Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [166]
“You are wasting my time with apologies,” Tremane said curtly. “Here are your orders. Release the little birds.”
The agent’s face went dead white. “My—my Lord?” he faltered. “All of them? Are you certain?”
“All of them,” Tremane ordered, curtly. “See to it.”
Before the fool could waste his time and resources further by arguing or pleading that this would place him in danger, Tremane broke the spell. The agent’s image vanished from the glass, quickly as a candle flame is blown out. Tremane paused for a moment, massaging his temples, before he folded the silk around the obsidian and put glass, hair, and portrait back into the drawer.
Would the agent survive his appointed task?
He would if he was careful, Tremane decided. There was nothing about the job that left him vulnerable to discovery. The “little birds” should already be in place, and setting them free could be done at a distance. If he was stupid, he might be caught, though.
Then let him suffer the penalty of stupidity, Tremane decided with uncharacteristic impatience. If he is caught, he has done all he need do, and he is expendable.
He was rarely so ruthless with an underling, but this man was no agent of his choosing, and he had not been particularly useful until now.
He clenched his fist for a moment, as a pang of regret for what he had just ordered swept over him. This was—ugly, unclean, and underhanded. It was neither honest nor honorable. It would be the first real stain on his conscience or soul. He had ordered the deaths of men before, but they had always been death in battle or other circumstances where both sides knew what they were getting into. He knew that he would spend at least one sleepless night over this and probably more to come.
This was the death of innocents, noncombatants. Yet an Emperor had to be ruthless enough to order just such an action to save the lives of his own people.
But I had no choice, he told himself, staring up at the black glass of his window, so like the black mirror he had just used. I must save my men. This is war, and I had no choice.
So why did it feel as if he had betrayed, not only his honor, but some significant part of his own soul?
Florian
Sifteen
There were seven days left before the next wave, and Karal was not altogether certain he was going to live that long. There were simply not enough marks in the day to do everything he had to. Then again, he was not the only person working to exhaustion; the mages and the engineers were all walking around with dark rings under their eyes. The only reason he was getting any sleep at all was because he was seeing to it that Ulrich got a decent rest every night, and then dropping into slumber shortly thereafter.
The mages did their shielding work in the morning, when they were all fresh; then came a break for lunch, then their meeting with the Master Engineers, and then their own meetings. Karal was not always present at the latter; the mages needed his reports on what the engineers were doing, more than the reverse, since An’desha was making himself available to them for explanations and demonstrations. Karal had to wonder where he was getting the energy.
Generally he kept himself as unobtrusive and invisible as possible—except where Ulrich’s health was concerned. It had taken a major effort of will to march right in on the mages and demand that Master Ulrich be allowed to get some rest, the first time he’d gotten back to the suite after returning from the Compass Rose only to find that Ulrich was not in his bed. He was nothing more than the merest secretary; he had no standing and no authority among such luminaries as Elspeth and Darkwind! But Ulrich’s welfare was the most important job he had; Solaris