Silence of the Soleri

by Michael Johnston

  Tomen gritted his teeth, his leathery skin folding back at the lips. “Sometimes, in the taking, the revenge is worse than the crime that spurred it.”

  “Yes, but only Mithra knows the future. He’s been silent of late, so while the gods sleep let’s take back our kingdom.”

  “It won’t be easy. I wasn’t entirely honest with Barden.”

  “What?”

  “He commands an army of cutthroats and outlanders. I won’t let them march on our kingdom, so I told Barden we could take the city with ease, that the false king has only a small garrison.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No. Mered is no fool. When he sent you to Barca, he dispatched a large force to Harwen. He’s anticipated this move, but his armies are still split. On that one account, I told the truth. Most of his men are in the north, in Feren, and there are still a great number in Solus. We outnumber the traitor’s men, but they hold the Hornring and its walls are tall. I spent a lifetime standing atop them. I ought to know. We’ll march on the kingdom, but don’t count on taking it.”

  31

  “When he hit me with the club, I think a dozen pomegranates exploded,” said Kollen. “The stuff was everywhere: red in our hair, red in our faces. By the time the priest wiped the juice from his eyes, I’d knocked him on the jaw and nipped his club. After that it took just a few knocks here and there and those priests went running.”

  “The way he tells it, it was Kollen that did all the fighting. Seems I saw Ren take a swing or two with that club,” said Tye.

  “Yes, well, that was after Kollen dropped it.” Ren laughed. “He left out that part of the story.”

  “Quite conveniently,” said Tye.

  “It slipped from my fingers,” Kollen explained, holding up his hands, which, even after the climb, were stained red and slick with juice.

  Ren, Tye, and Kollen were back on the ramp, in the strange temple that wound about the well, explaining to the black shields what they’d done. Edric was there, nodding, holding back a chuckle as he looked them up and down. Their robes were smeared with lamp oil, caked in dung, and slathered with red. All in all it was a humorous, if not disgusting, sight.

  “We took what we could carry,” said Tye. “Ren got the door open and we flew.”

  “Did you?” Edric asked. “The three of you, out on the streets, hands filled up with dates, and no one took notice?”

  “We hid it in our robes,” said Tye dismissively. “It was dark outside.”

  “The captain of the guard went out ranging, and returned with food for the men,” Ren said. Indeed, a sizeable pile of fruit stood in front of them. “Also, I found a second way out of the Hollows.”

  Edric eyed the tube with suspicion.

  “Don’t worry,” said Ren. “The end of that pipe is concealed by some platform. No one saw us come or go. No one even goes near the thing. Perhaps they think the dead are still rising out of it.”

  “Oh, the dead are rising,” said Kollen, “and they’re hungry too.” He drew forth something ripe and brown and tossed it to Edric. “Eat, fool, and stop asking questions. Last I checked, Ren was in charge.” Kollen inclined his head toward Ren, who had already turned his attention elsewhere.

  “Sorry, Kollen, I’m not much for restating the obvious,” said Ren. “I rule the black shields. Anyone who disagrees is free to leave our company. I’ve got other things on my mind.”

  “Such as?” Kollen asked.

  “That temple. They were up to something, some ritual, but it seemed to fail. It was a curious thing,” said Ren. “I’d like to go back there, but I fear they’ll double their guard after this incident.”

  “I’m sure there are other temples we can loot,” said Edric. “I’ll see if any of the men can fit through that pipe. If I can find enough soldiers to field a squad, we can mount more serious raids and perhaps gather more than just a pile of dates.”

  “Do it,” said Kollen. “If we can’t leave Solus, we can at least survive here.”

  “No,” Ren said. “That’s not enough. I saw palaces and temples. They weren’t far from the Mundus. With soldiers at my side, we could raid them by night. Surely there is food there, but there is also an opportunity.”

  “For what, Hark-Wadi? Are you going to yell out your name again?” Kollen asked.

  “Something like that. Let’s show Mered we aren’t afraid. If we can’t leave Solus, we might as well make a bit of noise.”

