Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1)

by Allene Lowrey

  “Yes, Scholar.” Bahadur allowed himself to rest his hand on the hilt of his kopis, just to remember it was there.

  * * *

  Past the figures guarding the ruined gates, the fifth city looked much like the older portions of the fourth. Bahadur took up his position in the wedge and twitched at every stray sound as they moved through the streets full of empty-eyed buildings with gaping mouths. He had more pressing concerns than the aesthetic of the broken down, pot-bellied statuary still lining the streets, and his nerves infected the men around him. Finally, looking into one of the ruined houses, Scholar Zubin called him out.

  “Well, spit it out man. What’s got you tiptoeing over shards?”

  “Sorry, Scholar. It’s just…” He had to clear his throat. “I’ve seen signs of the ones who destroyed my home.” That should be a safe enough answer.

  “I wouldn’t think someone who carries a sword like that would be afraid of a few bandits.” News of Q’uungerab had not yet reached Vidyavana, it seemed.

  “They’re man-eaters, sir. Vicious, terrible man-eating beasts.”

  Zubin raised his eyebrows. “Cannibals, in this age? Well then. We shall simply have to be prepared to fight them off.” Scholar Zubin still thought Bahadur was speaking of humans. Still, any sort of forewarning was better than none.

  “Yes, sir.”

  They had moved several buildings farther on when Bahadur saw the light of another team arrive in the distance behind them. That must be Fravardin’s group. He couldn’t warn them; hopefully someone in the group would have sharp instincts.

  Scholar Zubin directed them along the main road until the torchlight caught on one of the most intricately carved buildings Bahadur had ever seen. The gate pillars were half broken, but the dome shape alone would have suggested stupa to him. It was the first temple he had seen on the entire expedition, and that alone would have drawn his eye. Even as he laid eyes on it, though, he caught a whiff of something sour, almost like vinegar. Scholar Zubin sent Bahadur forward to find an entrance to the stupa even as bile was rising in Bahadur’s throat.

  He crept forward on his toes, the torch held far aloft, and was gratified not to hear the other men sniggering. The shallow steps led up to a massive building with delicate fluted columns and elaborate, indecent carvings. He’d have preferred more half-starved ascetics.

  At the top of the pillars, the torchlight just touched the suggestion of smaller, carved domes sheltering the carvings below. The remnants of a badly damaged stone door stood half open at the top of the stairs. “It’s already open.”

  “Excellent. In we go, then.”

  How can he be so calm? Bahadur’s skin crawled as he tried not to think about one of those beasts watching them from the dark, waiting for its moment to strike. They were ambush predators; that was what they did. He thrust the torch through the door even as he stepped forward, hearing the footfalls of his companions on the steps.

  Inside, the devotee’s path wound past all four walls and around columns carved to resemble half-clothed women in suggestive poses before finally leading into the shrine at the back. Bahadur wasn’t sure where to look; many of the poses depicted he would have been ashamed to suggest to his own wife. Zubin had them fan out, following the devotee’s path, to illuminate as much of the interior as possible at one time. Bahadur kept the lead, and as he approached the shrine in the center the vinegar smell became almost overwhelming. There was something translucent, like cloudy glass, in the room with the four-pillared shrine. He was uncomfortably aware of the sound of his boots scraping on the ground as he stepped up to the entrance.

  He’d seen the slough of scorpions before, and that was why he merely groaned when he saw what it was that occupied the room. The monsters molted, which meant they grew, and the shell in front of him was already bigger than the creatures he had seen at Q’uungerab.

  “Scholar Zubin. You should see this.” He did not take his eyes off the husk even after the sound of the Scholar’s footsteps stopped next to him.

  “By all the absent gods…”

  Bahadur opened his mouth to reply. The echoes of a scream from outside filtered through the passages of the stupa, cutting him off. His feet were running before he realized he intended to help, dodging around his fellow mercenaries with practiced agility toward the broken-down slab of a door and hoping there was only one of them. Moments later he realized Zubin and the other guards were following hard on his heels. Good men.

