The Argument of Empires

by Jacob T. Helvey

  Only when halflight descended, and the world was thrown into darkness did Kareen stop.

  Her hands and knees were raw, the soles of her boots worn to nonexistence. She fell onto her side, gasping in deep breaths of warm air. She didn’t cry any longer. She had long ago run out of tears.

  Thoughts whirling with emotions, she lay her head down, overwhelmed. Within moments, the oblivion of shock had taken her in its clutches. She didn’t dream.

  Fourteen:

  Grith

  The sun rose over the Godsea, bathing the balmy waters in the light of morning. Grith sat at the stern of the Wind’s Carress, leaning against the railing and watching Saleno recede into the distance. The spires and domes of the great temples were only just visible now, the silver and bronze and gold that coated their rooves acting like a thousand great mirrors, reflecting the rays of the sun.

  Toashan may have been another continent, hundreds of miles from his place of birth, but it had still felt like home in a way. No matter where he had traveled, no matter how foreign the land, he had always walked or sailed within the borders of the Corrossan Empire. No longer. Within an hour, Grith guessed, they would be out of sight of land. No Emperor or King owned the wild waters of the Godsea. Until they reached Fanalkir, they were truly alone, at the mercy of nature and whatever spirits ruled this desert of water and wind.

  Tain climbed onto the aftcastle behind him. Dark bags had begun to form beneath his eyes. Grith had caught a few hours of sleep in the early morning hours after they had stolen out of Saleno. Tain on the other hand, had taken that same time to interview every crewman and servant on the ship. Grith had heard that some of those interviews had bordered on interrogations, even torture.

  “You done abusing those poor bastards?” Grith asked as Tain came up to lean on the railing beside him.

  Tain nodded, his expression devoid of humor. “No Highlanders that I could find. The Heranans, well, most of the time it’s easy enough to tell with them, but a few of the crewman were from up in the north. If you see red hair, you can never be too sure.”

  “You seriously think they would have snuck an assassin on board?” The idea just seemed so… farfetched to Grith. The man who tried to kill Irrin, on a ship of all places, would invariably by subjecting a complicated form of suicide.

  “We were in the belly of beast in Saleno. Did you know the Highlanders have a school there?” Grith shook his head. “They teach urban tracking and infiltration. One of those bastards sneaks on board…”

  He drew a hissing breath. “Well, I did everything I could. I checked for tattoos, for any discrepancies in the accents.” He shook his head. “Now… all we have to worry about is the Eye.”

  Grith turned his head south and slightly west. He couldn’t see it yet, wouldn’t be able to for a week at least, but it was out there somewhere. The Eye. The Storm of Storms. A spinning nexus of destruction the size of a continent.

  “The one thing we can’t protect Irrin against.” Grith said. “And we’re heading right for it. Is the time saved really important that important?” If their captain was to be believed, taking a stormrunner would shave two, maybe three weeks off their trip to Fanalkir. But at what cost?

  The other ships in their small flotilla were standard cogs. Their thin hulls and weak masts would be shredded if they came within even a hundred miles of the storm. Instead, the main body of the fleet would steer wide of the Eye and take a roundabout course south. When Irrin finally stepped onto solid ground again, he would do so without an army at his back. It sounded like a recipe for disaster, but still the High Lord was confident.

  “He seems to think so. He wants a week or so to scout the land, take the place’s pulse without an army holding him back.” They would make landfall at Ytem, the most easterly port along the northern coast of Fanalkir. While Kwell may have been the continent’s largest city, and the seat of Emperor Hadan’s operations in the south, Ytem had become the closest port of call for ships from Saleno and Heran Akk.

  “A week or so where his only protection will be a dozen guards,” Grith replied.

  “And two Delvers,” Tain reminded him. “Besides, the city is controlled by High Lord Uche. He’s one of Irrin’s closest friends and a strong ally.”

