Treason or Revolution? (4)
Benelia gave the order to dismiss the emperor, who stood before her as though turned to stone.
Her knights took hold of him and all but dragged him from the room. By the time he was allowed to pass out through the city gates, he looked utterly spent.
Dehelm was waiting outside with the imperial army. One look at the emperor's face was enough to fill him with dread.
The emperor still wore splendid armor, and his warhorse was richly caparisoned. But there was not a trace of hope left in his eyes.
He rode through a broad puddle and stopped before the ranks.
Forty-five thousand soldiers watched him.
He had only two choices: order an attack he could not win, or surrender and stain the name of Calvanes in the histories to come.
He remained silent for a long while. At last, his lips trembled.
“Power…”
The words scarcely carried. Unease stirred through the waiting army.
Then the emperor forced out his command.
“Surrender. Lay down your weapons and enter the city…”
The murmurs grew louder. Officers began to argue; Leonhard went pale. The pope clenched his jaw, and Dehelm could only look up at the sky.
Yet no one immediately dropped a weapon.
The command was too extraordinary for the men to absorb. They stood motionless, as though every voice in the army had been silenced at once.
They could not simply dismiss it, either. Benelia was right: an assault across the mud would turn them into corpses.
Leonhard, however, would not accept defeat.
“Father! Surrender? What are you saying?”
The emperor lowered his eyes, unable to meet his son's outrage.
“Don't you see? A siege is a battle we can only lose.”
“No! Those men on the walls are rabble. Our imperial army is trained and disciplined! You can't decide the outcome on numbers alone. Withdraw the order!”
“Son. We're not facing only Benelia's army.”
“Father?”
Dehelm answered when the emperor would not.
“Your Highness, consider where Princess Benelia went. She marched into Grimund Forest, an ideal place to conceal a great spatial-transfer circle. The trees hide it on every side, and even looking down from the sky would reveal little.”
“But what does that change? She's still gathered nothing but rabble!”
Dehelm sighed and regarded the prince with weary eyes.
“His Majesty has just told you. We aren't facing only Benelia's soldiers. How could she have built and hidden a circle of that size in Grimund Forest?”
Leonhard stared, slowly understanding what Dehelm meant.
“Exactly,” Dehelm continued. “Somehow Princess Benelia reached an agreement with the demons. If His Majesty orders an attack on the city, those demons may strike our rear from the forest.”
Against the mud, the walls, the witches, and an assault from behind, the imperial army would face annihilation.
Men might scramble up the fortifications only to escape the monsters. Paladins could be cut down far from any imagined glorious victory. In Dehelm's mind, every possible outcome ended in screams and slaughter.
“That illegitimate brat…” Leonhard whispered.
How long had Benelia been planning this? Had her supposed foolishness been an act all along?
Fear broke through his anger.
No one else spoke. The army waited for its emperor to decide whether to persist in a futile fight.
“Once more…” the emperor said.
A tear ran down his face.
He drew his sword. Then, with the whole army watching, he threw it into the mud.
“Lay down your weapons…”
One by one, the soldiers followed. Swords and spears dropped to the ground. Knights and officers surrendered their arms beside them.
Rain fell over the enormous, silent procession of defeat, broken only by the clatter of weapons being laid down.
A week later.
The throne room of the Imperial Palace.
“Your Majesty, as ordered, the prime minister, the chief secretary, and the treasury minister have been executed. We've appointed replacements and reorganized much of the imperial household's administration.”
Benelia was examining the paintings in the throne room while her aide and lieutenant, Proban, delivered his report.
“Very good.”
“The treasury minister resisted with soldiers until the end, then began weeping and begging to be spared. A miserable way to die.”
The emperor's surrender had allowed Benelia to secure power with little further resistance. Her first order upon seizing the government had been to remove the ministers who had manipulated the former ruler and taken bribes.
Not every minister had been killed. Some were spared because they had simply followed orders; others remained useful.
The minister responsible for cavalry had not been involved in the conspiracy, so Benelia left him alone.
