by Ken Scholes
She was so intent upon it that she jumped at the words spoken quietly just to her left. “It was a kin-dragon, Lady Winteria. They are flying again.”
She spun, her hands moving for the hilts of her scout blades. The man who had materialized beside her leapt back, his hands held up and out.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. He spoke the words with an accent.
The blades were out now, and her hands felt reassured as she moved into a crouch. “Who are you?” He wore plain clothes beneath a heavy cloak that ebbed and flowed around him more like the sea than any fabric she’d seen before.
“I am Captain Endrys Thrall of the New Espiran Council Expeditionary Force. I’ve had my people watching and waiting for you at every likely place you might turn up. We lost track of you when you joined the Androfrancines in the Beneath Places.” He paused. “Until the dream, of course.”
His words moved faster than she could comprehend them, but something in his tone and posture caused her to relax her grip upon the knives. “You’re watching for me? Why? And what is this expeditionary force?” And where, she wondered, is New Espira?
The captain smiled. “There is a lot to explain. We’re watching for you because you are Winteria bat Mardic, daughter of the Younger God Salome and the Dreaming Queen of the House of Shadrus. My ship bears an ambassador who is eager to meet you. On his behalf, I extend an offer of asylum for you and your companions. Caldus Bay is not presently safe. We can keep you out of Y’Zirite hands.”
Winters looked out over the bay. “I don’t see a ship.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. But return with the others after nightfall and we will provide you refuge and transportation.” He turned away, toward the coast behind them. “Of course, you are under no obligation to accept our hospitality. But there is a squad of Blood Guard tracking you and a sizeable reward for the capture of your Androfrancine traveling companions. I’ll wait for you here tomorrow.” He started walking. “If I do not see you, I will assume you have made other plans for your safety.”
Winters sheathed her knives and straightened. “And how do you know about my mother? I only just learned myself.” She paused and scrutinized him again. “What is your part in all of this?”
He chuckled. “I’ve told you what is prudent to tell you. Come back and let the ambassador tell you more himself.”
Ambassador. She was a queen, certainly, but ambassadors weren’t something they used in the north. And New Espira—and this man and his strange cloak and accent—did not fit into her sense of things. He wasn’t Y’Zirite; he bore no scars that she could see and did not wear their dark uniform. But he also was certainly not of the Named Lands.
She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he was gone with the slightest popping sound.
Blinking at where he’d been, she watched and pondered until the first of the sun began to rise behind her. Then, she turned quickly and made for the cottage.
Daughter of the Younger God Salome. Not even she had known that until earlier today, and he had not answered that question. How did this Captain Thrall know more about her than she herself had known?
Winters wasn’t sure what exactly she felt, but in that moment, she chuckled. It was a dry laugh devoid of joy, with irony and resolve in equal measure.
Chapter
5
Vlad Li Tam
Vlad squinted against afternoon sun and struggled to keep up with the Lunarist he followed. He’d started by watching for the places that the tracts were most frequently turning up. It had taken only a bit of patience, a willingness to sit and watch, for him to see the drops taking place. Now was the hard part of remaining unseen and keeping up as the young woman led him through various quarters of town, carefully leaving her leaflets behind her as she went.
He’d thought of confronting her and using the staff to make her take him to her people but knew that he would earn their trust faster if he came to them with an inclined head and opened hand, as an ally in their work. So instead, he used the staff to shield himself from unwanted eyes and moved his aching legs as fast as they would carry him.
“Halt!” Vlad actually stopped when he heard the shout, then realized it was not intended for him. He saw the girl ahead break into a run even as a Y’Zirite Blood Guard held up a dropped tract and whistled the alarm.
Growling, he drew from the staff and flooded his body with strength. As he increased his pace, he watched two more Blood Guard join the pursuit. This particular quarter was still well populated, the street markets active, and it made keeping the Lunarist in his field of vision more of a challenge. Still, the black uniformed backs of the Blood Guard helped, and he found himself fixing his eyes upon them as he ran.
He drew close to the first Y’Zirite and stretched out the staff. He flicked his wrist, and the blow to her ankle lifted her and sent her careening into a wall harder than her speed merited before falling heavily. The Blood Guard lay still, and when the second looked over her shoulder to see what had happened, he shoved the staff into her face and smiled at the crunch of breaking bones.
The courier noticed now, and for a moment, her eyes locked with Vlad’s. Whatever she saw there drained the color in her face. She ran all the harder now, her feet slapping the cobblestoned alleyway.
The last pursuing Blood Guard stopped and spun, knives drawn as she lunged at him. Vlad sidestepped her thrust, feeling one of her blades catch in his robes. Vertigo swept him as he stumbled against the alley’s wall, and a moment of panic seized him when he realized the staff was slipping from his hands. His fingers scrambled for it even as the Blood Guard smiled and advanced.
He watched the staff tumble away and then the Y’Zirite fell upon him, dropping Vlad like a sack of bones. He felt the knife-tips at his throat and at his heart and stopped struggling against the woman who pinned him.
