Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades

by Brian Staveley

  “Balendin,” Yurl barked, turning from the Aedolian and gesturing urgently. “Get over here, there’s something—” He squinted into the darkness. “There’s someone coming.”

  The leach straightened, a momentary look of irritation flashing across his face.

  “Who?”

  Yurl shook his head. “How the fuck do I know? The sun set an hour ago. Just one person, but I want you over here, ready.”

  Valyn tensed against his bonds. The makeshift camp was good, but it wasn’t invulnerable: one Wing of Kettral, a score of Aedolians under Ut’s command. A small force—fifty men, say—could probably overwhelm them. Fifty men or one veteran Wing of Kettral. Valyn’s mind spun out a dozen scenarios—the Flea and Adaman Fane had caught up to them finally, a contingent of loyal Aedolains had tracked them through the mountains, a mob of monks from another local order … Fool, he hissed to himself. Quit dreaming and focus on what’s here, what’s real. The approaching figure was more likely to be one of Ut’s men than anything else, a returning scout or a messenger from the main body of his force.

  The Aedolian commander, however, didn’t seem to think so. With a few barked orders, he set men on either side of the pass, bows trained on the darkness below, while Yurl and Balendin set themselves directly in the path of whoever approached. Yurl drew one of his two blades and dropped into a half guard. Balendin spun a dagger between his fingers, affecting calm. Valyn wasn’t fooled—most of the soldiers were wound tight as bowstrings, ready for Ananshael himself to stride into their camp.

  The person who walked out of the darkness, however, was not Ananshael, not an Aedolian, not a monk, not a Kettral with bared blades. She was a vision, a dream of perfection—some kind of goddess who had lost her way through the heavens to stride into the slender compass of the flickering fire. Her gossamer robe was torn to tatters, but even that served to accentuate her beauty, the rent cloth exposing the hint of a hip, the silken line of her thigh. Valyn stared. He should have been thinking about Balendin, about his Wing, about how to use the slight distraction to engineer an escape, and yet, for a few long breaths all he could do was marvel, caught up in the spell of those violet eyes, that cascading black hair, the scent of jasmine mingled with fresh blood.

  She’s been hurt, he realized, the thought stirring a deep, unexpected anger in him. Someone had carved a long, slender slice down her cheek, narrowly missing her eye. The wound would heal up fine—he’d seen worse in standard training—but there was something about this girl that made any injury seem like desecration, a sacrilege, as though someone had chiseled a gouge across a priceless statue.

  Ut had his broadblade out of the sheath in a flash while Yurl drew his other sword. Why they needed them, Valyn had no idea. The young woman was a head shorter than the shortest of the Aedolians and slender as a willow. She was unarmed, her hands extended in supplication, and tears poured down her cheeks.

  “Please,” she sobbed. “Please. I’m sorry!”

  “No closer,” Ut said, scanning the darkness beyond her with wary eyes. She had come from the east, from the vast gulf into which Kaden had presumably disappeared earlier in the day. “On your knees.”

  She dropped, heedless of the rough stones. “I’m sorry!” she moaned. “They forced me to follow them. I didn’t want to! I’m sorry!”

  “Well,” said a new voice, rich and almost amused. “Triste, Triste, Triste. My lost little girl returns at last.” From behind a leaning boulder, a man with a bloodred blindfold wrapped around his eyes sauntered into the light.

  “Adiv,” she gasped. “I did it! I did what you said. I brought him to bed, I was touching him, undressing him, I was going to—” She shook her head helplessly. “—but then it all started, the killing and the fire, and he just dragged me along, he and that other monk.”

  The blindfolded man—some sort of Annurian councillor, if Valyn hadn’t forgotten the rank—crossed to her and raised her chin almost tenderly.

  “And you followed him for two days,” he said, shaking his head. “You are a lovely creature, my dear. Nothing would delight me more than believing this … tale of yours, but it strains credulity.”