  “Can we really trust friends now, with Hadan after us?” Grith had gotten used to constant paranoia since leaving Kuul. The suspicion of everyone and everything, while it weighed hard on the spirit, had become a familiar reflex, like breathing or blinking.

  Tain raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

  “Should I? I was forcibly taken from my home, nearly killed on two occasions, and did I mention that my friends are still captives as well?”

  “Fair point. Perhaps we can’t trust Uche, especially with Hadan wanting our heads on pikes, but he’s our best bet at finding out about the Emperor’s motives before everything goes to shit like it did back in Erno.”

  Grith nodded hesitantly. All this politicking was strange and definitely not to his liking. He had always preferred direct action. It was what had made him such a great warrior. But Emperor Hadan was not the kind of man you confronted directly. Rumors still abounded of the ways he had disposed of those lords who offended him—stretching on racks, shoving needles under their finger nails, and a dozen other unsavory methods. It wasn’t that the Emperor was mad, or even particularly bloodthirsty. He was just… ornery, quick to anger and slow to forget. Grith could imagine after four-hundred years on this earth, he would feel much the same.

  The shutting of the door leading to the hold signaled Irrin’s appearance on the deck below. He had eschewed his formal robes in favor of a billowing white shirt tucked into scarlet trousers, and wore boots instead of one of his finely polished pairs of shoes. Grith desperately wanted to take off his own finery. His coat might have been light, designed for the warm climate of southern Toashan, but they were heading towards the navel of the world. Soon, the captain of the ship had assured them, the heat would near unbearable levels, even on the sea. He was beginning to see why so many of the crew went around shirtless.

  Blessedly, Irrin spared them his presence, and instead went to the bow of the ship, where the captain stood with several of his higher ranking crewman. The dark skinned man turned and he and the High Lord shared a few words. The Heranan’s ample jowls quivered as he fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, something he only did when speaking with Irrin.

  After a minute or so, Irrin left the captain to his work and headed to where Grith and Tain stood near the ship’s wheel. Tain gave a short nod, the closest thing to a bow Grith had ever seen from the man. He imitated the motion with gritted teeth. While his hatred for the High Lord might have calmed in recent weeks, his hatred of honoring him had not.

  “We’ll be breaking from the rest of the fleet soon.” Irrin surveyed the sea, his blue eyes sharp as razors. Grith didn’t have to glance at the position of the sun to know in what direction the High Lord was staring. The Eye had a strange pull, like a lodestone’s draw on iron filings. It could just be his imagination, but no matter where he was on the ship, Grith thought he could identify the direction of the immense storm.

  “So, I’m not the only one who’s feeling it,” Tain put forward, giving voice to Grith’s thoughts.

  “I feel it too,” Grith said. “I thought it might be something to do with being a Delver…”

  “Captain Oshek said that all the sailors are drawn to the Eye,” Irrin explained. “You begin to feel it right after you leave port. It was how the ancient Heranans used to navigate before they invented the compass.”

  “The power of Tirrak himself,” Tain concluded. Grith would have never pegged his teacher as the religious type, but the way he said the name of the mainlander god made him think otherwise. There was reverence in his voice, with just the slightest hint of fear.

  The Captain called out to the sailor manning the wh
eel. “Starboard! Heading south-west!”

  The man spun the wheel, and the ship followed his urging, banking in a smooth motion that brought the stormrunner around to face the Eye. Sailors climbed the rigging like spiders, adjusting the sails to the new heading.

  The rest of the ships held their course towards Fanalkir. Only the Wind’s Carress, with its thick, low slung hull, would be able to brave the Eye.

  Grith watched the ships become small dots in the distance, and then disappear entirely. Within the hour, the horizon emptied, leaving them alone on the Godsea.

  Fifteen:

  Kareen

  The brush in which Kareen lay concealed and protected. She could have stayed there forever, hiding amongst the brown leaves and thorny branches. But she had to keep moving, she reminded herself, heading northward towards safety. Somewhere out in this cursed savanna—perhaps only a few miles away—was the Front.