She grinned, and then her face went slack as the staff connected with the side of her head. As she fell to the side, he saw the courier regarding him with wide eyes, the silver rod clutched tightly in her hands.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Vlad met her eyes again. They were dark and frightened, lost in the spiderweb of markings that scarred her face. “You know who I am by what I do.”
She looked back to the staff. “Yes.”
“I’m looking for the Lost Children of Shadrus.” He could hear bells and shouting now beyond their alley. “We have shared purpose,” he said.
The Blood Guard stirred, and the courier hit her again. Then, she extended the staff to Vlad. “Follow me.”
He groaned as he used it to pull himself up onto his feet, aching and trembling. He drew strength back into himself, a slow trickle, and nodded for her to lead.
The Lunarist set out at a jog, keeping her pace easy to follow. She led him through a Whymer Maze of narrow streets and alleys, the ringing of the bells growing fainter behind them. Finally, they reached a run-down building in an old, quiet corner of the city that stank of garbage and smoke. She drew him into the alcove to stand before a heavy wooden door.
“Wait here,” she said. Then, she knocked twice and slipped through the door when it opened a crack.
Vlad watched the street as he waited and caught his breath. A stray cat worried at something dead in the street, its ears back and its tail up. Other than that, it was still. And nothing moved behind the few windows that weren’t boarded up.
He heard muffled words behind the door. When it opened, Vlad saw that the woman had been joined by an old man in an orange robe, his face bearded and free of Y’Zirite cuttings. At the sight of Vlad, his mouth broke into a toothy smile, and his eyes lit up with delight. “It’s you,” he said. “Amen and amen, it’s you.”
The woman gestured Vlad in, and he stepped into the room as she closed and locked the door. The look upon the man’s face captivated him; he could feel the force of the man’s intense joy. Vlad didn’t speak.
“Come with me,” the old man said.
; He moved off through a curtain on the other side of the room, then slipped down a corridor. He opened a door at the end of it and waited for Vlad to catch up.
The door opened onto a larger room, this one crowded with floor mats and blankets, a motley assortment of men, women and children stretched out upon them sleeping or meditating. A few families prayed together. The old man cleared his voice and raised his hands up in supplication. “Behold, O my people,” he cried out. “A visitation is upon us in these last days of Lasthome!”
Every eye turned to Vlad, and despite the rein he kept upon his emotion, he felt heat rising to his cheeks at the wonder and adoration those eyes held for him. This, he thought, may be a mistake.
No. Not a mistake. Vlad smiled. “These,” he said loudly, “are indeed the last days of Lasthome.” The words were easy to find for him, as was the tone and fluctuation, the rhythm and cadence, to inspire. He continued. “And those who raised their fists to the moon and took it from its heirs—that thief Y’Zir and his house—now reap the violence they have sown. The blade of heaven now cuts its own mark upon their heart and the heart of the world.” Vlad now raised his own hands. “And the path home is now open for all of Shadrus’s children.” He paused and lowered his voice. “We have seen it in the dream.”
A murmuring passed through the room, and from there, Vlad moved now among them, squatting with the children to ask them questions and offering an encouraging word to their parents. He gave it two hours, and when he was finished, muscles and brain aching from the effort, he cast a look to the old man who was their priest. “I would have words with you in private, Father.”
“Elder,” he said. “Elder Reeve.”
Vlad inclined his head. “Elder Reeve.”
The priest led him through another door into a smaller room, this one with a table and chairs. He pointed to one while sitting in the other. “Thank you,” he said. “I think your words meant a great deal to them. We are overjoyed that the day has arrived, but it is a day with great cost.”
“Aye,” Vlad answered as he sat. “They are the pains of a difficult birth.”
Elder Reeve smiled. “And the pains of a difficult death as well.”
Vlad leaned forward. “More pain is coming. And in the days ahead, I must know who I count as friend and ally in my chosen ministry.”
“You have me, Lord. And all of the Lost Children of Shadrus. We are not many, but there are pockets of us throughout the empire.”
“It does not take many,” Vlad said. He regarded the man, once more noticing his lack of scars. “You are unmarked. How is that possible?”
The man shrugged. “It’s very difficult. But I was set apart for the priesthood at birth and raised within my own faith, away from the bloodletting of Y’Zir.”
“I’ve heard legends tell of a place of refuge from the knives of the Wizard King. A place called Endicott.” Vlad studied the man’s eyes as he spoke the word.
He saw the spark of recognition before the man spoke. “Yes. Endicott. It is an old, old story. From the days of the Last Weeping Czar and the Year of the Falling Moon. It was said that Frederico was the emperor who, after persecuting the Lunarists, became their ally.” The elder closed his eyes, and when he spoke next, his voice took on the tone of a recitation. “‘And Frederico arrived by way of Rufello’s Behemoth before the First Lunarists of Espira and preached unto them a new way and called them forth to the Refuge of Endicott.’” He opened his eyes.
Rufello’s Behemoth. His mind flooded with memories of the metal beast as it clanked and hummed through the depths of the sea. “Do you know where Endicott is?”
Elder Reeve laughed. “You would be more likely to know, Lord. It is one of the old places, after all.”
Vlad sat back. He didn’t need the staff to tell him that the priest was being honest. He noted the data, tucked it away in his mind for future use, and moved to the next subject. “And what of our other allies?”
