Free Veiled Empire by Nathan Garrison Page A

scream something about assassins and made a brief mention of a ‘midnight sun,’ whatever that means.”
    “So basically, we’re in the dark,” Hezraas said. “That’s why I need you. I’m giving you free rein, Daere. Bring me the heads of the leaders and scatter the corpses of any who follow them.”
    Mevon smiled. “As you will.” Oh, the reckoning that will come. He began to savor his inevitable triumph and the river of blood that would surely flow.
    The prefect’s eyes moved at last to Jasside. “And who is this?”
    “Oh.” Mevon turned to her. “This is my . . .”
    The word “prisoner” died before reaching his lips. It was her expression: Jasside’s face was . . . aglow. The look she bore was unmistakable. Inexplicable.
    Pride.
    Then, like pieces of a blacksmith’s puzzle sliding into place, it all made sense.
    A powerful force destroys the voltensus, presumably with efficacious sorcery.
    The only other Hardohl in the vicinity vanish without a trace.
    A mysterious girl confronts me, doing the impossible, which captures my attention as surely as snow in winter. And, from the beginning, she knows my name.
    You knew me! You were sent for me!
    A blade of ice shot up his spine. Oh . . . gods. . .
    Why?
    He became aware of alarmed stares from both the general and the prefect. “ . . . informant,” he finally said. “My informant. I believe she knows something about what’s going on.”
    “Good.” Hezraas rose, smiling hungrily. “Very good. I’ll question her myself.”
    “No! I mean,” he said, seeing Hezraas’s strained expression, “that I’ll need to keep her with me. If she’s in as deep as I think she is, I must have her close to answer any questions that arise.”
    “Hmm. All right. I can see your need.” Hezraas sat down again. “You’d better not disappoint me, Daere.”
    “Have I ever?”
    The prefect grinned.
    Mevon turned to Jasside, a new heat rising in him, and her smug face only stoked its flames. He grabbed her arm, lifting her to stand, and began marching out.
    Mevon whispered in her ear, “Whoever sent you will have answers, and they had better be good.”
    She smiled up at him. “Oh, Mevon, you have no idea . . .”
    G ILSHAMED STEPPED TO the edge of the outcropping. He peered down on the crowd gathered below. His followers ringed the edges of the clearing, and in the center stood the prisoners. A combination of awe and terror had kept them from putting up a fight, but now, as they continued their march up into the Rashunem Hills, they were becoming restless. Gilshamed’s troops could no longer manage so large a burden.
    By day’s end, they would be prisoners no more. One way or another.
    All eyes clung to him, waiting for his declarations. He decided not to bring out his wings again. No bright lights. No booming voice from the sky. He had used such tactics once before and knew they would lose efficacy if attempted again. No, they needed something different now. Something to make them feel as if Gilshamed were truly one of them. Something . . . heartfelt.
    Gilshamed smiled to himself. I can do heartfelt when I need to. He cleared his throat.
    “Soldiers of the empire,” he began in tones loud enough for all to hear, “look around you, and tell me what you see.”
    He allowed a moment for them to swing necks left and right, minds searching for the answer Gilshamed desired. He did not let them flounder. “I will tell you,” he continued. “I see farmers and shepherds, bakers and butchers and blacksmiths, former soldiers and former whores. All citizens of your same empire. But all fighting for me .
    “None of you ask why they are fighting. I can see, though, hidden within your eyes, that you already know.”
    No few number of heads dropped at this. Shame, after all, was a powerful tool. But Gilshamed did not mean to use it exclusively. These people did not need reminders about friends and family who have been hauled away to toil endlessly in the