The Wound of the World

by Edward W. Robertson

  Raxa tilted back her head. The night smelled like trees. "There's been a snag. I'm working on it."

  "A snag? Like what kind of snag?"

  "Like they've resisted my efforts to be recruited."

  "But why would they do that? I thought you were the best!"

  "It's complicated. Could be they're about to pull a job and they're wary about being infiltrated."

  "Could you be pushing too hard?" He picked at a loose thread on his plain gray robe. "Maybe you should act like when you like a girl and she isn't so sure about you."

  "How is that?"

  "You know. Like you don't really care, but if she was smart, she'd go for a walk with you."

  Despite herself, she smiled. "Hear anything from His Holiness?"

  "Dante? Nothing really. They're on their way to Alebolgia."

  "Where are you keeping the device?"

  "Device? What device?"

  "I'm supposed to report what I find to you. Therefore, you have a way to get it to Galand. A magic bird. A flying bottle. An incredibly loud whistle that only he can hear. Whatever it is."

  "Uh," Sorrowen said. "It was entrusted to me."

  "And if something happens to you, and I don't know where it is, I won't have any way to get in contact with them."

  "I can't, Raxa. This is my duty."

  She grinned. "All right, altar boy. Then you better not get yourself killed."

  They set another meet for five days later. She spent a few days chatting up Colleners, hanging around public parks where angry people shouted at each other about politics, and, at night, seeing whether she could sneak into the palace. Not with dead mice. She didn't trust them. With herself.

  Problem was, once you got through the outer walls, which had been converted from fortifications into the poshest shops and tea houses, you were then faced with an inner maze of private residences that were very obviously not supposed to be approached by anyone lesser than the fringe of the noble classes. Most of these were recent structures built from wood. By shadowalking, she could probably find her way through their maze in time, but she'd only have a few minutes to get inside the palace, look around, and get back out again.

  Still, when you were digging out of prison, the only way for it was a few inches at a time.

  As she made her rounds, she spun herself yarns she could tell if somebody caught her snooping around the palace or anywhere else she shouldn't be. She avoided the Boxing Turtle. She also did her best to avoid the feeling she'd had long ago as a girl alone in a hostile city with no friends and nothing in her pocket.

  After four days of letting the Ghost's pub cool down, she made her way back to the Culinary District. The evening felt cool, but it was humid enough she was sweating into her shirt. A lone figure leaned against the outside of the Boxing Turtle. It was the guy she'd spoken with on her first try, the handsome young man with the too-thin beard. He tipped back a flask. The motion tugged his sleeve tight, outlining a knife strapped to his upper arm.

  Changing plans on the fly, Raxa stopped twelve feet away from him. "Hello. I return."

  The man wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You sure that's a good idea?"

  "There was a mistake. I come to apologize."

  "Some things, it's better to get gone and stay gone."

  "I know who your people are. I know that I can help them to be more."

  The man took another swig, then tucked away the flask with a smooth brushing motion. "You don't have to convince me. You have to convince Errik."

  He jerked his head down the alley. Most of it was dark, but at the far end, a candle burned dimly from somewhere behind the building. Low laughter crept down the passage. Raxa bent her left wrist, reassured as it bumped into the hilt of the knife tucked up her sleeve. The pub's door squeaked open, disgorging a man and a woman. They glanced Raxa's way as she followed the man into the alley.

  It stank like piss both stale and fresh. The young man glanced over his shoulder. "Got a name?"

  "Xara," she said.

  He smiled. "I'm Tommen."

  They reached a T-intersection at the back of the alley. Tommen turned to the right, bringing her before a group of three men who had a shared interest in hostile looks and stupid mustaches.

  "This is Xara." Tommen grinned at them, putting a hand in the small of her back to guide her forward. "She's the one who was around the other night, yeah? One who nicked Errik's bracelet."

  The man with the pointiest mustache smirked. "Oh, he's going to be happy with what you brought him."

