Path of Blood

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “This is very good news. She has been missed.”

  The babble continued for a few more minutes, giving Reisil the chance to gain control. When Ilhanah had quieted the room, Reisil began again, her voice gravelly.

  Now she told about Nurema’s Foreseeing—that both Kodu Riik and Cemanahuatl would be unmade if Mysane Kosk could not be saved.

  “She is sure of this?” The question came from an older nahualli. Though her hair remained black as coal, her face was lined with age.

  Reisil nodded.

  “How is it to be done?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’ve come. But there’s one other thing.”

  And now she told them about the Regent and his determination to destroy Mysane Kosk. “He has asked for help from the Scallacian sorcerers. But neither the wizards nor the nokulas will permit Mysane Kosk to be destroyed, though the wizards would attempt to do so themselves if they thought the Scallacians might gain control of it. Nurema believes the Scallacians will try to gain control. It is too great a source of magical power to just destroy it.

  “No matter what happens, there will be a tremendous battle. The magic unleashed will certainly wreak havoc on Kodu Riik. It is precarious at best. And if that happens, Cemanahuatl will surely be destroyed.”

  “When do you expect this to happen?” Ilhanah demanded quietly.

  “Within half a year. The Regent will march when the snows melt and the passes clear.”

  There was a sudden silence. Reisil could almost hear Piketas’s thoughts. If Reisil did not succeed before then, they would take matters into their own hands and destroy Ti’Omoru in the hopes of stopping the backlash from the battle. Reisil shivered. She couldn’t let them do it.

  Her train of thought was interrupted by first one question, then another. They pelted at her faster and faster, like a hail of arrows. The nahuallis were interested in the details. Nothing seemed too small. Reisil told them everything she knew, hiding only the special bond of the ahalad-kaaslane, the extent of her own abilities, and anything about Yohuac.

  At last the silence returned. Reisil was sweating as if she’d run up the mountain again.

  “I thank you, sister, for bringing us this news. We must now retire to consider it. The council remains open. We will meet together again at daybreak,” Ilhanah said.

  “I have one more question,” Piketas said before anyone could move. Reisil faced her, knowing what the question would be. She was not disappointed. “You have said what will happen if this Mysane Kosk is destroyed. But what happens if we seal the rift at Ti’Omoru? What if we cut the head off the snake biting us?”

  Before Reisil could answer, Ilhanah interrupted.

  “It is a question we will consider. Let us retire.”

  With that, the small interior circle rose and filed out, and then the next circle and so on. Reisil was left to sit alone. Fear clutched her entrails and she hardly realized the passing time. At last she stood. Ampok stood waiting.

  “I will show you to your room. It is easy to get lost until you know the way.”

  Reisil thanked her, grateful for the consideration. By the time they arrived at her door, she was thoroughly lost.

  “Someone will come for you in the morning,” Ampok said, unsmiling.

  Reisil went inside, settled Saljane on the bedstead, and stripped off her clothing. She flung herself onto the bed. Saljane hopped down onto the pillows near her head.

  “What will I do if they decide to destroy Ti’Omoru?”

  Saljane only rubbed her beak against Reisil’s cheek. There was no good answer to the question.

  “Well, at least they’re finally talking to me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll begin to find the answers and it won’t be a problem,” Reisil murmured, stroking Saljane’s breast feathers.

  ~You will return in time. Kodu Riik will be safe, Saljane said confidently.

  But Reisil remembered the feeling that had woken her that morning. Something terrible had happened to someone she cared about. Again she wondered who.

  Chapter 33

  The journey had been long and exhausting. Soka reined in, turning to scan the long line of wagons trundling over the rutted road. They hadn’t had any trouble whatsoever with raiders or snow, but there had been a more than a dozen broken or fallen-off wheels, three shattered axles, five spills, and more lame horses than he could count. Not to mention getting stuck in the mud and losing one entire wagon and team through the ice on a river. The piled ore in the high-sided wagons made them top-heavy and difficult to safely maneuver, especially over steep terrain.