  She took several deep breaths and climbed out of the brush, trying her best to keep quiet. Almost immediately, her dress became tangled in the branches. She almost tripped and threw out a leg to support herself, snapping a thin limb beneath her boot. It sounded like the crash of lightning to her ears. She glanced around, cursing herself.

  The surrounding plains were so flat that she could see nearly to the horizon. There were Cutarans out there, she had seen them in the hours following her escape. She had never been trained in woodcraft as had her brothers, but luckily neither had the men who hunted her. They were fast and strong as horses, but equally noisy. That was what Kareen was counting on, what she hoped would save her life.

  She gave the horizon one more scan, trying to pick out shapes moving in the distance. There was a scattering of buffalo, a particularly large bird of a species she couldn’t identify, and yes, a group of three Cutarans.

  The warriors were half a mile off at her best estimate, and didn’t even attempt to conceal themselves amongst the tall grass. They walked tall and proud, bows and spears in hand. Strangely, they didn’t seem intent on finding her. Kareen knew of Xisa’a army—was the only human now living who did. Any leader worth their salt would have hundreds of scouts and hunters combing the plains, looking for her. So why then had Kareen seen less than a dozen?

  Thanking Tirrak for her luck and Xisa’s seeming ineptitude, Kareen attempted to use the sun to calculate her course relative to the Cutarans. The patrol was heading north and slightly west. That meant she would need to take her course east for several miles to make sure their paths didn’t cross accidently.

  Shadows fell at Kareen’s feet as she continued her march. Her back and legs ached from crouching and her eyes were beginning to feel heavy. The day was a blur of riotous emotion in her mind, violence, sadness, fear, and horror mixing like a particularly insidious poison, the only respite from which had been a comatose sleep that had left her feeling more exhausted than rested.

  Weary, and tiring in the equatorial heat, she found a sheltered depression in the ground, and slid inside. It hadn’t rained in days, and the dirt was hard and dry beneath her back. She leaned her head back against the incline and took a shaky breath. Her throat was parched. Tomorrow, she would need to find water. The savannas were crossed by streams. Kareen had seen as much on her trip south. There was only one problem: most were infested with crocodiles and venomous snakes. Increasingly though, she found herself caring less and less about the danger. Thirst pushed the fear to the back of her mind, made it a small thing in comparison to the very real problem of survival.

  She poked her head over the lip of the depression and watched the Cutarans. They were further away now, moving on a path parallel and away from her. She gave a sigh of relief and lowered herself back into the shallow hole.

  As the sun fell below the horizon, the air grew cold. She hadn’t spent a night without a fire since leaving Kwell, even when she had been a prisoner of the Cutaran raiding party. The biting chill was a surprise. Granted, it was nothing like home, where the snow could fall a foot deep in the winter, but back home she would have been properly attired. Her thin cotton dress, so cool during the day, provided precious little protection against the icy wind blowing from deeper within the continent.

  Kareen snuggled into a ball and tried to get as comfortable as she could manage. A few hours of sleep would do her good. If when she woke, the Cutarans were gone, she would look for a stream. For the time being, water was her top priority.

  But despite the tiredness in her legs, sleep alluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Livran splayed on the ground, blood pooling around his ruined shoulder and torso. His pleading eyes, wide and blue as the light of Tirrak itself, staring into her own. She gritted her teeth as tears flowed anew, running down her face to moisten the dry ground beneath her cheek.

  Tirrak, this was destroying her. She couldn’t let it—certainly not at a time like this. She had seen death before—somehow knew she would see its face again. Livran was no different than the hundred soldiers who had died trying to protect her, or the blacksmiths, who had been tortured and killed.

  At least that’s what she told herself to keep the pain at bay. The pain that threatened to overwhelm her.

  * * *

  Kareen woke with a gasp. She whirled around, looking for any sign of Cutarans or wild animals, but the surrounding land was empty of warrior and beast alike. The air was warm. She looked up to see the sun sitting in the eastern sky. She had slept through the whole night and well into the morning.

