The Radiant War

Ambassador Mornwell was there waiting for him when the Brigadier returned to the embassy. "We've lost contact with Marboll," he said without preamble. "Three hours ago, all telegraph communication with Marboll ceased. It might just be a problem with the cable. A tree fell down somewhere, took the cable down with it. That might be all it is."

"But you don't think so," said the Brigadier. He took off his coat, threw it across the chair standing by the side of the entrance foyer and forced his mind to become sharp and attentive. Eight hours holding court at one of Farwell's biggest society parties, recounting anecdotes of his military career and listening to the city's small talk, had a way of deadening the mind. He had succeeded, after weeks of tireless effort, in becoming the city's latest celebrity du jour, though, and still had hopes of being accepted into Farwell's permanent celebrity circuit, the first step towards making contact with members of the Radiant conspiracy and finding proof of their existence that he could take to the Emperor.

What was more likely to happen, though, was that another celebrity du jour would turn up before he succeeded, take the city by storm, get invited to all the parties, and the Brigadier would be forgotten. Yesterday's news. Relegated to B-list parties thrown by has beens desperately trying to rekindle their own popularity. He had this one opportunity to make it big in the city, big enough to attract the attention of the corrupt politicians trying to throw the empire into civil war and convince them that he was as corrupt as they were, that he would make a valuable addition to the conspiracy. Unfortunately, in order to do that, he had to woo the crowds, laugh and drink with people he would normally have considered beneath his notice, and that was tiring. Both physically and mentally. It was late in the evening. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed, get some sleep. Instead, he tried to rouse himself to pay attention to the Ambassador.

"We're getting reports of ground tremors from other parts of Helberion. It looks as though there's been a major earthquake somewhere in the Marboll area."

"There's never been an earthquake in Helberion. Not a big one, anyway. What's the fastest the telegraph line can be restored?"

"If it's just a downed line, it can be fixed in minutes, once the break's been found. If there has been an earthquake, though, and the telegraph office's been destroyed, they'll have to transfer to the backup station outside the city. I'm guessing they'll have other things they'll want to handle first though. Put out fires, rescue trapped people... It's possible that members of the Royal Family itself are in need of rescue."

"It has to be Radiants," The Brigadier paced across the floor. "A decapitation strike. Leothan has shown himself to be capable and resourceful. He's managed to delay the Carrow invasion for months. They may have decided that he's just too much trouble to be left alive. If so, they're gambling that we'll take it as a natural event. They still have reason to keep us ignorant of their plans against us."

A messenger came running up, handed the Ambassador a sheet of paper. His face turned white as he read it. "Message from our field headquarters in Panborough. Wombat's sent a report, coded Periwinkle." The Brigadier stared at him intently. Wombat was the code name of an agent who'd managed to infiltrate the Palace of King Nilon, their version of Matron Darniss. His role in the palace didn't give him legitimate access to the telegraph office, though. He normally communicated by means of a handler he met in the city once every week or two. Periwinkle meant that he'd come across a vitally important piece of information, one that he thought his masters back in Helberion desperately needed to know, immediately! It meant he'd taken a great risk to get to a telegraph machine, and that there was a great risk he'd be caught, that this might be the last message he'd ever be able to send.

"Carrow is about to launch an all out invasion of Helberion. Sixty thousand troops are about to try to break through the Steel Curtain and pour into the country. They will be aided by a series of massive earthquakes all along the border that will destroy our defences and leave us wide open. The attack is imminent, it says, and the message is dated three hours ago. The attack may already have happened!" He looked up at the Brigadier, his eyes wide with fear. "Targeted earthquakes! The Radiants have abandoned all pretence! They're declaring open war upon us!"

"No, that makes no sense." The Brigadier resumed his pacing. "The Radiants have shown themselves to be patient, cunning, calculating. Their schemes take years to mature, and their greatest priority has always been to keep us from discovering their plans for us. This, this smacks of desperation! As if something's happened somewhere and they suddenly have to move fast before it's too late! Also, I cannot believe that Carrow completed their preparations so soon." He paused, turned to face the Ambassador. "It's just possible that this is good news! Our enemies forced to move before they're ready. Their armies poorly equipped, badly organised..."

"But they have Radiants on their side! They can summon storms, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions..."

"They can only cause volcanic eruptions in places with a history of volcanic activity. There's no such history in Helberion."

"Do you know that, or do you just hope they can't cause volcanoes here?"

"I don't think they'd be as desperate as they seem to be if they were that powerful. We have to assume there are limits to their powers, or we might as well give up right now."

"Is there any hope for us? The Carrowmen thought they could defeat us on their own. If they have Radiants to scatter our armies before the Carrowmen arrive, they could overwhelm the whole country without having to fight a single battle!"

"Thanks to Wombat, the Field Commanders along the Steel Curtain had warning, they might have had time to make preparations to mitigate the effects. We'll find a way to fight the Radiants. A way may already have been found, that may have been what started all this, what made them so desperate."

"Is it desperation, or is it confidence? Maybe they're not hiding any more because they don't think they have to."

"We'll tell anyone who asks that it's desperation. Tell everyone you meet that you're confident of victory. Keep morale up. And please let me know the moment contact is re-established with Marboll. If it's confirmed that the Radiants have declared open war, we can tell Tyron about Fienwell. Tell him there's an adoptee right here in the city and that he's been working with the Ministry of State. If that doesn't convince him, nothing will..."

He fell silent as the main doors opened and a Kelvon soldier in the uniform of the Messenger Corps strode in. He was holding a folded document in his hand. He strode toward the receptionist, then saw the Ambassador and the Brigadier and turned to approach them instead. "Gentlemen," he said, saluting smartly.

"What can we do for you, Private?" asked the Ambassador.

"Emperor Alexis Alexander Tyron commands the immediate attendance of Brigadier Weyland James at Tarnmetwell Palace, to discuss matters of mutual importance to both our great nations."

The Brigadier's face showed no trace of the excitement he felt. Those were the exact same words he'd used when applying for an audience with the Emperor upon his first arrival in Kelvon! Had be also learned about an earthquake in Marboll and an imminent Carrow invasion, miraculously timed to coincide with each other? Had it made him reassess the Brigadier's words to him at the Imperial Reception? "May I have a moment to change clothes?" he asked. He was still wearing the outrageously ornate fake uniform he'd had specially made to attract attention at parties. It wasn't the sort of thing designed to make an Emperor take you seriously, though.

"The Emperor requested your Immediate attendance," said the messenger, but then he looked the Brigadier up and down and smiled. "But I suppose a few minutes wouldn't hurt."

"Thank you. I'll be as fast as I possibly can." He nodded to the Ambassador, then strode towards the stairs up to the guest rooms.

☆☆☆

Tarnmetwell, the Brigadier had heard somewhere, meant the Hill of the Blue Flowers in some long dead language. It was one of seven residences possessed by the Imperial family and was the only one of them that stood within the walls of the capital. As the carriage came to a stop in the courtyard of the huge, magnificent palace and the Brigadier disembarked, he reflected how fortunate it was that the Emperor had been in the city for the entire duration of his visit to this country. He could just as easily have been in Jhatov Villa, a thousand miles to the south, or one of the others even further away, which would have presented the Brigadier with a serious dilemma. Either to make his presence felt in the capital in the hope that the Emperor would come there at some point, or make his play in whatever far flung part of the Empire was currently being honoured by his presence and hope that he didn't leave before he was able to arrange a meeting.

Around the gravel driveway was a formal arrangement of flower beds containing the blue flowers after which the palace had been named, but the combination of perfectly manicured lawns within the walls surrounding the palace grounds and the built up urbanisation of the city outside meant that they were probably the only specimens of the plant remaining in the city. In the Brigadier's imagination, though, the palace was gone, the tall, black and gold towers that overlooked the grounds were gone, and all that was left was the hill, covered with grass cropped short by horses and wild sheep and scattered with tiny, star shaped blue flowers looking like sapphires shining in the sun.

