Daughter of Independence

by Simon Brown

  Rodin ordered the fleet to anchor. In the morning he would send a much stronger party ashore to bury the dead and then advance on Sayenna under the cover of the fleet. Then both would enter Sayenna at the same time, showing no mercy whatsoever to any who stood in their way.

  *

  They took their wounded and dead with them, hurrying as fast as they could to get as much distance between them and the sea. With luck they would meet up with the supply column early the next day, and then could continue on up The Wash until they were near Orin of the Two Rivers. There they would rest for a day and make a decision on whether to stay in the region or move west to find refuge in Kydan. Velan could not believe how tired he was. The battle had not lasted long, but the energy expended on fear and ferocity were enormous, together with the strain of the last day as they hurried to make preparation for the invasion.

  At the end their small force was largely intact, suffering only ten fatalities and twice as many wounded, none seriously. The dead they put on the horses and would bury in shallow graves before settling for the night; normally the dead would be burned on a pyre, but that might give their position away to the enemy.

  Velan walked by Arden’s side, feeling some pride in being the governor’s second-in-command. He did not waste time wondering about that, but understood that although he was nominally leader of Sayenna’s small military, Arden was a natural leader, and one the soldiers as well as himself followed easily. He noticed Arden flexing his left hand.

  ‘You’re hurt?’ he asked, pointing at the hand.

  ‘Nothing serious,’ Arden said, showing Velan his palm. A thin red line bisected the hand, but the cut was barely surface deep. ‘Just don’t want it to close up too tight.’

  Despite their tiredness, the soldiers walked with an easy lilt. Velan knew they were feeling very proud of the day’s action, despite the fact they had outnumbered the enemy, had taken him by surprise and were now retreating despite the victory. But he would do nothing to spoil their mood; they would need all the courage and spirit they could get in the days to come.

  *

  It had been a quiet night, as nights went in Sayenna. Even the wildlife, which in the keep amounted to a few rats, mice and starlings, were staying in their burrows and nests. Quenion had chosen a bottle of the very best Rivald wine she could find and over the hours had slowly polished it off. By the end she was feeling quite light-hearted without being drunk, which was exactly how she wanted to feel. She wondered briefly whether it would increase her chances of surviving if she made up the bed in the best room in the keep for the Hamilayan general, whoever he happened to be. Crisp white linen, all the feathers sticking out of the pillow pushed back in, soap and water on the side table. She decided it would not be a good idea. They might shoot or stab her outright, and as a reward they would get a lovely room just waiting for them to lie down and take off their boots. No. It would not do. If they let her live she would make the bed. Never reward someone in anticipation of virtue. That was the Kevleren way. A compliment here, a smile there, and then they thought they could cut your throat for their precious Wielding.

  She desperately wished Velan were there, and even Arden, although the governor was someone she thought she understood sometimes and at other times did not think she understood at all. But she did not have to understand Velan; he had never been an Axkevleren, let alone a Beloved. He was just Velan Lymok, once soldier on the make, then friend and commander of soldiers, then prisoner-of-war, then commander of soldiers again. Not much to understand about that. Although, come to think of it, he had become complex as the years drew on. He had become almost as devoted to Sayenna as she, which Quenion had never expected, although she had early on recognised he was drawn to the city.

  She looked at her large hands and their blunt fingers. This one had helped slay an innocent for a Kevleren, she remembered, and this one had then slain the Kevleren. In balance. Just like her life, poised between a future she might not have and a past she wanted to forget, although she allowed she had not minded the last three years.

  She heard, distantly, the tramp tramp of marching soldiers, and looked out the window. Pale light over a wine-dark sea; the smile in the shoreline that made Sayenna’s harbour was speckled by white sails.

  It was time.

  She went into the courtyard, threw the empty bottle of Rivald wine into the refuse pit, washed her face and hands with water from the pump, and went and stood by the keep entrance. When the first Hamilayan soldiers went by, carefully searching every nook and cranny of the city, they regarded her warily, then ignored her. Another lot came directly to the keep, an ensign in charge.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Quenion.

