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CHAPTER 1

Basil

For Sergeant Basil Akritas the decision to leave Ardlark was easy. The Strategos Panterius has called me in to his musty office and asked for my badge. I am surprised. My amulet-badge is what I hold as a member of the secret police, the Antikataskopeía. It is the one that enables me to be easily found and that marks me as one of many in the organisation.

Basil asked no questions. He almost never wore a uniform and spent far more time seeking criminals and potential traitors than wielding a bow like his Kichic-kharl great-grandfather or waving a sword like others of his family, but he was still a soldier.

"Follow," the Strategos Panterius said, and without further word his superior left the room.

With Basil trailing behind, they entered the vast building that was both a military base and palace to the Empire.

They made their way through the maze of cold corridors, passing from the strictly functional granite of the castle inwards to the more civilian corridors of marble that made up the palace itself. They went through corridors and up stairs and around corners, places that Basil had never seen before. Without his head turning or otherwise betraying interest, his eyes flicked around and noted everything he passed.

Islamic subjects have obviously built one corridor; my soft boots make no noise as we walk on the tiled floors. The walls are covered in friezes of bright geometric design and an ornate plaster ceiling. His eyes filled with wonder. Through marvellous arches another corridor opened to a secluded garden with a fountain. A cold breeze blew bringing with it the aroma of flowers. A second passage shows its Christian building style with painted plaster walls and mosaic murals depicting the business of the Court. One mosaic shows the God-King Hrothnog seated on a throne in the vast ceremonial audience chamber buried deeper in the palace, receiving homage from the various races of the Empire.

Yet another corridor was clearly of Kharl workmanship; the polished black basalt floors almost slippery but making a surface that would allow an impressive sound to echo around with hobnailed boots. This corridor also had white plaster panels on the walls, and on each, painted scenes of battle. Above them were old banners of tagmata, and possibly even countries long vanished, their memory perhaps only preserved here by these fragments.

They passed doors of different timbers and sizes, and more corridors, small and large. These themes repeated themselves in a hodgepodge of styles as they moved further inward and climbed up several more stories. Eventually they came to a pair of large well-polished wooden doors tall enough for even one of the giant Insak-div to pass through without stooping. The smell of rich cedar oil lay around the area and tickled Basil's nose. The doors had large shiny brass handles and the Strategos grasped one, which opened silently as he ushered a very nervous Basil inside. Where are we going?

The room looks over thirty paces wide in each direction; its floor covered in a thick carpet, with rugs and tapestries on the white smooth-plastered walls. Silence seems to radiate from it and there is an underlying scent of sandalwood. Three glazed windows in one wall light the room with natural light. At the rear of the room is a single door as wide and equally tall as the one we have walked through. It is made of one of the jungle timbers from near my home. I am not a carpenter so I am not sure which, but I have seen its red colour and grain before in the doors and furniture of the south.

A desk and some leather-covered chairs are in the centre of the room. A Human male sits behind the desk dressed very conservatively in the Islamic fashion. A handsome young man and a very attractive young woman also sit on chairs near the desk, each in baggy purple silk trousers and golden jerkins, gathered with golden sashes at their waists; embroidered on them, over their hearts, are the Imperial symbols.

Strategos Panterius gestured to Basil to sit then spoke to the man behind the desk. The man glanced at Basil, nodded and gestured at the seated servants. The girl rose, listened for a moment, and moved silently across the room. She opened the single door and went through, closing it behind her without a sound.

After a couple of minutes the girl emerged.

"Come," she said in a mellow contralto, and gestured to the Strategos, who in turn, impatiently waved for Basil to follow. They went through the single door and entered an odd-shaped room that had three walls made almost entirely of huge sheets of glass. The view from this end of the palace was over the public buildings and administration, the Circus, the docks, and over indeed most of Ardlark.

In the centre of the room are a desk and chair and coming around them is the God-King Hrothnog himself. Being a Christian I don't accept the God part of the title ... although close up it is a very different proposition. Hrothnog is clad in a purple silk tunic. It is a far finer and softer-looking silk than his messengers outside wear, with designs worked in gold, possibly even real gold, on the breast. He has breeches of a lighter purple tucked into deep purple leather boots and wears a ring on each of his fingers — they are like a rainbow with the variety of colours. Each will be more than a decoration, holding enchantments, or at least serving as the focus for a casting.

It was the first time Basil had actually met his ruler close up. I am not sure what terrifies me most. It could be the piercing golden eyes that glow, even in this well-lit room. It could be the resonant bass voice. It turns my knees to jelly when he speaks. Possibly it is the hands and face; desiccated as a body found after years in the desert; belonging to a dead man rather than a living one.

