by Phil Tucker
Tiron stood with a groan. "No promises. I'll be watching."
Tiron was nearly asleep on his feet when Patash's patrol filed into the square. There were six guards with him and they appeared to be on alert, swinging their lanterns from side to side as they peered into the darkness. Great, thought Tiron. The whole city is probably after me.
Patash waved to Orishin, but he seemed intent on continuing his patrol without stopping to talk. Orishin emerged and bid Patash come close. The captain said something to his men and stepped over, then conferred quietly with the stall owner before nodding reluctantly. He called out in Agerastian to his troops, then followed Orishin into the alley.
Tiron stepped out, sword resting over his shoulder, and grinned at the captain. "Evening, Patash."
The captain immediately drew his blade and went to shout, but Orishin said something rapidly in Agerastian, clearly a plea, falling to his knees as he did so. The captain hesitated, eyes narrowed, gauged the distance to the alley's mouth, and then nodded slowly to Tiron.
Thank you, thought Tiron, though he didn't direct his gratitude toward the Ascendant. "Orishin, get on your feet. Tell him what's happened."
Orishin did so in a quick stream of words, speaking most emphatically and with plenty of wild gestures. The whole time Patash watched Tiron, eyes flat, expression closed. Tiron met his gaze without difficulty, keeping his own stare open and without reserve. When Orishin finally finished, Patash continued to stare at Tiron, who leaned his blade against the wall and raised his hands, palm outward.
"It's true. Every word of it. A trap. Help us. You know Lady Iskra is innocent."
The silence stretched out. Patash was clearly wrestling with his instincts, and Tiron respected that. He was asking Patash to betray his responsibilities and trust in Tiron's intuition. The captain's gaze was piercing. Finally, he nodded and said something quietly to Orishin, who visibly wilted with relief.
"He says he will help, but at the first sign of betrayal he will arrest you and curse himself for being a fool. He wants to know how you plan to clear Lady Iskra's name."
"The academy," said Tiron. "Tell him we need his help in getting an audience with the Vothak Ilina."
Patash's face darkened, and then he laughed and shook his head.
"The captain says, why not? After that we can visit the emperor, and then perhaps send a letter to the Ascendant's Grace." Orishin smiled weakly.
Tiron stared flatly at Patash. The man's eyebrows rose, and he shot a question at Orishin, who nodded mutely. Patash rubbed his nose, then sighed and nodded. He gestured for Tiron and Orishin to follow and stepped back into the square.
"What did he say?"
"That he will do what he can." Orishin shook his head in wonder. "He's actually helping. I am surprised! And delighted."
"Come on, then," said Tiron, hefting his blade and stepping around the translator. "Let's go wake up some Sin Casters."
Patash and his patrol took them by back roads to one of the rose-colored buildings with a glittering dome. Orishin explained that they had once been temples to the Ascendant, but had since the city's independence been devoted to different purposes. This one, taller and less massive than the others, had been turned into the emperor's academy.
It wasn't a popular building, Tiron noted as they stepped up to the entrance. There were no stalls in the square outside it, and the encircling buildings looked half-abandoned. Tiron couldn't blame the locals. Who would want to live next to fire-throwing mages?
Patash stepped up to the forbidding double doors and knocked boldly. His guards stood to one side, still casting dubious looks at Tiron and frowning as they sought to understand what was taking place.
The doors opened. A handsome young man with close-cropped hair, wearing a simple cotton tunic that dropped to his knees, looked in surprise at Patash. "Can I help you?"
"Please give my apologies to al-Vothak Ilina, and tell her that Captain Patash requests an urgent meeting with her."
"Al-Vothak Ilina?" Concern flashed across the man's face. "Come in. I'll see if she is available."
The double doors opened directly into the old hall of worship, and Tiron glanced automatically toward the far end, where he expected to see a great silver triangle on the wall. Of course it was missing. He was amused to realize that he could still be shocked by the sight of wooden partitions installed down the length of the great hall, dividing the space into more practical rooms.
