by Ken Scholes
No, some voice deeper in him whispered. Vlad Li Tam did this. But Rudolfo pushed that voice aside and focused on the woman beneath him.
“Kill me and be done,” she said. Rudolfo took advantage of her open mouth to push the first handful of powders into it. She spat and bit at him.
He leaned close to her ear. “I will,” he said. “In time.” She bucked against him, and as she moved, he felt his rage rising. It lent him strength, and he held her in place as the kallacaine took hold. He wanted to resist, wanted to wait for Benoit’s report after his first redemptive cuts, but asking through his Physician of Penitent Torture and hearing by the bird or by courier left something urgent within him unsatisfied. “Tell me,” he whispered, “what you know about the death of Lord Jakob, your Child of Promise?”
Her words were slurred beyond recognition from the drugs and from the side of her face being pressed into the carpet, but at his words, he saw the fight go out of her eyes and her mouth go slack. Now he could the see the hollowed-out shell that she was, and his sudden kinship with her struck him like a boot to his gut. The woman’s tears were sudden and her sob was real, and he felt his own stirring to meet her there on the common ground of an inconsolable and shared grief.
In that moment, some part of Rudolfo recognized that this woman had also suffered a loss—one that she had not caused him personally—and that empathy threatened the cold, distant place he needed to be in order to keep moving forward. In order to not collapse beneath the weight of too much loss.
Behind him, the sound of fighting continued, and Renard’s low whistle from the doorway told him that it was time to exit. He pushed the scout powders into Sister Tamray’s open, drooling mouth and felt her body tremor beneath him as the magicks took hold.
He pulled the woman up onto his back, feeling the weight of her upon him. He could give her over to a younger, stronger man, but he did not want to. He’d chosen this path and would see it through. For my son, he thought, but as he thought it, Rudolfo knew he lied.
I do this for myself. Too much cut away over a lifetime, and it was time to do his own cutting in turn. And the man he knew was actually responsible—the man he should’ve killed two years ago as Vlad Li Tam burned his family’s secret history in the Named Lands—was too far away and too out of reach for him to cut. These Y’Zirites would have to do, even if it was under the pretext of gathering intelligence and adding to the myth he was becoming.
But even as he raced that Whymer Maze of justification, the hounds of grief snapping at his heels, Rudolfo knew that regardless of anyone’s part, it was he himself who was responsible. He’d failed to protect his child, and that failure was his to pay for ultimately. He took a deep breath and then released it.
He felt the wound ache on his chest and shifted the woman’s weight upon his back. Some knives we bring upon ourselves, he realized.
Then, growling beneath the burden he bore, Rudolfo found his footing and ran after his men, the sorrow once more safely tucked away within his rage.
Vlad Li Tam
There were signs of recent fighting in the streets, and Vlad Li Tam smiled at his handiwork as he moved quickly through the stillness of predawn. Beside him, silver robe rippling behind her like water, Amylé D’Anjite matched his pace.
He made no effort to hide them now. They were more than a match for whatever remained of the Y’Zirite military, and he wanted to be seen entering the palace. They took the most direct route to the massive courtyard that housed both the Imperial Palace and the Temple of the Daughters of Ahm. The statue of the Wizard King still lay broken across the paving stones, and in the gray, as the first of the stars began to fade overhead, it looked like the corpse of a god stretched out, hands pointing to Vlad as he approached.
As he walked, he considered the woman beside him. Vlad knew their alliance was tentative at best. He’d stayed up for hours answering her questions—inventing answers where he needed to and admitting ignorance where he could. Still, he’d controlled the flow of information, shaping her perceptions like a sculptor shaped clay, building her into a tool that he would only be able to use in a limited way. And once she knew the truth of his manipulations—or if the old crone he’d locked away somehow got free—Amylé would turn on him and likely be his ending. He’d defeated her before, when she had the help of her kin-dragon, but he was under no illusions of doing so a second time, without the element of surprise in his favor. And he was getting more tired as his body burned away. It would take nothing for her to catch him off guard.
