by Phil Tucker
Sighart stalked back to the others, clearly not pleased with his performance. His whole body was tense with anger. They'd both reached the final round of the Quickening, but he hadn't managed to pressure Kethe at all.
"This is the first and most important lesson for all of you." She rested her sword over her shoulder, her other hand on her hip. "Engrave this in your minds. You are not soldiers. You are not warriors. You are not swordsmen and women. You are Consecrated. You can only reach your full potential after you realize that it involves equal parts skill with the blade and connection to the White Gate. If that bond is unbalanced, you will be too."
They stared at her, some frowning, all of them intent, but she saw that her words weren't sinking in. "Look." She lowered her sword and rested its tip on the ground, then crouched down beside it with both hands on the guard. "I'll be honest with you. I'm still figuring a lot of this out, but one thing's become evident – we're here because of the White Gate, not because we were great fighters. Can you feel it, calling within you? I hear it as a song. I can feel it glowing and burning in my core. When I fight, it reveals itself as if it's been illuminated. Do you feel it too?"
The cohort shared glances, then Gray Wind raised his hand. "I do. It comes in snatches, sometimes, while I fight. But never for long, and never when I want it."
Kethe nodded and looked to the others. Akkara looked away, shaking her head. Khoussan frowned. Dalitha bit her lip and gave a slight nod. Sighart and Wolfker both nodded as well.
"This balance is crucial. Sighart, when you fought me just now, how close was the White Gate?"
His jaw clenched. "Not at all."
"I thought so. You were fighting like a normal man, like the soldier you were raised to be. You're an excellent fighter – it's what's given you an edge over everyone else. But you're going to hit a ceiling in your training now if you don't start hearing that song."
Dalitha raised her hand. Kethe fought to not show her amusement at their sudden politeness. "Is that what you heard when you fought Mixis?"
"Yes," said Wolfker, leaning forward. "How did you do that? I couldn't even follow his attacks, much less imagine blocking them."
Kethe nodded. "It was. I wasn't just hearing the White Gate, though. I was drowning in its light. It was consuming me. I didn't think; I didn't know what I was doing. I just acted on instinct. No amount of training could have saved me then, without its power. Which is why we're going to focus on our skills with our weapons, but also our connections to the Gate." A thought occurred to her. "We can visit the White Gate whenever we please, correct?"
They all nodded.
"Then we'll do so daily." She felt a surge of excitement. "We won't get too close. But seeing it, feeling it, might help us all with our connection to it. We'll spend mornings training with weapons, and afternoons, when you're done with your lectures, in the Gate's presence."
Khoussan hunched forward. "Doing what?"
"Nothing." Kethe smiled at them. "Sitting in silence, maybe. We'll each find our own corner, and just sit there." She hesitated. She hated sitting and doing nothing. But maybe this was necessary. "At the very least, it will be a daily reminder of what you need to be focusing on. Now, let's continue. Dalitha, you're up. Take Sighart's blade."
Dalitha's smile froze, then she rose slowly to her feet, took the sword and moved to stand in front of Kethe.
Kethe lowered herself into the rear guard, sword extended like a tail behind her. She watched Dalitha carefully. The slender girl was holding her sword with both hands in the middle guard, second hand cupping the base of the first. But it was her expression that Kethe examined. It was suddenly tight with fear.
"Let's start slowly," Kethe said, and moved in to swing her sword up in a gentle arc at Dalitha's knees.
Dalitha swung her blade down almost in a panic, hitting Kethe's with its cutting edge and smacking it away.
Again Kethe pressed her, slowly, and each time Dalitha struck out at her sword, knocking it back in a frantic manner. Each time, her feet were too close together and she stutter-stepped back. Her shoulders were constantly hunched, and she maintained a white-knuckled grip.
After a few more swings, Kethe stepped back and nodded. "Very good. Khoussan, you're up."
"That was it?" Dalitha was sweating, despite the brevity of the bout. "But we didn't even –"
"That was it," said Kethe. She felt equal parts curiosity and pity. There was no sense in hounding Dalitha in front of the others. "You did well. Take a seat."