  ‘I am mistress of the keep,’ she said.

  ‘Not any more you ain’t,’ the ensign said, and some of his men chuckled.

  ‘That is up to your general, not you.’

  The ensign bristled. ‘Look, lady, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll scarper. The general ain’t feeling kindly this morning on account of some nasty work done yesterday.’

  Quenion wanted to laugh at that, but did not think it would do her cause any good. ‘I will wait, thank you.’

  ‘You’re an idiot. But suit yourself.’ He waved his men through to search the keep, and himself went back a street to keep an eye out. For the general, Quenion assumed. When the soldiers had finished searching the keep, and requisitioning some of its wine for themselves if the bulges under their jackets were any indicator, the ensign assigned two to guard the entrance and led the rest off to search elsewhere.

  After a long while, Quenion heard a large group approaching, and then saw an official party filled with green Hamilayan uniforms and plumes and medals and helmets. At first Quenion thought the tall, distinguished-looking gentleman near the front was in charge. He certainly held his nose up in the air as if he was the most superior creature for miles around. But on second thoughts he was a naval officer, judging by the cut of his rig. Then her gaze fell on the slight, bald man next to him. He looked up and saw her at the same time.

  ‘And who in the name of the Sefid are you?’ he demanded.

  There was no mistaking that tone of command, and there was no mistaking the pale skin and the quick uneasy alertness of his eyes.

  ‘I am Quenion,’ she said, bowing, and in that instant knew exactly how to ensure she not only survived but was taken in like a sparrow with a broken wing. ‘Quenion Axkevleren, your Highness.’

  28

  Marquella Montranto escorted Duke Paimer Kevleren all the way to the pass that once marked the official border between the Hamilayan empire and the kingdom of Rivald. Paimer was not sure if it was a sign of grudging respect or Montranto’s way to ensure that Paimer really did go over the mountains and far away. They paused at the old border post as if to say goodbye to each other, but both seemed to realise how artificial and sentimental it would have sounded. Montranto did offer his hand, which Paimer took, surprised because no one had ever shaken his hand before, and then Paimer and his party crossed over and rode away, never looking back.

  They made a strange group, Paimer thought. A dozen Kevlerens, plus himself, and then Dayof and a handful of their devoted and loyal Axkevlerens. Montranto had granted a small escort of a dozen soldiers who had been with Paimer since he took over Beferen and so, at least in theory, would stick with him most of the way to Omeralt and protect him and the others from bandits or irate townsfolk.

  The feeling of trepidation that Paimer had experienced approaching Hamilay eased somewhat when he reached the bottom of the mountains and rode through the gently undulating countryside he once knew so well. It was a pretty place, an ordered place, and there had been a time when he was very fond of it. Now, despite the reduced trepidation, he felt a stranger, a guest in his own birthplace.

  I have made my home elsewhere, he told himself. A softer, cooler land held his heart now, and he yearned to turn around and go back, even if it meant retiring to his estate under
the watchful eye of a suspicious Montranto or a resurgent Safety Committee. Duty called, however, and it called from the opposite direction.

  No, not duty really, he realised. Responsibility. He was the oldest surviving Kevleren, and although he did not think his family had in the end been a good thing for Hamilay, it had had its moments. Now Lerena was throwing away the entire heritage for something that would not only destroy the empire, but possibly every living thing on the continent. He did not know how strong the Sefid was, or how much stronger it could get, but he strongly suspected it was out of control, whether Lerena knew it or not, if indeed Lerena was capable of thinking about anything any more. She had been distinctly odd since slaying Yunara, and had become increasingly deranged as time went on. What she might be reduced to now was something Paimer was afraid to confront, but knew that was exactly what he had to do.