Two Kelvon soldiers in dress uniform came forward to meet him. "Brigadier Weyland James," he said. "Come in answer to the Emperor's summons."

"Thank you for coming," one of the soldiers said. "Please come with us."

They took him inside and to a reception room. The Brigadier was prepared to wait for at least two hours, even longer, for the Emperor to meet him, and so was moderately surprised when Tyron appeared less than five minutes after his arrival. "Brigadier," he said, holding out his hand. The Brigadier shook it and bowed his head.

"I have agents in the Carrow army," the Emperor then said, waving him to a chair. The Emperor then sat, and the Brigadier sat opposite him. "I doubt this comes as a surprise to you. They report that they have just launched a full scale invasion of your country." He stared at the Brigadier. "This also comes as no surprise to you."

"We've been expecting it," the Brigadier replied, but he was wondering how his agents had managed to report back so quickly. He must also have an agent in King Nilon's palace! He wondered whether Wombat and the Kelvon agent ever came into contact with each other, ever came into conflict with each other, neither knowing that the other was also a spy.

"Yes, of course. Anyway, our agents report that shortly before the armies of Carrow broke through your Steel Curtain, Radiants went ahead of them. Dozens of them, more than have ever been seen in one place before, except in their own cities. They summoned earthquakes to tear your country's defences apart, then summoned mists to conceal the approach of Carrow troops. They also reported that the Radiants cast curses against high ranking Helberion officers and even attacked physically, with their tentacles. By the time the Carrow troops arrived, they crossed the border with almost no resistance, almost no losses."

The Emperor stared at the Brigadier as he remained silent and stroked his large, neatly trimmed moustache thoughtfully. "I brought you here to ask whether you could cast any light on this unprecedented situation," he said. "You will then say that you explained it all upon our last meeting, and that I grew angry and dismissed you."

"I would have put it a little more diplomatically, Majesty."

"It was your assertion that elements within my own government were conspiring to bring down the Empire that I could not stomach."

"I had no evidence then, Majesty. Nothing but the testimony of Princess Ardria concerning thoughts she overheard while in telepathic communication with the Radiants. Physical, tangible evidence has since come to light, however."

"What evidence?"

"There is a man acting as an advisor to Undersecretary Tiver, a man by the name of Rastor Fienwell. I now know, almost beyond doubt, that he has been adopted by the Radiants and raised to the point where he can communicate with them and other adoptees telepathically. Such people can be recognised by the fact that their skins glow, just like the Radiants themselves. They cover their skins with powder so that they can pass as normal humans. Two days ago I broke into Fienwell's house and discovered that he has radiant skin. This almost certainly means that he is part of the conspiracy to bring down human civilisation."

"Almost certainly?"

"It could be argued that he has been blessed, as Princess Ardria was, by an enemy who wished him harm and that he is in the process of turning into a demon."

"And you learned this two days ago. Why didn't you report this to the Kelvon authorities? We could have picked him up two days ago!"

"If you had done that, and if he is indeed a Radiant agent, the Radiants would have learned that we are aware of their plans for us. It might have spurred them to advance their plans before we were ready for them. Now that they seem to have declared open warfare against us, though, this is no longer a concern. There is no reason for you not to take him into custody and question him."

"If we do that, the Radiants might attack us directly, as they have attacked you. Earthquakes, storms..."

"Your Majesty, they are already attacking you! They are driving you to civil war! Undersecretary Tiver and the other members of the Radiant conspiracy within your government are taking draconian measures against the rebel workers, measures that are designed to aggregate them and fuel their grievances rather than restore order. Tiver and his fellows are not working against the leaders of the popular uprising. They are working with them, to drive the Empire to civil war."

The Emperor gave a heavy sigh. "What you are describing is high treason. Tiver is not the most popular of men. His appearance goes against him, and his degenerate lifestyle, but I try to judge my people according to how well they do their job, not by their appearance. He has a reputation for competence and has connections that make him extremely useful. It's possible that I may have been overcompensating for his appearance, that I've been aware that he's not right for the job and that I've been attributing this to an unconscious prejudice and giving him leeway on that account. That ends now, however. Tiver and this Fienwell character will be given the chance to explain themselves, to justify their recent decisions. If they have been guilty of what you claim, they will be arrested and executed."

"You should act fast, then. Now that all pretence seems to have been abandoned, Fienwell may anticipate this move. He may already be on his way out of the city."

"Then act fast I will. Please excuse me, Brigadier." The Emperor rose from his seat and marched from the room, calling for his personal secretary, and as the door closed on its sprung hinges the Brigadier gave a great sigh of relief. He'd done it! His mission had been a success! He could leave it to the Emperor now. Now that he was treating the possibility of rot in the very heart of his Empire seriously, he would find it and root it out. The danger was that the process of destabilising the Empire had already gone too far, that it had already gained too much momentum to be stopped, but there was nothing he could do about that. His duty now was to return to Helberion and play his part in the war.

Before he could do that, though, he had to make one more attempt to get Malone back from the activists before his luck ran out. He'd missed the last two meetings in the King's Shilling and the Brigadier was beginning to get worried. It was Sunday tomorrow, the day they'd set for their weekly meeting. If Malone failed to turn up for a third time...

Then he would have no choice but to return to Helberion without him. He couldn't abandon his duty to his country for the sake of one man, not even when the man was his adopted son. Not when he could simply ask a member of the embassy staff to stand in for him for future meetings. If more weeks went by and he still failed to turn up, then he was probably dead. It would mean he was probably dead already! If that turned out to be the case, he would seek out the individuals who'd killed him and deliver justice, as soon as the danger to Helberion was past and he had the time.

He wanted to leave immediately, but he couldn't go until the Emperor dismissed him. He remembered one tale, probably apocryphal, about an unfortunate man summoned by the Emperor whom the Emperor had then forgotten about and who had had to wait for two days, looked after by apologetic palace staff, until word could be gotten to the Emperor and leave given for him to depart. Fortunately, the Brigadier didn't have to wait that long. When half an hour had passed, the door opened again and two men in military uniforms entered, one of them a Colonel. The Brigadier stood again to greet them.

"Good evening, Brigadier James. I am Colonel Mossen Crow and this is Private Daniel Avebury. We work for the Kelvon intelligence service." They both shook hands with the Brigadier, and then the Colonel indicated for the Brigadier to sit again. The Colonel then sat in the chair the Emperor had just left, while the other man sat beside him. "I wonder if you could spare some time to tell us more about the Radiants, these powdered men who work for them and anything else you might know that can help us to combat this threat."

"Of course. It was precisely in order to give you this information that I came to your country."

"Good. Your cooperation is appreciated." The Private then took a notebook and pen from a pocket and began taking notes while the Colonel began asking questions.

☆☆☆

It wasn't until the small hours of the morning that the Brigadier finally arrived back at the Helberion embassy, by which time he was so tired that it was taking all his self control to prevent it from showing on his face. Now that his mission in the Empire was complete, though, it wasn't necessary for him to continue courting the Farwell social scene and he was looking forward to spending pretty much all of the day ahead relaxing in his room before beginning his journey back to Helberion the day after. It had been a long time since he'd been able to enjoy the luxury of just lying in bed while the city bustled around him, or just sitting in an armchair reading a book while the rest of the embassy staff went about their normal day's business. Such days were rare and precious, and he intended to enjoy it to the full.

