The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  She sighed, one hand on her hip, the other holding a rag. "It's how he amuses himself. I know he's mixed up with more than he lets on. Nothing as bad as his old friend Mikho, of course, but he's become even more important in our community since he lost his legs. A hub for information, you might say. A man everyone respects and whose opinion is often sought."

  Asho felt warmth prickle in his chest as he studied his mother's expression. She was watching his father, lips pursed in a tight smile, eyes creased at the corners, displaying such fondness and love that he felt a pang. Would Kethe ever look at him in such manner?

  Of course not. She was gone. Delivered to the Virtues. Gone forevermore.

  They finished their dinner and then simply sat together, talking, reminiscing, enjoying each other's company. Perhaps an hour passed, and then a man entered their cube, his pale hair pulled back in a simple braid, his expression stern to the point of harshness, his eyes flinty as he stared at Asho.

  A second man, just as commanding as the first, entered their home, followed by a third Bythian, and then several more. Seven in all crowded into their cube, each nodding to Zekko before turning to scrutinize Asho closely.

  "Everyone, thank you for coming," Zekko said. "Please, have a seat. This is my son, Asho. He's been gone a long time, but he's come to us with a request. An offer. I'll let him speak for himself."

  The seven men and women all hunkered down into easy squats, forming a semicircle. Asho rose to his feet, suddenly uncomfortable, unsure how to speak to these Bythians who watched him with such hard and evaluating eyes.

  "As my father said, I am Asho. I've been gone a long time, but I've returned with a request." That felt stilted. He was just repeating his father's words. He coughed into his fist and plowed on. "Freedom, for as many as would follow me. That's what I'm offering. A chance to escape Bythos. To get out from under the aurora, out beneath the sky."

  The seven shift leaders exchanged uneasy looks. One went to protest but then subsided after exchanging a look with Zekko.

  "I came back through a Lunar Portal hidden out by the Abythian Labyrinth. Lady Iskra, my liege, is in need of miners to extract Gate Stone. All who would follow me back through the Portal will be treated as free men and women."

  Asho wanted to curse himself. Their gazes were flat and he felt a flash of panic. They weren't regarding him as one of them. They were staring at him as if he were a complete stranger, not even a Bythian. Did he sound so foreign?

  "So, let me see if I understand you." That was Shabo, a gaunt and hatchet-faced man that Asho recognized from his childhood. The man must be in his forties now. "You've come to offer us freedom. Not because we deserve it, but because you need us to work for you."

  "I – well, no!"

  "That doesn't sound like freedom," a woman Asho didn't recognize said to the man beside her. "That just sounds like more work."

  "But you won't be whipped, or forced, or treated like animals," said Asho. "You'll be treated like equals. You will –"

  "Will this Lady Iskra of yours dig alongside us?" The same woman turned to regard him. She was young, barely older than Asho, her manner striking, her expression a blend of cynicism and amusement.

  "Will she – what? No. Of course not." Even as he said it, Asho's heart sank.

  "Not that equal, then." She rocked back on her heels.

  "Look." Anger gave him energy, quelled his fears. "This I can promise you. Your children won't be stolen from you at their Choosing. You won't be whipped. You won't be left to die by the side of a path on the Badlands. You will have privacy, you will be paid, you will have good food, you will have your dignity, and best of all, you will be contributing to the freedom of all Bythians."

  Asho felt a shift in their energy, in the way they were watching him. He hurried on.

  "My lady needs this work done, not for profit or greed, but because the Gate Stone – the magical ore we will be mining – will be given to the Agerastians. It will be used by their Sin Casters in their wars against the Ennoians. It will be used to defeat their armies, so that one day they will be cast down, and all Bythians will be given the choice to leave Bythos once they are gone. One day, all Bythians will be considered the equals of everyone else, even the Aletheians."

  His voice had risen in volume, and when he stopped, the silence was almost severe. The seven Bythians stared at him. He couldn't read their expressions.

  "You speak heresy," said the eldest man from his position at the back of the group. He was worn down by decades of labor, his hands curled into claws, his face so seamed that his eyes glittered from within its folds like gems hidden in the cracks of a cliff face.

