“Take care of them,” he said to Mei.
“I will,” she said. “Whether they want to be taken care of or not.”
He was left with an image of Mei, a one-handed grip on the reins, smiling a wicked grin as she kicked her mount forward, in line with the rest. D’Arrent had wasted no time moving them westward. The Empress claimed her first ships would already be landing, and claimed the knowledge of it through a magic he didn’t understand. The leylines, the same gift Acherre had, and Sarine. Strange that their magic had so many different uses, and from the looks of it, conferred different abilities on some than others. More strangeness, when strangeness already abounded.
“Ready to be away?” Acherre asked. Her command of the Jun tongue had progressed quickly in the weeks she’d spent traveling with Mei, though he had to pick the words through a thick accent, with none of the proper subtleties of tone.
He slid into his saddle, watching the figures of d’Arrent’s party growing smaller as Acherre led them almost the opposite direction.
“How far will we go today?” he asked her, sidling his mount up to hers at the head of the line. Voren seemed only passing skilled in the saddle, leaving him and Acherre as the only ones not looking as though they’d rather slaughter their mounts for steaks than ride them.
“As far as the horses will take us,” she said. “And we’ll move when there’s any light at all. Even the moon.”
He sighed. Damned if he shouldn’t have anchored a warm, down-filled bed in a whorehouse somewhere. The strain from the distance wouldn’t be so bad, compared to sleeping on dirt. That is, if they even had whorehouses on this side of the sea.
The strands hadn’t put them anywhere within sight of a city or even a road. But Acherre seemed to know the way, even if it was only “south,” and they rode in a winding column, with himself at the head, Voren trailing behind a ways, and the two clansmen—or tribesmen, he thought he’d heard them called—significantly slower. The one called Ka’Inari seemed passable on a horse, while the larger one—Arak’Jur—trailed far behind, forcing Acherre to range from the head to the rear, covering half again the ground he or Voren rode to make sure the tribesmen were keeping pace. That kept up for a few hours before Arak’Jur came running to the head of the column, his horse nowhere in sight. Tigai blinked in disbelief, watching the man run faster than a horse’s pace, getting far enough ahead that Acherre had to heel her mount to catch and correct his course.
It left them with a spare mount, after Acherre had fetched and tied the tribesman’s horse, and they crossed a vast stretch of hills before the sun set on the horizon. The ground was covered by a thin layer of snow, with patches of dirt visible beneath the slush and frost-covered trees with bare branches dotting the way. Tigai had always preferred cities to the country, but there was a certain pale beauty to it, and Acherre seemed to be making pains to keep them away from any sign of civilization. The few farmsteads they came near provoked quick turns, and though they crossed roads more than once during the day, they never kept to one. Nightfall greeted them with a moonless sky, and by the time it grew too dark to risk further progress, his backside ached, his thighs rubbed raw between his leggings and the saddle.
“Second watch,” Acherre said to him, gesturing with two fingers to make clear her meaning. He nodded, and wasted no time withdrawing blankets from the saddlebags, lying close to the fire to soak up as much warmth as he could atop the snow.
Soreness found him faster than sleep, a condition that would only get worse as they traveled. The rest of them seemed to take their time, the shaman building his own small fire a few paces away from the main one, his bare-chested companion vanished, likely to find something to eat and eat. Voren, the strange old man, was alone in making for a quick attempt at rest—no surprise, when the man couldn’t have been a day younger than seventy. Wind spirits but this whole venture was a bad idea. He should have had Mei volunteer him to ferry food or weapons; the sort of thing Dao used him for, when the Yanjin soldiers went campaigning. Blinking soldiers between battles would only draw the magi’s attention. Not that that was a consideration, on this side of the world. Still.
Acherre’s hand jostled him awake a moment later, and he almost protested until he felt the weight of sleep on his eyelids, and saw the sky had gone fully black, lit by a sea of stars.
