by Phil Tucker
The emperor and Iskra stood with gazes locked, then, finally, the emperor nodded. "Yes. It will be as you say." And he reached up and took hold of his mask, and carefully lifted it up and off his head.
His face was withered and desiccated, like smoked meat. His eyelids were gone, and his lips had shrunk back from his yellowed teeth. There was no hair on his head, and his ears were shriveled swirls of blackened flesh. Tiron had seen the like only once before, years ago, when he and his men had disinterred a corpse that had been found inside a bog.
"I have sacrificed all in my quest for independence, strength, and revenge," said the emperor. "Family. Friends. Health. The political wellbeing of my people. Joy. Now my daughter is gone, and I am left alone at last with my ambition. If we are to be allies, Iskra, then know this: I seek nothing short of the destruction of the Ascendant Empire and its hateful creed. I will destroy its Gates, bring Aletheia crashing to the ground, topple Nous into the ocean, bring the Bythians up from their tomb and then sever the Portals that allow the empire to exist. That is all I live for now. If you are to be my ally, then that must be your goal as well."
Iskra didn't respond, not at first. Tiron saw her face go pale, her weight go back onto her heels. Exhausted and brutalized as he was, even he quailed at the scope of the emperor's goals. The destruction of the empire? For the first time, Tiron tried to look beyond a possible return to Kyferin Castle and the impossible dream of Iskra's hand. Neither was possible while Lord Laur was supported by the Ascendant's Grace. Which meant neither was possible while the Ascendant Empire stood.
Tiron closed his eyes. Would he crush the empire to have what he desired? Peace? A life by Iskra's side? Could he visit such ruin upon the world to satisfy his own desires?
The answer came to him simply, clearly, and without equivocation.
Yes.
Tiron opened his eyes in time to see Iskra raise her chin. "And what will you replace it with, Thansos? Your medusa worship?"
The emperor shook his head slowly. "I don't really care. I myself do not believe in Thyrrasskia, which is no doubt why almost nobody else does either. It was a tool which failed to be of use. We can dispense with it. I know this, however: what we replace Ascension with cannot fail but to be an improvement."
Iskra considered, and Tiron knew that in that moment of silence she was abandoning all that she held sacred, was casting down her ancient privilege and setting herself up for a task she had hoped to avoid at all cost. Could she have done so without the violence Ylisa had done to her? Finally she nodded. "Then we are agreed, Thansos. If saving my family and followers means destroying the empire, then so shall it be."
The emperor released a hissing sigh. "You share your husband's strength of purpose, if nothing else. That heartens me." He fumbled the mask back on, and once again presented a gleaming facade of perfection and beauty. "We must move quickly. My forces cannot last long in Ennoia without support."
"Agreed. My magister will open the Portal tomorrow at midday. I will return to my castle then."
"Very well," said the emperor.
He limped back to his palanquin and there settled with a sigh. He raised his hand, making an arcane symbol, and immediately the sound of running footsteps echoed through the hall as his six servants rushed forward from where they must have been watching and waiting out of sight.
"We shall discuss the details in the morning," he told Iskra. "Now, I must grieve. Good night, Lady Kyferin."
More servants were moving forth, bowing low and gesturing for Iskra and Tiron to follow them, but neither of them moved. They watched instead as the emperor's frail form was lifted aloft and born away. Only after he was gone did Iskra turn to Tiron and extend her hand to him.
"My knight," she whispered. "You saved me."
Tiron's eyes filled with tears, and his raw throat swelled closed. He raised her bloody hand to his lips. "Always," he whispered. "My lady. My Iskra."
He saw tears in her eyes as well, and sensed that her strength was coming to an end, that the horrors of the night were about to overwhelm her. He took his ruined cloak and swept it around her shoulders, wrapped an arm around her, and the crowd parted before them as he led her to safety.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Kethe slept deeply, a slumber so profound that she awoke thinking she had barely slept at all. Yet morning light was pouring in through the chinks in the wall of the great hall, and she could hear the subdued murmur of the Hrethings, who were sitting to one side in a group eating their breakfast. She rose and was surprised to feel as good as she did; the soreness was gone, and though the many nicks and cuts she had sustained on their journey were still there, they had scabbed over and looked many days old. Her palms, however, looked strange; she frowned at them in confusion until it hit her: the creases and lines had faded away, leaving an unnatural plane of smooth skin.
