Heirs of the Blade (Shadows of the Apt 7)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  ‘I don’t want such a promise from the grand family of the Salmae,’ she pointed out. ‘I want only one from you.’

  Still his smile remained constant. ‘And you shall have it, in time.’ Abruptly he broke away from her. ‘But I was summoned some time ago to meet with my mother.’ His grimace was wholly unfeigned. ‘Forgive me, as your company is sweeter by far, but duty is duty.’

  She watched him as he left: a flash of wings and a flutter of silk robes, and he was gone in a way she could never follow.

  There was a small cold stone suddenly in her heart. They are taking him from me. She did not want to act against the Salmae. It seemed absurd, in the face of her recent words to the captive brigands, that she should be contemplating her own insurrection. Still, she could see what was right and what was wrong, and since the hunt she had never been so sure of her judgement. The world was writ in black and white for her now. I will have to save him from himself seemed like an inescapable conclusion.

  Exiting by way of the twisted trees, she found herself come face to face with Lisan Dea’s severe features, as though the woman had been lying in wait for her.

  ‘What do you want?’ Tynisa demanded. The surprise had put her sword in her hand instantly.

  ‘Please recollect that this is my lady’s castle, of which I am seneschal and chief among her servants.’ Despite the woman’s calm tone, the reprimand stung, and Tynisa took a step back, her blade in its scabbard once again. The steward nodded at this concession, and continued. ‘Your part-sister Maker Cheerwell sends word. She has gone to the Turncoat’s home, to be with her travelling companions, and she asks that you join her there. I understand there is some manner of ceremony or ritual that she wishes to carry out – something from your homeland, perhaps?’

  ‘A ceremony?’ Tynisa blinked at that, wondering if Che intended to stage a one-woman re-enactment of the opening of the Amphiophos or something. The sheer banality of this, and the thought of foolish, amiable Che, brought her out of her reverie, pushing away those thoughts of blood and honour that seemed to cling to her ever closer these days.

  ‘Perhaps I did not understand her.’ Lisan Dea shrugged bony shoulders. ‘Still, she was very insistent about wishing to speak with you there.’

  And leave Alain? was the first thought that came to her, but some rebellious part of her wanted to seize this opportunity to absent herself, even for a brief while, because otherwise she would have to take action here, and she could feel the repercussions of that looming in her near future like a thunderhead. Today’s Tynisa, steeled with newfound purpose, did not shy from that necessity, but some part of the woman she had been until recently was trying to pull away.

  But, no, Alain always came first.

  A moment later came a recollection of who ‘the Turncoat’ was, and her stomach lurched. Che is with Gaved? Che was with the Wasp who had witnessed Achaeos’s deadly wounding at her hands. He would surely poison her against Tynisa, tell the impressionable Beetle . . . tell her . . .

  Tell her the truth.

  It was surprising just how great was the feeling of horror that now gripped her, welling up from a time past when she had still felt guilt and grief. Che, poor Che, her sister . . . her awkward, endearingly clumsy playmate. It took her wholly by surprise that having Che finally turned against her, that last door into her old life closed . . . it suddenly mattered more than Alain. She could not bear Che to think badly of her.

  The spined, rigid part of her twisted in her grip for a moment and then settled into a new groove. There was an easy way out of this. Kill Gaved. Kill Gaved and Sef, and the problem would die with them.

  Thirty-Six

  Gaved had not been happy with the news.

  ‘You’ve called her here – to my house?’ he demanded. Che and Maure had come upon the three Wasp-kinden expatriates sharing a jar of wine and reminiscing about who could say what. From the voices heard as she approached, Varmen had been doing most of the talking.

  ‘I needed to get her away from the castle. There was not a chance that we could accomplish anything with the Salmae and their people listening at every door,’ Che protested.

  ‘What do you possibly expect to accomplish? That woman’s mad, dangerous and mad,’ Gaved said flatly. ‘She was shaky enough when I ran into her at Siriell’s Town but, believe me, something changed her over winter. You’ve no idea how difficult it was watching out for her during that last scrap with the bandits, because I had to make cursed sure I was well out of her reach at every moment. I know I’m on her list, Beetle. I could see that clear enough.’

