by Ken Scholes
Ria
She climbed in hot fog that clung to her, blinded her, burned her lungs as she raced, and when Ria burst through the door at the end of her climb, she spilled out into a night scattered with stars the likes of which she’d never seen.
And there, on the horizon, a blue-green world rose to add its light to the stars.
Ria gasped and turned, taking in the view.
It is the tower from my dreams. And she didn’t want to believe it, but she knew it must surely be the Moon Wizard’s Tower, the one that had been unsealed by Winters.
“You again.” The voice was no longer enraged but curious, and Ria turned toward it. The old woman cocked her head and sniffed. “You reek of the Downunders,” she said as her eyes narrowed. Then she stepped forward. “But you are more than that. What is your name?”
Ria stammered, trying to make her tongue work. “Winteria bat Mardic the Elder. I am called Ria.” She paused and took a step back as the woman advanced another step. “Are you going to throw me from the tower again?”
“I might,” the old woman said, “if you don’t tell me how you came to be here.”
Ria shook her head. “I don’t know. Is this the Moon Wizard’s Tower?”
The woman laughed, and it was a cackle on the air. “Oh no. No, it isn’t that. This is a hidden part of the aether that my captor created specifically for me.” She took another step, her eyes narrowing even further. “So you can imagine, I’m sure, my curiosity as to how you seem to come and go.”
Ria took another step back and glanced over her shoulder. The edge of the tower was still some distance behind her. “I do not know,” she said again. “I thought I was dreaming.”
The woman stopped, sniffed again. “It is a type of dreaming,” she said. Then she smiled and nodded. “Have you ever seen it before?”
Ria looked and saw the world rising over the lunar horizon, its blue-green light reflected upon the waters of sea like polished glass. “No,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was,” the woman said. “Until the Y’Zir and his Downunders burned it past recognition.” The woman sighed. “And after all these years of watching it. Seeing what it was. Seeing what it is now.” Ria saw something in her eyes that was both soft and hard. “I’ve come around to understanding they were right. It must all end.”
And Ria understood the love in the woman’s voice when she said it, along with the despair and grief. She opened her mouth to say so and the tower shook, throwing her to the ground.
“What’s happening?” Ria climbed to her knees.
The old woman hadn’t moved. She watched with a bemused look upon her face. Once more the tower lurched, and Ria toppled again as a rush of cold water from an impossibly distant sea struck her in the face.
“Wake up,” the old woman said. The tower shook again. “Wake up.”
Ria forced her eyes open and blinked as another rush of water struck her. She choked on it and tried to raise her hands but couldn’t. She felt the icy chill of it in her hair and running down her neck and shoulders.
The medico leaned over her, a metal cup in one hand as the other gripped her shoulder and shook. “You need to wake up now.”
She tried to make her mouth work, but it was cotton and her tongue stuck to the roof of it. The young Gray Guard put down the cup and used both hands to sit her upright against the wall. He used his fingers to pry open first one eye and then the other before finally standing. “She will be lethargic and unfocused for an hour or so, General.”
“That’s fine, Sergeant.”
She looked in the direction of the voice and matched the familiarity of the voice with the man who stood in the doorway of her cell.
And it was her cell, truly, she realized as she looked around at the plain log walls and the straw mat and blankets beneath her.
I am in Windwir. In the stockade they built there. It felt contrary to her vague recollections of awakening on horseback before more powders were washed down her throat to spin her back into oblivion.
Ria tried to look around and found she couldn’t hold her head up. Her eyes didn’t want to stay open either.
“You can leave us,” Orius said.
The medico stood and moved out of view. But Orius replaced him, crouching before her. He smiled, and it was sinister against the backdrop of his eyepatch and scar. “Welcome back,” he said. “I thought Windwir would be a good place for our conversation.”
She blinked more of the fog away. She tried to reply, but her voice was the faintest croak.
