“You’re following us?” Nolan could think of nothing else to say.
“I am.” There was an odd tone to the man’s voice. A sibilance that made Nolan’s flesh shiver.
“Why?”
“My gods wish me to know what you do down here. I obey the desires of the Daxar Taalor.”
Nolan nodded. He wanted to stall for time but could think of nothing to say.
“You’ve broken his leg.” Tega had moved forward to examine Vonders where he lay on the ground.
“He attacked me.”
“Well, yes, you were following us.”
“Had I wanted you dead, you would be dead.” Drask looked down at her. The man’s face was broad, his jaw was strong and squared and his longish hair tied back away from his face. His skin was gray and looked lifeless, but he lived and moved and breathed. His eyes glowed, much like a cat’s in the right light. It was an unsettling effect and Nolan found himself wondering if the stranger could see as well in the dark as a feline. His face was mostly hidden in the darkness but Nolan could see that something was off about the way his mouth moved.
When Drask came closer he saw and understood what that something was. The lips of the man’s mouth were sealed into a scar. At regular intervals along that scar slits ran from his chin to just under his nose. Each of those slits moved as he spoke. Each revealed a hint of teeth and gums.
Nolan looked away and forced himself to breathe. This was an abomination. Not as severe as the dead things that had moved and attacked when he was on his way to Tyrne a few weeks earlier, but just as unsettling and offensive to his senses.
Drask said, “You are Tega. The apprentice to Desh Krohan.” He moved around her, his unsettling eyes scanning the area.
“I am. We are here. We are here to find a way to end the war between our peoples.”
“You seek a weapon that will stop the war.” Drask nodded. He moved his hands and Nolan saw the metal appendage that took the place of a real hand. He saw the fingers move, the hand flex, and bit down on his own lip to stop from screaming. He was not a cowardly man, but the unnatural things he ran across unsettled him.
“Do you seek a weapon, Drask?”
“I seek what my gods ask of me.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Neither is it a yes.”
“Why are we at war, Drask? Why did one of your people kill the Emperor?”
Drask shook his head. “I do not know. I traveled with Andover Lashk and others, and I heard about the murder only after I returned to the Taalor Valley.”
“I can’t mend this. You’ve broken his leg and his chest is bleeding.” Tega spoke softly, but there was little else to hear.
“He should not have attacked me.”
“You should not have followed us.” Nolan spoke without thinking. He knew the situation was tense and yet he opened his mouth and made comments that would not ease the problems. His father would have disapproved and he felt shamed as a result of that knowledge.
“I am here. You are here. This is either a peaceful situation from here on out, or we fight and I kill you.” Drask spoke calmly and looked directly at him. Nolan did not know how skilled Drask was – though the evidence of his abilities was currently bleeding and broken on the ground – but the stranger had enough confidence for a dozen men.
Nolan took a step toward him and Tega shook her head. “Stop. Do not provoke him, Nolan.”
There it was. He clamped down with his jaw and stopped himself from saying something foolish. This girl was in charge of what he did here. He did not have to like it, but he had to accept it.
Of course, the girl was also a sorcerer and had killed monsters that slapped him aside with ease. It would be best if he didn’t think of her as weak.
Drask turned away from him as if he didn’t matter, and Nolan felt himself bristle at the notion.
Best not to say anything foolish. Best not to do anything to escalate the situation. He didn’t know enough about his enemy aside from the fact that he looked monstrous.
Still, he desperately wanted to beat the man down.
Drask started walking, heading toward the very thing they had been traveling to reach for the gods knew how long.
“Where are you going?” Tega spoke before Nolan could.
“I intend to find the source of the light.”
“What about Vonders?”
Drask frowned, puzzled for a second. The expression was doubly unsettling as it pulled the muscles in his mouth – mouths?! – in strange ways. “Your man is not my concern.”
“You cannot go on without us.”
“I can.” Drask looked at her. Studied her. Perhaps weighing his chances of surviving her powers. Did he know what she was capable of? Nolan was unsure. “I will.”
“We cannot leave him here.” She sounded frustrated.
“Have your man carry him.” He spoke slowly now, as if to a person of dubious capacities. “He is not my concern.”
Without another word Drask was moving on, heading toward the potent illumination in the near distance. It was no longer a matter of hours or days, but of minutes to reach that spot.
Nolan looked at Tega. He looked at Vonders, broken and bleeding on the ground.
There was a mission to consider.
He followed Drask.
After only a moment, he heard Tega following and he damned himself for his lack of compassion.
Half a continent away the Pilgrim marched, and behind him a growing column of people moved along and kept pace. They were tired, but they understood that this was a mission of the gods themselves.
They knew this because the Pilgrim’s closest followers told them as much. They knew this because they had seen his actions on their own, or heard of his amazing deeds. They knew this because though none of them had brought much by way of supplies, still they did not go hungry and they did not go thirsty.
