by J. S. Bangs
“My Emperor,” he said, dropping to a knee. “You asked for me. I can report on what we found upriver.”
“Not now,” Sadja said. “First I want to talk about Mandhi of Virnas.”
Bhargasa bowed his head.
“She wants to go back to Navran-dar, but I want her here. I want the Kaleksha as my guard. And I want to ensure that Navran-dar is on our side.”
“I see.” There was a tincture of caution in his voice.
“Set a guard around her and the Kaleksha. Not overtly—they don’t need to feel like they’re prisoners. But if they were to try to leave surreptitiously, stop them.”
“My Emperor,” Bhargasa said cautiously, “what does Mandhi want to do in Virnas?”
Sadja shrugged. “Return to her home and bring the Uluriya to theirs. Or so she says.”
“And do you have any reason to think that Navran-dar won’t respond to your summons? Do you need to keep Mandhi captive to guarantee his cooperation?”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
Bhudman pressed his hands against his chest and lowered his eyes. It was a curious gesture to him—an indication of extreme subjection, unusual from a man who had been his commander and advisor since he had first taken the throne of Davrakhanda. He stood in that position silently.
“Speak your mind,” Sadja spat. “Don’t think I don’t know you well enough to understand your silence, Bhargasa.”
“My Emperor,” Bhargasa said softly.
“What?”
He breathed heavily. “You have the aspect of Praudhu-daridarya when you say that.”
Sadja drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Explain yourself.”
“Praudhu-daridarya was proud and suspicious. You saw it yourself. He made enemies of those who should have been his friends because he wouldn’t keep promises.”
“And?”
“You made promises to Mandhi in Davrakhanda.”
Sadja pinched his fingers together. “I see,” he growled.
“You asked me to speak, my Emperor—”
“I did, Bhargasa, and you can stop being so obsequious. It doesn’t suit you.”
Bhargasa took his hands off his chest and let them rest at his sides.
“Oh, get up,” Sadja said testily. “Tell me about what you saw scouting.”
The report was somewhat encouraging. The drought and famine had not afflicted the villages of the river as heavily as it had the inland parts of Amur. The rice harvest had failed, of course, but the villagers had stayed alive eating fish and birds. Sadja thought of the flocks of flamingoes he had seen in the brackish marshes to the north of the delta—he should send hunters there. No one had seen any sign of the Mouth of the Devourer or his armies this far south, but rumor was rampant. They were frightened.
“And will they answer the summons if I call the able-bodied men to battle in Jaitha?”
Bhargasa bowed his head. “Their khadir will. Many of them are weakened by the famine, but they can still hold a spear.”
“Good enough,” Sadja said. “We won’t recruit them directly. I’ll send messages to the khadir of the regions we pass through on our way to Jaitha, and let them handle mustering their own peasants. By the time I get to Jaitha, Gauhala-dar will have no choice about accepting my demand for a general levy.”
“I agree, my Emperor,” Bhargasa said. “When do you want us to head out?”
Sadja breathed heavily. “Soon. We’ll leave the women and the feeble here. Only the strong need to come with us to Jaitha.”
“Very well.”
“That’s all,” Sadja said with a wave. Bhargasa bowed and left the tent.
It had grown dark, and when the tent flap closed, Sadja found himself alone in the gloom. Bhargasa’s report was encouraging. They would reach Jaitha in a better position than he had expected.
But his mind kept returning to Mandhi.
Bhargasa had compared him to Praudhu. Surely he wasn’t as bad as that. Sadja had undone Praudhu with a single suggestion, because Praudhu was wracked by suspicions and arrogance before Sadja ever got to him. And that fact had let Sadja seduce the Princess Basadi and gain an invaluable ally in the Ushpanditya before taking over the Seven-Stepped Throne. But Sadja wasn’t nearly as unwise as that, letting Basadi—
Of course, Basadi was now with the Mouth of the Devourer.
He grumbled. The tent grew darker. The gloom matched his mood.
The Empress had been a problem almost since the day Sadja had married her. Insolent, lustful, pampered. Imagine the damage she would have done to her betrothed Lushatha-kha, if Sadja hadn’t stolen her first. As it was, he almost regretted depending on Basadi to complete his designs on the Empire. He appreciated why her father had kept her locked in the Moon Palace for years.
