Sume felt Hana’s hand on her shoulder at the same time she saw the first body on the ground. It had been trampled, forgotten in the dust as people scrambled for the exits. Tetsung pressed against them, trapping Goen between him and Hana to protect him.
Somewhere in the crowd, somebody cried out that strangers outside the arena were cutting people down as they passed.
“We’ll go through the stables.” Sume darted back down the steps towards the centre of the arena. She was the first over the railing, dropping down on the tamped dirt before reaching over to help Goen up. Hana and Tetsung followed.
Tetsung said something, but Sume didn’t hear him. She couldn’t pay attention to anything but her own heartbeat. The action kept her calm; even when others ran ahead of them, she forced herself to walk at a steady pace.
Panicked neighs and the acrid stench of frightened horses filled the stables. As they squeezed through the narrow hall, allowing people to run past them, Sume heard the distinct sound of a creature screeching in the distance.
Her senses swirled. She caught sight of an empty stall and pulled the gate open, pushing Hana and Goen into it. “Hide under the straw,” she whispered.
“What’s happening?” Tetsung asked.
“You too. Please.”
He placed his hand on the gate. “No. I need you to explain. You—”
The screech came again. Sume unstrapped her blade and reached over to place it into Hana’s hands. “Hide,” she repeated. She walked towards the doors.
Outside, shadows from hundreds of frantic bodies marred the clear, midday sunlight. The entire stadium was fenced and it wasn’t clear which direction the crowd wanted to go. She could still hear screams, but she couldn’t see where they were coming from.
“We have to get out of here,” Tetsung said, touching her elbow.
“I told you to hide,” she murmured. “Go back to them, Tetsung.”
His eyes hardened. “What happened to you? This isn’t the Sume I remember. That girl…”
“Was a girl,” she reminded him. “And it was a long time ago.”
“You could have visited. Instead, you let years go by, and…” He jerked back for a moment, letting someone run past him. “They said someone going by the name of Sume Kaggawa was seen with Ichi rok Sagar, who supports the usurper Ryabei. We didn’t want to believe them—you, of all people? But that was before Hana explained that you must’ve known him through your father, how he was involved in the trouble with the Ikessars before Reshiro’s assassination.”
Sume turned to him. Tetsung, with his hair greying far too early and wrinkles around his eyes, was looking at her like a stranger. Gone was the older boy who doted on her, who took her dancing and pretended to laugh at all her jokes.
She tried to think of how to tell him—that the reason she had been so afraid of returning to her old life was because she knew everything had changed. If she stayed away, then a part of her could go on believing that things remained the way she had left them. Tetsung and Hana would still be waiting for her at the docks, and Dai...little Dai, was still so young that she could lift him up on her shoulders if she wanted to.
“I’ll say this much,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t know why Sagar did what he did. I won’t defend him, but I haven’t seen him in over a year. Ryabei has no true claim to the throne—Sagar knows this.”
“You don’t work for him?”
“Not since the Dragonlord Rysaran’s...death.” She swallowed. After three years, the consensus was still that Jaeth’s Eye had consumed the prince, but even though she was the last person who had seen the prince alive, she wasn’t sure she believed it.
She realized, too late, that things around them had gone silent.
Panic rose in her throat. She grabbed Tetsung’s arm, intending to drag him back into the stables, but then she saw the shadow and darted to the other side. Just as quickly, the griffon’s beak smashed into the ground where she had been standing.
The griffon doubled over, catching itself in time. Its eyes darted towards Tetsung. “Here!” Sume cried. She grabbed a rock and flung it at the creature. It smashed into its flank. The griffon turned to her and hissed.
“That’s right,” she murmured. “This way.” She stepped back. Its tail whipped out as it lunged for her.
She held her arm out to protect her throat. The griffon crashed into her, its beak snapping at her face. Its claws dug into her shoulders and pushed her back against a wall.
“Faran!” she heard someone call out. The griffon screamed into her face, saliva dripping from its beak. A young man with long, black hair was standing in the middle of the empty street. “Steady, Faran. Don’t kill her.” He sneered. “Not yet, anyway.”
