Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  “I can hold it for three months,” Gorlym said, frowning. “I am not worried about Faradan, sir. What is outside will stay outside. It is the internal threat that worries me. Our forces have been divided ever since the Sisters emerged from the Heart and took the Night Market. I’ve heard that a third of the city would rise against us if those women attacked.”

  “I will worry about the Sisters. You worry about Ohndarien’s walls.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Footfalls pounded up the walkway, and both Krellis and Gorlym turned. The runner stopped just in front of them, gulping air.

  “A message, sir,” he huffed, “from the Citadel.”

  “Speak,” Krellis said.

  “Your offices, sir. Robbed. Three men killed. One injured.”

  Krellis’s eyebrows crouched together. “My office?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What was taken?”

  “Papers, sir. From your desk. Nothing else. No valuables.”

  Krellis’s face turned red.

  “Who did this?” he growled. The boy blanched and took a hesitant step backward.

  “The injured man said…” The boy hesitated. “But he must be mistaken, he is almost dead.”

  “Tell me,” Krellis raised his voice.

  The boy winced. “He said it was a woman, sir.”

  “The Sisters!” Gorlym hissed.

  The boy shook his head vigorously. “No, sir. A foreigner. Small, with curly dark hair and a powdered face.”

  Krellis looked past the boy, staring at nothing. He ground his teeth.

  “What is it, sir?” Gorlym asked. “What was taken?”

  Krellis spun around, slammed his hands on the battlement. “The Emperor’s fleet won’t be landing as expected,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

  “Sir?”

  “We are alone.”

  Gorlym looked at the boy, who had turned pale. The Master of the Citadel looked back to Krellis, his face grim. “What do we do, sir?”

  Krellis stood upright and stalked away. “It looks as though you may have to hold these walls for three years.”

  2

  BAELANDRA’S BLUE skirts rippled behind her as she stood on the edge of the Wheel and gazed out over the Night Market. Was this what Efften was like in her final days? Despite Ohndarien’s beginnings, she would never have thought to compare the two cities until this night. A seemingly unstoppable army stood at their walls, and treacherous magic flowed like a river inside the city.

  As she walked down the curving staircase, Baelandra reread the letter she had just received. It was from Prince Reignholtz, one of the most powerful rulers of the Summer Cities. The Sisters had sent Lawdon to him over a month ago with an offer of an alliance. As always, Reignholtz’s reply was brief:

  Lady Baelandra J’Qulin, Sister of Autumn, my friend,

  I have presented your offer to the Summer Princes, we are carefully considering the matter.

  As you requested, I will keep the young woman who delivered this message safe aboard my flagship until these dangerous and unpleasant times have passed.

  The silk merchant you mentioned in your letter was happy to pay me half the sum he owes you in exchange for absolution of his other debts. I will see that the young woman receives the entire sum when she comes of age. It should be enough to buy her the finest ship on the Summer Seas.

  I must admit that she is a spirited young woman, and not at all pleased by your decision that she be kept out of harm’s way. The ankle she broke climbing out a porthole is healing nicely, and I have transferred her to more secure quarters.

  Again I hope for a prosperous future between our people.

  May the sun shine upon all that you see.

  —R.

  Baelandra had read the letter five times, each time more infuriated at the shortsighted fool. We are carefully considering the matter. Didn’t those sun-addled princes know where Phandir was headed if Ohndarien fell? She knew an alliance with the Summer Cities was a long shot, but it still rankled to hear their oh-so-polite refusal.

  Baelandra reached the bottom of the steps. The streets were packed with Ohndariens practicing with weapons, fletching arrows, building makeshift barricades.

  Shara and her young Zelani owned the Night Market. Since Victeris’s death, Shara had taken the Zelani and made them her own.

  Had Baelandra been given the choice, she would have stopped Shara from creating her conclave of magicians, but Shara had graduated the males the night of Victeris’s death without asking anyone. After that, it was out of Baelandra’s hands. The male students initiated the rest of the females almost immediately. Baelandra couldn’t have stopped them if she’d stood in front of them with a sword. The young Zelani left their school and marched straight to the Heart. Those first few nights had sounded like a brothel.

