Path of Blood

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “You’re a demon-spawned bastard,” Metyein said, shaking his head.

  “Demon-spawned certainly. But we know the demon who is my father, so really, that’s a ridiculous accusation.”

  Metyein chuckled and met Kebonsat’s gaze with a resigned look. “At least he’s done blathering on about food.”

  “Until the next time,” Kebonsat agreed.

  Metyein waved his hand. “Oh, no, my friend. Soka’s off on his own adventure. We’ll be free of his foolishness for a bit.”

  “All the more reason to give you the full benefit of my companionship before I depart into the hinterlands, back to my father’s lair, as it were. Who knows if either of us will survive the encounter?”

  “Do try. We need that metal,” Kebonsat admonished.

  “You only ever think of metal. One wonders if parts of you are made of it . . .” Soka said, his eyes wandering suggestively. “Still, if the ever-watchful Hag has anything to say for it, I will get what we need. She has been most accomodating in escaping Aare. In the meantime, we should all have dreams. I’m dreaming of baked apples with honey and cinnamon, crepes, stuffed salmon, kohv with nussa, pumpkin soup with walnuts and scarlet cherries—”

  Metyein groaned and banged his knife down on the table with a loud clatter.

  “Have you thought about what to do with the ahalad-kaaslane?” Kebonsat inserted quickly.

  “Aside from locking them in a deep, dark cellar and losing the key?” Metyein sighed, pushing back his plate. “That isn’t fair. They want to help. They are at loose ends without the Lady to guide them, and they know they treated Reisiltark badly. They are truly faithful to Kodu Riik.”

  “Their support will be needed after this is over.”

  “Emelovi will need their support.” Metyein looked at Kebonsat, unblinking.

  Kebonsat felt as if Metyein had thrust a spear through his gut. He couldn’t speak.

  “The ahalad-kaaslane were right. She’s got a rightful claim on the throne. People are coming here because they choose to follow her. There’re no other heirs, no other choices.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Soka murmured, glancing over his shoulder. “There are other heirs. The three little ones who were sent to safety when the Iisand began to change. We haven’t thought of them. Aare will have.”

  Kebonsat stiffened, the hairs on his body prickling. “You don’t think he would—” But he would. The new Regent wanted the throne. Craved it bad enough to kill whoever might stand in his way, even his young siblings. And now that Emelovi had challenged him, he would move to cut off any other opposition. Emelovi couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. He stared at his white-knuckled fingers clenching his knife and fork.

  “We can’t spare anyone.”

  “Not entirely true,” Soka drawled. “You have that pesky ahalad-kaaslane problem.”

  Hope caught in Kebonsat’s chest. He straightened, his gaze locking with Metyein’s. “Not a bad idea.”

  Metyein nodded thoughtfully. “They would be grateful for the trust. It would allow them to prove themselves to Emelovi, and to the people.”

  “And if they succeed, it will flay at Aare’s rock-sac like a swarm of hungry termites,” Soka observed crudely. “It might distract him.”

  Before Kebonsat could answer, a clarion rang down the valley, echoing from the surrounding mountain peaks.

  For the space of one long breath, every soul in the room sat frozen.

  The dining hall erupted. Benches were overturned and trenchers and cups went flying as men leaped for the doors. They slapped for the hilts of their swords, their faces twisted in expressions of fear and fury.

  Kebonsat boiled out of the hall with the others, his mind cold. The clarion warned of strangers at the gates. Aare could not have brought his army to their doors without the scouts sending an alert. Raiders, then? A nokula attack? Or . . . An eel slithered into Kebonsat’s stomach. Wizards.

  Before he could do more than turn to find Metyein in the crush, another volley of notes sang across the valley. All clear. Relieved laughter broke out amongst the milling crowd. The sound was too loud, with a forced edge.

  “Care to wager it’s Juhrnus causing this rumpus? Our fair boy returned at last?” Soka asked.

  “Let’s go see,” Metyein said, untying his horse from its hitching post.

  They rode out of the stockade and up the rutted, muddy track that served as the main avenue for the valley. Heavy logwagons had cut deep gouges into the road that now filled with water, making their progress treacherous. But the fields on either side were planted to the verge and there was no room to ride alongside the river of mud.

