“She’s with me,” Oranhur told them. “She hears everything I hear.”
“They’re tracking east,” a young man said. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a shock of unruly blonde hair.
“East?” Oranhur asked, clearly surprised and more than little frustrated.
“Sure as day, sir. They’re going east.” He paused for a breath, leaning on his longbow, seeming confused. “But didn’t the reports say the bronze-skins was going north?”
“That’s what we thought,” Oranhur said. No, that couldn’t be right… Kareen bent down and tracked the imprint of the cart wheels with her eyes. Straight as an arrow, going into the distance: dead east.
“You said they were going north,” Oranhur growled, the anger coming through in his words.
“That was what she told me!” Kareen insisted, trying to not let fear seep into her voice. “She must have…”
Must have lied. The pieces clicked together and it was as if a blindfold had been pulled from her eyes. Xisa had let her go, had even ordered her warriors to purposefully miss their shots. Had probably even ordered them to funnel her towards the Corrossan lines. All so that Kareen’s escape would be believable. So that she wouldn’t suspect treachery when she told Emperor Hadan of the Chieftain’s plans.
Xisa had played her, played every Corrossan on Fanalkir like a fiddle. And now they were all going to pay for it.
Twenty-Three:
Xisa
The tribes moved at a snail’s pace and with each passing hour, only slowed more. Xisa sighed, looking back the way they had come, to where she knew the Demon Hadan had amassed his army. Her scouts told her he was on the move, traveling south and slightly east. He would discover her ruse soon, sooner than Xisa would have liked. Still, the girl Kareen had done her job, played her role. The Corrossans were out of position, marching in the wrong direction.
Of course, he would be on their trail eventually. The man was nothing if not persistent.
The Corrossans were well trained, and didn’t have to worry about children and the elderly, all things that slowed Xisa’s own force. If only she’d had more time to train her people, to turn them into a real army. When she had been in Akiv, learning the Sasken tongue and the ways of northern politics, she had taken every moment of freedom allotted to her to read through books on military strategy and tactics. Half those texts had been more case studies than anything, histories—perhaps even parables—of Hadan’s exploits, used to illustrate the movement of troops, the management of supply lines, and the keeping of morale. If she had learned anything from those dusty volumes, one single piece of wisdom, it was this: the Corrossans were masters of war.
I have fifteen chiefdoms at my disposal, she reassured herself. It was the largest force her people at ever assembled. Not enough to fight the Corrossans on their own terms, but with the success of her ruse, they wouldn’t have to.
Sarierran, the City of Coral Stone, was their destination, the city the Fanalkiri called Ytem. It was only lightly defended, if reports were to be believed. A decent target. Not the grand prize of a city like Kwell or Kova, but softer, more vulnerable.
Xisa gave one last look west, across the plains of grass baking in the summer heat, before turning and breaking into a run. The front of the army was nearly a mile ahead, and she still wanted to talk to Hura before day was done. Her powerful legs carried her past groups of men and women, walking slowly, almost strolling. The old were even worse. Many struggled to keep up with even this casual pace, leaning on canes or taking up room on carts that could be used to carry supplies. She had a lead of days on the Corrossans. That lead was already shrinking.
Xisa dashed forward, faster and faster. She could have drawn on some of her inner strength, but decided against it. Her Gift was strong, but she preferred not to flaunt the ability. And besides, she could use the exercise.
It took her a scant few minutes to cover the distance to the front of the army. From here Hura led the vanguard, their thousand or so best warriors, personally selected by the chieftain for their speed, strength, and most importantly, their ferocity. For a people who, until two years ago, had never found much use in fighting, they were learning the ways of war at a terrifying pace.
Soon we will be as bad as the Corrossans, she thought ruefully. She shook her head as she slowed to match speed with Hura. No! They would never stoop to that level. They were defending their homes, their people, their way of life. The Corrossans and their Demon Emperor were here for only one reason: to rape and pillage and carry their loot back to their palaces in the north. Her people fought for more.
Hura glanced up as she approached, clearly surprised to see her so soon after she had left to tend to the rearguard. He fiddled with a small bit of metal, rubbing it between massive fingers. It was dark, nearly black—so different from bronze, and not much to look at certainly. But that scarred lump of metal could be the key to freedom for her people.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Hura muttered. “This was the reason they bested us…”
You fool, Xisa wanted to tell him. You ignorant fool. Corrossan leadership, training, those were the reasons their people had been beaten. This was only a small piece of the grand puzzle that had spelled her people’s defeat.
But she had found it was best to reinforce that particular sentiment. Her people were stronger believing they had been cheated out of a victory, rather than soundly defeated by a superior force. “The first steel made by Cutaran hands,” Xisa decided to say.
“I never asked. How did you get the human to talk?” He tossed her the piece of metal and ran a hand across his shaved scalp. He has to remain nonchalant, she thought. To save face for his clan. It was bad enough that he had given Xisa the token of his leadership, and that she had taken the life of his son in the process. She still carried the little piece of gnarled bronze in a pouch at her belt, along with fourteen others. Yes, Hura had to keep some small dignity, or he might find his position as leader of his clan tenuous.
