PrologueReactions and Outrage
Toachipe, the Hour Marker of Akena, struck the marble floor twice, and the door guards opened the massive ornately carved portal to the Camera, allowing entrance to the Lord of the Golden Pride. The Hour Marker stepped aside as Tarquen entered ahead of the four leaders of the other most powerful Prides in Nytanny. As was customary, the leaders of the lesser Prides stood to either side of the entrance, each resigned to their lower station or secretly plotting how they might one day be part of the procession. As was his habit, Toachipe surveyed the group quickly, compiling a mental tally of who was in the capital. His duties comprised more than marking the passage of time; he was also a chronicler of every detail of governance, for one never knew which small element might prove critical in the future. Accountability and blame were vital to surviving in his office.
The Pride Lords entered in specific order, a tacit agreement as to their influence and power. Much of the governance of Nytanny came down to unspoken tradition, conventions created from centuries of living under constant threat from the Dark Masters. Centuries of living just moments away from inconceivable retribution for any transgression had created a ritual observance of social norms to become hardened into inflexible institutions. All were designed to reduce conflict among the families and Prides, despite the myriad of murderous feuds and rivalries that had endured between them for generations.
Toachipe’s office was one of many that had evolved over this time to ensure that this brittle peace stayed in place. Toachipe’s primary virtue was patience, as it had been for his predecessors: the only name for his duties was “tedium.” Yet with that tedium came privilege, and few outside the Prides could claim such advantage. The nations were allowed only as much or little bounty as the Prides above them were allowed, and only office holders like Toachipe were free from such control.
Occasionally he wondered who the first Hour Marker had been and how he had contrived that station. Toachipe was ignorant of this fact because, while there were records of every order of business going back to the farthest memory of any ancestor, the study of such history was forbidden to him, despite his office.
Urias, the Lord of the Tiger Pride, followed Tarquen, and behind him came Mioscomi, the Lord of the Onyx Pride, Jakanda of the Eagle Pride, and Shono of the Jaguar Pride, each in turn peeling off to right and left, until the five most powerful men in the nation had taken their appointed seats.
Following them were the five recorders—women blessed with a remarkable ability to retain details, each responsible for transcribing every word their own specific lord uttered. They operated under seal of death, not just their own but that of their entire families, should one word of what they recorded be uttered outside the Camera. Collective punishment was assumed among the people of Nytanny: it was part of the rigid code that kept the peace under the eyes of the Dark Masters.
Last to enter was the First Speaker, the one man not of the ruling class trusted to hear all that was said and whose sole role it was to act as chief arbitrator. Following tradition, he paused for a moment and turned to face the Hour Marker, indicating that it was time to shut the doors.
From the moment the sound of the closing portal stopped reverberating, only those within this room would know what was discussed; the population would learn what had been concluded by whatever edicts emerged from the Camera: all the deliberations, debates, arguments, and occasional threats, that were spoken within were closely guarded secrets.
Each Pride Lord retained his own recorder so that no later claim could be made predicated on misinformation or faulty memory. Should two recorders differ in their recounting, it fell to the First Speaker to decide the correct version of words or events. As a result of this great power, the First Speaker occupied a position of authority unequaled by any other below the lords. His family was kept in luxury, though he would never see them again, and when he grew unable to discharge his duties, he would be painlessly put to death, and his family would continue to prosper.
The Lord of the Golden Pride looked at each of the other four Pride Lords and then to the First Speaker. The latter gave a slight bow and then said, “The Camera is sealed, and now I yield to the Lord of the Golden Pride.”
Tarquen was a man at the height of his power, both physically and politically. He stood up slowly. He was an imposing figure at six and a half feet tall, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, and his face, with its chiseled cheeks and square jaw, looked as if it had been carved out of flawless obsidian. His eyes were as dark as his skin. Tarquen’s stature was enhanced by the formal robes he wore: red, embellished with golden embroidery and shoulder patches. Against his dark skin the robes were dramatic, as he had intended when he first commissioned them, ten years before. He hated wearing them, for they were hot and heavy and the climate in Akena demanded light, loose garb, which all other citizens of the city wore on most occasions, but he understood that such magnificence enhanced his aura of power. The other Pride Lords knew that despite his size he was all lean muscle and sinew, the strongest and fiercest warrior among them. Truth be told, many of them had not held a weapon in years.