  ‘Yes, something did happen over winter,’ Che confirmed, solemnly enough to quieten him. ‘I won’t try and explain what, because you’ll neither believe nor understand it . . .’ She broke off as someone entered the house, sliding aside the door panel. It was just Sef, and the Spider-kinden woman gazed at them curiously.

  ‘They’re bringing that killer here,’ Gaved informed her darkly.

  Sef cocked her head at Che. They had never met before, but the Beetle girl had heard the stories of her remarkable origins. Out here in the Commonweal, she seemed no more than just a young Spider-kinden with unusually pale skin.

  ‘Ask her why,’ Gaved prompted. ‘She won’t tell me. Apparently I won’t understand.’ The burn scar on his chin had flushed dark.

  ‘She is possessed. A ghost is haunting her, and it prompts her to act in the way she does,’ Che explained. The words produced a perfect silence, and she could almost imagine receding ripples, as though she had thrown a stone into a pool.

  Gaved’s face had screwed up in disbelief, but the other two Wasps silenced his protest. It was not that Thalric and Varmen were nodding along with what had been said, exactly, but they were not exactly jumping in with objections, either.

  ‘Nonsense,’ snapped Gaved at last. ‘Come on, there’s nothing like that in the world.’

  ‘Don’t look at me. Nothing to do with me,’ said Varmen, shrugging easily. ‘The girl thinks it means something. None of my business.’ He gave a smile at Maure, who returned it.

  ‘Thalric,’ Gaved prompted, ‘you’re piss-damned Rekef, or you were. You must know this is nonsense.’

  Che met Thalric’s gaze, wondering if he was revisiting their shared adventure beneath Khanaphes, or perhaps thinking about the Wasp Empress’s secret practices. He did not believe, she knew, but even so . . .

  ‘I cannot say for sure that these things are fictions,’ he pronounced at last. ‘I cannot explain so many of the things I myself have seen. I don’t say there’s no natural explanation, only that I cannot explain them. I think I’m better off not knowing the truth. I leave that for those better qualified.’ He nodded at Che. ‘But to suggest that Tynisa Maker is a dangerous lunatic, well, no great change there. I have few fond memories of her, even from before this supposed change overtook her. To bring her here is to invite disaster.’

  ‘Maure and I will ensure that she does no harm.’

  ‘Absolutely not. Not under my roof. You’re not risking me and mine,’ Gaved snapped. ‘You can go back to the cursed Lowlands and get on with your bloody business there . . .’ He tailed off, because Sef had put a hand on his arm.

  ‘There are ghosts,’ she said. ‘I have seen them in the deep water, and I have seen them here.’

  Gaved bared his teeth at her, but that simple laying of a hand on his arm had drained the anger out of him.

  ‘Tell me this,’ Che put in, ‘when you saw her last, did she not remind you of Tisamon?’

  The Wasp looked at her blankly for a moment, as if reluctant to admit it, but then he nodded. ‘Perhaps, a little. But there are reasons . . .’

  ‘Of course, there always are,’ Che confirmed.

  ‘We will go to Prince Lowre Cean,’ Sef declared confidently. ‘He cares about the Maker girl enough, so he will understand. He will believe.’

  ‘Abandon our own house?’ Gaved demanded.

  ‘It is a house. It will still be here after they
are all gone,’ Sef explained reasonably. ‘And you must all come, all of you.’ Her gesture took in the three Wasps.

  ‘Now hold on—’ started Thalric, but Che cut him off.

  ‘She’s right, best that you’re not here. As you said, you and Tynisa have a good deal of history, and besides, Wasp-kinden are not what we need to confront her with. It would be too good an excuse for her to give in to temptation and draw her sword.’

  ‘Not that she ever needed much of an excuse,’ Thalric recalled sourly.

  ‘Quite,’ Che agreed. ‘Thalric, please.’

  Thalric nodded tiredly. ‘When she saw the two of us off in Collegium, setting off for Tharn during the war, she was ready to swear all manner of oaths that she would come and kill me if anything happened to you, Che.’

  She eyed him wordlessly, but with a single nod.

  ‘Then I swear this: if she harms you – whether in her madness or her sanity – then I will hunt her down, you understand? If she so much as draws a bead of your blood, then I will see her die in flames.’ He was abruptly once more the merciless spymaster, the killer of children, the fatal hand of the Empire, and it was for her, for Che alone, that he would become such a thing again. The feeling of power, having him on her side, shocked her.

