by Grace Draven
One question rose above the din of voices. “How long will it be before the king is victorious and returns to Saggara?” The hall filled with an expectant hush.
Of the many questions she’d been prepared to answer, this was the one she’d rehearsed the most in her mind. “I wish I could tell you he is on his way back now, but there are many miles to ride and many galla to fight. If all goes as we hope, then it may be as early as a fortnight. If not, then longer.” She refused to say he wouldn’t return if he failed. Her mind shied away from such an awful and altogether possible outcome.
A cheer rose at the prospect of Brishen riding back to Saggara in two weeks, victorious. Some of the nobility exchanged speculative looks, and Ildiko made note of those. She’d given a time frame, one that gave the Kai a choice: wait patiently and let her do the job Brishen had appointed her to do or frantically conspire and plan a way to remove her from the throne or maneuver her out of a place of power. She hoped they chose the first. She braced for the second.
Supper commenced as it had for the past several days with a repast much reduced and not at all grand—a bowl of soup and bread for each diner. Brishen had instituted rationing immediately and Ildiko and the sejm upheld the edict.
A hard bang on one of the tables near the high table made Ildiko jump. Plates clattered and wine spilled from overturned goblets. The culprit responsible threw down his napkin and glared at the contents of his bowl.
“I refuse to eat another bite of this swill,” he declared. Ildiko recognized him as a mayor from one of the villages closest to the Absu and in the most danger of being attacked by the galla. He had arrived at Saggara with great fanfare and proceeded to make himself a fawning toady of Vesetshen Senemset. That sly matriarch watched his antics from her seat across the hall with a measuring gaze before turning to stare at Ildiko.
The mayor waved his hand over his bowl. “Humans with their weak blood might call this food, but we’re Kai nobility.” He puffed out his narrow chest and sneered. “We deserve better than this. A Kai regent would see to it.”
Ildiko wiped her sweating palms on her skirt before reaching for her goblet to sip. The silence in the hall was absolute as the mayor glared at her. Too focused on how Ildiko might react, he didn’t notice Anhuset appear behind him. Ildiko nodded to her.
Shocked gasps and cries went up when Anhuset gripped the man by the back of the head and slammed him face first into his soup bowl. She held him there, easily subduing his struggles as he drowned in the supper he thought too pedestrian to eat.
Several Kai stood, then abruptly sat when Ildiko signaled a second time. Saggaran troops emerged from the corners and shadows of the great hall, all armed, some with swords unsheathed, others with arrows nocked onto drawn bow strings.
Anhuset yanked her victim up long enough for him to choke and inhale a saving breath before shoving his face into the bowl once more. He writhed in her hold, his struggles growing weaker.
Sickened, but equally determined to quash any future attempts at subversion of her authority, Ildiko stood and swept the horrified audience with a hard gaze. She gestured to Anhuset who released the hapless mayor. He slid off the bench on which he sat to disappear under the table. Retching sounds filled the quiet.
“Most of Bast-Haradis is camped outside those doors, with little shelter, few possessions and even less hope,” Ildiko said. “I assumed it obvious to all, but apparently not. We must ration until this is over. Eat soup, eat gruel, and be grateful we have something to eat at all.” Some of the Kai bowed their heads while others looked away, shame-faced or fiddled with their spoons.
Ildiko continued. “Lest we forget, the king and the men who ride with him fight an enemy who would devour us to the last man, woman and child. Kai or human, it doesn’t matter to galla.” Several of the Kai went ashen. Good, Ildiko thought. “Brishen Khaskem has appointed me regent in his absence to secure a kingdom undivided and a throne intact when he returns. I will see it done no matter what it takes.” She stared at several of the nobles she considered a risk. None returned her stare. “Sedition,” she declared, “will not be tolerated and will be punished swiftly and without mercy. Am I clear?”
Except for a few mumbles, no one replied. Ildiko didn’t expect them to. She had made her point. Now she could only pray they took it to heart. A quick gesture from Mertok and the soldiers lining the great hall’s perimeters stood down, lowering bows and resheathing blades.
