by Phil Tucker
It's not going to stay that empty for long.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Asho came to with a gasp. He sat up, struggled with his sheets, then let out a cry as someone clasped his wrists. He shook them off, blinking and trying to focus, and pushed back against a stone wall only to finally make out Shaya seated beside him, Kanna behind her, and the massive kragh hunkered down against the far wall.
A single candle was burning on a rock near his bed. There was nothing else in the room.
Panting, he sat up, heart racing, fighting the urge to bolt. "What happened? Where am I?"
"Asho," said Shaya. "You're safe. You're with me."
Asho looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the grief cut deep into her face, the burned-out look of her eyes, how swollen and red they were. Memory hit him like a callous fist: the blade sinking into his father's chest. Mikho had murdered him.
Asho cried out and covered his face, horror and outrage washing over him again. Shaya hugged him as he sobbed. He tried not to, tried to bottle the tears, but they clawed their way free. He ground his teeth and shook his head, and when he finally subsided and Shaya sat back, he stared at her, feeling raw and furious and impotent.
"Mother?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"She knows." Shaya's voice was hollow. "Everyone knows. Father's body has been hung up for two days outside an Ennoian guardhouse as a warning to the rest of us."
Asho hissed as the pain continued to stab at him. He pressed the bases of his palms against his eyes. "No. You can't be serious."
Kanna asked, "Asho. Do you remember what you did?"
"Did?" He didn't drop his hands. He kept pressing so that crimson and gold starbursts continuously exploded across the insides of his eyelids. "Did what?"
"The people you killed, Asho."
Her voice was hard. Was that fear he heard in her voice? At that, he dropped his hands and blinked at her. Kanna's face was tight. She looked ready to bolt.
"The people you slaughtered," she said.
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember. It all felt like an evil fever dream. He remembered his father's death, and Batou stabbing him. And then? Pain. Extended agony without end. The demon in his mind – he'd stabbed his hand into the demon? Had drained it of its power. Killed it. How had he known to do that?
"Damn," whispered Asho. He looked at his hands. Someone had washed them, but there was still blood under his nails and dried into the deepest whorls of his knuckles.
He'd come running. He'd killed.
"How many?" he muttered.
"Twenty-one people," said Shaya. Her voice was faint.
Asho closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Flashes came back to him. Tables. Leaping through the air. His blade cutting through a wrist. Smashing a man's head against a wall.
"Mikho," he said, snapping his eyes open. "He's dead?"
Kanna laughed, but it was mostly a groan. "Dead? You crushed his head with a bar of gold! Yes, he's dead. Have you forgotten?"
He remembered throwing the gold in an underhand toss. It spun as it flew through the air unerringly to strike Mikho's face. He saw bone crumple, and a gout of blood. Mikho's pathetic exploring of his own ruined visage. His collapse.
"No, I suppose not." He stared coldly at Kanna. "I also remember saving your life."
Kanna scowled. "Mikho wasn't going to kill me."
"He'd just killed my father. Killed me. Why do you think he'd let you go?" Kanna looked away, so he turned to Shaya. Something was hardening within him. "I have to ask. Did you know about his plans?"
Shaya stiffened. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
"No," sighed Asho. "I – I'm sorry. It's just that..." He trailed off. "What now?"
"Now? Mikho's set in motion events that are beyond our control. Our people are beyond outraged. They're rising up. They're furious."
"Rising up?"
"Yes, brother. They're turning to my cause in droves. Father's murder has stirred up even those who sought to remain neutral. They're sick of our overseers. People are blaming Mikho's death and those of his followers on the Ennoians too. They want justice. They want blood."
"Damn," Asho whispered again, then asked of Kanna, "The cohorts who were on our side?"
Kanna gave an uneasy shrug. "I've not been able to get in touch with them all. The cubes are swamped with Ennoian guards. Everybody is supposed to remain in their homes. "
Father, he thought again with a pang of pain.
"Asho, you're my brother, and I love you. I've been urged not to tell you, but I want to give you one last chance to join my side."
"Tell me what?"