The griffon gurgled.
“You’re wasting your time, Arn,” Sume said. “Enosh isn’t here.”
“Pity,” Arn said. Sume heard footsteps behind him. Arn must’ve heard it, too; he pulled out his sword and without even turning his head, stabbed. Tetsung fell to the side, the blade sticking out of his gut.
Sume tried hard not to react, though she felt her mouth go dry. “What do you want, Arn?” she asked, watching the blood pool on Tetsung’s shirt. From where she was standing, it looked almost black.
“Orsalian’s head on a spike, among other things,” Arn said, placing one foot on Tetsung’s back. Tetsung groaned. “But I’ve been told I have anger issues, so let’s put that on hold for now. Where are the rest of your miserable friends?”
“I don’t know. I came here to visit family. That one on the ground is my brother-in-law. Was all of this for nothing, Arn?”
His face tightened. He whistled. The griffon retracted its claws and dropped to the ground, leaving Sume free. With Tetsung wounded, she would not run. Arn knew her too well.
The corners of the boy’s mouth quirked up for a second before he broke into a full grin. He had grown a new beard since Sume had last seen him and the effect was unsettling. Both he and Enosh smiled too much; Sume had pointed it out to Enosh once, who told her they must have picked it up from spending time with Yn Garr. Not because the man smiled a lot, but because the act itself seemed to placate him.
So she knew, at least, that Enosh smiled when he was uneasy. But what about Arn? He was approaching her with his blade still drawn, Tetsung’s blood dripping along the length of it. She realized, with a surprising dispassion, that he would kill her. That he had called the griffon off so he could do it himself.
That was why he was smiling.
Chapter Two
Thick, grey clouds rolled across a blue sky, hinting of a storm that had not yet come. Wet wind, warmer than yesterday’s, brushed along the trees, breaking apart frost that seemed to have been there all week. It was not officially winter yet, and the weather seemed unable to decide. This push and pull of frigid weather and biting rain was common in Baidh, or so Kefier had come to understand.
He re-wrapped the scarf around his neck and wrinkled his nose at the smell of wet wool. Rosha had insisted he wear the scarf. A few years ago, a fortuneteller had made the remark that he would freeze to death on a winter’s day. Most of the man's predictions had not been reliable, by any means (he failed to pick the winning rooster that week, to Sang Narani's dismay), but his visit made its impression on Rosha. She did not like seeing Kefier go, but she especially did not like saying goodbye during the winter. He made compromises where he could make them.
Still, the scarf was very itchy.
He was so busy scratching his neck that he didn’t notice the wiry, dark-skinned man coming up to him. “You came from the mainland,” the man said, a note of accusation on his tone.
Kefier blinked. “So what if I did?”
The man glanced behind him, as if waiting for approval from someone unseen, before ambling towards Kefier. He dragged his foot when he walked, but he made a loop before grabbing Kefier's shoulder. His fingers felt like claws.
“What village did you come from?” the man hissed.
/> “I don't understand what you mean.”
“Don't play dumb, son. You carry the Kag accent well, but you can't mask the Gorenten under that.” He sniffed. “You were born in the islands, weren’t you?”
“Da!” a rough voice called out from across the street. A younger man walked towards them. The old man looked up, making a sour face.
“Leave him alone, Da,” the young man said, taking the man’s arm. He was tall, with a crooked jaw and scars under a sparse, black beard. He turned to Kefier. “Sorry about that. Mother, but Da, he wanders off, sometimes. Still nostalgic about the old place.”
“He was born there, Shamke,” the old man insisted. “You can hear it in his voice. He came from the mainland.”
Shamke glanced at Kefier and rolled his eyes. “Sure, Da. Maybe you should head back before the master sees you missing.”
“Why should he care?” the man barked. “I’m too old to do anything useful. He told me so, the other day.” He rubbed his bent back and pointed at Kefier. “You left your village. Why did you leave? We were told to stay. We were told...” He glanced around him, as if hearing whispers from someone unseen.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Kefier asked. “Why—”
“Oh, don’t get him started,” Shamke grunted.