  It had almost been as though someone were sabotaging them. But it was all just bad luck. And worse luck was that it meant spending a whole lot more time with his father than he wanted to. With the frustrations of the repairs and the constant urge to hurry, Soka’s temper was frayed to a hair.

  Soka had managed to spend most of his time dealing with the various troubles and avoiding his father’s company. It was a large caravan. There were twenty heavy ore wagons, ten lighter supply and equipment wagons, and a string of ten extra draft horses and twenty cavalry horses. The whole caravan was escorted by a hundred and twenty soldiers. There was a lot that he could do that didn’t require sitting across the fire from his father. Not that Thevul Bro-heyek did much sitting. The man was everywhere, and he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Truth be told, Soka had learned a thing or two from him about leadership and organization. But he didn’t have to like it.

  They’d stopped and picked up the cache of weapons and equipment hidden by Reisil. Chunks of bone still littered the killing field, with bits of dried flesh clinging to them. They crunched beneath Soka’s feet, and he tried not to remember the grisly horror of that day. The men who called themselves the Rum Bluffers had deserved their fate. But the memory of the butchery churned his stomach. Soka’s father paced beside him. His face grew steadily paler as they crossed the field to the copse where Reisiltark had hidden the trove of weapons.

  “What happened here?”

  “They were a blight,” Soka said sharply, feeling the need to defend what Reisiltark had done.

  His father bent and picked up a piece of skull. A portion of lower jaw dangled by a thread of sinew from a small section containing part of an eye socket. It was one of the larger bits remaining from that day.

  “This is—How?” Thevul Bro-heyek sounded repulsed, and beneath it was a thread of fear.

  “Magic. One thing you should not forget about Reisiltark. She’s ahalad-kaaslane. She will protect Kodu Riik to her last breath. And she’s fierce.”

  “Fierce?” His father’s laughter was a harsh croak in the still air. “She’s bloodthirsty.”

  “She’s a mother wolf. Be glad you’re one of her children.”

  “I’ll be sure to introduce myself to mommy,” his father said, tossing the broken skull aside.

  Soka laughed.

  Reisil had set up the wards with a “lock” hidden up in a tree. When Soka climbed up, he found a twist of silver wire. It didn’t look like much. But she’d told him to cut it and the rest of the wards would stop working. He did as he’d been told, and the mound of weapons appeared. He climbed back down to find his father staring, stunned, at the heaped weapons and armor.

  “How many hands died?” he grated.

  Soka shrugged. “Do you count the rats or do you just kill them and be glad they aren’t eating your food and spreading disease?”

  His father turned to look at him, his eyes clouded. “What in the Demonlord’s three hells are we about to walk into?”

  Soka rubbed his hand over his mouth, feeling the rough bristles of his new-growing beard. He thought of Aare and prodded the poison bead with his tongue, conscious of the rest of the poisons secreted around his body. A slow, cruel smile curved his lips. “The rending of the world. And if we’re lucky, we get to keep our swords,” he said, gesturing to the pile, still stained with blood and dried gobbets of flesh.

  That had been weeks ago. And
now they were nearly back to Honor. Soka itched to ride ahead. He felt a sudden streak of worry for Metyein. There was a heaviness in the air, matched by the thick pewter clouds above. Something was building. Like steam in a teakettle.

  His horse pranced and sawed at the reins. He turned as his father rode up beside him.

  “Trouble?”

  Soka shook his head. “If the nokulas or wizards wanted to stop us, they would have by now.” But then, they weren’t worried about swords and spears.

  Thevul Bro-heyek nodded, his face a mask.

  “What is it?” Soka asked.

  “There ought to be more snow.”

  “There’s been a drought.”

  His father shook his head. “Even so. The passes are going to clear quicker. If they are even blocked.”

  Fear wriggled into Soka’s bowels. If that was true, then Aare was going to come much sooner. He swore softly.

