doctor fix a sleeping draught, and prepare the Empress’s body for a state burial.”

Without waiting for a response, Liam turned and headed towards the kitchens, a look of grim determination on his face.

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Chapter 3

Kilthane Rychart, Emperor, sat at a large round table. He looked out over the crowded dining hall as the various lords and ladies of the Empire crowded in. This was just the first of many celebrations of the Empire’s millennial birthday. A variety of high officials and their emissaries were in attendance.

While the rulers of the farther flung kingdoms could not, or chose not to attend, those closer to the Imperial capital of Dhekar had turned out to pay their respects. Seated at his right was Allyson D’Inday, Chancellor of Reth’methil, the island kingdom to the south, and the place from which the Empire sprung. She had to have a place of honor at this banquet.

Kilthane turned his head to his left, to smile at his young bride, Elizabeth. She was a beautiful woman, and the apple of his eye. And she adored him almost as much as he cared for her.

Kilthane was a fairly young man, only in his early thirties. He had thick black hair and a matching beard, kept trimmed short. But the most striking thing about him were his piercing blue eyes. They lit up whenever he smiled, which was often, when Elizabeth was near. He was dressed impeccably in Imperial blue, a griffin rampant stitched in silver across his breast.

The walls were lined with various members of the Imperial Army, and standing near to Kilthane was Liam Donal, head of the Imperial Griffin Cavalry, the major source of the Empire’s power. With this flying armada at its command, the Empire had expanded to encompass eleven kingdoms, spanning the known world, from the polar ices in the far south to the jungle lands of the north.

Directly across from Kilthane at the large round table sat Nicodemus Darkwater, the High Priest of Borean, the Griffin God. He had made the trip from the eastern mountains to celebrate the birth of an Empire his church was largely responsible for forming. It was the 14^th year of the Empire when a delegation from Desanth, the City of the Church, first arrived in Dhekar with a message from the Griffin God. It was Nicodemus’s long ago predecessor who had pledged the first griffins to the Empire and thus started its spread.

He was an old man, with long white hair and a beard to match. It looked as if the snow from the mountains had permanently settled upon him and took root. His skin, when he had shaken hands with Kilthane, felt like old paper. You’d have never known that both Kilthane and his father had chaffed at having to defer to this man and his church.

Tradition held that the Emperor was the voice of Borean, for he was Emperor by the Grace of the Griffin God. But the High Priest carried considerable sway, especially since the Church still maintained a monopoly on the breeding and training of griffins. And Kilthane well knew that the existence of the Griffin Cavalry was viewed by the populace as a sign of the God’s continuing favor. So despite misgivings, generations of Rycharts had paid homage to nearly seventy High Priests throughout the last millennium.

Kilthane made small talk with various ambassadors who dropped by to pay the respects of their various leaders. At a signal from the Head Steward, he raised his glass and his voice.

“Friends, Lords and Ladies, Heads of State and citizens of the Empire! I welcome you to this, the celebration of the birth of our glorious Empire. A millennium ago, my ancestors, as well as many of yours, first crossed the Bay of Storms from Reth’methil to Maruth, founding the first Imperial capital at Dekiyem, the ancient City of Law, where Bokiyem, the God of Law first handed down the rules that govern our lives. Over the last thousand years, we have spread and prospered, while living under these same laws, as well as using the gift Bokiyem gave man – the power to govern ourselves.

“Therefore, I ask you to join me in a toast. The ancient words, that have guided us to our current pinnacle, and have served as the Imperial Motto! In the words of our ancestors ‘Alu Utos-Merethil tur alu Kiyem-Tethos’! The Will of the People is the Law of the Empire!”

“Alu Utos-Merethil tur alu Kiyem-Tethos” rang from the rafters of the great hall as the gathered assemblage thundered back the toast.

As the echoes died down, the Head Steward signaled to the servants and they swept into the hall, carrying trays and plates heaped high with lamb, the traditional spring meal. They served the guests quickly and efficiently, the Head Steward serving the Chancellor, the Emperor and his bride personally.