One woman stood, cup in hand. Ildiko held back her smile for Ineni, Cephren’s discerning daughter. The girl boldly raised her goblet in a toast. “To the king,” she said. “And the queen regent. Long live the house of Khaskem. Long may it reign.”
Others rose to join her, and soon everyone in the hall, with the exception of the mayor Anhuset almost drowned, was on their feet making loud toasts in Brishen’s and Ildiko’s honor. Ildiko wagered such enthusiastic support would last three days at most.
The meal concluded without mishap, and Ildiko later met with both Anhuset and Mertok in the royal bedchamber. She poured three small glasses half full with Dragon’s Fire and passed two of them to her visitors. The glass was warm in her hand, the libation scorching on her tongue.
“And how is our poor mayor recovering?” she asked.
Anhuset downed her drink in one swallow. “I have no idea,” she said between gasps. “Nor do I care.”
“I didn’t expect you to drown him.”
“I almost drowned him. There’s a difference.” Anhuset lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Besides, it was good soup.”
Mertok choked on his mirth and a mouthful of Dragon’s Fire, slowly turning a dark shade of slate before Anhuset thumped him between the shoulder blades. He handed his empty glass back to Ildiko. After a few wheezy breaths, he spoke. “We should double your guard, Your Majesty. After what happened in the great hall, someone will be planning your death.”
Ildiko disagreed. “I don’t think so. All that applauding and toasting is temporary, but they’ll step carefully now. That Kai was testing the waters with his little display. First to see if I’d back down and second, to learn how loyal Brishen’s troops are to him when he isn’t here.”
“Then that was a foolish waste of effort and almost got him killed,” Anhuset said. “Mertok and I have faithfully served Brishen for years. Our loyalty is absolute, and I can say the same for the rest of his garrison. I can’t believe some in the hall thought otherwise.”
“They certainly don’t now.” Ildiko was still shocked herself at Anhuset’s ruthless assault.
“And he’s my cousin,” Anhuset added.
Ildiko gave a humorless chuckle. “Familial connections can be the easiest vulnerability to exploit. Traitors and assassins are often relatives with dreams of power. Surely, a Kai court ruled by Djedor and Secmis taught you that.”
Anhuset’s tone was especially acerbic. “I avoided court as often as possible. I don’t make it a habit of lounging in a scarpatine pit.”
“If you won’t allow more personal guards, consider more in the manor itself. A continued show of strength,” Mertok suggested.
Ildiko liked the idea. “Agreed. Just don’t thin your troops too much on the redoubt’s grounds. With more people arriving every day, we need them to keep the peace. We also need fresh scouts ready to reconnoiter the territory daily. I doubt Brishen has managed to capture every galla in such a short a time, and even one can do horrific damage and incite chaos if it somehow makes it across the water.”
Mertok nodded and bowed before quitting the room, leaving Anhuset behind.
“You should take the extra guard,” she said.
Ildiko sat on the chest at the end of the bed and unlaced her boots, giving a pleasured sigh when her stocking feet were free, and she could wiggle her toes. She wondered idly if Sinhue still rested. The servant was usually at her side even when Ildiko didn’t summon her. “I will as soon as I see the need. Whichever nobles were out there conspiring together to kill me, they’ll realiz
e it isn’t in their best interest to do away with me just yet. A monarch avenging his wife’s death won’t be in the mood to grant favors or listen to sly persuasion.”
“True. Brishen isn’t easily led on a good day, much less if he were grieving.”
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and Sinhue called out to her mistress. She peeked around the door’s edge at Ildiko’s bid to enter, easing it wider and bowing before glancing over her shoulder at something in the hallway.
The servant behaved oddly. “What’s wrong, Sinhue?” Beside her, Anhuset stiffened and dropped her hand to her sword pommel.
Sinhue bowed again. “My lady, do you remember the maid who served with me when you arrived in Haradis?”
