Seven Deaths of an Empire by Matthews G R

Author:Matthews, G R [Matthews, G R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Amazon: 1781089132
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd
Published: 2021-06-21T23:00:00+00:00

XXXVII

The General

Six years ago:

“It is good to see you, my old friend,” he said as the newly raised High Priest stepped down from his carriage.

“A wet night,” the High Priest said, glancing up at the dark clouds.

“Come in, I have food and wine,” he said. “You can relax this evening, we both can. The troubles of the Empire can wait till tomorrow.”

“That would be very welcome,” the High Priest replied with a smile. “And who is the strapping lad next to you?”

“Reports from the west quarter, General,” the clerk said, handing over the bound scroll and retreating from the room.

Bordan unfurled the scroll. His eyes scanned the lines of neat script written in the way only a true soldier could. It was short, to the point, and frustrating. Bordan found his hands crushing the scroll and forced himself to calm.

It was to be expected, and the expected was to be cherished by a wise commander as only the unexpected could ever lead to defeat. The saying, from an old manual on military tactics he had once read, had served him well down the years. Re-rolling the scroll and tying the ribbon about it, he placed it to the side.

After dipping the stylus into the pot of ink which sat upon the desk far enough away from his elbows that he had to stretch to reach it and holding the writing implement carefully above the map on his desk, he paused, looking at the roads, streets, and lanes which marked out the different quarters of the city. In the centre was the palace, and from it a spider’s web of threads connecting it to every part of its domain. There should have been some trembles along those narrow strands, something to indicate where Abra had gone to ground. Nothing.

With a sigh, he marked off the roads and buildings searched as detailed in the scroll. Each mark he added whittled down the potential hiding spots of the treasonous Duke. The city was in lockdown, the gates guarded most closely, and everyone and everything going in and out of them was searched thoroughly.

A boat, or rather a ship, he corrected, was a likely mode of exit for the Duke of the water, but those too were searched and only three had left the city in the past two days. The sailors were unhappy, and the City Watch had called upon soldiers to assist in policing the dock’s inns and taverns during the nights. The cells were overflowing by sunrise and the morning tide of sailors returning to their impounded ships was rising every day.

“You have to be somewhere,” Bordan muttered at the map as he finished his marks. “You could not get out on your own, and whenever you rely on others there is always a weak link in the chain.”

Pushing his chair back, Bordan crossed his office to the low table upon which refreshments had been laid by his secretary. How long ago he could not say. Condensation still beaded on the terra sigillata jug and pot.

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