The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  And deal him a mortal insult? No. Turn toward the door. Attempt a manner at once saddened yet brave. Speak: Indeed, the poor zefir tree makes this truth known to all: even the most glorious spring blossom cannot last long in this fleeting world.

  Audsley found that his eyes had actually filled with tears, so forlorn was the demon's voice, so caught up was he with the poetry. He placed a hand on the door handle and turned his face away and whispered his lines.

  A single tear ran down his cheek, and he opened the door to go.

  Excellent! More pathos! Hang your head! Slowly – give him a chance to enjoy the emotion before being forced to call out!

  Audsley moved as slowly as he could across the threshold, feeling faintly ridiculous, yet the sudden clearing of the old man's throat caught him by surprise. The old tailor sounded profoundly moved.

  "No matter this blossom's fall, when amongst these hills its sad sojourn has brought it amongst the bright hues of leaves in autumn."

  Success! Now, none of your bovine beaming. Stand still, just so. Hang your head. Appear to be overcome with emotion. Now, carefully, go back into the shop, close the door, and wipe away your tears as if you wished him not to notice, but make sure he sees you.

  Audsley finally turned and stepped up to the old man, whose own cheeks were now wet with his emotion.

  "Come," said the tailor. "Please, do me the honor of taking a seat. In what manner does your flower seek to array itself with new blossoms?"

  The demon began a long list of requests, and Audsley dutifully relayed them: seven under-robes of different colors and fabrics, followed by fifteen garments for the middle layers; finally, twenty more outer robes, some of solid colors, others with subtle patterns that would only appear when seen in the correct light.

  The demon scrutinized each fabric as it was brought out, turned some down, had others changed from an outer to a middle layer. The tailor, Audsley was pleased to see, became ever more impressed with his selections, and when Audsley finally left his shop, the old man was nearly bowing as if he were the emperor himself.

  "Well!" Audsley rubbed his hands together with animation. "A resounding success! But wait." His face drained of color. "We didn't pay for the order!"

  It was a sign of his sincere respect that he did not request your payment now. He will find a way to gently remind you of how much you owe when your order is complete.

  Audsley let out a low whistle. "That is a first. I do believe we have earned ourselves a ten-course meal. Do you think your poetry can avail us of the finest dining as well?"

  Of course. The demon's scorn was dripping. But we are not done.

  "We're not?" Audsley's heart fell. "But we just spent almost three hours ordering clothing!"

  Now we need to buy inks, cards, papers, musical instruments, shoes, and perfumes. We do not have time for you to mix your own distinctive scent, so we shall have to hope we can find something of value amongst the most exclusive of vendors.

  Audsley's shoulders slumped. His stomach gave a forlorn gurgle, and he patted it consolingly. "If we must, we must. I suppose every soldier must spend his time in battle. Very well. Where to now?"

  During my day, there were only two stores from which any distinguished gentleman might purchase paper. Let us see if they still remain. Begin moving Sunward...

  Three days later, Audsley was riding in a palanquin toward the Miliaka estate, exhausted, depleted without measure, a trembling wreck of the man he had once been. Five times since his arrival, he had engaged in what felt like poetry duels with sneering men and women of the highest class, and each time he had conquered, uttering lines whose meaning often escaped him, resorting to imagery whose import seemed to hit his interlocutors like hammer blows while he himself felt only mildly moved.

  After each interaction, he was treated as a prince; the less he spoke or showed emotion thereafter, the more obsequious his hosts became, so that by the time he left their shops, he had not only failed to pay for anything, he often was laden with gifts and blessings without measure. Accommodations were arranged for him at a superlatively fine inn on the Fifth Circum, and his days since then had been filled with endless visits for further fittings and renewed inspections of his goods.

  Demon.

  The Aletheian man appeared in his mind's eye, stooped and patient, yet betraying a new arrogance he had lacked before. I don't understand. I have conquered the most exclusive haberdasheries, stationery stores, and perfumeries, and have done so without any letters of credit, character references, or even the need for coin.

  The demon remained silent, listening.