"Oh," said Dalitha, and then she gave a shaky laugh. "All right!"
Khoussan fought with greater skill, showing no fear but also no drive; he defended himself adequately enough, but only launched the occasional swing when Kethe left herself wide open, and then only half-heartedly.
After a few minutes, Kethe decided to test him. She waited for his guard to open, then smacked the flat of her blade on his shoulder. He grunted and brought his sword back up. A few moments later, she smacked him on the other side. Then across the ribs. Each time, he frowned more deeply. She kept needling him, slipping past his guard to provoke him with annoying hits, and she could see his temper rising.
Come on, then. Let it out. Come at me. Give me a real attack. Come!
But Khoussan suddenly blinked and then gave her a crooked smile. He'd realized what she was doing. Instead of boiling over, he immediately cooled off, relaxing and stepping back, sword returning to a conservative guard position.
Kethe straightened. "That's enough. Akkara."
She sparred with the three remaining Consecrated in quick succession, testing their defenses, leaving herself open to provoke attacks, circling them and checking how nimble they were on their feet. Akkara fought like a scarecrow, all elbows and sudden, jerky movements. Gray Wind was much better; his movements were fluid and he was clearly drawing on the most of the White Gate's power out of the group, but he was lacking in confidence and overthinking his attacks. Wolfker surprised her, coming at her strong the moment she gave the signal and actually driving her back with a combination of hard, fast blows. She laughed and gave ground, then, at just the right moment, somersaulted over him and smacked him with the flat of her blade before landing.
Wolfker stumbled, turned, and then grinned appreciatively. Kethe smiled and gestured for him to take a seat.
She stood before them in silence. The scope of her challenge was starting to dawn on her. Arising from her bed this morning, she'd been filled with plans for how to drill her cohort: how to work the basics, correct their footwork, talk about the importance of guards and the fallacy of depending on them too much, pairing them off, and so forth. It had all seemed simple and clear and should have led over time to excellent results.
And yet, standing there and looking over their faces, she realized that drills, while necessary, were hardly going to unlock their true potential. Each was a puzzle in need of solving. Was she up to that task?
She needed time to think.
"Very well. Let's start with our footwork. None of you were particularly adept at moving and fighting at the same time. They should be intrinsically linked. There's no need for weapons. Just line up in front of me, watch my feet, and follow."
Three hours later, she dismissed them for lunch and returned to her quarters. She felt, if not dejected, at least stymied. Her cohort had done as she'd bidden, had moved through the drills, had paired off, listened to her, been respectful. But she felt as if none of them had truly heard her. Khoussan had remained aloof, almost disdainful, acting as if the training was all a charade and he was doing her the favor of following along. Akkara had no confidence, no killer instinct; she seemed paralyzed by the enormity of the person she was trying to become. Dalitha was brash and eager and leaped into each exercise with a strong will, but Kethe had always sensed a skittish terror lurking beneath the surface. Gray Wind was almost painfully graceful and superlatively quick, but hesitant in every attack, while Sighart quietly fumed over having to work such basic drills, his
movements becoming stiff and perfunctory. Only Wolfker had seemed at ease, but that lack of fierce drive had tested Kethe's patience in a completely different way; he'd coasted through the morning, never pushing himself and thus never learning.
Deep in thought, wrestling with problems beyond her experience, she approached her quarters. The grand doors that led into her waiting room were watched now at all times by her Honor Guard. Six of them were standing at attention, three per side, and at the sight of them Kethe felt self-consciousness return to her, an awkwardness she had yet to overcome when she was being gazed upon with such stern and unflinching loyalty and devotion.
"Good morning," she said quietly as she passed between them. One of them stepped over to open the left of the double doors, and she nodded her thanks and passed inside. Within was the waiting room, where a sparse crowd always awaited her, hoping for an audience, a chance to beg for blessings or consult her supposedly infallible wisdom.
