Chapter 65: Chapter 63 – Conspiracy

What a miserable day this had been. Once again the little southern monkey's camp had gained supporters. Things could not go on like this. Absolutely not! If nothing changed, and soon, her little Pacha would be exiled. With how vicious and vengeful that southern monkey was, her precious boy might even be killed! Her own son, just like that! How dare he!

If only she had sent a proper assassin rather than believe in the words of that useless foreigner. Of course the servants of a merchant would be of no help, how could she ever have thought otherwise? Had she trusted her instincts, she could have solved the problem on the very first night already. Since then, the little bastard had been shielded by all manner of people, as the number of his allies increased day by day.

All the while, her own supporters had been less than helpful. Which was why she, Empress Mother Spuria Ichilia, had been forced to walk past cobwebs and dusty furniture, ever deeper into the bowels of the Ghost Yard.

After she had made the trek through the empty corridors, Spuria reached a door deep within the yard and opened it into a large room. Unlike all the other places she had passed, this one did not seem abandoned. A warm glow came from the coals in the four corners of the room. The large, open windows left a view onto what was left of the Ghost Yard after years of overgrowth, but of course the center piece of the room was the opulent bed, beautifully made up with expensive, purple drapes of silk cloth and expensive dark wood from the northern jungles.

If a stranger were to stumble in here, one would think that the room was possessed by the very ghosts the dim servants believed still roamed these halls, that the ghosts had returned the room back to the time when they were still alive. Of course, Spuria knew better. After all, she had been the one to fix up the bed chamber herself. And the man who waited for her in its center knew better as well.

“So you have come, Celis,” she said. Her voice carried a softness which would shock anyone within the capital.

“What is it you want, Lady Ichilia?” Elder Caelestis replied in a cold voice.

“Oh, Celis. You don't like me any more?” She came up to her co-conspirator and moved in close, so she could take in those eyes of his. Those eyes she had lost herself in all those years ago.

“Enough! Away from me, viper!” the Elder shouted. In an attempt to push away his lover, push away reality, he ran over to the window and stared outside. Annoyed, Spuria uttered the lightest of sighs. So light in fact, that the elder could not possibly hear it.

This had always been her man's biggest problem. He would dare to do things, but wouldn't dare to stand up to his own deeds, his head always buried in the sand. It was her fault, really, that she had fallen for someone as weak as this. With quiet steps she came next to her man and put her hand on his shoulder. She leaned her body outside and into the cold air and turned her head so she could look at him before she continued. This was no time for a lover's quarrel. Rather, there were important questions to be asked.

“Only three more days until the Ancestral Hall meets up and that grandson of yours is gaining more and more votes from the estates. What do you intend to do about that?”

Caelestis still refused to face her. His profile just stared out into the darkness as he answered in a gloomy voice.

“There's nothing to do. You don't know about the kind of support Pacha has in the hall. No matter what Laqhis does, no matter how many lords he gathers, he will never be emperor.”

“Nothing you can do, really? So how is the brat's search for his father's killer going? I hear you have provided some splendid support.”

Spuria's words stung Caelestis like knives as he flinched back.

“...I have done all I need to. Laqhis won't gain anything useful from what he has been given. He won't find out anything. Just remember our agreement. No harm will come to Laqhis. Amautu as well. Once all of this is over, we'll just send them somewhere safe.”

“You are awfully concerned for them, are you not? I begin to question your commitment. Don't you want your son to be emperor? Pacha has done whatever he could to please you, and yet, ever since that dark-skinned bastard has come back from the barbarian lands, you only spend your time with him.”

Again the Elder sighed. It was all he had done since that favorite grandson of his had returned. Spuria knew the man as weak, as someone who could buckle under his own emotions at any moment. That he might ruin her plans. Thus, she made an important decision: She had to force his hand. If she needed to choose between her lover and their son, there wasn't a second choice but this.

“And lest you forget, Caelestis: I know what you did. You don't want anyone to find out about your other son, do you?”

“You...” His face turned red from anger and impotence, Caelestis finally turned his head to meet Spuria's gaze. As always, her eyes remained firm, but his swam around in panic. Spuria knew that in his head, he was weighing his options. Whether he should apologize, beg for mercy or simply kill her. She knew that he was weak, that he would never choose the latter, so she could safely twist the knife.

“I'll tell you now: If Pacha does not get nominated in three days, by the morning of the fourth all of Arguna will know just who killed my husband.”

The Elder's eyes trembled. While he was still lost on how to react, his head shot up from between his shoulders and faced into the yard, without warning.

“Who!”, he shouted in a mixture of anger and panic. Although Spuria had heard nothing, as a woman she had never been allowed to cultivate the techniques of the lords. At least in this matter, she should trust the former Emperor of Medala.

“You go back to your yard! Let no one see you!” Caelestis ordered her as he vaulted out of the window.

As fast as she could, Spuria extinguished the coals and then made her way back home in the darkness of the night. In the distance she could hear screams of “INTRUDER!”, which had become all too familiar in the capital these days. All she could do right now was trust her man. It didn't fill her with confidence.