  They tipped the rise into Honor’s valley at midday. His father’s gasp of shock at the crystalline brilliance of Mysane Kosk was audible. The thickness of the air had increased. It was warmer here, too, like early spring. Soka shrugged out of his cloak and slung it over his horse’s withers, foreboding crawling like spiders along his skin. He jerked his head to look over his shoulder, as if expecting an army to ride up the road behind them.

  The sound of horns echoed across the valley as they trundled down the road. Gravel filled in the worst of the ruts, lending them better speed. The fields were still green, though clearly they’d been harvested in preparation for winter. Infantry and cavalry trained on the fallow turf. At the sound of the horns, they paused; then two riders came galloping. Behind him, Soka felt his father’s troops snap to attention.

  Metyein and Kebonsat thundered up, reaching for Soka and thumping him on the back, grinning widely.

  “You lice-infested ganyik! All of this is ore?” Kebonsat said, his eyes scanning the wagons greedily.

  He was thinner than Soka remembered. He radiated an intensity that felt dangerously volatile. Like he had little to lose. Which meant pushing the line, taking stupid risks. Takes one to know one. The poison bead clicked against his teeth.

  “Ore and some weapons and armor. Should keep you busy for a little while.”

  Kebonsat was already reining around and galloping for Raven, where forges had been set up. By the time the wagons got to the valley floor, the fires would be raging.

  “He’s not been this happy since . . .” Metyein shook his head. “A while. It’s good to see you, and—” His gaze shifted to the man riding beside Soka. Suddenly the air was frigid. “Thevul Bro-heyek,” he said, tipping his head in the barest of bows.

  “Lord Marshal,” Soka’s father returned, scanning Metyein up and down, settling on the chain of office.

  The younger man didn’t flinch, didn’t shy from the clear challenge in the Thevul’s gaze. Metyein had changed too, Soka thought proudly. Gone was his uncertainty. He wore the skin of leadership like he’d been Lord Marshal for a decade.

  “Welcome to Honor.” Metyein put peculiar emphasis on the last word.

  Thevul Bro-heyek flicked up his brows. “Subtle.” His voice was honey-smooth.

  “I wouldn’t want to be mistaken,” Metyein said, looking pointedly at Soka’s eye patch. “Did you get it back?” he asked Soka.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” This directed back to his father. It was asked in the crisp tone of a Lord Marshal to a subject. The chill emanating from Metyein grew downright glacial.

  Soka stared. This was a side of his friend he had not seen. His stomach clenched slowly as he thought of the two hundred men behind them. One word from his father and Metyein would be cut down. And they were too far from the stockades to get help. His hand crept to the pommel of his sword. But he didn’t know if his pounding heart was in readiness for a fight or eagerness to hear the answer to the question. When it came, he felt flattened. It was so . . . ordinary. Why hadn’t his father told him long ago?

  “It is buried with his mother,” came the uninflected reply. “But that is not truly the question that you are asking. You want to know if I can be trusted. After all, what kind of man will risk something as precious as his son’s life and pain for mere conquest? I’ve got two hundred men at my back. That’s a significant problem for you if we turn rogue.”

  “It is.” Metyein pulled his horse up, turning to face Soka’s father. Behind them, the wagons creaked to a halt, and there were shouted questions down the line.

  Thevul Bro-heyek nodded, looking first at Metyein and then at Soka. “All right, then. I have lived on the high line of Kodu Riik all my life. Far from the court, far from the war and the strife. In many ways, those of us who live in the shadow of the Tornaat Mountains are of a different land, with different laws and customs. It is easy to forget about Koduteel and about the Iisand and to simply do as we see fit.

  “I knew Geran from my youth. I had been to court; I had even fought at his side during the Fourth Guelt invasion. We were friends. And so I did not truly believe him when he told me he was taking my son, that I must stop raiding against my neighbors. I thought that he would take you under his wing, that he would teach you the lessons of the court.

  “Basham Riinles held much of the land bordering Bro-heyek. He was a devious, cruel, and corrupt man, and a piss-poor warden of his lands and people.”

  “So you thought you’d just walk in and take over for him,” Soka said, his teeth clipping together.