  Against the advice of the Sisters, the young Zelani marched out of the Heart and took the Night Market the day Phandir’s army arrived at the Physendrian Gate. Krellis’s soldiers tried to retake the Night Market three times. Each time they charged across the bridges with sword and spears in hand. Each time a line of unarmed Zelani stood calmly in their way. One by one the trained soldiers tripped and faltered, dropped their weapons, and ran back the way they’d come, knocking their fellows down along the way.

  Before long, the Lighting Swords took it upon themselves to guard Donovan’s Bridge, and a group from the House of Summer manned fortifications facing the Market Bridge. After that, Krellis posted hundreds of soldiers on both bridges. Their little war turned into a tense stalemate.

  Krellis didn’t want potential enemies scattered all over the city. He was allowing safe passage across the bridges to anyone who wanted to join the tiny kingdom of the Night Market. Thousands of loyal Ohndariens had crossed the lines, but Krellis did not allow them to take any food or weapons. With every loyal Ohndarien that joined them, Baelandra’s love of her people increased, and their food reserves dwindled.

  She reached the Blue Lily, the theater the Zelani students had taken over after reclaiming the Night Market. She ducked into an alley and headed for the theater’s back door. A young student, perhaps thirteen years old, stood sentry.

  “Sister,” the young girl said. “Shara-lani is expecting you. She should be on the main stage.”

  “Thank you, child,” Baelandra replied, avoiding the young Zelani’s gaze. The feral look in the prepubescent girl’s eyes turned Baelandra’s stomach. It was a look that had become all too familiar lately.

  Every day the new mistress of the Zelani came to the Sisters with her plans. Shara suggested poisoning the enemy’s water supply. She suggested assassinating the Master of the Citadel. She offered to capture other officers and subject them to a Zelani interrogation. She even suggested causing a mass hysteria among Krellis’s loyal citizens. It was obvious that she loved Ohndarien. It was also obvious that she had changed.

  The Sister of Autumn passed through the door and hurried past the scenery and costumes piled in the theater’s backstage area. She could hear moans of pleasure from several different voices in the distance. The recently graduated Zelani practiced their art with a fanatical passion.

  Shara had certainly regained her power, but she never truly recovered from her revenge against Victeris. She was falling prey to the same power-hungry disease that destroyed the mages of Efften. Baelandra no longer recognized the sweet, spirited girl she had liked so much.

  “Shara-lani!” Baelandra called out, not wanting to interrupt their rituals. She had no desire to see what they were doing on the theater’s stage.

  Moments later, the curtain brushed aside, and Shara stepped through it, tying a robe around her waist. She was no longer the skinny, abused girl whom Scythe had rescued. Weeks of eating and practicing her art had made her radiant again. Shara’s dark hair was tousled, but her eyes glowed in the dim light. Baelandra’s heartstone throbbed as Shara approached.

  The sounds of passion continued on the other side of the curtai
n.

  “Baelandra,” Shara said. “I’ve just received confirmation. What we suspected is true.”

  The Sister felt a pressure on the outside of her skull, like a headache trying to get in. “The ambassador’s wife was in the city?”

  “Yes. I snuck into the Citadel and questioned Krellis’s wounded guard myself. I saw her face in my mind. There is no way the man could be lying. The Ohohhim stole the information they wanted, the letters Krellis was planning on trading for an alliance.”

  “You first heard of these letters from Victeris?”

  “Yes, we spent a great deal of time together before he died.”

  “Is there any way he could have lied?”

  Shara laughed. “No. That man was nothing when I was through with him. I destroyed him body, mind, and soul.”

  Baelandra turned away from the twisted smile on Shara’s face. A wave of nausea swept over her, and she wanted to throw up.

  “I see. So the Ohohhim know that the Lost Brothers are hiding the Legacy on the Cinder.”