The young man led their party down a central corridor, past various doorways, and then out into the final open space where the altar had once been. In its place was a circle of rather comfortable-looking chairs, and a massive tapestry on one wall showed Thansos the emperor striking down the Solar Gate with black fire.
Patash stood stiffly, his tanned face pale, a thin horizontal line creasing his forehead. He muttered something to Orishin, who grimaced apologetically and replied in a conciliatory fashion.
Tiron sank gratefully into one of the chairs. His vision had started to blur. There was no sense in acting tough if it meant collapsing onto the floor a few minutes from now.
The sound of footsteps echoed down from the ceiling, and moments later a small group entered, led by al-Vothak Ilina herself. Her face was cast in a severe expression, and a simple dove-gray robe covered her from chin to feet. Tiron didn't recognize the four men and women behind her, but that was fine; he didn't need to.
Ilina caught sight of him and stopped. She blinked, clearly trying to place him, and then her eyes widened. "You are with Lady Kyferin's party."
Ah, Ennoian. Tiron forced himself to rise, and bowed. "I was. She has been arrested on charges of attempting to assassinate the emperor."
Ilina's face hardened, the lines around her mouth growing more pronounced. The other four didn't react. Clearly they didn't speak the language.
"I had not heard. When did this happen?"
"Perhaps... an hour ago? Maybe two? I lost track of time while running through the city."
"You fled arrest?"
"Naturally."
"It is my duty, then, to turn you over to the authorities."
Tiron nodded. "Agreed. There's a captain of the guard right there. However, he's agreed that it might be worth your while to listen to me first."
Patash was following this spate of Ennoian with lowered brows, Orishin whispering a translation to him all the while. Patash stepped forward, hesitated once more, and then visibly committed himself. He spoke in a quiet but confident manner before he bowed deeply and stepped back.
Ilina turned and whispered in Agerastian to one of her followers, who promptly turned and ran back down the corridor. She looked to Tiron. "Then speak."
"The man they are blaming the assassination attempt on was a good man, a family man by the name of Hannus. At tonight's feast, he was given wine by a beautiful serving girl. He drank little, but soon grew heavily intoxicated. She only served him, then when I was escorting Lady Iskra back to our group, our other guard, Ord, was challenged by a man who fell upon him. When he turned, he saw Hannus being led away by that same serving girl, now clearly tripping over himself. We searched for him but didn't dare go far. We notified the chamberlain and returned to our rooms."
Orishin translated all the while to Patash, who added some words when Tiron was done.
Ilina's broad nostrils flared as she mulled this over. "What happened then?"
"Palace guards burst into our rooms, claiming that Hannus had been killed while crossing the emperor's private garden with a blade in hand. Even if one chooses to disregard the fact that he was loyal to Lady Kyferin and would never have attempted this of his own free will, I doubt he would have been able to find the emperor's gardens without help, much less attempt an assassination while he was that drunk."
"And if he was feigning drunkenness so that he would have precisely such an alibi?"
Tiron shrugged. "Then he was a far better actor then he was a soldier, and trust me, he was a good soldier. No, someone is seekin
g to disrupt Lady Kyferin's attempt to forge an alliance with the emperor before it's too late." Tiron wanted nothing more than to sit, but he resisted the urge. "There. That's what I've got. Now arrest me or agree to help."
Ilina snorted. "You are a direct man. I appreciate that." She turned to Patash and interrogated him for a few minutes. When that was over, she nodded. "Very well. I agree that there is a chance this could be an attempt to sabotage our negotiations. I will help you investigate this matter. Captain Patash suggests we seek this serving girl. We can speak with the Master of Feasts to learn her identity. I think it best you remain here so as not to risk being arrested while we pursue our investigation."
Tiron shook his head and smiled. "I'm not staying behind. And second, we all know who's behind this. The emperor's daughter. Come on – let's just head right to her quarters and see if that girl's there. She'd have to be highly trusted to be given a mission like that. If we go quickly enough, I bet we'll catch her just before she's given a sackful of gold and sent on her way."
Orishin's translation caused Patash to give a very firm negative. He spoke forcefully, Ilina nodded, and Orishin turned to Tiron. "They say to risk such an intrusion with no evidence is to risk death. We must first ascertain the identity of the serving girl through traditional means."
