“You’re thinking too much, putting carts before horses. You can worry about Hillanus and Farnell after Nyphron is dead.”
“By then it’ll be too late. Once blood has been spilled, there is no going back. My father respects strength, and for now, the legions are backing me. So I have to use that advantage while I have it. He’ll grant me an audience; hear what I have to say.”
“And what do you hope to accomplish with this talk?”
Nolyn thought a moment. For over eight hundred years, he’d gone where the wind blew—the wind being his father. He’d only started charting his own course a little over a week ago. He’d always believed himself to be a cautious, calculating person, but now he was making spontaneous decisions—even world-altering ones. Facing his father alone was an idea that had coalesced over only a matter of hours. He didn’t want to cause the deaths of thousands if he could avoid it.
What good is it to sit on a throne of blood, ruling a shattered realm?
“The law and his attitude have to change,” he told the palatus. “And if that can be done without bloodshed, it’s worth a try.”
“Have you forgotten he ordered your death?” Demetrius folded his arms roughly, his face scowling.
“No, and that’s something else he and I need to discuss.”
“He’ll simply deny it.” Demetrius shifted his weight, his arms still folded as if the man’s whole body were a knot.
Nolyn considered the words. “You could come with me. If he denies it, you can testify to what you saw. Would you do that?”
“That depends. Am I still your prisoner?”
“I only forced you to come because I couldn’t take the chance of you raising an alarm. You’re free to go—have been since we were away from Urlineus. But how often does a man have the chance to shape the future of the world? If you help me, we might do just that.”
“I’ll go, but I doubt your father will see reason. He might just kill you for leading an army to his shore. You must be prepared to strike him down first. Otherwise, we’ll both die.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you think you can?”
“My father is a legendary warrior, leader of the Galantians. But he hasn’t lifted a sword in nearly a thousand years. I’m a veteran of the Grenmorian and the First Goblin War, and I’ve now fought in our current conflict with the ghazel. If we draw swords, one of us will have an extremely unpleasant Founder’s Day.”
“No!” Amicus said. “Absolutely not. Are you insane?”
Nolyn frowned.
He had debated heading straight to Percepliquis with Demetrius but realized he had to say farewell to the Seventh first, for their own safety. If Nolyn disappeared, they would come looking, and he couldn’t have that. Also, they deserved a proper parting—Nolyn felt he did, too.
“We’re on the verge of victory, and you want to—”
“I want a resolution that is a win for everyone,” Nolyn explained. “The empyre is like a dirty glass. I want to clean it, not shatter it and then try to figure out how, or even if, it’s possible to piece it back together again. I’ve not been all that fond of Percepliquis, but I don’t want to see it burned to the ground.” He smiled at Mirk. “It would be a shame to ruin your first visit by torching the place.”
Mirk smiled back, or tried to, and it wasn’t the dual wounds that made the effort difficult.
The group of men were gathered around the fire, which had burned low. Each wore the same shocked expression as they stood, staring.
Amicus scowled. “You showed up on his doorstep with an invading army. He’ll kill you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Nolyn frowned. “Look, all my life I’ve believed my father hated me, but only since Demetrius confirmed the order have I been convinced my father wanted me dead. But . . .”
“But what?”
“Too many things just don’t add up. My father wouldn’t hire a Miralyith. He hates them too much. And Nyphron isn’t shy when it comes to spilling blood. If he wanted me dead, he’d do it himself.” He put a hand to his chest. “And then there’s the Orinfar. Why go to the trouble of protecting me if he was trying to kill me? I can’t ask all these men to fight and possibly die unless I’m positive that’s the only way.”
Amicus looked unconvinced.
“Look, there’s only a few possible outcomes. My father can be reasoned with, which means we don’t need to invade. If we battle each other and I win, then the invasion gets a lot easier and fewer men die. Or—”
“Your father kills you on the spot.”
“It’s definitely a possibility, and if that happens, you need to reassess the situation. So, if by sunrise I don’t come back, then assume I’m dead, take command of the Teshlors, and do what you feel is best.”
“And here I was just getting used to having you around,” Amicus said. “You were really starting to grow on me.”
“Really? We faced death twice and traveled half the world in each other’s company. You’re hard to please.”
“I’m discerning.”
“You’re picky.”
“I’m gonna miss you.”
Nolyn nodded. “I realized that the moment we met. I eventually have to say goodbye to everyone.”
The fire whispered as it died. A faint wind rustled the tall grass along the riverbank. Frogs and crickets filled the quiet gaps.
Nolyn snapped to attention. Lifting his chin, he asked, “How do I look?”
“Like an idiot dressing up for his own funeral.” Amicus turned away.
“Don’t mind him, sir,” Riley said, extending an arm. “Was an honor, sir.”
Nolyn ignored the handshake and hugged the man. He did the same for all of them except Jerel, who grabbed his own helmet.
“I’m coming with you, sir,” DeMardefeld said.
“I didn’t extend an invitation.”
“I didn’t ask for one, sir.”
Nolyn smiled. “Let me be more blunt. I don’t want you to come.”