  His father’s eyes blazed with an emotion Soka couldn’t read. He continued on as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

  “Riinles feared me. He began collecting an army. Mostly men who’d run from the war, and others who were running from the law. And he brought in Gueltians. Since I was leashed by my promise to the Iisand—guaranteed by you—Riinles felt free to expand his own borders. He stayed out of Bro-heyek—Geran would support anything I did to fend off hostility. He went after the smaller holdings, forcing the Holders to sign over their rights and become tenants.

  “That was bad enough, but men who serve out of greed are quick to become restless and hungry. Soon they were beyond his control. They began to pillage and burn. They took women and girls from good families and kept them as whores, passing them around and discarding them when they became poxed or pregnant. They destroyed entire villages, killing whomever they pleased.

  “At last Riinles came to me and begged for my help. I was furious with him, but the vermin had to be dealt with. I had been sitting on my hands, watching, for far too long. No man with balls should sit while that sort of thing goes on without trying to stop it. By then, only Bro-heyek had the strength to challenge them. Maybe that was Riinles’s plan all along. I was stupid. I’d forgotten I was not dealing with an honorable man.”

  At that, Thevul Bro-heyek flushed, but his gaze remained unwavering on his son. “It is for that stupidity that you lost your eye. I began a campaign that summer to destroy Riinles’s marauders. The moment it began, Riinles sent word to Geran that I’d broken my pledge and invaded. We succeeded in putting his men down, but the damage was done. I received your eye in a box.”

  Soka felt like he’d been hit on the head. He hardly knew if he could believe the story. “I never knew,” he said softly.

  “It was a condition of keeping Bro-heyek. I’d already lost you. Riinles convinced Geran that I should not be allowed to raise my own heir. You would be tainted, taught to emulate me. Instead, you should stay at court and acquire a proper education on how to serve Kodu Riik. Any contact from me to you would be considered grounds for stripping my title and lands. There was nothing I could do. Riinles had laid his trap well, and I blundered into it like a moon-blind calf,” he said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his reins.

  Metyein considered him for a moment. “Stupidity is not a persuasive argument for joining us,” he said stonily.

  “No, but you asked for the truth. And you can ill afford to turn down two hundred trained men. Consider as
well that it is in my best interests for you to succeed. Otherwise, as Soka had pointed out to me, the Regent will undoubtedly strip my lands.”

  Finally Metyein nodded. “It will do.”

  They rode down into Honor. The Bro-heyek men were billeted in the unfinished Salamander. Its walls were up, but it had no gates or buildings. It would be completed quickly enough with the added manpower. Kebonsat took charge of overseeing the unloading of the ore and weaponry, while Soka cleaned himself up and reported to Metyein.

  “It’s good to see your ugly face again,” Metyein said, slapping Soka on the back. “Though men across Honor are locking their wives and daughters up.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m a happily married man,” Soka said, pouring himself a mug of mulled wine. When only silence met his announcement, he turned to find Metyein gaping, his mouth opening and closing. “You look like a fish. Or a mind-blighted whore.”

  “Married?” Metyein at last squeezed out. “To who?”

  Soka smiled, enjoying his friend’s astonishment. “A pert young thing, with a razor mouth. And energetic.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Her name is Roomila.”

  “But . . . how? You, of all people.”

  Soka dropped into a chair and kicked out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Come now. Couldn’t I have been desperately smitten with a young beauty on first sight?”

  “Her breasts, maybe.” Metyein sloshed wine into his mug and sat opposite Soka. “So, what happened?”

  “The usual. My father decided I ought to try to conceive an heir before I ran back here and got killed. The next thing I know, Roomila’s in my bed, and I’ve got a ring through my nose.” He left out the tacit threat that had gone along with it: Marry or no metal. It hadn’t been a bad bargain, and it was his to make. For Honor and for his friends.

  Metyein sat back, scratching his neck. “I hope she’s got a steel backbone.”

  “I believe that she does. And sharp claws. But tell me, what has been happening here?”