Waer

by Meg Caddy

  ‘Ever met a king before, lad?’ he asked me.

  ‘I feel ill,’ I replied. ‘How will we get in?’

  ‘Can you imagine refusing entry to one of the Own?’ Lycaea demanded. ‘Kirejo is so scared of Hemanlok he nearly soils himself every time he sees one of us. He’ll let us in. I’d respect him more if he didn’t. Luthan has had a succession of weak kings, but Kirejo is the most pathetic by far. Makes our job easier, but the man turns my stomach.’

  Dodge and I followed Lycaea through the Debajo, winding through narrow streets until we reached one of the many tunnels leading through to the upper city. I walked slowly so as not to slip; the ledge was covered with moss and slime. Dodge, behind me, was slow. He kept both his hands flat against the damp wall, though there was nothing there for him to grip and prevent a fall.

  Lycaea, with none of our caution, moved swiftly, light on her feet. She would make a wonderful waer, if only she would Shift. I had an unexpected image of the two of us hunting together, wolf and wolf. It made my neck hot and I forced my eyes away from her.

  After climbing a short, rocky stair, Lycaea and I pushed open a heavy metal door and stepped out into a cellar.

  ‘Malley O’Shea is an old friend of the Rogues,’ she said, ‘but that goes two ways. We have to show him respect, too. Out of courtesy, we only use this exit for important business. Otherwise, he’d have thieves and criminals traipsing through his establishment too often, and it would attract attention. Be polite. Walk quietly and don’t attract attention.’

  Lycaea straightened her clothes, closed the door behind us, and shifted a few blankets and sacks over it. When we were ready, she climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to the inn. She walked through as if she owned the place. Dodge grinned and stepped after her. I was more hesitant. The inn was loud, filled with raucous patrons. They were mostly sailors, from the smell. Tar, salt, rum, sweat, fish. I was lost in the shove of men and women. There had been nothing like this in the Valley. The crowd closed my throat over as the wolf in me scrabbled to find a footing. It was hard to breathe.

  A hand clamped over my wrist and tugged me through. I found myself face-to-face with Lycaea.

  ‘I know,’ she said, not needing to hear my excuses. ‘I feel it too. The smell. The people. Just shove past, Wolf. Push through it. Keep moving.’

  She had not let go, and I was not about to ask her to. I let her lead me through the crowd of people. She waved to a stocky Tadhgan man at the bar and then pushed me into the open.

  ‘A’right, lad?’ Dodge asked. He seemed oblivious to the stench, the pure force of so many people.

  Lycaea stopped, realised I was still wild-eyed and shaken. She released my arm, then patted my shoulder. Her words were stiff and halting. ‘You get used to it,’ she said. ‘Gather yourself, Sencha. I need you to have your wits.’

  I nodded. She was right, though it took me a few streets to recover myself. I gave myself distance from Lycaea and Dodge, walked close by the walls of the Ciadudan to have time to breathe. By the time I had calmed, I had a new reason to panic; we had reached the northermost wall of the Ciadudan, and were about to enter the Primero. The nobles’ quarter. I knew without asking that the nobles here would not be like our Lord Alwyn. I wondered, painfully, what had happened to him. What he had suffered for keeping Lycaea a secret.

  There were guards on the gate between the Ciadudan and the Primero. More guards than I would have thought necessary. They eyed Lycaea suspiciously, but Dodge did all the talking and presented a sheaf of papers. He had certainly had no papers when we were travelling. Either they had been waiting for him at the Den or they had been somehow procured since our arrival. I avoided Lycaea’s gaze and decided I did not want to know. We were admitted to the Primero, and nothing else mattered for now.

  The nobles’ district was too extravagant to be called beautiful. Vibrant, expensive-looking murals made the streets seem gaudy, and the gilded statues lining the streets were tasteless. Gardens cut through the centre of the roads but with pungent orchids and lilies growing in such numbers, they were overpowering and sickly. I tried to imagine the people from home walking these streets, and almost had to laugh.

  ‘Feast your eyes, lad,’ Dodge said with a sly grin. ‘Bonny, aye?’