"Then don't bother. She wasn't a serving girl. She was placed there specifically for tonight, and if that's true, this Master of Feasts won't admit to such a crime. Most likely our presence will be noted, Ylisa will be notified by some sneaky bastard, and the serving girl will be immediately hidden." He locked eyes with Ilina. "If you're going to take this seriously, take it seriously. Otherwise, you're just wasting our time."
The al-Vothak inhaled sharply again. She was balancing right on the edge.
"Look," said Tiron. "If Lady Kyferin is an assassin, you're dead. That means there's no more Gate Stone coming, which means the invasion is finished. It means a truce, or worse, which in turn means all of you Sin Casters - or Vothaks - are dead. Your one chance at survival lies in catching this serving girl. You fumble this, you lose her, and you all die." He gave her a moment to think that over, then said, "So, come with me. Let's strike fast and hard at Ylisa's apartments. Let's gamble it all so that we at least have a chance of winning."
The silence was so tense, it fairly trembled. Then Ilina gave a curt nod. "You have convinced me." She spoke a command to Patash, who stiffened, then nodded reluctantly. "We're leaving now. I won't slow down for your wounds."
"You won't have to," said Tiron, picking up his curved blade. "Don't you worry about that."
Captain Patash's authority got them through the first two gates into the palace complex, and Ilina's withering stare got them through the third. Tiron, with a great purple and yellow robe thrown over his shoulders and a deep hood pulled over his head, walked amongst a half-dozen other Vothaks so that nobody could peer too closely at him. They strode rapidly down broad marble halls, up flights of stairs, around several turns, then out into a broad landing in front of a pair of ornate doors. Candles filled the landing with pale, honeyed light. Two palace guards were standing at attention, eyes darting from Patash and his men to the Vothaks.
Tiron didn't understand the Agerastian that was spoken back and forth, the tone increasingly hostile. Finally the two guards drew their blades, which provoked a dark laugh from Ilina. As one the Vothaks raised their palms and pointed them at the guards, Tiron doing the same a little belatedly, and the guards' faces turned ashen and they stepped aside.
Patash opened the doors and stepped inside, his guards following two steps behind. The Vothaks streamed in after them, and they entered a sumptuous wonderland of luxury and incense, mirrors and silks. Handmaidens shrieked, and several well-muscled young men who might have been guards stepped forward to interpose themselves, only to fall back at the sight of Ilina.
Again Patash spoke in Agerastian. Nobody answered, so Ilina nodded to one of her companions. She raised her hand, and a bolt of black light flashed from her palm to sear a great jagged streak into the wall, shattering a vase and causing a sheet of marble to cascade down to the floor in an almighty crash. Screams filled the air and everyone dropped to their knees. Tiron almost did the same. Such power!
An older woman babbled something pleadingly to them, and Patash gave a cry and turned to flee from the room.
Tiron grabbed Orishin by the sleeve. "What's happening?"
Orishin ran after Patash, the Vothaks hurrying behind. "The girl! She admitted it! She is being taken down to the river. They promised her a boat, but instead they are going to kill her!"
Tiron cursed and fought to keep up. Pain from his wounds lanced through him. He stumbled several times, and once Ilina herself caught his arm and hauled him onward. He didn't know how to thank an older woman for helping him run, so he just gave her a curt nod and swore to retire from being a knight as soon as he was able.
Down the stairs they went, then down again and out into the garden, then made a mad dash across the grass to a postern gate. There, they went down a series of sharp steps to a small dock that edged out onto a placidly flowing river. Tiron saw a number of pleasure craft tied up there: the emperor's boats. A knot of people was gathered in the shadows at one end. They startled at the sound of Ilina's party's approach, turned, and one let out a cry.
Tiron saw the gleam of a naked blade. A woman screamed. Ilina let out a hiss, pointed her hand, and once more black lightning split the air, strangely visible even in the night, a purer black against the shadows. Three figures fell, a fourth collapsed to her knees, while a fifth wisely dove into the river. Ilina herself staggered and began to cough wetly, as if she was about to spit blood.
