“But she has this many against what? Seventy-thousand? They’ll be crushed.”
“Our armies are spread across two-hundred miles. If Xisa concentrated this force on one point along the Front, she might have a chance at breaking through.”
Kareen mulled the idea over in her head. She had begun to think of ways she could solve problems, instead of others. It had been a difficult thing to come to terms with, after years spent in the care of her father, but something that she thought was necessary to becoming an adult. She might only be sixteen, but desperation had turned her from a girl into a woman faster than she would have thought possible.
“We have to do something?” she finally said. Kareen and Livran were the only two Corrossans who knew anything about this army Xisa was building. They had to find some way to tell Emperor Hadan.
Yet still, some irrational part of her still worried about her family’s silver. It must have been taken during the raid, but what Xisa had done with the coin since then, Kareen didn’t know. She wondered, even after all she had been through, if Hadan would be expecting her taxes placed at his feet.
“We escape,” Livran said. “When we can.” He was staring at the front of the column, where a crowd was beginning to form. This new chief was approaching, and although Kareen couldn’t see her, she knew that Xisa would be there to meet him.
“Let’s go,” Livran picked up his pace towards the front of the column. He was stronger than he had been the day before. And as his body healed, so too did his resolve. She could see it in the way he walked. His stride was long, his gait confident. That scared her more than anything.
Don’t do something stupid, Kareen thought, hoping her feelings would somehow reach him through the ether.
They reached the edge of the crowd that had formed around the arriving chieftain. With so many tall Cutarans, it was impossible to make out the events taking place at the group’s center. “We should head back,” Kareen said. She didn’t like being around these people any more than she had to. It wasn’t their size, or even the knowledge that they could kill her at any moment that frightened her. There was something uncanny about them. It was as if when molding the first Cutaran, Tirrak had used the wrong kind of clay.
Livran didn’t seem to hear her, or more likely didn’t want to. He pushed between two massive warriors. They shifted without a word, staring down at him with expressions somewhere between pity and amusement. Kareen followed, keeping her eyes set on the ground before her, trying to avoid the gazes of the monstrous men and women.
She could hear shouting up ahead. The crowd went still, and any chatter stopped. “We’re a few rows back,” Livran whispered to her. “Just a bit more.”
A gasp went through the crowd, like the exhalation of some great beast. She could hear Xisa clearly now, speaking in Low Cutaran. Her words sounded like a challenge, daring.
“Tirrak!” Livran cursed quietly. With one final push he and Kareen stumbled out into the middle of a wide clearing. Hundreds of thin faces looked their way, many puzzled, others angry. Xisa gave the two humans a short glance before returning to her speech.
Before her was a lone man, easily two feet taller and twice as heavy. The chieftain from before. There was something on the rocky ground between them, an indistinct lump that could easily have been a pile of clothing. No, she realized. A body.
“The young man, the one behind the chieftain,” she said. “He must have challenged Xisa.”
Kareen could see the young Cutaran in her mind’s eye. He had been nearly as large as his chieftain, and more muscular. Had he known that Xisa was a Delver? If so, then what in the world would have possessed him to challenge someone with her “Gift”, as she had called it? Barefaced lunacy perhaps?
She could see the blood now, pooling beneath the boy’s body. The wound that had caused his death was hidden beneath his bulk, but she could imagine it, quick and brutal, as seemed to be Xisa’s style.
The rival chieftain hardly seemed fazed by the death of the young man, someone who he had undoubtedly been close to. His jaw was hard, his right hand tight on the haft of his spear, but more in challenge than anything resembling grief.
They cared so little about life, these Cutarans. How could there be stability among these tribes, when the struggle for succession seemed such a constant and violent affair?
Xisa took a step toward her opposite, gazing up into his eyes, seeming to tower over the man even if she was several heads shorter. She said something to him, so quiet as to be inaudible over the chatter of the crowd surrounding them.
