by Ben Peek
‘Things will be changing,’ her mother said, beside her, drawing her attention back to the now. Before them, fires were being lit in the camp. ‘Xrie and the Yeflam Guard will be leaving with Dvir. Captain Mills will also be going with half our force. I had to commit Kal Essa and the Brotherhood, as well. The force that remains here is to be led by Captain Oake. She is Xrie’s second in the Yeflam Guard.’
‘Why is she not going?’ Eilona asked.
‘Her right arm was badly broken in the evacuation of Yeflam. From what I understand, it hasn’t completely healed.’
‘She put off having the arm set properly,’ Caeli said. ‘Said that others had greater needs. A week after it was originally set, it had to be broken and reset again.’
‘Unfortunately,’ her mother continued, ‘Oake has more loyalty to Lian Alahn than Xrie does. That may become an issue later, but at the moment it is not. Our immediate concern is to ensure that you arrive in the Spires of Alati without incident.’
The Spires was one of the remaining cities of Yeflam. It was a city primarily of universities and schools. ‘Why would I be going there?’ Eilona asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. ‘I have things to do here. Mother, you and I haven’t even discussed the letter you sent me in Pitak.’
Muriel Wagan gave a small wave of her hand, unconcerned. ‘None of the bankers agreed to do it, did they?’
‘No, but—’ Eilona hesitated. ‘You were signing significant amounts of capital over to Lian Alahn. I was told that it was land you had spent most of Mireea’s capital buying. If the deal went through, you would be bankrupt.’
‘I needed his support,’ the Lady of the Ghosts said without pause. ‘But if he asks, it would be best if you told him the bankers were working on the deeds.’ She sighed. ‘I know how it sounds. It sounds like every bad business practice I have argued against. I even know that if it goes through, Mireea will cease to exist – and Alahn will push for it to go through for that exact reason. It is why you must go to the Spires. You have to argue for us while people still remember who we are.’
‘I’m not a negotiator, Mother.’
‘You sell yourself short. You will be a fine envoy to see who will help us.’
‘Help us do what?’
‘Make a new home. All I need is a city. Just one city. From there I can resettle our people from the Spine of Ger. Once I have that, I will be able to cut my ties from Alahn and gain some autonomy. But to do that, I am going to need the support from the governance in the other cities. I have to convince them to support the idea that Yeflam can be a collection of city states, rather than one nation under one rule, as Alahn wants.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. There simply aren’t buts. We have an opportunity here, that is all. If it slips past us, Mireea will cease to exist. We will lose who we are, if we do not succeed. I mean we, as well. Right now the number of people I can rely upon is small. I need you to do this for me. For your family. For Mireea.’
‘How will I even get to the Spires?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard they sink any boats from here.’
‘Olcea will take you,’ Muriel Wagan said. ‘She will pilot that wreck you arrived on. Caeli will go with you, as well. She’ll keep you safe in the Spires.’
Eilona resisted the urge to look at the guard, to measure the coldness in her gaze. ‘Will I need to be kept safe?’
‘Probably.’ Her mother smiled, but there was something tired in it. ‘After all, your contact in the city will be one of Lian Alahn’s sons. After he fails to buy your loyalty, I expect he will try to kill you.’
3.
‘Kill them,’ Se’Saera said. ‘But leave Aelyn Meah.’
Her arm was still in the chest of Kaqua, but it had gone so far through him that her hand reached out the other side, a gory trophy on display for all.
The image burned into Bueralan’s mind as the world around him became impossibly bright. Blind, he took a step backwards and dropped to one knee. He could hear sounds around him: shouts, grunts, sharp snaps and, strangely, a melody. The latter tugged at him, but its pull was not consistent, as if the tune was slippery and elusive to the singer. When he opened his eyes, blotches of dark swam in front of him . . . but through them, he could see the shapes of people and could hear voices crying out. ‘To the left,’ a woman shouted. ‘To the buildings,’ she cried again. To a defensive position, Bueralan heard her unspoken command. There had been nineteen Keepers, but now that Kaqua was dead and Aelyn was unable to support them, there were only seventeen.