I am not sure if what I see is real, or if it is an illusion. Even more, I don't want to know. I don't even want to think about it — after all Hrothnog probably knows what I am thinking and to offend my ruler is unthinkable. That movement of the lips — is it the rictus of a corpse or is it the ghost of a smile? Damn, I am thinking again. Basil's face was immobile and showed nothing of what went on behind it, as befits a trained intelligence officer, but his mind was running everywhere and letting his God-King know everything. That had to be a smile on the face as he turned from the Strategos to let his gaze fall on Basil as he tried to still his mind.

"I have a task for you," Hrothnog intoned. "It may take you all of your life and still not be finished when that is ended. If you accept you will leave Darkreach and might never return. It is possible that you may never see your family again. You might not ever be paid and you will only have the instructions that I give you to guide you. For these reasons you can decline the task now and there will be no mention of it again and you will have a normal career in your field.

"If you choose to go you must tell your family you are going away on my orders. If you do accept, the circumstances of your family will improve dramatically for all of time. That will be your payment. Do you accept?" I am a soldier, I have agreed to give my life for the Empire, and now the Emperor is asking me personally to live it for a task. Not much of a choice really. He swallowed. His voice did not seem to want to work. "Yes, sir," he eventually managed to croak out.

Hrothnog nodded. I am sure I heard Panterius sigh. I must have been personally recommended by the Strategos. It must be important to the Strategos that I agree to accept the task.

Hrothnog, to Basil's discomfort, looked him up and down again. "My great-great-granddaughter Theodora left the palace several days ago disguised as an Insakharl Kataphractoi mage. She is leaving Darkreach behind and thinks that her departure is secret. Despite her taking some time to leave, I have decided that I do not believe she is prepared for the outside world. You will report to the Strategos at dawn tomorrow with two saddlebags of personal effects. The rest will be supplied to you. You will have two tasks: to keep Theodora alive — even if it costs you your own life — and to act as her servant wherever she goes." He paused and looked at Basil as if expecting to see him refuse.

Basil was full of a mix of curiosity and a still-quaking stomach, but he said nothing.

"You will be transported to Dochra where you will pose as a servant whose master has died. She cannot care for herself, but she believes that she needs to leave and be independent. For my own reasons I think that she may actually be right in this and, what is more, I think that she needs to believe that she is on her own with no support from me." I am not sure if I want to hear my Emperor explaining his thoughts to me in what I am sure is meant as a confidential tone. He kept his attention focused.

"Until you have left Darkreach well behind, you cannot tell her who you are, or that you are under orders in case she rejects you and leaves. You must always be a servant who just happened to find her when she needed you. After you have left, whether you tell her or not, is up to you. Is this clear?" Basil nodded — I don't quite understand them, but at least I have orders.

"Then go."

At this dismissal Basil and the Strategos bowed, withdrew a couple of

paces, and left the room. The servant girl messenger was still behind them and she opened the door for the two.

Basil found that they were retracing their route from Hrothnog's room with the Strategos motioning Basil to silence. On reaching his office the Strategos told his staff that they were not to be disturbed and closed the door. He briefly checked something, I cannot see what, but it is in his desk drawer, and motioned Basil into a soft chair at the side. It is one of a pair that have always been there but I have never seen used. The smell of leather rose around him as he sat.

The Strategos poured them both a goblet of red wine from a bottle in a cupboard before sitting in the other chair. Basil took a sip, savouring the aroma and the flavour. It is a far better quality than I am used to.

"This is a delicate matter," Strategos Panterius said. "The Emperor is quite concerned. I wish that we could do more, but nearly the only resource we can give you is money. Here are a set of saddlebags." He rose and strode over to where a set of good quality, but old and well-used saddlebags sat in a corner, and lifted them up on the desk. "You will see that they look mundane but, if you look here you will see hidden pockets. There is a supply of imperials, sesterces, denarii and numismata, not just in our coins, but also in currency from other realms. Spend it wisely. We cannot give you any magic items that you would not have as a servant. Theodora is a powerful mage and she will sense any magic you are carrying. This is about as far as we can go." He handed Basil a small oak wand the size of a little finger that was in a pouch that would slide easily onto a belt. "Up to eight times a day, on being grasped and given the command 'light', it will produce a flame that will last long enough for you to light a fire. At least you will not need a flint and steel." He handed it over.

Basil lit it and commanded it to go out, before putting it in one of his larger pouches. Useful, and not just for cooking.