He spent a moment contemplating the fact that, one day, if he wasn't killed in the line of duty before then, age would eventually rob him of the health and energy he needed to serve his country any longer. When that day came, he would retire to his estate in Marboll (if it still existed after the earthquake, but even if it didn't he had enough money stored away to buy a small house somewhere and never have to work again). What would that be like? he wondered. To be retired, to never again have to get out of bed at some ridiculously early hour, spend the day travelling through hard terrain, possibly with the threat of combat hanging over him the whole time? No more hardships, being able to rest as long as he wanted whenever the aches and pains of his ageing body began to grow too great. Being able to just take it easy for as long as he wanted. He found that he couldn't imagine it, that kind of lifestyle was simply alien to him. The occasional day was one thing. One day of rest and relaxation before getting back to work, but the idea of never having to work again, the idea of becoming redundant and useless... He just couldn't imagine It, and the idea that that day lay somewhere in the future, and not too far in the future either, made him shudder with apprehension and a nervous uncertainty that no approaching battle had ever given him.

His mind shied away from the idea, and instead he found himself planning out what he would do to help fight the Carrowmen when he returned home. The King would surely agree to reinstate him in the army. In this time of crisis, he would need all the capable officers he could lay his hands on. He would take charge of a Brigade of cavalry and harry the enemy troops as they crossed the countryside from one target to the next. Ride in fast, hit them hard, then withdraw before they could recover and organise themselves. Malone would be there beside him, he simply couldn't imagine it otherwise despite the fact that almost his entire military career had taken place before he'd taken him on as his batman, and they would spend their evenings around a small campfire with a handful of his most senior officers as they discussed their next day's activities. Everything would fit back into the familiar, comfortable pattern and it was quite likely that he would be killed at some point before victory was achieved, thereby saving him from having to worry about how he would spend his old age. But first, a day of leisure. Well earned, well deserved and very, very welcome...

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the junior embassy official who greeted him as he entered the building. A tired looking young man who'd clearly been up all night and who jumped up out of his seat with relief when he saw the elderly military man wiping his boots on the doormat. "Brigadier James!" he said, striding forward. "Ambassador Mornwell told me to wait here for you, to pass on orders from the King. The telegraph lines to Marboll have been restored, and the King used them to order you to make your way to the Carrow town of Bonewell. You will need to go out of uniform and travel incognito, to avoid being discovered and captured by the Carrowmen."

"Bonewell?" said the Brigadier in confusion. "Does he want me to carry out an act of sabotage there? Or assassination? There must be better people for jobs like that..."

"You are instructed to wait there for the arrival of Princess Ardria and her entourage, who will shortly be travelling to Charnox on a diplomatic mission. The mission is intended to end the war between our two countries and convince King Nilon of the necessity to join with Helberion in the war against the Radiants. You will assume the post of head of her bodyguard, commanding twenty Helberion rangers and a dozen Kelvon troopers."

The Brigadier stared in astonishment. "The King is sending his own daughter to Carrow? On a diplomatic mission? While we're at war with them? Are you sure the message wasn't garbled?"

"We asked for the message to be repeated. There was no mistake. Hence the Kelvon troops, I assume."

"Yes, that would make sense, but I was speaking with the Emperor just a few hours ago. He said nothing about this."

"Communications between Marboll and Farwell were restored just a couple of hours ago. The King and the Emperor have only just finished discussing this matter. I understand that Emperor Tyron needed some convincing."

"I imagine he did!" The Emperor had said on many occasions that the killing of just one Kelvon citizen by a foreign country would be enough for him to declare war. Tyron was taking an immense gamble, or was he? The Brigadier imagined a troop of Carrow soldiers dressed as highwaymen waylaying the Princess' retinue in some remote spot, killing everyone except the Princess herself. Nilon would blame it on bandits, and no-one would be able to prove him a liar. Tyron might know the truth, but there would be enough doubt for him to avoid entering a war he had no interest in. The thought gave him a sudden sense of terrible urgency. He had to get to the Princess as fast as possible, to help defend her! "I need a map!" he snapped. "The country between here and Bonewell." The official nodded and ran off to get one.

A few minutes later, the two men were bent over the map, spread out across a table in the conference room and held down at the corners with ash trays. The Brigadier scowled. Carrow was directly between Kelvon and Helberion, and the direct line between his present location and Marboll went straight through where the front line of the war would be. The Princess' retinue would have to take a wide detour to the north to avoid it, through Erestin, a neutral country, but one with which Helberion had always enjoyed good relations. That would mean the Princess would take longer to get to Bonewell, which was good, but the Brigadier was still almost twice as far west of the Carrow town than Marboll was east of it, and he would also have to take detours to avoid large Carrow cities. He would have to travel about twice as fast as the Princess' retinue to get there first. Fortunately, there were train lines that could take him most of the way, but there was still a hundred mile gap between the nearest train station and Bonewell.

"I need a horse " he said. "A fast horse, and strong. I'll need to ride it almost to death. And remounts, if the peasants revolt causes problems with the trains."

"The embassy has fast horses, take whichever one you like. I'm authorised to give you enough coin to buy remounts so long as you're within Kelvon territory. Once you reach the border, though, you'll be on your own. I doubt the Carrowmen will honour Helberian promissory notes."

"I'll steal remounts. We are at war, after all." He looked out the window, where the sky was beginning to glow with the approach of dawn. "I'll leave Immediately, as soon as I've changed into some civilian clothing."

"Have you slept yet?"

'I'll sleep on the train, or in the saddle if I have to. Won't be the first time." He then marched out of the room, heading for the stairs up to the visitors quarters. His day of leisure was not to be, it seemed, and yet he felt strangely exhilarated by it. Duty called, and the Brigadier was on his way!

He was going to miss his rendezvous with the Brigadier again, Malone mused dismally.

He and the small group of activists he'd been put in charge of were sitting in the dining room of the 'Hound and Hare' inn in the Kelvon town of Locksley, eating breakfasts of pastries and beans. Farwell, and the King's Shilling, were three hundred miles away. This would make the third rendezvous he'd missed. The Brigadier would be worrying, but the more important concern was that he hadn't yet been able to report what he'd learned about Benjamin, one of the top leaders, perhaps the top leader, of the popular uprising. That information would be vital in helping to foil the Radiants' attempt to plunge the Empire into civil war. If he died before he could pass it on, it would be lost, a prospect that bothered him a lot more than his own death.

He sighed. There was nothing he could do about it, so there was no use in fretting. The Brigadier would just assume he was deeply embroiled in the mission he'd given him, which he was, and hopefully they'd be able to met up next week, if he was back in the capital by then.

That was by no means certain, though. Jamie Fry seemed to have decided that Malone was the perfect man to be his delivery boy, probably in order to get him away from his side as much as possible. He'd made no secret of the fact that he didn't trust him, and Malone was fairly sure he still resented him for being chosen above him by John Martin. By giving him this job, and probably others like it afterwards, Jamie Fry was sending him far away for days at a time, and he suspected that the three men who were supposedly under his command had been told to keep a close eye on him. He'd certainly seen one or another of them looking in his direction now and then during the journey, although that may just have been because he was new to the team, while they'd clearly been working together for some time before. Also, the fact that he was the one with five hundred crowns in gold coins in his pouch was undoubtedly a factor.

They were chatting together, sharing jokes and anecdotes that referred back to things they'd done together before Malone joined them, and which he therefore couldn't join in with. It was a deliberate act of disrespect, no doubt inspired by the fact that he, an outsider, had been put in charge over them, instead of one of them being given the job. It made him feel lonely and nervous, and he looked forward to the day when he could leave these unpleasant people and go back to the Brigadier.

"Some sausages would be good," said Porto, using a piece of bread to mop up the last of the bean juice. "Glob pastries are good, but they ain't sausages."

"You could've had sausages if you'd paid for 'em!" pointed out Sykes. "You could've had a whole plate of sausages if you'd paid for 'em!"

"Don't see why we should have to pay for our own grub. If they can afford to pay that kind of money for guns, they could afford to..."

