The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  The palanquin was set down and Pryimak stepped toward it, a canopy held above his head by two unfortunate servants.

  "Magister Audsley," said the overseer with alarming humility. "Lady Iarenna respectfully requests the honor of your presence."

  "Oh, um, she does? But of course. I am ever, as you no doubt know, her obliging servant. In all matters."

  Pryimak nodded his head solemnly. "Please, this way."

  Audsley stepped under the canopy, and together they hurried across the gravel to Iarenna's veranda. The screen door was stood open, and Audsley entered quickly, removing his shoes and spectacles as he did so. He dried his glasses on one of his many interior robes, then placed them on the bridge of his nose and smiled in a manner that he hoped was not entirely fatuous.

  "My dear lady – Iskra?"

  His voice rose half an octave in surprise. For indeed it was she, Iskra Kyferin, clad in somber traveling clothes, her auburn hair bound in a simple braid, her face stark with emotion, her eyes large with barely restrained grief. She was sitting across a low table from Iarenna, whose maids were seated along the back wall, all of them alert and fairly quivering with tension.

  "Audsley." Iskra rose. What had happened? It was as if the skin had tightened around her skull, making its angularities more prominent. "Thank the Ascendant you've come. I was worried my visit would be in vain."

  "You came in search of me?" Audsley cast Iarenna a troubled glance, but received no comfort from her. Iarenna was clearly upset as well. "What has happened?"

  Iskra gestured, and Audsley sat down between the two sisters. Iskra lowered herself back down onto her cushion. "My son is dead, Audsley." The words were harshly spoken, as if Iskra sought to spare herself no pain, disdained hiding from the horrific truth. "Killed by Jander Wyland during our assault on Castle Kyferin."

  Audsley rocked back and raised both hands to cover his mouth. "No! He wouldn't. But why? Ser Wyland is a good man – isn't he? Oh, Iskra, I'm so sorry."

  These lines would be appropriate now, whispered the demon. Repeat: When the –

  Silence, snarled Audsley, and the demon fell quiet.

  His concern seemed to be undoing Iskra's self-control. Her throat bobbed, and she blinked rapidly. "Wyland sought to break my will. No doubt in furtherance of Lord Laur's plans. I can only imagine that they would have eventually used Roddick against me so as to force me to quit the field. Wyland simply executed Mertyn's plan sooner than expected."

  "Lord Laur –?" Audsley felt as if he were lagging behind the conversation, each revelation stopping him in his tracks. "His own nephew?"

  Iskra nodded. "I now seek revenge. I will have Mertyn's head for this crime. None of this would have happened without his betrayal. Toward that end, I must take Laur Castle while the Ascendant's Grace is visiting."

  "Take – oh, my. But isn't it terribly defended? Replete with every nasty martial thing under the sun?" Audsley fought the urge to wipe his spectacles again. "And – and I thought the plan was to take Aletheia by surprise? Won't conquering Kyferin and Laur Castle tip your hand as to our newfound abilities?"

  "Perhaps." Iskra raised her chin. "But I will avenge Roddick. Mertyn will pay for his crimes."

  Audsley sighed and sat back. "I see. Of course. Of course. So, it is to be a siege?"

  "Not if I can avoid it," said Iskra. "Our forces are depleted. The Agerastian army we rescued from Otran is near collapse. Our Hrethings have had grave losses. The Vothaks are also reeling from their sacrifices. I cannot risk a protracted siege."

  Audsley blinked. Again, he glanced at Iarenna. The younger sister had lowered her gaze to her cup of tea. "Then...?"

  "Audsley." Iskra seemed to steel herself. "I've come to ask you a very personal favor." Iarenna seemed to have been waiting for this moment, for she turned and nodded to her maids. The four women rose silently and filed out of the room, closing an internal door behind them.

  Alarmed, Audsley waited, trying to imagine how he could help. "Yes?" Perhaps a diplomatic overture?

  "We need to bypass Castle Laur's defenses. Asho told me how you fought alongside him at Mythgraefen against the demon lord."

  "Oh, right." Audsley did remove his spectacles then, and rubbed them furiously on the hem of his damp robe. "Quite. Yes."

  "He told me that you flew. That you threw great bolts of fire. We have danced around this subject, but the time has come to speak candidly. You did not wield the instruments of the Starkadr Sin Casters. How were you able to do this?"