The old man shook his head. “Be quiet. Shamke, I didn’t raise you right. His mother was a washerwoman,” he added, turning to Kefier. His glassy eyes blinked. “I’m old and broken. You’re young and strong. Why did you leave? Soon, no one will remember how it was. You stroll through the streets wearing Kag clothes, with your head up high like…”
“Home, Da,” Shamke said, raising his voice. “You need to feed the chickens.”
The man shook his head and wandered away, mumbling to himself. Shamke gave an apologetic smile. “He must’ve seen you disembark. Likes to hang around the docks, you ken? Gets nostalgic about the sea.” He paused, as if taking a closer look at him. “It is a rare sight to see a Gorenten from the mainland. If he was right...if you were born in the islands, then you must've been lucky to have made it all the way to the Kag alive.”
Kefier closed his mouth and watched the old man’s figure hobble out of sight. “What did he mean by we were told to stay?”
“Agartes, you listened to that horseshit? Don’t rightly know. Something about a queen’s decree, a long time ago, you ken? Da’s quite the romantic. Been in Baidh since he was a little one. He’s been upset, you ken, ever since the Dageian ships raided the islands and entire villages started arriving on the northern shores. Thinks people should stay and die defending their hovels. I swear, if he didn’t rattle every time he took a breath I’d be up every morning making sure he didn’t run away. Probably thinks he could rally up a couple of villages, make a hero of himself. But you didn’t come here to chat, I’m thinking. Couple of ril and I can show you the way.”
Kefier gave him the coins. The man shoved them into his pocket, grinned, and beckoned to him. They hadn’t walked very far when a rock hurtled down from the alley, landing on Shamke’s jaw. He fell back. Raucous laughter followed.
“Hey,” Kefier started, tapping his sword and stepping towards the group of children. They looked at each other before running off, screaming. He frowned and returned to Shamke to help him up.
“Tell me it’s different in the mainland,” Shamke said.
“Depends where,” Kefier replied.
“Didn’t use to be like this, you ken. We were never allowed our own lands or households but it wasn’t so bad. Then those idiot islanders come…half of them can’t even speak Kagosh or know how to feed a goat without killing it.” Shamke rubbed his jaw.
Kefier cleared his throat. “These are your people you’re talking about.”
“Yeah? Yours, too. That ever do anything good for you?”
Kefier didn’t know how to respond to that without being rude, so he kept his mouth shut.
They continued walking. Further down the middle of the street, a yellow-haired man walked past Kefier and poked Shamke in the chest. “What are you doing here at this time, Shamke? If I told your master you were out drinking again, that’ll be it.”
Shamke gave a dog-like grin. “And if I told your sister you were out whoring again, Abel…”
“What, in daylight? And she’s not my sister. Who’s this?” Abel narrowed his eyes, regarding Kefier for the first time. “Picked up more driftwood from the shore?”
“He’s from the mainland,” Shamke said. He seemed unable to meet Abel’s eyes when he talked.
Abel walked up to Kefier. Kefier reached out to shake his hand and then pulled back when he realized Abel wasn’t going to return the gesture. “A toske from the mainland, ay?” He was using the Gorenten word for nut shells.
His tone made Kefier uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and tapped Shamke, who dipped his head once. “We’re not far,” Shamke grumbled. “I’ll be seeing you at home, Abel.”
They started down the dusty road. They hadn’t gotten far when they heard footsteps behind them. Kefier turned, one hand on his sword. “Careful, there,” Abel said, holding his hands up. “The governor’s strict about unregulated weapons. Anything beyond sheep shears gets the stink-eye from the guard.”
“Swords aren’t forbidden,” Kefier said.
Abel crossed his arms. “No, but I wouldn’t be running about waving it around, if I were you. Mother, but where are you taking him, Shamke? I’m thinking he’s too big for you to do in and steal from.”
Kefier glanced up and regarded him for the first time. Abel was tall and lanky, with coarse yellow hair and skin so pale he must’ve made it a habit to keep out of the sun since childhood. From his smooth face and the careless way he walked, he did not look to be any older than twenty.
