Quicksilver Zenith

‘Perhaps,’ Aphri conceded. ‘Nevertheless, such a commission would require a substantial fee.’

‘That needn’t be a problem. Providing your demands aren’t too outrageous.’

‘We all know that outrageous is the going rate for this job, General. As to the form the payment takes; we want coin, naturally, but we’ll take the bulk of it as magic. Is that a problem?’

‘For the clans? Of course not. But why?’

‘Our relationship’s very magic hungry.’ She looked to Aphrim. ‘Particularly as my partner needs all his strength to interact with humans.’

Bastorran raised an eyebrow.

‘All right, to kill them,’ she amended.

‘Money, sorcery; take your price any damn way you want. Just get Caldason for me.’

‘I don’t want to talk ourselves out of a job,’ Aphri said, ‘but why can’t you do this yourselves? With all the resources the clans have –’

‘There are certain restrictions placed on how we can engage with the Qalochian.’

Her oversized eyes widened a little more. ‘The mighty paladins, limited?’ There was more than a hint of mockery.

‘Just technical niceties that don’t concern you. All you need know is that we’ve decided to contract out on this occasion.’

‘How do we find him?’ Aphrim wondered.

‘You mix with the dregs; don’t tell me you have no sources. In addition, I’ll see you get any clan intelligence that might help. And of course I can offer some measure of protection while you go about your work.’ He was growing testy. ‘Do you want this commission or not?’

‘One thing,’ Aphri asked. ‘Does the Clan High Chief know about this?’

‘I’m the only authority you need worry about,’ Bastorran returned icily. ‘My uncle’s a busy man. I don’t trouble him with routine trivia.’

The twins exchanged meaningful glances.

‘Be clear,’ he continued harshly. ‘Fail in this, or be indiscreet, and I’ll have you –’ he pointed at Aphrim ‘– negated. While you –’ he indicated Aphri ’– will be making the acquaintance of my master torturer. And be assured that only when you’re completely ruined will he put out your eyes.’

‘Sounds tasty,’ Aphrim mouthed quietly.

‘I think we understand each other.’ Bastorran favoured them with a chill smile. ‘And forget about my uncle. As I said, he has more than enough to occupy him at the moment.’

5 (#ulink_1f2e2f2e-f138-5db6-a1aa-a1b38bf7308b)

After their brutal taking of Bhealfa, the conquering imperialists of Gath Tampoor demolished the triumphalist structures left over from rival empire Rintarah’s occupation. They replaced them with buildings grander, taller and more opulent..

Few were as magnificent as the vast construction the Gath Tampoorians erected in central Valdarr. Within sight of the clans’ headquarters, it was in sharp contrast to that baleful pile. Where the paladins’ base appeared grim and brooding, this was celebratory, its every line glorying the authority of its builders. It was a monument to triumph and might. A building that bragged.

There was magic in its architecture, literally. The stones it was constructed from were charmed, and enchanted dust had been mixed into the very mortar. Pigments used to decorate its splendid stained-glass windows were rumoured to include a concentrate of demons’ blood, the ground bones of trolls and desiccated unicorns’ mane; notwithstanding that such creatures no longer existed, if they ever had. The upshot was that it permanently shimmered with magical energy, and on the ample expanse of its outer walls inspiring images could be conjured at will – the likenesses of imperial heroes and statesmen, explorers and merchants. Icons to hearten the populace, or to remind them that they were vanquished.

The Gath Tampoorians saw no irony in naming it the Freedom Hall, and it was proclaimed as a palace of the people. Though naturally common folk were rarely permitted to enter, except as menials.

This evening, fleets of carriages jammed the surrounding streets, delivering an army of grotesques. The comely and the hideous, the fabulous and the whimsical, climbed the stairs, wide as a city block, to the massive doors. Once inside, they were ushered into a series of elegantly appointed reception rooms, then through to the great hall itself.