  "I know," said Asho, his heart hammering.

  "If we do this thing, if we abandon our shifts and follow you through this Portal, we damn our souls to the Black Gate." The old man's voice was soft, not at all argumentative.

  "No," said Asho. "That won't happen. Ascendancy isn't true. I've seen it with my own eyes. I've seen Virtues act for selfish reasons, seen the Ascendant's Grace cheat death."

  The old man stood with a sigh. "Thank you for your hospitality, Zekko. It is always a pleasure to visit."

  "Thank you for coming, Shaykho," said Zekko gravely.

  Three other shift leaders rose and followed the elder out the door.

  Asho considered the three who remained. One was the young woman who had challenged him. Shabo was the second, and the third was a pleasant-faced man of middle years with inscrutable eyes.

  "I'm sorry," said Asho, feeling sick with helplessness and frustration. "You haven't seen what I've seen. You haven't been forced to change your opinion on Ascendancy like I have. It's not fair of me to expect you to suddenly turn your backs on our religion, our way of life. It was foolish – no, arrogant of me to expect you to do so just because I came in here and started speaking of freedom."

  They were still listening, at any rate, so Asho continued. "I believe we are as good and worthy as the Ennoians I have met. My father can speak of Lord Kyferin and his evil. All of you have seen how our overseers treat us. Do they exemplify the qualities that are extolled in the Tracts and Words of Wisdom? I swear to you that they are no more virtuous than we are, no more refined by the process of Ascension than any of us. They are petty, they are cruel, they are ambitious, and they are also as loving and generous and kind. They're people, just like us. Just people. Not better, and maybe not worse, either."

  Asho wanted to sink down and sit on the pallet. He felt completely depleted. "My Lady is offering to treat you fairly. If you work, you will be compensated. You will be treated with respect. And, no, you won't be exchanging one master for another. You'll be free."

  The woman raised an eyebrow. "Free to leave whenever we choose?"

  "Yes."

  "Even the very moment we cross through the Portal to this new land?"

  "Yes." Asho hesitated. "Though it's not a very kind land. You might want to come to the village of Hrething and buy some warm clothing and food first."

  Shabo and the other man snorted.

  The young woman rose lithely to her feet. "My name is Kanna. I will speak with my shift. I will ask them if they wish to follow me to this land of yours."

  "You'll come?" Asho wished he didn't feel so shocked.

  Kanna studied him. "Perhaps. I have many more questions for you, however."

  Shabo rose to his feet, rubbing at his jaw and looking over to Zekko. "What do you think?"

  Zekko shrugged. "Were I a younger man, with fewer regrets, I might follow my son as well."

  Shabo nodded. "My youngest and last daughter fast approaches her Choosing." He looked to Asho, his eyes glittering. "I can't stand to lose her."

  The third man stood as well. "I am Istefu. I have never been a particularly righteous man." Shabo chuckled, and even Kanna cracked a smile. Istefu spread his hands. "I too have questions. But if I like the answers, then, yes, I will speak with my shift as well."

  It was almost too much. Asho's mother ste
pped up and slid a stool behind him just in time for Asho to sink onto it. "Good. Ask your questions. I will answer to the best of my knowledge."

  The three sank back into squats. Shabo eyed Asho. "Tell us of this land. Tell us of its dangers. Tell us of its people."

  Asho took a deep breath and nodded. But he could tell from the way they were leaning forward, from the intensity of their gazes, that he had them. They would come. They would bring their people. They would follow him through the Portal, and they would bring to bear all of their mining expertise so as to extract the Gate Stone as quickly as possible.

  A new emotion coursed through him, one he hadn't expected, one he felt cruel and callous to have overlooked as a source of motivation: pride. Pride in bringing them this opportunity. Pride in helping them for their own sake, for giving them a chance at a new and better life. Could he consider himself a Bythian if he hadn't even thought of that value? And if not, then what, exactly, was he?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tiron woke to the sound of hammers and the calls of men at work, to the sensation of clean linen and coolness. He reached out, but the other half of the bed was empty. He rolled onto his side, reaching farther, then cracked open his eyes and looked over to the window. Iskra was standing there, a silk gown draped over her shoulders, gazing out over Mythgraefen Lake. Gray light filtered in past her, soft as a benediction. She could have been an apparition, an eidolon summoned by his dreams. He almost called out to her, wanting her to turn and smile at him, but checked the impulse and instead lay still.