  Audsley struggled to sit upright, the bouncing of the palanquin making him want to do the exact opposite. But, how can this economy function in this way? If any man or woman can simply walk in off the street and requisition the most expensive of goods, what's to stop a host of charlatans or silver-tongued devils from doing the same?

  You are a passingly intelligent man, Audsley.

  Thank you. Audsley tried not to sound petulant.

  But you would never have been able to accomplish today's achievements without my help. You revealed to these merchants a wealth of culture. You were able to blend references to ancient poems with pleasingly apposite metaphors for each circumstance. You knew when to press and when to withdraw, when to be bold and when to weep. In short, you displayed the qualities of a truly refined Perfecti, the mastery of a pure soul, the acumen of one who has dedicated his life to the pursuit of cultural perfection.

  Audsley tapped his fingers on the windowsill, gazing out with a frown at the splendors of the Seventh Circum. "Quite possibly true."

  That very exclusivity of culture is a bastion which no pretender can penetrate. The only way to mimic a Perfecti is to be a Perfecti, which is why, bewildered as they were, each and every merchant treated you as nobility upon divining the purity of your soul.

  The palanquin reached the base of the causeway, and the runners turned to begin trotting toward Iarenna's estate. "I see your point. And yet... and yet... " Something within him rebelled against this delicate wall. He'd never encountered a defense so ephemeral, yet so intransigent. "But, then, if one must be a Perfecti to act as one, how did you come across such a welter of cultural riches? Do they compose Aletheian poetry in hell to pass the time?"

  The demon recoiled, his features growing forbidding as he sank into the back of Audsley's mind. I was exposed to these forms centuries ago and, being a superior being, absorbed them fully. A demon I may be, but even my mind can derive pleasure from symmetry, assonance, meter and rhyme.

  "Yes, yes." Audsley sighed. The demon's recalcitrance to discussing its past was a persistent nuisance.

  Leaning his head out, Audsley espied the estate hoving into view just ahead, its form a series of dark outlines as a cloud engulfed it. Audsley retracted his head just before his palanquin plunged into the nebulous mist.

  The servants' gate?

  No longer. Direct your man to the main entrance.

  "Well, that's an improvement." Audsley tapped his ivory-tipped walking stick against the ceiling of the palanquin, and in response, a slat slid aside to reveal his richly dressed driver. "To the main gate, good man."

  The driver nodded, and moments later they turned down the gravel entrance, the feet of the eight runners crunching as they slipped like a fish through a sea of gray. Beads of moisture formed on the windows, and Audsley recalled how the clouds had had the same effect on the glass panes of Starkadr's control center, that high throne at the top of the stairs that gazed out upon eternity.

  The palanquin was set down, and his door slid open. Audsley climbed out, scooping up his many layers of robes as he did so, and then let them drop behind him as he straightened. Seven layers of clothing had a strange effect upon one's sense of self; there was an unaccustomed stiffness to the assemblage, which both encouraged a finer posture and made Audsley feel as if he were in a play, costumed for the entertainment of an invisible audience watching him with c
ritical eyes.

  Pryimak hurried forward, bowing numerous times only to freeze when he realized who stood before him. Audsley flicked out his voluminous sleeves to full effect and stood still, gazing out into the cloud fog as the overseer drank in his finery.

  "Welcome, good master," stammered Pryimak, his confusion quickly disappearing in favor of decorum. "Our lord is yet absent from the estate. Might I offer you refreshments in the main hall?"

  Audsley gave a stiff nod, still not deigning to look at the Sigean. How strange! He, a Noussian, treating a Sigean as if he were a Bythian. But such was the lot of Sigeans; they lived only to serve in Aletheia, and in doing so, paved the way for their final ascension.

  Pryimak looked past the palanquin to the numerous carts that were being drawn up by placid mules, all of them an immaculate white. His eyes widened. "Will you be staying with us long?"

  Audsley inhaled and did his best to appear languid and supercilious. For effect, he examined his fingernails, stretching out his arm to gaze upon them from a distance. "That, I do not know. Is the Lady Iarenna in attendance?"

  Pryimak bowed deeply. "I shall let her know that you have arrived. If you will please come this way."