  Tchra-ja! The cry was loud and clear and made Bahadur’s heart race even faster. His feet moved to match its pace.

  Outside the stupa Bahadur could see the beacon of lights from the other group. A single light was a little apart from the group and thrashing about madly. Bahadur’s torch flickered madly in the wind as he raced for the stand-off.

  The unlucky fellow gripped in the monster’s claw was Scholar Fravardin’s favorite scribe. Doubly unlucky, he was not yet dead. The man’s cries of pain faded as Bahadur pounded into the open square. The rest of Zubin’s team were only moments behind. The torch the scribe held, for a wonder still lit, clattered to the floor. A muffled thump and another groan said that the man followed soon after.

  The creature in front of them was easily twice the size of any Bahadur had seen in Q’uungerab, but it seemed sluggish and confused.

  “Kamboja, help me with him. The rest of you, run!” He was Lieutenant Bahadur again, and almost as one the others accepted it. Only Scholar Fravardin objected, blustering at the two rescuers even as they hefted the scribe’s body.

  “Better hurry if you want to outrun us. Ready, Kamboja? I’m going to call cadence, double-quick time.”

  Kamboja nodded over the shoulder of their charge. Bahadur began the count, quietly. Fravardin stood a moment longer, as red-faced as the minister from Udhampna.

  Tchra-ja!

  The creature’s shriek was followed by Fravardin’s. The scholar shot past Bahadur and Kamboja with their burden.

  A rush of air on his back told him it was moving moments before it clacked past them, chasing the terrified scholar. Bahadur had Kamboja cross behind the beast even as its tail struck forward. Fravardin’s shriek was cut off in a sickening burble.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jit had arrived just as Navid was declaring the time limit reached, a little out of breath but otherwise unharmed.

  “Sorry. Had to shake a couple of tails ‘at thought they were better ‘an they were.”

  Navid touched a finger to his eyebrow and then jerked it towards Jit. He didn’t stick around to explain, though, just waved over his shoulder as he started circling around to the south. Jit led Chandi around in the other direction. She could hardly believe how easy it had been.

  Now she was watching at Basu’s for any street kids who might happen by and making sure Ravi ate. He was still groggy from the teraima Basu used to make him sleep, and anemic in addition. Ravi claimed he was starving, but it was often several minutes between bites. To pass the time, they talked. He said the blacksmith was affiliated with Zartosht’s gang, and so while he distracted Ravi the thugs came up behind and drugged Chandi. Ravi only discovered she was gone after paying for the knife.

  “I don’t think he’ll be trying that particular ruse again anytime soon,” Ravi chuckled with grim humor. “He’ll live, but he was a bloody wreck before he decided to tell me where they’d taken you. Even then it seemed like it took me hours to find the place. This settlement isn’t so big to look at, but it’s a maze to run through. The rest… well, you saw more than enough of that.”

  “Mmm… It was very brave to come in that way, but…” But any man with that much rage bottled inside was a frightening creature.

  Ravi hung his head and rolled it from side to side. “It wasn’t brave, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t planning. All I knew was I had to get you out of there before anything happened. And then it ended up being unnecessary.”

  “You didn’t know that, though. And if I hadn’t yelled right
when I did, Jit might not have known I was there.” She was making excuses for him, and she knew it, but she didn’t know why she was doing it.

  “You were trying to get their attention?”

  “More like I had a better chance with them than sawing through the door with a blunt object. They were pretty clever with their setup.” She rubbed at the bandages around her hands. There was nothing crippling there, and if she was lucky they wouldn’t scar, but the bandages themselves were irritating. She bit her lip, weighing how much she wanted to know the answer to her next question.

  “Was… was Aditi your daughter?”

  He licked his lips, staring fixedly at his knees under the blanket. “…My… my wife. They… a group of slavers… killed her around the same time…” His eyes were tight and he screwed together his eyebrows. Even his mouth twisted with the attempt. “I’m sorry. I can’t… can’t say the words. They’ll break me, and…”

  “Sorry, I…”

  He shook his head and cleared his throat as though it were phlegm in the way, suddenly back in control of himself. “It was me you heard the name from. It’s not the sort of thing that ever really fades, but you don’t need to take my burdens on top of your own.” He looked down at the plate in front of him with cloudy eyes but his hand brought more food to his mouth and he began eating again.

