The Sacred Band a-3

by David Anthony Durham

  The soul vessels, Dariel said.

  Na Gamen stared out toward the horizon. His large eyes open against the buffeting wind. And other devices, yes. These made our lives easier, gave us power, made it possible to trade with the Auldek. We thought for a time that would be all. We would trade with them what we could. We would survive. But then a ship reached us from the Known World.

  Dariel saw it. A floating wreck. A ship with a shredded mainsail and the smaller ones in tatters. The men upon it skeletal. The dead and living mixed together, hard to tell apart. They had not sailed to Ushen Brae intentionally. They had floated with the currents after being battered by a savage storm and blown far from their normal waters. They were suffering from illness and delusion. Some spoke to the sorcerers they saw as if they believed them to be keepers of the afterdeath.

  The sorcerers nursed the sailors back to life, a few of them, at least. It was not easy. They were far gone, insane from their ordeal. To save them Na Gamen and the others fed the sailors a diet of mist threads, keeping them in a chamber rank with the smoke of the stuff and using the threads to sew their festering wounds and made poultices of it to soothe their sores. They bound their heads and squeezed the madness out of them, bringing them back in a form that suited them.

  Then the Dwellers in Song developed a scheme to use them. They would send them back to the Known World in a new, better ship, one that could sail directly across the Gray Slopes without fear of succumbing to sea beasts. They could not do this themselves, for Tinhadin’s curse would forever hold, but these sailors could. They would offer trade with a vast new nation.

  We called ourselves what the Auldek called us: Lothan Aklun, the Dwellers in Song. We said nothing about our origins. Through these sailors, we offered a deal with Tinhadin, though he would never know with whom he partnered, or why we offered it. This, Dariel, was the birth of those you call the league.

  Of course it was, Dariel thought.

  We saved them, created them. They have thought themselves apart from other men ever since. And we made this trade into a punishment. Revenge on the Acacians. Punishment for the Auldek for being so like them in their love of war and destruction. The Auldek needed to repopulate their nation after years of war. We took that ability from them, made them barren with the song. Tinhadin, the sailors told us, was fighting with his own sorcerers. They had turned against him, or he against them. He was trying to hold together an empire that denied it even was an empire. He was at the verge of losing everything. We had only to find a thing that each side could provide the other. We did. Children for Auldek. Sedated peace for the Acacians. So it was arranged.

  We did not understand at the beginning how long it could last, how we would prosper. We harvested souls from the quota children and kept them within our own bodies. We became immortal by sucking lives from Acacia. We gave them to the Auldek so that they would live and live and live, always needing more. We made the quota children infertile, so that the Auldek would always need more of them. So it has been ever since.

  How was that a punishment? Dariel asked. You made us prosper. We ruled unbroken for twenty-two generations.

  What greater punishment, Na Gamen asked, is there than sacrificing your morality for a delusion? What’s worse than living with lies woven into the fabric of your every interaction? We are nothing but the lives we lead, Dariel Akaran. Even poor children sold into slavery may live honest lives. No Akaran has done that since Tinhadin became the despot he was. Your people have escaped death these many generations, but they have lived failed lives in the process. Yours, prince, is as yet a failed life.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The League Council had been clear: Sire Dagon needed to find out everything he could about Aliver Akaran’s being alive. Such a thing was unthinkable, and yet here they were, forced not only to think about it but to weigh just what it meant for them and decide how to respond. If it was true, Corinn had reached into dimensions she should not have interfered with. Either she was more powerful than they knew, or she was more foolish.

  Or both, Dagon had thought at the time. Or both.

  Finally summoned to the palace for a meeting of the Queen’s Council, Dagon sat impatiently through Rhrenna’s opening remarks. As always, she called on the spirits of the first five Akaran kings to instill the council members with wisdom. What rubbish! The only Akaran kings to demonstrate wisdom had been covertly removed or manipulated by the league. Well, Dagon thought, considering it that way, yes. By all means follow their examples.

