Heirs of Empire

A white-haired, magnificently uniformed officer with the heavy golden chain of a high-captain dismounted and advanced on the waiting Malagorans. He’d obviously been briefed on who to look for, and Sean wasn’t exactly hard to spot as he towered over the Pardalians about him.

“Lord Sean,” the Guardsman touched his breastplate in formal salute, “I am High-Captain Kerist, second-in-command to Lord Marshal Surak.”

“High-Captain Kerist.” Sean returned the salute, then nodded to the pavilions which had been erected near at hand. “As you see, High-Captain, we’ve prepared a place for you and our other visitors”—Kerist’s eyes glittered with wintry amusement at Sean’s choice of nouns— “to await our return. I trust you’ll all be comfortable, and please inform one of my aides if you have any needs we’ve failed to anticipate.”

“Thank you,” Kerist said. He gave quiet orders to the escort, and the hostages moved towards the pavilions. Sean watched them go and felt a small temptation to go over and introduce himself to Corada, but only a small one. The Circle’s decision to meet in the Church Chancery rather than the Sanctum signaled its intent to keep this a matter between soldiers, at least initially, and there was no point risking misunderstandings.

“This is Captain Harkah, my nephew,” Kerist said, indicating a much younger officer who’d dismounted beside him. “He’ll be your guide to the parley site.”

“Thank you, High-Captain. In that case, Lord Tamman and I should be going. I hope to have the chance to speak further with you when I return.”

“As God wills, Lord Sean,” Kerist said politely, and Sean hid a smile as they exchanged salutes once more and the high-captain moved away to join the other hostages. An entire regiment of riflemen stood sentry duty around the pavilions, both to insure their privacy and to keep them out of mischief, and Sean glanced at Tamman.

“Let’s do it,” he said shortly in English.

“May the Force be with us,” Tamman replied solemnly in the same language, and despite his tension, Sean gri

“I wish you were coming along,” he said with quiet sincerity, “but with me and Tam both in the city, I need you here.”

“Understood, Lord Sean.” Tibold spoke calmly, but there was a parental anxiety in his eyes as he faced his towering young commander. “You be careful in there.”

“I will. And you stay ready out here.”

“We will.”

“Good.”

Sean squeezed the ex-Guardsman’s hand firmly, then mounted his own branahlk. He would vastly prefer to have met the Temple’s representatives in some neutral spot well away from either army, but things didn’t work that way here. The I

The rest of the Angels’ Army was at instant readiness for combat. They hadn’t been blatant about it, but they hadn’t hidden it, either. In fact, they wanted the Temple to know their guard was up.

Sean drew rein beside Tamman and Captain Harkah and nodded to High-Captain Folmak. The miller-turned-brigadier and his First Brigade deserved to be here for this moment, and he smiled hugely.

“Ready to proceed, Lord Sean!” he barked.

“Then let’s,” Sean replied, and the pipes began to drone as the column moved off.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sean, Tamman, and Captain Harkah followed the vanguard as First Brigade marched down the North Way, one of the four principal avenues that converged on the Sanctum itself, and Sean marveled at the city’s size and beauty. The Church had lavished Pardalian centuries of wealth and artistry upon its capital, and it showed. Yet for all the Temple’s beauty, Sean sensed an underlying arrogance in its spacious buildings and broad streets. This was more than a city of religion; it was an imperial capital, mistress of its entire world, exulting as much in its secular power as in the glory of God. It made him uncomfortable, and he wondered how much of that stemmed from distaste and how much from knowing the trap this city could become if something went wrong.

He watched the Guard pikemen who lined the street as an honor guard. They were only a single rank deep, too spread out to pose any threat, but he noted the wary eye Folmak’s officers kept upon them. Tibold had insisted that the negotiators’ “bodyguards” should march with loaded weapons, and Sean hadn’t argued. Now he wondered if he should have. If someone thought he saw a threatening movement and opened up…

He snorted at his own ability to find things to worry about and reminded himself every man in Folmak’s brigade was a veteran. Poised on a hair trigger or no, they knew better than to fire without orders—unless, of course, some maniac was crazy enough actually to attack them!

He turned his head and smiled at Tamman, hoping he looked as calm as his friend, and made himself relax.

High Priest Vroxhan stood on the Chancery roof and gazed impatiently up the axe-straight North Way. He’d chosen this spot for the parley because it stood on the south side of the Temple’s largest square, the Place of Martyrs, and despite his tension he smiled grimly at the aptness of that name.

The van of the heretic column came into sight, and the high priest’s hard eyes blazed. Soon, he thought. Very soon, now.

“Sean!”

Sean’s head snapped up as Sandy screamed his name. Not over the com—in person!

He whipped around in the saddle, and his face twisted in mingled disbelief and fury as a very small figure in the breastplate and body armor of an officer spurred her branahlk forward.

“What the hell do you think—?” he began in English, but then her expression registered.

“Sean, it’s a trap!” she shouted in the same language.

“What?”

Her branahlk sent the last few men scampering aside as she forced it up beside him.

“Aren’t you using your implants?!”

“Of course not! If the computer picked them up—”

“Damn it, there’s no time for that! Kick them up—now!”

He stared at her, then brought up his implanted sensors, and his face went pale as they picked up the solid blocks of armed men closing in down the side streets which paralleled the North Way.

For one terrible moment, his brain completely froze. They were ten kilometers from the gates, halfway to the city’s center. If he tried to turn around, those flanking pikes would close in through every intersection and cut his column to pieces. But if he didn’t retreat—

He jerked his mind back to life, and his thoughts flashed like lightning. The column was still moving forward, unaware of the trap into which he’d led it, and so were the Guard formations closing in upon it. They were almost into a huge, paved square—it was over a kilometer and a half across, and he could see the enormous fountains at its center splashing merrily in the sunlight—and the Temple’s intention was obvious. Once his men were out into the open, the ambushers would close in from all directions and crush them. But no attackers were following behind them, so if the Guard wanted to hit them—