"Without magic or any other support, you will have to rely on your cunning and experience. You are one of our fittest agents available; you can run fast, track and hide in the city or the field, and are used to dealing with people and finding things out. In addition, and this suits you most for this mission, you have worked extensively as a servant. You can cook and are experienced in treating wounds. As well you can speak a few outland tongues and look much younger than your twenty-five years. People expect you to be a youth with a youth's lack of experience. They underestimate you. All of this is why I selected you for this task." He paused and sighed again.

Basil was still savouring sitting in the Strategos' office and enjoying the rich wine.

"If you do manage to discover anything of importance to Darkreach, write it down and seal it with this." He pulled out a small cloth bag. In it is a small green cylindrical seal with a complex and unfathomable design on it. I am used to seeing these magical seals with high-ranking officers.

"Hold it in your hand until it goes cold."

Basil did as he was told. It didn't take long.

"Once it is sealed hand it to any of our merchants headed back here. You can promise them a good reward when they hand it to me personally. Tomorrow we will provide you with some good quality weapons, no armour of course. Do you have any questions?" I have many questions, but none that I feel that I can actually ask. Receiving no queries, the Strategos followed on, "Good. Now take your saddlebags home and pack. Say farewell to your family. Remember you are just going away on orders. You may tell them that it will be for a long time. Return here to meet with me at dawn."

"I hear and obey." Basis brought his right hand up in a salute with his fist — thumb on top, over his heart. Putting his new sigil carefully away in a pouch, he picked up the saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder and headed for the door. As he was leaving he paused.

There had been a question floating in the back of my mind. Whatever it was has escaped me. He shook his head and returned home to pack.

* * *

I will take my own weapons now. If I like those they offer me I will leave these behind. Mine are all of reasonable quality and I am used to their feel. He spent time saying goodbye to his brother and his sister-in-law, whom he lived with, and wrote a note to his parents to be sent to them in Southpoint. Like many part-Kharl families, his was career military, in Basil's case in both his Human and his Kichic-kharl lines.

His brother still had the incisors of his ancestors. All that Basil displayed was a faintly reptilian and greenish-hued scaled skin on his chest and back and arms — that and his in-family name. To them he was Kutsulbalik — 'Holy Fish' — the name taken by his great grandfather when he was told that he had to become a Christian to marry his wife to be.

Basil currently had no woman and no other ties. It had not been mentioned, but I suppose that also suits this particular mission. Taking his brother quietly aside, Basil told him that all of his other possessions and money could go to his nephews if he didn't return, or no word came within two years. He wrote out a note to this effect, in case of complications.

* * *

That night they drank heavily and reminisced about their life growing up in the hot and steamy jungles at the southern edge of the Empire, where their family were posted when Basil was young.

In the morning, in the deeper darkness that comes before dawn, after only a few hours sleep, he dressed. Basil went downstairs and said goodbye. Even the youngest are up to say goodbye. He picked up the saddlebags and headed off to the palace.

Despite his nervousness about the mission, he was expected and ushered straight into the Strategos' office as soon as he appeared. Despite the early hour, the office was already busy, but then it always was. Some of its most important work is done at night.

As the first glimmer of light appeared over the sea to the east, Strategos Panterius met Basil with a brusque, "Good, follow me." It is obvious that the Strategos has to be more used to late nights than to early mornings. After all, he wouldn't be losing sleep over the mission, would he?

He led Basil to a room in the stables. There was laid out a set of gear that a servant might have packed: a sheet of canvas, cooking gear, food supplies, two bags of bandages and salves, some healing berries, rope and so on. It was all good quality, and well used.

"Is there anything that you need?" a supply sergeant asked anxiously.

"More salt, pepper and seasonings. I do not know when I will get more. Is there anything my subject particularly likes in the way of food?" he asked the Strategos.

"She has been eating Arabic food since her cousin left," was the reply.

"In that case I also want a steamer, pine nuts, asafoetida, mountain rice, pistachios, currants, dates, date sugar, and both rose and orange water. As well we want a small supply of ready-pulverised kaf, a goodly supply of kaf beans, a small mortar and pestle, and an ibrik to make it up in." He ticked these off on his fingers as he spoke. This was the signal for frantic activity and a hand of waiting servants were sent running. It is gratifying, but worrying, that my word can send so many people springing into action. When all was as Basil wanted, the servants packed everything into two waiting horse packs while Basil was led away to another room to look at some weapons.

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Excerpted from "Intimations of Evil"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Cary J Lenehan.
Excerpted by permission of IFWG Publishing International.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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