"Watch you mouth, Porto!" snapped Malone, looking around to see if any of the inn's other patrons had overheard. "Could be spies listening!"

The big man turned his head to look at him with eyes that burned with hostility. "Watch how you speak to me, dog man! I'm not a man to cross!"

"Watch what you say and I'll quite happily not speak to you at all. And the name's Malone."

"People have names," growled Porto. "Dogs don't."

"Actually, dogs do have names," pointed out Lewis helpfully. "My mum and dad had a sheepdog called Shep. Ended up becoming my younger brother..."

"Shut your trap, Lewis! Nobody cares about your stupid brother!"

"Okay, mate," said Sykes soothingly. "Calm down. We got a job to do. We'll do it best if we don't attract attention." Malone saw one of the serving girls looking in their direction nervously. Not close enough to overhear, but clearly aware that there were tempers and tensions brewing at their table.

"All I said was that some sausages would have been good, that's all."

"You got any idea what goes into sausages?" said Lewis. "Everything, that's what. Everything that's left over when they've used everything that can be used, with breadcrumbs to bulk it out. If you'd seen what went into sausages, you'd never eat one again."

"They taste good. 'Specially with a bit o' mustard. Can't beat sausage to set you up for the day ahead. Set you up right proper, they do. Globs just ain't the same."

"Well, get some sausages, then!" said Sykes. "We got time, ain't we, Malone?"

"Yes, I suppose," conceded Malone. "We've got twenty miles to go today, and they're expecting us before sunset. So long as we set off before nine or so we should be okay. I'd prefer to set off a bit earlier than that, in case we run into problems. If the carriage throws a wheel, or something."

"There, you see?" said Sykes to Porto. "Go get yourself some sausages."

"And who'll pay for 'em? You?"

"You'll pay for them, you idiot! You're eating them so you pay for them!"

"Well, that's not right! We're working for Benjamin so he should pay! I gave up a good job for this lark, I got no money coming in any more! All I've got is what I put by, and that won't last forever!"

Malone was forced to agree that he had a point, but they were all in the same boat. It was just another ploy to make them angry, of course. The adoptees at the top of the organisation wanted them snapping and arguing at everyone they met, wanted any confrontation between them and the authorities to end in violence. He wondered how Porto and the others would have reacted if they'd known that Benjamin was, in fact, a millionaire, and could probably have bought up every sausage in the Empire if he'd wanted to. Not well, he guessed. In fact, he was rather surprised that he, who knew who Benjamin was and how rich he was, was trusted not to reveal it to the men.

He dug around in his purse and found a silver crown, which he slapped down on the table. "Here," he said. "Buy sausages and beans for everyone. We can wait a few more minutes before leaving."

Porto stared at him in outrage and anger. "What do you think I am?" he demanded. "A charity case?"

Malone stared back in astonishment. "I just thought..."

"I never lived off charity in my life! I work for what I've got! Always have, always will!" He pushed the coin angrily back towards Malone. "Keep your charity, dog man! I pay for my own food!"

"Just now you said..."

"That's different! We're working for Benjamin, so he owes us a fair wage, but I don't take charity! Never have, never will!"

"But you're quite happy to let someone else buy the drinks!" said Lewis with a chuckle. "Last night at the bar..."

"We take turns to buy the drinks! That's how it is! You buy a round, I buy a round..."

"But somehow it never seems to be your turn! Who was it bought the drinks part night? Let me think. Hmmmm..."

"We had to turn in before it was my turn, you know that perfectly well! We got in late, there was only time for a couple of ales before we had to turn in. Tonight, when we get to Shellton, I'm first shout! Nobody calls me tight! No-one!"

"So, how come you've got money to flash around, Malone?" asked Sykes. "Where'd that silver come from?"

"Yeah!" agrees Porto, staring at Malone suspiciously. "How come you've got that kind of coin?"

Malone thought quickly. It was one of the last of the coins the Brigadier had given him, but he could hardly tell them that. "Had a bit of luck on the dogs a few days back," he said. "Bessie came good for me."

"Never heard of a mutt called Bessie at the Works," said Sykes. "He one of Picker's dogs?"

"This was back in Farwell, before I joined the movement. Place called Daisyfield, just round the corner from the glue factory. Know it?"

"Heard of it, never been there. Bit of a dump, I heard. Second rate dogs, second rate races." He seemed placated, though, Malone was relieved to see. Even Porto seemed mollified. Sharing a gambling win with friends didn't count as charity, it seemed, but Malone didn't repeat the offer, just to be on the safe side. Porto would just have to do without his sausages for now.

A few minutes later, they were leaving the inn and walking around to the stables where they'd left their wagon and horses. Malone made sure their decoy cargo was safe and sound in the back of the wagon, and then he and Lewis took their places on the drivers' seat, Malone taking the reins and the other man cradling a large shotgun in his arms. Porto and Sykes climbed into the saddles of the two horses that would ride escort, as a defence against bandits, and then they set off, the wagon clattering and bouncing its way down the narrow road that led through the small town and out into the brightly sunlit Kelvon countryside.

Porto and Sykes rode a little way behind the wagon, so they could keep and eye on it and anything that might threaten it. "Here's to a quiet day," said Lewis, his eyes scanning the lands on either side of the road. He had particular reason to be watchful. If they were ambushed by bandits, the man riding shotgun was always the first to be killed.

"It's the trip home when we'll have to be careful," Malone replied. "If we're ambushed on the way, we just show them the turnips we're carrying in the back. They'll just let us go and wait for a better prize. If we're ambushed on the way back, though..."

"If they ambush us on the way back, we'll have a load 'o guns to defend ourselves with." They both chuckled. "Seriously, though, we do have one thing they could nick if they stop us on the way. All that gold you're carrying! If you try to keep it from them and they find it, they'll gut all of us just for the fun of it!"

"It's well hidden," replied Malone. "They won't find it. We're just a bunch of farmers off to sell our turnips at market. Why should we be carrying a fortune in gold?"

"Jamie must trust you an awful lot! Five hundred crowns! How's he to know you won't just ride off with it? Five hundred crowns could set you up quite nicely for a long time!"

"And what would you do if I did? Would you just let me go?"

"Jamie might think we'd all ride off with it. Share the money."

"Five hundred crowns isn't enough to be worth the risk. Imagine if they catch up to us one day. Take a risk like that for just five hundred crowns? If it was five thousand I might be tempted. No, Jamie knows we're not going anywhere but where we're supposed to go."

Lewis nodded, his eyes still scanning the trees, bushes and hedgerows that lined the road, any of which might hide a lone bandit with a shotgun. There wasn't enough cover here for more than one man to be hiding. Further down the road, yes, but not here. Lewis remained alert, though, as did Malone. Would a single man be desperate enough to attack four men? Until just recently he would have answered with a definitive no, but nowadays? With things the way they were? So many starving, desperate people? Even turnips might be tempting to someone who hadn't eaten for several days.

"Never known things as bad as this," muttered Lewis to himself. "Never known this much crime. Used to be, this was a fairly safe road. Never completely safe, of course, but someone getting killed on this road made the news all the way from Puddleton to Shrewsby! Nowadays, we can pretty much count on trouble of some kind before we get there. Just hope Betsy here's enough to see them off." He patted his shotgun fondly.

Malone decided to try sounding him out. He didn't strike him as quite as zealous as the others. Maybe, with a little gentle urging, he could be made to see sense. "It's because the guards aren't chasing the criminals anymore," he said. "These days, they spend all their time looking for us!" He eyed the other man carefully from the edge of his vision to see what effect his words had. "Hunting criminals is supposed to be their job," he replied. "They're not doing it. They've been told not to do it. It's almost as if the Powers That Be want the country to go to hell!"