  “Yes. I believe they will wash their hands of this little war and head for their true goal. Why do they want this Legacy? What is it?”

  Baelandra swallowed, she noticed the heartstone pendant she’d given Shara was no longer around Shara’s neck. “The Legacy is a weapon of terrible power. A curse. The absolute worst that the sorcerers of Efften ever created.”

  Baelandra paused, searching the uncaring expression on Shara’s face. “I can only hope the Ohohhim want it for the same reason the Brothers want it, to keep it away from everyone else.”

  Shara raised an eyebrow as if she highly doubted that possibility. “How could we turn this information to our advantage?” she asked. “Could we bring the Legacy here and trade it for the Ohohhim’s assistance?”

  “No!” Baelandra said. “It must not be brought here.”

  Shara eyed the Sister, her lips pursed.

  “Trust me, Shara. I would rather see Ohndarien fall.”

  “Very well.” She pointed to the roll of parchment in the Sister’s hand. “Is that a message for me?”

  Baelandra handed her the letter. “No, but I wanted you to read it. If nothing else, at least Lawdon is safe.”

  BAELANDRA RETURNED to the Autumn Palace. She needed some time alone in her chambers to decide what should be done about Shara. She desperately wanted to help the girl, but she couldn’t afford to blunt her best weapon.

  As she stepped through the door, a man cleared his throat.

  “Scythe!” she exclaimed, almost rushing to him, but she held herself back.

  He stood in the corner, dusty and dirty. The knee of his loose pants was torn all the way down to his boot. A thin cut above his thick black eyebrow had crusted shut, but he stood there as strong as ever.

  The Sister of Autumn crossed to him in a stately walk and took his hands in hers. Despite their years together, there was always a line that she could not cross.

  “It is good to see you again, my friend,” she said. “You are a hard man to worry about, but still I manage. Where is Brophy?”

  Scythe’s lips pressed together, and Baelandra’s heart skipped a beat. “No,” she whispered. Her knees quivered and Scythe was there, holding her up, keeping her steady.

  “No,” Scythe said. “Phandir threw him into the Wet Cells.”

  “But he lives?” she said, glancing into Scythe’s dark eyes.

  “He was alive when I left him. Who knows how long he will last down there. A month at most. Perhaps only days.”

  “Brophy is strong,” she said, but her insides ached at the news.

  “He was a broken man when I left him.”

  “Oh Scythe…” She began to shake. “How? How did it happen?”

  “You would have been proud of him, my lady,” Scythe said. The assassin’s voice became husky. “He won the Nine Squares championship. He was a lion among jackals. They tried to kill him, they rigged the game, they cheated him at every turn, and he bested them all. All save one.”

  “Who?”

  “Ossamyr. He fell in love with the queen. I knew she would try for him, I did not know he would fall so readily to her charms.”

  “He’s just a boy, Scythe,” she whispered.

  “I know. I warned him. But it is beyond me to undo the workings of the heart,” he said in a flat tone.

  Baelandra looked down, her auburn hair falling across her face. She nodded. In a quiet voice, she asked, “How did she betray him?”

  “In every way. She dashed his hopes in front of everyone.” He paused.

  “What, Scythe? Tell me.”

  He cleared his throat. “I do not know if he will ever come back. I tried to rescue him. We would easily have made our escape, but he lay down to die right there in the middle of the street.”

  Baelandra put a slender hand over her mouth and turned away. After a moment, she took a deep breath and set her jaw. She would not give up her brother’s son so easily.

  “We have to try. We have to find a way to get him out.”

  “We would have to carry him—”

  “Then we carry him,” she said.

  He nodded and fell silent. Finally, he said, “Phandir would trade him for the city’s surrender.”

  Baelandra didn’t know which was worse, that Scythe would suggest such a thing or that she actually paused to consider it. “You know I can’t do that,” she finally said.

  “Then our only option is an escape. As far as I know, only one man has ever broken anyone out of the Wet Cells.”