Tarquen
was the third of his line to be the paramount Pride Lord, a burden he embraced as his fate. His grandfather had crushed rivals to achieve supremacy in the Camera, at times risking retaliation from the Masters, and his father had withstood several attempts to dislodge the Golden Pride from their position of power. In the history of the nation, no Pride had stood so high for so long.
Despite his relative youth (he had turned thirty-six a month previously), Tarquen had been schooled since childhood in governance and understood both the public and covert methods of maintaining control. Moreover, he had mastered the art of persuasion, convincing the other Pride Lords to follow his lead, knowing when to bow to alternative solutions in order to gain socially while losing in different ways, and when to hold firm to his own position.
His rule had been far less tumultuous than that of his forebears, as the other leaders in this chamber had grown up with the Golden Pride being the paramount one for their entire lives. Should Tarquen bequeath the premiership to his eldest son, this might be the beginning of Nytanny’s first dynasty. No Pride in history had endured for four generations. It was an outcome Tarquen fervently desired.
He gave a slight bow, barely more than a nod, to Nestor, the First Speaker.
“We have begun,” Nestor intoned formally.
TARQUEN SAID, “THE REPORTS CIRCULATED”—THEN paused for effect—“as well as those from those agents you chose not to share, have been considered.”
There was a slight shifting by some of the Pride Lords, evidence that Tarquen’s jab had struck home.
His temper had been at the fraying edge of self-control as he had read his own agent’s report, which had been personally conducted to him by trusted go-betweens, before dressing for today’s Camera. That report was the source of his quietly controlled ire.
Someone had captured Borzon’s Black Wake, the Golden Pride’s treasure ship, not only depriving him of abundance for years to come but turning a profitable undertaking into a financial disaster of monumental proportions, potentially weakening his Pride enough to render it vulnerable to its most powerful rivals, the Onyx and Tiger Prides, or even ambitious newcomers like the Jaguar Pride.
Tarquen said, “The Queen of Storms was taken, from a well-equipped Azhante crew.”
Most of the Pride Lords had received the same report, but a few hadn’t bothered to read it before this meeting. There was a collective intake of breath.
“That is a certainty? Could she not have been lost at sea?” asked Mioscomi, Lord of the Onyx Pride.
“A certainty,” said Tarquen. “We have verifications that the Queen of Storms was lying in ambush should anyone unwisely attempt a run north of Elsobas . . .” He sighed. He realized they knew where the ship had anchored. “And there were dead bodies. Which you would know
if you had read the report.” He took a breath: his temper was threatening intemperate words. There were times to rail and times to inform, despite one’s own mood.
Urias, Lord of the Tiger Pride, who was sitting to Tarquen’s left, leaned forward slightly, his greying hair and deepening lines revealing his advancing age, though his gaze was still focused and hinted at an intellect not yet dimmed. “Who would dare such a thing?” he asked.
Tarquen looked at his greatest rival. “I intend to find out. What little information our agents have discovered so far is that seafarers from beyond the Border Ports, perhaps early arrivals from the raids on the Twin Continents, were seen at Elsobas.” He paused: he did not wish to confirm the loss of his Pride’s treasure ship. He would equivocate should anyone inquire how the strangers had arrived. “They were observed and were seen speaking to locals. One oddity: some local boys, street urchins, vanished after being seen with these incomers.”
“Slavers?” asked the Lord of the Tiger Pride.
“Unlikely,” Tarquen replied. “Perhaps someone who saw a monetary opportunity to capture some boys, but practiced slavers would know better than to get that close to the Homeland.”
“Perhaps those boys were spies?” suggested Jakanda of the Eagle Pride.
Urias said, “We should leave it to the Azhante to unravel that mystery. What of our destruction of the Northern Twin?”
Relieved that the discussion had turned away from the loss of Borzon’s Black Wake, Tarquen said, “As we expected, those who survived fled to Marquensas; Sandura is isolated, and the inhabitants of Zindaros and Metros are staying cloistered in their cities along the shore of their homes on the Southern Twin or fleeing southward from the unprotected towns and villages; chaos is sown, plunder is being acquired to please the raiders and all goes according to design.”
“They expect invasion,” said Urias in a satisfied tone.