  *

  The steam carriage rattled through the morning and the countryside between the coast and Omeralt. Galys and Kadburn, crammed at the back of the only carriage set aside for normal passengers, felt like two peas in a tin can and stared listlessly out at the flat plains that filled the space between Somah and Omeralt. Most of the land appeared as it ever had, with wheat and lucerne ripening in fields, and fruit swelling in orchards, and sheep and cattle lazily cropping pasture, but a good part of it had been left fallow, far more than usual. Now and then the steam carriage would go by whole farms without a crop, the fences in disrepair, crows circling dead beasts.

  ‘What is happening here?’ Kadburn asked.

  The other paying passengers would not look at him, let alone answer his question. They would not look at Galys, either.

  ‘It is like the end of the world,’ he said.

  ‘The end of the empire, that is certain,’ Galys said softly. ‘But with something as old and large as the empire it may take generations before the final fall, however it comes. I am glad I am no longer living here.’

  ‘And I.’

  Neither spoke for some time. They kept their watch on the world outside, wondering what sort of a world it had become, and occasionally glancing at the others in the carriage, partly to see in their faces what sort of world they thought they were living in, and partly in the hope of getting some reaction, even a curt nod, that Kadburn and Galys were sharing the carriage with them. What both realised very quickly was that the passengers were not making an exception for them, but did not talk to each other unless they were obviously travelling together. There were two old men, merchants judging by their fine and slightly dandified clothing, and obviously friends by the animated way they carried out their conversation; then there was a mother and her boy, she approaching middle age and he not more than ten. The boy carried a pup in his arms, and occasionally looked Kadburn and Galys’s way, but despite Galys’s encouraging smiles made no attempt to communicate. Kadburn tried smiling, too, but it looked more like a scowl and the boy eventually stopped looking at them altogether. After a while the boy pestered his mother to give his pet something to drink; at first she resisted, but finally gave in and poured some water from a flask into the boy’s hat for the dog to slurp. Galys watched the puppy for a while; maybe it would give her a grin.

  ‘Did you see the people in the other carriages?’ Galys asked quietly.

  ‘The ones being sent to Omeralt, you mean? The cull, courtesy of our dead friends in the alley. No doubt Somah’s governor will get someone to replace them without much trouble.’

  ‘The cull?’

  ‘Come on, Galys. Why would Lerena need so many people? For her garden? “Axkevlerens” the kidnappers called them. What does a Kevleren do with an Axkevleren?’

  Galys paled. ‘You’re not serious. Even Lerena would not be capable of . . .’ Her voice faded away as she realised Lerena must have been capable of exactly that; how else to explain what was happening in Hamilay? ‘She is mad.’

  ‘Quite possibly. I don’t know if that makes our job easier or harder.’

  *

  It had outrun the smoke and needed a place to hide before it was completely shrivelled by the burning sun. There was a haystack halfway across the next field, and it shambled, tripped and crawled its way there, all the time feeling its skin beginning to peel and blister. It did not know how many of its family had survived the running battle with the soldiers, but the enemy was getting better at killing them and, because they now had some idea of what they were facing, harder to kill in turn.

  It reached the haystack, forced itself to stay out long enough to search the area and make sure it was not seen going into hiding, then slipped under the nearest bale. It wormed its way deeper, knowing that the further it was from the sun the faster its wounds would heal.

  It realised then it was not getting cooler as it burrowed its way into the stack but much, much warmer. Pain shot through its body and it realised with terrible certainty that if it did not get away it would die here. Using its last reserves of strength it clawed its way to the outer bales, still warm but bearable, and in a terrible state of agitation waited for it to get dark enough to leave. It wondered how many of its family had found similar refuges and burrowed deeply only to discover too late that composting hay was as lethal as fire or the sun.

  *

  ‘I wonder what’s happening across the Deepening Sea?’ Lerena asked.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Yunara said airily. ‘Only what happens here has any importance.’