  Tommen thrust his fingers into Raxa's hair, entangled them, and pulled her head backward. She gasped in pain. He shoved his forearm across her collarbones, searching for her throat, but she was already blinking into the nether. She reappeared outside his grasp and pounded her fist into his left eye.

  The others called out in surprise. Raxa devoted a fraction of a second to the idea of weaving herself in and out of the nether and her blade in and out of their throats. If not for the couple that had witnessed her entering the alley, she might have done it. Instead, she whirled and ran.

  She splashed through the alley, the three men close behind her, Tommen staggering along behind them and clutching his eye. They yelled insults after her, but there was nothing about witchcraft or sorcery. Too dark for them to have properly seen what had happened. Brains had convinced them she'd just slipped loose. As for Tommen, she'd hit his eye hard enough that he wouldn't be seeing much of anything for a while.

  She dashed from the alley, slipping on a clot of wet leaves. A short-handled throwing knife swooshed past her and clinked over the cobbles. Heart on fire, she picked herself up and ran on. If they'd been in Narashtovik, she could have lost them in any number of crooked alleys and secret doors that existed for situations exactly like this, but in Bressel, she could barely find her way back to her inn.

  Then again, she kept a hidden door on her at all times. All she had to do was swerve down a side street, pop into the shadows before they came around the corner, then wait for them to run past.

  She headed for the street on the south side of the square where she'd originally entered from. As she neared the corner, one of the men chasing her whistled two quick notes. Two men arose from a stoop on the corner and jogged toward her.

  Raxa swore and veered to her left. The men behind her gained ground, just steps behind her. She ran pell-mell for the eastern street entrance. A pair of blue-coated guards wandered from it, breaking off their argument to glance at the chase.

  Raxa swore again. How much bad luck could she eat in one night? She scanned the plaza for another way out, ready to make a break for it, then laughed out loud. She was so used to running from the city watch that she'd almost forgotten what they were supposed to be for.

  "Help me!" she yelled, exceedingly glad she was in a foreign city where no one she knew would see what she was doing. "They attack!"

  The guards drew their swords and jogged forward, the buckles jingling on their leather armor. Trying to bring tears to her eyes, Raxa thought about dead puppies and vagabond children trudging through winter with blue feet. The pack of thieves scattered, jeering at the guardsmen.

  The younger guard pointed with his sword. "I know your faces!"

  The other, an older man with dark hair and a red beard, motioned Raxa toward him. "Are you hurt?"

  "I think I am fine," Raxa said. "I walk past the pub, and they come out and they chase me!"

  "Animals." He raised his voice at the fleeing men. "And if I see you again, I'll bleed you like a cow!"

  "Thank you." Raxa hugged herself. "I think they want to…hurt me."

  "It's over now, ma'am. Come on then. Where do you live?"

  She was about to name her inn, but was stopped by the flushed, proud look on the guards' faces. They'd just saved the helpless young woman. At that moment, if she'd asked to ride them home like they were horses, they'd beseech her to wait while they found a saddle. She racked her brain for one of the cover stories she'd patched
together while contemplating how to get into the palace.

  "I have no home," she said. "Not here."

  The man made an O of his mouth. "Don't tell me you're sleepin' on the streets. I don't even like to walk them!"

  "I come from the north. There, I am of a noble family. But I fall into trouble. I need to speak to the King Charles."

  The two watchmen exchanged a look. The younger man gave a slight shake of his head. The red-bearded man pursed his lips and reached for Raxa's arm. "Milday—"

  She pulled back. "Please, sir! I cannot be touched. This is the way in my land."

  "No harm meant, milady. Follow me and we'll get this all sorted out."

  She fell instep beside them. The bearded man asked her a few questions about where she was from and what had happened to her. Raxa allowed him a few details, including a name of Lady Yera, then insisted she could only tell the remainder to a proper authority. The irritable younger guard was visibly relieved when they came to a three-story stone guardhouse.

  The red-bearded man brought her upstairs to a sergeant's office. "We're going to go get this sorted out, Lady Yera. You just wait right here."

