Vespera Read online

  Slowly Sovereign rose, curving round from her course to align with the entrance to the Gap, until she glided between the walls and into the gorge itself. She leveled out fifty feet below the surface, moving forwards with slow wing beats.

  For a while Raphael could see nothing but the fantastic array of petrified coral around them, then the dead coral gave way to a living reef, patches at first which then spread along and downwards in a wall of shapes and colours, close enough to see the shapes of the bigger fish swimming along the reef. They seemed oblivious to the monstrous presence in their midst, though they kept at a distance from the manta’s wingtips and their powerful downdrafts.

  A few miles further, and the walls began to flatten as the seafloor’s gradual rise ended. Around the ship broken shelves of coral and rock spilled downwards on to a plain of sand which soon gave way to the titan kelp forest. A sight Raphael hadn’t seen since his journey from Vespera to his planned education at Sarthes. There were few such forests outside the Thetian seas, and he hadn’t encountered any of them in all those years of travelling.

  And now he was coming back, by Valentine’s express command, to hunt down the assassins of Catiline III as he had the Sertinan pirates, so that the might of the New Empire – and the vengeance of Empress Mother Aesonia – could be brought to bear on them.

  At first there was nothing more than a shadow ahead, a darkness across the sea-plains hanging between surface and seafloor. Their small group of ships wound its way closer, following the fast disappearing channel, as the seafloor began to drop away once more on either side, again covered with a coral reef.

  It wasn’t the coral that held Raphael’s gaze, though. Slowly, out of the murk ahead shapes began to emerge, massive pillars outlined against the silver sea, with schools of fish spiralling between them. Their roots were lost in the darkness below, while their leafy fronds drifted lazily with the current, as if a slow wind blew through them, as if seconds had become minutes.

  More astonishing than their strange, still beauty was their incredible size – the titan kelp trunks grew hundreds of feet from the seabed to the surface, dwarfing even a manta the size of Sovereign. They marched off into the distance like irregular pillars in some vast cathedral, thousands of leaves and branches filtering shafts of sunlight to blue-green.

  Around them was complete silence. Shielded by the manta’s skin from the calls of dolphins and whales, they moved between the trunks, ghostly shapes in the alien landscape of the kelp forest. Raphael had expected it to seem smaller now after so long away, after fourteen years in which he’d seen more of Aquasilva than most people would in a lifetime. More even than most Thetians, since they traveled where there were cities and trade-routes and people. Only the explorers and prospectors ventured outside, into the vast half-known reaches of the Ocean beyond the trade currents and the settled equatorial belt. Or to the desolation of the high arctic.

  The manta passed through the outer edge of the forest, following the path kept clear for centuries, a broad avenue between the trunks wide enough for such craft to pass. It was a colossal undertaking, to maintain the thousands of miles of channels through the seas of Thetia, and since the demise of the Old Empire it had been the task of various Exile priories and several small, very specialised clans based in neutral Vespera.

  The New Empire, predictably, liked this state of affairs not at all, but it was still struggling to build sufficient expertise in anything other than the art of war, and oceanographers, like the majority of Thetia’s artists, poets and scholars, preferred the freedom and licence of Vespera to the more treacherous waters of Imperial or princely courts. Even those who sang the praises of the New Empire and allowed it to fete them, like the composer Tiziano, proved curiously reluctant to live there.

  Vespera might never have declared itself an independent state, but it acknowledged no authority other than its own government, the Council of the Seas, and it refused to take sides in the endless skirmishing between the princedoms and the Empire. Naturally, it seethed with intrigue and espionage, but its enormous wealth, and the faint possibility that its clans would band together to defend themselves, had protected it so far.

  A light blinked for a few seconds in the aether tank.

  ‘Manta at extreme range, Captain,’ the comm officer said sharply. ‘Heading towards us.’

  ‘Identification?’ the captain demanded.

  Raphael looked reluctantly away from the view in front and back to the people on the bridge. The Emperor was in his seat; he had haunted the bridge for much of the voyage as if he could make the ship go faster by his presence.