  Audsley felt the demons in the back of his mind writhe in consternation. It was akin to the sensation of maggots roiling in the belly of a dead toad. He blanched.

  Reveal our presence and we all die, growled the Zoeian demon.

  Dissemble. Buy time, step outside, and flee, urged the Sigean demon.

  Fools, sighed the Aletheian demon. You waste your words.

  Audsley placed his spectacles back on the bridge of his nose and sat very straight. "I, ah, very nearly died while fighting the demon in the bowels of Starkadr. It, well, it was really quite gruesome what it did to me, and doesn't bear describing, but I was dying. Of that, there can be no doubt." The memory of Lania pulling his intestines out of his body made him break into a sweat, and his stomach cramped. "The, ah, demons inside the tools crafted by the Artificers spoke to me. I was wielding their powers through the tools, but they offered me a bargain. Allow them into my mind, and they would heal my body."

  Audsley couldn't bear to meet the women's eyes. He stared down at the flame of the sole candle on the table. "I accepted. Lania – the demon, that is – was trying to free the demons bound in the bowels of Starkadr. I couldn't let that happen. So I accepted, and they healed me, and I destroyed Lania, and, well, now I have three unwelcome houseguests ensconced within my skull."

  He grimaced and looked up. "So, yes. I can fly, and shoot flame from my hands, and even see in the dark if pressed. I've, um, simply chosen not to, since that fight. For fear of my immortal soul, and all that." He gave a little wave. "You know."

  Iarenna was gaping at him, and he ducked his head and again covered his mouth with his fingers. "Oh. That's right. You, ah, didn't know about Starkadr. And, um, the demons. Or did you?"

  "No," whispered Iarenna. "Starkadr? The Sin Casters' stonecloud?"

  Audsley shrugged apologetically. "It's not nearly as nice as the legends make it out to be."

  Iarenna let out a startled laugh, froze, then laughed again.

  "Is that why you agreed to come to Aletheia so easily?" Iskra's voice cut through her sister's helpless mirth.

  Audsley sighed. "Yes. I had entertained vague hopes of a cleansing. Who knows. But, then, the Minister of the Moon – and events took on a life of their own."

  "Audsley." Iskra leaned forward. "I need you to fly over Laur Castle's wall and open a postern gate. I will have soldiers ready to enter the moment you do."

  "Oh, dear." Audsley tried to imagine it and shook his head. "You make it sound so very simple."

  "It will be," said Iskra firmly. "There is no magic in Ennoia. The Vothaks have only ever thrown black fire, and Lord Laur will thus not expect an attack from above. You are the only one who can do this. Will you help me?"

  Audsley felt something twist within him – part fear, part horror at what he was about to do, but then he laughed weakly and smiled a broken smile at Iskra. "Need you ask? My dear, dear Iskra. Of course I will. Was there ever any doubt?"

  "Oh, Audsley. You are a true friend. Thank you." She took his hands in both of hers, her eyes glimmering with tears. "Thank you."

  "Yes, well, we magisters – you know how it is. Terrific training. Grueling apprenticeships, covering everything from the ordering of libraries to the nocturnal infiltration of enemy castles. All in a day's work, really."

  Iskra didn't laugh, but her smile was reward enough. How could she be bearing up under that grief? He'd seen for himself how her single-minded devotion to Roddick and Kethe had given her the strength to achieve the
impossible. What an incredible woman.

  "One question," said Audsley. "The Grace. Do you, ah, have plans for him?"

  "No overt ones. Mertyn is my target. But the Grace has shown himself to be corrupt. Asho's own testimony proves him so. If he intercedes, I will not hesitate." Iskra paused. "Do you object?"

  Audsley bit the inside of his cheek worriedly. Everything within him wanted to protest, to prevent such sacrilege. To even consider it made him feel nauseous. But then again, Asho had seen the Grace take an illicit potion, and Audsley knew for a fact that the upper echelons of Ascendancy were corrupt.

  "I will reserve judgement, for now." He looked at the table. "When I see the Grace, and I have a better sense of where he stands. But this is all so horribly confusing. Can we absolutely attempt to avoid as many unnecessary deaths as possible?"

  Iskra nodded gravely. "I have only one goal. Mertyn. I hope to spare all others."