"The toffs ain't scared of highwaymen," said Lewis. "Anytime they go out on the road, they can take a whole private army with 'em. They ain't scared of burglars either, their palaces are like fortresses! I know, I saw one once! They ain't scared of muggers, bandits, cutpurses, pickpockets. What they're scared of is us! And they control the guards. They tell the guards to get the people they're scared of, and that's us! That's why the roads ain't safe anymore. Cos of the toffs telling the guards to get us."

Malone nodded. What Lewis said was right, so far as it went, but there was more. A lot more! "They're scared of us and so they're out to get us, and we're scared of them and so we're out to get them, and all that fear is tearing the Empire apart."

"So what do we do? The guards'll do anyone who even looks at 'em funny! Not just us, anyone! If my mum and dad don't show 'em the respect they think they're due, they'll do them just the same as us! Same with my brother, the people who live next door to us, anyone! If people knew they had nothing to fear from the guards so long as they kept the law, that'd be something, but they'll do anyone, for no reason, just because they're in a bad mood or something!"

"Because they're recruiting thugs into the guard, putting uniforms on criminals, moving all the good guards with ties to the community to some far off province on the pretext of promoting them, which makes the common people even angrier. Makes more of us want to join the movement, to fight back! And the toffs know it! If the toffs really want to wipe us out, why are they doing everything they can to piss us off, to make more of us take up arms against them? Doesn't it seem, sometimes, that maybe what the toffs really want is to tear the Empire apart?"

"Why would they want that? They've got it good! They've got money, big houses, servants... Why would they want to end all that?"

"I'm just saying that's what it looks like, that's all. If they really wanted to protect the Empire, they could end the movement by bringing the guards into line. Make sure they only went after proper criminals, not decent people, like they used to. I mean, none of us wants to kill people, We're being driven to it by the guards. If the toffs got the guards under control, we could all just get back to our ordinary lives and the toffs would be safe. Their money would be safe, their houses and servants, they'd all be safe. Instead, they're doing the exact opposite, as if they want to put an end to their cosy lives!"

"It's because they're stupid. They think we don't have the guts to fight back, they think they can keep pushing us and we'll just keep on taking it, but we won't! We're tougher than they think we are! They think that if they keep knocking us down, sooner or later we'll stay down, learn to toe the line, but we won't! They can knock us down as many times as they like and we'll get back up every time! We'll never stop fighting, not until they learn they can't treat us like this!"

Malone nodded. He wasn't going to have any luck with this man, he realised with disappointment. He wouldn't even have tried with Porto and Sykes, he had a suspicion they'd had run-ins with the law even before the current troubles, but he'd had hopes for Lewis. He'd struck Malone as being a little more level headed, a little more amenable to reason. Maybe he'd been involved with the popular uprising for so long that the message had sunk in and properly taken root. Any further attempt would only make him suspicious, he realised. He'd have to let it go. "You're right," he said therefore. "They're just stupid." Lewis nodded vigorously, his face set and determined, and Malone leaned back in the seat, his thoughts a turmoil in his head.

Is it just that I know what's going on, and that's why I can see it? he wondered. If I hadn't been with the Brigadier when he discovered the Radiant conspiracy, would I be as blind as everyone else? He found that hard to believe, but none of his three companions were stupid. They were obstinate, rude, bad tempered and belligerent, but they were of around average intelligence. Easily bright enough to see what was going on, he would have thought. And yet they could see no further than that the authorities were out to exploit and oppress the working classes and that they had to fight for their rights and their liberty. It was a brilliant strategy on the part of the Radiants, he mused unhappily. Just what you would expect from a race of higher beings.

I have to stop it! he vowed. He'd met enough Kelvons now to know that most of them were wonderful people. Kind, generous, hospitable, willing to go out of their way to help a stranger. It wasn't his country, and part of him felt guilty that he was here, trying to help the Empire, when his own country had much more immediate problems, but this was the job the Brigadier had given him, and he could see the wisdom of it. If the Empire fell into chaos and anarchy, the entire human world would be dramatically weakened, maybe fatally so. The power and resources of the Empire might be essential for their victory over the Radiant threat, so if Malone could help the Empire, he would be helping his own country, and learning the identity of the industrialist supplying guns to the popular uprising might be a vital part of saving it.

As it turned out, they had no trouble on the road and arrived at Spennymoor while the sun was still a good distance above the horizon. Spennymoor was a small town which served mainly to house the men who worked in the large industrial complex that sat beside it. They'd known they were getting close for an hour or so beforehand as the traffic on the road increased and they passed wagons much like their own escorted by their own riders. Empty wagons heading in the same direction as them and wagons groaning under the weight of heavy cargoes, sitting low on their springs, heading in the opposite direction. A few minutes later the road turned to run alongside a river, white and foaming with industrial waste, on which barges also ran to and from the industrial town, pulled by large, powerful carthorses walking along the tow path.

"Now, we want unit number 224," said Malone, looking ahead at the anonymous grey buildings on the horizon ahead of them. "Hopefully they're numbered. Otherwise, I suppose, we can just ask someone." He was rambling, he knew. Thinking out loud. He did that sometimes when he was nervous, and he was growing more nervous by the second. They were here to carry out a highly illegal transaction, buying guns that were to be used in an insurgency, and he remembered the Brigadier's warning that if he got in trouble with the law, there was nothing he'd be able to do to help him. I'm trying to save civilisation, he reminded himself. No-one said it would be easy.

The buildings were numbered, thankfully, and were laid out in order, so that when they came across unit number 202, with unit number 204 beside it, they knew that they only had to follow the road to find the one they wanted. Unit number 224 turned out to be on the very edge of the complex, with a barbed wire fence beside it on the other side of which was a waving field of wheat. The huge, sliding doors were open and Malone took the wagon straight in.

Two men immediately closed the doors behind them, plunging the warehouse into darkness lit only by the sunlight filtering in through half a dozen grimy skylights. Malone jumped down onto the ground, while Lewis remained in the drivers seat, covering him with the shotgun. Porto and Sykes brought their horses alongside the wagon and dismounted, their hands hovering close to the pistols they were wearing on their belts.

A man in a business suit was walking towards them. "Mister Crow, I assume?" said Malone. He also assumed that Crow was an alias. His job, his real job, was to learn the man's real identity, if he could.

Mister Crow stared at him. "Where's John Martin?" he demanded.

"John Martin is on assignment. I'm here in his place. Do you have what we came for?"

Mister Crow made a gesture, and three men emerged from the darkness in the corner of the warehouse. Porto and Sykes drew their weapons and stood with their backs to the wagon. "My arrangement was with John Martin," said Mister Crow. "I don't know who you are. Government spies, maybe."

"So long as we've got the gold, do you care who we are?" Malone produced the bag of gold coins, bounced it in his hand to make it jangle.

"I care if you've got a squad of guards waiting outside, ready to arrest me."

"You think we're rats?" demanded Porto, pointing his weapon at Crow's face. "Nobody calls me a rat!"

Malone put a hand on his gun, gently eased it down. He could feel the man quivering with fury, and guessed he was already putting more pressure on the trigger than was safe. This could go bad very quickly. "It's okay, Port," he said. "It's natural for him to be suspicious." He turned to Mister Crow. "We were just told to bring the gold and buy the goods. We didn't know you were expecting a particular person."

"You think I'm going to just hand the goods over to the first person who asks for them? I have no idea who you are, I have no idea whether you can be trusted..."

Malone pulled at the drawstring and opened the money bag, showing him the gold coins inside. "How many people go around with five hundred crowns in gold? We came at the time you were expecting us, with the exact amount of money you were asking for."

"Maybe John Martin was taken by the guards, made to talk." The three approaching men were drawing their own guns and looked quite ready to use them.

"John Martin would never talk!" said Sykes. "If you knew him, you'd know it! Maybe you're the rats, ready to sell us out to the guards!"

"They're as good as rats," said Porto, his anger growing. "They're bosses, They're just out to make money! People are suffering and dying, and these bastards just want to make money out of it!"

