Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand Read Online Free PDF Page A

the Royal Keep. No sooner were they inside, and the great doors creaked shut behind them. For a second, the Satrap sensed danger and reached for his belt, but he was unarmed.
    “My Lord, in here, I will be your protector.”
    Even through the thick accent, the Satrap could detect the sarcasm. The warrior pointed inside the structure. It was a large rectangular building with a single long table running down each side near the walls; enough space for a hundred guests on each side. At the far end were three steps and another table that face back into the hall. Behind this was the throne of the Emperor, raised a metre from he ground so that all might see the greatness. The seat was empty, at least for now.
    So, I am summoned and find everybody else is already here, apart from him.
    The tables were filled with scores of people, and as he moved along its length, he quickly recognised them. Most were high-ranking dignitaries of the smaller territories of just a few worlds. There were regional clothing differences that marked them out to the trained eye. It was the few so-called heroes of the battle at Cunaxa that appeared to be receiving the greatest attention. Halfway along the hall he stopped and looked at a dozen Terrans and Medes who were busy sharing war stories and drink. In the centre of the group was the Zacynthian warrior Mithridates.
    That self-congratulatory thug, his achievement was nothing.
    There were some who said it was the mercenary that delivered the blow that killed the rebel Cyrus. The story went that as the rebel moved to attack the Emperor, this lowly Terran leapt out and stabbed Cyrus with a bayoneted rifle, but that wasn’t the way Tissaphernes recalled the story. As he remembered, the Emperor had thrown a device at the enemy and mortally wounded Cyrus. The foot soldiers had merely finished off what he had done himself. The Terran spotted him and called out something, but Tissaphernes chose to ignore him and instead proceeded further along the hall. He finally reached the last section and relaxed a little upon finding their positions rose in importance to match his own.
    “Your brothers,” said Arteshban Rostam.
    He pointed to where a single seat remained from the seventeen on this side of the hall. There were eight seats on the one side and the other nine facing them. A mixture of male and female Medes from across the Empire were there, exchanging niceties and dining from a line of identical golden goblets. He approached his seat and sat down only to find a Mulac directly opposite him. They were an odd group of pirates, mutants, and raiders that had settled in some of the border regions of the Empire. This one was sitting with the Median Satraps, however, and that unnerved him, as these creatures were no Medes.
    “You must be Tissaphernes,” said the Mulac gruffly.
    “Must I?”
    The Mulac snorted with amusement, but a low ding sound from behind him stopped him from speaking further. The hall hushed, and every head turned to face the throne. In walked Mitra who then stepped to the side and waited as patiently as he had done so on the steps. In chorus every single guest rose to their feet and lowered their heads. The golden form of the Emperor in his long flowing silks approached his seat and lowered himself. He wore the finest gold with strips of black and amethyst sewn into the material. Once he was comfortable, he indicated for them to return to their seats.
    “Satraps, warriors, and governors of the Empire.”
    The voice of the Emperor was clear and perfectly enunciated. No amplification circuits were required, as the acoustics of the room were perfectly attuned to spread his word to ever corner.
    “I have brought you together to deal with a problem of great proportions.”
    Tissaphernes watched his Great King speak and began to feel a mixture of irritation and anger build inside him. The mention of a problem was a concern to him, especially as he had heard nothing of the other Satraps being