  ‘Sometimes you annoy me very much,’ Lerena said, pouting slightly. ‘Anyway, you were interested last time I tried to find out.’

  ‘That’s because you were using the Sefid. That is always interesting.’ Yunara’s eyes widened. ‘Is that what you are going to do? Can I stay?’

  Lerena smiled, encouraged by Yunara’s sudden excitement. ‘Of course I am going to use the Sefid. And of course you can stay. Shall we try to reach Rodin?’

  ‘Should you? Will he suspect something if he feels you over that distance?’

  ‘Good point,’ Lerena admitted, her smile disappearing in her disappointment.

  They stood in the clearing listening to the birds. Her new plantings shook in a sudden cold breeze.

  ‘You could use that birth chain,’ Yunara said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘To see what is happening in Kydan. You could use the birth chain. The one in Kydan. The one you gave that terrible Albyn woman. You almost succeeded last time you tried.’

  ‘It tires me, and last time I failed.’

  ‘But you are so much stronger now than you were then,’ Yunara encouraged.

  Lerena brightened again. ‘Yes, you’re right. Maybe I could do it.’

  ‘And you would still be using the Sefid,’ Yunara said triumphantly.

  They sat down together on the stone bench.

  Yunara leaned across and whispered in Lerena’s ear, ‘Now, think clearly –’

  ‘Be quiet,’ Lerena said tersely. She closed her eyes and told herself to imagine the chain.

  ‘There,’ she gasped, surprised how easy it had been. Much easier than last time. In fact, so close she might almost . . .

  Lerena stretched out her hand as if she could physically touch it.

  *

  ‘What do we do once we are in Omeralt?’ Galys asked, keeping her voice low so no one would overhear her.

  ‘Do we try to get to Lerena as soon as we arrive?’

  ‘That would be suicide, surely. We have no idea how she is established.’

  ‘True. And if the stories Avier heard are true, she is not even living in the palace anymore, but in Yunara’s aviary. I have been in the duchess’s alcazar, but I have never been in the aviary itself.’

  ‘Then we should find a place to stay until we can discover a way through to the aviary.’

  Kadburn looked out of the steam carriage, thinking, when he pointed north. ‘Look at that.’

  The horizon was smudged with a thick layer of billowing black smoke.

  ‘Grassfire, maybe?’ Galys said.

/>   ‘Biggest grassfire I’ve ever seen, and close to Omeralt. We must almost be there by now.’

  Galys looked down suddenly, alarmed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Kadburn asked.

  ‘Sefid, no!’ she hissed, and scrabbled in her jacket pocket.

  ‘Galys?’ She pulled out an oilcloth pouch, and even through the leather Kadburn could see whatever was inside it pulsing with a blue light and a fierce heat. ‘The birth chain!’

  Galys looked around desperately. Her gaze fell on the pup still drinking from the boy’s hat. She lurched out of her seat, ignoring the cries of those she barged past, and plunged the pouch straight into the water. There was a great whoosh of steam and people screamed.

  ‘What do you think you are doing!’ the mother cried, and the boy started sobbing. The puppy nipped at Galys’s fingers.

  Galys ignored them all and held up the pouch. The blue light was gone and the heat had dissipated.

  Kadburn joined her. ‘Put it away, Strategos. You’re drawing far too much attention.’

  Galys was suddenly aware of all the faces turned towards her.

  ‘I think we should get off the steam carriage as soon as possible,’ she said to Kadburn.

  *

  Lerena shouted in pain and lurched backwards off the seat.

  ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘I almost had it! I almost saw! It was so easy!’

  Yunara watched her with something like apathy.

  ‘That is all, then? You’re not going to use the Sefid?’

  Lerena stood up and turned on her. ‘No, I am not going to use the bloody Sefid! And you can disappear right now or I’ll turn you into one of my plants!’

  Yunara laughed. ‘That would make an interesting experiment,’ she said. ‘You against me.’

  And was gone before Lerena could ask her what she meant.

  *