  She changed the subject. “So they call this place Rodsfahan. I guess we’re not far from Vidyavana. How far off course does that put us?”

  “Vidyavana? I wouldn’t have expected one of these… hives so close to the Scholar’s city.”

  Chandi just shrugged. She was reasonably certain she’d never been there before; they had a reputation as a tough audience, and it was a bit off the beaten track.

  “I’d have to look at my map, and know how close in what direction. But almost certainly too far off course.”

  “Basu said it was a few days’ ride to the northwest.”

  Ravi groaned. “Northwest, you say. Serpents. We’re way too far east. I don’t suppose our things have been brought over?”

  “Basu’s out making arrangements with the innkeeper now. He shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “I suppose he’ll want to keep me here for weeks yet.” Ravi grumbled as a matter of course, but they wouldn’t get far with him like this, and he knew it.

  “Probably. More importantly, how are we going to resupply now? Jit’s little ruse bought us some time, but only if we stay out of sight.”

  “That will also depend on what the map tells me. We may be better off striking out for Vidyavana and resupplying there, even with it being out of our way.”

  “And if we run into Zartosht’s goons? That’s the direction we made them think we were going.”

  “We fight them off, if we have to. I still have my sword, after all… Although I don’t see it in here. Where is it?”

  “You dropped it in the slavers’ hideout, right before we ran out of the hall.”

  He gaped at her. “I didn’t.” A pause, while he replayed the memory. “…I did. Snake tongues, I really lost my head there.”

  “And about half your blood. Under the circumstances, I think that was understandable… Besides, do you really need it?” She knew the answer to that, but she asked it anyway. She really wasn’t sure she wanted to put another blade in his hands.

  “Don’t ask stupid questions. Unless you think my crossbow and your knife would be sufficient to hold off a gang of bandits?”

  “No, you’re right. Maybe Jit knows someone who could help?”

  “Jit probably knows a number of people who would say they’d do it and then make off with our coin.”

  “What would you suggest, then?”

  “I wish I knew.” Ravi sighed, and wiped the gravy from his bowl with his last bite of bread.

  The curtain over the doorway opened, and in stepped slender, almost pretty Basu. “Well. That was a chore. The mistress of the Parvana will, of course, expect you to settle your tab when you come for the camels, but she’s sending a porter with what you’d left in your rooms. Won’t even charge for the service – she just wants the use of the room back.”

  “Excellent. Once I have the map in there back, we can figure out where to go from here.” Ravi spoke as though it was a normal business arrangement, but strain showed.

  “If I may make a suggestion?”

  “What?”

  “A number of the children who come to me are quite reliable. I patch them up, they do work for me. Would that be of use to you?”

  “Perhaps, if you don’t think the sight of coin will bring out their worst.”

  “I do not believe so. Even here there are people who know the value of honest work. Jit wasn’t kidding when he told you they were planning to take over this town when they grow up.”

  “It wasn’t the plan I laughed at.” Chandi still thought it sounded too much like a youngling’s plan to be more than a dream.

  “If anyone can do it, Jit can. He’s… got more in the game than you might think.”

  “It sounds like I don’t have much choice in the matter. At least one of them will need to be able to purchase a khanda without arousing suspicion,” Ravi said.

  “A khanda? That’s going to be difficult to manage out here, but I’ll see what we can do. You really think you’ll need a sword like that?”

  “There are… creatures in the desert,” Chandi started. “Creatures that even a khanda might not be able to cut, but it’s strong enough to defend against them.”

  Basu didn’t even blink. “If you say it’s important, that’s enough. Now, let me have a look at your dressings.”