  He kept his face expressionless as Rhrenna went over routine matters. Sigh Saden sat, feigning composure as well, looking down his aristocratic nose, vaguely bored. He was neither composed nor bored, though. The tremulous way the index finger on his left hand tapped on the edge of the table said as much. Old Julian was more honestly at ease. Dagon knew that he had actually spoken with whoever it was they all believed to be Aliver. Obviously, Julian had been convinced. He had been close to Leodan. Perhaps he was one Agnate who honestly wished the Akarans well. Balneaves Sharratt just looked hungry, Talinbeck full of questions, and General Andeson subdued. Baddel, the Talayan, bubbled with energy. He looked as giddy as a ten-year-old girl on her name day.

  Dagon would have continued his examination of the councilors, but happily Rhrenna concluded her opening routine. The queen began without further delay.

  “I know what you all want,” Corinn said. “You want to see Aliver. We’ve to discuss what happened in Teh and the coming war and the vintage and all manner of other things. But what you want to know is if what you’ve heard and seen can possibly be true. Well, judge for yourselves.”

  Corinn pointed toward the far end of the table. Only then did Dagon realize the seat facing Corinn had been left vacant. He must have been truly distracted not to have noticed that earlier. Sigh Saden had been accustomed to sitting there. Perhaps that explained his agitation.

  On cue, Rhrenna intoned something about welcoming his royal majesty, brought from the dark lands to light again and so forth. Dagon was not listening, for a man had stepped through the open door. He walked toward the end of the table, popping in and out of view as he passed behind the far row of seated councilors. Dagon did not get a clear view of him until he reached the vacant seat and turned, smiling on the council.

  Aliver Akaran. He was older than when Dagon had last seen him, but Aliver had only been a boy then. This was a man, slim and well formed. His cheekbones and jawline cut stronger angles than before. He held himself with a trace of his old stiff posture. He was a little darker than Dagon remembered, with wavy hair pressed neatly to his head by the jeweled leather band that circled his forehead.

  “Hello, councilors,” he said.

  They answered with a frayed chorus of “Your Majesty.” Dagon bowed his head, though less from deference than from a desire to hide his face. It was really true. Not just rumor. Not a clever illusion. Not an impostor. He knew all these things with certainty already. Part of him wanted to fly from the chamber and seek communion with his fellows, to tell and show them everything with his mind. That would have to wait, though.

  He did his part in the clamor. Praising the queen. Wondering at Aliver. Baddel even rose and ran around the table, clapping his hands as he went, and embraced Aliver. “Will you become king, Your Highness? Oh, there will be so much rejoicing! All Talay will celebrate! This is just the thing to bring the tribes together again. Just as we were when you rallied us to war against Hanish Mein!”

  Nedona, a new councilor from the Ou trading family of Bocoum, shoved Baddel away. Then he pulled Aliver close and whispered in his ear. That could not go unmet. Soon the entire council was afoot and jostling to make contact. These jackals are quick to start nibbling, Dagon thought, staying seated and decorous.

  It was some time before the council returned to order. “How…” Saden had a question but did not seem to know how to phrase it. “How… are you to govern now? I mean…” He gestured to the queen, then across to Aliver, and then he wr
iggled his fingers. Not at all a clear illustration of his question, but they all understood it. “There’s no precedent. The Senate will have to-”

  “The Senate will do what it does,” Corinn said. “They have no role in this. Aliver and I will rule together.”

  “But we can’t have two monarchs!” Talinbeck exclaimed. The idea seemed to horrify him. He looked to Jason, the most scholarly among them. “Has that ever happened in all the generations of the empire?”

  The scholar took his time in answering, but not because he needed to search for it. He just seemed stunned. “No,” he said, “there is no precedent. But I don’t recall any record of the dead being returned to life. It’s all…”

  “Unprecedented,” Corinn said. “Yes, that much is confirmed. So we will rule together.”

  “There will be a coronation, then?” Baddel asked.

  Corinn deferred to Aliver with a nod. He answered, “Yes. At the winter solstice. I know-that’s not when it’s usually done, but it’s what we have to do. We’ll be at war this spring. No time for the ceremony then.”