Shivering, she folded her blanket, dropped it on her pallet, and left the hall, avoiding eye contact, not searching the sparse crowd for Asho, Ser Wyland, or anybody else who might draw her into conversation. She slipped through the courtyard over the buckled flagstones, went out though the main gate and down to the shore.
It was early enough that wisps of mist still hung in faint spirals over the lake's glassy surface, and the waterfowl were but drifting shadows where she could make them out at all. The air was cool, heavy with moisture, and the sun was still hidden behind the eastern peaks.
Kethe lowered herself into a crouch and washed her hands, then cupped them and splashed water onto her face. By the Ascendant, when had she last had a real bath? Weeks ago, back at Kyferin Castle – and she hadn't even enjoyed it. Hessa, her former lady-in-waiting, probably wouldn't recognize her at this point. Kethe smiled sadly and reached up to undo her hair. She'd had it in a tight bun for weeks now, and releasing it felt wonderful. She sat on a stone and idly combed her fingers through it, wishing she'd thought to bring a comb. Some noble's daughter she was.
A fish disturbed the lake's surface with a plop, and Kethe watched the ripples extend outward, smoothing out till they disappeared. Had Audsley been there, he'd probably be able to draw some parallel between those ripples and their lives. She smiled again and realized that she missed the magister: his kindness, his thoughtful ways and genteel humor. At least he was safe in Starkadr, and not with her mother and Ser Tiron in Agerastos.
Her thoughts drifted, and she thought of her brother, held hostage by Lord Laur. When she thought of her mother, she vowed to be more loving and understanding when she returned. She had so little time left. She'd not waste it on pride or fear any longer.
Then she thought of her father, Lord Kyferin. Would he be proud of her? Of how she had handled herself up by the Black Gate? That was an old question, but a new one followed: did she still wish that? Perhaps. Her accomplishments thus far would have had to earn his praise; she'd killed demons, fought off an invading army, become an integral part of the defense of their family and fortune. Still...
Sitting there alone and gazing out over the lake, she allowed a wall within herself to lower. Did she want his pride? Yes, she decided – but why? Maybe she'd just wanted him to really see her. Love her. Be a father who could love, not simply excel at destroying.
An image of Asho's face arose in her mind: his silver-green eyes, his white hair, how he had looked so alien and lethal as he fought the four-limbed demon up in the passes. He'd saved her life numerous times now. They were bound together. When their connection flared to life, when she felt herself draining his magic of its sin, it felt so right, so good. So what if he was a Bythian? It was petty to hold that against him.
She thought of Asho's eyes again. Silver-green. Beautiful, really. Almost like a firecat's.
Footsteps sounded behind her at the gatehouse and she turned, half-expecting to see Asho, but instead saw Ser Wyland emerge in full armor, Brocuff a step behind him leading a mule. Four of the guards and a number of servants brought up the rear.
She rose to her feet. "Heading do
wn to Hrething?"
Ser Wyland lifted his visor, and his expression gave her pause. He looked weary and pale, his eyes glittering and hard. "We're leaving, Kethe."
"Leaving?" She smiled uncertainly and walked up to them, wishing that her hair wasn't down. "What do you mean?"
He looked past her, out over the lake. "I spent the night in prayer. I sought guidance from the Ascendant. In my heart I've known what your mother is doing is wrong, but I thought I could find a way to remain loyal. I realized last night that I couldn't. The constable and the others agree with me."
"You're abandoning us?" Kethe felt like she'd been punched in the gut. "But - no!"
Asho strode out of the gate, Elon by his side, the Hrethings and remaining servants behind them. Ser Wyland turned to regard them, expression hard, then looked once more to Kethe.
"Yes. My loyalty as a knight is first and foremost to the Ascendant. Your mother seeks an alliance with heretics who are intent on destroying the empire. When this was a matter of lord versus lord, I had no qualms. But to raise my sword against my own religion? That, I have decided, I cannot do."
Asho looked stunned.
