by Ken Scholes
He paused before her and glanced to Hebda. The man’s face was washed in grief, and the Androfrancine looked away. When Winters put her hands upon his shoulders, he looked back to her. “Tell us about the moon, Nebios. Tell us about the home you have found us.”
Then she kissed him, and he tasted the faintest hint of the sour, bitter blood magicks in her mouth as the world tipped and spun from the softness of her tongue. The crowd cheered, and Nebios turned to face them.
“I…” Neb paused and took another deep breath. “I am Nebios Whym, son of Whym and Homefinder,” he said. Then he told them about the moon and everything he’d found there, easing into his words as he went.
For a moment, everything felt suddenly right again after too long not, and he knew it was the woman who stood beside him, watching him with open admiration upon her face. She isn’t afraid of me anymore. The joy of that realization threatened to burst his heart.
He kept his remarks brief, distracted by the sense of peace he’d fallen into. But Nebios Whym knew better than to trust it, and midway into his description of the Firsthome Temple, he heard Petronus’s tinny voice whispering from the crescent in his pouch. And the urgency of it told Neb that this moment of peace, like so many that had come before it, could not last for long.
Chapter
11
Jin Li Tam
Awareness leaked slowly into Jin Li Tam, at first muffled voices, then bright light when she opened her eyes and a sharp pain that started from the back of her skull and worked its way forward.
“Lady Tam?” It was a man’s voice.
Jin tried to turn her head. Father? No, not him. Another voice. She closed her eyes again and worked her tongue around a dust-dry mouth. What had happened? She remembered her father facing down the kin-dragon, then turning on her as she threw herself at him. Beyond that, everything was lost in fog.
She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and she willed her own hand to slap it away but it refused. “Lady Tam?”
Jin opened her eyes again and blinked. The light no longer stabbed at her, and her head was a dull ache that kept time with her heart. She lay stretched out on a narrow cot, and she felt the vibration of something not unlike the engines that propelled her father’s Iron Armada tickling her through the bedframe. She licked her lips and tried to raise her head. “Who…?” The question was too much effort, and she fell back into the pillow.
“I am Commander Finiz Pardeau of the New Espiran Council Expeditionary Force,” the man said. He was blurry before her, older with close-cropped white hair and a leathery face. “We’ve kept you sedated for the journey for security purposes, but it’s time to wake up. We’re disembarking soon, and I need you able to walk.”
His words were slow to register. New Espira. She’d never heard of it, nor any kind of expeditionary force. And as her focus returned, she realized she’d also never seen a uniform quite like the one this man wore. And the room was unfamiliar to her, too. Walls of metal, light from glass orbs that glowed white and flickered in time with the vibration of what she assumed must be engines somewhere aft.
Finally she found more words, slurred through the dryness of her mouth. “Where are you taking me?”
He regarded her, his eyes hard. “I’m not at liberty to disclose that. But someplace safe.” He stood up from her bedside. “There is food and water on the table; fresh clothing at the foot of the bed.”
Her disorientation turned to anger, but it sounded more like panic in her raised voice. “I have more questions.”
Commander Pardeau paused at the door and smiled. “There will be plenty of time for answers after we’ve disembarked.”
Then he let himself out.
Jin lay still and breathed through the disorientation, counting as she felt herself grow more centered. It was finally the promise of water that forced her to sit up. Her mouth was a desert, and her throat ached.
How long was I asleep? She added it to her list of questions, reciting them internally as she sat and gathered her will to stand. When she stood, the room dipped and weaved then stabilized as her eyes found the metal pitcher that sat in the center of the table beside a platter of sliced fruits and cheeses and a loaf of black bread.
The room moved again, and now she realized it wasn’t just her perception. It had moved—jumped a bit. The ripples in the water proved it. She pulled out a chair and sat at the table, lifting the pitcher with shaking hands to pour into a matching metal cup. She sipped and let the water settle into her empty stomach.
