As he strode toward them, he sized up the four strangers. One was a thin, reedy man with a large nose, dressed in grey robes; clearly an administrator or bureaucrat from Velutio. Another was a heavy set, bearded man in uniform; likely the captain of the ship that had brought them here. The other two were a peculiar couple. A young lady, slightly built and heavily pregnant, sat on the governor’s chair, while her hand was held by a man with a missing arm and missing eye wearing a uniform, with a tiger pelt over the shoulder, that clearly denoted high rank.
In a very military fashion, Ghassan approached the table, came to a halt and saluted first the governor, then Jaral, and finally the two uniformed strangers.
“Your Excellency sent for me?”
The governor smiled at him.
“Indeed, captain Ghassan. As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, this is minister Fulvis of the Imperial government, here to go through the details of reintegration with me.” Gesturing appropriately, he introduced the others. “Captain Harald of the Steel Claw, Marshal Tythias of the southern provinces, and his lovely lady wife, Sathina.”
Ghassan tried not to stare at the marshal. It could be considered extremely rude, given that this was one of the most powerful men in the Empire. There was something vaguely hypnotic about the network of old scars on the man’s face and staring was practically a requirement. He almost heaved a sigh of relief when the scarred commander smiled.
“Captain Ghassan. I hear good things about you. I’m overseeing the reorganisation of the militia in the south. As you may be aware, the Imperial army and navy have been fully reconstituted. I am taking command of all the forces in the southern provinces and intend to set up my headquarters here in Calphoris.”
Ghassan nodded professionally, trying to hide the sheer pleasure of the discovery that the militia were to become part of the marshal’s forces.
“Beneath me, I have Pharus, who is being promoted to general and placed in charge of the Province’s ground forces and, on the recommendation of the governor here, I am accepting Jaral as commodore and commander of the navy. All current militia forces, both land and sea, will be reassigned to the appropriate service branches.”
Ghassan nodded once more.
“I understand, sir. I hope we will live up to your requirements.”
Marshal Tythias smiled his strangely warming, broken smile.
“I have no doubt, young master Ghassan. However, you’ve been sent for specifically for two reasons: firstly, I am reliably informed that you are both the best and the luckiest sailor in Calphoris. I approve of the former, but the latter is just as important. I myself am only alive through the judicious application of luck.”
He took a deep breath.
“And secondly, because of your… affiliations.”
Ghassan frowned in incomprehension and the marshal sighed.
“Captain, we are trying to get things back to the way they were under the old Imperial bureaucracy. With our position here and new trade treaties with Pelasia, we hope for a significant increase in mercantile activity. And that means the suppression of what has been called a ‘plague’ of pirates in the waters north of here.”
Ghassan swallowed nervously; trouble was marching his way. The marshal smiled sadly.
“I am informed that one of the more notorious of the pirate captains is, in fact, your brother. Under normal circumstances, the very last thing I would do is attempt to pit you against him. However, commodore Jaral assures me that not only will you not allow your filial situation to come between you and duty, but that you are probably the only man capable of both outthinking and out-sailing him.”
“I will not, even as your commander, order you to do this…” the marshal began.
Ghassan saluted and straightened.
“You don’t have to, Marshal. Samir may be my brother, but he needs to be removed. I understand that.”
Tythias nodded.
“Good. Thank you, captain. I will leave the matter in your hands.”
Ghassan saluted again.
“Is there anything else, sirs?”
The governor shook his head, and Ghassan nodded, turned on his heel and strode from the room. It was an unhappy task, but they were absolutely right. Samir had to be taken out of the picture for the good of the Empire.
In which a homecoming is suffered
The Pelasian cataphracti, eight in number, in their gleaming fish-scale armour, came to a halt, four to each side of the coach. The driver waited, his horses stamping and snorting, while the escort commander approached the gate, requesting permission to enter. Asima leaned out of the window of the coach, glaring at their destination.
Even from here, where she could only make out the basic details of the soldiers, all in Imperial green, she could feel the animosity being projected at the black and steel clad soldiers. The Pelasian military, despite Prince Ashar’s excellent relations with the new Emperor, were not a popular sight in beleaguered and oppressed M’Dahz. The people had enjoyed only two weeks of freedom since the Pelasian withdrawal and here were a unit of that land’s elite cavalry at the gate. Unpleasant memories would rise, unbidden, to the fore in every citizen who saw them.
There was a brief discussion at the gate and the great wooden portal swung ponderously open. Asima sighed. In her youth, the walls of the town had fallen into disuse due to the uninterrupted centuries of peace. Now, even the gates remained shut.
Irritably, she ducked back inside and pulled across the curtain as the coach began to roll slowly on once again. Throughout the interminable journey across the barren landscape between central Pelasia and the borderlands, she had pondered and thought, planned and schemed. There was no way she would settle back in M’Dahz, but the current situation in Pelasia for her was untenable. Ashar had forbidden her from returning.
And so the plan had been born. It was ambitious; probably Asima’s most ambitious plan of all time. It would take a few years and a lot of planning, sprinkled with a judicious topping of luck. But it could work. King Ashar only maintained his hold on power in Pelasia through the respect and fear of the other nobles. The coup of the three satraps had changed things there forever. The ruler was no longer unreachable and immortal, and Ashar knew it.
So she would find a way to return to Pelasia through a different noble house. Half a dozen powerful satraps had lands stretching east toward the Imperial border and Asima knew that, if she had nothing else in the world, her looks and her brains alone could carry her to the top. She would find a way back across the border, entice and entrance one of the powerful nobles and use him to ingratiate her way back into court in Akkad. Ashar would never dare order one of his more powerful satraps to lose a wife.
The first thing to do would be to settle back in M’Dahz and wait for around half a year, living quietly and unobtrusively. She may even change her name; it might be expedient and give her an edge when she broke the rules and returned to Pelasia.
As she pondered, she heard the change in tone when the wheels of the carriage passed from the dusty, rocky sand of the desert road to the flagged streets of M’Dahz. Despite the fact that she no longer considered this flea pit her home and wanted nothing more than to be away from it and back to her beloved Akkad, she would have to spend some time here and had to admit that curiosity was getting the better of her. She pulled back the curtain.
They had passed through the Akkad Gate and were trundling along the main street toward the centre of town and they became the focus of attention to all as they passed. The evidence of M’Dahz’s return to Imperial control was everywhere. Imperial banners flew over the towers of the town. The propaganda for the reign of Ma’ahd on the walls to the town was being removed carefully and painstakingly by the citizens. Colour was returning slowly but surely.