  What had Valentine thought of his father? He seemed more angry than sad at his father’s death, and from the occasional comment the crew let slip, he hadn’t always seen eye to eye with Catiline.

  ‘They’re too far away.’

  ‘Order one of the magecraft to move ahead and investigate. Hostile waters conditions.’ The captain’s tone remained calm, professional, as it had done throughout the voyage. Sovereign’s crew were impeccable, chosen from among the best in the service. Like the rest of the Navy, they adored Valentine for having chosen their life when he didn’t have to, for accepting its hardships and refusing special treatment. And, of course, for his undoubted brilliance as a commander.

  Catiline had been competent; Valentine was something else, close to a military genius if the reports were true. Which could well herald the end of the uneasy truce of recent years, the stalemate forced on the New Empire as it ran up against powers it couldn’t simply crush. The three greatest princedoms – Imbria, Aroth and Sommur. Neutral Vespera, with its control of the shipyards and its fabled wealth.

  Did the assassins mean to strike again? And if so, who would be next? It was a very real problem now, and after so long away from Thetia, Raphael had no idea of the answer.

  A moment later one of the escorting magecraft came into view ahead of Sovereign, speeding forward along the channel towards the mystery ship. Clearly visible at first, after only a few seconds it began to blend in with the water, fading until it was little more than a shadow in the sea, visible only to those who knew where to look for it.

  Exile water-magic at work again. Raphael glanced over at the two Exiles on the bridge, acolytes of the Empress Mother, serene in their blue and green robes.

  To be an Exile meant cutting links with family and home, vowing never again to sleep on the safety of land, binding one’s life irrevocably to the sea. That sacrifice was the same, whether one meant to be a stylite or a hermit on a tiny raft, a priestess of a great abbey like Sarthes, or anything in between. Mages had no choice, no other way of life but to devote themselves to their inborn magic. A difficult path, for some.

  It was a strange world, that of the Exiles, intercessors between Thetia and the sea which surrounded her and gave her life. Worthy of respect, even if over the centuries they had developed ways to make the vows merely nominal, with their floating abbeys anchored close to cities, even connected by wooden bridges.

  Those who chose could still pursue the ascetic life. If they wanted to. Raphael couldn’t begin to imagine what would make someone cut themselves off from the world like that, but then it was their decision, no matter how inexplicable.

  The oncoming manta was still too far away to identify, but as the moments slipped past and no message came, Raphael felt a faint shiver of fear.

  ‘Merchant manta, I think, but heavily armed,’ the navigator said. ‘Too far to see its colour, though.’

  ‘Why hasn’t it hailed the magecraft? It must be in range by now.’ The captain sat stock-still, eyes fixed on the aether tank, as the other ship arrowed in towards the magecraft.

  ‘Their shields are up,’ reported the comm officer, a note of alarm in his voice.

  The captain didn’t hesitate. ‘Shield! Ready main armament! Tell the other magecraft to prepare for battle.’

  The other ship’s course didn’t change, even though it was now almost on top of the magecraft. So
mething was wrong, it should have made contact by now. Was it the ship which had destroyed Catiline’s flagship, ready to attack in broad daylight?

  A chime sounded, and a voice crackled into life on the comm system.

  ‘This is Allecto, of Clan Jharissa. Please identify yourselves.’

  ‘Allecto, this is INS Sovereign en route to Vespera.’

  ‘You are entering Vesperan territory, Sovereign,’ the voice demanded. ‘This is Jharissa jurisdiction. You will reduce speed and stand down weapons.’ Gods, they were nervous, Raphael thought, suddenly realising why they were acting like this.

  ‘They haven’t seen the magecraft!’ he said. ‘You’re operating under hostile waters conditions, so they won’t be able to detect the magecraft until they’re right on top of it.’

  ‘This may only be a trap to draw out the position of our magecraft,’ the Captain said.

  ‘If this is a trap, my mages can deal with it,’ Another voice, from the back of the bridge, rich and authoritative. ‘Order them to stand down.’