  He gave a short bow and exited. Raxa bolted the door, then shadowalked through the wall and followed the guard downstairs.

  "Don't tell me you believe her," the younger guard grumbled. "Did you see her clothes? If she's a princess of some kind, then I'm the Queen of the Horse-People."

  The older guard ran his hand down his beard. "I don't know what the hell's going on. When you don't know what the hell's going on, you don't do something about it. You pass it off to somebody to take the blame."

  He buttoned his jacket and hustled out the front door. Frowning, Raxa returned to her room and spent a good hour thinking things through. She meant to stay awake and alert—if they came to arrest her, wanted to be able to do something to stop that—but her legs were worn out and her mind was, too. She nodded off in her chair.

  A knock on the door jolted her awake. "Lady Yera?" The bearded guard called through the door. "Someone's come for you. Best come downstairs."

  The wan light of dawn crept through the shutters. Foggy-headed, Raxa moved to the door. "Who has come?"

  The guard didn't answer. Raxa unbolted the door, ready to launch herself into the shadows, but the hallway was empty. She descended to the ground floor. Two men in gold-trimmed blue uniforms were arguing with the watchmen who'd taken her in. A third man bowed to Raxa and showed her outside. There, a black carriage waited in the street, the horses snorting gouts of steam into the crisp morning air.

  The guard swung open the carriage door. A middle-aged woman leaned out and beckoned. "This way, Lady Yera. The palace awaits."

  18

  Vita's sword poked against Dante's doublet. Four burly men piled into the room behind her wearing the orange of House Osedo.

  "You think I'm a liar?" Dante said. "A betrayer? Maybe so. But not against you."

  She snarled, tensing her elbow to ram the blade home. Dante shifted ever so slightly so the sword would miss his heart.

  "We had a deal," she said. "And you cast it aside like an empty bottle. Why shouldn't I do the same with your life?"

  Blays wandered forward, swords on his hips. "If you have to ask that sort of thing, you're not really going to kill him. So why don't we skip past the part where you bluster about the thinness of the slices you're going to reduce us to and get to the part where you tell us what this is about?"

  "I should tell you of your own schemes? How should I know why your hearts are so black?"

  "We don't have any idea what's happening," Dante said. "You could at least have the courtesy of telling us what crime you're accusing us of."

  Vita's teeth flashed in anger. "More lies. You lie always. You sprout lies like a body sprouts maggots."

  "We've spent the last three months traveling to, cleaning up, and departing from Narashtovik. We haven't spoken to the Colleners since then."

  "He's telling the truth," Blays said. "Whatever's happened, we're exactly as dumb as he looks."

  Vita's eyes scanned back and forth across Dante's face, as if reading the secrets of each line and tensed muscle. She grunted in annoyance, then spat on her sword—Dante had no idea what the gesture meant—and sheathed it.

  "It was the turning of the year," Vita said. "The day after Embersday, Speaker Itiego announced the new taxes. Those of wines for export were doubled. The city of Poloa understood at once: Itiego and the Cavanese were growing jealous of the Poloan industry. Perhaps even threatened.

  "Poloa announced that it would not pay. When Cavana boasted that it wouldn't reduce the new taxes, Poloa renounced the confederation. Its neighbor Julina leaped from the ranks as well; Julina had never wanted to join in the first place. There was talk of Poloan ambassadors swaying Hunedo to their side and forming a confederation of their own. If this had happened, many believed it would lead to the collapse of the Confederated Cities of Alebolgia, and Cavana would find itself alone against a powerful new enemy."

  "Cavana had a simple play to stop that," Dante said. "Shut Poloa out of the port. If it couldn't export its wines, its strength would collapse in no time."

  Vita shook her head, dark eyes somber. "This could not be. For the same reason Speaker Itiego denied your offer: the river of trade must flow. If Itiego had tried to dam the waters, he would have been hung in a cage, and shown what happens when all pleasures stop flowing—especially food and drink."

  "So Cavana has to keep trading with Poloa even if they're enemies? What sense does that make?"