Tiron was weaving and the last to arrive. Gasping, he staggered up and felt a surge of triumph. It was her! Modestly dressed in black robes, her hair done back, eyes wide with terror, the girl was nodding as Patash interrogated her with brutal directness. But it wasn't Patash's authority that had her speaking, Tiron guessed. It was Ilina and her Vothaks standing to one side.
She spoke, half-sobbing, and Patash startled, cursed, and stared with fear at Tiron.
"What is it?" Tiron couldn't tear his eyes away from the captain. "What's happened?"
"She's dead," whispered Orishin. "The girl says Lady Iskra has already been killed by assassins in prison."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
With great strides, Tharok ran, ignoring the deep and spasming pain in his back where hot blood had run down and pooled along the curvature of his belt. He made a mad scramble up the Chasm Walk's side and then out across the thinly wooded slopes and declivities, and tore across small meadows that were silvered in the light of the moon. He followed paths up breaks in the ridges so that he ever climbed, ever ascended.
He had but one thought in his mind: to put distance between himself and the other kragh. Horrific images were frozen in his mind and hovered before his eyes, but he ran through them, ignoring their import. He hauled himself onto higher and higher ground, his breath steaming before him as he slowed finally to a jog and then a labored stride as he followed a steep path that zigzagged up the face of a cliff, a mighty waterfall cascading with a roar to his right.
Finally, the instinct for flight gave way to exhaustion and he wandered into a shallow cave, where he sat with his back to a frozen wall, hands on his knees, head lowered by the weight of his own tusks, and stared dimly at the wide entrance, waiting for his enemies to appear, weapons in hand, wade in and finish their butchery.
None came.
By slow degrees he calmed down and regained his breath. He was shivering, was weak and lightheaded, and that meant more than mere cold. That meant blood loss. Only now did he wonder if he had left a trail of blood for the Crokuk to follow.
By small degrees he asserted control over the vast ocean of raw emotion that had been provoked by the betrayal. Nakrok would not have acted in so bold and brazen a manner unless he was sure the Red River would not rise in retaliation. How many of hi
s kragh did Kharsh and Toad represent? Golden Crow and Maur were still on his side, but that hadn't been enough. The Red River clans had grown irrevocably fragmented under his leadership. Fool! How had he allowed this to come to pass?
With the clarity of the circlet he thought about the recent past and analyzed distinct moments for information. Toad had led him to the Wise Women's council, but Nok hadn't seen Toad return to camp. By itself that was an innocuous incident, but now Tharok saw that Toad must have stayed to spy. Had Toad overheard Shaya describing her skills and knowledge? Had he told Kharsh, who had run to Nakrok, who had then weighed the odds and decided upon his crude but effective ambush?
Tharok roused himself and straightened his back, hissing at the pain. Kharsh had dug his blade in deep. Only luck had prevented its point from finding a way through Tharok's ribs. Still, he had to attend to the wound, then find some source of food to bolster his strength. He rose to his feet, swayed, and reached out to the wall to steady himself.
He snatched his hand back with a cry. His questing palm had touched a cold features of a face!
Growling deep within his cavernous chest, he balled his fists and lowered his tusks. There was no response, so Tharok peered into the darkness and made out the rough outline of a kragh with his back pressed against the wall. Unmoving. Unbreathing.
Tharok stepped forward once more and jabbed a finger at the kragh's chest. Stone. A statue. He stepped closer and with hesitant touches discovered that it was a child or a lowlander, pressed back against the cave wall as if in terror, carved with perfect artistry from seamless stone. He pondered this, and then reared back in alarm. There was only one explanation.
Medusa.
Tharok stood still, his mind racing, trying to locate himself exactly within the mountains. They were within two days' walk of the Dragon's Tear, perhaps a day and a half from the Shattered Temple. He had climbed for nearly an hour, straight up into the most remote areas he could find, which would place him far from the regular camping grounds of the highland kragh, somewhere in the severe ridges and peaks of a broken and inhospitable land known as the Wyvern's Hide.