“And now my friends, please, enjoy the feast. And here’s to another thousand years!” As Kilthane spoke, Elizabeth darted her fork onto his plate and stabbed a small piece of lamb, quickly eating it with a glint in her eye. This was a game they played often. Despite having her own well-stocked plate, Elizabeth always insisted that food tasted better when she took it from his plate. He knew it was silly, as did she, but he couldn’t resist smiling each time she did it anyway.

This time, however, his smile turned to horror as she suddenly started choking. He cried out in alarm as she coughed and sputtered, her lips turning blue and her eyes bulging. Servants scurried as Chancellor D’Inday called for a doctor. The Imperial Physician hurried over from his position around the table.

He quickly slapped her on the back several times and then opened her mouth to try and see what was obstructing her throat.

By this point, her tongue was swollen and starting to turn black and she doubled over in pain, tears flowing from her eyes. These tears were matched in the eyes of the Emperor as he watched the life slipping away from his wife.

She fell out of her chair and landed heavily on the floor. She turned pleading eyes towards her husband, looking terrified as darkness closed in. Her body convulsed and shook on the floor of the Great Dining Hall as the doctor tried to hold her still. Kilthane dropped to his knees and cradled her head in his lap as the physician called for his bag of healing draughts. But he knew it was too late.

Slowly, her shudders subsided and her body went limp with a final soft rattle of breath in her throat. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead and her eyes were staring vacantly upward at the ceiling. Her tongue, now completely black, protruded grossly from between blue lips.

Sobs racked Kilthane as he rocked back and forth, holding her body to his, willing her to come back to life.

The doctor placed a soft hand on the Emperor’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Your Majesty. There was nothing I could do. She’s been poisoned.”

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Chapter 2

The desert man walked quickly away from the wagon, losing himself in the crowd of the market. He made his way across the Imperial city to an inn that catered to travelers from across the Empire. He strode through the common room, ignoring the rest of the patrons as they ignored him. That was the other reason he’d chosen this inn. It was known for housing a more discreet clientele.

He headed up the stairs to the room he had let on the second floor. He checked for the tell-tale he had left on the jamb and saw that it remained undisturbed. He took out a key and let himself in. His eyes scanned the room, confirming that it remained undisturbed since the last time he left it.

He crossed to the wooden chest where he’d unpacked his belongings. He opened it and withdrew a set of robes. They were blue, edged in silver, the traditional robes of an Imperial page. He quickly changed out of his traveling clothes into the robes, tucking his long black hair into a large felt cap. He placed the vial he had purchased from the apothecary into a small pocket inside the robe, then grabbed a large cloak and drew it around him. People at this inn might be discreet, but even they would notice an Imperial servant.

He let himself back out of the cramped room, locking the door, and replaced the tell-tale. He headed back into the city, heading in the direction of the Imperial palace. An hour later, he found himself nearing the main gates. He strode up and through them, just as the bells in the high tower chimed the seventh hour after noon.

There was an unusual amount of traffic passing through the gates at this hour, but this was an unusual night. After all, it was not every day that the Emperor celebrated the 1000^th Anniversary of the Empire.

He slowed his walk, looking around the palace parade grounds, ducking his head as he passed the assembled Lords and Ladies. This helped hide his complexion. Pages were a common sight around the palace and they tended to blend into the background. However, there were not many pages who were desert folk, so to avoid notice he kept his head bent. The presence of so much aristocracy made this submissive behavior seem normal.

He made his way to the west wall, heading around back towards the servant’s entrance. Pages were not allowed entry through the main doors of the palace. He arrived near the door to the scullery and paused. Two minutes later, the door opened and a man dressed like a chef strolled out and dumped out a large pot of dirty water.

The desert man spoke the pass phrase in High Katakan. “Abi boki alu merethil.”

The cook looked up at him and responded in the same language. “Abel etay kashe-il.”