  “I’d relish the chance to wreak a bit of havoc,” said Kollen.

  Edric was quiet for a moment, his dark face looking reddish in the lamplight. “I think we’d all like a bit of that,” he said. “I’ll talk to the men and find volunteers. The task will not be difficult.” He scooped up a ripe date. “Almost forgot to tell you, Captain. You have a visitor. Top of the spiral.”

  “Ott?” Ren asked.

  Edric grunted, his eyes lifted toward the apex of the ramp, a place cloaked in darkness.

  Ren scaled the spiral.

  Already out of breath, the walk made him doubly tired, and when he reached the top he could barely speak.

  “You’re in worse shape than I am,” said Ott.

  Ren was still licking the pomegranate juice from his lips. “It tastes sweet.”

  “No doubt. I see you found another way out of here,” said Ott. His voice betrayed a hint of knowing.

  “You meant to leave those marks, the black stains on the rock, didn’t you? It might have been easier if you’d just led me to the Night Market.”

  “Doubtful. I’ve spent a lifetime distrusting others, questioning their intentions, their intelligence. If you couldn’t follow a trail as obvious as the one I left … well, then you didn’t deserve to find it.”

  “You’re not a terribly pleasant fellow, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Ott stuttered. “I had a pair of friends once, but the old Protector took their lives, if you must know. Since then I haven’t talked to a lot of people … or trusted them. This is all new to me. It is … a challenge.”

  “Family isn’t worth much, not unless you want it to be. You saved us. I trust you, but I don’t expect you to return that favor—not yet. Besides, we’re doing well. We even found a nice little temple full of pomegranates.”

  “Yes, the old temple of Re. Curious story. Apparently, some gutter rats ran off with the god’s offering. Word travels quickly in Solus. Three little mice crept into the temple and sped away before anyone could catch them. By the look of it you were one of them?”

  Ren’s pomegranate-stained grin answered the question.

  “Tell me what you saw in the temple,” Ott said. “Mother tasked me with a bit of scholarly work, scroll-studying, and some of it involves the old temples.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t see many scrolls. None at all really.” Ren described the curious ritual.

  “That sounds right,” said Ott. “It matches Noll’s story.”

  “Noll? Who’s that?”

  “Noll is the priest you saw in the temple, the one with the eld-horn staff. Noll!” Ott cried out, and a figure in shabby white robes emerged from the darkness. It was the same priest Ren saw in the temple, the one with the horn.

  “That was awfully quick,” said Ren. “How in Mithra’s name did you find Ott, let alone this place? I just got out of the tube.”

  “I knew exactly how to find Ott. There is a door that connects the temple of Re to the Empyreal Domain. They told me where to find it.”

  “They?”

  “The twelve. They sent me to find you,” said Noll.

  “What do you mean by that? Someone else’s after me? Well, I’ve got quite a list of enemies, so I don’t suppose one more will do me any harm.”

  “They’re not your foes. In truth, they’re your kin,” said Noll.

  “Kin? I’m not terribly fond of family. Who are you talking about?” Ren asked, and at that very moment he felt that curious buzzing at the back of his head, that noise he kept hearing since he bumped into t
hose statues in the garden.

  “The twelve. You know what I speak of,” said Noll.

  “No, I don’t,” Ren lied. He knew this had something to do with the statues that moved. He looked to Ott. “Who is this fellow anyway?”

  “He’s an old associate. I murdered him with poison, handed him the cup myself. That was a long time ago, so to speak. Back then I believed in death. In the past few hours, since he found me in the domain, I’ve come to believe in other things.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a lot to explain,” said Ren. “What was that ceremony and why were you holding the eld horn? Who were the twelve who kneeled? Why were they frozen like that? It seemed unnatural.”

  “They are statues … of a sort.”

  “Of a sort?”

  “Yes,” said Noll. “You encountered twelve others in the garden. They are stone and yet they are not stone.”

  The buzzing at the back of Ren’s head doubled, and he felt as though his head was about to burst at the temples. Still, he tried to gather his focus. “If they are not stone, what are they made of?” Ren asked.

