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Red Queen

  Book 1 of the Six Books of Magic

  By Jolie Jaquinta

  Copyright 2015 Jolie Jaquinta

  ARC 1

  Chapter 1

  Throne Room

  Queen Jesca sat on the ancient throne of Romitu, the eldest of cities and capital of the Second Empire, such as it was. Her eyes, too old for a face so young, looked out over her assembled generals and fumed. “Is there no one who will relieve me of this burden?” she asked again. They were all silent.

  The Sword of State lay heavily across her arms. It had been first wielded in a pivotal battle against a rebellion that threatened the integrity of the First Empire. But it slowly fell out of fashion over the last few centuries as the event it commemorated became an unremembered historical footnote. It languished in a museum for a while, was sold or fenced into a series of private collections, and ultimately acquired by her predecessor. He had felt it a powerful and potent symbol. He used it to communicate the focus of the return of rule of law he promised as he ended the interregnum and reinstated the Empire.

  “My adoptive father spoke strongly of the benefits of limited terms of rule. The necessity of smooth handover of government”, she tried. “If he were alive today he would expect any one of you to be ready for this duty.” Jesca looked long and hard at one general in particular, bearing the insignia of the ninth army. But she remained stiffly at parade attention, avoiding Jesca's eyes. Her expression belied her nervousness, as the trickle of sweat down her hairline. The leader of the 9th was well liked by her Amazonian troops and had been there from the very start of all of this. Although often deferred to by the other generals, she was quick to seek consensus instead of pushing her own agenda. She would be the perfect volunteer. But she wasn't volunteering. Jesca bored her gaze into her for a full minute before moving on.

  The restored audience room she addressed them in was perched on the eastern side of the high city and caught the cooling breeze of the sea, barely visible on the horizon. A fine carpet covered most of the floor, hiding the damaged mosaic underneath. They hadn't quite got around to replacing the looted tiles of previous metals. There had been too many other priorities. A strand of red hair floated down across Jesca's face. With irritation she launched herself to her feet, balancing the ceremonial sword somewhat indecorously over one shoulder and pushed her hair back with her other hand. Her armor glittered magical light as she paced up and down, its freedom of motion betraying its extreme workmanship; its soundless operation betraying its magical enhancement.

  “I appeal to your patriotism”, she said, giving another long look at the general in the insignia of the 22nd army. “Would you let the empire fall into another interregnum after only two rulers?” The coarse features of his Orcish face didn't move as he, too, stared fixedly ahead. The deepening light glittered over the carpet of battle ribbons decorating his dress uniform. Since their conquest and adsorption into the Empire, Orcs had turned their endless rivalries and violence into ostentatious dress. The presentation of tokens commemorating acts of bravery and honor directed their competitive behavior into more positive ends. This General would not be a popular choice initially, but Jesca knew his aggressive support and loyalty was more than lip service. Except for now, when she needed him to be first into the breach.

  “Fie on you all!” Jesca swore in exasperation. “Half the successions of the First Empire were from various generals fighting each other for the throne. And here, I can't even give it away!” The irony confounded her. She had not wanted the throne in the first place. The emotion of the moment had caught her up and she failed to resist everyone's endorsement. It was supposed to have been temporary.

  “Surely, Majestus, you aren't urging your generals to civil war?” The voice was deep and smooth in a manner that many misinterpreted as fawning. The Dwarf stood apart from the generals but not quite against the wall with the servants and staff. His clothes were well tailored, but unadorned. Jesca snorted in annoyance, but paid him no other heed as he continued. “The first empire was littered with tyrants and despots ripe for overthrowing and opportunistic commanders looking to grab their own glory. You are a just and fair ruler. Your generals are loyal and your subjects love you.”

  “Five years”, said Jesca unheeding, cutting off the Dwarf. “General Scioni recommended five year reigns. With succession to competent non-blood relations.” She walked up and down glaring at them. Those words were straight from his will. The same will in which he posthumously recommended her to be his successor. “Strongly. He recommended it very strongly.” She caught the eye of one of the few generals who wasn't staring ahead. She wore the insignia of the 31st army. One of the reinstated Amazon armies. When she saw Jesca watching, a wash of emotions passed over her face. Desire, fear, hunger and insecurity. Jesca looked away and the general dropped her eyes. The commander of the other Amazon army was nothing like the first. Her ambition was only superseded by her insecurity. She, probably alone, actually wanted the job. But she, also probably alone, didn't have the guts to step forward. The rest just had too much loyalty.

  “It's not like it's hard”, said the Queen shrugging and continued her pacing. The sword shifted to an even more casual angle. “The Empire nearly runs itself.” She continued on in a lower voice “Now that the slaughter is over.” She couldn't remember the last time she had spent a sleepless night over a critical decision. Almost everything now was reacting to other events. And the reactions had become so formulaic, that everyone knew what to do. The only sleepless nights she had were from the repercussions of critical decisions long past.

  “ Majestus”, began the deep voice again.

  “Is that a volunteer?” she asked, interrupting him, but not looking at him. “I'll do it”, she said, defiantly addressing the generals. “I'll give the spymaster the throne.” There was some uncomfortable shifting. No one liked the spymaster. She didn't particularly like him either. But he had his role and his share of glorious mistakes too. It was a threat that might work.

  “I would not accept”, said the dwarf resolutely. She looked at him in annoyance as the shifting settled. “I could not hope to do as good a job as you have done; given the circumstances.” She paced up and down, not looking at anyone. Circumstances, indeed. The circumstances she had inherited were well beyond what anyone could handle. The best she could hope for was to share the burden with all those loyal to the cause of Romitu. But that didn't seem to be how everyone else saw it.

  “As you say, Majestus”, the Dwarf continued. “The Empire mostly runs itself. If we have no candidates and no discontent with your rule is it so bad to continue?” She sighed heavily but did not stop pacing. No one would speak. No one would volunteer. Just the spymaster, who spoke honeyed words to preserve the status quo. Could no one see the danger of that? To walk the same path over and over lead to complacency and death. Would it be a hundred years after their fall that historians would work out when the fatal moment was?

  “Take some time. Walk amongst your subjects. All is not as dark as it may seem.” the Dwarf concluded hopefully.

  “Is there no one in this room fit to rule?” she shouted, stopping before the throne. Her words echoed from the walls, but were quickly damped by the rich carpet on the floor. She stood, glaring at them all. The light of the sinking crept across the floor until she was left a silhouette against the sky. The silence stretched on. “Then may the gods that are left have pity on us.”