The desert man reached into his robes, pulled out the small vial and passed it to the cook. He nodded quietly and turned back into the kitchen. The desert man reached back into his robes and pulled out a large sealed scroll. He turned and made his way back across the parade ground and out the gates. He grabbed his cloak from the alley where he left it and disappeared into the crowd.

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Chapter 1

It seems odd that it all started with a drunkard named Coren Vishod. He lived in his ramshackle wagon, traveling from kingdom to kingdom, throughout the Empire, hawking his services. He was an apothecary, dealing in herbal remedies and useful unguents. He was also a smuggler, dealing in darker drafts and potent poisons, brought from his home in Mareth’totam. He didn’t advertise these services, but those who wished could find him.

He was slumped over his workbench in the back of his wagon, an empty flagon laying next to his unshaven face, the last drops of the amber liquid it had contained running out across the rough wooden surface.

There was a loud knock at the door. Coren groaned in pain as each knock drove into his head like a spike through the ear. “Great Gods! Who could be needing aid at this early hour of the morning?” Coren shouted through the door, regretting it instantly. His hand fumbled around until it closed around a dark bottle, filled with amber liquid. He pulled it close and pried the cork out.

“It’s the hour after noon,” came the accented reply.

Coren took a long swig from the bottle, squinting against the bright sun streaming in through the blinds. Perhaps his visitor was correct. He stumbled over to the door and opened it.

Standing before him was one of the desert people. His skin was a deep brown, almost red in color. His hair was a long, shiny black, in twin braids. His eyes were a bright green, unusual for one of his kind. But Coren was too busy looking over his rich clothing, gauging the man’s ability to pay. “What can I do for you?” He took another healthy swig from the bottle.

The desert man stepped into the back of the wagon, pulling the door closed behind him. Coren looked at him suspiciously. “What are you doing? Customers aren’t allowed back here.”

“The business I wish to conduct shouldn't be done in the open,” the man replied, looking around the wagon in mild disgust.

“And what sort of business is that?” Coren asked, noting the man’s distaste.

“I wish to buy something special. No mere folk remedy, but a special gift for a special friend.” The way the man said the word friend indicated that the recipient was anything but.

“I’m sorry. I don’t sell those kinds of gifts. No one does. Those sorts of ‘gifts’ are illegal in the Empire. To sell them would mean my death.”

“Only if you’re caught, Vishod.”

Coren arched an eyebrow, setting the bottle down. “You know me?”

“I know you. And I know you can sell me that which I seek.” The man locked his eyes on Coren’s.

Coren thought for a moment. It was possible that this man worked for the Imperial police force. But they didn’t usually stoop to subtlety. Additionally, the man was too richly dressed to be in the Empire’s employ.

“Let us say that I can,” Coren began. “My supplies are limited and the risk is great. Such a gift would be quite expensive.”

“Enough circumspection. You have what I want. Name your price.” The man’s manner was brusque.

Coren considered. “Three hundred kekil.”

The man snorted. “You’re drunker than you look if you think I can afford that. Fifty kekil.”

Coren grabbed his chest as if he had just been stabbed. “Sir, you wound me. I couldn’t possibly afford to part with anything for less than one hundred fifty kekil.”

“Spare me the theatrics. Seventy five kekil.”

Coren got serious. “One hundred twenty five kekil.”

“Fine, one hundred kekil. But I need something slow acting.”

“How slow?”

“The victim must live no less than three hours after ingesting.”

“Hmm….I have something that might work. But I’ll have to mix it. For that, I’ll need an extra ten kekil.”

The man stared hard at Coren, but finally relented. “Very well. How long until it’s ready?”

“Come back in an hour. It’ll be ready then.”

“One hour. But no payment until it’s ready.”

“Of course not, sir.”

The desert man left the confines of the wagon, and Coren took another drink. He then set the bottle down and began his work. He grabbed a pestle and mortar and set them on his work bench. Then he shuffled to the front of the wagon, climbing down to his hands and knees.