Orius hand was warm and firm along the side of her face. “It will largely be a one-sided conversation,” he said, “because you have nothing to say that I have any interest in hearing. And initially, it will be a conversation of few words.” He caressed her face lightly, and she felt the rough calluses of his fingertips. It was a confusing sensation made all the more so when his other fist came up to smash into her nose. Her throat flooded with the taste of her blood, and the back of her head cracked against the wooden wall despite the hand that held it firmly up.
Orius leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “First,” he said in a low voice, “I want to speak with you about the Desolation of Windwir and the genocide of my people.” The fist came up again, connecting with her eye and temple, sending bright light flashing against the back of her eyes. “I thought about using knives, but your kind like that too much. So I decided to write my message in bruises rather than scars.”
She opened her mouth without any idea what reply she could give, and as she did, his fist again connected, this time splitting her lip open. Then Orius stood and let his feet do the work as she tried to curl herself into a ball and find the corner. He was grunting with exertion, the small room choked with the smell of sweat and blood, when he finally stopped and called for a chair.
Ria lay still against the wall, panting and wheezing while he sat and sipped water, regarding her with a single eye that held no emotion in it. The pain had begun sharply but already dulled as she gave herself to it.
“I think I was clear,” General Orius finally said, “but I’ll be back tomorrow to continue that conversation.” He leaned forward. “Before I go and let Sergeant Bayrn clean you up, I thought I’d update you on the relevant issues of our present conflict, as is fitting a woman of your office.” He smiled when he said it. “Your leadership in the Named Lands has been surgically removed. Your remaining forces are being routed. Your faith has lost its saviors, and the empire is in collapse. And now that we have an effective means of removing the Y’Zirite threat completely, we intend to do so at our earliest convenience.” His smile widened. “Everything you’ve worked for has come to nothing. And once I feel I’ve communicated that message clearly enough to you, you will be executed here on the grave of the Androfrancine Order.”
Then he stood, kicked her once more, hard in the kidney, and left.
When the medico returned, she kept her eyes closed and tried to remain quiet as he located and treated what wounds he could, and when he poured the kallacaine into her mouth again, she welcomed it and the warm darkness it offered her. And as she slipped into that place, she knew Orius would continue their conversation until he eventually took her head, and it no longer mattered to her. She’d lost Mal what seemed forever ago. And now she’d lost her faith and all of her reasons for believing. And she’d lost the war.
Losing her life would be a gift that Ria could wait for, though she hoped it wouldn’t be long.
Rudolfo
Firelight danced shadows across the Wandering Army’s campsite, and Rudolfo watched from those shadows, smiling, as Philemus and Lysias rallied the men.
He’d pushed the magicked horse hard as his Gypsy Scouts panted to keep up, and he’d made their rendezvous on the southern banks of the First River just twenty leagues south of Windwir. Here, Philemus would split off the bulk of the Wandering Army along with what survived of Lysias’s regular army and press on for Pylos, sweeping up the leftover Y’Zirite force
s as they went. Lysias would remain behind with a small elite corps of scouts and veterans to liaison with the Gray Guard. Rudolfo had planned to ride with Philemus, but now, with Winters moving north and Lysias preparing to execute Ria, he knew his place was Windwir.
To avert what injustice I can in our pursuit of justice. He sighed and closed his eyes. Philemus had already spoken, and Lysias was winding down. Overhead, the sky was clear and the moon was up.
“And if our king, our general, were with us,” Lysias cried out to the soldiers, “he would tell us to stand firm and take back our home for the forest and for the light!”
Voices picked up the call. “For the forest and for the light!”
Rudolfo smiled and stood from behind the barrels where he crouched. This was his cue, and he sprang lightly to the back of the wagon, whipping off his hood. “General Lysias,” he shouted out, “I must disagree with you. For if I were here, I would say to my men, ‘Eat hearty, drink long, for you’ve Y’Zirites to hunt upon the morrow and your king and general would not have you do so on empty stomachs and heads full of words.’”