"Have you got the goods, or haven't you?" asked Malone. "If you have, let's just do the deal and go our separate ways before something..."

One of the approaching men tripped over something in the darkness. As he fell, his gun went off with a deafening detonation. Everyone jerked in surprise, and Porto's finger spasmed on the trigger. His gun went off, and Mister Crow crumpled and fell. "Shit!" cried someone. Everyone was paralysed with shock for a moment, their brains struggling to process what had just happened. Then the other approaching men dropped to a crouch and fired their weapons. Malone dropped the bag of money, several coins falling out and rolling away across the dusty floor, and drew his gun. He and Sykes fired back, neither of them bothering to aim for the moment, just wanting to make Crow's men pause for a moment, give them a moment to think. Maybe Crow wasn't dead, maybe they could still salvage this... Then Lewis fired his shotgun, a deafening blast in the confined space, and another of Crow's men fell with his head blown apart in red ruin. Unquestionably dead.

That settled it. "Let's get out of here!" shouted Malone. He jumped back onto the wagon, but the other two of Crow's men were shooting and Porto and Sykes both fell. Malone reached for the reins as Lewis fired off the second cartridge, the shot going wide, and then he dropped the shotgun and reached for the pistol at his belt. "Get aboard!" shouted Malone. "Quick!" Lewis was firing his gun in total panic, though, every shot going wide, and a moment later he also fell, a bullet piercing his heart.

Crow's men turned their guns on Malone, who shot back. An icy calm descended as the Brigadier's training came back to him and he took his time to aim before squeezing the trigger. A man fell, then another. The remaining man froze in shock, staring at his fallen companions, then turned and ran. Malone shot him in the back.

A terrible silence fell as the last echoes of the gunshots died away. The air was full of the smell of blood and burned gunpowder, acrid and sour. Malone waited in terror to see if anyone came to investigate the sound. Someone must have heard it! If there were more of Crow's men waiting outside, they'd come running in, guns blazing. If not, people would be running in the opposite direction, to raise the alarm. If the first, he had no time. If the second, he had a little. Not much, but a little...

When five seconds had passed with no more enemies entering the warehouse, Malone jumped down from the wagon. He checked Porto and Sykes, finding them both dead, then checked Mister Crow, finding him dead as well. That meant there was nobody left alive who'd been close enough to get a good look at his face. Nobody who could identify him. Good. He looked at the bag of coins, thinking that he might still be able to salvage his position with the popular uprising if he returned it to Jamie Fry and tried to explain what had happened, but the sound of alarmed voices were coming from somewhere outside. He jumped onto Sykes' horse, therefore, turned it towards the door and spurred it into a gallop.

He had to get off the horse for a moment to pull the sliding door open a couple of feet, and outside he saw people hurrying for cover, staring in his direction in shock. Malone jumped back into the saddle, turned the horse towards the barbed wire fence and spurred it into a gallop again. A half raised goat jumped out of the way with a bleat of terror, and the horse jumped the fence before galloping away across the field of wheat. Malone had no idea what lay in this direction, and he didn't care. His only thought was to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. His time as an undercover agent was over. It was time to return to the Brigadier.

"I am here, your Majesty," said Demos Tiver.

Emperor Tyron looked at the Undersecretary of State, standing just inside the doorway of his audience chamber. Those Above, but he looked hideous! Fat, sweating so much, even in this relatively cool weather, that it had soaked through his clothes and fouled the air for a dozen yards around him. His face covered with sores and rashes. Tyron had tried so hard to overlook it, to tell himself that it was his loyalty and his intellect that mattered, but if the Brigadier was right he was a traitor to the Empire, to all humanity. Would he have spotted it for himself if Tiver had been of more normal appearance? If Tyron hadn't been so desperate to be fair that he'd overcompensated and ignored his gut instincts, thinking them to be caused by his disgust at his appearance? He reminded himself that he still had no proof that Tiver had done anything wrong. Maybe the Brigadier was mistaken. That was why he'd summoned him here, to see the man with a clear eye. To see the truth.

"Come in," he said, standing and coming around from behind his desk. "I asked you here to get an update on Skelby's condition. Every time I ask the doctors I get the same reply. He's on the mend but not yet ready to resume his duties. I assume you're keeping a close eye on him, so please tell me the truth. How is he, really?"

"The truth is, the doctors have no idea what's wrong with him," the Undersecretary replied. He looked longingly at a chair, his legs complaining at having to support his weight, but one did not sit when the Emperor was standing. "Some kind of neuro-degenerative condition, they think now. It's possible that it's relapsing and remitting, that it'll improve by itself at some point..." He gave a helpless shrug, then produced a handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped his brow with it.

"So, there's no realistic prospect of his returning to work, then."

"Perhaps in as advisory role. After everything he's done for the Empire, it would seem callous and ungrateful to just sack him. I'm sure that, with the right..."

The Emperor held up his hand, though, and Tiver fell silent. "The Empire owes Skelby a debt it can never repay," he said. "However, we need a Secretary of State who is capable of fulfilling all the duties of his role. I will be announcing his retirement at this afternoon's assembly. The time has come to appoint his replacement." Tiver nodded. His face was trying to look sad and regretful, but there was a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"What is the situation in the outer provinces?" the Emperor asked.

"The new measures we've implemented in the western provinces are having the desired effect," replied Tiver. "I am confident that the seditionists will be completely crushed within a couple of months."

"And what are these new measures?"

"The army has implemented martial law. All public gatherings are banned. Trial by jury has been temporarily suspended, in order to allow the speedier processing of traitors. The death penalty has been brought in for all but the most minor of offences, and we are offering large cash rewards for information leading to the arrest of the ringleaders. These measures may seem extreme, but they are working and can all be reversed when this time of crisis has passed."

"You don't think that these measures are more likely to stir up the provinces even more? Cause more resentment, incite more violence?"

"The people must understand that treason has consequences, your Majesty. I am confident that this crack down will see the return of law and order."

The Emperor studied him carefully. He's lying, he thought, and the more he studied the man's face, the more certain he was of it. There was something in his expression, a sly look, as if he was laughing internally. Laughing at him! How didn't I see this before? he asked himself. Am I that blind? More to the point, why did none of my advisors warn me about him? They must know what he's like! Does he have something on them? Is he blackmailing them? He remembered someone telling him that Fienwell was his 'problem solver'. Did those problems include members of his own court who might have spoken out against him? I have to get rid of him! he realised. I can't arrest him, not even I can arrest a man without evidence, but I have to get this poisonous man as far away from any position of influence as I possibly can!

"I disagree." He said therefore. " We have tried cracking down again and again, and the result has always been an increase in violence and lawlessness. I think it's time we tried a new approach. Reaching out to the common people, finding the root causes of their dissatisfaction and trying to find common ground with them. They clearly feel they have legitimate grievances. Let's see if we can work together to deal with them."

Tiver stared at him. "Your Majesty, I believe that would be a grave mistake. They would see that as weakness and be encouraged by it. It would make the situation a thousand times worse!"

"Well, I intend to discuss it with the new Secretary of State, see what he thinks. I was thinking of appointing Howell. What do you think of him?"

Tiver stared even harder. He produced the handkerchief again and mopped more sweat from his face. "Pardon, your Majesty," he said, "But I assumed that I would be the new Secretary!"

"I think a completely new approach is needed. Fresh blood, new ideas. Howell is devoted to the Empire, has a great many useful connections with the Constituent Assembly and has proven very capable at reforming the trade guilds. I think he would do an excellent job."

"But, Sire, it would take too long to bring him up to speed! To brief him on the exact situation in every part of the Empire, for him to become familiar with all the active players..."

"That could actually be an asset. A fresh mind, seeing everything from a new perspective."