He tripped a small latch and a piece of the wagon wall came out, exposing a small hidden space behind it. A variety of dark, unmarked bottles sat there, carefully arranged. He grabbed three bottles, looking at them carefully. Sure that he had the three he sought, he closed the small compartment and returned to his work bench.

Two of the bottles contained dried herbs. The third an odorless liquid. He took two small leaves from the first bottle and a small bulb from the second. He placed this in the mortar and used the pestle to grind them into a fine paste. He was carefully measuring five drops into the mix when his hand shook, splashing the mixture with a liberal dose of the liquid.

Coren cursed and grabbed his wine bottle, taking a long chug. The potion was still lethal. Indeed, it was much more lethal than the client had asked. Oh well. These ingredients were too expensive to start again. Besides, prolonging death was cruel. Three hours of pointless agony followed by death. What did it matter if the intended victim suffered first? The end result was the same.

He sat debating with himself for a few minutes more. Chances were, he’d never see this desert man again. And if he did remake the potion, he would suffer a loss. The man was a shrewd bargainer. He had set the price before naming the conditions. Coren shook his head. He knew better than to haggle when hung over.

There was another knock at the door. Either he had another customer or his original client was impatient. It didn’t matter. He’d padded the estimate of the time it would take, in order to squeeze out the extra ten kekil. He reached for an empty bottle, forgetting in his haste to grab one without his mark. He poured the lethal brew in, and sealed it with a wax stopper. He then opened the door, just a crack.

The desert man was there. “You have what I ordered?” He apparently didn’t want to risk being seen entering the wagon.

“I do. You have my money?”

The man reached into his belt pouch and removed two coins, a lashak and a kerek. “One hundred ten kekil, as agreed.”

Coren reached for the money with one hand while slipping him the small vial with the other.

And just like that, a war was begun.

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Foreword

It is unusual for a book of this type to have a foreword. Then again, it is unusual for a scholar of my caliber to be writing a book of this type. Therefore, to avoid confusion from those of my usual readers who are used to a more academic account from me, I felt it necessary to write this short foreword and clarify my intent in writing this.

What you hold in your hands is a work of historical fiction. That is, the events that are depicted actually occurred, and many of those who play a role in this volume actually lived. Many of the events discussed in the following pages are those you studied in school. In that sense, it is historical. It is, however, fiction, in that many of the conversations depicted, the thoughts revealed and motives displayed are entirely the creation of this humble author.

Inasmuch as possible, I have drawn from the historical record, cataloguing actual dates and events. Where available, I have drawn on first hand accounts and personal correspondence and journals. In this, certain aspects of the following narrative are more accurate than others.

While many of the events have been told countless times, it is one of the oldest propositions that history is written by the winners. Often times, the surviving accounts from non-official sources depict events in a very different light than what tradition holds. Therefore, I have done my best to triangulate from surviving accounts, to attempt to give a full picture of what transpired all those years ago.

Where information was lacking, I have filled in, to the best of my ability, with events and actions that seem consistent with what we do know. This may explain why I chose to go this route, rather than my usual more scholarly work. For those who are interested in Imperial Law of the period, I humbly suggest my earlier works, Imperial Law of the Millenial Era and Imperial Law in Times of Crisis.

Finally, I must extend my thanks to several individuals, without whom this work would not be possible. First, to the Imperial Records Keeper, for her aid in providing me access to the royal archives. Without these records, this work would not be possible. To the High Court in Dekiyem, for providing copies of key court decisions as well as full records of the trials. Many of the facts contained herein are based on the testimony of those who were witness to key events. To the history department at the Imperial University in Dhe-akatheyo, who’s extensive collection of personal correspondence and accounts from the time, for supporting me while I did my research. To the School of Law, for providing a sabbatical while I worked on this decidedly non-academic work, I am eternally grateful.

And finally, to you the reader, for your interest in this fascinating period of Imperial history. It is for you that this book was written. It is my greatest hope that by learning from the mistakes of the past, we can avoid the hazards of the future.

L.H. D’Orne

Professor of Law and Legal History

Imperial University School of Law

Dhe-akatheyo, Reth’methil

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