“Soon chaos will befall those left in Marquensas, as refugees flood their lands. Famine and disease will reduce them even more. The slave nations are basking in the glory of their victories and luxuriating in the wealth of their plunder. We should have peace on the Homeland borders for a year or more. Ample time to plan the next assault.”
“What of Sandura?” asked Mioscomi.
“Prepared. The Church is now ours, and Delnocio has fled; his collaborators are dead, or soon will be. The Church is moving against Lodavico, and the people of Sandura are trained to obedience like whipped dogs. They will welcome us as liberators when we take Lodavico and hang him, or burn him, or whatever they do with their criminals. When we crush Marquensas next year we will control both coasts of North Tembria. We can leave the land in between ungoverned for decades while we relocate the excess population of the slave nations and relieve the pressure here. After that we shall see to the Southern Twin.”
“Twenty years,” said Urias. “I was a young man, not much older than you, Tarquen, when we destroyed Ithrace, and ended the last of the line of the Firemanes.”
Tarquen
refrained from mentioning the rumor of a surviving Firemane child. He simply said, “It is our way to be patient.”
“But never before have we seen such restlessness among the slave nations,” said the Lord of the Eagle Pride. “We must cull them.”
“Many were culled in the raids,” replied Tarquen. “The men of North Tembria are not without valor and resolve. It was a victory, and when it is time to colonize the Twins we must ensure there are enough people left behind to serve, and enough sent forth to conquer. It is why we must hold for another year or two”—he paused, then continued—“and when we do colonize, we will add to our abundance.”
Considering what he knew about the massive raiding of the Twin Continents, information that might not have reached the other Pride Lords, Tarquen defaulted to his customary practice of letting the others choose the matters they wished to discuss while planning his own later course of action in secret. He nodded to the First Speaker, indicating that he had finished speaking on that matter, and Nestor held up his hand, signaling that the lords were free to raise other questions.
The Lord of the Golden Pride was not surprised that it was Shono of the Jaguar Pride who started to speak as if he had been recognized by Nestor, and he was mildly amused that none of the others objected.
The business of the morning passed slowly.
At last, after the final point of discussion had been raised, Nestor stood up and declared the meeting adjourned, and the Pride Lords departed in reverse order of their arrival.
As they passed through the door, Tarquen saw the lesser Pride leaders form into small knots awaiting word from any of the five greater leaders with whom they were allied. A pair of younger men moved in his direction, but Tarquen waved them off to wait for him at a distance. He turned and caught Urias’s eye.
The leader of the Tiger Pride tilted his head slightly, as if in question, then moved toward his senior rival. When he was close, Tarquen said, “A word when you have the time.”
Urias was silent for a moment then said, “Your pleasure.”
“I will be only a short while, then I will dine. Join me?”
“I shall,” said the older man. Then he turned and beckoned his small group of sycophants to follow him.
Tarquen composed himself, pushing down rising rage. It took only a moment, yet it felt like a long struggle. He had been battling what he saw as this flaw in himself for his entire life, and while the fury still seethed beneath the surface, only a few intimates knew of that continuing conflict. He took a breath, then with barely a twitch of his head, encouraged his followers to leave. His personal guards formed up around him and accompanied him back to his apartments, where he would greet the Lord of the Tiger Pride.
Striding along the corridors, Tarquen considered his choices. He had already sent word to all his trusted agents in the Border Ports to start inquiries as to who might be bold enough to capture
his treasure ship, and to ferret out who was behind seizing the Queen of Storms, the finest ship the Azhante had ever constructed. He had no proof, but in his bones, he knew that the offenders were one and the same and that suspicion fueled a growing disquiet.
This hidden actor was an unknown, and that troubled him deeply.
TARQUEN WELCOMED URIAS AND WAVED him to sit down beside him on the plush carpet. Both men had relinquished their heavy ceremonial robes in favor of the lighter hip-length, short-sleeved tunics and the baggy knee-length trousers favored at this time of the year.
The low table had been set with a midday meal perfect for the hot weather: chilled meats, cheeses, vegetables brined and spiced, fresh fruit, and metal pitchers of chilled water.
When the servants had finished placing the plates before the two Pride Lords, Tarquen dismissed them. When the two leaders were alone, Urias said, “As pleased as I am with this lavish repast, I can only conclude that the rumors of your treasure ship being lost are true.”
“Your spies do you credit,” said Tarquen with a rueful chuckle.
