by Rachel Lee
She turned toward him then, her face wet with tears, and offered no argument when he wrapped her in his embrace. Somehow over the past months, even with the shadow of her forgotten past hanging over her, and despite Archer’s occasional doubts about her, this embrace had become her only haven, the one place in all of this world where she actually felt safe. Safe enough to lay down her burdens. Safe enough to just be.
“I wish you had left me in the woods to die with the child I held in my arms.”
His embrace tightened. “Do not say that, my lady. This world needs you as it has needed few others. I know how hard the journey is, and how it often wounds you, but there is ever a price to doing good things.”
This was one man she could truly believe when he said he knew how this wounded her. Within him she sensed wounds every bit as painful, and some far worse.
“It is useless to ask for reasons,” she finally murmured, her wet cheek resting against his shoulder. His heartbeat was strong and steady beneath her ear, and she found herself noting the aromas that lingered about him, the smell of horses, not unpleasant, the odor of the leather he wore, a faint hint of desert sage, and more…more. Man. She almost caught her breath, for in all these months she had never allowed herself to think of him that way, not even when she had teased him into dancing with her.
The man was not merely a man, he was an immortal on a hellish mission to mend what he claimed he had once rent. Often she thought he was too hard on himself, for no one was so perfect that they never made mistakes, and the worst mistakes were always made with the best of intentions.
The Anari, for example. She spoke now, saying something that had preyed on her mind for some time. “You say you were wrong to create the Anari.”
“It was sheer hubris. How could we hope to create better than the gods? And it angered the gods, causing more trouble in the world.”
“Aye, I know, you and others have said so. But I want you to think of something else, my lord Annuvil.”
“Aye?”
“I want you to think of how much poorer this world would be without the beautiful Anari. And they are beautiful, their skin so rich in its blue-blackness, their eyes such deep, dark pools that can reflect so much gentleness. How sad if Anahar had never been built, if no one had ever heard the songs of the rocks and mountains.”
She felt, rather than saw, him nod. A sigh escaped him. “Even in your sorrow you offer me comfort, my lady.”
“I think we must comfort each other, my lord, for it becomes increasingly apparent to me that we each bear burdens only the other can understand. My sister Ilduin are good women, and their hearts shine pure. But they are not the Weaver.”
His hand gently caught her chin and tilted her face up so he could try to read it in the starlight. “What are you saying?”
“Before all is done, the Weaver will be stained in ways they will not.”
“You cannot know this!”
“I sense it. We are going to face a great wrongness. I will not say evil, though others call it such. Either way, it will not leave me untouched. Nor you.”
Reaching up, she touched his cheek. “I have one wish for you, my lord. Whatever we face in the days and months ahead, I pray you are freed of your guilt and sorrow from the past.”
“I would wish that for everyone.”
“I know.” She smiled then, her tears still glistening on her cheeks. “I wish we could walk away from this task. I freely admit it. But that is not to be.”
He shook his head. “I know that I cannot, for it has been bearing down on me since my first misstep.”
She nodded and once again leaned into him. “Hold me close, Annuvil. Only in your arms do I find safety.”
He obliged gladly, and looked up at the heavens, wishing the stars would speak and promise that all would come out well.
Then, overpowered by her nearness, he swept her down with him onto a soft bed of flowers that had sprung unexpectedly from the desert in the recent rain. There he held her tight and pretended that he was just a man like any other man, holding close a woman he had come to deeply care for.
Cilla found Ratha in his tent after the conference ended.
“Greetings, cousin,” he said pleasantly. He was bent to maps on his camp table, attempting to read by the light of candles that flickered too much. Cilla waved her hand and was delighted to see the flames steady.
Ratha chuckled. “So you Ilduin do have some useful talents.”
“One or two,” she agreed saucily. But being a coquette was not a natural part of her nature. Cilla had risen to be a judge of her clan, a woman with great power, a priestess, and had even trained as a warrior. Like Ratha, she was not a trifler, nor was she to be trifled with.