  She didn't move. Her auburn hair was falling down her back in glorious waves. He recalled snarling a fistful of it in his hand last night, pulling back as he rode her from behind, both of their cries muffled though they both knew the Hold was aware of their relationship. There was no hiding such intimacy. He recalled the burning need to possess her, to brand her flesh with his desire, to make her acknowledge that she was his just as much as he was hers.

  And for a moment – panting laughing between their gasps, her turning her face to kiss him as he fought not to collapse on her – he had felt it. A moment of sweet, fevered magic. A balm on his tortured soul. He'd fallen over onto his side and pulled her toward him, her lithe body fitting against his own almost exactly as Sarah's had once done. He'd drifted into sleep then, the sweat cooling on his body, their breath smoothing out, telling himself over and over again: This is real.

  Yet now, watching her standing before the window, inured to the cold and lost in her own thoughts, he felt like a stranger. It would be the simplest thing to say her name. To call her back to the bed for one last stolen kiss. But what if she didn't turn?

  That moment of insecurity aroused his scorn, and he sat upright, knowing that the willow slats beneath the thick mattress that had been gifted to Iskra by the emperor would announce his movement. They'd marked his every thrust the night before. The bed creaked, and Iskra turned, her gaze sharpening as she returned from the distant shore of her thoughts and smiled at him.

  "Good morning," he said, and almost appended: my love.

  "Tiron." She stepped over and sat on the edge of the bed. Was her smile more fond than enamored? "You should sleep on. Rest."

  "With you in the room?" He leaned forward and kissed her, a light brush against her lips. "What use is sleep when my sweetest dream is right here before me?"

  "Your visit to the Skarpedrin Range has made you a poet," she said, her smile deepening.

  He felt a flush of pleasure. He'd only ever spoken in such a manner with Sarah. He leaned back against the headboard and took her hand. "No. It is you that brings poetry to my heart. But enough. If I keep speaking like this, you'll awaken the rest of the Hold with your laughter."

  "I fear they're already awake. The laborers began hammering and sawing before dawn."

  Tiron looked down at the gleaming wood floor. Where only a few days ago this room had been a hollow shell on the second floor, now it was habitable, albeit still crude by civilized standards. Three Agerastian tapestries hung from the wall and in the hearth a small fire crackled. "He's intent on securing your good will, isn't he?"

  "Yes." She turned his palm over and traced the lines, her finger lingering on his sword calluses. "Though I don't know why he's worried. It's not as if there are any other allies out there, just waiting for me to call and join them against the Empire."

  "I meant to ask you," said Tiron, who was very much enjoying the tickling sensation of her fingertip. "When we rode in last night, I saw what looked like a shrine in the courtyard. Some two dozen people were kneeling before it."

  "Yes." She folded his hand into a fist and raised his knuckles to her lips. "A shrine to Thyrrasskia, their medusa goddess. The Vothaks asked that it be raised."

  Tiron stirred uneasily. "I thought the cult a broken tool of the emperor."

  "And so it is. But one that has been deployed for nearly twenty years. I can't tell if the Vothaks have real faith, or are putting up a pantomime so as to inspire their laborers."

  "Hmm." Tiron moved the back of his hand over her cheek, then wrapped a lock of her fiery hair around his fingers. "So be it. What are your plans for the day? I had thought perhaps we could ride around the lake to a small clearing I saw on the way out. Perhaps just the two of us – some food, some wine...?"

  Iskra smiled regretfully. "That sounds lovely. But I have a meeting with the Vothaks shortly to review your report. They will be thrilled! Then I must review with Orishin the plans put forth by the Agerastian senate to resettle three of the mining towns so that they can begin operations immediately."

  "This afternoon, then."