"And, Sire, your comment that he is devoted to the Empire... Sire, are you suggesting that I am not?"

You bet your life I am! thought Tyron, but he couldn't say that. Not yet. He might be Emperor, but there were still powerful forces at play in his government that he couldn't afford to offend. "Not at all," he said, therefore. "No-one appreciates everything you've done more than I, but I feel that your talents would be put to better use in the diplomatic service. I'm appointing you Kelvon's ambassador to the Kingdom of Carrow."

Tiver felt the room swimming around him as if he was drunk. "Ambassador...?"

"A position of great honour and importance. I'm sure you'll do an excellent job."

"Sire, this is an outrage! I have great influence in the Constituent Assembly..."

"Watch what you say, Undersecretary," growled Tyron. "That almost sounds like a threat."

Tiver glanced at the two guards, watching him warily from the back of the room. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief again. The frilly cloth was so wet now that it was almost dripping, the Emperor observed with horrified fascination.

"I apologise, Majesty," the Undersecretary said, a slight tremble in his voice. "You simply surprised me. To do something so drastic and dangerous..."

"Dangerous, Tiver?"

"Dangerous to the Empire! The provinces are a boiling cauldron, Majesty. We have been trying to keep a lid on it. You wish to lift the lid and let it all boil over!"

"To continue your analogy, Tiver, perhaps what is necessary is to turn down the heat."

"Your Majesty, I beg you! You cannot do this!"

"It is done, Tiver. At least you will have all your staff with you in Carrow. You'll be in familiar company."

"You propose to replace the entire Ministry?"

"Except for Ryan Tarnor. Someone from your staff needs to stay, for continuity. I'm appointing him Howell's new Undersecretary. Everyone else goes to Carrow, with you."

"Sire the Ministry of State is the most important Ministry in the Empire! You risk throwing the entire Empire into turmoil!"

"The Empire is already in turmoil. That will be all, Tiver. You've got packing to get on with."

Tiver's face was sweating even more than before. He dabbed at it again with his handkerchief, then bowed and left. He looked back once before closing the door behind him, and the Emperor wasn't surprised to see a brief look of purest malice on his pimply, rash ridden face. A moment later the door opened again and Brownley, his Private Facilitator, entered. "He didn't look happy," he observed.

"He didn't take his new assignment well," replied Tyron. "Those Above, what an odious man! I should have gotten rid of him years ago! Well, he's the Carrowmen's problem now. From what I've heard of the place, he'll fit right in over there!" The room was still full of the smell of Tiver's stale sweat, he ordered one of the guards to open a window, let some fresh air in. "Did you get him?" he then asked.

"We went to the address you gave us," said Brownley. "It was unoccupied. We left some men there in case he comes back."

"According to the Brigadier, Fienwell's an adoptee. Half raised by the Radiants, possessing the powers of a wizard. Your men must be extremely careful."

"We're using wizards, as you advised. He'll find they're harder to curse than normal men. Don't worry, Majesty. If he comes back, they'll get him."

"Good, because I've got some searching questions for him. Keep me informed." The man bowed. "And send Howell in on your way out. We've got to reform the guard across the whole Empire, try to undo the damage Tiver's done. Those Above grant it isn't too late..."

☆☆☆

Fienwell had been meeting with members of the popular uprising, arranging a protest outside the Ministry buildings in three days time in which there would be a major battle between protesters and the guards. They wanted several high profile deaths among the protesters, to fire up the common people even further, and they would arrange an invasion, by screaming, torch bearing workers, of the building itself, in which several junior executives would be injured, even killed. The government Ministers themselves would be put in fear, would be made to feel personally threatened in a way they hadn't before. It would be the excuse they needed to bring the same draconian measures into play in the capital as they had in the provinces.

That, and the guns they were placing in the hands of the protesters, meant that a full scale uprising was very close now. It might even be impossible to stop, even if he and the other agitators did nothing more. So thin, the veneer of civilisation, he mused as he strolled along the sunlit street. So easy to tear away, to reveal the raw savagery beneath...

*Go no further!* warned a voice in his head. *There are men ahead, waiting in ambush!*

Fienwell looked up, at the Radiant floating above the rooftops. It was the only one close enough to have spoken to him. Then he looked ahead, to the small, dingy apartment he'd been using as a base of operations while in the city. He would have preferred something larger and grander, but he met with members of the popular uprising here sometimes and he had to appear to be one of them. On those occasions when he had to meet with government Ministers and captains of industry, there was always a spare office in the palace he could use and it only took a moment to change clothes.

He didn't see anyone. There were people in the street, passing by, but no-one loitering around his home. *Are you sure?* he asked.

*They are in the empty apartment opposite your home. Another of us saw them enter three hours ago. They have not left.*

*Who are they?*

*Wizards. We can sense that they are fractionally above other humans on the rungs of life. It means the authorities suspect you. Possibly they were warned by their former Helberion allies. We knew it was just as matter of time once we declared open warfare against them. We are warning all our adoptees to cease their activities and lie low. The task you have been performing is over. Soon you will be given a new task.*

*What new task?* Fienwell turned on his heel and headed back the way he'd come, trying to look relaxed, nonchalant. Had his ambushers seen him? There was no outcry, no pursuit, and so he allowed himself to relax.

*If The Empire fails to fall into civil war, we will have to attack directly, as we are in Helberion. If that happens, you will be needed as a foot soldier. Your ability to move among humans and your ability to cast curses will make you a useful assassin.*

"An assassin!" He realised he'd spoken the words out loud and looked around to see if anyone had heard him. A postman, sorting through his mailbag for anything on this street, looked up in surprise, then put him out of his mind. *I can't be an assassin! They'll catch me! They'll kill me!*

*You will do what is required of you. If you do not, you will be of no further use to us and will be discarded.*

*Discarded? What does that mean?*

*There is never any shortage of humans willing to be adopted. Many of them, thanks to your efforts, are angry enough to be willing to sacrifice their lives to kill those we name as their enemies.*

*Because they think you want to help them achieve justice and revenge! They don't know what you really want!*

*Nor shall they.* There was a pause, and Fienwell looked up to see the Radiant getting closer. It was following him along the street, low enough for pedestrians to have to swerve to avoid its dangling tentacles. *You are thinking of betraying us. Of telling humans what our true objective is.*

*Of course not! I'd never do that!*

*I sense falsehood. You do not wish to die in battle and will betray us if you think that will save you.*

*Look, I didn't sign up to be an assassin! I thought I would just stir things up a bit, then become one of you and live in one of your cities! That's all I wanted, to be one of you!*

*There are enough of us at present. We are not like humans and other lower life forms who multiply without thought until they exhaust their resources. We adopted you to be a tool, not a Radiant.*

*You lied to me! You lied to all of us!*

*Yes. We do what he have to in order to achieve our objectives.*

The Radiant was close now. It was going to carry him off, he realised, and nobody would bat an eyelid because Radiants carried people off all the time! If he screamed and fought, people would probably think he was crying out with joy! It would take him to some remote spot, then tear him apart!

He turned back the way he'd originally been going, back towards his house, and ran. Tentacles reached out for him, he dodged them and then he was past it, sprinting for all he was worth. The Radiant was slow and clumsy and continued on for several more yards, blowing gases out of its siphon in an attempt to change direction. By the time it had turned to follow Fienwell, he was fifty yards down the street and still running.

A Radiant could not keep pace with a running man unless there was a strong breeze behind it, blowing it along, but every Radiant in the city had stopped what it was doing and was closing in. Fienwell saw them in the sky ahead of him, looking like toy balloons that had been released by careless children. They looked harmless, and to most people they were such a common sight that they barely noticed them, the way most people barely notice the full moon, but the sight of them sent a surge of desperate fear through Fienwell. The wind was picking up, lifting dirt and litter from the streets and blowing it past him from behind. The Radiant behind him had summoned a gale to help it catch up. It would hinder the creatures ahead of him, but that didn't matter so long as they could keep him within a slowly contracting circle. There was no escape!