Oh, but here he was thinking like Praudhu again. Maybe Bhargasa had been right.
Mandhi.
Kest had saved him twice, first in the battle with the Devoured at the palace, and a second time pulling him from the sea. He couldn’t easily turn down Kest’s demand for freedom. No wonder she wanted to return. No wonder she regarded Sadja’s refusal as betrayal.
But the survival of the empire depended on Sadja having every possible ally on his side. His devotion to Kushma flowed from the same impulse: the blood-soaked Power who devastated the old and planted the new, the ally that would bless Sadja’s bloody ascent to the Ushpanditya.
So why was he continuing in the rotten mindset of the old Emperor?
He sighed. The tent was entirely dark now. He pulled the flap aside and stepped into the muggy night air. The west was a failing pink, while the first stars had pierced the hazy horizon above the sea. A swelling gibbous moon peeked through the mangroves.
A soldier waited outside his tent. “Find Mandhi of Virnas,” he commanded him. “Bring her here.” A moment later he reconsidered. “No, let me go to her. Follow.”
He marched through the ramshackle refugee city surrounded by three guards bearing torches and spears ahead of him. He told them not to herald him. Let the people rest. He wasn’t here to overawe Mandhi with his imperial splendor. He had little splendor left to spare, and Mandhi wouldn’t fall for it anyway.
The Uluriya and the Kaleksha were encamped on the southeast edge of the tent city, within earshot of the sea. Sadja spotted a few of Bhargasa’s lookouts placed as he had requested. Doubtlessly Mandhi had spotted them as well and knew what they meant.
It only took a few minutes to find her tent. She and Kest were crouched next to a low fire. Aryaji, the little prophetess, crouched next to Mandhi, and an elderly Kaleksha woman stood behind them, cradling Mandhi’s child in her arms. At the Emperor’s approach both Mandhi and Kest rose and bowed. Mandhi’s eyes were narrow and defiant.
“Mandhi, Kest,” Sadja said with a nod of his head.
“My Emperor,” Mandhi said flatly.
Sadja chose his words carefully. “I’m here because I’ve come to regret the way that we parted this afternoon.”
Mandhi nodded. She let the silence hang in the air long enough to become uncomfortable. Jhumitu squirmed and let out a cry of displeasure from his grandmother’s arms.
Sadja looked at the boy. “You want to bring your child to safety.”
“I want to go home,” Mandhi said firmly. “The Kaleksha should come with me.”
“And I will allow you,” Sadja said. “Though I beg one indulgence of you.”
“You beg?” Mandhi asked.
Sadja bowed his head and showed Mandhi his empty palms. “Twice Kest has saved me from the Devoured. I hope to repair the sins of the earlier Emperors, who were overly proud and eager to dominate their subjects. Yes, Mandhi, I beg of you one thing.”
Mandhi’s expression softened a little. “What?”
“Leave the Kaleksha men with us in Jaitha. Kest proved invaluable in Davrakhanda—”
“Which is why you owe us.”
“Indeed,” Sadja said. “Now listen. You and Kest and whatever other escorts you
require, go to Virnas and bring my greetings to Navran-dar. But when the time for battle comes, I want to have the Kaleksha as a guard.”
“Is that an order, my throneless Emperor?”
That stung, and for a moment Sadja felt a surge of rage. His hand drew together into a fist. But—
But she spoke truly. He had no throne. He owed the Uluriya more than thanks, and Mandhi had every reason to distrust him.
“No,” he said softly. “A recommendation. There will be fighting in Jaitha, and every man will help. A Kaleksha with a spear is as good as two Amurans. And you may leave the women and children, both Kaleksha and Uluriya, here at the river. They’ll be safer here than in Jaitha.”
Mandhi watched him for a moment. Her foot tapped the ground and made a crunch-crunch in the crust of the mud.
“Perhaps I will, then,” she said.
“And when you go to Navran-dar,” Sadja said, “tell him….”
He sighed deeply and regretted what he was about to say. But the time for imperial pride had passed. Humiliation was a small price to pay if he could ever return to Davrakhanda and Majasravi.