  She cringed, as though he had struck her. She looked terrified, but Valyn caught a whiff of something … defiance, he realized, blinking in surprise. He had no idea how he knew—something to do with what had happened to him down in the Hole, he suspected, but he recognized the smell the way he would the scent of terror or lust. The girl was frightened, he smelled that even more clearly, but beneath her fear ran the cold current of resolve.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed, her words belying her scent. “I saw them kill soldiers, Aedolians. That horrible woman, the merchant, stuck her knives into them, and they died. She told me to run, and I ran. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” She folded at his feet, grasping with feeble hands at the man’s knees.

  “And how is it,” Adiv replied, “that you return to us now?”

  “They were going to—” Her chest heaved with terror. “—she was going to kill me!”

  “Who?”

  “Pyrre! The merchant! She stabbed that poor, sweet fat monk when he couldn’t keep up, and she said she had a plan, but she’d have to kill me, too.” She gestured helplessly to her feet, which were, Valyn realized with shock, ripped and bloodied past belief. It was amazing that Triste could even stand on them, let alone run.

  “We did find the body of the monk,” Ut interjected curtly. “Single stab wound.”

  Adiv tapped a finger against his chin, pondering, as though oblivious of the supplicant clutching at his knees. “Who is this woman you’re talking about?” he asked after a moment. “Her name is Pyrre?”

  “Skullsworn,” Triste gasped. “She said she was a priestess … a priestess of Ananshael.”

  Ut grunted. “That explains something.”

  “Like the fact that you failed to kill her?” Adiv asked.

  “We’ll take care of that tomorrow morning,” Yurl said. He’d sheathed both his weapons now that he saw that Triste was no threat, and stepped into the circle with smug superiority. “We’ll put the bird in the air at first light. Even if they spend the whole night running—this kind of terrain—there’s nowhere to hide.”

  “No,” Triste managed, gesturing wildly. “No, you can’t wait! You have to go after them now!”

  The Wing leader turned to her with a sly smile. “Don’t you worry, darling. They won’t get away. In the meantime, maybe I can do a little something to … cheer you up.” He eyed her up and down appreciatively. “It’s clear that the men you’ve been with just don’t know how to treat a woman.”

  The minister cut him off with a curt chop of his hand. “Why do we have to go after them now?” he asked, his voice calm but measuring.

  “The old monk,” Triste explained, raising her eyes for the first time. “He knows this part of the mountains. There are caves, he said, huge caves. They’re going there now.”

  Ut glanced over sharply at Adiv. “Is that true?”

  The minister shook his head impatiently. “How should I know? We never expected to be out here. The maps we have don’t even show the main peaks.”

  “What kind of caves?” Ut demanded, seizing the girl by the hair and dragging her to her feet.

  “I don’t know!” she cried, arching her back and rising onto her toes, face twisting in anguish. “I don’t know! Just that they’re big. The monk said once they were inside, they could walk for days, could come out in dozens of places.”

  “’Shael take it,” Ut cursed.

  “My bird won’t do much good if you let them skulk off into a cave,” Yurl said, chuckling, as though amazed at the incompetence of those around him.

  Valyn felt a sudden fierce hope. If Kaden could reach the caves, Yurl and the Aedolians could spend days searching for just the entrance, weeks! Of course, Triste stood to ruin everything. Evidently she was as treacherous as she was gorgeous.

  “Always the unexpected,” the minister
said, shaking his head. “Where are these caves? How far away is Kaden?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “A few miles? The monk said they could make it by dawn.”

  Adiv nodded slowly, then turned to Yurl. “All right, then. Can you find them by dawn?”

  The gibbous moon gave ample light, but anyone searching would have to keep the bird low. If Kaden and his company could stick to the shadows, it would be hard to hunt them down. On the other hand, if they had to cover a few miles of extremely rough terrain by dawn, they wouldn’t have the luxury of choosing the most sheltered route. There would be sections where their haste would force them into the open. Valyn ground his teeth. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion, but he didn’t like his brother’s chances.

  “I can have my people in the air in two minutes,” Yurl replied, “but it’s a big world out there, and it’s dark. If he’s changed course to break for these caves, we could spend half the night soaring around the wrong valley.”

  Ut glanced at Adiv, and the minister, as though he could feel the other man’s gaze upon him, looked up, tightened the blindfold uneasily, tilted his head to one side, then nodded. “Kaden’s not moving at the moment. If he does, I can tell you roughly what direction he’s headed.”