“We get close to Bozandar,” she remarked.
“Aye. Our patrols are beginning to find escaped slaves and we are bringing them into the army. Those fit to fight, anyway. The rest we send back to Anahar.”
“I know it.”
He chuckled. “I keep forgetting you are Ilduin, cousin. We played too often among the rocks as children, and you were not above pelting me with stones when it suited you.”
She arched one brow. “I seem to recall you were not above it, either.”
“Certainly not. And remember our little stone house? The very first time the three of us attempted to make a structure of our own with the skills our elders had taught us.”
“Aye.” Cilla closed her eyes, remembering. She and Ratha and the now-dead Giri had spent many hours playing games in the mountains near their Tel-ner, learning the ways of the rocks, and through that play learning the skills of their ancestors.
They had learned that it was necessary to find a rock that was willing to be shaped and included with others. Some rocks would become difficult to handle, their songs darkening, even their colors changing. The children had learned to seek out those that wanted to be part of a childhood playhouse.
“That is something the Bozandari never understood about us,” she said.
“What?”
“That the rocks speak to us, and we do with them only what they wish. They insisted we force what they wanted, and that is why their buildings have never been as good as what we built for ourselves. They misused us in many ways.”
“That they did. But it is important now to focus on correcting the wrongs of the past.”
“Most definitely. But I am speaking of our youth, when we learned our most important lessons on the mountainsides.”
“Lessons? In masonry, you mean?”
Cilla shook her head. “Lessons in cooperation and respect. For without that, the rock would resist us. And then, when we had the cooperation of the rocks, we needed to cooperate among ourselves, to respect one another’s ideas, in order to complete a structure.”
“All you say is true.” He smiled faintly. “I recall all the fun we had. I did not think of it as learning.”
“Nor I, at the time. Yet still we will need those lessons in the days to come.”
“Aye, that we will. I hope the Bozandari who are fighting with us have learned them.”
“I think they have, at least within their armies. Somehow we must bring that to the fore.”
“’Twill not be easy. They are accustomed to thinking of us as little more than animals.”
Cilla’s mouth curled. “They treat animals better than slaves, I have heard.”
Finally Ratha chuckled, the first truly relaxed sound Cilla had heard from him since Giri’s death. “Again you speak truth.”
“You are a great man, Ratha Monabi.”
He looked away, embarrassed, but Cilla would have none of it. She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his face back toward her. “We have little time. Very little time. Are we to waste the opportunity within our grasp?”
“Opportunity?”
She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the mouth. “I feel as if I have longed for you forever, cousin. Have you not felt even a little of the same? There is so little time left in our g
rasp that I don’t want to waste it on games. Mate with me, Ratha Monabi. Mate with me now.”
Blood thundered in his veins, and there was no hesitation as he reached out for her and drew her close.
This, he thought, was all that mattered in life, and if they were to have only one day of love, it would justify everything else. For this night, he could live in a world removed from the blood and cries of battle. For this night, he could celebrate life rather than spreading death. For this night, he could dare to surrender to the love of a woman who had waited for him through all of his grief and pain and doubt.
Tomorrow, perhaps, battle would return and his blood would be spilled onto the earth. But for this night, he was alive. And it felt good to be alive.
Chapter Twenty-One
Throughout the next days, Tom watched as escaping Anari slaves were passed through the combined army. Here, the administrative efficiency of Tuzza’s and Alezzi’s officers proved itself in abundance. The wounded and sick were quickly transferred to Tess and her sisters for treatment. Those unable or unwilling to fight in the coming battles were formed into columns and assigned guides to lead them back to Anahar. Those who were able and willing were assigned to Anari units and provided with training on the march.
On the morning of the fifth day, they mounted a forested hill and looked down on the gleaming sea of Enalon, and for the first time Tom looked down upon the shining city of Bozandar.