Kethe didn't know what to say. "Jander, you're abandoning us? Now? With the Black Shriving upon us?"
"I am not abandoning you. It is all of you who have abandoned your faith." Instead of anger, Ser Wyland spoke with weary compassion. "I don't expect you to understand, Kethe, given your blind loyalty to your mother. But know this: there is no sense in dying for a cause you know to be abhorrent. Iskra would give the heretics Gate Stone – the very people who destroyed their Solar Gate. What will they destroy next, if given the chance? How many will die? I should have walked away the moment your mother announced her intention to ally with the Agerastians, but my fondness for her and all of you made me weak. But I cannot continue down this road." He paused. "You are welcome to come with me, Kethe. You are touched by holiness. You have it within you to be a Virtue. Don't squander that blessing. Come with me. I'll take you to Aletheia."
"No, Ser Wyland." She fought to prevent herself from shaking. Her thoughts were roiling, but she clamped down on them and composed her face so that she was gazing upon his group with icy composure. "Up in the mountains, I told Asho that he was no true knight. That my father would never have recognized him as such. But I was wrong."
Ser Wyland's expression settled into a stolid look of weary patience.
"My father was not afraid to break with convention so as to do the right thing. I know he was a - a monster, in many ways, a horrible, brutal man. But he was also brave. He let nothing stop him from doing what he wished. From what he decided was right. He brought Asho out of Bythos to repay a debt, and tradition and Ascension be damned." Kethe's words were flowing white hot. "Do you think he would abandon his post now if he were here? That he would spout sanctimonious words and run with his tail between his legs?"
Ser Wyland's expression paled with anger. "You accuse me of cowardice?"
"Yes," said Kethe, taking a step forward. "Moral cowardice. And now that I think of it, you've always been a coward. You've always hidden behind Ascension, never taken personal responsibility for yourself."
Ser Wyland drew himself up, brow lowering in fury. "You don't have -"
"When women were being raped before you, did you intervene?" Kethe's words were a whip crack.
"It was not -"
"When the Black Wolves slaughtered innocent peasants to injure a rival lord, did you hold back your blade?"
"You cannot understand -"
Her fury was such that white fire began to flicker over her skin.
Ser Wyland's eyes widened and he stepped back.
"You were never a true knight, Jander. You were and still are only a Black Wolf. A hypocrite who cared only for your privileges as an Ennoian."
Ser Wyland's jaw clenched and he dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. Immediately Asho did the same and stepped up beside her. Kethe saw with a start that it was the black blade, and that ebon flames were burning around its hilt.
"I don't care what you think," said Ser Wyland, voice harsh. "The Ascendant decreed the purpose of knighthood, and it is that decree I follow: to safeguard the truths of Ascension, to protect the religion in times of need, and to give no aid to its enemies. Well. I see now at last that you are my enemies indeed. That you care nothing for Ascension, for the succor of our souls. So damn you. Damn you all. And if I see you again, I shall treat you as I would the most depraved Agerastian heretic: as my mortal enemy."
Asho stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, his whole frame still shaking with emotion. "You once told me that all evil and lazy men have excuses for their actions. That the sign of a true knight was his disdain for excuses. That he takes full responsibility for himself."
Ser Wyland clearly wanted to leave, but he paused, eyes slitted as he stared at Asho.
"I see it now. Your excuse for your actions has always been Ascension. You have justified everything by claiming righteousness. Even now, you abandon the field of battle when demons are about to fall on us - demons - and claim that it is Ascension that excuses your cowardice." Asho's voice rang out, holding everyone riveted. "I thought before that it was the Ascendant's Grace and his Virtues that were corrupt, but now I see that it is the very system of belief on which we have based our lives. Ascension is corrupt. Ascension is wrong, and you are no true knight. You are a coward that blames his failures on a religion that blesses his sins."
Ser Wyland rocked back on his heels as if struck. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, and Kethe could have sworn he was about to draw his sword. She was ready. Her own hand rested lightly on her hilt.
For an aching eternity Ser Wyland stared at Asho, hatred in his eyes. "I won't argue Ascension with a Bythian." And he spat on the ground and strode away.