  “Your first order of business,” Corinn said, “will be to help Rhrenna put together the guest lists. Quickly. We’ve but a month.”

  “Send birds today,” Aliver added. “Shout it to the world!”

  “It will be a week of festivities like none the empire has seen for years,” Corinn continued. “My coronation was a bit muted. So much mourning and death, the aftermath of the war and all that that entailed. None of us had been in a mood for a grand display. This time it will be different! We’ll assure the people of the greatness of the Acacian Empire. We’ll show them strong leadership, power beyond their imaginings, and-”

  “Food!” Aliver said. “We’ll feed them food!”

  Before the astonished eyes of the council, both siblings doubled over in laughter. The two of them, Dagon thought, are like children suddenly out from under the heel of their parents, gleeful at the idea of discarding the old rules. He said, “That is truly gracious of you, Your Majesty.” He looked to the queen. “Your mastery of the song astounds us all. What you did on the fields of Teh I scarcely believed when I heard it. Now I don’t doubt it. Aliver is evidence that you are truly heir to Tinhadin himself. Is there a limit to your powers?”

  “None that I have yet discovered.”

  But you cannot read minds, can you, bitch? Dagon thought. He said, “Wonderful. May I ask you to detail how you come to these powers?”

  “No,” Corinn said. “I’m sure you have theories, notions. You may even have the truth. But don’t ask me to show my hand entirely. The league would never do that, correct?”

  “Ah,” Dagon said, leaving the expulsion of breath as a neutral response. “May I ask if Aliver will take up the study of sorcery as well? He went in search of the Santoth before. Even brought them into the battle with Hanish Mein, yes?”

  Corinn did not defer to her brother this time. “Aliver has other skills. He works magic with the populace. All Talay worships him. That’s what he will focus on, preparing the Known World’s forces to fight the Auldek-assuming Mena does not rob him of that glory.”

  “Good that you mention the war,” Dagon said. “A great part of my joy in seeing the prince returned is knowing that he’ll be with us during the coming war. Perhaps we should consider that issue and its many faces. I would very much like to hear the prince’s thoughts. I’m sure we all would.” He tented his fingers. In truth he did not care that much about discussing the war, but he needed to see how Aliver addressed such matters.

  The long conversation he sat through convinced him of two things. First-and he tested this several times-Aliver Akaran said nothing that differed from his sister’s opinion. The vintage? Not a protest. He saw no problem with the common people of the empire being drugged into faithful reverence once again. Mena’s choosing Mein Tahalian as a base to train her army through the winter? What a fine idea! Corinn’s hope that she could sing Elya’s children into accelerated growth and make them winged mounts by the spring? A pleasing possibility. Strange that nobody had thought of it earlier.

  Corinn said, “We were thinking, Jason, about the charge I gave you earlier-about creating a horse lore.”

  The scholar jumped at the mention of his name. “Yes, I’ve been working on that. There are many ancient references to be expanded upon. Did you know that Talayans once had a horse culture? I didn’t know until I dug deep into the archives. You’ll be fascinated. I’ve collected documents for you to consider.” He turned to hand the folder to a servant, who would bring it around the table to Corinn.

  “Um… I don’t think so,” the queen said. She indicated with curl of her lip that the servant need not bother. “We’re going to scrap that idea.”

  Jason stared at her, at a loss for words for a moment. “Your Majesty,” he eventually said, “ ‘scrap’ it?”

  “An idea for yesterday,” Aliver said, picking up for his sister. “The notion of another life entirely. No, instead, work on a lore of winged riders.”

  “Winged riders…”

  “Are exactly the thing to excite the masses.”

  “But… there have never been winged riders. Not until Mena and-”

  “There will be more than just Elya,” Corinn said. “There will be.”

  In the face of such dual certainty, Jason withered. He took back his documents and mumbled that he would begin researching that very afternoon.

  Winged riders? Dagon wanted to laugh, but the knot that formed in his stomach told him there was something to this. When was the last time his agents had seen Elya’s young? He had a sudden realization that the maid who funneled information from the palace had been silent on the subject lately. He would have to check. Could the queen be doing something with them? She must be. She was confident enough in her actions to flaunt it here, among her councilor enemies.