So I must never be off guard. And he must keep her anger and curiosity engaged in the direction that best served his purposes: the descendants of Y’Zir and what they had done to her people, to her father.
Time wound down, narrowing like a noose, and he had more to do than when he started now that his forty-second daughter had been taken from him. The metal man, Isaak, would arrive soon, and a confrontation over the staff brewed there, though Vlad was confident of that outcome. But not long after that encounter, Neb would return also demanding the staff of him.
And if I am finished, I will give it to him. He certainly wouldn’t give it to Amylé, and he knew he couldn’t keep it much longer. He’d dreamed the dream like everyone else, and he knew that the staff belonged in the tower and that whatever blew upon that wind as Winters cried out upon the plain came by way of the parents’ tool in the parent’s hand.
A pair of Blood Guard changed direction in the courtyard, turning to intercept Vlad and his companion. He slowed and Amylé slowed beside him. “Be ready,” he said.
In response, he saw her robes begin to shift, tightening until the silver fabric clung to her body. He felt heat rising from her and smelled the slightest scent of ozone on the air. But beneath it, he also smelled her fear.
The Blood Guard approached, and Vlad called out before they could see who he was. “We require immediate audience with Regent Eliz Xhum. Tell him Vlad Li Tam has come to parley.”
They reached for the phials of blood magick at their throats, then paused and looked at one another. Something unspoken passed between them, and one of them ran for the palace gates while the other stood back and watched Vlad and Amylé from a distance. Vlad looked to the massive building beyond the gates and wondered how easy it would be to storm it now, with Amylé by his side, strengthened by the blood of the earth. Part of him craved it. The more direct path of violence committed by his own hands. But there were eyes upon him even when he could not see them. He’d still not met them, but he knew they were out there. They’d taken his grandson and his daughter, along with the knives his father had hidden here for the time of his arrival—children of his household who’d been embedded into Y’Zirite culture, like Ire Li Tam, his thirty-second daughter. Whoever they were, they watched from the shadows. As did the Y’Zirites, their eyes dark with grief and wide with fear.
It is important that they watch. They will be the ones to tell their children what they saw. They will be the ones to write down their parents’ cautionary tales and pass them in turn to their children. It made no sense to deal only with the problem of the day when the problem of centuries or even millennia could be dealt with at the same time. Lessons learned in blood to be remembered and recounted.
Vlad smiled.
When Xhum and his escort arrived, the regent was easy to pick out by his uniform and cloak. He was easily twenty years younger than Vlad, but the man’s eyes made him look older. Vlad saw the grief in them and beneath that grief, a defiance he could respect. A tall woman in dark robes, her long iron hair braided and over her shoulder, stood beside him. She leaned over and whispered something to the regent at the sight of Amylé but was otherwise silent.
They came without bravado or pomp. A simple squad of Blood Guard walked in formation around them, unmagicked but alert, their knives sheathed.
They know they cannot hope to stand against us.
Vlad waited until they stopped and made eye contact with the regent again. “I’ve come to
offer you terms, Regent Eliz Xhum.” He used the staff to project his voice, letting it boom out over the city.
The regent blinked slowly, his mouth working around a reply that he thought twice about delivering. Finally, he swallowed. His eyes went to Amylé and then returned to Vlad. The defiance was there still, but muted by something else. “What terms do you offer, Lord Tam?”
He kept his voice level, certain it could be heard at least ten leagues away. “An opportunity to survive what is coming,” Vlad said. “In three days’ time, Ahm’s Glory will be struck down. Those who wish to survive it will leave what they have behind and flee now, while they are able. Otherwise, those taken by plague and sword will be joined by those taken in a death worse than either.”
The regent’s eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, Lord Tam,” he said, “but I do not hear any terms offered thus far. Only threats of violence.”
Vlad smiled, though it felt weary and false. “I will permit you and what remains of your government to organize an evacuation and leave in an orderly fashion if you cooperate with me.”
The regent glanced at the gray-haired woman beside him. “What does my cooperation entail?”