He grunted, shuffling off the blanket. It seemed to serve, as Acherre withdrew her hand, nodding when he rose to be seated beside the now-crackling fire. She’d slipped under her own blankets by the time he rose, wrapping himself in furs to ward against the cold. Had he even slept an hour? It felt as though he had rocks behind his eyes, and from the lack of instructions on whom to wake for third watch, he gathered there wasn’t like to be another round of sleep.
“You sleep heavy, for a man in your position.”
He turned to find Voren watching him, the old man already sitting on the opposite side of the fire.
“Why are you awake?” Tigai asked. “Acherre gave me second watch. If you’re going to take it, I’d as soon finish sleeping.”
“Perhaps the major doesn’t trust you,” Voren said, smiling as though that would remove the bite from his words. Acherre was already asleep beside them, covered over with white blankets atop the snow.
Voren rose to his feet. “Come. No need to disturb the others.”
Tigai frowned, as much from lack of sleep as the old man’s strange behavior. The rest of the camp was quiet, the two tribesmen both sleeping beside their fire a few paces off, while their horses slept standing on lead lines tethered around a tree. For a moment he contemplated ignoring Voren’s strangeness, resuming his sleep and letting Acherre know Voren had volunteered for the watch. Instead he rose, stretching his limbs and shaking off the dusting of ice he’d accumulated during his short hours of lying down. Just as well, if the old man felt he didn’t need rest. A watch would go easier with company.
He followed Voren a few paces away, still in view of the camp, until they stood beneath another tree, a black form outlined against the night sky, its leaves long since fallen and replaced by boughs of snow.
“So,” Tigai said as he approached. “How is it you learned the Jun tongue?” It had been something of a shock, hearing the old man speak it. Isaru’s company had crossed the Divide, and it stood to reason there might be others, but it seemed beyond chance for him to run into one so quickly after his arrival.
Voren said nothing in reply, staring out across the fields. Then, before Tigai could take a place beside him, Voren turned, and he saw a different face—a Jun face—where the old man’s had been.
He almost tethered himself to the strands by reflex. Instead he managed a half yelp before Voren shushed him.
“Your surprise would tell me enough,” Voren said. “If our Lord hadn’t already confirmed it. You’re no grandmaster. And clearly you’ve never met a Fox before.”
“A … what?” he said. “What is this? Who are you? What are you?”
“Calm,” Voren said. “Better if we don’t wake the others. I am Fei Zan, Grandmaster of the Great and Noble House of the Fox.”
A magi. He’d come halfway across the bloody world to escape their games, and could as well gone parading through Ghingwai waving a red flag and setting anchors to drop fireworks from rooftops. How the fuck was there a magi here?
“Our Lord has taken especial notice of you,” Fei Zan continued. “He told me of your coming in my last communion. He promised you would arrive with the vessel of our ancient enemy; a greater prize than even I had imagined, coming here to help the ascendant of Order.”
“What the bloody fuck are you talking about?” Tigai said.
“How much do you know?” Fei Zan said. “Do you know anything at all?”
Tigai glared, and kept silent. He knew enough to send this fucking bastard to the middle of the ocean at the barest hint of a threat to him, or his family.
“We are in a time of ascension,” Fei Zan said. “Our Lord will choose his champions s
oon, just as the enemy will choose hers. Fox has been promised a place, in this cycle, but still I must prove myself worthy of our Lord’s favor. I came here to secure the ascension of Erris d’Arrent, to displace the creature Paendurion, who has perverted his mistress’s ways for so many cycles.”
“Erris … the Empress?”
“She was no more than a colonel with a gift for their magic when I found her. I have served our Lord well, and will be rewarded for it. As you might be, if you do the same.”
“The only reward I’ve ever wanted from magi was for me and my family to be left the bloody fuck alone,” he said.
Fei Zan paused, giving him a considering look.
“I’m done with you,” Tigai continued. “With all of you. Magi here, magi on the other side of the Divide. It’s no different. I should never have let Mei talk me into this.”