  “Stars, if you believe it. Each weighs less than a feather, less than a quantum of light.”

  “The Soleri?” asked Ren. The buzzing was still there, but it felt more distant. “I thought they wore golden masks and all that. You’re telling me those things were the twelve?”

  “They are what remains of the line of Den, or so I thought. That was their resurrection ceremony—or at least an attempt at one. I said the words and raised the staff, but nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. When I failed to revive the twelve, the priests became angry.”

  “Yes, we know all about their clubs,” said Ren. “Not a terribly pleasant bunch.”

  “Agreed,” said Noll. “When the ceremony proved … unsuccessful, the priests claimed I’d somehow misled them, that the failure was my fault alone. The twelve knew otherwise. They told me how to find you. You see, I did not locate those statues by accident. They called to me. Ever since I was a child, I’ve heard voices. I can read the language of the gods, words that no other living person understands. I recorded each of their symbols. I made it appear as if I’d discovered the words through some scholarly research. In truth, I was born with that knowledge, born with a calling. Someday I would meet the twelve. I knew that. They beckoned to me, so I traveled to Desouk. I led Ott and Sarra to the last resting place of the gods. It was my work, my charge, to find the twelve and revive them. I failed, but the gods said there were others who could complete the task. I was not the only child of Mithra they called to Solus.”

  The buzzing in the back of Ren’s head redoubled, but he fought it back so he could speak. “You’re talking about me? Well, sorry to ruin your little fantasy, but I was the one who decided to come back to this miserable city. Also, I guess I missed that part about the Soleri being dead or statues or whatever. I thought they were lounging behind that wall of theirs, sipping wine and singing songs. This’s news to me.”

  “Is it?” Noll asked. “Tell me if my words do not ring true.” His eyes bored into Ren’s. There did seem to be some truth in what he said. Ren was forced to consider the twelve he’d seen in the garden. He recalled the old story, the one about the children of Mithra-Sol. There were two families of twelve, the Soleri and the Pyraethi, and there were two sets of statues.

  Ren gazed into the endless gloom of the well, and in it he saw again the statues that walked and heard the voices of the twelve echo in his thoughts.

  “You feel them, don’t you?” Noll asked.

  “The statues?” Ren shook his head in disbelief.

  Noll nodded silently, knowingly. “Trust me, friend, I know your thoughts. Some things are not easily accepted. In fact, sometimes the most frightful truths are the ones we won’t dare admit to ourselves.”

  32

  Merit crumpled the parchment and threw it across her general’s tent. It landed at the foot of the false king’s messenger. “Go,” she said, “and strip off those leathers before you depart. You’re no Harkan.”

  “But my lady…” The messenger balked at her command, but when Tomen’s men brandished their swords he quickly undressed, leaving him clad in little more than a loincloth.

  “Away with you,” said Merit, who had turned her attention from the messenger back to the parchment she’d crumpled. “I suppose I should have expected this from the pretender. He held on to Shenn, and some part of me knew he’d take his head if we marched on the city.”

  Tomen laid a comforting hand on Merit’s shoulder. “Threats are easy to make. Shenn’s a royal hostage if there ever was one. It would be foolish to lop off his head at the first sign of an attack. A smart man would hold on to such a prisoner.”

  Merit kicked at the parchment. “That’s the problem, there’s nothing smart about this boy. He hasn’t an ounce of sense in that tiny head of his, so yes, he might do exactly as he claims.”

  “Then we march,” said Enger Adad, the commander of the Outer Guard, her father’s second general. He was younger than Tomen, less experienced, but well suited to his job. The Outer Guard often skirmished with the outlanders. It took a young man with a quick mind and an even quicker hand to keep the sand-dwellers at bay, and Enger had accomplished that task more than once.

  “I agree,” said Tomen. “There’s no sense in trying to guess at what the boy will do.”

  “I know as much,” said Merit. “I can’t allow the life of one man to stand in our way.” Shenn was the last bit of family she had left. Her brother was a foe, her sister was estranged, her father was dead, and Sarra was simply a mystery. “I don’t think I can bear to see his head on a spike.”