“Spies are hardly necessary when the streets run rife with rumors,” replied Urias. “Obviously we do not know details of how great a loss it represents, but as your Pride was the primary architect of that assault on North Tembria, so you bore the brunt of the expense.”
Tarquen shrugged, indicating that he was resigned to that unfortunate event. “While the loss of a treasure ship is regrettable, the loss of the Queen of Storms gives rise to greater concern.”
Urias nodded. “Who would dare?” he asked softly.
“That is exactly the question, isn’t it?”
Both men were silent for a moment as they reflected on the enormity of that question.
Lowering his voice, Urias said, “Since the Dark Masters went quiet . . .” He left the sentence unfinished.
Tarquen smiled. “More than a century has passed and yet we still whisper their name.”
Urias forced a smile in return. “Habit. My grandfather told stories of people mentioning them and vanishing before the very eyes of onlookers.”
“And my mother told me if I didn’t finish the food on my plate, a horrible creature would come steal me away after I went to bed.” Tarquen’s grin widened. “One hundred years and a bit more everything changed, and to this day we do not know why.”
“Yet we live in daily apprehension that the Dark Masters might return in a manner as unheralded as they departed.”
“May that day never come,” said Tarquen. “Still, we do much in our daily lives predicated on that fear.”
“I remember my grandfather telling my father and me the story his father told him about the day of tribute when the sacrifices were taken to slaughter pits for the Ritual of Appeasement, but the Dark Masters did not appear. They waited for an entire day and night, then returned the next dawn in confusion and fear.” Urias’s expression was masked, but Tarquen saw a hint of the lingering fear every human from Pride Lord to slave felt when the
Dark Masters were mentioned. “But you did not invite me here to speculate over ancient dread.”
“True. Without the sacrifices and battle rites of ancient days, this expansion of our power to the far side of the world is necessary because of the growth in our population.”
“You speak the obvious.”
“Yet, we face unintended consequences.”
“Agreed, yet you have something specific in mind,” suggested Urias.
“Our own house has fallen into . . . disunity.”
“Ah,” said Urias, nodding. “You fear a factional war?”
“Not fear so much as anticipate,” said Tarquen.
“Shono?”
Tarquen nodded. “He is ambitious.”
“As were we all once; your grandfather more so than all of us.”
“Which is why the Golden Pride has endured, but with our leadership, we have contrived to keep order. Order that has kept your Pride almost our equal in wealth and power since our fathers’ days.”
“True.” Urias studied Tarquen’s face for a long moment, then asked, “What are you proposing?”
“I think we should give Shono something important to pursue, so that he is distracted from his ambitions to one day take my place in the Camera.”
Urias smiled: he knew that was as likely to be true as much as it was ridiculous. He nodded. “Such as?”
“Ask him to oversee the Azhante as they seek out those who stole the Queen of Storms.”
Urias considered this, then gave a single approving nod. “Since the success of the raid on the Northern Twin, and the collapse of the Church of the One, that will keep the Azhante busy.”
“And knowing the Azhante, they will not consider for one moment allowing Shono to upset the current balance. The Azhante may not be happy servants, but they understand better than most the need for order. Without a goal, they tend to grow restless.”
“They currently lack one, that is certain,” agreed Urias.
“In a year, two at the most, the Twins will be ripe to occupy, and by then we shall have decided who will colonize and who will remain and return to something approaching normal order.”
Urias rose. “Send word should you need my assistance.”
“Between the two of us, and the uncertainty of Eagle and Onyx, we need but . . . agitate one or two of Shono’s lesser Pride alliances, and that should keep him busy until it is time for the migration of our colonists.”
“We can but hope,” said Urias. There was only a hint of doubt tingeing his words. He departed, leaving Tarquen with his own thoughts.
First had come the obliteration of Ithrace, and the complete infiltration of Sandura and suborning of the king’s authority. And then this massive raid, on a scale unmatched in history. Next would come the occupation of the Twins, and then, after generations of planning, Nytanny would rule all of Garn.
Then the doubt brought about by the loss of two ships, the Queen of Storms and Borzon’s Black Wake, made the Lord of the Golden Pride return to that one troubling thought: out there was an adversary far cleverer and more daring than he could have anticipated. That worry would likely linger for a very long time, second only to his lifetime of fear that the Dark Masters would return.
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