  ‘She won’t hurt me,’ Che did her best to assure him.

  His expression held no confidence in that, and his threat, his promise, still hung in the air as Varmen said, ‘Well, then, who’s this fellow we’re to impose ourselves on? Prince Lousy, was it, you said?’

  ‘Lowre Cean,’ Gaved said quietly. ‘Prince-Major Lowre Cean.’ He gave the name some weight, and waited for the other Wasps to catch up.

  Thalric was ahead of Varmen, but it was plain that the two of them registered the name.

  ‘You can’t mean their general?’

  ‘Yes, Thalric,’ Gaved confirmed, ‘none other.’

  ‘The man who crushed the . . .?’ Thalric’s words tailed off, his eyes drawn inexorably to Varmen. ‘The man who crushed the Sixth at Masaki.’

  ‘Pride of the Sixth,’ the big Wasp echoed. For a moment the strange pensive expression taking up unfamiliar residence on his face was enough to silence the rest of them. ‘Oh, yes, let’s go visiting. Why not?’

  Gaved shot him a dangerous look. ‘He’s well liked, loved even. Don’t get any ideas.’

  ‘I’m not noted for them,’ Varmen replied. ‘What, you think I’m going to go take vengeance on him for a whole army? If I was going to do that, I’d dig up our old General Haken and spit on his corpse, I would. But I want to see this fellow. I want to see the face of the man behind Masaki. I knew there was a reason for me to come so far, and maybe that’s it.’

  When Maure announced, without warning, that the ghost was nearing, presumably with Tynisa in thrall and in tow, Che opened the external panels of the house, so that her sister would see it as an invitation. Oh, she would be suspicious, of course, and it would not take Tisamon’s shade to prompt that, but she would enter nonetheless.

  Inside, Maure had already made her preparations. A circle was drawn on the floor in bone ash and charcoal, and she had hung lanterns in each corner of the inner room, each housing a constellation of fireflies within. She had marked out the circle with symbols that were not letters but pictograms, which looked frighteningly familiar to Che. Testing the water, she asked the necromancer, ‘What do they say?’

  ‘Say?’ Maure shrugged. ‘They don’t say anything. They’re just the warding marks that we use, passed down from teacher to pupil, generation to generation.’

  Che nodded dully, while interpreting, By Ephisemnas Queen of the Veiled Night I adjure you. By Telephian the Wise, Lord of the Seven Guards, I stay your hand. By . . . On and on, a rote of power rooted solely in the terror of ancient names and titles, but she could sense that power there. First the castle at Leose, and now this. How far did the reach of the Masters of Khanaphes stretch, in their heyday?

  There was incense too, little smoking stacks of it on leaves floating in brass bowls of snowmelt water, and also sprigs of herbs tied to the eaves. Maure caught Che’s look and nodded grimly. ‘I know, you’re wondering which of it works and which doesn’t, hm? Well, who can say, but with this visitor I’m not minding to leave any of it out.’ Around the edge of the circle, she sprinkled a trail of white powder, and Che wondered if it was ordinary salt.

  ‘And what will this accomplish?’ she asked.

  ‘Assuming any of it has any staying power at all, it will prevent the ghost from simply striking me dead.’

  Che blinked. ‘He can do that? Himself?’

  ‘No, but your girl there has a sword, so he only has to put the idea in her head. From Gaved’s evidence, she’s not exactly inhibited in that way.’

  I cannot deny it. Che nodded unhappily. And then Tynisa came stalking into the room, with drawn sword.

  She stopped, as though having struck a wall, and stared about her. ‘Oh, my word, what’s this?’ she got out, with a choking sound, and a moment later Che realized that she was laughing.

  ‘Tynisa,’ she greeted her sister, feeling a slight tension as she did so. For names have power. ‘This is Maure, a friend. She and I are conducting . . . an experiment. I want you to join us for it.’

  Tynisa eyed the paraphernalia with contempt, and moved to kick out at one of the bowls, but something stopped her, clearly to her own surprise. ‘You called me out here just for this?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Where are Gaved and his woman?’