The chieftain suddenly dropped his spear and unbuckled the shield from his arm. Those assembled were silenced as if a hand had been clapped over every mouth. Kareen turned her head to survey the circle of onlookers. They all stared forward, their eyes fixed on the tableau at the center of the clearing.
Kareen returned her attention to Xisa. The woman let a smile cross her face and nodded. The chieftain pulled something from a pouch on his skirt and handed it to her. Kareen wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw the glint of a jewel, or perhaps finely polished metal as the something changed hands. Xisa put that something into a pouch of her own and turned to face the crowd. She held up one hand and those assembled cheered. The other swept towards the weapons at the other chieftain’s feet. He rolled his shoulders and bent down to retrieve them, moving to stand at Xisa’s side.
“There’s been a transfer of power,” she said to Livran, as the crowd closed in around the pair. “That chieftain, I think he might have abdicated.”
“Or swore fealty,” Livran added. “In the days before the Emperor, the kings of Hadalkir would often end a war by forcing the rival lords to swear an oath of loyalty. This could be something similar.”
The crowd surged forward, nearly knocking Kareen off her feet in their haste. They lifted the body of the dead man and moved it on raised hands, taking it towards a tent where it was accepted by men and women who wore the various torcs, necklaces, and piercings of the healers who had worked on Livran the night previous. They brought the corpse inside, likely readying it for burial, or whatever passed for the rite amongst the Cutarans.
Xisa soon emerged from the crowd, her head held high, followed by an entourage of sycophants large enough that it could almost be considered a parade. She stopped before Kareen and Livran, waving away her followers with an absent hand. “My army has grown,” she said once they had some privacy. “But I still don’t have my steel.”
“Tason-” Livran began.
“Is recovering, albeit slowly, from the wounds dealt to him.”
“Wounds dealt to him by your men,” Livran hissed. Although tall, he still stood a head shorter than the chieftain. She positively loomed over him. There was no anger, no sign of aggression, but her mere presence bled menace in a way Kareen had never seen. For his part, Livran stood his ground, refusing to give even an inch to the Cutaran. The challenge could happen, here and now, Kareen knew. Livran looked ready. He was halfway into a fighting stance, and his hand twitched at his belt where his sword would have hung if he was a free man.
“That problem has been dealt with, as you saw yesterday,” Xisa said. “Their bodies are interred alongside poor Rish.” She shook her head wearily. “I hated having to kill the boy.”
“Then why did you?” Livran demanded.
“Because he challenged me for my position.” She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “As son of Chieftain Hura, it was his right. I had no choice but to strike him down for his presumptions.”
“Now I know why your people have never accomplished a single thing of note,” Livran spat. “You’re constantly at each other’s throats. If we acted the same way, our empire would have collapsed centuries ago.”
Xisa narrowed her eyes, but didn’t appear goaded by the insult. “No. Instead of fighting amongst themselves, as is honorable, your leaders force th
eir subjects to fight their wars for them. Until the Corrossans came across the sea, these people,” she motioned around herself, “were hunters, fishermen. They’d never even held weapons. They fight now because they must.”
“So tell me,” she continued. “Who is right?”
Livran didn’t answer. Just shut up, Kareen wanted to scream. Don’t make things any worse!
Livran turned, scowling, but Xisa grabbed his shoulder. He spun, batting her hand away. They were both silent for a long moment. Kareen felt bile rise in her throat. The air was thick with the promise of violence. When Xisa finally spoke, she did so in a slow, measured tone. “I have shown only kindness to you and your… companion.” She purred out the word like some enormous feline, clearly satisfied at her less than subtle implication. “And yet you treat me like this? You realize I could snap you and your friend’s necks and leave you both to rot here, and no one would even bat an eye.” Her tone never changed, never faltered. She could have been a merchant, reading off a supply manifest, for all the passion she put into her words.
“I do,” Livran said. It was his turn to smile. “But you won’t. You see, I don’t think you are as certain about my blacksmith’s recovery as you say. I think that you’ve realized you need a contingency.” He spread his arms wide. “And I am that contingency.”