  Raphael had never met Empress Aesonia, Valentine’s mother, but like Valentine, she would be impossible to forget. She still made all eyes turn to her when she entered a room, a tall grey-haired woman, still with traces of red in her hair, who had been born with almost every kind of power it was possible to have. The shimmering blue robes could have been sackcloth and ashes, the elaborately curled hair could have been grey and ragged, and she’d still be impossible to ignore – and very difficult to defy.

  Valentine nodded, walked forward to stand beside the comm officer. As if to put more space between himself and his mother? No, it wasn’t that, Raphael concluded after a moment. Their authority seemed not to clash, as if they operated in such perfectly complementary spheres of influence there was no ground for conflict.

  ‘We won’t stand down, Allecto. This is a diplomatic mission on its way to investigate the assassination of Emperor Catiline, which took place in your jurisdiction.’ The news had already been two days old when it reached Sertina, and by the time Valentine rendezvoused with Aesonia’s ship a few hours ago, Vespera had granted diplomatic codes and status to Sovereign.

  ‘And until you can prove you’re Imperial diplomats and not a pirate,’ the other voice said, ‘we can’t allow this.’

  Valentine silenced the comm with a sharp gesture to his officer. ‘Do they regularly see pirates operating battle cruisers?’

  ‘They’ll attempt to destroy us,’ Aesonia said, and even her control couldn’t quite hide an undertone in her voice. ‘If we give them the codes, we’ll be confirming we’re a valuable target.’

  ‘It’s too public,’ Silvanos said. ‘Too many people know we’re here. They won’t do anything, but they’re nervous.’

  ‘Transmit the codes,’ Valentine said. ‘Order the escorting magecraft to reveal itself.’

  The captain nodded, and pulled open a pouch at his waist with the diplomatic codes. The comm officer stood aside to give the captain his seat, and looked away as the codes were entered.

  For a moment there was dead silence, a pause that seemed to drag on and on as the other manta accelerated in. What sort of clan manta would challenge an Imperial battle cruiser like this?

  At the limit of weapons range, the comm crackled into life again and Allecto banked sharply to port.

  ‘Sovereign, we have confirmation. We regret the misunderstanding.’

  ‘No need to,’ Valentine said, with more grace than the Jharissa deserved. ‘You’re doing your job, Captain.’

  ‘We’ll escort you as far as the South Channel,’ Allecto’s captain said. ‘A representative from the Council of the Seas will meet you there.’

  ‘Will Sovereign be able to reach the site of the assassination?’

  Allecto’s captain sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘I want to honour my father’s memory, Captain, and give our investigators a look at the remains. If you would be so kind as to escort us . . .’

  Raphael hadn’t seen a trace of grief or loss on Valentine’s face, but then he wasn’t the kind of man to show it, and he and his father had never been close. Catiline had been a bitter, vengeful man, bound to Aesonia by shared hatred. A willing tool for her ambitions, winning with fear and brute force territories she then wove into an empire. The contrast with his son could hardly have been greater.

  ‘As you wish,’ the other captain said icily.

  As the Jharissan ship moved into position ahead of Sovereign, Raphael saw the other officers and men relax, sit back in their chairs a little. But only a little. There was something about the Allecto, or its allegiance, which had them all on edge.

  ‘I can give you a day,’ Valentine said, calling Raphael and Silvanos over, ‘but I can’t afford to set out any later. When we get back I can try to have a Navy team sent out, but no doubt the Vesperans will raise hell over it.’

  ‘I think they’ll have to tread carefully for a while,’ Silvanos said. ‘He was your father, they can’t muscle you out of the investigation entirely.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we make political capital out of this?’ the Emperor said. He was new to his power, thought Raphael. An upright naval man – for now.

  ‘Do you want to find out who killed your father?’ Silvanos asked, meeting his glare without blinking. ‘Or do you want the Vesperans to tell you who it was?’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Oh, they would. They’re on dangerous ground here, with the assassination taking place inside their territory. They’ll want to frame dissidents inside the Empire, to get them off the hook. But they can’t interfere too directly.’

  Valentine gave a sceptical look in the direction of Allecto, and Silvanos returned a thin smile. ‘They’re a different matter.’ The smile faded. ‘The more we can get done before a Vesperan investigator arrives, the better. And there are few of them who’d deny you your right to grief at this point, at least in public.’