  ‘Away,’ Che said firmly, seeing in that instant how wise it had been to ensure that the Wasps were absent. ‘Sit down, please.’

  ‘More ghosts?’ Tynisa asked her mockingly.

  ‘Possibly. Will you sit?’

  The Spider girl shook her head, her expression pitying, and she seemed about to turn and leave when Maure said, ‘Do you not know me, Tynisa? Have you not seen me before?’

  ‘No.’ But Tynisa frowned. ‘Have I?’ Her sword, which had been hanging loose by her side, was abruptly levelled across the circle, directed at Maure’s heart. For a moment Tynisa went very still, save that Che could see a slight tremble in her, as though she was fighting with her own body. ‘What . . .?’ she got out, ‘I should . . .’

  ‘You want to kill me,’ Maure observed.

  ‘No, why would I want to . . .?’ Tynisa was staring at her own arm, which seemed to be warring both with the rest of her and with the rapier itself. At last, with a great effort of will, she rammed the weapon home in its scabbard. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded, with a tremor to her voice.

  ‘Sit down, please,’ Che repeated, and Tynisa did so, looking all of a sudden uncertain.

  ‘Tell me what’s going on,’ she asked, with a hint of pleading in her voice.

  ‘Maure is going to perform a ritual,’ Che explained. ‘A ritual to try and call up certain ghosts that are near to us. You and I have both lost loved ones. We . . . the Inapt believe that there may be traces, shadows of the dead left in the world. Wouldn’t you want to speak to them?’

  ‘No,’ said Tynisa hollowly, but she did not get up. ‘Che, I have seen . . . On my journey to this place, I’ve had them at my elbow every day. Just in my own mind, but that’s enough ghost for me. I’ve only recently got rid of them, so . . . even if it was possible, I wouldn’t want to see them again.’

  ‘Even if they could then let you go? Give you their blessing?’ Che pressed. She was not sure whether she was now speaking for Tynisa’s benefit or her own.

  For a long while Tynisa stared into the circle sketched in ash and charcoal. ‘You’re mad,’ she said at last, but her voice had a plaintive tone. ‘This woman’s led you on. How much money did you give her?’

  ‘Tynisa—’

  ‘But perform your nonsense. Go on, get it over with. I’ll sit here and listen. Why not?’

  Che nodded, somewhat mollified. ‘Maure, would you . . .?’

  ‘You must think of him, both of you. Draw into your minds all your recollections
, the precise shape of him, the shadow he cast on the world.’ She closed her eyes and began visibly steeling herself. Che had expected incantations, mystic words, a high-blown patter to go with all the props and clutter that the woman had assembled here, but there was none of that, simply a name.

  ‘Tisamon.’ It was dropped like a stone into a well, and although the walls around them were not capable of it, Che was sure that there was an echo.

  ‘Tisamon,’ Maure repeated. ‘Tisamon, I name you—’ names signifying power to the old Inapt kinden. The air within that central room twanged with tension, the incense smoke coiling but refusing to rise properly. In the lanterns, the fireflies seemed to spell out strange sigils with their lights.

  The beating of rain on the sloped roof above them was sudden enough to make Che start, an abruptly descending hiss as the skies broke open, soon joined by the sound of a miniature waterfall as the water began sheeting off the roof’s lower edge. Not the thunderstorm that traditionally belonged to this kind of venture, but a moderate shower remarkable only for the timing of its onset.

  ‘Tisamon,’ Maure repeated, over the sound of it. ‘Come forth and speak your piece. You have grievances, let us hear them. Speak to us, Tisamon.’

  But there was nothing. No shadowy figure stepped into the circle. No voice croaked from beyond the grave. There was no sign that the influence that had laid its hand on Tynisa would unmask itself.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Che demanded. ‘Make it come out.’

  ‘Che . . .?’ Tynisa herself looked almost embarrassed.

  Maure grimaced. ‘It’s not so simple. I have never before needed to force a ghost to do anything. Normally they’re only too glad to get the chance to speak, to make their demands, to set right old wrongs. Normally they have messages to impart. Believe me, Che, normally I’d have to beat one off with a stick, given this kind of opportunity.’

  ‘But it’s here, it’s right here.’ Che knew it in her heart. She could almost taste the metallic, sour savour of Tisamon in the air. ‘Call it out.’