“First, I require the spellbook. I know you’ve had it removed from the city. It is needed elsewhere.” Vlad watched the two of them as he said it and saw another quick exchange of glances that spoke volumes. She knows where it is.
He tucked that knowledge aside and continued. “Second, whatever remains of the Wizard King Ahm Y’Zir is to be staked in the courtyard. The rest of you may go where you will. But Ahm Y’Zir remains behind to pay for his sins and fall with his city.”
He’d confronted the beast in Chandra’s dreams—an ancient mechanical spider that bore what was left of the old wizard in a crystalline orb. The beast was chained somewhere deep beneath them, driven insane by time and the magicks that preserved him. His next confrontation would end Y’Zir’s life upon this earth and finish what P’Andro Whym had started on his Night of Purging.
Vlad watched the gears turning behind Regent Xhum’s eyes. “I cannot agree to these terms,” the man finally said.
Vlad raised his voice. “Then the blood of this city will be upon your head, and I will have what I require regardless of your agreement.” Then he slid his thumb over the silver of the staff, dropping to a whisper as he turned on the old woman.
“What is your name?” He heard the power in his words and saw her eyes widen. He felt his eyebrows furrow as he concentrated. What is your name?
“I am Sister Elsbet, Chief Mother of the Daughters of Ahm.”
He tightened his grip on the staff. “Where have you hidden the spellbook, Sister Elsbet?”
The Blood Guard moved forward now, drawing their knives and reaching for the phials at their throats. Vlad looked to Amylé and she nodded, blazing white as she drew strength from the blood of the earth that wrapped her. As the light built, she shrieked at the sky and the sky shrieked back at her.
Vlad had hoped that would be enough but knew better than to trust it. He pounded the staff upon the ground, the force of it sending two of the Blood Guard to their knees. “Enough,” he roared over the beating of the kin-dragon’s wings.
The Blood Guard scattered as the beast dropped into the courtyard and pulled Amylé into itself. Relentless, they threw themselves at the beast, but its tail, claws and teeth cut through them without effort.
Then Vlad turned his attention back to Elsbet. His voice rose, and with it, her face paled. “Where is the spellbook?”
Her mouth twisted as he pulled the words from her. “It’s been taken to the convent at El Shapir for safekeeping.” With it came the image of stone buildings at the foot of steep, bare mountains.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Amylé dispatching the last of the Blood Guard, tearing into them in a blur of movement Vlad could barely follow.
He released his hold on Elsbet and turned to the regent. “Tell your master I will dig him out of the smoldering basements of his city once I’ve burned it to ash.”
Amylé, tucked away within her kin-dragon, returned to his side. The dragon’s nostrils flared as it gulped air.
The regent stared at the dragon but did not allow himself to look at the bloody piles of cloth and flesh that used to be his squad of Blood Guard. “I will tell Lord Y’Zir personally,” he said. He glanced at Elsbet and then looked back to Vlad. “There is a matter I wish to inquire about, Lord Tam.”
Vlad inclined his head. “Inquire.”
“Your daughter is missing. She was last seen tracking you. Do you have any idea of her whereabouts? Our search parties have come back empty-handed. I’m sure you’re as concerned as we are about her well-being.”
“No, Regent Xhum,” he said. “I am not concerned. My daughter is dead. She tried to interfere with my work and I killed her.” He savored the slight widening of the man’s eyes, the slight flaring of a nostril. “Don’t be surprised. I murdered my grandson and your Crimson Empress without the slightest remorse. I am a Tam. My children are arrows fired into the heart of the world.”
He saw sorrow flood Elsbet’s face, but the regent maintained his composure. The eyes held less defiance now, though, and he nodded slowly. Then, stiff-backed, he turned away and walked slowly toward the palace gate.
Elsbet lingered. “Your father,” she said, “would be ashamed of you, Vlad.”
He met her eyes and read in them that she’d known the man somehow. “Perhaps for many other things,” Vlad said, “but not for this. He fully understood his sins in this matter, I’ll wager.”