Something bit Bueralan’s hand – the one that was pressed into the ground to help him keep balance – and, startled, he flicked his wrist; but as he did, he felt another bite. He blinked rapidly and rose. The song continued, but its call was even less compelling to him now, to such a point that he found it fading from his mind, a fact helped by the teeming mass on the ground, the ants and beetles that were emerging from the muddy ground in such numbers that the single step he took was as if he stood now on a new surface, one entirely alive.
A buzzing sound accompanied it. It came from high in the sky and Bueralan lifted his head to see a swarm of wasps descending.
‘Now!’ He heard the woman’s voice again but this time he saw her: slim, black-haired, olive-skinned. She wore a dark red robe. ‘Mequisa—’
Whatever she thought to say was lost beneath the screams of the slavers who began running towards the slave pen, their weapons drawn.
Bueralan’s attention fell not on the new attackers, but on Se’Saera and Aelyn Meah, who remained in the pen. Kaqua’s body had been thrown to the ground and his blood stained the white robe that the god wore. Yet she presented no threat to Aelyn. She appeared to be speaking to her as Aela Ren’s soldiers began to counter-attack. The swarm started to break apart as it fell upon the god-touched. Everything slowed for Bueralan and he felt as if he was watching the battle unfold in still images.
He saw the Innocent dart forwards and plunge into the depths of the Keepers, Zilt at his side.
He saw Kaze turn towards Taela, the god-touched woman reaching out a hand for the other woman, who had fallen into the confused insects on the ground.
He saw Taela push it away, heave herself up.
He saw slavers crash into the spot where Samuel Orlan stood with the god-touched. He could not see the cartographer, but the slavers fell beneath the blades of Aela Ren’s soldiers.
He saw the Innocent bear down on the black-haired woman, his old sword plunging deep into her stomach, a scream erupting as he did. But the scream did not come from her: instead, it burst from the mass of insects on the ground and in the sky.
Bueralan had never heard such a sound before. It echoed a human voice so much that he half expected the wasps to remake their swarm and to form into a figure. He saw Zilt leap into the air, a pair of knives appearing in his hands. With a twist, he brought both down into the skull of the woman . . . and as he did, the scream died. Another flash of light burst, but it was weaker than the first. When he opened his eyes, Bueralan found himself staring at Se’Saera and Aelyn, who had not moved from the pen. For a reason he could not quite articulate, Bueralan found the sight unsettling, and he turned, just as a sword came rushing at him.
He swept it aside easily and the bearded white Keeper in stained leathers who held the blade continued past him, as if he had not intended to kill Bueralan at all.
The man took two steps, then stopped.
Ahead of him, Zilt’s creatures had come out of the forest and now formed a ring of horrific, mutilated flesh around the fighting.
There would be no escape through that, Bueralan knew, just as the Keeper realized it. Even as the Keeper turned back to Bueralan, the saboteur found himself hoping that the other man would take the risk. He did not want him to turn around, did not want him to raise his sword towards him, and to lunge.
Bueralan parried the attack easily. Beneath his feet, ants and beetles crunched, but he kept his gaze on the man before him, on the emptiness in his gaze.
<
br /> It was a look Bueralan had seen before. A captain in a barracks had lifted her sword after she had returned to find her soldiers had deserted her, and that only saboteurs waited. A lord had marched out alone onto a battlefield. A teenage boy had picked up a crossbow and swung it on Bueralan the day an army invaded his town. Not a single one of them expected to live. Not one of them measured the life they had in anything but heartbeats and breaths. Yet, though they were reduced to such a limited time, not one of them contemplated surrender.
The Keeper moved quickly, pushing Bueralan backwards, pushing him into the people who were fighting behind him, into the battle that was quickly turning into a slaughter. The saboteur took three steps back, before he stepped to his left and slashed outwards with his sword. The Keeper’s blade caught it, but as it did, Bueralan pushed on, and before the other man could pull free, he jabbed his free hand forwards. His fingers grabbed hold of the Keeper’s leather jerkin and, with a sudden show of strength, Bueralan wrenched the man off balance and snapped his head forwards. He smashed into the nose of the Keeper.