  ‘It is certainly…vivid,’ I replied. By Felen, the people were even more ridiculous, ranging between the impractical and the inconceivable. Ethereal dresses that hardly covered the women boasted long trails held up by attendants. Men sported wide-brimmed, purple hats with bright plumage. Even the horses were decorated, their manes and tails braided and their saddles painted. I saw some servants walking behind their masters with enormous birds in their arms. They were purely decorative. It was like a dream in which nothing made sense and yet everything purported to. I found it difficult to restrain my distaste. Lycaea made no such effort.

  ‘Waste of air,’ she muttered. Dodge chuckled.

  We made our way along the gaudy streets. I remembered seeing on the map how they were arranged: streets fanned out from the centre like the petals of a flower. At the heart of the sector was the Bastion. I was breathless before it. Turrets spiralled towards the sky, wrought in smooth white stone. In contrast with the gaudy streets, the Bastion was sparse and elegant. The gates surrounding the palace rose on either side, imposing and strong. Guards in blue stood at the entrance. They were different from the guards I had seen at the gates to Luthan, and in the Mercado. They were alert and neat, and they watched us as we drew near. Lycaea and I stood back to allow Dodge ahead of us. He spoke to the guards, and one sent a runner while we waited. Lycaea propped herself up against a low wall and folded her arms.

  ‘You may as well sit down,’ she told us. ‘Those gates won’t open to us for another hour or so.’

  She was right. The sun was high in the sky before the guards stepped aside and allowed us in. I squared my shoulders and walked into the palace of King Kirejo.

  Lycaea

  The Primero made me angry, as it always did, and I carried the anger into Kirejo’s palace. Whenever I walked through the garish streets, I was reminded of people starving in the Ultimo. Children locked away in the Grinaja Crims’ Orphanages. Parents in the Ciadudan trying desperately to keep their families from being locked in the struggle between the Ultimo and the Grinaja. I could not shake the thoughts as I walked through the marble hallways. Kirejo was a man who perpetuated the struggle of his people. He allowed the Debajo, yes, but only out of cowardice. If he did better by his city, the Rogues would not need to be underground at all. There would be no need for such vast divides amongst the people of Luthan.

  But we needed his help now. No way around it.

  I focused on the tapestries lining the walls as we walked. Elaborate and bright, like the Primero itself; but these were beautiful, as well. Luthan at its best. The Mercado, rendered in all its chaos and colour. The sedate streets of the Ciadudan. Families helping one another in the Ultimo. The dark quiet of the Grinaja.

  The guards opened a pair of blue doors and Dodge walked ahead of us into the greeting-hall. He was already performing, his arms spread wide and his expressions exaggerated as he announced himself.

  ‘Dodge Derry of Tadhg, your majesty,’ he said with a flourishing bow. ‘Ever at your service.’

  I looked past Dodge, at the king and queen. The former was native Luthanese, with tanned skin, dark hair and eyes. He was slumped in the chair, but as we came into the hall he sat up with a wide grin. I sighed. If Kirejo had not been a king, his flaws might have been forgivable. He might even have been likable.

  ‘Master Storyteller!’ he exclaimed. ‘You are always welcome.’

  Kirejo’s wife, formerly Ela Darce, was unmoved. Queen Ela was almost twenty years younger than her husband. She was the daughter of a Pellish noble. Her father had once owned slaves, but during the slave revolt on Pelladan he had changed his ways. The Lady Governess of Pelladan, once in power, had bestowed riches upon the family and paid for Ela’s education herself.
Ela was the first woman to be educated at a Pellish university. It had always struck me as a shame it had not prevented her from being sold into marriage. She would have made a better ruler in her own right.

  She sat, motionless, her pale eyes fixed on us. She all but ignored Dodge.

  ‘You are most welcome.’ She spoke in the refined monotone common to the Pels. Donovan, over the years in Luthan, had learned the tones and inflections of the Mainland, but Ela had only been married to Kirejo a few years. ‘I was not aware of your scheduled visit.’ Her voice was flat, but her words were pointed.

  ‘We werena scheduled,’ Dodge admitted, cheerily. ‘But we appreciate your welcome.’

  ‘What stories do you bring us this time, Master Storyteller?’ Kirejo asked eagerly.

  ‘Just the one, your majesty, and I fear it is both true and terrible.’