Or else Vlad’s father would not have brought him here for this work, brought his forty-second daughter here as well, hiding knives for them—other Tams tucked away in Y’Zir—to cut this evil from the world.
Vlad waited for the woman to turn away, and when she did, he turned to the kin-dragon. “Can you find the convent at El Shapir?”
The beast nodded, and her voice filled his head. I can carry us there. Hold still. The kin-dragon reared up on its haunches, its two forelegs opening to take Vlad into an embrace. He held the staff and closed his eyes as the cool metal met his skin. Then, he was in the beast and was the beast. He heard through its ears, saw through its eyes, smelled through its nose. And at the same time, he was aware of himself folded into some compartment within the creature, held in place, his hands still upon the staff.
They lifted off, and he felt the vertigo of watching the sky spin and right itself as they built altitude. I am flying, he thought.
Yes, she answered. It is exhilarating. She paused. But I am disturbed, Lord Tam.
He tried to pull his senses back away from the rush of the wind and the feel of it upon metal skin he knew was not his own, the overpowering smell of smoke and decay and burned citrus. What disturbs you, Lady? He thought it would be the violence. He was confident she’d never killed before today.
But her response surprised him. You lie easily and effectively about terrible things.
When it serves my purpose. He forced calm into his mind. Sometimes a higher purpose calls upon us to do or say terrible things.
She was quiet for a moment and once more, the flight distracted him. He had no power to move the beast, but he felt everything that it felt, saw what it saw—which now was the rush of wind and the rush of barren landscape below. I hope, she said, you are not lying to me as well.
And, of course, he was. But not completely. He’d been truthful about his family beneath the Y’Zirite blades even if he’d fabricated kin-clave between their houses and a manufactured message from her father whispered down through his line for the day that she was finally found by House Li Tam and able to avenge herself upon her family’s direst foe. And he’d been truthful about the ruse involving the children and his daughter. But he’d told her they were safely hidden away with allies.
The best lies, he knew, were at least two-thirds true.
If he could, Vlad Li Tam would have smiled reassuringly. I have no reason to lie to
you, Lady D’Anjite. You and Nebios were chosen—hidden away for millennia, even—to finally end Y’zir’s hold on the People once and for all. And once we have the spellbook, that work can truly begin.
Like all the other lies, it came easy to him. He was, after all, a Tam.
Chapter
12
Winters
A new moon hung in the sky, bathing the clouds in blue-green light when the crowd finally dispersed at the docks. It had gone well—better than she expected. Neb’s surprise appearance with his tales of the moon, combined with her discourse on the dream, had won the night.
Winters had watched the crowd, their faces shining with awe as Neb described the jungles and seas, the ruins and the Firsthome Temple. At first he’d been nervous, but he’d grown into his words, and after a few minutes he had his listeners by the reins, steering them as he went. She’d lost her fear of him instantly. It was hard to even recall what had frightened her so much in the first place. He’d changed, certainly. He was more confident in some ways, less in others. And there was a sadness in him now that she could see, peeking out from someplace deep where he kept it hidden.
He has been broken by all of this. Of course, they all had been. And that realization dragged her back to the loss of Jakob, the loss of Hanric and the others. But Neb’s words wouldn’t let her linger in those losses. She saw the longing they inspired in the others, and she felt it herself.
A homecoming is upon us. When he’d finished speaking, she spoke a bit more, and the words were there, upon the tip of her tongue. “A homecoming is upon us,” she said to the crowd. “Come home with me.”
A cheer went up. And even as it echoed into the night, Winters heard a quieter affirmation. Yes, Daughter of Shadrus. A homecoming is upon you indeed.
Of course, even after she dismissed them, the crowd was not finished. She and Neb spent easily the next hour being stopped by men, women, even children, with questions about the moon and the dream. And then, most fruitful of all, there were the captains. They approached her after the others had left. They were open-minded, having experienced the dream, but were also businessmen. If the Y’Zirite Navy gave way as Winters believed they would, the captains saw quickly the benefit of offering their vessels up for hire and made that clear to her.