  ‘As long as they get to supervise,’ Valentine said drily. ‘How will they select an investigator for this?’

  ‘It’ll be one of the Council of the Seas,’ Silvanos said. ‘They’re all clan leaders, but when they’re elected to the Council they each take on another responsibility – water supply, the vigiles, the harbours, the channels, and so on. There are several who might claim jurisdiction, Iolani Jharissa among them.’

  Valentine’s face darkened. He doesn’t like Iolani or her clan one little bit, Raphael thought, and wished he’d learnt more about the Jharissa.

  ‘There are other ways to deal with this,’ Aesonia said quickly, putting a hand on Valentine’s arm before he could say anything more.

  The crew nearby were ignoring them, their attention fixed on their consoles or, for some, entirely merged with the sensors of the ship. They were the ones directly controlling Sovereign, wired into its nervous system by the aether pads on the arms of their chairs, and they had more immediate matters to deal with than eavesdropping.

  ‘I’ll be in my cabin,’ Valentine said finally. ‘Call me when we reach the site. Aesonia, I would value your advice.’

  ‘Of course,’ the Empress Mother said, and the two of them left the bridge. As they did, Raphael saw two of the crew nearby exchange surreptitious glances, and the anger on their faces mirrored Valentine’s.

  Catiline’s ship had been destroyed close to the junction of the Corala and Aigros Channels. It was a half-hour’s sailing from the Gap, time mostly spent poring over maps and extracting information from Allecto’s Captain Glaucio over the comm.

  Both were modern ships, with full aether communicators, and so they could interview him as if he were in the same room, a glowing blue three-dimensional figure sitting in a ghostly captain’s chair. Such realism ate up power, but Sovereign had three aether chambers powered by as many flamewood reactors, and they didn’t need the power for anything else.

  Captain Glaucio, stone-faced, wearing plain black, remained detached, distant the whole
time, giving nothing away except the bare figures and facts of what he’d seen, making it clear through his body language that he was doing them a favour in answering all these questions.

  The kelp forest wasn’t impenetrable, though it played havoc with aether sensors; the channel meandered through patches and areas of shallow water, as well as places where the trees were much further apart. Once or twice, Raphael thought it might have been possible to navigate Sovereign between the trunks, but no doubt the navigator was wary of danger from denser areas further in.

  When they finally reached the site of the assassination, Raphael saw at once why it had been chosen. To the south, the forest thinned out towards nearby Saphir Island, where Clan Jharissa had apparently built a large outpost forty miles from the ruins of Corala. To the north it was densely packed and, from the size of the kelp, very old. A perfect site for an ambush, since aether sensors couldn’t penetrate far into such thick kelp forest.

  The assassins would have needed small ships to hide within the kelp, but searays, the mantas’ smaller cousins, were easy to come by. Every manta carried two inside it, as escape craft and pinnaces, and while they weren’t usually heavily armed, specialist fighter searays did exist in the fleets of the larger powers.

  There was one problem with this perfect scenario for an ambush, as Silvanos pointed out to him in a low voice. There were no marks of weapons fire on any of the kelp, or the seafloor – or on what remained of INS Monarch, the manta Catiline had been travelling in.

  Nor were there characteristic scars, burns or craters on the polyp surface; beyond the floating wreckage, there was no sign that anything at happened here.

  Of course, Clan Jharissa had had three days to remove the evidence, but this was a major thoroughfare, and there was another clan ship waiting there, acting as an impartial observer. Impartial least as far as the Vesperans were concerned.

  The captain brought Sovereign to a stop in the centre of the channel, the mage-craft and the clan mantas keeping their distance while the flagship’s instruments scanned the area as thoroughly as possible. Their manta had one advantage over any of the fleet’s older ships, since Sovereign had been fitted with an aether recorder, capable of storing the sensor data as well as simply displaying it. It was incredibly cumbersome, until recently only worth mounting on specialist survey ships, but unlike an artist’s drawing, it could only show what was actually there.