“Tason?” She caught the bit of steel and put it into her pocket. “He was a tough one. He didn’t make a peep, even after I had deprived him of water for three days. But with some effort, I got him to sing, sing like a bird riding the plain winds.” She gave a small half-smile. “After I cut off three of his toes and shoved burning embers into the stumps.”
She turned her head to watch the sun begin to set behind the hills to their rear, casting the crests and valleys in a deep amber light. “It’s unfortunate,” she said with a sigh. “He came down with a fever the day after he showed us how to refine the ore.”
“It can be easy to forget how fragile they are.” She nodded.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Xisa replied. “He gave us what little we needed to know. My craftsmen assure me they can puzzle out the rest, given time.”
“So the blade can be made?” Hura asked, glancing back to where a group of children played in between the rotating wheels of a pair of carts. Xisa followed his gaze to where the boy stood. He was small for one of their people and would have been bullied by the other children, already twice his size. But Paaken had Xisa’s protection. She had made it clear that she would personally skin any man, woman, or child that so much as laid a finger on him. So far, she hadn’t been forced to uphold that promise.
“Not now,” Xisa said. “But give him a few months to grow. By then, I’m sure he will jump at the chance to serve his tribe.”
“And you still think you’re the one to wield the blade?” Hura asked. There was a note of challenge to his words. In her younger years, Xisa might have accepted that challenge. They had been enemies back then, all the clans had. Things were different now, she had to tell herself. She couldn’t afford for her army to be divided by petty bickering, or everything she had worked to build would spill like sand through her fingers.
“I’m the only one strong enough, you know that.” She said the words
with such conviction, that even Hura nodded, the challenge she had seen earlier fled from his eyes.
She absentmindedly watched Paaken play with the others. Taking Sarierran was only the beginning. This boy held the ultimate power, the ultimate promise. The promise that would end this war: victory.
Twenty-Four:
Grith
Grith and Tain walked the grounds of Malgins estate in silence. The streets outside bustled with the day’s traffic, but behind the heavy walls and iron fencing, they could have been a world away. The only sound came from the birds in the trees above, chirping away, blissfully unaware of how dramatically the world had shifted. Grith felt drained, both emotionally and physically. Nothing made sense anymore.
Irrin, Master of Fort Tanally—it ruined everything, destroyed every theory and false conclusion that he and Tain had come to over the past weeks. They had thought of Hadan as the enemy, the man they were working to subvert, but now to find that he had been an ally all along…
“It’s just so hard to believe,” Grith voiced as they turned a corner that led to a pillared pavilion near the stables. Gardeners worked dutifully around them, trimming bushes and tending to flowers along the narrow gravel pathways that wound their way around the manor house. While the gardens might not have been as fine as those in the Pasha’s Palace, they were still impressive, full of life and color.
“The writ was legitimate. The seal was the Emperor’s own. Jionis confirmed it.” Tain sighed and gazed up at a tropical palm, swaying in the sea breeze. “It could all be some vast conspiracy, I guess. If I didn’t know better, I’d be tempted to believe it.”
Grith wasn’t so sure. He had been fooled too many times before, even by the man he now served, to take this new development at its face. “If that’s the case and the men who attacked Irrin weren’t sent by the Emperor, we should be trying to figure who they work for. Convincing the Highlanders to go turncoat must have cost them a mountain of coin. If we can trace it back-”
“No.” Tain shook his head. “Right now we have to get back to Ytem and warn Irrin. The army should be readying to leave the city as we speak. If we ride hard, we might be able to intercept them before they cross the Divide.”
“Then we’re leaving?” The truth was, Grith would have liked a few days of rest in the city. “We’ve been going nonstop for almost a week.”
“And we’ll go nonstop for a year, if that’s what it takes. Nothing is more important than the life of our charge. You should know that by now.” He gritted his teeth and lowered his voice so no one could overhear. “And now we can’t even be sure whose trying to kill him.”
“Back to square one…” Grith turned at the sound of footsteps on the path behind them.
Jionis came rushing forward, a look of worry on her normally stony face. “We must ride back to Ytem at once.”
“And why is that?” Grith asked. Tain had said he wanted go outside and get some fresh air, claiming the talk of politics bored him. Now though, Grith wished he would have stayed at the Curator’s side if only to hear what she had discussed with Malgin.
“High Lord Malgin claims that there are rogue elements in the Highlanders. Hadan has known about them for several months now, but has been trying to cover up the conspiracy while he is in Fanalkir.”
“So they’re the ones who attacked us,” Tain said. “We must have killed thirty, more than half the force that came to kill Irrin.”
“Even so, that means there are still more than a hundred left.” Jionis calmed herself and fixed them both with her normally cool expression. “They could be coming across the ocean as we speak, ready to kill High Lord Irrin and anyone else loyal to the Emperor.”
“But why?” Grith demanded. “There have to be easier ways to destabilize the Empire.”
“The succession,” Tain concluded. Grith shot him a confused look. Succession? Did he mean the succession of the Empire?