  By the time they had struggled up the length of the valley into the rising hills beyond, they were each splattered with mud to their chins, and none in a good humor for it. Juhrnus looked little better. He rode at the head of a long column of wagons and people, most on foot or driving pony carts. He was filthy, wearing a bushy beard matted with mud and twigs and leaves. Beneath the beard his face was gaunt. He broke into a smile at the sight of the trio, lifting his arm in a tired wave.

  “Bright day! You are a sight, my friends.” He snatched his hat from his head and rubbed the damp from his forehead. “Mind, I’d rather you were a soft bed and a mug of hot wine, but you’ll do.”

  They greeted him loudly, thumping his shoulders. Kebonsat cast a sharp eye at Juhrnus’s retinue.

  “What have you brought? Metals?”

  Juhrnus shook his head, reaching absently under his cloak to stroke the head of a green-and-yellow-striped sisalik. It had a black, fleshy tongue and yellow eyes that gleamed with intelligence. The enormous lizard’s long body was wrapped around Juhrnus’s waist, protected from the rain by his ahalad-kaaslane’s oiled cloak.

  “Not what you’re looking for, I’m afraid,” he said. “Pots and pans, wire, a few swords and spears, nails, some brass. Not enough. I’ve scavenged all there is to be had for a hundred leagues around, and there was precious little left. If we want more, I’m going to have to go farther afield. Farther north up the Karnane, there might still be something that the royal troops haven’t scavenged.”

  “No need,” drawled Soka. “I’m going to get the metal.”

  Juhrnus gave him a sharp look. “Oh?”

  “Lady willing,” Metyein said. “Anything else? What about the plague? Koduteel? The Regent?”

  Juhrnus scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the wagons behind, his expression forbidding. His voice dropped. “I’d rather wait. Is there word on Reisil?” His right eye twitched when the others shook their heads. “That’s it, then.” But he would say nothing more as they rode down to the stockades, the drizzle finally letting up, though the clouds hung low and menacing.

  “You’ve made strides since I left,” Juhrnus said, managing somehow to sprawl in a hard, straight-backed chair. Juhrnus sipped at his mug of mulled wine and sighed, patting his belly. “Best food I’ve eaten in more than a month.” His face was thin and craggy beneath his beard, giving evidence to his short rations.

  “It’s filling, anyway,” Metyein said, scraping his chair closer. “Looks like you could use another bowl.” He shoved a plate of bread toward Juhrnus, who waved his hand.

  “I’m tight as a tick. The new folks who came in with me will be grateful for a hot meal, I can tell you. I’ve kept the pace quick. It’s getting dangerous out there.” He flashed a grin. “Mind, they weren’t sure about coming here. Surprised they stuck with me.”

  “You’re ahalad-kaaslane,” Kebonsat said. “That still means a little, outside of Koduteel. And it isn’t as if they have anywhere else to go.”

  “True. The plague continues to spread, and the drought has made things worse. There are bandit gangs setting up trade wherever there’s a bit of water and food. Families have been lucky to get out with their skins. And they’re on their own. The local nobles are all still gated up inside Koduteel. There are no leaders and no soldiers to drive the scum out. It’s ugly. W
hen this is over, there’s going to be a lot of work smoking the vermin out of their holes.”

  “If we survive, we’ll put it at the top of our list,” Soka drawled. “What’s the word from Koduteel?”

  “It still stands,” Juhrnus said. “Plague fires still burn outside the city around the clock. Fishing boats go out every day. The men’s families are held hostage against their return. Same with scavenge parties looking for grain, beans, vegetables—that sort of thing. Some of the bandit gangs in the Karnane are trading with them—whatever they can steal. The midden wagons are going out every day, but not much else besides. Aare’s got soldiers riding with the drivers. Luckily Karina’s got some of them in her pocket. She sent this.” He pulled out of his tunic a roll of parchment wrapped in oilskin and bound around by leather strips. He handed it to Metyein, who slit the bindings with his dagger and unrolled the pages. After a few moments his face darkened. He looked at Juhrnus over the top of the documents.

  “You read this?”

  Juhrnus nodded. “Came back as soon as I did.”

  “What’s it say?” Kebonsat asked.