  Kirejo beamed and sat back, under the impression this was part of Dodge’s act. He tapped his palms together.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Tell away.’

  Dodge began our tale. Kirejo listened with rapt attention, his smile fading as he realised the severity of the situation. Soon, all pleasure evaporated and was replaced by panic. His shoulders rose and tightened. His eyes flicked towards the exits when Dodge detailed the attack on the Valley, and our desperate flight through the mountains. For the first time, he noticed me, and real fear entered his face. The last time he saw me, I had been standing at Hemanlok’s shoulder.

  Ela’s eyes sharpened, but she showed none of her husband’s fear. If she felt it, she did not betray herself.

  ‘Your tale is tragic,’ she said as Dodge came to a conclusion. ‘We have heard much of the Lord Leldh, and his doings in the north. But the Gwydhan Valley is beyond our jurisdiction. The town of Herithes, I believe, has responsibility for the people dwelling there.’

  ‘Herithes lacks the numbers to assist,’ I said. ‘And they have no love for the waer people. They cannot help. They will not help.’

  ‘Neither can we.’ Words tumbled from Kirejo’s lips, betraying his uncertainty.

  Dodge reached back and put a hand on Lowell’s shoulder. ‘Hear us out, your majesty. Standing with us is a man from the Gwydhan Valley.’

  Lowell swallowed and stepped forwards. ‘Your majesties,’ he said. ‘My name is Lowell Sencha. My family was slain in the attack on the Valley. My parents, and my younger brother. Please understand. My brother was five.’ His voice wavered, and I worried he would lose control. Instead, he lifted his chin and went on. ‘The Gwydhan Valley has always been a place of peace. We have never been at war. We have never wronged anyone. Leldh attacked a defenceless population and murdered my people.’

  ‘So you have come to beg.’ Kirejo gathered himself, thrust his chest out. ‘We have had information, and a plea.’ He levelled an imperious finger in my direction. ‘Why are you here, Rogue?’

  ‘To make threats.’ I folded my arms and made no pretence of servitude. I was no longer one of Hemanlok’s people, but I remembered how to act like one. ‘You ain’t exactly known for your bleeding heart, Kirejo, and your lovely lady wife here is about as warm as a Pellish winter. We didn’t expect you to leap at a chance to save innocent lives, so I’m here to outline the alternatives.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘Firstly, the invasion of Luthan by Daeman Leldh and his followers this coming spring. They hate half-breeds, and your city has the highest half-breed population in all of Oster. There are also particular enemies of Leldh living in the city, and he will stop at nothing to find and kill them. He will tear your city down, stone by stone.’ I let my words sink in for a while before I went on. ‘But I don’t think even that information will convince you. After all, you can always hide behind your walls, or flee. Leaving your city to ruin and despair. So I have something much more immediate to convince you.’ I walked forwards, up the stairs towards the thrones. Kirejo jumped to his feet, his hand shooting towards a ceremonial sword at his side. My lip curled. ‘Don’t bother,’ I told him, my own hand on my sword-hilt. ‘I could cut your hand off before you called for the guards. But I’m not the one you need to worry about. You know his name. I don’t have to say it.’

  Kirejo froze. ‘The Assassin.’

  ‘He’s willing to protect the city, even if you’re not. And if that means usurping you, or replacing you, or doing terrible things to you and your wife, he will take those steps.’ Kaebha flashed through my head, vivid and terrible. I forced myself not to falter.

  ‘We do not respond to threats.’ Even Ela’s voice sounded thin and weak.

  ‘Then respond to the plea.’ I stepped back. ‘Keep your pride. Keep your kingdom. Send troops to Caerwyn.’

  ‘Luthan has not been to war in over fifty years. Since before my reign.’

  ‘Which would explain the flab about your stomach.’

  Lowell’s intake of breath reminded me I might have gone too far. I could not back down. I had to behave like a Rogue. I held Kirejo’s gaze. His hand still hovered by his blade.

  ‘Be seated, my king.’ Ela’s voice was calm. She looked past me, at Lowell. ‘Approach, man of the Valley.’

  Lowell approached and took a knee. I thanked the stars for his natural courtesy in such a tense moment.