"I received word from Tharok. A messenger came through three days ago. Tharok's attacking Abythos this evening. I'm going to lead our people on an assault of the Abythian Gate. We're going to prevent the Empire from destroying it."
"Destroying it? Why would they – oh." His thoughts slotted into place. "He honestly thinks he can capture Abythos so quickly?"
Shaya nodded. "Tharok is counting on it. I must prevent the Empire from blocking his passage. Will you join me?"
"What are you saying? You're leading miners against armed Ennoian soldiers?"
"Yes."
"You'll be slaughtered. You have no weapons, no armor."
"We have our convictions. Don't laugh. I'm willing to die for them. Anybody who follows me will be as well. We'll surprise them and distract them long enough for Tharok to come through. Will you join me?"
"Oh, Shaya, Shaya." Asho leaned wearily back against the wall. "You've never seen a real battle, have you? I have."
"Then join us, Asho." Kanna moved to stand beside the bed. "With you leading us, we'll stand a chance of succeeding. Your whole life, you've thought you were training to be a knight, but you were wrong. You were training for this. To lead all the Bythians against the Ennoians. One strike, one moment of truth."
"Kanna? You've joined their side?"
"There are no sides any longer," said Kanna. "Our people are rising. Zekko and Mikho's death have set them aflame. If our people are marching to war, do you think I could honestly stay at home and let them die?"
"Help us, Asho," Shaya put in. "You're one of us. You're a Bythian, first and foremost. We need you. We need your experience, your advice. Help us."
Asho stared mutely from one face to the other. "Help Tharok break through the Portal."
"No," said Kanna. "Help keep our people alive. Too many cohorts have agreed to join Shaya. It's done."
"But they're wrong. Zekko wasn't killed by the Ennoians. He was killed by Mikho. By one of us."
Kanna waved her hand irritably. "It's too late to change their minds. They know that we were arrested by an Ennoian patrol. Now your father's body is hanging in front of an Ennoian guardhouse. It's done."
"Mikho," muttered Asho. "He planned this. That's why he had us arrested by Ennoians instead of his own men."
"The past is done," said Kanna. "Asho, your people need you. You've asked me time and again if you're truly a Bythian. Well, this is your time to prove yourself." She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in both of hers. "Fight with us. Fight next to me. Be the man I know you are."
His heart was thudding. In his mind's eye, yet again he saw his father die. Saw the Ennoian patrol. Saw Iskra sitting at her fireplace, hollow-eyed and still fighting. He thought of Enderl, of Kethe, of the pride he'd felt in helping Kanna's shift escape.
Was he a Bythian? Could he lead his people into war? Could he help them avoid being slaughtered? And to what end? To let a kragh warlord and his horde come crashing into the Empire?
"Please, Asho," Shaya said.
Asho looked past them at Nok. The massive kragh had an almost preternatural ability to remain still; despite his bulk, he had managed to almost fade into the background. But a candle flame gleamed in the dark depths of his eyes. There was intelligence there, an awareness, perhaps even a soul, but there was no mistaking him for human. Cou
ld Asho live with himself if he allowed a horde of these beasts into the Empire? Could he ever forgive himself for the slaughter that would ensue?
"No," he said, and something inside of him cracked: a hope, a dream, a yearning to belong. "I can't."
Kanna released his hands and stepped back. "You choose your Ennoian lady over your own people."
"No, Kanna. I choose people over kragh. In this I'm not a Bythian. I'm a human."
Shaya sighed and stood as well. "I had to at least try. No matter what comes, I love you, Asho."
"And I love you," he said, struggling to rise. He felt weak, and realized it was a faint echo of his Sin Casting nausea. Still, he forced himself to straighten and took Shaya into a hug, holding her tight. "I wish that this world were otherwise. I wish we could fight together."
"Me too," she said, pulling away, tears in her eyes. "Me too."
Nok climbed to his feet, and Asho fought the urge to back away. The kragh had to hunch his shoulders and lower his head to fit into the chamber. He was like a wall of muscle and bone.