  Audsley pretended not to notice the overseer's glares and hisses as he directed his staff to spring into action, directing the numerous carts to the servants' square while, turning to bow every fifth step, he led Audsley up into the main home, through the double front doors, and into the grand hall.

  Nicely arranged, said the demon grudgingly. Audsley sensed him gazing around the interior of the house. Master Miliaka has a keen eye for restraint and decor both.

  The hall was low-ceilinged, its floor composed of parquet planks that glowed like honey. Refined tapestries depicting abstract scenes of clouds and mountain peaks lined the walls. At the far end was a stunningly beautiful circular window, the glass as clear as pond water, which looked out over a manicured private garden contained within the center of the home.

  Several house servants bustled in, bringing with them cushions, a low table, plates of small delicacies and steaming plum wine. Audsley felt his mouth fill with saliva, but managed to swallow without anybody noticing.

  Soon the tableaux was set, and Audsley lowered himself onto the cushions, flipping his trailing robes aside and wishing he could cut off his absurdly long sleeves. Should he lie down or sit upright? No doubt an elegant courtier would lounge, but Audsley's portly form made that too challenging a pose.

  A young woman entered and sat in the corner, where she began to play mournful notes on a wind instrument, holding each so that it quavered and then faded away. It was masterfully done, invoking deep emotion without being heavy-handed. A light rain began to fall outside, and Audsley sat, enrapt, eating pickled fruit and small wedges of cheese as he watched the leaves in the small garden dance in the falling rain.

  A side door opened and Iarenna entered, clad in a simple robe of white with cobalt leaves printed in an intriguing pattern across its form, a second layer of white beneath that, followed by soft yellow and finally a subtle rose.

  And? What do those colors signify?

  A hint. A possibility of more than is strictly decorous. That touch of rose is the color of intimacy and the heart; that she wears it at home with you while burnishing it with soft gold means that she holds you in high esteem, as asserted by the imperial white. Finally, the outer robe declares her to be your official host; the Miliaka birds are a signal that her father is absent and she acts in his stead.

  Audsley controlled the urge to shake his head in wonder, and instead smiled warmly at Iarenna as she sat on the cushions across from him.

  "Good evening, Magister Audsley." She was too educated to study his clothing openly, but he knew that she had taken in its arrangement, its superior cut and quality. Word would have reached her already of his arrival, his many carts, his rise in station. To her credit, she treated him just as she had before, with a sincere smile and a thoughtful gaze.

  "My dear lady Iarenna." Audsley wished he could give her a hug. After facing suspicious and hostile strangers all day, she was a sight to soothe the soul. "Thank you for allowing me to visit. Yours is an arbor under which even the most well-traveled pilgrim might find solace."

  See? I did that one by myself.

  The demon made no comment, which to Audsley's mind was high praise.

  "I'm afraid my father is still held in Sige by his business interests. I know that he will bitterly regret missing your visit."

  "To be honest and cast all decorum aside, I must admit that I came in the hope of speaking with you." Audsley raised his cup of warm plum wine and inhaled the aroma, then set it back down. He felt quite accomplished. "I have visited your older sister to tell her of our success, and she asked that I send her love and sincere gratitude for your timely aid."

  Iarenna nodded and lowered her eyes modestly. "It is almost unseemly for family to thank family for assistance. Especially when Kethe's rise has brought such glory on us all."

  "Oh?" Audsley felt unsure for a moment and covered his confusion by popping a small pickle into his mouth. "Do you mean her admittance to the Temple?"

  "Oh, no," said Iarenna, her eyes opening wide with excitement and surprise. "Have you not heard? Kethe participated in the Quickening to fill Makaria's place – and won."

  Audsley dropped his cup, spilling plum wine all over the table, then knocked over a number of small platters with his sleeve as he jerked his hands forward to catch it. The clatter and tinkling arrested the music, and the young lady set down her instrument to hurry over and help clear the table.

  Audsley stared at Iarenna, shocked. "What are you saying?"