“Tell him that I implore him as a friend to help us,” he said. “Not as the Emperor of all Amur. My throne is in Majasravi, and the Mouth of the Devourer sits on it. But Sadja-daridarya is still the man who worked with him in Virnas. We fought side-by-side to overthrow Ruyam. I pray he remembers me for that, and that we will fight together again to defeat a threat greater than Ruyam.”
The murmur of distant waves was Mandhi’s only response. A parrot chattered in the trees overhead.
“I have never met Navran-dar,” Kest said. “My brother died for him. I hope he is remarkable.”
“You may be underwhelmed,” Mandhi murmured. “But then again… it’s been a year and a half. He’s probably learned something.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate him,” Sadja said. “He took on Ruyam.”
“He did,” Mandhi said. “And I’ll take him your message, Sadja. It will be good for us to fight together rather than against each other.”
VAPATHI
The Red Men blew long blasts on their horns as they approached the Dhigvaditya. There was no gate to throw open for them, for the Bronze Gate was ruined, and the bridge across the moat was barely cleared of rubble. They blasted away anyway, in raucous disharmony that echoed through the ruined majesty of Majasravi.
“Why are they doing that?” Vapathi asked irritably. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, watching the returning army from the balcony of the Emperor’s Tower. At the head of the army was a well-ordered column of Red Men, shabby scarlet uniforms advancing in a square block, with a long, disorderly tail of Devoured behind them.
“For fun,” Apurta said. He sounded impatient. He was pleased to have the Empress of the Devoured returning to Majasravi.
“They could have stayed in Davrakhanda.” Runners from Davrakhanda had reached them several weeks ago with the news of Basadi’s victory.
“Could have,” Apurta said. “But why would they want to? It’s better here.”
Vapathi doubted that.
The train of the Red Men reached the bridge over the moat and picked its way through the cleared rubble from the collapsed towers. Up close, Vapathi saw that they had a large number of prisoners with them: thin, hungry people dressed in rags, their eyes looking up at the Dhigvaditya with expressions of wonder and horror. The Red Men herded them into the center of the Dhigvaditya. Doomed to be Devoured, Vapathi assumed.
Near the end of the column of the Red Men was a palanquin with curtains of green cotton, carried by a quartet of Devoured. Apurta smiled at it.
“Time to go meet the returning Empress,” he said. He ran down the stairs which led to the courtyard of the Dhigvaditya.
Vapathi followed with less enthusiasm. For two months she had been free of Basadi. Not that things with Apurta had warmed any, but at least she didn’t have to see the girl’s smug, haughty face in the halls of the Ushpanditya. She had half-hoped that Basadi would stay in Davrakhanda to govern the city, but Basadi’s correspondence stated that half of the Red Men and Devoured remained in Davrakhanda, and she was returning with the others.
On the floor of the Dhigvaditya, the Red Men and the Devoured hailed her with cries of Queen of Slaves! She ignored them. The courtyard clattered with the ruckus of their unpacking, shouting, supply and goods moving through the halls. The palanquin reached the center of the courtyard and the Devoured set it on the ground.
A moment later the Empress emerged. She wore a choli of dark blue silk, wrapped in a flowing green cotton sari, with her eyes daubed immaculately in kohl and a touch of rouge on her lips. She appeared to be the only person in the army who had bothered after her appearance. Her delicate, slippered feet touched the ground, and she looked around with haughty perfection.
“Empress!” shouted Apurta.
“Ah,” Basadi said. “Hello. Where is the Mouth of the Devourer?”
“Up in the Green Hall,” Vapathi said. “Waiting for you.”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” Apurta said, pressing forward eagerly.
Basadi hesitated for a moment, pulling her hand away from Apurta’s outstretched palm. His face fell. Vapathi felt a moment of cold pleasure.
Then Basadi smiled. “Yes, take my hand, Apurta. Bring me to the Mouth of the Devourer. I have to bring him the good news.”
A look of poisoned disappointment showed on Apurta’s face. He took Basadi’s hand and began to lead her toward the Horned Gate. Vapathi followed them, biting her lip at Apurta’s expression of pleasure and chagrin.