“There’s been rumors floating around in court for a few years now. And if you believe them… Hadan is dying.”
“What?” Jionis sounded as confused as Grith felt.
Tain shook his head. “He’s hardly on death’s door, not yet. It might be twenty, maybe thirty years away. But when he finally goes, we still don’t know who will succeed him. Some say he has an heir in mind, others say he still hasn’t chosen.”
“Wouldn’t he choose someone from his family?” Grith asked. “Like a lord.”
“But his family is thousands strong. And there are dozens with the clout to lay claim to the throne. I’d bet my left tit each one is vying for the position as we speak. They’d be fools not to.”
“So this ‘rogue element’ is backed by someone trying to influence the succession?”
“But why kill the allies of the man you are trying to influence?” Jionis asked.
“I don’t know,” Tain replied testily. “It’s just a theory.” He glanced at the Curator. “Are you done here?” She nodded. “Good. We need to leave, and soon. I want to be out of this city and on the road before sunset.”
* * *
They said their hasty goodbyes to Malgin, thanking him for his help. “I’ll be heading to the Front as soon as I wrap things up here in the city,” he told them as they packed food taken from the High Lord’s stores onto their packhorses. “There are gaps in the lines that need filling.”
“Filling, High Lord?” Tain asked, fixing the final buckle in place on his saddle.
“Word came in a few hours ago. The Emperor is preparing an expedition beyond the Front, the largest since the beginning of the war.”
“Tirrak! What for?” Tain put one foot in the stirrup and used it to lift himself into the saddle. Grith followed suit and almost fell as the pony shifted its weight beneath him.
“I think Hadan is getting tired of the stalemate. He knows this war needs to be ended for the sake of the Empire. If I had to guess, he will try and draw the Cutarans into one final battle. One where he can win a decisive victory.”
Grith nodded. “At least Irrin and Uche won’t be alone out there.”
Malgin gave him a withering look. He cursed himself for not using the High Lords’ honorifics. It wasn’t that he cared, but it would save him a lot of pain in the future if he could just remember these damn people all had titles.
“It’s a long journey back to Ytem, High Lord,” Tain said, giving a bow from the saddle. “I wish we could have stayed longer, but you know how things are.”
Malgin nodded. “Duty calls. Good luck to you. And tell Irrin I will send word if I uncover anything more of interest.”
“Thank you,” Tain said.
With final goodbyes, they left through the front gate of Malgin’s estate and exited into the city beyond.
Halflight fell as they maneuvered their way onto one of the wide boulevards that, if followed, would eventually take them out through Kwell eastern gate. Shopkeepers brought out paper lanterns and hung them on the doors to their shops. The small devices provided little enough light, tiny beacons in a sea of almost complete darkness, but somehow the men and women of this city managed. No one returned home, or slipped into taverns for a quick drink like they would have back in the Marshes. These people soldiered on, even when they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces.
Their party on the other hand, mounted as it was, was forced to stop. In the darkness, their horses could easily crush an unwary pedestrian. And besides, Grith could use the rest. His sleep the night before had been anything but restful, and he still felt the aches and pains of days already spent in the saddle. He leaned back and tried to relax. Halflight was only an hour, but if he had learned anything from his time spent in Tribest’s pike squad, it was to take his breaks when he could get them.
If only Tain would stop drumming his fingers on his saddle horn perhaps he could even get some fucking shuteye. The driving rhythm made him his hair stand on
end. “I thought horses would make the damn trip faster,” his teacher grumbled to no one in particular, clearly miffed at their delay.
The constant tapping, combined with Jionis’ renewed whispering was going to drive Grith mad. Still, the woman was a better traveling companion than he would have expected. On the surface she seemed cold, distant, and neurotic—not exactly a combination to instill comradery. But under her odd, slightly unnerving Curator’s exterior, Jionis had wit and a certain snide demeanor that Grith found strangely endearing. But when she got like this… Spirits! He wanted to throttle both of them!
It was a long hour before the sun peaked out from behind the Sky Father, bringing light with it and a return to relative normalcy. Tain kicked his horse into a trot just as the first rays began to fall on the flat spackled rooves above, anxious to be moving again. Grith followed, grunting as he felt his legs grow tight under the renewed strain of holding himself in the saddle. He entered the Deepening ever so slightly, feeling the pain fade to a dull ache.
The streets narrowed as they drew closer to the gates and turned from cobble to dirt on all but the widest boulevards. Here, many buildings—mostly tenements and warehouses it seemed—had been converted into improvised barracks for the thousands of Corrossan soldiers who called the city home. Even further, within the shadow of the walls, the original buildings had been completely demolished and replaced with purpose built homes for the soldiers. Out here at the outskirts of the Kwell, the uniformed men were nearly as numerous as the native Fanalkiri.
As they approached a fork in the road, Tain held up his hand for them to stop. There was a voice in the distance, Grith knew, louder than the others, although he couldn’t quite make out what it was saying. Kwell was full to bursting with people of all kinds, all of them hawking, arguing, and making idle chit chat. This was different. The voice was clear, sonorous, and distinct.
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