Chapter nineteen

Ortia – the Proconsul’s Palace

 

Viola sat and waited for Marthian until she came in from the garden. The proconsul was wearing gloves, and she carried a purple rose in her left hand.

‘What do you think’ she asked, before any greeting, ‘Is purple a good colour for a rose?’

Viola thought for a moment.

‘Not really. I think they look rather artificial’

Marthian smiled.

‘Sad, then, that some Imperial plant breeder spent half her life trying to perfect this particular shade’

‘Yes, I suppose, so…’ Viola’s voice trailed off.

Marthian took her gloves off and carefully placed the purple rose into a vase. She stared at it intently for a few seconds.

‘Don’t tell anyone that I was in the garden when you arrived. The gardeners don’t like me interfering’

She sat down and turned her attention to Viola.

‘Right, captain, where were we?’

‘How to deal with the Hybitor – that’s what we were discussing’

‘Oh yes, Mr Hardacre’

Sometimes Viola wished that her leader would concentrate a little harder.

‘What do you think of him?’ asked Marthian.

‘He seems like an upstanding person; very honest’ replied Viola cautiously.

Marthian considered this, her looks hardened.

‘And can we work with him?’

‘We may have to. At the moment his group seems like the only one that’s really interested in us. Nine hundred years is a long time to wait for an envoy. Well, a human one, anyway’

‘Yes’ Marthian frowned and hesitated, ‘but we know nothing at all about his group. They might be Tlaxacan spies for all we know…’

‘Of course, but that seems unlikely to me’ said Viola, ‘he’s obviously a career diplomat. It’s hard to see how the Cloaks could easily train one of those’

‘…or they could be witches’

They grinned at each other; those old fairy stories filled their heads again.

‘That I can’t deny, ma’am, but not all witches are bad’

‘But aren’t they white witches, the good ones?’

They both shivered, thinking of the white devil in the east.

‘Hopefully not…’ 

Marthian tried to put all these thoughts out of her head and to concentrate on practicalities.

‘We’ll run with this a bit longer, and see what we can find out’

Viola stood up, preparing to leave.

‘I entirely support your decision, proconsul’

‘And, Viola. I’m assigning you to Hardacre, as my liaison officer.’

Viola looked a little surprised by this but not unhappy.

‘Understood, ma’am’

‘Keep close to him. I need to know what’s going on’

 

***

This time Hardacre teleported to just outside the proconsul’s palace (he had been allowed to create a temporary teleport beacon there) and was greeted promptly by Viola, who was well primed to show him proper Elven hospitality. They exchanged polite pleasantries and then she took him to his quarters, a small but comfortably furnished apartment just across the road from the palace.  Viola gave him time to settle in and then they met for lunch, which she arranged to have in the palace meeting room, away from prying eyes. The food was simple, by no means a banquet, as if to indicate to Hardacre how poor supplies were.  

Over lunch Viola was able to get, in sketch form, a history of Eth and Visneoria over the last 900 years. All of that was useful, but she was unable to get anything more concrete from him. He was waiting for his afternoon audience with the proconsul, and Viola knew this. She enjoyed his company, though. He was gracious and polite, and answered her questions clearly and fully.

Marthian had chosen to meet Hardacre up on the battlements, in a tower where they could look out towards Melloreis.  Marthian greeted him.

‘I hope you don’t mind meeting here’

He bowed deeply.

‘Of course not, my lady’

She moved to the edge of the crenulations.

‘Come over here – the view is very fine,’

Hardacre walked over to Marthian, while Viola stood still in the background, trying to blend into the scenery. Marthian noticed this and beckoned to her.

‘And you too, captain, I want to talk to both of you’

Down below them were the rolling shallow hills of the Verdant Plain, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Dotted between the hills were occasional farmsteads, with cattle or arable crops. None of the farms were very big, and they petered out before the horizon – beyond that was just green and brown, with the blue ribbon of the river running through it.

‘This is all we have’ explained Marthian, ‘just a few farms and ranches, along with what we can grow inside the city walls’

She swept her hands round in a full circle, turning slowly on the spot, gesturing across the whole city.

‘And it is the same in all directions – a rather dull landscape to build a city on’ 

Hardacre looked out across the plain, screwing his eyes up to see if he could see anything of the old city. Viola read his mind.

‘There’s no point in looking: there’s nothing to see from here. Melloreis is about sixty miles away and all that’s left is rubble’

Marthian smiled - 'Viola has the most extraordinary vision - it she can't see something then no-one can...'

Hardacre nodded slightly at Viola to acknowledge this skill, and then turned from the battlement edge to address the proconsul.