  Yurl raised an eyebrow. “Seeing in the dark’s an impressive trick for a blind man. You want to explain how you know all this?”

  “Not especially,” Adiv replied evenly.

  “Well, if I’m going to put my Wing at risk by taking them into the air on your say-so, why don’t you just go ahead and try.”

  “You’re telling me you’re not comfortable flying after an unarmed band, three exhausted people?”

  “One of them’s Skullsworn!”

  Adiv waved a hand dismissively. “There are five of you. You are Kettral. You have a bird. Pyrre, Tan, and Kaden have been running for days. If you would have me believe you can’t handle this tiny little chore, I will begin to wonder if we made a mistake involving you at all.”

  Yurl twisted away and spat, but the minister had him in a bind. “Once we’re in the air, how does this secret knowledge of yours get to us?”

  “Simple,” Adiv replied, gesturing toward the fire. “Two flames means north, three means south, four means east. Just glance back here from time to time—you’ll be able to see this pass from fifty miles out.”

  “Fine. Wait here, and I’ll try to clean up your fucking mess,” he snarled.

  Ut turned toward him. The Aedolian had drawn his blade when Triste appeared, and he looked ready to use it now. Adiv, however, stepped between the two.

  “If we’re going to discuss messes,” he said, nodding toward where Valyn and his Wing were bound, “it seems you’ve got some cleaning of your own to do.”

  Yurl grimaced. “One of my men thinks they could still be useful. We bag Kaden, then they’re dead.”

  “In that case,” Adiv replied, “it might behoove you to find the Emperor and kill him. I hate loose ends.”

  Yurl turned to gesture to his Wing, but Ut stepped forward. “I’m coming.”

  The Wing commander hesitated, then shook his head. “You’ve never been on a bird. You don’t know the first thing about kettral.”

  “I’ll learn,” the Aedolian replied.

  Yurl turned to Adiv, his hands outspread, but the minister just smiled a dry, serpentine smile. “It appears,” he said, “that you and ‘your people’ are not entirely trusted. Ut will go with you and you will leave—” He scanned the Wing, then pointed a thin finger at Balendin. “—your second-in-command with us.”

  “Kettral Wings don’t have a second-in-command,” Yurl snapped.

  Adiv shrugged. “Then he won’t be missed.” Yurl started to object, but the minister cut him off with a raised finger. “This is not negotiable. And you are wasting time.”

  The young woman, Triste, was trussed up despite her pleas and protestations, then slung to the ground along with Valyn and the rest of his Wing.

  “I’ll be back to entertain you later,” Yurl quipped, eyeing her appraisingly. “I like the way you look with that rope around your neck.” He grinned when she didn’t respond, then motioned to his Wing and strode down the western slope into the darkness, toward the birds.

  Triste lay in a heap, her dress hitched up around her thighs, whimpering and shuddering until Gwenna shifted to kick her ungently in the head.

  “Knock it off,” the demolitions master growled. “It’s enough you just sold out your own Emperor. The least you can do is to quit that fucking whining.”

  Valyn was inclined to agree, but there was something about Triste … that defiance he’d smelled, and now … something like satisfaction. He needed to think. Yurl’s sudden departure had left the Aedolians, the minister, and Balendin to guard him and his Wing. If they were going to make their escape, this was the time to do it, and the last thing he needed was the treacherous girl’s sobs breaking into his thoughts. To his surprise, however, she raised her head, violet eyes blazing with anger rather than fear. She glanced past him, but Balendin and the rest were clustered around a small lantern a dozen paces distant, watching the great dark shape of Yurl’s bird launch itself into the air.

  “I didn’t sell him out,” she hissed. “There’s a plan. This is all part of the plan.”

  * * *

  “Well,” Pyrre said, gazing across the narrow valley as the enormous silhouette of the bird floated noiselessly into the night sky, blotting the stars. “Normally I find elaborate plans just the slightest bit untenable, but I have to say, this one seems to be working out quite nicely. Of course, we’re not yet to the point where an entire Kettral Wing chases me through a maze of razor-sharp rock.”