A whisper rushed out from the men closest, and it became a roar as Rudolfo raised his hands and laughed. He hopped down from the wagon and moved through the soldiers as they parted for him until he stood with Philemus and Lysias. “Under-sheriff and first captain of my Gypsy Scouts,” he said, “have you what I entrusted to you?”
Philemus nodded and drew the turban from beneath his uniform. “I do, my king.”
The men roared even louder as Rudolfo took it and put it on. “I am Rudolfo,” he shouted, “Lord of the Ninefold Forest Houses and General of the Wandering Army.” He paused as they cheered him. “‘That damned Rudolfo’ to those I’ve bested in battle or in bed.”
He turned and regarded Philemus and Lysias. “And you,” he said. “General Lysias and Captain Philemus, you have each distinguished yourselves in your service to my men. And your service to my men is service to me. You bear my grace beyond my wiliest words. And when this war is finally laid to rest, you’ll both see clearly the extent of that grace.”
Rudolfo turned and took in the camp. “As you all shall. So eat, drink, hunt well, and come home to me safely.”
As the men shouted and raised their hands in salute, Rudolfo inclined his head and kept it low until they were quiet again. “Hunt well,” he said again. “For Jakob, for the forest and for the light.”
They repeated his words until they became a pulse and when that massive pounding heart reached its crescendo, he nodded and shot Philemus and Lysias a glance.
“Fill up now,” Philemus bellowed out over the crowd. “We strike camp at dawn for Pylos.”
Then they slipped away to a tent they’d set aside for their surprise guest.
“I think that rallied them well,” Lysias said as they pushed through the canvas door into warmth created by a small field stove. A pot bubbled upon it and he pointed to it. “Chai?”
Rudolfo nodded. “Please.”
The tent was laid out in familiar fashion. A small desk, a few chairs and a narrow cot. Lysias dug out three metal cups and passed them around. He poured a generous helping of firespice into both his and Philemus’s mugs but passed Rudolfo’s without either a word or glance. Polished grace. He was the one who’d told him in the far north that his men needed a leader, not a drunk. But even then, he’d carried that message to him with strength tempered by grace.
Now Rudolfo regarded the old man and saw something beneath the surface of him he’d not seen before. “How are you, Lysias? And has there been any word of Lynnae?”
The general shook his head. “None. There is no way to know what to expect. From what we know, the imperial capital is in collapse along with the Y’Zirite faith and government. But she’s resourceful and she’s with Lady Tam and First Captain Aedric—two equally formidable forces of nature. So I try to trust in that and focus on providing them a home to come back to.”
Rudolfo nodded. “Aye.”
Lysias’s eyes softened. “And you, Rudolfo?” He left off the title, and Rudolfo was glad for it in the moment.
“I am…” He paused and felt the hardness in his throat, the water at the edges of his eyes. “I am lost, Lysias, and yet I’m clear of eye and mind and I know the path.”
Lysias glanced away. “I find myself questioning paths again.” His voice was low and far away. “I served Sethbert until my first war of questions forced a change—and then I helped bring Sethbert to justice and Erlund into power. But now…” He sat, glanced at Philemus and then Rudolfo again. “Now, I find myself wishing I’d asked more questions twenty, even forty years ago. I find myself wondering what would’ve happened if I’d settled into some other way of life. Learned to tend a home and a garden rather than a barracks and a soldier’s kit.”
Rudolfo nodded. “Alas, we cannot change the past. But there is the future. And what we learn from the past can help shape it. What we do not learn from it can help destroy it.”
Lysias sipped his chai and glanced away before echoing Rudolfo’s own thoughts. “Then by the gods, I hope we learn something from all of this.”
Yes. But so far, he’d seen no evidence. Cascading violence in response to violence. Genocide for genocide. And from what little he’d learned of Y’Zir’s history, blood feuds between houses going back millennia.