 ‘So, have you sent any patrols out?’

‘Yes, we always send out patrols a few times a year, just to check our outer defences. We have very few horses though, and replacing them is very expensive’

‘So, you’ve looked recently, have you?’ pressed Hardacre.

‘Yes’ Marthian repeated.

Hardacre drew on his deep reserves of patience.

‘Can I ask you what you found, my lady?’

Marthian continued to stare out across the broad vista.

‘Nothing, we found nothing, just rubble.  A vast city reduced to bits of stone and iron’

‘Did your patrols actually go into the city?’ asked Hardacre.

‘Not all the way in, no. Patrols have done so in the past, and not all of them have ever come back’

‘They have Tlaxacan taints, I think’ interjected Viola

‘Some kind of booby trap?’ asked Hardacre, ‘I know very little about Tlaxacan war craft’

‘It’s not war craft’ Viola retorted vehemently, ‘it’s necromancy. They enchant the remains of the dead to protect themselves. Blood is their religion.’

Hardacre wrinkled his brow.

‘They have undead warriors? Is that it?’

‘No’ replied Viola, her voice rising in tone, ‘they use the dead as repositories of evil magic, like receptacles full of death, or madness. No-one will dare go near’

‘We treat the ruins with some care’ Marthian explained, more calmly, ‘I won’t order any of my patrols within the old city walls’

Hardacre choose his words exceptionally carefully.

‘I wonder whether you should consider more patrols to intercept the scholars, if they come...’  

Marthian gave him a mildly withering look.

‘If you haven’t already…’  Hardacre continued smoothly.

He pressed on, carefully.

‘Obviously we don’t want a party to blunder into Melloreis and get themselves killed.’

‘Although,’ commented Marthian brusquely, ‘it would arguably be their own fault’

Viola found herself nodding, but stopped almost immediately – this really wasn’t a good direction for the conversation to be heading.

‘However, proconsul, you have ordered those patrols, haven’t you’ she said

Marthian looked up sharply at Viola, and then realised what she’d just been saying. Being diplomatic was sometimes rather hard.

‘Yes, well I have. I see no point in wasting innocent lives, however foolish their owners might be,’

‘Thank you, madam’, said Hardacre, ‘that seems eminently sensible’

‘So, that’s our contribution to the problem’ commented Marthian, ‘what’s yours, Mr Hardacre?’

‘We’ll try to find them and dissuade them from coming here. We think that it may well be even more dangerous to tamper with Melloreis than you might think’

‘Why?’ asked Viola.

‘Because there are ancient records of something inside the city, something that we can’t trace at the moment. Whatever it is it’s probably something of great power, which may be better left as it is’

Marthian looked directly at him. He really didn’t look like an evil witch.

‘We have old stories that are very similar, but we have no idea whether they are true’ she said

‘The stories about Quiena?’ murmured Viola.

‘Yes,’ indicated Hardacre, ‘those ones’

‘Which particular story are you thinking of, Mr Hardacre?’ asked Marthian.

‘One concerning the siege of Melloreis. It is said that she helped the dwarves who worked there to build a terrible machine of war. And that that machine may or may not have been completed and may or may not have been destroyed. Either way, it did not prove decisive, and Melloreis fell anyway. If it is still there then it could well be corrupted, tainted or just malfunctioning’

‘But, if it is there, we owe a duty to the Empire to find it and disarm it, or to find a use for it’ said Marthian, ‘we have only not done that because we have had no capacity to deal with it. I assume that you believe that your group has that capacity; is that so?’

‘Again, not alone, but between us, perhaps. A joint expedition might succeed; particularly if we can enlist the help of the scholars. However, all of this theoretical, and will have to be approved by my organisation…’

Viola shuffled on the spot. She couldn’t resist making a contribution.

‘Ma’am, if I may venture, this all sounds exceptionally risky’.

Marthian nodded.

‘Yes it does, but I won’t entirely rule it out, yet’

Hardacre bowed. 

‘Thank you, proconsul’

‘Don’t thank me yet. You don’t know what I’ll decided to do’

Marthian stood for a moment looking out over the landscape. The other two waited for her orders.

‘Let’s bring these mad academics here and find out what they intend to do. As the local Imperial representative I reserve the right to control movement into and through Imperial land. As far as I am concerned Melloreis is still part of the Empire, and they need my permission to explore it’

‘I’m sure that that decision will be acceptable to the Hybitor’ murmured Hardacre.

‘Good’ said Marthian, ‘now – let’s go down and make some more detailed plans’

They descended the steps and went on down into the city.