In Goltha the Pilgrim had stopped and approached the greatest of the temples to Etrilla armed with only a simple sword and his faith, and come away with two hundred followers. Each of those followers had enough supplies to stop the hundred already following from going hungry, and when their food ran out, there were others who offered food and clean water.
He was a quiet man, but he answered questions when asked. He spoke with conviction and he spoke with a deep knowledge of the past that was haunting to those who listened to his answers.
That was all the news that Merros Dulver had received of the man so far and he was not comfortable with the information as it stood.
Desh nodded when they looked over the pages of written descriptions. “Well, it’s different.”
“Yes it is. I also have to wonder where this man is coming from and what he’s doing.”
“As well you should.” Desh looked toward him. “He’s a part of the greater sum of parts, isn’t he?”
“You’re being cryptic. It suits you well enough, but now is not the time.”
Desh waved his hand, dismissing the notion. “It’s always a good time to be cryptic. Comes with the territory. But in this case I’m being accurate. He’s up to something. We have no idea what. He could be coming here to help. He could be coming here to lead a small gathering of people who believe that they must be here to seek protection or to volunteer themselves for some obscure purpose.”
“It’s not really a small gathering, Desh. There are over a thousand of them.”
Again he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a matter of perspective, really. We have fifty times that number trying to find homes in the city already.”
Merros rubbed at his temples. His headache was back and growing exponentially the longer he spoke to the First Advisor. “Yes, and that’s a problem.”
“Not your problem, Merros. We have a head of the City Watch here. He has to deal with the overflow.”
“All of us have to deal with it, Desh. I’ve already had to chase off several squatters from my own home.”
“Hardly an issue I’d thin
k. You’re normally not there but for a few hours.”
“You see? Right there. You think you’re being witty, but really, it’s only annoying.”
“No, really it’s funny. You’re just too close to appreciate the humor of the situation. If Nachia were here she’d agree with me.”
“Where is the Empress?”
“She’s dealing with her family. More precisely, she’s having them dealt with. The Inquisitor. What’s his name?”
“Murdro, I think.”
“Darsken Murdro, that’s right. He’s investigating who, exactly, was behind the murder of her cousin. All signs lead to another of her cousins. She’s not taking it very well.”
“Shouldn’t one of us be with her?” He felt his guts tighten. “What if someone tries something foolish?”
Desh smiled at him. “You have obviously never dealt with Darsken Murdro. The only thing anyone will do around him is behave and pray he does not notice them.”
“I’ve only seen him from a distance but he seemed pleasant enough.”
“Oh, he is,” Desh nodded. “So is a murder rose until you decide to hold the blossom in your hand and sniff it. Perfectly inviting and even charming until the poisons burn your skull open.”
“By the gods, man, where do you hear about these things?”
“I was the one who advised Empress Detelia to outlaw the farming of the things. Foolish sort of thing to cultivate in the first place, but they were very popular eighty years ago.” There had been a time when Merros was absolutely convinced that Desh Krohan was a charlatan and spread rumors of his power strictly to make sure everyone thought he could perform sorcerous acts. He had no doubt in his mind that Desh worked on the rumors and convinced as many as he could. He also had no doubt the man could truly work sorcery though he had never actually seen Desh himself do anything at all that qualified as mystical aside from wear his robes.
“So the Empress is safe?”
“She has a dozen armed guards and an Inquisitor. Not even her worst blood relatives are foolish enough to try anything right now.”
That was one less thing for him to worry about and Merros was grateful for it. “Back to where we were. What are we supposed to do about this Pilgrim fellow?”
“Absolutely nothing. Let him continue on his way. If he is a threat and he and his followers reach the city, the City Guard will handle him. You have more pressing matters to attend to. Like Elda. How are we going to handle that matter?”
Merros shook his head. “We’re not. Elda did not deliver their conscribed allotment of soldiers. They fell short despite the threat of levies and fines and a lack of protection from the Empire. So now they face levies, fines and an attack from the Sa’ba Taalor. Should the invaders move past Elda, they will find that we have amassed a few surprises for them.”
“Levies and fines?” Desh frowned. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Technically, I suppose. In my case the levies are the number of soldiers I will take by force from any would-be refugees from the battlefront. The fines will be monetary. Wars cost money. Failure to offer the proper levies will add to the fines.”
“You are a cruel man, Merros Dulver.”
“I prefer to think of myself as practical.” His head hurt.
“That expression right there. The way you rub at your temples when you think of how much you have to do? That is why I made you a general.”
“Nice of you to confess. And you’re saying my pain is beneficial to my career?”
“It means you’re the right person for the task. If you didn’t mind using Elda as an example I’d think you heartless. An army should have a heart.”
“Hearts don’t win wars.”
“I disagree.”
“I’m telling Nachia that you confessed to manipulating me into being a general of the Imperial Army and that it was not, in fact, her cousin.”
“I never denied it. I merely clarified. I suggested. He signed the papers.”
“Are you sure Nachia’s safe?”
