White Lady’s mercenaries,’ replied the Halfmage. ‘Ah, that and the small matter of the lump protruding from my arse.’
The new Master of Information frowned. It was the ratty old physician he had seen tending to Salazar in the dungeons. What was his name? Remy? The man had apparently earned his position for some service he had performed for the Council in weeks past. Of the thirteen magistrates that had been present during the attempt on Salazar’s life, only four had survived. New magistrates had been sworn in to replace those killed, but three seats still remained empty. It would seem that men possessed of the qualities to serve the city in the highest capacity were difficult to find. Deceitfulness, cowardice, shameless arselickery. Why haven’t I been made a magistrate?
‘Warm water with lavender extract,’ said Remy. ‘Apply twice daily, before and after rest—’
‘The Halfmage is not here to discuss his well-being,’ said the Supreme Augmentor, interrupting the physician-turned-spymaster. ‘He is to help prepare the city’s defences against the three thousand Sumnians who will soon be at our gates.’
Marshal Halendorf adjusted his collar and wiped at his brow, which was soaked in sweat. The fleshy commander of Dorminia’s army looked pale and was obviously unwell, but the urgency of the situation had demanded his presence at this council meeting.
‘The Watch number a thousand strong,’ he said. ‘The camp east of the city holds seven thousand militia. My officers are doing the best they can to beat them into an army worth a damn, but they are proving obstinate.’
‘Obstinate?’ repeated Salazar. Eremul almost shuddered at the annoyance in the Magelord’s voice. Creator knew he wanted nothing more than to see Salazar dead, but the truth was that the Tyrant of Dorminia terrified him more than anything else in the world. ‘They are reluctant to defend their homes? Their families?’
Marshal Halendorf went even paler. ‘They… ah, that is to say…’
‘Yes, Marshal?’
‘My lord… It’s been said by some that the White Lady doesn’t intend to destroy the city. Rather, she wants to, ah, liberate it.’
‘Liberate it.’ The Magelord repeated the words slowly, as if every syllable was a thousand-ton hammer beating down on the men in the chamber.
Eremul could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He wished he were anywhere but here at this table. Even down in the dungeons, strapped to a cold slab. At least the men who had cut off his legs were, loosely speaking, human. They had probably felt something while mutilating him, even if it was only a sick pleasure. Salazar would snuff out his life as if he were an insect and not give it a second’s thought.
‘You will have any man who fails to show sufficient enthusiasm whipped,’ said the Magelord. ‘Any man who voices discontent about defending his own city will lose his tongue. Am I understood?’
Halendorf swallowed and nodded.
‘We have lost the mine at the Wailing Rift. The ships we sent to the Swell have not returned.’ Salazar’s eyes narrowed in anger. His oiled moustache twitched. Everyone seated at the table drew back a fraction. ‘I will tolerate no dissidence in this city. I want mindhawks on every corner. Anyone plotting against me will be put to death. Men and women, the young and the old. I care not.’
‘It will be done, my lord,’ said Timerus. The Grand Magistrate cleared his throat nervously. ‘I must confess that we found no signs of the Thelassan ship which attacked us last week.’
Eremul tried to feign a bemused expression. He had already learned of the confrontation between a group of Augmentor-led Watchmen and a lone vessel from the City of Towers.
‘Brianna,’ said the Magelord, uttering the name like a curse. ‘She now suckles at the White Lady’s teats.’
According to the report the Halfmage had received, a group of soldiers had chased a small band of rebels from the village of Farrowgate down to Deadman’s Channel. A brief and bloody massacre would have followed but for the timely arrival of a caravel flying the colours of the White Lady. Aboard the vessel was none other than Brianna, formerly one of Dorminia’s most powerful wizards and a survivor of the Culling. She had chased off the pursuing soldiers with a magical assault that had devastated a small stretch of the coastline. Two Highlanders had been involved – as had, Eremul did not doubt, a certain insipid manservant.
The sudden appearance of a Thelassan ship to save the day struck him as fortuitous to say the least, but the exact details of