Imperialist: The Voyage

Chapter Twenty-two; Honour

Morabi shook his head and got up. He strolled to one end of the tent, before returning.

"Let me tell you what will happen. Those walls were reinforced under the reign of Emperor Abdullah II by fifteen additional feet of stone. In most of the wall, it's as thick as fifty feet. So you'll spend at least five months during this siege, wasting ammunition and coming under attack from imperial archers, until you find the weak spots."

"And I assume you know where these weak spots are?" Strackon asked.

"Of course!" Morabi looked at each of them in the face. "I've spent almost forty years close to the Imperial throne. I was there when it all happened."

Votrek looked at Corber.

"Well, what do you think?"

Corber did not hesitate.

"Your majesty, I don't trust him. He could be using us. He could feed us false information and sabotage the war. What if he's a double spy for Kelita?"

"Hmmm..." Votrek stroked his pointy beard and studied Morabi. "Setty?"

Setty shifted uncomfortably. "I think we have more to gain than lose, by giving Morabi a chance to prove that he does have valuable information. What we cannot afford, is to be bogged down in a five-month long siege."

Vorrei nodded absently. He shifted his gaze to Strackon.

"Lord Strackon, out of all of us you knew him best. What do you say? Can we trust him?"

Strackon's gaze hardened.

"The Morabi I know devoted his life to serving the emperor. Heck, he owes everything he is today to the emperor. During the secession crisis, when Emperor Abdullah II's wife was kidnapped by the elephant master, he remained loyal even when it seemed all was lost. All seems lost now and you're suddenly ready to switch sides? Explain that old boy."

Morabi looked Strackon dead in the eye.

"The secession crisis was a long time ago. I was young. We were all young men, Strackon. I'm old and weary now. Plus the Empress was going to have me executed. Me! Forty years of service and at the end of it I get my head lobbed off? Would you, of all people, stay loyal?"

"I have never been in a position where I'm forced to be a fugitive from the law, with nowhere to go," Strackon angrily retorted. "Nor will I ever be, old boy. My service will always be needed by my king."

"Who said I have nowhere to go? Let me remind you I was born in Mathus. I will always have a home there."

"Very presumptuous of you, to think we would even let you leave this camp alive!" Corber hissed.

"Enough!" Votrek looked longingly at the tent entrance and the sunlight streaming in. Then he squared his shoulders. "If I'm to even consider this, I'll need a sign of good faith from you. Some information."

"Of course," Morabi tore his eyes from Corber and focused on the King.

"Who is your spy in my court?"

"Ruthven," Morabi said without hesitation.

They were all taken back. Strackon was the first to recover.

"Very convenient, to blame it on Ruthven, since he's no longer here to defend himself. After all, the dead tell no tales. Your Majesty!" Strackon rounded on Votrek. "You see through this nonsense, surely?"

Votrek felt the beginning of a seething rage. Not rage at the possibility of being deceived by Morabi. Rather, this was rage at the impetuous tone being adopted by Strackon. As though Votrek was still an untested Prince and not the King of Sieberon.

Despite his short stature, the wily ambassador had always behaved as though his intellect put him head and shoulders above everyone else in the Sieberon court, even the royals. Long stints away to the Imperial court seemed to have done little to curb his arrogance. King Bandu had tolerated Strackon. Votrek made a mental note to change that.

"I'll have one of our engineers sit with you so you can begin mapping the Kalli walls. You men are to give Morabi all the support he needs." Votrek turned to Strackon, his fingers idly tracing the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip. "Does anyone have a problem with my orders?"

Strackon's face twitched. "No, no problem sire."

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From her lonely post next to Agdel's coffin, she heard the fanfare of trumpets that proclaimed the arrival of her uncle. Under different circumstances, she would have been there to welcome him. She would have had a genuine smile plastered on her face. Having practically lived with Agamon from the death of her father Prince Rodell until her marriage, he was like a father to her.

All she could muster now was a weak attempt to get up when King Agamon stepped into the room, filling it with his broad presence. The king was dressed in a black agbada of the finest quality and wore an intricately carved gold chain. But there were shadows under his eye, as he bent to hug his niece before peeping into the coffin.

"He was always more of a warrior than a prince," Agamon said sadly. "Even in death, that's how he looks. And yet, I know in my heart that he would have made a fine king. Such a kind heart, noble spirit."

Agamon spun away from his son, hand over his mouth. It was Kelita who now got up and wrapped her arm around his shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort him. Awkward because she had to tiptoe to reach his shoulder.

He looked down at her and it struck Kelita how old he looked since their last meeting. His white beard was no longer the only thing that proclaimed his age. The smooth forehead had started to crack.

"It is not good my daughter," he said. "For a parent to have to bury their child. Not good. What else do I have to look forward to in my old age?"

"Your grandsons, Aldreth and Adrian. Take it from me, they need you now more than ever. I lost dad at the age of five. If it wasn't for you, where would I have learnt to be the assertive, noblewoman I am now?"

Agamon smiled, though the grief ensured it did not reach his eyes. "I claim those two, but I honestly cannot say where you learnt that temper of yours."

They laughed and Agamon looked around absently.

"By the way, I haven't seen Morabi since I've arrived. Where is he?"