“Our Lord warned me you might require convincing,” Fei Zan said.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he said. “More threats? If you so much as look at me or my family with ill intent—”
Breath left his lungs, and he staggered back a step. His mind registered Fei Zan having moved, a flicker of motion, and a heartbeat later he saw the knife protruding from the left side of his chest.
He shifted his vision to the stars as his knees buckled, finding an anchor set by reflex when they’d stopped for the night. He reached for it, and felt instead the sensation of being picked up beneath his shoulders, roughly yanked from his feet, looking down at his own body slumping face-first into the snow.
Blackness enveloped him. He was among the starfield, but every star had been dimmed, as though they were far in the distance. A figure sat across from him: a robed, white-bearded old man sitting in a reed chair.
“A rare thing, for a Dragon to visit me,” the old man said. The voice was warm, but brittle, as though the man was on the verge of dying, but intent on keeping good spirits as he did. “It is my pleasure to welcome you here, into my presence.”
“What is this?” Tigai asked. He could feel the sensation of his body, though this wasn’t a physical space. Pressing his hands to his chest revealed nothing, only a memory of what touch felt like, with none of the reality. “Am I dead?”
“No, little Dragon,” the old man said. “You are not dead. When I let slip my hold on your strands, you will rise in the place you marked, some hours ago. But until then, it would be pleasant if we could converse. Is this agreeable, for you?”
A hole was there, in his chest. He could feel the wound, with his hands that were not hands. “Fei Zan stabbed me,” he said, hearing the shock in his own voice.
The old man laughed softly. “The Fox is overzealous, perhaps. He means well.”
“Who are you?”
“These days I am known by my titles. Lord, to your fellows, if you find it fitting. Regnant for an older power, by my enemies. A reminder of things long passed. But you are here to speak of things to come, I think.”
“I don’t …” he said. “I didn’t …” Thoughts were fleeting.
“Take a moment to center yourself, if it is needful,” the old man said.
It was. His mind spun too fast to consider what had happened. He’d taken plenty of wounds—and erased them, by virtue of his anchors among the strands—but this one seemed to stick, like a spike driven through his chest, pinning him to the ground. He struggled for breath, though somehow he knew he didn’t need to breathe here. Another part of him lashed out, trying to grab hold of his anchors, and found nothing. A sensation unlike any he’d felt since …
The tower. The memory snapped into his mind. He’d tried to flee the Tower of the Heron as it collapsed around them, when the shadow came and snuffed out his connections to the strands. This was the same feeling. As though his gift were suspended on the wrong side of a glass, just beyond his reach.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said.
The old man’s eyebrows raised. “Yes,” the old man said. “You have. Very good. There, the Veil’s new incarnation tried to steal you away from me. A regrettable thing. One I would like to correct.”
He looked the old man up and down. This was the shadow creature, who’d all but brought the tower down around them? He looked like someone’s grandfather.
“Yanjin Tigai,” the old man said. “A Dragon, bonded to my enemy.”
Once more he paused to settle himself. Whatever his surroundings, this old man was clearly a creature of power. Mei would chide him to remember the first lessons of politics. Watch. Observe. Be sure before acting. Gather what information your enemies offer, then reflect on how the revelations revealed their aims.
“Your enemy,” he said. “Who is your enemy?”
The old man smiled. “You do not understand, I think, the nature of our bonds. How fragile they are. And yet we have built empires, and countless cycles, on the balance between them.”
Tigai kept silent, waiting for more. Another of Mei’s lessons: to let others fill empty spaces in conversation.
“Dragon is mine,” the old man said. “Yet now the girl has claimed some measure of the power, in linking with you.”
“Sarine is your enemy?” he asked.
“After a fashion,” the old man said. “What she has done threatens too much, goes too far. I believe the girl to be a pawn, no matter whether she knows her place.”
The threads of the old man’s words spun in his mind. Mei or Dao would have handled this better. But he was here, as much as he was standing under a tree with a bloody knife in his chest. There was a threat here, one he needed to understand.