Over the past few days, she'd hurried through, smiling and avoiding eye contact, but this time Kade himself was stationed there, clearly awaiting her. Kethe sighed, slowed her pace, then fixed a pleasant smile on her face and walked over to where her captain was standing.
"Good morning, Virtue," Kade said dryly, one eyebrow arched.
Damn it. He'd clearly caught on to Kethe's reluctance.
"If it pleases you, there are some matters here that require your attention."
"Yes, of course," said Kethe, turning to the sumptuously dressed young man standing at Kade's side. The handsome youth was immaculately turned out and looked fit enough to run all the way to the Seventh Level and back without breaking a sweat. "Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting today?"
Kade gave a curt nod to the young man, who immediately fell to one knee, gaze locked between Kethe's feet, and extended both hands to proffer a scroll. "Esteemed Virtue, I come on behalf of the Red Rowan, widow of the former Minister of War, honored and prized amongst the elite of Aletheian society. She bade me give you this scroll, a duty that does me, a humble messenger who is assuredly not worthy of the responsibility, far too much honor."
Kethe managed to repress a smirk and took the scroll. Kade gave the young messenger a second nod and the young man backed away smoothly.
Kethe examined the scroll tube, made of fine ivory with a crimson seal and festooned with multicolored ribbons. "And why this messenger, when so many others have wanted to talk to me?"
"The Red Rowan holds considerable power at court, my lady. Though she is no longer directly connected to the government, she remains influential in all matters military. You would be wise to cultivate her favor."
"I thought," said Kethe, cracking open the seal, "that as a Virtue I didn't need to cultivate anything except my own personal devotion to the Ascendant."
"Very true. But the forces that govern Aletheia are complex and frequently at odds." Kade turned, hands linked behind his back, and led Kethe away to a quiet corner of the room. "Policy is supposedly set by the Ascendant, but in reality is dictated by the Minister of Perfection, patriarch of the Fujiwara clan. You saw him, I believe, standing beside the Ascendant when you were blessed?"
Kethe frowned. "Yes."
"He is nearly unopposed in all matters, but not completely. There are small factions that yet conspire to wrest influence back from him and his clan. The Red Rowan is a significant member of such a group, though the murder of her husband has greatly reduced her power."
Kethe was in the act of popping open the tube, but she stopped to stare at Kade. "Murder?"
Kade nodded smoothly, his expression sober and grave.
"And why was nobody arrested?"
Kade's eyes narrowed. "The Imperial Guards are overseen by the Minister of the Sun."
"Yes?"
"Who is married to a Fujiwara."
"Ah. Oh." Kethe frowned. "Then, why didn't a Virtue step in? Theletos, for example?"
"Theletos?" Kade's smile became gently mocking. "Why would he?"
"Because – because he's the prime protector of the Ascendant and the foremost Virtue?"
"Theletos is the grandson of the Minister of Perfection."
The words hit Kethe like a blow. "The grandson?"
Kade gave another one of his curt nods. "The Minister has many, many grandsons. But none have shone so brightly as Theletos."
"But our lives, everything we were before our Consecration – that's all supposed to have died and been left behind."
"As you say, Virtue."
Kethe scowled and opened the scroll. Her mother had forced her to learn Aletheian, but still, she could only barely understand the rudiments of the message. "It's an invitation? To come visit her?"
Kade refrained from peering at the scroll. "Insofar as my opinion has any weight in these matters, I would urge you to accept."
Kethe scanned the letter a second time, then rolled it back up. "Very well. It can't hurt." She paused. "Kade. Whom did you serve before being chosen as the captain of my Honor Guard?"
Kade smiled for the first time. "A good question, Virtue. I was a general under the former Minister of War."
"A general?" Kethe stared at Kade anew. "Wait. Kade Irone. Not General Irone of Aletheia?"
Kade bowed from the waist. "I was known as such once."
"My father loathed you." Kethe quickly covered her mouth. "I mean – well, he did. He cursed you every night for a year after he was denied the right to re-invade Agerastos."
"I imagine he did. The former Minister of War was one of the few still influential voices that gainsaid your father's ambitions. I was glad to support him."