From the heights of the mountain, the view was breathtaking. By this time the fleeing slaves had painted an alltoo-clear picture of what lay in the streets, but from this distance that was hidden. Instead there were gleaming walls of sandstone, sparkling with crystal, all hewn by the hands of the Anari. While it was hardly the gloriously organic and living city that was Anahar, Tom still felt his heart leap at the sight of the city he had longed to see since his childhood days in Whitewater. The stories told by the traders were not wrong. Bozandar was truly a wonder.
The Bozandari troops grew restless and uneasy as soon as they set eyes on their capital city. The stories of the slaughter that had happened within those walls were fresh in their minds, and the officers had to work hard to keep the troops in order. Fear of reprisal, second thoughts at their new loyalty, and anger at the thought of family members killed in the Anari revolt, combined in a volatile mix that could explode at any moment and shatter the army.
Archer turned to Tuzza and Alezzi. “We walk on a thin ledge right now. It would not be good to bring the army any closer to the city.”
“I agree,” Tuzza said immediately. “Nor do I suspect that anything we may say will get a favorable hearing in Bozandar.”
“I will go,” Tom said.
His voice seemed to surprise them. For most of the march he had remained in the rear, with Sara or Erkiah, but now he stood among the commanders, mounted upon a sturdy mare, his leathern mask shielding his eyes.
“Why you?” Archer asked.
“I have longed to see Bozandar all my life,” Tom said. “But more than that, I am a legal neutral. Whitewater is neither a client nor an enemy of Bozandar. Our traders and citizens have always been welcome there.”
“You will not go alone,” Sara said, riding up with Erkiah to join them. “If Whitewater is neutral, then I, too, should go. And Erkiah. He will be our guide.”
“You should have an escort,” Tuzza said.
“Yes,” Alezzi agreed. “I fear the people of Bozandar will be suspicious of any outsider right now. It is better if you have protection.”
“No,” Tom said. “To arrive with Bozandari soldiers would make us seem either prisoners or invaders. This is a mission of peace, Lord Archer. Let me go in peace.”
Erkiah smiled at Tom. “We will never get close to the emperor as mere visitors to the city, my son. You are right that we cannot come in the company of an armed body. And yes, I can be our guide. But we do require an escort. Overmark Alezzi should accompany us.”
“We will go together,” Tuzza said.
“Nay,” Ratha said, his dark eyes flashing. “That would leave our Bozandari without leaders. If we are forced to fight, they will be lost.”
Tom put a hand on Ratha’s shoulder. “My friend, if we are forced to fight, then all is lost regardless. We have not the strength to lay siege to the city, and even less have we the strength to conquer it. This must be a time of councils and not of swords.”
“He speaks truth,” Jenah said, looking at Ratha.
“Perhaps,” Ratha said. He turned to Tuzza. “But I still fear for the peace of our own camp if you and your cousin are not with us. Already the tension is high, as Bozandari soldiers look upon their homeland and wonder if they have chosen well their new colors. I say this not to insult you or your people, my brother. Any man would feel as they do.”
“Aye, brother,” Tuzza said. “But my men are loyal to the Weaver.”
“Your men are loyal to you,” Ratha said, his eyes deep and earnest. “And justly so, for you have led them through much hardship, and in the end you have given them back the pride they lost in defeat. Do not misjudge your own worth, my brother. For rare indeed is the commander who inspires such devotion.”
“Tom is right,” Alezzi said. “Cousin, we cannot both be gone. But one of us must be with Tom if he is to secure an audience with the emperor.”
“My men have spent more time with the Anari,” Tuzza said. “They march under the banner of the Snow Wolf. They would be less likely to cause a disturbance in my absence. Thus, I should be the one to accompany Tom.”
“No,” Erkiah said. “It must be Alezzi. Overmark Tuzza, you must remember that you very likely stand in some distrust in the court, owing to your suspected captivity. And surely by now spies have reported that your men march with the Anari under a new banner. You are more likely to be arrested than to gain an audience at court.”