Rudolfo lifted his cup and savored the heat against his cold hands. “I hope so, too.” He took a drink, held the strong chai in his mouth before swallowing it. Then he sat back in his chair. “So what do we know?”
“Eyes in the camp tell us Orius is beating her. He’s calling it an ‘ongoing conversation,’” Lysias said. “We’ve not heard when he plans to execute her.”
If Orius wanted to make a strong statement to the Named Lands, he’d have brought her down to the Delta for execution. But Rudolfo suspected the canny old Gray Guard was making a statement for history—and to Ria personally—about the Y’Zirite invasion, and he was ending it for her on the very ground where it had begun. And her death on the Plains of Windwir would be remembered the same way Rudolfo’s assassination of Yazmeera would be: a part of the legends that would reinforce the memory of these times.
Lysias continued. “We’ve also received word that he has Hebda and Tertius confined to quarters pending disciplinary action. There was talk of having Winters arrested as well. All for their role in Isaak’s and the other mechoservitors’ escapes.”
Rudolfo sighed. “I fear Orius may not be learning from the past. I will speak to him about it tomorrow.” Then he looked to Philemus. “And your men are ready for the work ahead?”
“Aye, General. We’ll drive them to the sea and take no prisoners.”
Rudolfo smiled. “Good.” There was a low whistle at the tent flap. “Enter,” he said.
A Gypsy Scout stepped in, his hand extended. There, nestled in his palm, was a moon sparrow. It fluttered. “A bird for you, General Rudolfo, from the Androfrancine camp.”
Rudolfo stretched out his hand. “Here, bird. I am Rudolfo.”
It chirped, recognizing his voice, then hopped from the scout to Rudolfo’s hand. The scout let himself out and the bird cocked its head, dark eyes regarding Rudolfo as the beak opened and a faraway voice leaked out.
“Hail, Rudolfo,” Orius said. “Forward scouts report that you are bound for Windwir. Your talents and leadership are best used in Pylos with your men, as previously discussed. Good hunting, General. We will debrief in a fortnight when the Y’Zirite threat has been removed from the Named Lands.”
The bird closed its beak. Rudolfo waited and watched it for a moment, stroking his beard as he considered the man’s bold dismissal of his closest ally. Then he looked to Lysias. “I don’t think a response is necessary.” He stood and went to the door, slipping the bird outside with a whisper that sent it north.
In that moment, he suddenly remembered releasing another bird what seemed so long ago somewhere near this very spot. It was a raven with the red thr
ead of war tied upon it. Rudolfo wondered what thread he would tie to the message-less bird he sent now.
He shook the thought away, suddenly aware of how tired he was. “What other business do we have, gentlemen?”
“We have the Marsher,” Lysias said, and Rudolfo closed his eyes.
“Remind me?”
“He has been sending us intelligence on the Machtvolk since Winters and Lady Tam were in the north. I did not want to turn him over to Orius with Ria, so he’s been in one of our uniforms and kept out of sight. Garyt ben Urlin. He’s a grandchild of one of the council members.”
“I’m assuming,” Rudolfo asked, “that he is bound for the moon with his people, then?”
There was a brief look that washed across Lysias’s face, and Rudolfo suddenly saw the conflicting emotion in the man’s eyes. He wants to go, too. It was that dream. Even Rudolfo felt its pull.
“That is his expressed desire, Lord. If you release him to do so.”
“Certainly I do,” he said. “Send him to the quartermaster for anything he might need and arrange for his passage, Lysias.”
Rudolfo met the man’s eyes again, but the conflict was gone now. Still, it set Rudolfo thinking, and even after the two officers excused themselves and after he had crawled into the narrow cot, he found himself contemplating that look.
Lysias longed for some kind of home.
And Orius had his longing for revenge.
What do I long for? He’d longed for home, and that was lost to him now with the loss of his son and his queen. He’d longed for revenge, and already he saw that path was closing to him, too.