  In everything as they talked on, the royal siblings shared the same mind. How bothersome. Even when Aliver set his light brown eyes on the leagueman himself it might as well have been Corinn doing so. “Sire Dagon, what of the search for my brother? I read the last dispatch, but you must give us more than vague hopes and possibilities.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot, Your Highness. Our search continues, of course, but there has been no word of your brother at all.” Aliver stared at him. “It’s our top priority in the Other Lands, I assure you.”

  The prince made a sour face. It was startling, until he followed it with a gesture of his fingers, as if he were opening his hand to drop seeds. Dagon recognized it for what it was-a Talayan expression of grudging acknowledgment. “I’m sure that’s so, but Dariel is lost in a foreign land! What can be more important than finding him?”

  More likely he’s dead in a foreign land, Dagon came very near to saying. “Dare I say it, but we may never do that, Your Highness.”

  Aliver leaned forward, set both elbows on the table. “Then the league will have me to answer to. Let me be clear. This will happen. You will find Dariel. Everything about the empire’s relationship with the league depends on it. Do you understand that, Sire Dagon? Need I detail exactly what I mean?”

  The whelp is threatening me! Dagon thought. He’s threatening the league and making sure everyone here knows it. Corinn looked as pleased as a proud mother.

  The other thing it convinced him of was that Queen Corinn had evolved into a greater danger than the league had anticipated. It was not just that every rumor about what she had achieved through sorcery appeared to be true. Nor was it that her demeanor was more self-satisfied than he had ever seen. It was none of the things Dagon detailed about the weapons she had at her disposal. It was, instead, that for brief moments he was sure her eyes sparked with madness. He was sure nobody else noticed. It was there, though, a quiver at their corners on occasion. Once it looked as if she saw something in the room that was not actually there.

  By the late hour that the meeting concluded, Dagon knew he would have to send his brothers a troubling report
. The situation was not as chaotically tranquil as they had anticipated. More was at work than they had known. The league could not simply float above the bloodshed, watch the shuffling of pieces, and accept any outcome as beneficial. Not when Corinn raised the dead and destroyed small armies and planned to fly men on dragons. With all that, she might actually triumph! What a terrifying thought.

  In his quarters in the league area of Acacia, Dagon moved swiftly. There were enough leaguemen in Alecia to convene a partial council. He would sail for the Mainland and commune with them there. He wrote a quick missive and had it sent ahead of him via the swiftest of his messenger birds. He penned it in the league’s archaic script so that he could speak directly. No fear of anyone decoding the message.

  Brothers,

  Aliver lives. I have seen and touched him. The queen’s power expands to danger.

  We must meet.

  He signed it by pressing a fingertip smeared with his own blood on the parchment.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rialus did his best to explain that he need not be brought along. Calrach was going. He could surely provide all the pertinent information. He knew more than Rialus did about the Ice Fields and all that. Rialus would just be deadweight. An extra burden. Besides-and this was no small thing-Rialus was not good with heights.

  He need not have tired his tongue. Devoth’s mind was made up. Rialus’s objections influenced him no more than a buzzing gnat would have-if there had been any buzzing gnats in this arctic hell. Devoth only acknowledged his protests as if Rialus were being self-denigrating. A willful misinterpretation if Rialus had ever seen one. It did not help matters that Sabeer offered to ride with Rialus between her legs, for extra warmth, she said.

  Devoth pointedly ignored her. “Come, Rialus, it’s no bother. You’re my guest.”

  Rialus found himself standing in the blistering cold, so weighted with furs that just staying upright was a mighty effort. Before him, like stone statues brought to life, moving with their strange, regally bestial mannerisms, stood the freketes. Rialus had learned that there were only twelve of them. Though furless and naked, they took no notice of the cold. They shifted every so often, but did so as if posing before an audience, flexing their muscles and stretching their wings, which shone blue-black against the gray wall of the sky. Quota minders moved around them. Some climbed about on the leather harnesses strapped to the creatures’ backs, making adjustments. A few seemed to be massaging oils into their skin.