Now the man’s eyes betrayed a glimmer of something. Surprise, Vlad thought. “Our other allies?”
“You have other help,” Vlad said. “You are a small group. But in the last several weeks, you’ve significantly increased your distribution, and I know it started before I arrived and launched my…” He paused, looking for the word he wanted. “My ministry,” he finally said. “Some benefactor has assisted you. I need to know who my allies are.”
The man was uncomfortable now, and Vlad saw the conflict playing out upon his face. I could force him with the staff. But he continued without resorting to that, willing the authority into his voice. “I want to meet them.” He waited. “I require it.”
Elder Reeve’s eyes surrendered. “Yes, Lord,” he said.
And Vlad Li Tam smiled at the blessing of his godhood, real or imagined, by way of the staff that hummed in his closed fist.
Ria
The wind rose beyond the rough plank walls of her hastily constructed command cabin, and Winteria the Elder stopped talking to let it have its own voice. Sister Gwendolyn and Magister Captain Onell exchanged a glance between them, and Ria wondered yet again what information they held back from her.
None of it had gone the way Regent Xhum had spelled it out upon his last visit. For the longest time, the Watcher and the Prophet Ezra had been her touchstone with the home she’d left behind, and since she’d taken her rightful place as Queen of the Machtvolk, she’d operated with a great deal of autonomy.
But not so now. The invasion had changed that with the arrival of these two officers—one from the Daughters of Ahm to provide mission oversight and another from the Magisters to take over the excavation of Windwir.
“As I was saying,” Ria continued as the wind outside settled, “Captain Daenyr has already briefed me on troop movements. She is investigating Androfrancine sightings in the Beneath Places just north of us and will not be joining us.” She leaned forward, and the Wicker Throne creaked beneath her. She’d wanted to leave it behind—leftovers of her people’s past when they followed dreams instead of the true gospel of their heritage. But of course it had followed her.
At least the axe was useful. She glanced to it in the corner of the room near her armor. The magister clearing his voice brought her eyes back to him.
“I will be very curious to speak with any prisoners she might take,” Onell said. “Something is afoot.”
Ria leaned forward and caught another sideways glance between the two of them. “Plainly, it is,” she said. “What has happened?”
Sister Gwendolyn opened her mouth, then paused and looked to the magister again. At his nod, she continued. “There’s been an attack at our main command center on the Divided Isle. General Yazmeera and her senior staff, including visiting officers from elsewhere in the Named Lands, were poisoned at Chancellor Rudolfo’s Markday Feast. The chancellor himself is missing and is likely responsible—with help from the Androfrancines or their sympathizers.”
Ria felt her eyebrows furrow as she calculated the impact. Certainly, it would be noticeable. And it would take weeks to regain lost momentum, though Yazmeera’s counterpart on the Emerald Coasts would likely have the savvy to assume full command. But it would take time for promotions and transfers to ripple through the occupation force, and that would slow things down. “That is a surprising development.” She hadn’t expected him to take the mark so easily, and until now, she’d regretted missing the event. “Do they have any idea where he is fled to?”
Sister Gwendolyn shook her head. “They believe he reached the mainland, but beyond that is anyone’s guess.”
Ria nodded. It was indeed anyone’s guess. Would the Gypsy King flee back to his Ninefold Forest, or was something brewing with the Androfrancine remnant they’d discovered beneath them?
She had hoped her eastern neighbor would ultimately embrace his father’s faith and his son’s role in that faith. She’d hoped the same thing for his father-in-law, Vlad Li Tam, when she’d taken his kin-healing upon herself. It was bad enough that her unfinished
work had somehow managed to lay hold of the staff and now used it to terrorize Ahm’s Glory. Now, Rudolfo had surprised them all by somehow assassinating the woman responsible for the occupation of the Named Lands … along with her senior officers and staff. “This is hopefully a minor setback,” Ria finally said, raising her eyebrows to the two before her.
“We hope so,” Sister Gwendolyn answered.
“Meanwhile,” the magister said, “our excavation of Windwir continues. We are using the Beneath Places to catalog and store findings for now. The navy assures us that we’ll have ships moving up and down the river soon and we can resume exports to Y’Zir.”
Ria felt her face moving to a frown and hoped they didn’t notice. Originally, the regent had assured her that the artifacts of Windwir would remain in the Named Lands. But it was just one of many changes that had left her suddenly feeling on the outside of an invasion she had been a careful part of since her first awareness. Xhum had been like a father to her in the absence of her own, and she’d trusted him. Even when he’d visited for the Mass of the Falling Moon, she’d trusted his words.
“Some plans may change,” he had assured her, “but the gist remains the same: The Machtvolk and the Gypsies will govern with minimal interference from Y’Zir. The Child of Promise and Great Mother will be promptly returned once the dust clears. We will maintain a small presence in Pylos for the spiritual well-being of the Named Lands and leave the rest to you and the chancellor.”
She wasn’t sure if it was Tam’s interference that had changed things or if it had always been part of the Y’Zirite plan, but Ria had felt more and more removed from decisions since her failure with Tam.