  "Good." Audsley sat up straight. "Oh! Kethe! Iarenna, did you tell her? Kethe is a Virtue!"

  "Yes!" Iskra laughed, incredulous and wondering all at once. "I can't believe it. But then again, why not? My little Kethe, the Virtue of Happiness. Never was a Virtue so well-named. The happiness it has brought me is without measure."

  Iarenna beamed. "I will be speaking with her soon. I've been summoned to the Temple to speak with the Virtues. I go tomorrow morning. No doubt it's Kethe who has asked for me. Shall I give her a message?"

  "Yes," said Iskra. "Actually, I would have you deliver a note. May I write something down?"

  "Write something down?" Audsley slapped his stomach loudly. "Oh, my dear Iskra, you are speaking to the right man! I have hundreds of different card types. Oval, rectangular, undulating, star-shaped, coarse, fine; ivory, red, green, magenta, olive, or silver? Do you want it scented? Have a plant, sprig, or branch affixed? I tell you true, I can do it. I have an entire office hidden in several chests in my quarters. I have become a veritable treasure trove for calligraphy enthusiasts and devotees of paper."

  Audsley paused, blinked, and realized that both women were staring at him. "What?"

  "Actually," said Iskra, looking him up and down. "When did you develop such a rarefied taste in fashion? You look almost unbearably sophisticated." She hesitated. "Gray for melancholy, or perhaps iron for resolve? An interplay of both. Brown for groundedness, being of the earth, a man with his feet on the ground, which is then undercut by silver for the moon, for dreams, for madness and magic? A modest light green for youthful energy, and is that rose? Audsley." Iskra blinked. "Were you on a romantic assignation?"

  "Oh, you know." Audsley coughed, wishing for an overcoat. Confound these robes! "Just, ah, a night out on the town, as it were. A little, ah, investigating of potential avenues that might lead me to the Minister of the Moon."

  "Potential avenues," echoed Iarenna, her voice deadpan.

  Audsley blushed. Was she mocking him? Wait. Was she accusing him of metaphors? "I – ah – you could say that I was – how did he put it? Rooting for truffles, that is all, or seeking to, as they say, um, under the light of the celestial moon –"

  Both women began to smile, and as he continued to bluster and seek to defend himself, they dissolved into silent laughter. For the first time, Audsley was struck by the similarity between the two sisters. He stopped, blushing still, but pleased with himself that he'd been able to amuse Iskra in her moment of woe.

  "Well." Iskra straightened, still smiling, and pressed the base of her palm to the corner of her eye. "Do you think your investigations can wait two days? I have need of you tomorrow night."

  "Yes. Yes, of course. I'll just toss off a quick line of poetry to appease the widow. On – let's see. One moment."

  What kind of paper?

  Vellum, muttered the demon. Silver. Black ink. Juniper perfume.

  "On silver vellum, of course," said Audsley carelessly. "Black ink, with a hint of juniper to underscore my intent."

  Iarenna and Iskra exchanged a look.

  "Oh, he is good," said Iskra. "Watch out, little sister. Magister Audsley is on the prowl."

  "Prowl?" Audsley waved his hands frantically. "Hardly! You make me out to be some kind of common womanizer, hunting the streets –"

  Iarenna cut in smoothly. "You mean investigating potential avenues?"

  "I – yes, precisely. I mean, pardon me?"

  Both women shook with laughter again, Iarenna covering her eyes, Iskra looking at him with affection and bemusement.

  "Yes, go on, laugh at your poor suffering magister." Audsley couldn't help but smile. "I don't know how I'm to get the Red Rowan widow to take me seriously if I can't speak two sentences without you both collapsing into the most unseemly titters."

  "Oh, Audsley," said Iskra, rising to her feet. "You are priceless." She turned to Iarenna. "My dear sister, I can't thank you enough. I will pen my note to Kethe, and then I must depart. But I will see you again soon."

  Iarenna came around the table and hugged Iskra tightly. "Of course. I only lament that Father wasn't here to greet you."

  Iskra pulled back. "That's just as well. I'm not sure how flexible his allegiance to the Ascendant might be. Audsley, will you lead me to your study?"

  "At once, my lady." Audsley bowed solemnly. "We can write our notes together. It will be just like being back at the university in Nous, working side by side with my colleagues late into the night." He turned to Iarenna. "And thank you, my dear, for not running screaming into the night at my revelation."