  They stared at one another in silence for a long moment. Baelandra bowed her head.

  “Krellis,” Baelandra finally said, closing her eyes.

  “Krellis,” he echoed.

  BAELANDRA, SHARA, and Scythe waited for Krellis on Donovan’s Bridge. Faedellin and the Lightning Swords had gathered behind them. Gorlym stood at the apex of the bridge’s arc, fifteen feet away from the trio. As though intentionally creating a mirror image, Gorlym’s soldiers gathered behind him on the shores of Southridge.

  Baelandra wore her council robes, red and orange for the falling leaves. Her auburn hair flickered like a fire in the breeze. Shara stood to her left, her long blue dress smooth and perfect. Her black hair shone in the sunlight, fanning behind her like a curtain. The silver Zelani chain with its beautiful sapphire sparkled at her hip, trapping her gown at the waist and drawing attention to the curve of her legs.

  Baelandra’s heartstone pulsed, and she shifted uncomfortably. She reached two fingers through the buttons on the front of her dress and touched the diamond shard embedded in her flesh. Krellis was close.

  “Remember,” she murmured to Shara and Scythe, “we don’t want violence.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Shara replied, her narrowed eyes burning a hole through Gorlym. Syrol, Gorlym’s Zelani, had abandoned him when Shara killed Victeris. Shara seemed to take it personally that a Zelani had once served Krellis’s second-in-command.

  “I still say we kill the man,” Scythe said in his quiet voice. “His soldiers are trapped in this city just as we are. If Krellis dies, they will fight for you just as they fought for him.”

  “Or they would revolt, throw open one of the gates, and take their chances in Physendria or Faradan,” Baelandra said curtly. “No. This internal conflict can only weaken us. Morale is already low. You cannot predict what another fracture in leadership would cause.”

  “And if he doesn’t agree to your demands?” Scythe asked.

  Baelandra stayed silent for three heartbeats. “Then we kill him and take our chances,” she said. Scythe gave a thin smile and turned his gaze forward again.

  Krellis stepped through his army of soldiers and crossed the bridge to stand beside Gorlym.

  Scythe moved his hand to the pommel of his sword. Baelandra could ask almost anything of him, but she couldn’t make him be civil toward Krellis. Only his oath kept him from leaping upon the huge Physendrian.

  Sometimes, during her worst day
dreams, she saw the inevitable battle between them, but never to the end. She could not guess who would win if their swords ever crossed.

  Krellis said something to Gorlym, then walked alone to the center of the bridge. He stopped just short of the trio.

  “Baelandra, Shara.” Krellis inclined his head to both of them, but his lip curled as he turned his gaze to Scythe. The Brother of Autumn snorted and looked back at Baelandra.

  “Krellis.” She inclined her head gravely.

  “You sent for me.” The big man tapped his chest.

  She nodded. “I want to offer an alliance for the defense of Ohndarien against her common enemies.”

  He frowned. “What are your terms?”

  “We offer you complete command of the armies and the treasury. We offer the services of fifteen full-fledged Zelani to aid your senior officers. We offer a unified front to face our enemies.”

  “And what do you ask in return?”

  “The council will be reinstated. The four Sisters will handle the distribution of food and other domestic matters.”

  “And after the battle is over?” Krellis asked.

  “We offer Ohndarien’s aid in your quest to regain the Physendrian throne, free passage for Physendrian ships through our locks, and a long-term alliance between our people.”

  “Meaning I am no longer an Ohndarien in your eyes?” He gave a mirthless smile.

  “Were you ever?” she asked.

  “I see. You are starving, and you offer me the privilege of feeding you. You are surrounded and outnumbered and you offer me the promise of future conquest. I am not impressed.”

  “We offer you friendship in a time when you desperately need friends,” she said.

  He laughed, a short, sharp bark. “I need troops and supplies, not aged councilors, hungry peasants, and arrogant whores.”

  “How long do you think it would take for my Zelani to cut the throats of your officers?” Shara breathed.