The Serpent Bride. Sara Douglass
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I be so unfortunate as to lose any one of you. You are all, naturally, aware of Axis’ stunning prowess as a military commander.”
Stars, thought Axis, now I shall have to look out for the knife in my back, as well!
He happened to catch Ezekiel’s glance, and was surprised to see amusement dancing there. Axis instantly revised his earlier estimation of him, thinking that the man might prove a worthwhile ally one day.
Ezekiel was true to Isaiah, and would support no rebellion against the tyrant.
“To matters at hand,” Isaiah said, waving the generals forward to the table. “We need to discuss our preparations for invasion. Reports?”
For the next half an hour each general gave a terse summary of the current state of readiness. At this point, approximately a year away from actual invasion, the emphasis was on gathering new recruits, training, and on stockpiling equipment and supplies.
Axis was stunned by the size of the army that Isaiah was gathering — it would be at least half a million men, and probably much, much larger.
“I would also like to raise the subject of resettlement at this time,” Isaiah said.
“Resettlement?” Axis said, then apologised for his interruption.
“Whenever a tyrant gathers to himself a new dependency,” Ezekiel said, “he ensures its ‘loyalty’ by moving into its territories large numbers of Isembaardians to settle the new lands.” He looked at Isaiah. “But this is not normally something we plan until our victory is assured.”
“Consider my victory assured,” Isaiah snapped, “and consider it time to begin the planning for resettlement now.” He pulled a map towards him, then tapped the upper corner of it. “The north-west of the Tyranny — the FarReach and En-Dor Dependencies — are poor and their peoples struggling,” he said. “They shall be happy to remove themselves to the gentler and more fertile pastures of the Outlands or the Central Kingdoms above the FarReach Mountains.”
The five generals just stared at him.
“But —” Morfah began.
“You will be responsible for their organisation, Morfah,” said Isaiah, “together with Ezekiel. Unless you both feel yourselves incapable.”
No one said anything, but again there were hurried glances among the generals.
“Or unless you wish me to bring someone else back from death to deal with it for you,” Isaiah said.
“Your order,” said Ezekiel in a smooth, calm voice, “is as always my command. Let us not disturb the dead any more than we need to. Morfah and I will see to it, Excellency. At what point after the invasion do you wish the peoples of En-Dor and the FarReach Dependencies to begin the long trek north into —”
“They shall move with the invasion,” Isaiah said. “Thus they shall need to be informed now that new lands await them and they need to begin making preparations for their journey north.”
“With the invasion?” Lamiah said, adding almost as an afterthought, “Excellency?”
“The Outlands and Central Kingdoms are very far away from the main bulk of the Tyranny,” said Isaiah. “They need to be settled as rapidly as possible. The peoples of the En-Dor and FarReach Dependencies shall follow directly behind the main military convoy.”
“They are not going to be happy to be ordered from their homelands,” Morfah muttered.
“Then your silver tongue shall be needed to persuade them,” Isaiah said. “And persuade them you will, Morfah … Ezekiel.”
They both gave small, stiff bows of acquiescence.
“Together with the army and the settlers,” Axis said once the five generals had left, “how many people will there be in the convoy, Isaiah?”
“A million, maybe a little more.”
Axis could say nothing for a moment. A million people? “The logistics …” he said.
“Are a nightmare,” said Isaiah. “No wonder I needed you back from death to advise and aid me, eh? I cannot be everywhere at once.”
Axis just shook his head. A million people. He couldn’t escape the feeling that Isaiah was heading directly for his second military fiasco.
Stars alone knew what the generals were thinking.
WEST OF PELEMERE, CENTRAL KINGDOMS
They had been on the road for weeks, and Maximilian was enjoying the freedom. He appreciated the chance to catch up with old friends. He knew all the kings of the Central Kingdoms, some better than others. Malat, who ruled over Kyros, was a good friend, and his son, Borchard, an even better one. Maximilian had enjoyed his four-day stay in Kyros immensely, although the good-natured pre-nuptial ribbing of Borchard was something he was thankful to escape.
He worried a little about leaving Escator, but that worry was mainly engendered by guilt at enjoying his freedom so greatly. The Privy Council were capable enough of managing the kingdom’s daily affairs, and all would manage nicely without him.
Some of Maximilian’s enjoyment began to pall as they drew closer to Pelemere. Ishbel was near, an equal distance to the east of Pelemere, according to the report of a passing Icarii, as he was to the west and now all of Maximilian’s attention was focused on their meeting.
What would she truly be like, this serpent bride? What was her purpose: to become his wife and bear his children, or to deliver a darker message into his life?
Together with his increasing anxiety about Ishbel, Maximilian was also growing a little irritable with the constant company. Garth and Egalion were his close friends, and he knew the men of the Emerald Guard intimately. While he enjoyed their company, Maximilian was so solitary by nature, a trait exacerbated by his seventeen-year imprisonment, that he found the constant company trying. He found himself dreaming about pushing his horse into a gallop across a vast plain, seeing nothing but the gently rolling grasslands ahead of him, enjoying no company save that of his horse, having to respond to nothing more than the sun on his face and the wind in his hair.
And soon he would have a wife.
Six days out of Pelemere, Maximilian’s rising anxiety and irritation combined to push him to a sudden decision.
“Egalion,” he said, as they dismounted for the evening, “I am going to take a few stores, and a bedding roll, and ride off by myself for a few days.”
“Maximilian —”
“I need to get away, Egalion. Just by myself. Just for a few days. You know how …”
Maximilian’s voice drifted away, and Egalion nodded. Yes, he knew “how”. Maximilian had spent seventeen years chained to a gang of men, and Egalion knew that sometimes it seemed to Maximilian as if those chains had never vanished.
“You need to keep safe,” Egalion said.
“I don’t need a guard.” Maximilian’s voice was sharp.
“I won’t send men to shadow you, Maximilian. But keep safe.”
Maximilian tried a small smile, which didn’t quite manage to warm into life. “What part of the world can be more boring, more safe, than the western plains of Pelemere, my friend?”
Garth had wandered over and had heard enough of the conversation to know what was happening. “Maxel?”
“The hanging wall,” Maximilian said, referring to the ceiling of rock that had hung over him for so much of