The Scarab Path

So he commandeered an automotive. What was the point of being Regent of the Empire unless you could do that? He knew it to be an empty honour, but that was not general knowledge. His two-man crew of driver and engineer/artillerist were more than happy to break away from the plodding convoy and make best speed along the dusty roads leading north to So

So

Changes were happening in So

When he disembarked, he realized why. The place was seething with artificers already installing the factory machines, the boilers and steam-powered toolbenches and assembly lines. Many were local people but many more were not. Thalric had travelled enough to recognize Helleren men and women. They had come here in their droves, wearing their scuffed leather and canvas, to sell their expertise to an Empire that only last year had claimed conquest of their native city. Helleron was now proudly neutral again, and no hard feelings, so tramp artificers were flooding in to help the Empire rebuild its losses and to take Imperial coin in exchange for the uncertainties of working for such a belligerent employer. The Helleren were good at what they did, better than any of their Imperial counterparts. They swallowed their pride and doubled their fees, and there were so many of them in So

Thalric had heard that the late General Malkan of the Seventh Army had conquered Helleron single-handed merely with a threat. When the Empire turned its attention west again, he reckoned that the reconquest could probably be effected by letter.

He abandoned his automotive at So

By train he travelled to Capitas wearing anonymous Imperial armour, just a soldier engaged on official business. This anonymity served a purpose, but he was surprised to find what a weight it lifted from him. For such an empty honour, the title of Regent was a heavy thing to bear.

The weight of it came back to him once the outskirts of Capitas began passing by on either side. The rail depot was located in view of the great ziggurat of the Imperial palace. The sight of it made his stomach twitch.

Someone tried to have me killed.

Just seeing the palace, and what it represented, he could barely think about the assassination. There are worse things in life than being killed.

They had put up a gilded statue of Alvdan the Second before the gates of the palace. It was interesting, in Thalric's opinion, how the glitter of the gold distracted from the fundamentally mediocre workmanship. He passed it quickly, because the really clever statue was inside. The grand entrance hall of the Imperial palace had once been darker, all guards and armour and the iron fist of power. The Empress had since ordered two more windows to be sunk through the stone, so it was now as bright and airy as a garden when the sun came from the right quarter. At its heart the first thing every visitor, general, dignitary or ambassador saw was the statue.

The likeness of Seda was stylized but unmistakable. The sculptor genius had eloquently portrayed her determination, her youth, her femininity. It showed her with a spear held proudly in one hand, a shield in the other, representing the hope of the Empire. Her image was at the centre, but kneeling, and around and behind her stood her people. They stood tall, protecting her without overshadowing her, and they were cast in the same heroic ma

In this statue, he could look on the face of Seda and not quail. Now he braced himself for the real thing.

The style at the Imperial court was currently for robes, or for tunics with long sleeves that hung uselessly behind the arms like limp wings. Thalric, however, dressed like a military man of high station, in white tunic and a cloak edged with black and gold. It was a kind of desperate defiance, his private little rebellion that he knew would be overlooked.

Alvdan had kept his throne room empty, that was another thing. He had held his councils and conferences, but afterwards the great room had lain empty save for dusting servants. Seda kept a proper court, however. It was part of the strategy she had devised.

By that strategy, she had made them love her. That was her own genius, of which the sculpture was just part. The Wasp-kinden were ruled by men, had been led by men always. On her accession, even with the support of many of their leaders, Seda had been hard pressed to prevent anarchy. If she had merely relied on her own right to autocratic power, issued orders and demanded obedience, she would quickly have fallen. They would have torn her apart in the streets.

She had made them love her. She had assumed the traditional role of a Wasp woman, meek and subservient and weak, and made something of it. She did not demand servitude from her men, she begged their protection. She made them see her as vulnerable, as the last faint hope of the honoured Imperial bloodline that only they could save. She wooed them with her needs, her inabilities. She was the Bride of the Empire, and each one of them, in his way, was her guardian and partner. She made each man believe that by serving her he was personally saving the Empire. In flaunting her weakness, in inviting their support, she got them to do anything she wanted, and made them love her in the bargain.

They fell over each other to display to her their loyalty, their strength. She juggled them like an expert and they never ever realized. Thalric, from his privileged vantage point, had seen it all. He might have found it amusing had he not known.

As he walked in, heads turned. They were all here, three score of them and more: military officers, Consortium factors, scions of wealthy families. Each day they came to the palace and huddled and talked and schemed against one another, and waited. They waited Her Imperial Majesty's pleasure. They waited for her to make her appearance, so that they could prove themselves to her.