Page 86 of Dark Chains: First Link
Losham blinked.
The suggestion was so unexpected that he needed a moment to absorb it. In all the years they had spent together, through all the crises and power plays and near-death experiences, Rami had never once suggested defection. He was the most loyal assistant Losham had ever had. For him to suggest abandoning everything meant that he had reached the conclusion that Losham wouldn't survive a conflict with the brothers.
"Leave the Brotherhood?" Losham repeated. "Abdicate the seat of power I finally managed to grab?"
"A seat of power is worth nothing if you're dead. Which is the most likely outcome once Kolhood discovers the truth about Lord Navuh."
Rami wasn't wrong. If Kolhood found out that Navuh was not in the harem, that the harem servants had been compelled to lie, and that Losham had been fabricating the story of their father's retreat, the result would not be a council meeting. It would be an execution. Kolhood would use the revelation as justification to rally the other brothers, and they would come for Losham with the combined weight of the Brotherhood's military machine behind them.
Dave could protect him from a small strike team. Dave could not protect him from thousands of warriors.
"Your suggestion is not without merit," Losham said. "But there is another option."
Hope sparked in Rami's eyes. "What is it?"
"I kill them before they kill me."
Rami's eyes widened. "All three?"
"It's the only way that works. If one dies and the other two survive, I face an alliance fortified by rage. If all three are eliminated simultaneously, the junior brothers have no leadership structure to rally behind, and the army's chain of command defaults to whoever fills the vacuum. That would be me."
"Assuming the army accepts your authority."
"That's what Dave's compulsion rounds are for. The warriors are being conditioned. By the time the brothers are removed, the foundation will be in place. That is why I'm buying time."
"The Brotherhood's leadership structure has always been a fiction," Losham continued. "Our father created it to maintain his position, rather than to create a viable leadership to continue his work in case something happened to him. The council he demanded in his instructions, the illusion of shared power, was all theater. He knew we would be at each other's throats and destroy the Brotherhood in the process of fighting for his so-called throne. The brothers should realize that, and for a while, I thought that offering them a real alternative of a genuine power-sharing arrangement would work. But now I'm starting to realize that the senior ones will never agree to it as a permanent arrangement. Once they are eliminated, though, it would be attractive to the younger brothers."
"Dave?" Rami asked. "You want them to do it?"
"Dave can split into three groups. One for each brother. Simultaneous strikes. None of them expect that, not at this stage, and they are used to seeing the Eight. Their guard won't be up."
Rami nodded. "Three pairs for the assassination and one pair to protect you."
"Yes."
Rami reached over and turned off the faucet. The sudden absence of rushing water made the room feel too quiet. He picked up Losham's untouched cup of tea, poured it out, and made a fresh one.
The gesture was so ordinary that it seemed absurd in the context of what had been discussed.
"When?" Rami asked.
"Not yet. The timing has to be right."
The plan was brutal, but brutal was the only language the Brotherhood understood. Their father had built the organization on blood and fear, and dismantling the leadership structure required the same currency. The difference was that Losham would spend it once, decisively, and then build something that didn't require constant bloodshed to maintain.
33
DAVE
The basement was an organized mess when the Eight got there.
The reinforced steel beams the engineers had installed formed a skeletal grid across the ceiling, their flanges bolted to cracked, stained concrete walls from the two collapses. Temporary lighting had been strung along the beams, the industrial-grade fixtures casting harsh white light on some areas while others that hadn't been retrofitted with new lighting were encased in shadows. The air was thick with concrete dust, and despite the portable ventilation units humming in the corners, the smell of pulverized stone was pervasive, with undertones of rusted metal and the chemical tang of construction adhesive.
A crew of twelve immortals was removing debris by hand. They worked in pairs, one lifting a section of broken concrete or twisted rebar while the other cleared the space beneath and loaded the rubble into wheelbarrows. Then the wheelbarrows were dumped into large containers, and once a container was full, a crane hauled it up through the hole in the backyard that the last collapse had opened.
Losham and his assistant stood at the foot of the ramp that replaced the damaged stairs, surveying the scene.
"I wanted you to see this," Losham said. "So, you know what we're dealing with."