"And now you're my captain?"
Kade bowed low once more. "It is an honor to serve a Virtue in any capacity."
"Yes, so I'm told. What a coincidence that you brought this particular messenger to my attention."
Kade straightened, expressionless, though his dark eyes gleamed.
"How does one become the captain of a Virtue's Honor Guard?"
"Through an almost unseemly amount of effort," said Kade. "Many favors were called in – old debts, near-defunct political alliances."
"Orchestrated in part by the Red Rowan? Why?"
"The Quickening of a Virtue in a new body is a rare occurrence. You wield great political power simply by being who you are. Though your previous self was not interested in politics, it's possible you might be. If so, we thought it crucial that you have a voice by your side who could speak the truth."
Kethe frowned. "Are you my captain, Kade, or the Red Rowan's tool?"
"Your captain first and above all." There was steel in his voice. "I would die for you without hesitation, a hundred times over. If you command me to never speak of these matters again, I will carry them to my grave."
Kethe studied her captain, then sighed. "All right. I believe you. And I appreciate your candor. I'll meet with this Red Rowan, but I make no promises."
"None are expected, Virtue. I will let the messenger know." Kade bowed once more, then turned and walked away.
Kethe watched him go, deep in thought. She tapped the scroll against her lips, eyed the other hopefuls watching from a respectful distance, then turned and strode deeper into the privacy of her own suite.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
"Word's being passed around," said the old woman with the lazy eye. She'd stepped up beside Kanna and latched on to her arm, fingers like pincers, so she could pull Kanna down to her level. "Mikho's putting it out that you're working for the Ennoians. He's telling folks to steer clear."
Asho looked around the small cavern in which they'd gathered. They were deep in the Eternal Spring shaft, eleven levels down and far enough along the seam that no overseers were likely to notice the gathering. Buglights had been hung here and there, smuggled in by the various Bythians, and they cast a soft green glow that made the cavern appear more like an underwater grotto from his favorite Kyferin tapestry than a cave. Some three hundred Bythians were assembling, faces haggard and drawn, hands
and forearms dark with dust, risking more than he could understand for these fifteen minutes with him.
He and Kanna were standing to one side, up on a shallow ledge, a mere couple of feet above the cavern floor. Other ledges ringed the cavern walls, and Bythians were shuffling and sitting along them, legs hanging down, peering at Asho and Kanna with reserved curiosity. Their voices were little more than mutters, and Asho couldn't even begin to read their mood. If anything, they seemed content to have an excuse to sit and rest for fifteen minutes.
"Is that so?" Kanna said, not trying to untangle her arm from the old woman's grip. "It would seem, at least, that Shaykho's shift is willing to listen."
The old woman grunted. She was a wizened, dour old creature, the left side of her face strangely flattened by an ancient blow. Asho couldn't tell her age. A hard-lived forty? An indomitable seventy? She was all creases and wrinkles and rawboned resilience. "I heard Shaya sister gave a speech to Jhago's cohort last night. Heard a monster stood by her side. That more of them are coming."
Asho crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. He fought for calm. It had taken two days of Kanna's cajoling to gather this audience. Two days of covert meetings, while Asho had traveled to and back from Mythgraefen, his heart heavy with Iskra's news and his new mission. Try as he might, he couldn't reconcile himself to preserving Ascendancy. Couldn't accept that it could be meaningfully changed. The Empire would only accept Bythians as equals if it was forced to by the sword.
"All true," said Kanna. "But enough. The time has come."
Asho looked up and saw Shaykho enter the cavern, flanked by several other elders, all of them grimy, all of them ashen-faced from a day's labor. Age was no shield against work in the mines. You worked till you could work no more, and then you became a burden.
Shaykho stopped, lips pursed, and stared at Asho. The murmurs and whispers ceased, all eyes drawn to their shift leader, and when the old man finally nodded, a subtle tension relaxed and Asho felt a knot unbind itself in his stomach. Despite the promise of an audience, he'd half-expected the old man to renege at the last moment.