“She’s still in the castle. She’s as safe as she’s likely to get.”
Swech watched the Empress as she moved across her court, her arms behind her back clasped together as if she feared letting them free of each other, where they could lash out.
She was hidden, of course. Dressed in her black clothes and wearing her veils, to hide away hair and face alike, despite her hiding place, because caution required not being seen or recognized. The crawlspace where she hid herself was concealed in the very wall of the large room. There was a reason that she’d taken the key from around the neck of Libari Welliso when she’d killed him. Access to several hidden chambers had gained her access to several different keys before Tyrne burned. No one looked for the keys now, because they were assumed destroyed with the city.
The gods were wise.
The Empress of the Fellein Empire was in a bad mood. Even if she had not heard the words spoken, Swech would have understood the body language. Tension in muscles throughout the woman’s body. Her hands not still, but clenched with each other as if fighting for dominance. Her posture stiff and her teeth grinding against each other.
She was not the same carefree creature she had been before ascending to the throne of her Empire. That made her at least moderately wise.
“My cousin, my blood and yours, is dead! He was murdered two nights ago in the company of cutthroats fresh from a boat that delivered them to the city. What I want to know is why he was murdered. The investigation so far has led to a very real possibility that one of the members of our family is responsible. One of the people in this room.”
There were twenty or more members of the same family, the royal bloodline, apparently, all in the room with her. If she understood correctly, they were all in line for the throne if Nachia died. Blood was what mattered in Fellein, not skills or faith. And wealth. She was learning that quickly enough. If one had money one could open any number of doors.
She shook off her reverie as the family members present went through their motions. They nearly crawled over each other in an effort to declare their innocence. She knew which of them was involved, of course, though he was not responsible for the death in this case. His hired blades were supposed to kill the Empress. That was why she had killed them.
The gods wanted the Empress alive. She did not know why and she did not need to know. Was she curious? Of course. But the certain knowledge was not required and not knowing did not cause her to suffer. The gods had wanted the Emperor dead. They wanted the Empress alive. That was all she needed to know.
The guiltiest of the parties, Laister Krous, crossed his thick arms and scoffed. “What possible purpose could any of the family have for murdering Windhar? Who is served by such foolish notions?”
Nachia Krous turned on her cousin with a smile on her face that would have made most enemies hesitate.
“Who indeed, Laister? The most solid connection we have to the brigands found with Windhar lead to Losla Foster.”
He was good. Laister Krous barely even twitched.
“Darsken Murdro.” Nachia gestured with her left hand to a dark-skinned man with a powerful build and long black hair that exploded into tails of differing lengths. He was dressed unremarkably, and carried a short staff. “Inquisitor Darsken Murdro is here to speak with each of you. You will answer his questions to his satisfaction and only after you have done so will you be allowed to leave this chamber.”
Once again the protests started. Not everyone raised their voices. A few looked toward the dark man with nervous expressions. One of the older women in the group leaned back in her seat and looked coldly toward Laister. Her smile rivaled that of the Empress. It was a promise of pain and suffering on an epic level.
When Nachia Krous continued her voice snapped. “You will do this thing! You will stay here. You will answer his questions! We will know, all of us, exactly what has happened to our kin. Should any of you attempt to leave before Inquisitor Murdro has allowed it, the
guards in this room will see you punished.”
She moved toward the doors to her private chamber, which meant that she headed straight for the hidden access point above those doors, where Swech was currently waiting. Swech did not move. She did not fear discovery. She was well and truly hidden within walls that were several feet thick.
Her surprise when she saw the Inquisitor looking directly at her could not have been more complete. There was no mistaking it. He was not looking in her general direction. His eyes were on her.
The Inquisitor made a gesture to one of the guards and the man moved closer. Those dark eyes never left her. He spoke softly and the guard looked toward the chamber the Empress had entered.
Swech did not stay around to contemplate how she had been seen. She merely moved, as quickly and quietly as she could, fully accepting that her hiding spot had just been discovered.
The guards entered the chamber of the Empress at the same time Swech was dropping down behind one of the heavy curtains that surrounded the windows of the room.
The guard that grabbed at the curtain to move it aside managed to handle that task and to offer Swech her chance to strike at the same time. His body was exposed as the heavy fabric was pulled away and she drove a blade into his neck without hesitation.
He fell back, choking on his own blood, and Swech helped him along, sending the dying man stumbling across the room to knock aside a small table.
Nachia Krous saw her and her face dropped with shock. She had not expected to find anyone in the room. She should have been prepared – her predecessor had been assassinated after all – but she remained surprised enough to let Swech move past her at a dead run.
By the time the dying guard had collapsed and the Empress had let out a call of alarm, Swech was out of the room and moving down the hallway toward the next wing of the vast structure.
One unfortunate guard came out from a side door as the alarm was sounded. He stared at her and started to draw his short sword. She was already moving faster than he could draw the weapon, but she shifted position and then broke his neck with an elbow strike as she moved past.
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