  Iarenna met his gaze boldly, her eyes shining with pride. "Exactly what I have said. Kethe was chosen to replace Makaria. She is said to have collapsed during her final bout with the Virtue Mixis, and I have heard that she was gravely wounded in the fight, but such was her spirit that she was announced to be the new Makaria only hours later."

  "Gravely... wounded?" Audsley's mind spun. "So, she passed her Consecration? Oh, praise the Ascendant! But – but wait – why did the Virtue wound her so? Are they not all past masters of their weapons? Did he seek to kill her?"

  Iarenna lowered her gaze to her hands. "It is said that Mixis and Makaria were lovers. The death of the previous Makaria must have... stirred deep passions in the Virtue of Commingling."

  "Ah..." Audsley sat back, trying to absorb this information, his mind reeling. "Um. You're saying that our Kethe, the, ah, young woman we delivered to the Temple – she is to be the new Virtue?"

  Iarenna nodded enthusiastically. "I was unable to watch the Quickening, being of far too low a station, but I have asked everyone I know for details. She fought from Makaria's cohort, which is needlessly cruel of her superiors, but did so with incredible skill and ferocity. She defeated three other Consecrated before facing off against Mixis, and it's said that she manifested the White Flame in her final defense against his attacks! What better sign of her worth than that?"

  "This White Flame," said Audsley, reaching out to place a number of small, errant pickles back in their bowl. "What is that, exactly?"

  "It is the sign of the Ascendant's true favor," said Iarenna. "When the very power of the White Gate manifests externally, clothing the Virtue's blade in fire. Only Virtues can perform this feat. That Kethe did so while only a Consecrated... I have never heard the like."

  Audsley nodded, deciding not to mention the white flame that had engulfed Kethe when she fought beside Asho at the last – or his black flame in turn.

  Only then did it truly hit him. Kethe had survived. All this talk of Virtues aside, she had survived! A tremulous bubble of joy rose in his chest, and he squeezed his hands together, closed his eyes, and simply savored the pleasure, the delight he felt at her success. Oh, he had to send word to Iskra!

  Finally, he relaxed with a sigh. "That is the best news I have received since before my lady's banishment. Truly, what a
world! To think: little Kethe, the new Virtue of Happiness! It's no coincidence, then, that I feel such joy!"

  Iarenna bobbed her head, smiling right back, and looked to be all of twelve before her self-control reestablished itself and she sat up straight once more. "Yes. Truly wonderful news. Soon, perhaps, we will be able to visit her to give her our congratulations in person."

  "Yes." Audsley's smile grew stiff. Not with these demons in his soul, he couldn't. "Which reminds me. I've come on a mission of some grave import. I – well – I don't know quite how to put this. It's the kind of thing that there's no tiptoeing around, so I'll just say it straight out."

  Iarenna nodded her encouragement.

  "I have a unique talent – though the less said about it, the better – to detect, shall we say, corruption. And – brace yourself, this is quite shocking – I believe the Minister of the Moon to be deeply steeped in evil."

  Iarenna looked at him blankly.

  "I'm quite serious. I noticed it when I first saw him. Do you recall how I asked all those questions right after?"

  "Evil?"

  "Evil. Yes. Dangerous. Incredibly corrupt. Which is why I must get close to him to learn more."

  This time it was Iarenna's turn to gape at him. She stared, completely taken aback, and then finally caught herself and swept up a handful of olives, which she plopped into her mouth in a manner most unlike her.

  Audsley leaned forward. "I swear to you, Iarenna, that this is not in jest. I'm willing to risk my life in an attempt to get close to him. Can you help?"

  "Help?" Iarenna let out a helpless laugh and then covered her mouth, blushing as she did so. "No. Absolutely not. But not from lack of desire – I simply can't get anywhere close to the Minister of the Moon. He is of the First Rank! I might be able to see him at a grand festival or the like, but get close to him? Not a chance."

  "Hmm." Audsley sat back. "Not even if one were refined enough?"

  Iarenna hesitated, then shook her head. "Some circles are exclusive to those of high birth."

  Ask her if she knows of any famous widows. Any ladies of the First or Second Rank who have been bereaved for over five years.