“Kirgipa?” Ildiko smiled at the memory of the young girl who acted as one of her lady’s maid during her stay in the Kai royal palace. Brishen had carried her brother Talumey’s mortem light to their mother and sister. She’d chosen to stay behind with her family when Ildiko left with Brishen for Saggara. “She’s here? She made it out of Haradis?” At Sinhue’s nod, she clapped her hands, delighted. “Send her in!” The news was a bright spot in a succession of dark days.
The brightness dimmed when Sinhue told her she hadn’t arrived with her sister or mother. “She’s here with two palace guards, my lady. They refuse to leave her side. They’re in the hallway.”
Ildiko met Anhuset’s yellow eyes. This was strange. “Send them all in,” she said. The servant darted out of the room.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Anhuset’s grip on the sword tightened.
“Somehow, I doubt Kirgipa wishes me harm.”
“But the palace guards might. These are elite soldiers. I was one in the past.”
“Then I’ll rely on you for the protection you and Mertok insist I need.”
Sinhue returned, followed by a bedraggled looking Kai woman wearing a stern expression. Kirgipa, equally tattered, entered behind her, a bundle of rags in her arms. A Kai male practically tread her heels. His features softened in recognition when he spotted Anhuset.
“Sha-Anhuset,” he greeted her with a quick fist thump to his chest, the salute of one soldier to another of superior rank.
Anhuset tilted her head. “Necos?” Her stance didn’t relaxed, nor did her hold on her sword. “It’s been some time since we shared a flask.”
Intent on Kirgipa, Ildiko only half listened to the conversation. “Kirgipa, I’m glad to see you.” She approached the maid, hands outstretched in welcome and was instantly blocked by the Kai woman who entered the bedchamber first. She held her ground even as Anhuset drew her sword.
“Stand down, Dendarah,” Necos said softly. “We’re among friends.”
Kirgipa’s eyes had rounded to gold coins as she stared at the bristling Anhuset. “Truly, Dendarah, we’re safe here,” she said, adding her own assurances to Necos’s.
Dendarah reluctantly eased back. “Forgive me, Hercegesé. We have good reason for our caution.”
“Her Majesty,” Anhuset growled.
“No. Hercegesé,” Dendarah insisted. She pointed to the bundle Kirgipa held close to her chest. “That is Her Majesty.” Her words fell like anchor weights into the room’s quiet. Ildiko gaped, as did Anhuset.
Kirgipa eased back part of the rags to reveal a tiny head covered in a cap of white hair. The small face was relaxed in sleep, bubbles blowing gently out of her pursed mouth. “We’ve come a long way for your help and protection, Hercegesé. I hold the only surviving child of His Highness Harkuf and his wife, Tiye. This is the Queen Regnant of Bast-Haradis.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Haradis, capital of Bast-Haradis, sprawled on either side of the Absu river, a diseased ruin emptied of the Kai and overrun by the galla. Somewhere in the shattered heap that had once been the royal palace, a wound in the world bled out abominations in an endless, frothing spume.
Brishen stared at what was left of his childhood home and hummed a dirge low in his throat. He had built good and bad memories here, had hated court and loved the city itself with its lively docks and teeming market places. All gone now, snuffed by the malevolent darkness spilling out of a breach created by his twisted mother.
They had traveled along the riverbank, battling and trapping galla the entire way. It didn’t matter that the vuhana they rode traveled faster than any living horse. The journey to the city had been a hard, bitter slog of droving and fighting. Even now, each king cut through an attacking demon, sending the thing back to the breach where it would immediately emerge once more. It had become a thing so constant, Brishen likened it to swatting swarms of flies. Gaeres galloped past him, the consummate drover as he whistled and barked sharp commands to the dead who snatched fleeing galla and walled them into the now colossal pen packed tightly with demons.
“How do you intend to trap them inside the city?” Serovek bellowed to be heard above the continuous shrieking din behind them. Galla and their captor revenants screeched at each other.
The kings had used the double envelopment tactic multiple times in their chaotic drive to the destroyed capital, maneuvering galla against the river as they outflanked them, encircled them and herded them into the straining net created by the dead. It wasn’t an optimal solution, but it was the only one they had until they could push the horde back to Haradis and seal off the city.