“Yes, you are part of my plan.” Xisa shifted her eyes toward Kareen. Her bowels turned to water under that gaze. Something was wrong, very wrong. “But she isn’t.” The chieftain took a step forward and reached out her hand, grabbing Kareen by the neck with fingers that gripped her flesh like iron pincers. She managed to suck in one last breath before those fingers closed, cutting off her windpipe.
“No!” Livran shouted rushing forward in a fighting stance. Xisa held out her other hand, stopping him before he could make a decision that Kareen knew they would both regret.
“You saw what I did to those men yesterday. Don’t doubt that I could do the same to this girl.” Kareen pawed at Xisa’s hand, her rational mind overtaken by the animal instincts that take control in moments of life or death.
Help! Help! she mouthed, but the words came out as a croak. Blessed Tirrak! She was going to die! Images flashed through her mind. Xisa’s hand wrapped around the neck of the Cutaran from yesterday, her fingers sinking into the flesh, blood welling up as cruel nails punctured skin and tissue, and closed on the spine. If only her death could be so quick. Even such a brutal end would be preferable to her current fate: suffocation. Of all the ways to die…
“You won’t kill her!” Livran shouted, manic. A crowd was gathering around them now, taking in the sight. The Chieftain, the Warrior, and the Girl. It sounded like the kind of painting her father would have hung in his study. “You won’t kill her.” He spoke the words more coolly this time. “The other chieftains, your people—how would they react to you murdering a rival chieftain’s mate?”
“You think yourself a chieftain?” Xisa’s voice rose ever so slightly. “You hold a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”
Kareen could feel the fingers closing around her neck, tighter and tighter. She squirmed, trying with all her might to escape. But of course, that was foolishness. This woman was a Delver after all.
“I…” Livran looked to Kareen and then back to Xisa. “I…” Just do it, Kareen thought, all thoughts of their plan, of escape, fleeing from her mind. Please…
“I challenge you to single combat!” Livran yelled. Xisa’s eyes went wide and she let Kareen fall to the ground. She gasped out several ragged breaths and for the first time wondered how she could have ever taken something as wonderful as air for granted. She should have been more concerned about herself, as she had been in Xisa’s chokehold, but only one thought now battered against her mind. She looked towards Livran, standing before Xisa, hands balled in fists at his side. Even in his soiled clothes, with a bandage wrapped around his head, he was the embodiment of the noble knight.
Kareen tried to speak, tried to tell him to stop. He could just tell Xisa what he knew and all this would be over. But no. Livran was too noble for that by far.
“And why would I accept your challenge?” Xisa asked. She rolled her shoulders, the muscles of her broad back rippling beneath thick skin.
“Your honor demands it.” Livran’s voice had returned to something close to calm. Still tense, but with a touch of its usual confidence. “What would your people say if they knew their chieftain turned down a duel with a human?”
“You forget: they don’t speak your language. You could be commenting on the state of the weather right now, and they would never know the difference.”
“I thought about that,” Livran said. “It is a dilemma. But you forget that in two years of fighting, we’ve captured a couple of your people. Tough bastards, admittedly, not likely to give up information. But even the vaunted will of a Cutaran can collapse under the ministrations of an Imperial Questioner.” It was Livran’s turn to smile.
“They didn’t learn much of your language. Only a few words, but enough.” He turned to the gathered crowd. “Sheene es plisse!”
His eyes shifted back to Xisa, as chatter exploded amongst the Cutarans. Kareen didn’t know of what they spoke, but she could feel the excitement in the air, palpable, despite the language barrier
“Sheene es plisse,” Livran repeated for the woman. “I. Fight. Chieftain. Not poetry, Xisa, but I think it served its purpose.”
Xisa only smiled. But why, when she had been so clearly outsmarted? She barked an order to one of the women in the crowd. A moment later, one of her mates muscled his way through the chattering onlookers to stand at her side. He had donned his armor again, and carried his spear and axe with grim conviction. Xisa whispered a few words to him and he nodded.