  "The sense of there being many merchants who continue to wish to profit with Poloa, and who are wise enough to see that if the merchants of Poloa can be forced from the stream, the same could be done to them."

  "But what about when they go to war? In that case, they're funding the enemy's troops!"

  Vita gave him a scornful look. "If a city declares a Full War on another, then trade can be dammed up without consequence. But the risk and shame of losing trade is why so few cities will risk the Full War. We are not so foolish as you think, Dante. Our system might confuse you, yet it keeps us at peace." She made a small shrug. "Or close to it."

  "Much as I love hearing you two debate local politics," Blays said, "weren't you going to tell us why you were going to stab Dante?"

  "All of this is the why. After Poloa and Julina renounced their membership in the confederation, Cavana threatened them with the Full War. This made Poloa ring with so much laughter it is said they heard it all the way in Collen. Their laughter ceased when the envoys from Collen arrived—and told them that unless they surrendered, they would be destroyed."

  "Don't tell me Poloa fell for that."

  She turned a cold eye on Dante. "The Colleners said that if they did not acquiesce, Dante Galand, the avatar of Arawn himself, would slaughter Poloa as ruthlessly as he had twice done to the Mallish in Collen."

  "I have good news for Poloa," Blays said. "He's not much of a god. I hear his weakness is being hit by things that are sharp."

  "It's too late. Soldiers from Collen and Cavana occupy Poloa now. For the Colleners' aid in maintaining the Confederacy, Itiego has promised to close his port to the Mallish." Vita lowered her gaze. "I needed our deal. And your people, they threw it away like the guts of a fish."

  Dante ran his hand down his face. "We aren't any happier about this than you are. We'll talk to the Colleners. We'll find a way to make this right."

  "You swear to this?"

  "I do. And the Colleners are about to hear some swearing of an entirely different kind."

  Vita made a slight bow of her head and left, trailed by her guards.

  Dante closed the door. "I'm going to wait a few minutes before we pay the Colleners a visit. Otherwise, I might be tempted to introduce them to the window of the nearest tower."

  "Pretty cunning move they pulled," Blays said. "If you'd thought of it, you'd be slapping yourself on the back."

  Dante muttered some
thing impolite. Ten minutes later, feeling no better about anything, he concluded the only way to be rid of his anger was to vent it at the cause of it. He and Blays strode through the brisk seaside streets to House Itiego, stopping at the manor's gates. A wrought iron albatross looked down at them with a single blue sapphire eye.

  As Dante considered the merits of ripping the gates down, a figure emerged from the compound, thigh-high boots clapping on the cobblestones, collar flapping around his shoulders like boneless wings.

  "High Priest Galand!" Gareno called. "Or is it Divine Lord Galand, Avatar of the Celeset? You must pardon my vulgar ignorance, sir, for I have no experience treating with deities."

  "Shut up," Dante said. "Where are the Colleners?"

  "Why, they remain the welcome guests of Lord Itiego. I am sure they would be overjoyed to share their luncheon with you."

  "I can't think of anything I'd like more."

  Gareno smiled happily and opened the gates, leading them to the same vaulted hall where they'd first met with Itiego. The Keeper sat alone at the main table. At a side table, several other blond Colleners stopped their conversation to stare at Dante and Blays.

  The Keeper regarded them with her washed-out blue eyes. As Dante approached, she braced her gnarled hands on her thighs, arms quivering.

  "No need to stand," Dante said. "I know how your knees bother you."

  "I heard you were on your way." Within the stone walls of the sparse chamber, her voice threatened to boom like surf. "Did you achieve what was needed in your home city?"

  "Do you actually care in the slightest?"

  "Why would you ask such a question?"

  "Because you don't seem to have cared about fulfilling our deal with House Osedo."

  The old woman's wrinkled face didn't so much as flinch. "You heard about our change in fortune."

  "I heard you threatened an entire city with annihilation—using me as the weapon."

  "Opportunity presented itself. If we had waited until you returned to discuss the matter with you, that opportunity would have evaporated."