The room took on more definition. It was much like the cabin of any other ship. A single bed, a small table and chair. There was a porthole, but it was covered from the outside. It made sense that they would limit her visibility. What didn’t make sense was how she had come to be their prisoner … or why. But she suspected her father had something to do with it. More for the list, she thought.
The ship moved again, not like anything she’d experienced at sea. There was also a slight change in the engine speed as the room shifted. She heard the vibration wind up and settle down, now feeling it through a hand pressed flat against the surface of the table.
She drank more water, then braved the fruit and cheese. She nibbled at them, cataloging her questions and studying the room. The single door was no doubt guarded. The blocked porthole meant they did not want her to know where they were or where they were going.
Her stomach finally protested and she stood from the table. The clothing at the foot of the bed was simple—trousers and a shirt not unlike those the commander wore, though all insignia of rank had been removed. They were accompanied by low-cut leather boots and a matching belt. Jin shucked out of her sleep shift, noting the absence of her Y’Zirite uniform, and pulled on the shirt and trousers.
She reached for the boots and the room lurched violently as the distant, high-pitched sound of tearing metal reached her ears. Jin fell across the room as it tilted, her thigh striking the table. She caught herself, heart racing, as the room shuddered and rolled the other direction.
What manner of vessel is this? Obviously not one that rode upon the sea, and the alternative made her eyes go wide even as the ship bounced again, this time lifting her from the ground and tossing her onto her back. She struck the bed frame as she fell and felt a sharp pain spread out from her shoulder.
The vibration cut out as the walls and floor started shaking. She thought she smelled the faint trace of smoke in the air and felt the room slowly tipping as what she imagined must be the bow of the vessel pointed downward and they started descending.
The door opened, and Commander Pardeau staggered into the cabin, his face sober. “We’ve been attacked.”
Another sound of metal ripping as the ship shuddered and bucked again. He fell into her, his hands catching her arms and turning her so that his body absorbed the impact as they struck the wall.
The vessel pitched and rolled, and she felt his arm encircling her as he rolled with the room. With his free hand, he snatched the corner of the bed’s thin mattress and used it to shield them. Jin was dimly aware of a guard trying to enter the room only to strike his head against the doorjamb as he was tossed into the hallway beyond.
The vibration was gone now, replaced by the growing roar of their descent. The lights flickered and then went dark. They bounced around the room, the mattress and the commander who wielded it shielding her from the worst damage. At one point, her head struck the corner of the table, and she winced as lightning laced her vision. The roar continued to build until it reached a crescendo in a deafening crash that threatened to rip the cabin apart as the walls crumpled and tore.
Jin closed her eyes and her mouth, holding her breath, letting the fear wash through her as they landed in a corner and were held there by the momentum of the ship as it plowed into the ground. She held on to the man who held her until finally they were at rest, wrapped in a twisted steel cocoon of wreckage perforated by starlight.
She lay still, releasing her breath and sucking in ai
r that smelled of smoke and dust. Pardeau tried to move, his breath ragged, and when she put her hands on him she felt the slick heat of his blood. Beyond the cabin, she heard the groans and cries of other wounded. She moved beneath the man and heard him gasp in pain. “I’ll get help,” she said.
His voice gurgled from a mouthful of blood. “Too late for that,” he said. Then he clutched at her with the one hand that seemed to work. “You have to keep moving. North by northwest to Endicott Station.”
Endicott Station. She’d not heard of it before. “What is Endicott Station? Why were you taking me there?”
The commander coughed, and she felt his body spasm against her. “I’m taking you…” His words failed, falling to another fit of coughing. “Classified.”
There were voices calling out now in the wreckage around her, weak voices and voices filled with fear and pain. And the sounds of life that she heard beyond the cabin alarmed her in contrast to the weakness in the commander’s voice. “What is classified? Where were you taking me?”
“I’m taking you … to your … son.”