It was not a pretty attack. It lacked the elegance, or the skill, that a blow from Aela Ren would have had. The brutality of it, however, caught the Keeper off-guard. He grunted, stumbled, and did not notice the second step that Bueralan took, the step that allowed the saboteur to drive his knee into the Keeper’s groin. At that, the man wrenched himself from Bueralan’s grasp, but as he did, his feet tangled, and he went face-first into the mud and insects. Bueralan’s sword followed, plunging down into his back, cutting through the immortal man’s spine with an ease that he would have not thought possible.
The Keeper tried to move, but Bueralan, his foot on the man’s back, pulled his sword out and then, as if it were an axe, hammered it downwards.
4.
‘Your signature is required at the bottom, beside the Queen’s.’
‘This is written in Ooilan,’ Heast said, after he took the parchment. The delicately transcribed words were a mix of black and red letters that read from right to left. Some he could recognize, others he could not. ‘I don’t read the language well.’
Tjevi Minala, the middle-aged, brown-skinned banker from Zoum who sat across from him, gave a small bow. ‘Of course,’ he said, from deep in the emerald-coloured leather of his chair, ‘my apologies.’ Behind him, a large window overlooking Vaeasa was surrounded by shelves filled with ledgers, books, scrolls and folios. When Heast had entered, the small, neat man, whose comb-over was as elegant as any he had seen, had pulled a folder from the collection and had laid it out before him. ‘I have had a translation prepared,’ Minala said now. He handed over a sheet of paper to Heast this time. ‘The translation was made by one of my employees, but it was approved by the late Zeala Fe. You will find that she signed both the original and the copy for you.’
The second sheet had the same, delicate penmanship as the first. The language, from what Heast had been able read of the Ooilan, matched the official tone.
‘Does something bother you, Captain?’ the banker asked.
‘No,’ he said, aware that he had barely shown an emotion. ‘I just read that Safeen Re would be taking the Queen back to Ooila. I wondered if she would require the Queen’s Guard to help with the journey.’
‘I do not believe so, but if she did, I am afraid it would be quite impossible.’ He paused and made an graceful wave of his hand. ‘Forgive me, I have presumed that you knew the intimate details of an Ooilan queen’s life. I try not to make such assumptions, but the history you two shared . . . I digress, I see. It is sufficient to say that should the Queen’s Guard return with Ms Re, they would be expected to take their own lives. They would be expected to begin their next life alongside the Queen, to ensure her safety.’
Heast would have said that he knew a lot about the Ooilan Queens, but he was surprised that he did not know that. He would have much to learn about his new soldiers, it appeared. ‘Everything seems in order,’ he said, reaching for the quill in front of him. ‘I do have another question, if you do not mind?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Why the paper and the parchment?’
The banker offered him a rueful smile that revealed a golden tooth. ‘All official documents must be written on parchment, but for copies, I am offered some choice. As my life advances before me, I have found that I prefer the destruction of trees, rather than animals, for words. Many have told me it is a sign of a weak stomach.’
‘I prefer paper, myself.’ He handed the sheets back. ‘It is my childhood, I suppose. Paper was more expensive then.’
‘It was similarly so for mine, but the rise of paper mills has made it much cheaper. In fact, I heard one scholar suggest that the rise of your profession’s fictions helped with that. They drove the demand that allows for more and more mills to be financed.’
‘At least the books are good for something,’ Heast said.
‘I have always enjoyed them, myself. Are you not a fan?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps I would feel the same, if others wrote books about bankers. Still.’ Minala dug into his files and pulled out a small strip of cardboard. A piece of blue twine led to a brass key. He held it out to Heast and said, ‘In the last weeks of her life, the Queen purchased a warehouse for you.’
‘What is in it?’ he asked, taking the key.
‘Items that a man in your profession will appreciate,’ the other man said. He paused and, for a moment, drummed his fingers on his folder. ‘May I speak freely for a moment, Captain?’ he asked.
Heast nodded his permission.
