in, Hakon leant into view and waved happily, with all the demeanour of a farm lad leaving for a weekly trip to market. The pair disappeared from view, and Brann realised that the whole episode had probably taken less than a minute. Soldiers, who had received orders and had been racing along the roof, had reached the stairs to the level below.
‘Well, that was entertaining.’ The Emperor’s amused voice was so close to Brann’s left that it was easy to forget that there was a line of spearmen between them. ‘A merchant whose financial success raises him to a form of nobility is usually more of an onlooker in my court than an integral part of such excitement, and his children will be delighted with their inheritance, I am sure. And I suppose it is nice for you to have a thrilling distraction to take your mind off your execution.’
‘It is more than a distraction,’ Brann blurted. ‘Whatever happens to me, at least I know that my friend will live and our ship will carry news of this atrocity to our people.’
‘Oh dear boy, your naive optimism is endearing. Under other circumstances, I might have been minded to let you live merely to watch how long you could maintain it in the face of reality.’ The Emperor sounded as if he would have ruffled Brann’s hair. He sighed deeply. ‘These are not, however, other circumstances. And my men will capture those two before long.’
Brann was defiant. With his fate decided, he found he had strength to snarl at an Emperor. He stood. ‘Those two have a head start on your men.’
He received a shrug in reply. ‘Fine. Say they evade all and somehow escape to the city. Say they reach the ship before the units I have already marching on the docks. Say they somehow gather the crew, still before the soldiers arrive. They will not clear the harbour, and will be forced to settle in the city. What matter to me another few foreigners added to those from throughout the world who have made a home in the districts of this city of a thousand thousand souls? Another few dozen who want me dead? Most here are content to live their lives, and the malcontents either are lost in the crowd or rooted out by my good servant Taraloku-Bana and his excellent people.’
Unconcerned about the drop, the Emperor peered over the edge. ‘That unfortunate man has scattered his blood over quite an area. If you are bored on the way down, you could always see if you could manage to land in it.’ He nodded, and the spears moved forward to force him and Grakk over the edge. Brann found himself considering the irony of the prospect. While never having any fear of heights, he had always suffered from a morbid terror of the feeling of dropping, of the helplessness of the fall. When his friends had spent summer afternoons jumping from a rocky ledge above the river that ran through their valley, he had splashed in the water below encouraging them. Now he was being forced from the top of a building higher than he could have imagined was possible to build.
He eyed the spear points. Throwing himself forward at the right moment would be a quicker death and wouldn’t involve the drop. Bracing his legs to lunge, he found an overpowering self-preservation freezing his muscles. Whatever the logic of his head, his instinct was to fight to survive at all costs, and he cast about instead for an opening, a chance to pass the metal points and inflict any damage he could before they put an end to it. But the spears came on. His mind whirled and his body took over, his legs tensing for movement born of panic.
An order barked out and the soldiers stopped. Brann froze, then glanced across. The Emperor was standing with his arm aloft.
The Scribe was standing behind him, as was Loku, though a respectful distance further back than the slave. The Emperor seemed delighted. ‘My Source of Information has just offered a suggestion through my Chief Scribe, my Recorder of Information. It seems an excellent idea to me, a fact that has a bearing somewhat on the likelihood of it coming to fruition. You see, we have a fine tradition of gladiatorial contests here in Sagia, occasions that provide much-loved entertainment for the citizens of this city. There is one such occasion tomorrow, and I would be most grateful if you two would be a part of it. My friend Taraloku-Bana feels that it would be most entertaining to see the bald native fight, and even more entertaining to see you, the talkative one, die. You will both, of course, still die, but,’ he smiled warmly, ‘you have another whole day of life ahead of you. Is that not a wonderful gift?’
‘Why do you want so much for us to be dead?’ Brann’s voice was almost a hoarse whisper. ‘You didn’t care when my friend escaped. You don’t care if the crew are captured or not. Why are you so set on seeing us die?’
The Emperor’s smile remained, but his brow creased in puzzlement. ‘Oh, you don’t actually understand, do you? I have no interest at all in whether you live or die. Your existence is a thousand levels lower than mine.’ He smiled. ‘You see, you were only going over the edge as a matter of convenience. You were unnecessary, and someone would have tidied you away at the bottom. But now it is time for you to leave in a different manner, and we are promised some entertainment. This day has proved far more pleasant than I had anticipated.’
Without another word, he walked away, conferring briefly with his Scribe and pointing at the soldier whose spear had been knocked aside by Hakon. A squad surrounded Brann and Grakk, escorting them away without fuss, walking behind the crowds. Before the Emperor had retaken his seat, the soldier had been flung from the roof.
The two slaves gestured from their hearts to him before leaving him at his door. He wondered if they really did extend their hearts to him; whether they cared at all for him beyond the orders they were given. He wondered if those orders were to provide the escort to his chambers that his status demanded, or to ensure he didn’t wander the passages aimlessly on a path formed by mindless old age.
She waited by his chair, water ready for his return.
‘You saw him?’ Her voice whispered across the room.
His feet scuffed the dust into a dance as he shuffled to his chair. ‘I saw him.’
‘As did I. Will you visit him? Or have him brought here?’
‘Are you mad, woman?’ He was torn between incredulity and anger at such stupidity. ‘When did I last travel into the city?’
For the first time since she had entered his life, there was uncertainty in her voice. ‘It is not the lordling? The one held in this building? But you said you had seen the one we await.’
‘I did. And I will see him tomorrow. At the Arena.’
‘So you will travel to the city after all?’ Her feeble attempt at scoring a point betrayed her disconcertion.
‘You know as well as I that it is hardly a trip to the Pleasure Quarter or the market. Being borne across the Bridge of the Sky into the Emperor’s section in the Arena will not even see me leave the Royal precincts.’
She poured water for him, the time she took appearing less due to care and more to the need to gather her thoughts. ‘You seem sure about this, but I cannot see the one we await being a native of the Tribe of the Desert. It has nothing of the right feel.’
‘Your feeling is correct. It is not of the tribesman that I speak.’
‘The boy? Are you succumbing to your years after all?’
His voice was calm. He was enjoying this. ‘My sword arm may be weak, but my mind is still sharper than those who think they are rulers and, it seems, than yours. You see the whole tapestry, crone, but you do not focus on the individual stitches that form the images. I saw, today. I noticed. He is the one.’
The ewer shattered on the stone floor. ‘A wind stirs the mist of my vision,’ she gasped. ‘I see the face. You are right.’
He smiled.
****