  Iarenna took his hand in her own. "Dear Audsley. Your words are so filled with innuendo that I do pity the Red Rowan widow. She will find herself disarmed and her avenues investigated before she realizes what's going on."

  "Let me save you, dear Magister," said Iskra, pulling him by the arm. "I need you in fighting trim tomorrow. Come."

  Audsley spluttered, but the dangerous gleam in Iarenna's eye set his heart to racing. Was he imagining things? Was that a look of interest?

  No, surely not.

  Stunned, he allowed Iskra to lead him outside.

  Iarenna? No. Impossible. Wasn't it?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Kanna set a grueling pace, never looking back, never giving Asho time to question her or hesitate. Through the winding labyrinth of cubes she ran, making turns seemingly at random. Asho grew increasingly bewildered; his memories of his childhood had these anonymous blocky homes the color of bleached bone as background, but he'd forgotten all about the people who lived here; the deeper they went, the less he understood how to navigate amongst these abstract and interchangeable homes.

  Finally, Kanna slowed and climbed a wooden ladder that was propped against the face of a cube. It was crudely built but sturdy, but all the same, Asho waited until she had disappeared onto the cube's roof before he followed her. He climbed, gazing up at the swirling, incandescent aurora, and then hopped off the last rung and saw Kanna waiting for him near a narrow door leading into a smaller, second cube set atop the first.

  The inside was dark. A pallet lay to one side, two wooden chairs shoved under a small table on the other. A corner of the room was blackened and filled with neatly laid logs, with a small iron pot hanging a foot above them from a chain.

  A few shelves. A tiny roll of clothing, bundled and held together by a wire belt. Little else.

  Kanna moved to the pot and withdrew a small bundle. She sat down and unrolled it, and immediately Asho smelled the rich, earthy scent – with just a hint of sweetness – of dried fireroot. He stood in the doorway, uneasy, and glanced out behind him, half-expecting Mikho's men to come scrambling over the ladder-top.

  Kanna rolled a twist of fireroot in a rectangle of paper, then struck sparks with a flint and steel till its end caught. Only then did she seem to relax, pushing with her foot off the table edge onto the rear two legs of her chair, narrowing her eyes as she inhaled deeply and held the smoke in her chest.

  Asho crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. He waited, watching her, until fi
nally she exhaled, the smoke leaving her mouth in a silky, almost serpentine plume.

  "So." She inhaled again, her voice dropping a register as she held her breath. "That went well."

  "You lied," said Asho. "You said you'd never dealt with Mikho before. They clearly knew you."

  "I played word games," said Kanna, eyes narrowed as she watched him through the smoke. "I said I'd never deal with Mikho. I just left out the 'again'."

  Asho crushed his annoyance and forced himself to keep his tone level. "Why did you lie?"

  Kanna tsked in irritation and flexed her leg, pushing her chair backward almost to the tipping point. "I owe you no explanations of my past. I'm willing to help you. That should be enough."

  "Not if your silences lead us into trouble."

  "You don't have to play the Ennoian knight with me, you know." Her voice was pitched low, almost dangerous-sounding. "I don't need you looking out for me."

  "I didn't like the way they were talking to you."

  "I'm not yours to protect."

  "You don't have to be mine for me to insist on basic decency."

  "Basic decency?" Kanna laughed. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Asho, son of Zekko," he said, pushing off the doorframe.

  "You might have been once, but you're not now." She canted her head to one side, studying him. "No, you're more Ennoian now than Bythian. Look at you. You stand like you're ready for a fight. You're almost asking for it. No Bythian does that."

  "My father did. He killed a cavekiller. Are you saying he's not a Bythian?"

  "Your father is a good man, and I'll not speak badly of him. But I know he wasn't walking around looking to get into a fight with a cavekiller. He was forced by that Ennoian lord of yours."

  "He wasn't mine."

  "You served him long enough."

  "I served him so that one day I could stick my dagger in his gut and watch him die," growled Asho. "You don't know anything about me."

  "See?" Kanna was unimpressed. "There you go again. What Bythian would even think of murdering an Ennoian?"

  "One with spine," said Asho. "Which you clearly don't seem to have. Am I wasting my time here?"