  Iskra rose and moved to her wardrobe. It had been scuffed during its transportation from Agerastos to the Hold, but it was still an elegant piece. She opened it and began to rifle through her dresses. "This afternoon I'm expecting a delegation from Hrething. Kolgrimr is coming to learn the details of our accord with the Agerastians."

  Tiron fought a pang of disappointment. Four days he'd been gone, leading Patash's men in an exploratory trip to determine the safety of the Skarpedrin Range, a week during which he'd pushed the Captain's men as hard as he could, burning to return to Iskra's side, and now she didn't have time for him. Stop acting like a child. She is not a country widow. She is running a rebellion.

  "Very well," he said, fighting to keep his voice from becoming gruff. He stood, stretched, and reached for his leggings. "I'll – I'll inspect the work being done on the Hold."

  "Good." Iskra turned and beamed at him, a woolen dress of cobalt blue folded over her arm. He'd never seen it before. He felt a ridiculous pang of jealousy.

  Iskra must have noticed his expression. She set the dress aside and stepped up to him, then took both of his hands in hers. "Tiron, please understand. One day I hope you and I will have all the time in the world to enjoy each other's company."

  He felt the fool all over again. "Of course, my lady. There is much to be done."

  "Almost too much! I never thought I'd miss Bertchold and his crusty, particular ways, but I'm overwhelmed for lack of a steward. Praise the Ascendant we have Orishin. He's unfamiliar with our ways, but he is a quick study. I'd say he's almost as sharp as Audsley, and what he might lack of our dear magister's profundity, he more than makes up for in guile and lateral thinking."

  Did she praise him like that to others? He leaned in, kissed her again, then turned to pick up his tunic. "I would help if I could." But I can barely read, much less write legibly.

  "I know." She turned back to her wardrobe. "And you'll laugh, but this return to some comforts has me finally missing my ladies-in-waiting, too. Put me in a rough hall by a naked fire and I feel as independent as a commoner. Give me a mirror and a hairbrush?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shake her head.

  Should I offer to brush her hair? He used to with Sarah. It was one of his most private delights, to stand beside her after their son had gone to sleep, the fire dying down, and listen to her account of the day as he slowly brus
hed her long black hair. Not that it had ever needed much tending, but ah, the intimacy of that small gesture.

  No. Would he play her lady-in-waiting? Have dignity, man! He belted on his sword and then sat to pull on his boots. Iskra pulled on her dress, then selected a gorgeous embroidered belt to wind around her waist. This is intimacy enough. For her to dress so naturally before you. What more need you ask for?

  He felt his heart lift. "Any word from Asho?"

  "Not yet." She turned to the inside door of the wardrobe, where he saw a silvered mirror had been most cunningly hung. "My thoughts stray constantly to him, however. He must succeed."

  "He will succeed. They are his countrymen." It seemed a simple equation to Tiron. "And of course, nothing from Audsley, either."

  "No." Iskra's light smile fell, and she pursed her lips and looked down, adjusting her belt.

  Tiron resisted the urge to wince. Idiot. "I'm sure he succeeded in his mission."

  "Yes, I'm sure." But she did not sound convinced. And why should she? Audsley didn't know of Asho's ability to open the Portals. He had to think instead that he was desperately needed to open the Portals and enable communication with the Agerastians. If he had succeeded in his mission, he would have returned by now to aid them.

  "Well." Iskra turned briskly to him with a practiced smile. "Do I appear presentable to you, my dear knight?"

  "'Presentable' is too weak and faltering a word, my lady." Tiron tugged on his last boot, then stepped forward to kneel before her. "'Perilously fair' is more like it."

  Iskra raised an eyebrow. "Perilously so?"

  "A mortal danger," said Tiron, his pulse pounding in his ears. You sound like a fool. "To my heart, at least."

  "Oh, Tiron." She leaned down to give him a quick kiss, then brushed past him toward the door. "I will see you at luncheon? If I can? If my meeting with Orishin drags overlong, please, eat without me."

  Tiron nodded. "Dinner, then."

  "Yes," said Iskra, slipping on her shoes. "I believe we shall have a formal feast with Kolgrimr and the Vothaks to cement their friendship." Her smile became hesitant. "I may not be able to seat you by my side."