“Allow me to reply in kind: I don’t care.”
“What if I order you to stay?”
Jerel smiled. “God outranks you, sir.”
“Is this the same god that was whispering to the legions, telling them I was coming? You left that part out of your prophecy.”
Jerel looked hesitant and thoughtful. “I don’t think they are the same. The One came to me in person and spoke as a man. The others heard a disembodied voice, and that just doesn’t seem . . . I don’t know . . . like something he would do.”
“Wonderful, now there are two gods who knew I was coming before I arrived. Makes me feel a bit too much like a ball being batted back and forth in a game.” Nolyn frowned. “I appreciate your concern, Jerel, but you have to understand I must face my father alone. Anything less will be seen as weakness, and today it’s important that he respect me. Surely your god can appreciate that my life is secondary to the goal of a better future for all mankind.”
Jerel considered the assertion, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll come along but wait at the palace gate. If you need me, just yell.”
Nolyn laughed. “If I’m in enough need to yell, do you seriously think you’d be able to reach me trapped in the palace?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
That made Nolyn smile. “Wish me luck,” he said to the rest.
“You’ll need more than that, bossy,” Smirch said. “You’ll need a miracle.”
“That’s why he has me,” Jerel said without a trace of humor.
Nolyn had started walking away when Amicus grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t you dare get killed, you hear me? I don’t want to have come all this way for nothing.”
“I’ll try not to disappoint.”
Amicus gave him a sudden hug. “My father and grandfather always said, ‘Never serve the emperor because you’ll always be disappointed.’ But I want you to know something. I would have served you.”
“Me, too,” Riley said.
“And me.” Myt
h nodded.
“I usually hate everyone,” Smirch said, “but I think I’d make an exception.”
Mirk and Everett nodded.
“Hail, prymus!” Amicus shouted, and each offered a salute. “And may good fortune and the blessings of the gods be upon you.”
Looking at them, seeing the admiration mingled with fear in their eyes, Nolyn felt the weight of responsibility more acutely than ever before. And perhaps for the first time, he had hope.
Chapter Seventeen
Cries in the Dark
The midnight bell rang, waking Arvis.
She thought it strange how she slept worse in warmer weather. With the tolling of the iron bells, it was officially Founder’s Day, which was also the start of the planting season, the day when it was believed the nights would never again get cold enough to kill. In winter, Arvis shivered but slept deep. In summer, she tossed. With the ringing of that bell, she couldn’t have managed even that.
She lifted her head off the sack of belongings and wiped her eyes. The world hadn’t changed.
One day I’ll open my eyes, and everything will be different.
She didn’t know why she thought that, but she didn’t understand the majority of the things that popped into her head. For most people, the world was a mystery, but for Arvis, she was the enigma—a puzzle that even Death had found too tight a knot to unravel.
Something bit her ankle. A spider perhaps, or an ambitious bug that got a jump on the season. The bite itched, and as she reached down to scratch, she heard the sound again. As quiet as the song of butterfly wings, the faint cry of a baby drifted to her.
Arvis stopped moving. Her arm still extended toward her ankle, frozen in place. She held her breath and waited.
It came again and from the same direction as before.
Wasting no time and feeling like she had been granted an unexpected second chance, Arvis burst from her under-the-stairs home and raced down the darkened street through the garment district.
No. Not my second chance; there’s no such thing. The other time was to prepare me. Maybe it didn’t actually happen. Perhaps I saw a dream or a vision.
Whatever it had been, Arvis was ready. She snatched a torch from the street post at the intersection and ran toward the old milliner’s shop.
How can a child live down there? Probably can’t for long.
She found the sewer grate in the alley, and without hesitation, she scrambled down. Dropping into the dark netherworld, she paused, holding her breath in anticipation.
Hearing the cry again, she set out, splashing her way without a single concern about the rats or the stench. Reaching a four-way junction, she didn’t have to wait for another cry; her previous adventure had left her confident about the path. Then her feet slipped, and she fell into the slop with a spray that splashed the walls. Quick thinking on her part preserved the torch. She held it high, like a military standard on a field of battle.
The cries were loud and crisp as she skidded around another corner, then the echoes stopped. The cry of the baby no longer bounced; it rang clear. No walls lay between her and the source. The baby was . . . the baby was . . .
Please, not in the sludge, not in the water. Please.
That tiny prayer was granted as she found what looked to be the nest of a large animal—no, not an animal, a person. A portion of the sewer wall had collapsed, leaving a hole about four feet off the floor, which was just about the same size as Arvis’s sub-stair refuge. There were a few wadded-up blankets, a collapsed water bladder, a handful of small cloths, some chicken bones, and a bucket and brush. The bristles of the brush were dark, and what looked like dried blood stained the sides of the bucket. In the nest, a bundle squirmed, an abandoned swaddled infant. Wrapped tight in dingy cloth, a small, red-faced, tear-soaked child had been tucked between the bucket and the blankets. It looked so small and helpless—no bigger than . . . a loaf of bread.