Brishen gestured for Megiddo. When the monk drew closer, he asked him “How big can you make your rune circle?”
“How big do you want it?”
He pointed out several spots that encompassed the broken palace. “A small one around the palace only, where the breach originates. We can use it to contain the emerging galla until I close the breach. A bigger circle around that one. Big enough for the dead to herd the rest in so we can cut the galla down and banish them back to their spawning ground.”
“Do you realize how many of those bastards we’ll have to slice up?” Andras, who was near enough to overhear, stood in his stirrups to behold the massive horde behind him.
Brishen shrugged. “You heard the Elsod. We don’t tire. We don’t sleep.” And hacking these vile things to dust might finally ease his thirst for vengeance against them. Unlikely, but he relished the chance.
“I can draw down the wards, but they’ll drain your power,” Megiddo warned. “And they’ll be as temporary as the one I drew at my brother’s house.” He leaned down, impaling a lunging galla on his sword. The thing slid down the blade and sank its teeth into his vambrace before disintegrating.
Brishen scowled as he hacked another one in half. “We don’t need them to be permanent,” he said. Megiddo was right. Warding circles that large would sap him of most of the power he possessed, and he feared he might not have enough left to return all the kings back to their bodies. He pushed aside the concern. He had no other option. He needed the containment the circles provided, no matter how risky or temporary.
The galla herd fought against their prison as the dead forced them into the city, while the kings battled their way toward the palace, scattering piles of Kai bones they rode past. Those not yet caught attacked in waves, spilling across the devastated city to leap at and crawl over the kings like roaches on a carcass. Swords slashed a swath toward the castle gates.
Brishen dismounted, cleaving a galla in two as he did. He called to Megiddo above the noise. “Can you cast the smaller circle around the palace itself?” At Megiddo’s nod, the two men set to work.
The monk dismounted. Brishen, Serovek, and Andras joined him, providing shield and sword to protect him so he might build the ward uninterrupted. He was mesmerizing to watch, and Brishen regretted that he was too busy battling galla to simply stand and admire.
Megiddo stretched out his hand, spoke a word in a tongue unknown and sketched a symbol in the air with graceful fingers. The symbol lit, not with the blue magic of necromancy, but with amber radiance, as if he drew forth the memory of warm summer and wrote with the ink of sunlight. A galla grazed the glowing rune as i
t sped past and recoiled with a shriek before rushing back for a closer inspection. Brishen imagined he heard the thing sniff.
“My sorcery alone won’t hold them. Not this many.” Megiddo said. “You’ll need to follow with me as I draw and repeat the words I recite to infuse the runes with death magic.”
“Cut down as many of these vermin as you can as fast as you can,” Brishen instructed Serovek and Andras. The more they sent back to the breach, the more they could trap within the palace.
He shadowed the monk, carefully repeating each word Megiddo recited and touching the floating amber symbols as he did. They pulsed under his fingertips, their heat bleeding away into the winter air as their color changed to a sullen green and finally to frigid blue before fading away. The ground below them caught fire but didn’t burn. Cerulean flames gave off light but no warmth as they etched a circle’s perimeter into the earth. Brishen knew none of the words Megiddo spoke and he repeated, but their power coursed across his tongue and down his arm to flow through his fingertips. The warding sapped his strength, and they still had another circle to draw after this one.
Andras and Serovek fought ceaselessly as the galla swarmed around them. Many hurled themselves at Brishen and Megiddo, only to be thrown back by the closing circle. It was slow work, and Brishen staggered from the onslaught of the spell’s drain, but soon the palace’s facade glowed from the light cast by the warding circle.
“It is done,” Megiddo pronounced and watched with a faint smile as demons within the ward threw themselves against an invisible wall as strong and unyielding as the one made by the river. He casually stepped outside the ward to a chorus of furious screams. Brishen followed, and for one sweet breath of a moment, nothing attacked them.
“Gaeres, can you control the herd alone long enough for the rest of us to reach and close the breach?” Brishen needed three kings with him for support, and the Quereci chieftain’s son, with his expertise at herding, was the best choice to remain behind and keep the trapped herd under his control.