‘I fear that you are currently under the impression that your arrival in Vaeasa was unexpected,’ the banker said, ‘but I do not believe it was. I was called by the Queen to her estate over a month ago. In the very first meeting I had with her, there was no doubt in her mind as to whom she would be leaving her wealth. I will freely admit that I was concerned about this on a professional level. My outpost here in Vaeasa is not the most decorated post for a banker, and I have had my disgraces before. I shall not bore you with the details, but they were enough that I did consider telling the Queen that I would not continue with the work. I was – and still am – sure that I am the first and only banker she approached, and at the time, I simply thought she would find another to replace me. One, perhaps, comfortable with new scandal. And yet, as if the spies in my office could sense my doubt and predict my choices, I was summoned the following day by the Lord of Faaisha himself. I was assured that the Captain of Refuge would soon be visiting Vaeasa. I was also told, by the Lord himself, that he would personally ensure my safety, should there be any fallout from the Queen’s choices.’
‘Did he put that in writing for you?’ Heast asked.
‘Alas’ – Minala spread his hands – ‘he did not.’
Slowly, the Captain of Refuge rose from the chair. ‘You and I will just have to stand in the same field and wait to see if it is barren or fruitful, then.’
Outside the banker’s office Anemone waited in a small, but beautifully furnished room. She waited until the two of them were outside before she asked what had happened. He told her about the contract. The narrow lane the banker’s office was in fell behind them. Heast said that the neat penmanship had officially said what the First Queen of Ooila had said when they had met her: they were to kill the Innocent. Afterwards, they were to aid Illate in a non-violent revolution. There was no stipulation of time frame for the latter, but a failure to engage the Illate people in a meaningful way would end with the contract being terminated. The bankers of Zoum would have their people monitor that, he told Anemone, after she asked how anyone would know.
‘The bankers?’ she repeated.
‘They have a huge network of men and women who perform a number of tasks for them,’ he said. ‘We’ll probably never see who reports to them.’
Anemone was silent for a moment, digesting what he said. ‘What I don’t understand, is why the Queen is leaving you this money,’ she sa
id, after a moment. ‘To do so must be a great insult to the other Queens.’
‘It must,’ Heast agreed.
The streets of Vaeasa unfolded around them, the afternoon’s sun sitting behind dark clouds. There would be storms soon, the Captain of Refuge thought. Maybe before the shattered sun sank into darkness. The threat of bad weather was much like the questions Anemone had asked about the First Queen. He could see the storm of the answers approaching, but he was powerless against them. He knew that the remaining Queens of Ooila would see what Zeala Fe did and react in fury. The wealth she had bequeathed to Refuge was of such a scale that it would have consequences for her province in Ooila. A province that, from what he understood, needed to be rebuilt. Without the money, the Queen who replaced Zeala Fe – whoever, or however that was managed – would find her province’s finances in ruin. She would have to rely on the other Queens. She might even increase the pool of people she took from Illate to compensate for her losses.
Truthfully, Heast could only view what the First Queen had done as a gesture to her fellow monarchs, a final indelicate motion that left them with no illusions as to what she thought of them. With it, she had ensured that there would be no easy years for Heast and Refuge once this war had finished.
If, he corrected himself. The Kingdoms of Faaisha were turning into a world that was created from the word ‘if’ for him. Tuael had let it hang in the air when they had met, and it returned now. If the war could be finished. If he and Refuge could defeat not just General Waalstan, but the new god, Se’Saera, and her soldiers, led by Aela Ren, the Innocent.
The warehouse opened by the key Heast held was in the eastern half of Vaeasa, in a series of streets defined by square stone buildings whose doors had painted numbers on them. The roads that they flanked were wide, and along them moved carts, drawn by both horse and ox. Heast and Anemone made their way through the afternoon’s bustle, passing carts loaded with building materials, food and armaments. Most of the doors the carts stopped before revealed long, shadowed worlds of solid shapes that hinted at the organized, catalogued world of a city that was prepared for not just a long war, but a siege as well. The warehouse that the key opened was beyond those, at the end of a road with little sunlight.