  “She did it,” Kaden said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure she could do it.”

  “It looks like we can add ‘brains’ to your paramour’s list of impressive … assets,” the assassin agreed.

  Tan was in no mood for celebration. “The girl has done her part,” he said, turning to Kaden. “Yours is considerably more difficult.”

  Kaden nodded, stilling his excitement and his apprehension both. His umial was right. If he failed, all Triste had managed was to expedite their capture and execution.

  “I don’t know how the ak’hanath communicates with its handlers,” the older monk admitted, “but it does. During the day, they might have relied on the bird to hunt us down, but at night that Csestriim thing will be their guide. If we fail to elude it, the entire ruse is pointless.”

  “I’m still looking forward,” Pyrre interjected, “to hearing how you elude a creature that tracks your sense of self.”

  “You destroy the self,” Tan responded.

  A long silence followed. The stars burned like silent sparks on the vast sheet of darkness.

  “I take back what I said about liking the plan,” Pyrre said finally.

  “The vaniate,” Kaden breathed.

  Tan nodded. “The vaniate.”

  “It sounds very impressive,” the assassin interjected. “And I hope it’s equally fast, because that bird is half a mile off. If they’re following the Csestriim critter, they’ll be here before long.”

  Kaden felt his heart quicken, then forced it down. He had never summoned the emotionless Shin trance before, had no idea if he could do so now, but Tan had said he was ready. Besides, there was little choice, if he was to elude the ak’hanath and the men following.

  “Clear your mind,” the monk instructed. “Then bring up a saama’an of a bird, a heart thrush.”

  Kaden closed his eyes, then did as he was told, the image of the creature leaping bright and sharp into his mind as it had in a thousand painting tests.

  “See the coverts,” Tan continued, “the pinions, the flight feathers … see every detail … feel the rough scales of her leg, her smooth beak, the soft down of her breast.”

  Somewhere to the south, the kettral let out an ear-piercing shriek. Worry surged through Kaden’s blood, and the image of the thrush wavered
until he forced down the anxiety. See the bird, he told himself. Just the bird.

  “Leave your hand on her breast,” Tan said. “Can you feel her heart beating?”

  Kaden paused. This was new. The saama’an was a visual exercise. No one had ever asked him to file away tactile sensation. He took a deep breath.

  “She is frightened,” Tan said, “trapped in your hand. You know her fear. Let yourself feel that fear.”

  Kaden nodded. This was like the beshra’an, he realized, throwing himself into the mind of a creature, only this creature lived inside his brain. He let himself sink deeper into the vision, laid a hand on the bird’s heart and felt it beating.

  “Can you hear her heart?” Tan asked.

  Kaden waited. A mountain wind skirled in his ears. Something down the slope somewhere knocked free an avalanche of pebbles. Behind it, though, beneath it, the bird’s heart beat, quick and light, thumping, thumping, until it filled his ears, his mind. He held the creature in his hand—so fragile, he could crush her with a squeeze of his fingers. She was terrified, he realized. He was terrifying her.

  “Now let her go,” Tan said. “Open your hand and let her fly away.”

  Slowly, Kaden opened his fingers, reluctant to let the thrush escape his grasp. It seemed important that he hold her, for some reason, that he clutch her to him … but Tan had said to let her go and so, ever so lightly, he let her slip from his fingers.

  “She’s flying now,” he whispered.

  “Watch,” Tan replied.

  Against closed lids, Kaden watched as the bird dwindled, smaller and smaller against the great blue of his mind’s vast sky, smaller and smaller until she was a smudge, a speck, a pinprick on the great open emptiness of the heavens. And then she was gone. Blankness filled his mind.

  He opened his eyes.

  Almost overhead now, the kettral shrieked. They’re close, he realized, but they’re too late.

  Then he saw the eyes. At first he wasn’t sure what they were: glowing bloodred orbs, at least a dozen, some the size of apples, others no larger than Annurian copper coins, floating up the slope below. As they drew closer, he could make out the irises, pulsing with crooked veins, dilating and contracting, and then he understood. The ak’hanath had come.