  Metyein sighed. “There’s a description of the city. Marshal law seems to have curtailed the spread of the plague. There are food shortages. Water shortages. Most everything is going to mustering the army.” He glanced at Kebonsat. “Karina says that Aare’s staging in the foothills west of the city. He’s been funneling soldiers and supplies there. The Lord Marshal is overseeing the preparations. She figures they’ll be coming for us in the spring.”

  “What about the sorcerers?”

  “Nothing good. Listen. Karina writes: ‘After your escape, the Regent tightened the noose. Wherever he went, the Scallacians were at his side. They are using their magic to aid the Regent’s plans. The Regent’s hold on the city is absolute. His men follow him fanatically. Even the nobles have stopped caviling. I can say little of what the sorcerers are doing for him. Anyone I set to watch them disappears within hours. There are rumors of soldiers with the power of five men, of arrows that do not miss their targets, of horses that can travel for days without food or rest. But I fear what they do now. They have withdrawn into the palace. We do not know why, but fear the worst. Be warned. I hope your Reisiltark is very strong.’ ”

  “Kedisan-Mutira. Her testing,” Juhrnus said tonelessly.

  Metyein paused. Kebonsat looked sympathetically at Juhrnus, who was staring down at the scarred wood of the tabletop, the muscles in his arms cording as he clenched his fists. From the hearth, there was a moaning chirp, and Esper lifted his head, his yellow eyes shining with a hard light. After a moment, Metyein continued reading.

  “ ‘The sorcerers have made it nearly impossible to buy loyalty from the guards. It is too dangerous now to try to bring supplies into the city. Gather the folk that you can and protect them. Protect Kodu Riik. And pray to the Lady we survive the winter.’ ”

  Metyein paused again, sucking in a long breath. “Demonballs,” he muttered, his lips pulling into a snarl.

  “What?” Kebonsat demanded.

  “There’s a postcript here. The writing is hasty and smeared. ‘I have news that the Regent is going to be crowned Iisand at Nasadh.’ ”

  “Chodha,” Soka said into the turbid silence that followed. “How is that possible? As far as he knows, his father’s still alive.”

  “We all knew he wouldn’t wait. He’s got the entire Arkeinik trapped in Koduteel. They’ll agree to anything he wants if it means escape,” Metyein said in a strangled voice. When Aare became Iisand, he’d have Lord Marshal Vare’s complete support. And he’d have full command of Kodu Riik.

  No one had anything more to say.

  Metyein rolled up the parchment carefully, his fingers trembling. “Is there other news?”

  Juhrnus rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Two things. I went to Gudsiil, before Koduteel.” He nodded at Kebonsat.

  Kebonsat held himself very still. “And?”

  Juhrnus shook his head. “It’s gone. Plague.”

  “Ceriba?”

  Juhrnus shook his head, his expression tight. “They made pyres. I don’t know how many bodies they managed to burn before it got out of hand. When I got there, the gates were open and the garrison had been deserted. Animals had been at the bodies that were left.” He lifted red-rimmed eyes to meet Kebonsat’s stricken gaze. “I looked for her. Went through the headquarters, barracks, and the dungeons. I saw no sign of her. It’s possible they didn’t capture her. Or she got away. Your man might have rescued her.”

  “I thank you for going inside. You should not have risked yourself.” Kebonsat shoved to his feet and went to stare blindly out the window. His chest was tight. He felt as if he’d been holding his breath for months. Holding on to a fragile hope that now was slipping away like water into parched earth.

  After Emelovi had revealed her brother’s plans to kidnap Ceriba and hold her at Gudsiil, Kebonsat had dispatched Rocis to save her. Rocis was the best in the game. No one could sniff out information the way he could; few could match him with weapons. He was crafty and sly and didn’t mind breaking rules. It was possible that Rocis had made it to Ceriba before the Regent’s men. It was possible they were hiding, or making their way to safety somewhere.

  Kebonsat bit his tongue. The memory of Ceriba’s naked, battered body filled his mind. She’d been kidnapped on the eve of the treaty between Kodu Riik and Patverseme by a coterie of Patveresemese and Kodu Riikians determined to destroy any hope of peace. They’d raped and beaten her, planning to leave her on the palace steps, with a guilty Kodu Riikian confessing to the crime. In the face of such evil, they believed that the Karalis and Karaliene would withdraw from the peace talks. And they would have been right. The things they had done to Ceriba had been . . . unspeakable. Thank Ellini, thank the Lady, that Reisil had been there, had had the means to heal her.