“Let us not forget the Enemy,” Archer said. “He must have agents, if not hives, in the imperial court. And he certainly knows of your new allegiance, Tuzza. Erkiah is right. It must be Alezzi.”
“My men know that you are no traitor,” Alezzi said to Tuzza. “Great was your reputation before this campaign in the Anari lands, and greater still among my men as they see you walk with the Weaver. You have served with many of my officers before. They know you, and you them. I feel no reluctance in entrusting my legion to you, cousin. Where you lead, they will follow.”
“Trust your cousin,” Tess said to Tuzza. “He is an honorable man. He would not betray us, nor would his men betray you, Overmark.”
Alezzi smiled. “Thank you, Lady Tess. Then it is decided.”
“Yes,” Archer said. “I agree.”
Ratha squeezed Tuzza’s shoulder. “I would not see you arrested, brother. Your place is here, with your legions, and where our council may profit from your wisdom while Tom and his companions are in the city.”
Tuzza finally nodded. “Yes, so it must be.”
“Then let us prepare,” Tom said, excitement in his voice. “If I am to be our emissary to Bozandar, I must be worthy of that task.”
Archer chuckled. “Young Tom Downey, you were worthy of that task from the day I first saw you as a child. ’Tis to my dismay that you have not yet realized this. Go forth and state our case, Prophet. Trust your own wisdom, and in the wisdom of those with you. The world could ask for no better ambassadors than the good people of Whitewater.”
Alezzi watched as Tom squeezed Sara’s hand. The nearer they had come to Bozandar—its walls gleaming white and silver, even in the cold winter sunshine—the more excited the lad had become. The guard eyed them warily until Alezzi rode to the fore and announced himself and the company. Whatever suspicions might exist in the imperial court, they had not filtered down to this man, whom Alezzi remembered from their service in the north years ago.
“You and any in your presence are welcome in the city of Bozandar, Overmark Alezzi.”
“Thank you, Filemark Varlen,” Alezzi said, dismounting to take the man�
��s hand. Searching his memory, he recalled that the man had left his legion when his wife died while bearing him twin boys. “And how are your sons?”
“Always into mischief,” Varlen replied with a laugh. “They drive my new bride to the edge of her wits and beyond almost daily.”
“If theirs were the only mischief in this world, we would be blessed indeed,” Alezzi said.
“Aye, Overmark,” Varlen said. “For theirs is the innocent mischief of children learning their way in life.”
“Perhaps,” Tom said quietly with a dip of his head, “the same is true of all of us. In the eyes of the gods, we must all seem like children.”
Alezzi noted the guard’s quizzical look and smiled. “My friend is a great prophet, Filemark. We should all heed his words.”
“It is my honor to welcome you, Prophet,” Varlen said. “And I will pray that we children can all be as forgiving as my sons. For while they may squabble, they still sit together at dinner, and only a foolish man would dare to come between them. Walk in peace and freedom in my city.”
“Thank you,” Tom replied.
As they walked through the gate, Alezzi heard Tom gasp. While Alezzi had grown up in the city, he knew that this first view of the wide boulevard that gently sloped down to the sparkling imperial castle compound could take the breath from many a man.
For Alezzi, the sight was quite different, however. He did not see the usual bustle in the streets. All but absent were the brightly painted carriages that were usually abundant, passing in calm but brisk procession, bearing men both high and low to their daily tasks. In any other time, Alezzi would have hailed one for their journey, for in Bozandar no free man need tire his feet to travel this city. On this day, there was no carriage to be had.
“I am not accustomed to walking this city,” Alezzi said, still on foot and leading his mount by the reins. “Truly the people are troubled.”
“We need not walk,” Tom said. “We have our mounts.”
“Nay, my son,” Erkiah said gently as he climbed down from his bay mare. “We must stable our horses. Such is the law of the city.”