  ‘We do not respond to threats,’ Ela repeated, ‘but we have heard stirrings, and we have had unpleasant missives from Leldh and his people. Long he has been a menace on the edge of our sight. And we feel both compassion and outrage for his actions in the Gwydhan Valley. Luthan has always been a place of refuge for the half-blooded. If we strike against Caerwyn, it will be for this reason only.’ Her eyes flicked in my direction, the message clear. The city must be assured that their majesties had been moved by the plight of their subjects, and not by the impudent words of a shabby criminal.

  ‘Everyone will know of your benevolence.’ Lowell was even and quiet. ‘The words of Master Derry carry power and appeal in this city and throughout Oster, I believe. You will be remembered as defenders of the weak, and protectors of the innocent.’ Eloquent. ‘If any of my people survive, they will be eternally in your debt of gratitude.’

  ‘Within three weeks, you will see our city on the march.’ Kirejo rallied, not wanting his wife to voice all their decisions. ‘On three conditions. Firstly, you and the Own must be marching also. If you call the city to war, you must also go to war.’

  ‘With all my heart.’ Lowell kept his head bent.

  ‘Secondly, we need confirmation of these events from others. We will send out emissaries to gather local intelligence, to ascertain the truth of your tale. Thirdly.’ Once more, Kirejo pointed at me. ‘If victory is not ours, the reparation will be her head. I will not stand insubordination of this kind.’

  I laughed. Could not help myself.

  ‘Your majesty,’ I said. ‘If victory is not ours, I will not walk off the battlefield alive. You have no need to burden yourself with my head.’

  ‘Did you mean what you said back there?’ Lowell was subdued as we walked through the tunnels leading back to the Debajo. ‘About not surviving defeat?’

  ‘Obviously.’ I frowned at him. ‘If we lose, there is no future for Luthan, Wolf. Certainly no future for me.’ I could not allow myself to imagine a continuing future with Leldh in power. A future where Kaebha might have me in her grasp once more.

  ‘And if we succeed?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘What will you do then?’

  The question devoured me. I focused on the sound of echoing steps through the tunnels. There was no ‘after’. There was me, and Leldh, and Cooper, and Kaebha, and Caerwyn, and one foot in front of the other until they all fell. After? Bitterness shuddered through me.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I forced the words out. ‘Move on, I suppose.’ ‘After’. Bitterness rotted me. I knew Kaebha would never let me walk away from Caerwyn alive. She had released me once. It would not happen again. There could be no ‘after’.

  ‘What about you, Lowell?’ Dodge ask
ed, cutting the silence. ‘Do you have plans?’

  ‘I am uncertain.’ Lowell sounded unhappy to have the question turned back his way, and I could imagine why. When the battle-dust settled, Lowell and I stood at the same gallows. Neither of us had a place to go.

  ‘Back to the Valley?’ Dodge asked.

  ‘It depends on how many survivors we find.’ Lowell did not add if any, but it hung between us. Dodge clapped him on the shoulder. I said nothing. There would be survivors, I expected, but I doubted they would ever recover. There was no ‘after’ for them, either.

  The Den was dark and quiet by the time we returned. The Own kept surface hours, though there were always a few gang members awake and operating. They rotated shifts, depending on the season and Hemanlok’s will. The Rogues lived a life of crime, but it was highly disciplined. We entered quietly and went to the kitchen to eat. I was surprised not to find Moth there. We had told her what time we would return. I realised I had expected to find her waiting for us, tea freshly brewed.

  ‘She isna here, lass,’ Dodge said, not needing to wonder at my pause.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Dealing.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Time eats all bones, lass.’

  ‘Dealing?’ Lowell asked.

  Dodge busied himself in the kitchen. I narrowed my eyes at his back. It was more his to tell than mine.

  ‘She is speaking with the third Watcher,’ I said. ‘The Dealer.’

  ‘Your mother.’

  I choked and whirled to face him. My heart clattered about my ribcage. Lowell watched me, his dark eyes intent. Dodge had turned from the bench, his own face lit with interest.

  ‘How did you know that?’ My voice was shameful, little more than a rasp.

  ‘Moth once told me she used to be dear friends with your mother. Hemanlok took you in because of your mother. Daeman Leldh hates the Watchers, and he hates you.’ He hesitated. ‘It was a guess. But your expression confirms it.’