  A jagged sound tore past the constriction in Kebonsat’s throat. He didn’t know if he should hope his sister was dead, rather than suffering anything like that again. He started as Metyein squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

  “Would there were something we could do,” he murmured.

  Kebonsat swallowed. As sincere as Metyein’s sympathy was, his friend was also recalling him to his duty. There was more at stake here than a single life. Than even a hundred or a thousand. He couldn’t abandon Honor or Mysane Kosk. He gave a short nod, acknowledging Metyein’s silent command, and turned back to the table, sending a silent prayer to Ellini and the Blessed Amiya that Ceriba was safe.

  “I’ll send word to Dannen Relvi. Soka, you’ll leave at first light for Bro-heyek. Juhrnus, you make sure the new people are settled and then go see the ahalad-kaaslane. Kebonsat—” Meyein broke off, looking for words.

  “I know. I’ll see Emelovi.”

  “She has to know what’s going on in Koduteel, if nothing else.”

  Kebonsat nodded. “I’ll tell her.”

  Metyein waited a moment, as if expecting something more. Finally he lifted his shoulder in a shrug and turned to Soka.

  “I’ll give you an official message for your father.”

  Soka’s teeth bared in a humorless smile. “Make it a sweet offering,” he said sardonically. “He’s a self-serving ganyik, and your blandishments had better outweigh any other temptations. He’s not one for honor.”

  “I’ll promise him Gulto and Scallas if he’ll deliver us the metal we need.”

  “Better to promise him the throne.”

  Metyein looked at Kebonsat. “No, there’s already another claimant,” he said softly.

  Kebonsat’s stomach turned. Without a word he grabbed his cloak and strode out into the street. What was he going to say to Emelovi? He’s a self-serving ganyik. . . . He’s not one for honor. Soka might as well have been talking about Kebonsat.

  He gritted his teeth and marched up the muddy street, gripping the hilt of his sword with iron fingers. He had time for weapons practice before joining Emelovi for dinner. They would b
e alone this night. Metyein would see to it. A romantic evening, and no one would interfere in his wooing. Or his confession. And after she knew the truth, they’d never have a meal together again. He doubted he’d even be allowed to empty her chamber pot.

  It was no more than he deserved.

  On the edge of the valley, Saljane perched high in a tall cedar tree, its bole larger than five men could encompass. Lower, an enormous branch splintering in his grip, perched Baku.

  Saljane dropped down, touching her beak to his nose. This way, and only this way, could she hear him. The magic bubbling from Mysane Kosk and flowing through the valley below strangled his ability to speak mind-to-mind, except with Yohuac, his would-be ahalad-kaaslane.

  ~She told us to go talk to them.

  ~We cannot. We must wait, Baku said churlishly.

  ~She told us—

  ~She did not know, Baku interrupted. He shook his head as if pained in the ears, breaking contact with Saljane. He snapped at a nearby branch, shattering the wood in his jaws and spitting out the debris with a grunt. After a few moments, he extended his black-scaled head back to Saljane, the hide along his back and ribs twitching spasmodically.

  ~The magic here is . . . uncomfortable, he said. The nokulas lie in wait. Reisil and Yohuac will need our help to break through. See?

  Saljane felt Baku’s effort to draw her into his mind, to allow her to see, through his eyes. For a moment she saw whirling patterns of crystal light, sparkling brilliance, and translucent shadow. It reminded her of Reisil’s spellsight. But there was a chaotic, unsettling feel to it.

  After a moment she pulled away. She glared at Baku, considering. They had not bespoken their ahalad-kaaslane since Reisil’s encounter with Sodur. That had been in the predawn hours. What progress the other two were making, they could not tell. Saljane was worried. But Reisil wanted their friends in the valley warned. . . .

  ~If we go down into the valley, down into the magic, we won’t hear them if they call for help.

  Saljane ruffled her feathers, preening an itchy spot on her chest. After a moment she straightened, opening her beak and hissing loud into the humid silence. She touched Baku’s nose again.