Kefier turned to Shamke. “Is this man bothering us?”
Shamke—who was clearly much older than the boy—gave a gurgle of protest. “Mother o’ mine—no! He’s...he’s owner of the farm across from ours. My master was friends with his da.”
“Owner? At your age?”
“I’m not liking your tone,” Abel said. “I didn’t know toske were so insolent elsewhere.”
“I could show you insolence,” Kefier murmured. “But I have an errand to run.”
Abel gave the smile of someone who just discovered something important. “So you do have a master. For a moment, I was fearing the Mother allows toske loose elsewhere. I love you folk—I really do, but you need all the guidance you can get, you ken?” He smirked and turned to Shamke. “What does he want? I can help.”
Kefier shrugged. “That’s unnecessary.”
Shamke swallowed, glancing at him first, before turning to Abel. “He wants to know where Duke Lahrin’s mansion is.”
Abel clasped a heavy hand on Shamke’s shoulder and smiled. “Why didn’t you say so? We used to play there when we were kids. Remember, Shamke? His master used to send him to find us. Follow me.” He stepped ahead of them.
Kefier didn’t move. “Tell him to go away, Shamke,” he said in an even voice.
Shamke rubbed the side of his head. “Abel, couldn’t you…”
Abel cocked his head to the side. “I’m not seeing why you’d let him lead you, but not me. I’m just being helpful. Besides, Duke Lahrin’s place is closed. Hasn’t anyone lived there for years, you ken. If the guard sees you alone with him, mucking around where you got no business to be, that’ll be the end of you.” He placed his hands in his pockets. “I’m not even asking what you’re going there for. A gesture of goodwill. You’re new here, after all.”
Kefier sucked in his breath. “All right,” he growled, after a moment of deliberation. “You’re just being helpful. After all.” The boy didn’t seem threatened by his tone.
The morning light had broken through the clouds by the time they left the city behind and started down the winding road, wrapped around a muddy lake. Flocks of green, long-necked birds, startled by their presence, took flight as they passed. They were
a common sight in Gorent and Kefier was reminded of how close he was to home after all these years.
Not home, he corrected himself. The village that had found him responsible for nearly causing his brother’s death had thrown him out; he could still recall old Hilkiah’s death-grip on his wrist and the mouldy scent that clung to the priest’s clothes. “Let the god judge you,” Hilkiah had said before shoving him onto the sand and towards a broken, half-buried dinghy. “Consider yourself lucky I didn’t decide to smash your head into the rocks.”
He pressed his hands against his mouth, watching the white vapour curl around them. He had promised Rosha, in the way a father promises his daughter a pony or a castle of her own, that he would someday take her to the islands. She did not need to know that the Dageians’ latest assaults had left ashes and rubble where vibrant villages used to be. Even if he was welcomed back with open arms, there was nothing to return to. Aldawan was raided over six moons ago. The merchant who had brought him the news insisted he saw the ruins himself.
They came within sight of the manor. The Lahrins were an old family, perhaps one of the oldest families in all of Baidh. They were all but extinguished, now; Essonias Lahrin, who was the last known Duke Lahrin, had been assassinated a year before King Elrend of Hafod was crowned. No one knew who did it, or why. He didn’t have children. He had raised a girl once, it was said, but she ran away and never returned.
Vines of frost-covered ivy enveloped the enormous front gate. “It’s locked and there’s spikes at the top, laced with something,” Abel said as they came up the stone path. “My friend cut himself up there and was never quite the same after. We used to come in through a gap in the fence out back. Don’t know if it’s still there.”
Kefier stared at the manor, his breath fogging around his mouth. Abel tapped him. “You’re planning to go in, aren’t you? The Lahrins have been gone for years. You’re not the first person to search the house for valuables.”
Kefier gave him a look. Abel held his hands out. “I’m not saying you’re a thief! But people get curious, you ken? We did the same when we were kids. Which is why I’m telling you that the old place is empty…looted clean, years ago. Tell him, Shamke.”
An Elegy of Heroes Page 80