Her heart chastised her. It wasn’t Apurta she wanted to hurt.
Kirshta sat in the Green hall atop the Seven-Stepped Throne, unmoved from where Vapathi had last seen him the day before. The space beneath the throne was a nest of serpents, as it always was. He lay slumped across the arms of the chair, silent, indifferent to the asps that slowly slithered over his arms. He looked for all the world like a dead man.
When Basadi saw him she called out, “Mouth of the Devourer!”
He raised his head. “Empress of the Devoured,” he rasped. “I heard you were coming.”
“For your glory and our freedom,” the Empress said. She shook herself free of Apurta’s grip and walked to the lowest stair of the dais, stepping daintily between the venomous snakes on the floor.
“Did you get it?” Kirshta asked. His eyes were closed, and he rested his head on one of his palms.
Basadi hesitated. “Get what?”
“The book. The thikratta book.”
Basadi breathed in sharply. “No.”
“Did you get the Emperor?”
“Davrakhanda is overrun, but he fled on a boat—”
“So you failed,” Kirshta said. His voice was flat and lifeless, as if he were remarking on the color of the sky.
Basadi’s eyes closed halfway, and her lips twisted into a scowl. “Davrakhanda is no more. If Sadja-daridarya wants to keep running, that’s his problem.”
“Is it?” Kirshta said. “Did you even look for the book when you overran the city?”
“Um, of course I did.”
He sighed. “The only thing I really wanted was to find out where the thikratta and their book was. I assume the Emperor has it, but since he escaped and you didn’t find the book we still don’t know anything.”
“Is the capture of Davrakhanda nothing to you?”
Kirshta pushed himself upright, and his eyes opened to take in Basadi. They were bloodshot and heavy-lidded. A spark of anger showed in his tone. “I can take Davrakhanda whenever I want to. But we are threatened as long as those people are still walking around with their treasure.”
“Mouth of the Devourer—”
“Quiet!” he shouted. Vapathi held her breath. Kirshta slowly descended the steps.
“Mouth of the Devourer, I did—”
“I don’t care,” Kirshta said. “You can take as many cities as you want for your own
amusement, but the only thing I need right now is the assurance that no one is going to come after She Who Devours with some fool idea they got from those thikratta.”
“You can’t actually be afraid of them, can you?” Basadi asked.
Kirshta reached the bottom step. He breathed heavily. For a moment he pierced Basadi with a hot, angry stare. Then he cried out and fell to a knee.
Vapathi rushed forward. She grabbed his hands before he fell to the ground. He whimpered. His hands were clammy and shook in Vapathi’s grasp, and he squeezed her forearm desperately.
“Help me,” he whispered.
“Brother,” Vapathi said. “You should rest. Come to the Emperor’s Tower with me.”
He nodded. “I will. Yes, I will.”
She pulled him to his feet and put his arm over her shoulders. With a patter of feet across the marble floor, Apurta came to the other side, and he took Kirshta’s arm. They carried Kirshta between them, past the Empress, who stood there with her lips pressed into a furious line.
“Wait,” Kirshta said. He looked back at Basadi. “You’re still Empress of the Devoured. I’ll have use for you yet.”
Basadi sniffed. “Good,” she said. She turned on her heel and stalked away toward the stairs that descended to the garden.
Kirshta let his chin droop against his chest. He shuffled feebly with Vapathi’s and Apurta’s support toward the Emperor’s Tower.
“When was the last time you slept, brother?” Vapathi asked.
“Ah?” Kirshta said, as if surprised to hear her speak. “I don’t know.”
It had been days, she was sure. She feared that he was losing the ability to sleep. She hadn’t seen him eat for longer than that. His body was dying. The only thing keeping him alive was the hunger of She Who Devours.
They ascended the stairs. It seemed like folly to carry him all the way to the top of the Emperor’s Tower, but Vapathi didn’t want to leave him anywhere more accessible. On the top floor, with Vapathi next to him, at least Basadi would leave them alone. So they climbed, and when they finally reached the Emperor’s chamber they carried Kirshta through the purple silk curtain and laid him out on the bed.
