Wil McCarthy by To Crush the Moon

Author:To Crush the Moon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-06-08T20:01:58+00:00

* * *

book three

twilight over astaroth

* * *

chapter fifteen

in which the plight of a

world is examined

“In light of your past service to the nation of Imbria,” says the woman named Danella Mota, “we are prepared to forgive the excesses of your men on the ramparts today.”

They are deep within the city of Timoch, on the hard-pressed world of Lune, where three women—with shadowy Eridanian faces and six-fingered Sirian hands—apparently rule over humanity’s strongest remaining nation-state.

“The Furies are most generous,” Radmer answers, with a bow of the head that is surely calculated for maximum ambiguity. Is he being surly or ironic? Is he partly or wholly sincere? Bruno can’t tell.

A partial answer comes when the second woman, Pine Chadwir, admonishes him, “That term is no longer considered polite, General. We are, as always, the Board of Regents of the Imbrian Nation.”

“Ah, yes. My failing memory is abetted by your grandmother’s sense of humor in these matters, Madam Regent.”

But “Furies” is a good nickname for these three old women, who command a quarter of Lune’s surface from this very room, the Silver Chamber. They are seated on a dais ringed by aides and pages, scribes and whispering advisors, but the room’s three primary lights—halide-filament vacuum bulbs, Bruno thinks—point straight down at them, with a smaller, dimmer bulb casting a cone of yellow around himself and Radmer.

Behind them, the Olders Sidney Lyman and Brian Romset—who were permitted to accompany Radmer as bodyguards—exude an air of angry but fearless distrust. And in counterpoint, a dozen Dolceti guards in canary-yellow uniforms loom quietly in the shadows behind the dais, looking grudgingly respectful but ready for anything. Dead before you hit the ground, villain, their looks seem to say, though if it came to that Bruno could probably take down one or two of them himself before succumbing to any serious injury.

But all things considered, the chamber is exceedingly quiet, and the lighting makes it seem dreamlike as well, and the seated ladies mythic in proportion and demeanor. All they need is a spindle, loom, and scissors to complete the effect. But out of courtesy they speak the Old Tongue—essentially Queendom-standard English—and Radmer, with a different kind of courtesy, does the same. That makes them seem more human, and anyway Bruno is well familiar with the psychological tricks a leadership can employ to enhance its mystique, its air of natural authority. The Queendom was founded on these principles, long before he’d been drafted as its king.

“Do enlighten us, Radmer, with your reason for this accostment,” says the third Fury, whose name Bruno can no longer remember from the introductions. Sprain? Spirulina? Something like that. “It may surprise you to learn we’ve an invasion to repel.”

“The very reason I’m here,” Radmer tells her, “for I watched Nubia fall to the Glimmer King’s armies. I know very well what Imbria faces in the coming weeks.”

“Our guards report you’ve distinguished yourself in clashes against the enemy.”

“Aye, madam, on Aden Bluff and outside your gates, and in Nubia before that.”

“We also had a string of reports out of Highrock.

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