Beneath, at the base of the wall, an eager audience of rats had gathered. Without a clear way to climb the sheer surface, they were in the process of scaling one another, building a writhing, chattering pillar of hungry rodents that were eager to discover what lodged above them.
Arvis kicked viciously at the mound. She received more than one bite in response, but the pile of rats scattered to unseen holes.
Propping the torch against the wall, Arvis reached into the nest and picked up the baby. The tiny body jerked with cries of pain, fear, confusion—probably all three. But the moment Arvis pulled the child to her chest, the wailing stopped. Her arms surrounded the bundle, one hand cupping the little head to the beating of her heart. Together at last, the two calmed and quieted. Peace settled, and in that horrid place beneath the sleeping world, Arvis’s mind returned to her, and she remembered what she’d forgotten.
I had a child.
Time, Arvis knew, was a slippery thing that all too often escaped her when she failed to pay attention. Holding the child, feeling the warmth they shared and listening to the peace that reigned outside and within, Arvis refused to step out of that perfect moment. She had brought serenity not only to the child but herself as well. She and the baby were at once whole, and so long as time didn’t move and the world failed to notice, these two undeserving hearts found joy.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Arvis didn’t hate the world—or herself. The gods who had tormented her for so many years had apparently gotten bored and nodded off. She feared waking them, so she held the baby tight and prayed that her one singular moment of joy wouldn’t end.
Most people don’t realize the best time of their lives until long after it’s over. But not me. I know—I know because I’m living it!
How long she stayed in that place she would never be able to remember. To her, it felt both an instant and an eternity. The world, however, wouldn’t be denied, and the gods only took short naps.
The torch, which wasn’t all that grand to begin with, was growing short and with it, so was time. She didn’t want to be caught down there without light. Taking care with the child, she cradled it in one arm and picked up the torch. Arvis looked forward and back, unsure which way was out. One of the rats she’d kicked was dead, or at least it lay unmoving. She vaguely recalled kicking it in the opposite direction from where she had come and guessed that back was the other way. Holding tight to both baby and the dwindling torch, she set off in search of an open sewer hole.
Coming to an intersection, she was absolutely positive she had no idea which way to go. She couldn’t even remember the junction. She also couldn’t recall having encountered a crossroad.
I’m lost, her mind reported as it reluctantly took control. That’s the problem with the heart; it drives the cart into the ditch and then walks away with an innocent, “Oops.”
“All roads lead somewhere,” she whispered. Talking to herself was one of the batty things she did, and she knew it. But this time . . . she shook her head. “No, not to myself. I said that to you,” she told the child and smiled. “You make me not crazy.”
The baby didn’t deny a single word, having already fallen asleep.
The rats kept their distance, as if news of the kicking madwoman had circulated throughout rodent town. She was grateful for that. Despite being more than prepared to wage war on behalf of her new charge, she preferred a clear path.
“To all the rats, spiders, beetles, and everything else that crawls in the night, beware!” she shouted, her voice echoing, gaining volume and depth as it bounced down the tunnels so that she sounded like a god herself. “With Elan as my witness and Eton as my judge, I’ll thrash you to the edge of existence should you threaten this child!”
That was no idle boast. Arvis had already held hands with Death himself. What more could Life throw at her?
She got a clue when she stumbled on the first dead body. A man, floating in the water, was bumping against the wall. The second was only a few feet farther away. Both were difficult to see because of the writhing mass of rats eat
ing them. Armed with both feet, Arvis shooed the rodents away. In many ways, doing so was a mistake. The view below the rats wasn’t a pretty one, and she retreated, whispering to the sleeping baby, “You don’t need to see that.”
I didn’t come this way.
She took a different corridor, and that was when she heard it. Initially, she thought it was the scratching of rats. She revised that notion as she grew closer, and the sound grew in volume.
There was a clacking, a scraping, and a banging. In between, far more disturbing noises made her stop. Guttural sounds, deep-throated utterances issued up the passage in a language she’d never heard before. That area, she noticed, was devoid of rats. She spotted a pickax leaning against the wall, a queer, twisted tool made from some sort of gray wood and dark metal.
Life was going out of its way to prove who was the boss of her; for at that moment, as she stood in the passage contemplating the sounds and the tool, the torch flickered one last time and died. In the dark, she heard clicking, chattering, and digging.
Big rats, she thought.
“You don’t want to go that way,” a voice told her.
Spinning and thrusting out her dead torch as if it were a dagger, Arvis spotted a woman coming out of the dark. Wrapped in a shawl, she held a small lantern in one hand and a heavy sack in the other.
Step, lurch, step, lurch. The woman moved slowly, slogging through ankle-deep water. “That way is . . . bad. The children of Uberlin are coming. Ferrol has invited them for Founder’s Day.”
Step, lurch, step, lurch. She inched closer.
Arvis watched her approach with growing dread.
“You found the baby, didn’t you?” the woman accused. “Right down here. You took it, isn’t that right?”
Arvis retreated a step, pulling the baby tighter to her chest.
Step, lurch, step, lurch. “It isn’t yours. That baby is—”
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