He nodded to Asho and then pulled open the chamber door. With a grunt, he squeezed out into the hall beyond.
"Good luck, Asho," said Kanna as Shaya stepped away. "I had hoped – but never mind. I'll always be grateful for what you did for my cohort."
"Kanna –" There was so much he wanted to say, but in the end, he just extended his hand. "Thank you."
They shook hands, then Kanna turned and followed Shaya out into the hall.
He listened to them walk away, and then sat on the edge of the cot and buried his face in his hands. Father was dead. Shaya was leading their people into battle. Tharok was going to attack tonight. There was no way he could secure the Gate Stone at this point. What should he do?
His sole priority now was to prevent this Tharok from breaking through into Bythos. If the kragh broke through, Tharok would form a cordon around the gate, a beachhead from which he could funnel even more kragh from his land. He had to be stopped.
But how? Asho raked his fingers through his hair, trying to think of a way. He had no time to warn Iskra, to reach Mythgraefen and return. He had to act alone. Act now.
With a sense of futility, he reached for the Black Gate's magic and again tasted barely a trickle of it. It had been enough to keep him alive, but that was all. With his demon gone – no, murdered – he was completely on his own.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Iskra could imagine Tiron's scowl as she stepped up to the window and gazed out over the palace gardens; could imagine him stiffening in disapproval as she exposed herself to an assassin's arrow, then stepping over to touch her shoulder and ask her gruffly to step back out of harm's way, out of danger.
But of course he wasn't here, and her new guards wouldn't dare be so bold.
She pushed aside the white curtains and gazed out over the bay. The sun was setting in a cloudless sky, and as the waters smothered its brilliance, reducing it from dazzling white to gold to a soft and refulgent crimson, she felt a stab of empathy. She was drowning as well, losing her momentum and power, pulled down into the darkness by ghosts as vast and amorphous as the sea.
"My lady," said Orishin from behind her.
"Three days," she said quietly. "Three days since Thansos died, and I'm trapped up here, unable to descend two flights of stairs to take my rightful place on the throne."
"I understand your frustration, my lady." His words seemed like a prelude for some greater point, but she could sense his lack of words, his inability to comfort her.
She turned, fingers caressing one of the curtains, and considered him. Orishin looked haggard; his eyes were ringed with fatigue, and his shoulders were slumped.
"And? Has the senate decided to convene?"
"No, my lady." Orishin sighed and sat down at her oval table. He glanced sidelong at the guards, but they were posted sufficiently far away that there was no chance of their overhearing their murmured conversation. "Doors were closed in my face. I wasn't even admitted to Patrician Athash's antechamber. Every corner of the senate house is filled with whispers and knots of conspiring senators. It wasn't..." He waved a hand as he sought the correct word, then sighed and slumped down. "Promising."
Iskra rubbed the material of the curtain between thumb and forefinger. "And if I send him a summons?"
Orishin grimaced. "And risk his refusing? A dangerous bluff, my lady. You would lose much prestige, while he would only swell up further, like the odious toad that he is."
"Everything I do now is a bluff," said Iskra. "I have nothing with which to compel anyone."
Orishin poured himself a goblet of wine and took a sip. "Worse news. High General Pethar has begun evacuating Starkadr. Columns of soldiers are entering Agerastos by the day. They are gathering in the Fields of the Sun, just outside the city limits."
Iskra stilled. "He swore to hold our forces at the ready."
"He has seen fit to do otherwise."
Iskra closed her eyes and forced herself to remain calm, to swallow the rising squall of panic that threatened to choke her throat. "He means to move against the senate. Thansos foresaw this. Pethar won't trust Athash to follow through with the war effort."
Orishin made no comment.
"And his doing so without warning me first indicates how highly he regards me."
"I fear that's the case, my lady. It is not too far a stretch to imagine that Pethar is eying the throne for himself."
"In which case I have only hours before he sends his forces to remove me from the palace." A thought struck her. "But, wait. Athash must have been warned as well. How are they reacting to this news?"
"As impotently as they possibly can," said Orishin. "Their whispers grow more fearful, and still they do not act. They only endlessly conspire."