  * * *

  The resupply took half of their coin. Basu had wanted them to stay longer, but Ravi paled and refused to pay for another week – or more – of stabling and treatment. Chandi recognized signs of the Itch, too. Ravi had the strength to ride, now, but the worst of his wounds were still in the delicate phases of healing. His left shoulder was of particular concern. One of the slavers had managed to stab into its hollow, and he still had trouble lifting with that arm. She was to check its dressing nightly and use the ointments Basu had sold them.

  Cowled against the night, they set out for the Simin Parvana to collect their camels. Ravi’s new khanda, suspiciously similar to his old one, was strapped across his back, but he couldn’t yet swing it. A black haze blotted out the stars on the eastern horizon.

  The streets of Rodsfahan were nearly silent, and it set Chandi’s teeth on edge. She walked on the balls of her feet, as she’d been trained. Here and there candlelight could be seen through an upper-story window, but down on the ground was deserted. She thought Ravi must feel them, too — these thousands of eyes filled with white-hot malice. It felt like an hour before they arrived in the alley behind the stables of the Simin Parvana.

  A woman’s hand appeared in the moonlight as though it floated in the air. Squinting, Chandi could make out the figure of the innkeeper in the shadows of her inn. Ravi placed a small sack of coin in the hand, and it opened the stable gate.

  “Be cautious. The streets themselves have eyes.”

  Ravi nodded, and the hand disappeared back into the shadows. A rustle of cloth betrayed her exit, and then the city was silent once more.

  As arranged, the camels were saddled and ready. Ravi cushed Rohana for her, and then his own mount. Before he could give the command to rise an arrow embedded itself in the ground not two inches from his camel’s flank. It snorted and nearly threw Ravi in its haste to rise. Another arrow flew past Chandi’s ear, and the fletching cut her cheek. She crouched low against her mount’s neck and scanned the rooftops, but could not see anyone.

  A white-cowled figure vaulted the fence behind them. Ravi heeled his mount, and the spooked camel leaped into a gallop, crashing through the fence on the other side of the corral. Rohana followed. Chandi glanced back under her arm: the others also appeared to be following.

  The white-cowled man swung up on top of one of their saddleba
gs and tried to drive his hijacked beast faster. He brandished his sword as he rode.

  Chandi pushed Rohana to catch up with Ravi. “He’s a distraction,” she called over the wind in her ears. Riding with his sword like that was a dead giveaway.

  Ravi glanced back. “Too much the buffoon. Get my crossbow. Bolts are in my saddlebag – and mind the book!”

  She nodded. His mount was the best leader in the herd, and she didn’t know the map. He would keep course, and she would shoot.

  She clutched the saddle tight between her legs as she leaned over to untie Ravi’s saddlebag. The bouncing made it hard to keep hold of the cords. They were ripped from her fingers as she loosed the knot. She plunged a hand into the bag and felt around for the cool metal of the bolt clip.

  The book flopped over and crushed her fingers. Without thinking she yanked her arm back out of the bag. The book, with its all-important ritual, came halfway out. They were on the outskirts of Rodsfahan now, and the slaver gang’s ambush was sure to be close. Her hand fell back down and pushed the book down into the bag. She slid her hand along the nearer side of its cover this time, and her fingers closed on the bolt clip. Ravi removed the crossbow from its holster.

  The book was still trying to bounce out of the bag. She wedged the clip between her thigh and the saddle and fumbled about, trying to catch the cords.

  The camels’ gallop sent them flying past the outermost buildings of the kalabazaar. Ravi was setting the crossbow for its first bolt, his reins looped over his forearm. More of the book’s cover was visible in the moonlight now.

  She heard the sound of galloping horses from either side. The slavers intended to outsprint them, then. Her fingers tangled in one end of the cord and she yanked. The book weighed on the other side of the bag, bouncing more precariously.

  “A little help here?”

  Ravi glanced over his shoulder and bit off an oath. The arm he needed was still wrapped in his rein.

  Arrows zipped past again. They seemed to be aiming for Ravi; she must still be “merchandise” to their eyes.

  The book was poised to topple, now. Her other arm struck forward to push it back into the bag. She felt her knees begin to slip.