  Kareen climbed to the top of the depression, scanning the tall plains grass and trying to ignore her thirst.

  She put her hand to her mouth to stop the yelp that threatened to force its way past her lips. Three Cutarans stood a scant hundred paces from where she lay. And they were heading right for her!

  Thinking fast, Kareen crawled to the other side of the depression and into the tall grass beyond, hugging the ground and trying to calm her breathing. When she thought she was out of the hunters’ direct line of sight, she rose and broke into a run. The land dropped away ahead of her. For a moment, she thought it was a chasm, as might be found in the highlands back home. But she could hear the sound of running water. A river or stream then, and close.

  Kareen slid down the embankment at a run, not even breaking stride as she made it to the water’s edge. The stream was shallow and perhaps only ten paces across. Still, she would have to be careful. The river rocks beneath the water made for treacherous footing. A broken ankle would end her escape as surely as the swing of a Cutaran blade.

  Something large flew over her head and imbedded itself in the other side of the riverbed. The something was an arrow, one of the spear sized monsters the Cutarans fired from their immense bows. Another arrow stuck into the mud a dozen paces to her right. She gave a shout, more scream than anything, and ran across the stream.

  River stones rolled beneath her feet, threatening to topple her into the water, but by the grace of Tirrak, she made it across the stream and up the opposite embankment. Kareen glanced back long enough to see the Cutarans come to a stop on the side of the water opposite her. They didn’t move, either to shoot or to give chase. They just stood there, the expressions on their faces neutral. Why didn’t they attack? She was standing right in the open. The two with bows had to have a clear shot.

  Confused, but not about to give the hunters a chance to correct their mistake, Kareen turned and retreated into a thicket of trees, disappearing from sight. When she was reasonably sure she wasn’t being chased, she slowed to a walk, breathing heavily and biting back against the pain blooming in the soles of her feet. She couldn’t hear the Cutarans behind her. Why had they stopped? Why in the name of Tirrak had they let her escape?

  * * *

  Kareen spent the next few hours at a slow pace, trying to catch her breath and regain her bearings. The plains were quiet. She stared into the sky. The sun was approaching the edge of Tirrak. Halflight could only be an ho
ur away at most.

  Kareen growled in a very unfeminine way, trying to clear her throat. Her whole body felt dry as the savanna grass through which she walked. She pinched the skin on the back of her hand and pulled back. Supposedly, if the skin didn’t spring back immediately, it meant you were dehydrated. When she let go, the skin on the back of hand stayed wrinkled and unmoving for a full three seconds before reluctantly returning to normal.

  Not a good sign…

  She needed water, and soon.

  It took another hour, but she eventually came to a stream, much the same as the one across which the Cutarans had chased her earlier. So soon. Kareen had expected it to be hours yet, but clearly, these plains weren’t as dry as she had been led to believe. She practically ran down the embankment and threw herself onto the stones lining the bed of the stream. She gulped hungrily, using her hands to shovel the cool liquid into her mouth. It was crisp and fresh with just the slightest taste of mud.

  When she had finally drunk her fill, she stood and looked to the other bank. This stream was wider than the first she had crossed, perhaps thirty paces from one side to another, enough that it could almost be considered a small river. Luckily, it was shallow enough that Kareen doubted she would even get her knees wet trying to ford its width.

  She put a booted foot into cool water and tested the stability of the river stones. They were solid enough. She followed with her other foot. After so long in the heat of day, the chill that ran through her legs and up her spine was a welcome relief. Relief enough that she almost missed the first growl.

  Kareen snapped her head towards the source of the sound. A massive creature had emerged from a bend a hundred paces downstream, a maned, blonde beast. Livran had called them death on four legs. A lion. She had heard stories, seen pictures depicting them inside the House of the Seafarers. But much the same as with the Cutarans, no amount of reading or studying of stylized carvings had prepared her for the real thing.