Duke Brillt Adenoel, minister of the imperial household, was another matter. Benelia knew he had been one of the plotters. Yet she had spared him because he could still serve a purpose.
“What of Duke Brillt? Has he accepted my offer?”
“He has. It seems he considered it carefully before agreeing. Mages from the Tower will soon inscribe the mark upon him. As a precaution, we've also seized his property and private soldiers.”
“Excellent.”
Her offer had been simple. In exchange for his life and position, Brillt would accept an indelible magical mark.
It would be an explosive enchantment. Once it was inscribed, Benelia could speak the designated words and kill him wherever he happened to be. Brillt would be a subordinate kept obedient by the threat of instant death.
The arrangement would also help her bring the imperial household's extensive wealth and bureaucracy under control. Rather than replace every official at once, she could use the existing structure and gradually bring it to heel.
Proban admired the efficiency of the decision, even if its severity was unmistakable.
He raised another set of documents and smiled.
“It's a little late, but allow me to congratulate you.”
“For what?”
“You have the Empire you wanted. Now that we're arranging the coronation—”
He stopped at the sound of a commotion outside.
Bodies collided in the corridor. Someone was shouting and swearing.
The door flew open, and Leonhard von Esteban stumbled into the throne room.
“Benelia…!”
His ash-colored hair was disheveled, his eyes wild. He smelled strongly of drink, as though he had spent the past several days trying to drown himself in it.
“My dear little sister! You're looking well!”
His laugh was strained. He moved toward her with his arms outstretched, as if expecting an embrace.
Benelia looked at him without pleasure.
“What do you want?”
“Must I have a reason to visit my precious sister? I only wanted to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you. Leave me.”
His smile faltered.
“Please. Don't be like that. We're family, aren't we?”
“I don't understand what you're trying to say.”
“I heard… that Father has been confined in the White Palace Tower.”
“Confined? He's being protected there. Given the possibility of further threats, he needs guards and a secure residence.”
Benelia spoke as though the distinction were obvious. Leonhard understood perfectly well that she had placed their father under arrest in everything but name. With the ministers gone, her control of the Empire was complete.
He clenched his fists.
“Please… forgive me.”
“Forgive you? You're making even less sense than usual, Brother.”
“I know everything now.”
He lowered himself to his knees before her.
“I saw the letter you ordered sent. The one saying I was to be exiled to Santa Raon.”
“Yes. It's a pleasant village, with clear water and fresh air. Is there a problem?”
The village did have good soil and clean water. Its record as a place of royal exile was less inviting. Those sent there had a habit of falling prey to bandits and never returning.
It took no great insight to wonder who arranged the bandit attacks. For generations, exile to Santa Raon had served as a discreet death sentence within the royal family.
Leonhard knew it. His eyes filled with tears.
“Let me live. Please…”
“What are you talking about? Why would I kill my brother?”
Benelia knelt beside him and gently took his hand. She lifted it and pressed it against her own throat.
“Brother. Do you remember? That was such a happy memory.”
Leonhard trembled.
“I'd like to give you happy memories too,” she continued with a faint smile. “Though I doubt you'll ever have the chance to speak of them.”
She rose, releasing his hand, and took a handkerchief from her coat to wipe her neck.
Leonhard bowed until his forehead touched the floor.
“Benelia! My little sister, no—!”
His voice rose to a desperate cry.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty the Emperor! Please spare this wretched man's life!”
Benelia felt no particular satisfaction. She sighed and gave a small signal with her hand.
The waiting knights seized Leonhard and dragged him away.
“Your Majesty! Forgive me! Please—!”
His pleas echoed down the corridor until they faded. Benelia did not look after him.
When the room grew quiet, Proban cleared his throat.
“Your Majesty… May we resume? Shall we proceed with preparations for the coronation?”
“Of course. Prepare the invitations and send the usual letters…”
Benelia paused as a thought occurred to her.
“No. Leave Theorad Deharem off the list.”
“Your Majesty? Why?”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“I'll write to him myself.”