Kethe looked at the rest of his small group. "Thank you for your service, all of you. That you followed my mother through the Raven's Gate and have served her well to this point will never be forgotten. You are, of course, free to go. Goodbye."
"Kethe," said Brocuff, his voice rough with emotion, but then he hung his head and led the others after Ser Wyland.
They all watched as the group followed Ser Wyland out onto the causeway and marched away. The Hrethings, Elon, Asho, and their sole remaining guard. A handful of servants stood behind them. Their faces were pale, and she could read the doubt in their expressions, their fear. One by one they all looked to her, and Kethe realized that she had no time to process this betrayal, no time to gather her thoughts. The moment to speak to them was now.
But what was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to lift their spirits? She felt bleak, utterly devoid of hope. How was she to lie to them?
"Ser Wyland felt that my mother's alliance with the Agerastians was a betrayal of his faith. He said that they are heretics, that they seek to destroy the empire, and that it is therefore wrong to give them Gate Stone." She paused. Asho's face was inscrutable, though she thought she could see a deep anger lurking in the depths of his eyes. "His true loyalty is to the Ascendant Empire. To all that it represents."
Her throat closed up. She was losing the moment. Tears welled up in her eyes. "My father," she said, voice overloud. Then she lowered her chin, swallowed, and said more softly, "My father was a man much esteemed by the empire. Lord Enderl Kyferin. He led Ser Wyland and the Black Wolves in battle too many times to count. I've heard since leaving Kyferin Castle what my father did – but I suspect I've heard only a very small part of it. He raped. He murdered. He caused wars. And he was thought to be the epitome of an Ennoian warlord." Her voice was shaking, so she paused and swallowed again. A great emotion was welling up within her. She couldn't grasp it, but it drove her on, bringing forth her words.
"The Ascendant's Grace has backed my uncle in his theft of my birthright and the abduction of my brother. The Grace sent a Virtue to murder us here, expecting no resistance, just bloodshed, just slaughter. This wasn't just Lord Laur. Thi
s was the Grace himself."
There were nods now, grim and angry.
"Asho saw the Grace turn away from death. Saw him mortally wounded, on the verge of Ascension, and saw him instead take magical healing so as to hold on to this life." She felt her shock slowly turning to fury. "Is that righteous? Is that true? No, that is cowardice. That is spitting in the face of everything we are supposed to believe."
Again, she paused. She had their attention. Kethe waited for the words to come, the next thought. This was no musical flow of words; these were hammer blows of the kind that drove in coffin nails. "There is a second Black Gate up in those mountains. I have seen it with my own eyes. It hangs in the air and turns and spits forth black lighting, and demons come through its center. Does Ascendancy account for its existence? No; Ascendancy forgot about it. What else may Ascendancy have forgotten? Gotten wrong?"
Her gaze locked on Asho. "We have one knight who still stands with us. Asho, a Bythian. The people we have always been told are little better than animals. Yet, has anyone fought harder or more bravely than he has to do what is right? He is no animal. He is no slave. And if he isn't, then how can we treat any Bythian in this manner?"
She felt the ground fracturing beneath her feet, her thoughts leading her into truly dangerous territory. Anger, however, spurred her on. "What else has Ascendancy gotten wrong? Ascendancy calls Asho's magic 'Sin Casting' and claims that he is evil, but I tell you that when I channel the power of the White Gate, when I feel that divine touch, I am completed by my connection to his magic, to his 'sin'. I don't know what that means, I don't know how it works, but I do know that he is not evil and that what we do is not wrong."
She didn't know if she was convincing them or not, but she almost didn't care. "So, I say this. Damn Ser Wyland and his twisted morals and his fine scruples that allow him to watch women be raped but won't let him fight demons. Damn him and the Ascendant's Grace and Lord Laur and every Virtue that would come down here to murder us. Damn the Ennoian warlords that butcher simply because it's their spiritual right, and damn every man and woman who would treat a Bythian as a slave. Damn them all, and damn the religion that sanctions it all! I'm going to follow my mother's lead, wherever she takes us. I'm going to save my brother. I'm going to kill each and every demon that tries to get through these walls, and if I die trying, then fine. I'll die. But I won't die a hypocrite."