A knock sounded at the door, and Iskra nodded to her guard, who opened it to reveal the grand chamberlain, clad in silk robes of crimson and gold. His expression was dour, and his bald head gleamed in the torchlight.
Finally, thought Iskra, and she inclined her head as the dark-skinned eunuch bowed his own. "Welcome, Chamberlain."
"Thank you, Lady Kyferin." He entered alone and spared not a glance for the guards who crowded her chambers. "I apologize that my duties have prevented me from attending you sooner."
Iskra smiled, gestured at a chair, and sat down. "Please, let us dispense with the niceties and white lies. I hold you in too much respect to think you have been at the mercy of recent events instead of orchestrating them. To what do I owe this pleasure, at long last?"
The chamberlain truly seemed relaxed now. His features were sedate as his large hands rested easily on the table's edge. "You underestimate my responsibilities. I have a palace filled with diplomats, government officers, servants and guards to placate. For some reason, they seem to think a military coup is in the offing."
Orishin rose smoothly to his feet and poured the chamberlain a goblet of wine. He then pointedly refilled his own and Iskra's goblets from the same pitcher and sat. "One might think," he said diffidently, "that the palace would approve of such a development. It would be an end to this chaos and uncertainty, at the very least."
The chamberlain made no move to take his goblet. "If our dearly departed emperor had left any men and women of vision and imagination in charge of the army, then, yes, one might think that. But, alas, such is not the case."
The chamberlain's eyed were half-lidded. He was a powerful man in his own right, the spider at the center of the palace's operations. Iskra didn't doubt that should he order it, the palace guards within her suite would turn their weapons on her. It was at his sufferance that she had been allowed to remain.
"Pethar's intentions are hardly surprising," she said. "In fact, an astute individual might have guessed them days ago. Which leads me to ask, my dear Chamberlain, why you have waited until now to come speak with me."
The chamberlain raised both eyebrows. "One of my many, many duties is to ensure that all guests of the palace a
re well taken care of. Might this not be a mere formality on my part?"
Iskra took up her goblet and raised it to her lips but did not drink. "But of course. Unless another piece on the board has made a quiet move, changing your political calculus and prompting you to reexamine your neutrality."
The chamberlain took up his goblet in turn. "You have a very active imagination."
"A blessing in a future empress," said Orishin demurely. "Just as its lack is a detriment in our military leaders."
The corner of the chamberlain's lips quirked, and he nodded.
Iskra felt a wave of warmth for her scribe. The only other political party of note was the Vothaks. Led by Ilina, they had recused themselves from the fray by withdrawing into their temple to mourn the death of the emperor. None of Iskra's missives to them had been answered.
"All is well, then, my lady?" The chamberlain made a show of looking around her room. "Your needs are being seen to? No comforts are being neglected?"
Iskra smiled once more. "Your concern is most kind, but your hospitality has been faultless. I shan't forget how thoughtful you have been."
The chamberlain smiled, showing dazzling white teeth, and rose to his feet. "I am glad. I exist only to serve. Good evening, my lady."
After he had left, Orishin turned to Iskra, wide-eyed. "Now, that was unexpected."
"But a most welcome change. For the first time, I feel a sliver of hope. If we can accommodate Ilina's wishes, we might win her to our side, and with her the palace."
Orishin nodded. "Not insignificant allies. But still not enough to subdue the army."
"One step at a time," said Iskra. "We shall be graduating from shadow puppets to actual players. Now, what can we anticipate from Ilina?"
"Religion. The Vothaks drank deep from Thansos' espousal of medusa worship. Ilina is a fierce advocate of Thyrrasskia. She will demand we promote it over Ascension."
Iskra rose to her feet and began to pace. "We can't do that."
Orishin shrugged. "It will be her condition. I'm sure the emperor promised it to her."
"Yes, I'm sure he did. He would have promised anything as long as it would result in blood." Iskra bit her thumbnail and thought. "My one goal is to parley with the Ascendant. How can I do that if I allow the Vothaks to build shrines to Thyrrasskia?"