  “We’ll send an advance party, a dozen good men. They can infiltrate the Hornring, steal cloaks, and weapons too. They’ll do their best to find your husband, but there are no guarantees in such things,” said Tomen.

  “Do it. Send them and don’t bother reminding me about guarantees. I’m well accustomed to disappointment. It’s all I have of late. Also, how did the boy come to know of our advance? The false king must have a spy, or he’s spying on us from afar. How else would he know about our impending march?”

  “I’ll send out more scouts and we’ll tighten the perimeter, but that’s all I can do. We’ve doubled our numbers in the past few weeks. I’ve press-ganged every farmer and fishwife into my service. One of them could easily have been Mered’s man. It’s the risk you take when these things are done.”

  “I know and I understand our need for numbers,” Merit replied, “but your eagerness has cost us the element of surprise.”

  “Would you like me to undo the past?” asked Tomen. “What’s done is done.” His words held no remorse. The discussion was ended. They would march, and her husband’s life would hang in the balance. Shenn. She had not even had a chance to say her farewell, not a real one at least. It had been foolish to think she would see him again, Merit realized. He was a prisoner after all, the captive of a king she was hell-bent on deposing. I’m sorry, Shenn. I failed you, but I won’t fail Harkana.

  “We march on Harwen and we do it now,” said Merit. “They know our intentions, so there’s no use in giving them time to prepare or to call for men. If we leave camp within the hour, we can arrive at sunrise.”

  “Now?” asked Tomen, his eyes suddenly wide.

  “Yesterday would have been preferable.”

  “Such things take time I—” The general caught himself. “I’ll do what I can. Make it two and we’ll march.” He bent his head toward the table as if lost briefly in thought, then he raised it and motioned to his men.

  “Enger,” Merit addressed the general, “will you have one of your men find me a suitable mount, one that is well fed and lightly barded? I’m guessing we’ll need to ride hard to reach the city before dawn.”

  “It’ll be a race, but I’ll find you the right horse,” he said, and he left the tent.

  She followed behind him, waiting nervously, roaming the camp while
the army assembled for the march. It was all done in haste, with men running this way and that, tying on armor or gathering up their pack, loading into some carriage, or fitting their horse with the proper tack, but Tomen accomplished the task in the time he claimed. The cavalry rode at the head of the company while the infantrymen were packed into horse-drawn carriages. This was a sprint, nothing less. If the boy king had any sense, he would have first sent his messenger to Solus. Once Mered had delivered a suitably large number of soldiers to fortify the Hornring, it would be safe for him to order his message to be sent to Merit. It’s what any sensible leader would do, but she didn’t know if the boy had any sense. He certainly hadn’t shown much in her company. Hence, her thoughts were clouded by uncertainty and her mood turned dark when the hills outside Harwen came into view.

  “We’ll need to slow our advance,” said Tomen. “The lowlands are fraught with dangers: narrow valleys, caves, slender ridgelines. The best course is to move slowly and scout out each advance.”

  Merit knew the landscape and she knew the risks it carried. “I’d rather we marched right up to the gates, but I’ll take your counsel,” she said, though she soon regretted her words. Their approach was slow and full of starts and stops, hiding in valleys and riding roughshod over ridges. Tomen was a cautious man and the hills held dangers as well as opportunities. He was mindful of both. At every crest, he sent out watchers. Each basin might hold a battalion of red soldiers, or, if empty, a place for the Harkans to shelter while they contemplated their next move.

  “I think your knowledge of the terrain is working against us,” said Merit. “You know too much.”

  Tomen shook his head. “In the dark, they could be on top of us in a heartbeat, flooding out of this fissure or that valley. Better to be watchful,” he said, and the man was watchful. They waited silently, huddling behind the crest of a sandy hill, for another round of scouts to return, then dismounted and bent low to avoid being seen. There was no high ground in the vicinity so there was no one place where a man could scout out the whole field, Tomen had explained, so they simply had to do it piecemeal, one hill at a time.