“You brought me here because Sarine and I are the only … Dragons … on this side of the Divide,” he said. “The starfield here is all but empty; I’ll be able to see every star she creates, every time she uses the gift.”
Again the old man smiled.
“You mean for me to track her for you,” Tigai continued. “Or … to kill her?”
“Yes,” the old man said, “to both. She is a danger to all creation, whether she realizes her place or no.”
“And what do you offer in return?”
This time the old man’s smile broke into a soft laugh. “There are those among your fellows who would spend their lives in meditation, content to sacrifice all they have for a glimpse of the divine. And yet you seek to barter for my favor.”
Tigai held his silence.
“Very well, then,” the old man said. “Do as I ask, and I will grant your heart’s desire. Safety, for your family. A chance for you to be their provider. The strength to tell the rest of the world to … fuck itself, I think, are the words you would use. Do I have the measure of you, Yanjin Tigai?”
67
ERRIS
2nd Corps Encampment
Tamaléne Province, Old Sarresant
Pennons and flags from the ships flew over territory her engineers had all but converted into a new city. Tents stretched in neat rows and blocks for each regiment, with orderly latrines, horse-lines, wagon tracks, and cookfires, but the bulk of the engineering had been focused on the docks. New wood piers stretched like fingers from a formerly barren coastline, welcoming the New Sarresant Navy as her ships continued to make landings at every hour of the day and night. She’d seen all of it through Need, aiding her logistics officers in every detail. It was something else to see it in person, and all the more so when she’d expected to be a continent away when they made landfall.
“A mighty army, Your Majesty,” the Lady Mei said. Already the traces of her foreign accent were disappearing; hard to miss the hours spent practicing, when they’d kept close company on the road.
“A shame you told them we were coming,” Tuyard said, sitting atop his horse opposite Mei. The rest trailed only a few paces behind, though she’d demanded a hard pace since Tigai had taken them across the sea. “I would have loved to see de Tourvalle’s face when he sees we arrived before him.”
“It’s more than just de Tourvalle,” she said. “They had riders t
his morning, from the capital.”
“The Dauphin’s taken notice of us, then?” Tuyard asked.
She reined Jiri around, catching Essily as he nudged his mount toward her. “See to it that the generals, and the Yanjins, are put up in proper accommodations,” she said. “Then ride for the command tents. I want a full accounting of the current command structure and liasons with the Third Corps and Gand ships. Tell them to send whoever they need, to make the report.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Essily said, spinning his mount to deliver her commands.
“We part ways, for now, Lady Mei,” she said. Mei lowered her head in a fluid motion, moving to join the others. “Tuyard, you’re with me.”
Tuyard nudged his mount closer to her. “It’s the Dauphin himself, isn’t it? I recognize those bloody banners. He didn’t send a messenger. The Dauphin is here in person.”
It had been the first thing she’d noticed, coming into view of the camp. Something she hadn’t seen, during her Need connection to de Tourvalle’s aide before the morning’s ride: a row of purple banners on the far edge of the camp, coming from the south, where the capital city of Sarresant—Old Sarresant—was nestled no more than a swift day’s ride from the coast. Even without seeing the designs, she knew they’d bear the three-pronged flowers of the Aegis of the King.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Time to find out whether we’re an alliance or an invasion.”
They dismounted outside the central tents, and were ushered inside with no more fanfare than if they’d sailed with the ships. Field-Marshal de Tourvalle, commander of her 2nd Corps, was seated at the head of the table, and his counterpart, Major-General Wexly of the Gand contingents of her army. Colonel Marquand was there, too, one of the first volunteers to sail with the army when they’d left colonial shores, now entrusted with planning how their binders would be used in the coming action. Two marquis-generals sat opposite them, a man and woman, flanking a man in civilian’s clothes who had to be the Dauphin: Gau-Michel de l’Arraignon, heir to the throne of Sarresant. He wore a purple cloak trimmed with sable fur over top of a blue doublet stitched with flowers on the cuffs and shoulders. Her officers rose at once as she made her entry, while the three on the opposite side stayed seated.
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