‘Sounds tasty,’ Aphrim mouthed quietly.

‘I think we understand each other.’ Bastorran favoured them with a chill smile. ‘And forget about my uncle. As I said, he has more than enough to occupy him at the moment.’

After their brutal taking of Bhealfa, the conquering imperialists of Gath Tampoor demolished the triumphalist structures left over from rival empire Rintarah’s occupation. They replaced them with buildings grander, taller and more opulent…

Few were as magnificent as the vast construction the Gath Tampoorians erected in central Valdarr. Within sight of the clans’ headquarters, it was in sharp contrast to that baleful pile. Where the paladins’ base appeared grim and brooding, this was celebratory, its every line glorying the authority of its builders. It was a monument to triumph and might. A building that bragged.

There was magic in its architecture, literally. The stones it was constructed from were charmed, and enchanted dust had been mixed into the very mortar. Pigments used to decorate its splendid stained-glass windows were rumoured to include a concentrate of demons’ blood, the ground bones of trolls and desiccated unicorns’ mane; notwithstanding that such creatures no longer existed, if they ever had. The upshot was that it permanently shimmered with magical energy, and on the ample expanse of its outer walls inspiring images

could be conjured at will-the likenesses of imperial heroes and statesmen, explorers and merchants. Icons to hearten the populace, or to remind them that they were vanquished.

The Gath Tampoorians saw no irony in naming it the Freedom Hall, and it was proclaimed as a palace of the people. Though naturally common folk were rarely permitted to enter, except as menials.

This evening, fleets of carriages jammed the surrounding streets, delivering an army of grotesques. The comely and the hideous, the fabulous and the whimsical, climbed the stairs, wide as a city block, to the massive doors. Once inside, they were ushered into a series of elegantly appointed reception rooms, then through to the great hall itself.

The enormous chamber was lit by a score of magically illuminated crystal chandeliers. Each the size of a haystack, they hung beneath the vaulted, gold-inlaid ceiling with no visible means of support. The light they threw made the room’s accoutrements glitter and sparkle. Gold again, lots of it, along with flashes of silver and the crisp glint of gems; precious metals and exquisite jewels were moulded into the decor and furnishings. Beautiful tapestries adorned the panelled walls. Underfoot, the carpets were rich and plush.

It wasn’t only feet that padded over them. Paws, hooves, claws and suckers walked them, too. Dreams made flesh. And nightmares. People with eagle, goat and locust heads. Revellers who chose instead to transform their bodies, and who wore elaborate masks. Humans in the guise of demons and cherubs. Or cats and cockroaches, large as men. The best body magic money could buy.

Genuine chimeras mingled with the humans. Pure glamours in numerous exotic forms, brought as companions and pets, or just for effect. Impossible to tell from flesh and blood, they reflected their owners’ natures. A few were angelic. Most were incarnations of base instincts, ugly and venal.

The masque was well underway. A glamoured orchestra played. Liveried flunkies weaved through the dancers, pewter trays held high. Secure in the knowledge that they were above the law-indeed, many present were servants

of

the law-the revellers behaved as they saw fit. They imbibed grape and hop, some recklessly. Others sampled the pleasures of cuzcoll, viper sting and pellucid, or stronger narcotics like sabre cut, red frost, and even ramp.

In a quiet corner, a rat and a serpent were engaged in earnest conversation.

‘I’m not saying I

sympathise

with them, for the gods’ sake,’ the rat protested. ‘It’s just a question of methods.’

‘You always were inclined to be too soft on these dissidents,’ the serpent snorted.

‘I resent that! I loathe them as much as you do. We differ only in how best to address the problem.’

‘All a bit academic now, isn’t it? Word’s come down from on high and it no longer matters what we think. Or are you questioning your superiors’ wisdom?’

‘No, no. Of course not. I’m just saying that honey catches more flies than vinegar. I’ve always believed that stealth’s the best policy when dealing with these misfits.’

‘Mollycoddling them, you mean.’

The rat’s whiskers quivered irritably. Before he could respond, a drunken satyr barged between them.

‘Let’s sit,’ the serpent said, nodding towards an empty table.

Once they’d settled, a servant brought them drinks. Wine for the rat, brandy for the serpent.

The rat wore a plump, copper-coloured medallion. He ran his thumb over it, dismissing the mask. It evaporated to reveal a clean-shaven man of middle years. His velvet skin and silvering, coiffured hair indicated one who lived by talk rather than deeds.

Following his lead, the serpent wiped away his own disguise. He was older, and his face was weathered from a lifetime of doing. In his hair and beard, close-cut military fashion, he was further along the road to silver than his companion.

‘You have to admit, Clan High Chief,’ the one-time rat continued, ‘that the unrest has got worse since the emergency regulations were brought in.’

‘There’s always a period of turmoil after measures like that are introduced,’ Ivak Bastorran told him as he lifted his draught of brandy. ‘It’ll calm down once the hotheads know we mean business.’

Gath Tampoorian Ambassador Andar Talgorian thought the paladin sounded typically self-satisfied. He took a sip of wine and kept that to himself. ‘Far from abating, reports reaching the diplomatic corps indicate dissident activity’s spreading like wildfire.’

‘I wouldn’t say things are that bad. We’ve had our successes against these terrorists, and it’s in their nature to retaliate.’

‘There, you admit it. Your heavy-handedness is making the situation worse.’

‘I didn’t say that. We’re stamping out a pestilence. There’s bound to be bloodshed before we’re through. It’s a case of holding our nerve.’

‘Let’s hope the rebels blink first. For all our sakes.’

‘You give these people too much credence, Talgorian. Not least in dignifying them as rebels. They’re criminals, chancers, vandals. Scum. I’m proud the clans are at the forefront of eradicating them.’

‘It must be very gratifying to have a free hand at last,’ the Ambassador commented dryly.

‘I’ve made no secret of my views on public order. And it seems I’m not alone. You know as well as I do that Rintarah’s cracking down hard, too. That proves the canker’s everywhere.’

‘So the insurgents

are

organised, then? You can’t have it both ways, Bastorran. Either this is an outbreak of random disobedience or a movement.’

‘They’re as organised as any other bandit gang, and their aims are no more noble.’

‘We shouldn’t allow ourselves to be hampered by too rigid an outlook,’ Talgorian replied pointedly, ‘or we’ll miss seeing the true nature of the problem.’

‘Nonsense. The truth is both empires are applying stricter sanctions because lawlessness is endemic if you let the mob have its head. East and west have been too soft. It’s past time to redress the balance.’

‘Throw oil on the flames, more like.’

‘And what would your remedy be? Soft words? Yielding to their insolent demands?’

‘I’d apply a little balm. Toss the people a few concessions. Repeal one or two petty laws, perhaps a small easing of taxes; and allow the poorest better access to basic provisions. They’d not be so easily stirred up if they had full bellies.’

‘Sounds like appeasement to me. Why give them what they haven’t earned?’