“Jixxus here has volunteered himself to take my place,” Xisa said.
“I don’t want to fight your whore,” Livran spat. “I want to fight you.”
“I am a chieftain, and you aren’t even a war leader, not anymore. If I fought every upstart who challenged me, I would do nothing else. It is an honor to duel even one of my mates.”
“Then how about a bet,” Livran replied. “If I can beat this Jixxus, I fight you next.”
“If you can beat Jixxus, you will be free to go. Under the laws of my people, I could no longer hold you against your will.”
Livran grinned. “Then consider this something different. A way to settle personal debts.”
Twelve:
Grith
Grith woke to a sharp pain in his thigh. Spirits, it felt like someone had burned a hole straight through his leg. It took him a moment to remember that, in fact, someone had done just that. He could feel comfortable sheets against his body, a soft pillow beneath his head. He was in a bed, but where exactly that bed was, he couldn’t tell. He groaned, but the sound came out as a low, barely audible gurgle. He just wanted to go back to sleep, but the voices of the two men standing somewhere close drew his attention back to the waking world.
“I don’t care what he said,” one of them was saying. Grith tried to open his eyes to see who spoke, but the light coming through the window to his right was too strong, like staring directly into the sun. “He tried to kill us and he almost succeeded. Which matters more, empty words, or steel?” Grith recognized the voice. It was Tain.
“I still don’t understand,” the other said. “I have been a loyal servant for my entire life, as my father was before me. I sent troops to fight in the Autumn Rebellion. I denounced the rebels. I have done nothing to anger him.” It must have been Irrin.
“That doesn’t change the fact that those men bore the mark. A tattoo of a red and black knot on the inside of the arm. I know what it means. They were Highlanders, High Lord.”
Highlanders? Grith thought. Why would the Emperor’s bodyguards be here? Hadan was in Fanalkir fighting the Cutarans, and as far as Grith knew, and the High
landers with him.
“We should go to ground,” Tain continued. “Find a friendly lord and take shelter with him.”
“No one will shelter an enemy of the Emperor,” Irrin replied, his voice shaking. “Those Highlanders came for me. That much is obvious. Why? I don’t know, but until I get answers, we must consider Hadan an enemy.”
“But why assassins?” Tain asked. “He could simply denounce us. Make us enemies of the state like he did with Komay during the Rebellion. Every lord in the Empire would come down on us, fighting for the favor of the Emperor. The problem would take care of itself.”
“I don’t know!” The man sounded flustered. Grith couldn’t blame him really. There had been an attempt on his life. An attempt that had almost succeeded. “But what I am certain of is this. We need to go to Fanalkir.”
“What?” Grith could imagine the look of disbelief on Tain’s face. He would have made the same expression, if he’d had the strength. “We’d be traveling into the belly of the beast. The Emperor is in Fanalkir, along with seventy thousand soldiers, in case you forgot. We have less than a twentieth of that.”
“I have friends in the south,” Irrin said. “Uche and Malgin have always been strong allies.”
“And would they support you against the Emperor himself?” Tain had a point. How far could you trust your friends when the most powerful man in the world wanted you dead, and had already once moved against you?
Grith tried again to open his eyes. This time, he managed to hold his lids apart for long enough to adjust to the morning sun coming in through the window. He was in the guest room of an inn, the same inn where they had fought the night before. He tried to speak, but the words came out as a growl. His mouth felt like a desert, and he could still taste the liquid Tain must have administered to him through the night.
“Fucking Tirrak!” Tain cursed, coming over to stand next to him. He looked back towards the foot of the bed. “He’s awake!” There was excitement in his voice, the kind of excitement of someone who had just witnessed a miracle. Grith got the sudden feeling that he wasn’t supposed to have woken at all.
The Argument of Empires (The Corrossan Trilogy Book 1) Page 19