No, there was one hope! He reached his house, but instead of entering it he dashed across the street, almost getting run over by a horse and carriage, and hammered on the door of the house opposite his. "Let me in! Please, let me in! It's Fienwell! It's the man you were sent to get! Please, let me in!" He looked back the way he'd came. The Radiant was much lower now, moving fast with the help of the wind from behind. Its longest tentacles touched the ground, lifted, then touched the ground again further on, as if it was walking on them. The carriage that had almost run him over had to swerve to the other side of the street to get past it, the driver staring in astonishment.

He wasn't the only one. Everyone in the street had stopped to watch the Radiant. This kind of behaviour was completely out of character for the normally docile, serene creatures. "What's it doing, mummy?" He heard a half raised fox asking. His mother, her dress billowing in the wind, ushered him inside their house and slammed the door.

Fienwell reached down to his belt and pulled out a six inch dagger. Pitifully inadequate against the creature, it was nothing more than part of his clothing, part of his attempt to look like a normal citizen, most of whom carried small weapons as a defence against muggers. His knuckles went white as he gripped it tightly, though, drawing some measure of comfort from its reassuring weight, and he turned his back on the door, determined to give as good an account of himself as he could. He could at least hurt the creature! He could at least do that!

The wind died down as the Radiant came opposite the house and tentacles reached out for him. Fienwell held the knife out in front of him, and then the door opened behind him and a hand grabbed his elbow, pulling him inside. "Drop the knife!" another man demanded as the first slammed the door closed. There was a third man at the window, he saw, his eyes wide and staring at what he was seeing outside.

The third man threw himself backwards, just in time as a thick tentacle burst in with a crash of smashing glass. The three occupants of the house all drew pistols and fired at the tentacle, which lashed around, trying to find them by feel. When it came close to Fienwell he gave a swipe with the knife, opening a long gash in it from which green ichor splashed across the walls and ceiling.

"Save me!" cried Fienwell. "Save me and I'll tell you everything!"

There was a heavy thump from the front door as something heavy crashed into it. A drift of plaster dust fell from the ceiling, but the door held. The tentacle reached further in through the window, followed by two thinner ones, and the four men backed away into the back rooms. Their windows also smashed into fragments as tentacles reached in. The creature must be directly above the house!

"It's going to hold us here until the others get here!" he cried. He brushed sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. The sleeve took some of his skin powder with it, allowing his luminous skin to shine through in a long streak above his eyes.

"Then we've got to get out of here before they arrive," said the leader of the men that had been waiting for him. "Which way were they approaching from?" The thick tentacle leaped towards him as if it had heard his voice. Maybe it had, for all Fienwell knew. It wrapped around his waist and the man cried out as he was pulled towards the window, his face turning red as it crushed the breath out of him. Another of the men shot it several times with his pistol, to no effect, but Fienwell stabbed with his knife, cutting deep, and it dropped the man before pulling out of sight through the window.

"The east!" cried Fienwell. "They're coming from the east!"

"Then we go west," said the man with the pistol, helping his superior back to his feet. The man massaged his chest, tried to speak, then just nodded, pointing back to the front door. "We run!" the subordinate said. "Just run. They can't keep pace with a running man, unless they summon a gale, and then they can't change direction easily. So long as we don't get surrounded, we should be able to get away."

"Get away to where?" asked the fourth man. "There's nothing but the city wall to the west. If we get trapped up against it..."

"Let's just get out of here first," gasped the leader. "One step at a time. And you..." He pointed at Fienwell. "You stay close! You try to lose us and I'll shoot you in the back!"

Fienwell nodded. Running would be useless anyway, he knew. Wherever he went, the Radiants would find him sooner or later, and now that the skin powder trick to hide luminous skin had been discovered, he couldn't hide among humans either. His one hope was that the information he could give them would be enough for the Kelvon authorities to spare his life. If he could make them see him as a defector instead of a captured traitor, he might be able to bargain a good deal for himself.

The Radiant had stopped trying to catch them. It seemed content to just hold them in the house until the rest of its kind arrived. The windows were all broken, tentacles protruding through them, waving like seaweed in a slow current, and when the leader of the house's occupants gently opened the door, they found more tentacles dangling like a curtain of ribbons. He leaned his head out and looked up, then ducked back in.

"It's directly over the roof," he said. "So it can keep an eye on all the exits at once. If we're fast, we might be able to get far enough away to be out of its reach before it can react. You ready?"

"Let's just do it before the others get here," said one of the others.

The leader nodded. "Okay, then. Ready? Let's go!"

He dashed out, brushing through the curtain of tentacles. Fienwell followed, then one of the subordinates. When the fourth man tried to follow, though, several of the tentacles wrapped themselves around him and lifted him up into the air. Then the Radiant rose up into the sky, carrying the unfortunate man with him, whom it then dropped casually as if it had no further interest in him. He cried out as he fell, followed by a sickening thump of bursting organs as he hit the compacted gravel of the street.

The second subordinate paused and looked back. "Keep going, you fool!" shouted the leader.

"He might still be alive! We can't just..."

"There's nothing we can do! Run!"

Fienwell was running, no thought in his head except to get away from the creature pursuing him. He was vaguely aware of a four horse carriage clattering down the street towards him, the only other thing in the street now that everyone else had fled, either indoors or down side streets. Some small part of his mind wondered why the carriage was going towards the Radiant, instead of away from it, until it drew up alongside , the driver pulling up on the reins to stop the horses and simultaneously slamming his foot on the brake block. The door opened and a man in army uniform leaned out. "Get in!" he shouted. Fienwell needed no other urging and leaped through the door, followed by the surviving two men sent to capture him. There were two more soldiers in the carriage, leaning out through the window to shoot at the Radiant, their bullets having no more effect than before.

"Carter! Thank Those Above! What are you..."

"Later! Just get in!"

Once all three men were inside and the door closed, the soldier rapped in the front wall and the driver slapped the reins. He pulled hard on the right hand set of reins, urging the horses to pull hard to the right. The street was narrow and the carriage scraped hard against the houses on the other side of the street. For a moment Fienwell feared that it would become jammed in the narrow alley between one house and the next and he looked out the window to see that the Radiant was almost on top of them, followed closely by half a dozen others. It was being blown by another gale and its tentacles were reaching forward, only a few feet away from being able to grasp the carriage. The soldiers continued to shoot at it, just to be doing something, and splatters of ichor flew from the tiny wounds inflicted, but then the carriage pulled free from the houses and moved away at good speed, putting the airborne creatures behind it.

Fienwell sagged back in his seat in relief, but then tensed up again as the Radiants' telepathic voice sounded in his head. *Fienwell! We have reconsidered. You are clever and resourceful. You would be wasted on an assassination mission. We want you to train the new recruits. Come back to us, we need you!*

"Lying bastards!" cried Fienwell out loud. "I'm just cannon fodder to you! We all are! You lied to us! Now I'm going to tell these people the truth!"

*That would be a mistake. We are going to destroy this civilisation. They cannot protect you.*

*We'll see who destroys who! I know how scared you are! I know what you're scared of! You've declared war on the wrong people!*

There was no reply, and Fienwell looked out the window again to see all the Radiants rising high into the sky, the pursuit forgotten. Now the storms and earthquakes will come, he thought, but they can only cause one earthquake in each city, releasing whatever stress there is in the underlying bedrock. Once they've shot their bolt, the damage they can do is limited. Storms, curses... A civil war was their best chance to destroy the Empire. Is it too late to prevent it?

His thoughts were interrupted as the man sitting beside him grabbed his wrist and closed a manacle on it, then on his other wrist. "Rastor Fienwell," he said, "you're under arrest."