The enormous chamber was lit by a score of magically illuminated crystal chandeliers. Each the size of a haystack, they hung beneath the vaulted, gold-inlaid ceiling with no visible means of support. The light they threw made the room’s accoutrements glitter and sparkle. Gold again, lots of it, along with flashes of silver and the crisp glint of gems; precious metals and exquisite jewels were moulded into the decor and furnishings. Beautiful tapestries adorned the panelled walls. Underfoot, the carpets were rich and plush.

It wasn’t only feet that padded over them. Paws, hooves, claws and suckers walked them, too. Dreams made flesh. And nightmares. People with eagle, goat and locust heads. Revellers who chose instead to transform their bodies, and who wore elaborate masks. Humans in the guise of demons and cherubs. Or cats and cockroaches, large as men. The best body magic money could buy.

Genuine chimeras mingled with the humans. Pure glamours in numerous exotic forms, brought as companions and pets, or just for effect. Impossible to tell from flesh and blood, they reflected their owners’ natures. A few were angelic. Most were incarnations of base instincts, ugly and venal.

The masque was well underway. A glamoured orchestra played. Liveried flunkies weaved through the dancers, pewter trays held high. Secure in the knowledge that they were above the law – indeed, many present were servants of the law – the revellers behaved as they saw fit. They imbibed grape and hop, some recklessly. Others sampled the pleasures of cuzcoll, viper sting and pellucid, or stronger narcotics like sabre cut, red frost, and even ramp.

In a quiet corner, a rat and a serpent were engaged in earnest conversation.

‘I’m not saying I sympathise with them, for the gods’ sake,’ the rat protested. ‘It’s just a question of methods.’

‘You always were inclined to be too soft on these dissidents,’ the serpent snorted.

‘I resent that! I loathe them as much as you do. We differ only in how best to address the problem.’

‘All a bit academic now, isn’t it? Word’s come down from on high and it no longer matters what we think. Or are you questioning your superiors’ wisdom?’

‘No, no. Of course not. I’m just saying that honey catches more flies than vinegar. I’ve always believed that stealth’s the best policy when dealing with these misfits.’

‘Mollycoddling them, you mean.’

The rat’s whiskers quivered irritably. Before he could respond, a drunken satyr barged between them.

‘Let’s sit,’ the serpent said, nodding towards an empty table.

Once they’d settled, a servant brought them drinks. Wine for the rat, brandy for the serpent.

The rat wore a plump, copper-coloured medallion. He ran his thumb over it, dismissing the mask. It evaporated to reveal a clean-shaven man of middle years. His velvet skin and silvering, coiffured hair indicated one who lived by talk rather than deeds.

Following his lead, the serpent wiped away his own disguise. He was older, and his face was weathered from a lifetime of doing. In his hair and beard, close-cut military fashion, he was further along the road to silver than his companion.

‘You have to admit, Clan High Chief,’ the one-time rat continued, ‘that the unrest has got worse since the emergency regulations were brought in.’

‘There’s always a period of turmoil after measures like that are introduced,’ Ivak Bastorran told him as he lifted his draught of brandy. ‘It’ll calm down once the hotheads know we mean business.’

Gath Tampoorian Ambassador Andar Talgorian thought the paladin sounded typically self-satisfied. He took a sip of wine and kept that to himself. ‘Far from abating, reports reaching the diplomatic corps indicate dissident activity’s spreading like wildfire.’

‘I wouldn’t say things are that bad. We’ve had our successes against these terrorists, and it’s in their nature to retaliate.’

‘There, you admit it. Your heavy-handedness is making the situation worse.’

‘I didn’t say that. We’re stamping out a pestilence. There’s bound to be bloodshed before we’re through. It’s a case of holding our nerve.’

‘Let’s hope the rebels blink first. For all our sakes.’

‘You give these people too much credence, Talgorian. Not least in dignifying them as rebels. They’re criminals, chancers, vandals. Scum. I’m proud the clans are at the forefront of eradicating them.’