 

---

 

Unbelievable. Impossible.

That was all he could think at the moment.

Once Prince Corco's order had come, they had waited at the Ghost Yard for several days. Infiltration into the old, abandoned yard had been easier than expected, but once inside, they had only found dust. First they had been convinced that Prince Amautu's clue had been a hoax.

You are reading story Enlightened Empire at novel35.com

Later, they had found the secret room, and had realized that something was wrong. When he had taken over this night shift, he had dreamed up many theories on what went on in these halls, but never had he expected to find what he found today. When the Empress Mother had revealed her shamelessness as much as the former emperor's malice, he had already been enraged. However, with the last implication, his emotions had finally boiled over.

He could no longer control himself. The culprit who had killed the emperor, the man who had thrust not only him into hell, but also the general and all his brothers and sisters throughout the city, already in their graves. The anger had made him careless. He had made a mistake. A single misstep and the lightest sound had been enough for the ears of a powerful cultivator. That was why he had been caught by the vicious old man who had killed his own son.

“INTRUDER!”

He had to focus. Get out of here. He wasn't sure if he could take on the elder in a one on one fight, but his own revenge was not what mattered for now. The others needed to know. They needed to know what he had found out here today. At any prize.

With silenced steps he rushed through the empty hallways, as the lights around him turned on one by one like the opening eyes of predators. Soon, he would be trapped. Rather than make his way to the inner wall or one of the exits, he decided to go for the river. The iron lattice where the Argu River cut through inner wall would stop him on any other day, but luckily, they had come prepared.

“He's here! Catch him!”

Around the corner, he could see several sipyi warriors, elite guards. Unfazed, he jumped through the archway and into the garden to his side. Just through here and another row of rooms and he would reach the river. Against the glow of the waxing moon, he could see several silhouetted figures on the roofs. This was bad. No, it was terrible: Bolas! The throwing weapons were specially employed to deal with cultivators. No matter one's strength, speed or armor, everyone would suffer equally from being bound.

He had been convinced they wouldn't try to pass him off here, in the back of the castle. Either they had anticipated his move, or they had already mobilized all the guards and were everywhere. With practiced accuracy, the slingers on the roof threw their weapons.

If they had been archers it wouldn't have been so bad. With his speed and under the cover of night, the chances for a hit wouldn't have been too good. He could also take an arrow or two and ignore the wounds. At least he could guarantee that he wouldn't bleed out before he reached his goal. The Bolas were different. One hit and the warriors on his heels would catch up. He turned around to see the weighted ropes fly towards him.

Two, no, three good throws. Get through somehow.

He dug his heel into the ground and changed direction towards the slingers.

Run under the first two.

He kneeled down and put his shoulder forward. The rope failed to immobilize his legs, but the weights still wrapped around his upper body and twisted into each other.

Good, he could still use his legs.

He had avoided the worst case, but his little detour had wasted too much time and momentum. The warriors were far too close now.

Again he changed direction. Across the yard. To the rooms. Quickly, before they could throw again. Before they would catch up. Suddenly, he felt a hot knife run across his back. One of the warriors had thrown something. He stumbled forward, but his trained legs soon got back up to speed.

Still can move. Doesn't matter.

His arms were almost entirely bound, so all he could do to protect his face was to turn his head to the side as he burst through the paper door.

More blood. There might be scars too. One eye can't see.

Doesn't matter. Reach the window.

He felt the cold wind of death as an axe missed his head by a hair and flew past him to smash a hole into the window.

An opening. Perfect. Just need to make it bigger. The river is right below. No more need to try and stay on your feet.

Shoulder first, he flung himself at the slit in the window, which burst open and released him into the coldness of the night. A few, endless moments of weightless, disorienting free fall before he hit the hard surface. At once he tried to right himself. Where was up? He wasn't sure.

No hands either. No, wait!

Somehow, in the confusion of the fall, the rope had moved up his arm just by a bit. Now he had half a good hand to work with and his flailing feet had just found the stone surface under water. In a desperate struggle, he made his way towards the surface, towards the faint moonlight. At the same time, he began to work his way downstream. As fast as he could.

Can't come up in the same place.

After what had felt like hours, but could not have been more than a few seconds, he broke through the surface of the water again. Like groups of fireflies, the river reflected the agitated torches from the castle above. In the distance he could hear the shouts again, and deep within his bones, he began to feel the impossible, freezing cold of the Argu River sap the life out of his body.

He couldn't swim all the way out of the palace, not in his state. Luckily, he didn't have to. Somehow, his shivering body made its way to one of the emergency measures they had prepared these past few days. Once he had reached the ring, he loosened the rope with his one clumsy hand as his head kept going in and out of water. Cork, the young master had called it. Finally, he had freed the strange device and dragged his exhausted body on top of it. Now the vurrent would carry him downstream, where his brothers were already waiting for him.

Luckily, they had come prepared.