Jin Li Tam blinked into the darkness, unsure of the words she’d heard. My son? “Jakob is dead,” she said. Her voice was flat and hollow. “How can you possibly take me to him?”
But the commander’s only reply was the rattle of his failing breath, and when she repeated her question, she resisted the urge to shake him. The impact of his words had already slipped past the guard of her heart, flooding her with a sudden and impossible hope that she knew she could not afford. And when other hands finally pulled at his cooling body, she heard her own voice broken by a sob.
“He’s dead,” Jin said. But those hands that now pulled at her could not have known she spoke of her son, the light of her life so recently snuffed out, and not the man who’d given his life to save hers. “He’s dead.”
Still, that hope ran loose within Jin Li Tam, forty-second daughter of Vlad Li Tam, and Great Mother of Jakob the Child of Promise, as she let those hands guide her out of the smoldering wreckage and under a blanket of stars made blurry by smoke and tears.
Rudolfo
Rudolfo crouched in deep shadows cast by pine and ferns, watching the Y’Zirites as they patrolled the hunting manor’s perimeter. So far, he’d counted six unmagicked Blood Guard, and a careful sweep of the area with his monoscope assured him there were no blood-magicked guards on the prowl.
But that could change quickly. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath against the scout magicks that burned through his body, savoring the focus they now gave his wrath.
He’d lost count of the days since the kin-raven and its unbearable news. He had no idea how long he’d lain in his tears, sobbing and raging, once his body had given out and there’d been nothing left to break and no energy left to break with. Nothing left, that is, but his need to know more and his need to put his knives to work. Breaking was not enough. He needed to cut in the way that he had been cut and give the tangle of feelings that boiled over in him some place to go. And learn more of my son’s last days.
He felt the tears for but a moment and blinked them away, finding a grip once more on the knife handle that anger provided him. The magicks helped, though his legs twitched with the need to run; his arms twitched with the need to thrust and slash his way into the house he now watched.
Rudolfo felt Renard’s fingers upon his shoulder. Just six. But there is a platoon of regulars billeted in the gamekeeper’s cabin. And a squad and a half in the house itself.
He placed his own hand on Renard’s arm. Are you confident of our men and our path? Renard had initially resisted Rudolfo’s mad scheme when Rudolfo had laid it out before him in a low and controlled voice, eyes still red from mourning his son. But Esarov had supported the plan and had offered up a squad of his own hidden Delta scouts to help, and Orius had reluctantly concurred, his concerns whispered from the beak of a moon swallow. They’d even managed to secure aid from a handful of local resistance members. It was a small group, but they had the advantage of striking a stunned opponent.
I am confident, General, Renard replied.
Rudolfo drew in another breath, held and released it, letting the filling and emptying of his lungs center him. He’d not heard it himself, but word was his song traveled fast across the Named Lands, sung loudly in taverns beneath the nervous eyes of an Y’Zirite occupation that had no idea how numbered its days were. He tucked away the monoscope. Now let’s give them something new to sing about.
Aye, General.
Rudolfo drew his knives and started his count as Renard moved down the line, his eyes moving from guard to guard as they took their turns. The manor was deep enough into the forest that its fence was more decorative, marking the beginning of the grounds proper and the edge of the forest that surrounded it. He’d counted four doors and assumed there were Y’Zirite regulars posted inside each. The top floor was where the Daughters of Ahm, the spiritual wing of the Y’Zirite Empire, were housed. They were kept apart from the military command structure, though the Daughters fed them young acolytes for Blood Guard training and were attached to units to provide leadership, instruction and discipline in matters of faith.
Rudolfo stood, his lips moving as the numbers counted down. When he reached zero, he did not hesitate. He moved out of the deeper shadows and trusted the clouded night sky to hide him. Somewhere to the northeast, captured deer were released and driven toward the manor by magicked scouts, the noise as they crashed through the underbrush covering the soft whisper of boots over ground. Rudolfo moved now, too, clicking his tongue softly in time with his feet to keep the scouts to his left and right aware of his position. He held his knives tightly as he ran, angling between the Blood Guard on patrol even as a whistle of alarm went up among them. They were fast, their hands moving to the small phials they wore at their throats. As the closest Blood Guard unstopped the phial and poured the contents into her mouth, Rudolfo surged forward and fell upon her with his knives.
As she dropped to the ground, her heart and lungs pierced, the Y’Zirite scout twitched and vanished, the magicks taking hold of her body even as she breathed her last. Rudolfo heard the other falling beside him and pressed on for the narrow servants’ door that already opened, a curious-faced soldier peering out into the night.
Rudolfo reached him first and brought the man down with thrusts to the lung and heart again. The knives in his hands were not as balanced as his father’s, but made of newer, lighter steel and sharp as a straight razor. Stepping over the fallen guard, Rudolfo moved into the hallway and clicked his tongue again to bring Renard and his men around him.
Esarov’s maps were accurate so far, and they quickly found the stairs. But now the Y’Zirites—stunned initially—were putting up more fight. The next soldier went down harder, leaving a cut on Rudolfo’s forearm that stung. The others pressed in tight alongside him now as they took the stairs, and when they reached the top, they lost their first man when the Blood Guard fell upon them.
The Y’Zirite blood magicks and numbers gave their enemy an advantage after the surprise wore off. It took Rudolfo and two other scouts to bring down one Blood Guard at the ready. And no less than three of the elite Y’Zirite troops awaited them at the door marking the wing of living quarters. Rudolfo came out of that storm of knives with multiple lacerations on his arms and a long cut on his thigh, but the satisfaction of his blade deep in flesh fed his cold rage, and he smiled grimly as they threw open the doors and raced the corridor beyond them.
The sound of full alarm reached his ears now, and his smile widened. The Delta sappers were at their work, keeping the Y’Zirite focus scattered. The stables burned now, horses driven into the woods to hamper pursuit, and if all held to plan, fires were set in the gamekeeper’s cabin and in the kitchen below.
Rudolfo counted the doors, his magicked feet whispering over the thick carpet. He’d committed the maps and notes to memory, going over them all carefully with the men before pushing the sheaf of
papers into the fire and watching them burn. He’d sent his first message by moon swallow soon after, ordering the Physician Benoit south from the Ninefold Forest to Caldus Bay and arranging the secret hire of an isolated farmhouse.
Rudolfo took the door at the far end of the hall, knowing Renard and the others would take their doors as well. When he kicked down the locked door, he saw the woman, still in her sleep shift, working frantically at the latch of her window.
“Hold,” Rudolfo said.
But she did not hold. With her hands still furtively working the lock, she looked over her shoulder, and in the dim light he saw the frightened, pale face of a woman past her sixties, her iron hair cut short.
Rudolfo advanced, hearing the sound of a scuffle in the hallway behind him. “Hold,” he said again, and this time she turned her entire body toward him, the small knife up and ready.
Rudolfo leaped forward, knocking the knife away. “You are Sister Tamray, Chief among the Daughters of Ahm for the redemption of the Named Lands.” His words were a statement, not a question, and she lunged at him with her fingernails now, her voice rising in a loud cry of anger and fear.
He hit her, hard, and felt momentary shame at how satisfying it was. She fell, and he knelt onto her back, pinning her arms beneath her, as he sheathed a knife and fumbled for the powders in his pouch. Kallacaine for sleep and scout magicks for concealment. It wasn’t an optimal combination—the risk of the two working together to stop her heart and lungs was high. But this woman was dead in days otherwise.
Not that what awaits her will be better. It would be decidedly worse. But he’d been beneath their knives, and he’d seen the handiwork of their blades upon his home. And now, though he knew in a fog that there was much more to it, this blood-loving cult of knives had taken his son away from him.
