Forgotten Stairs

by Hausladen, Blake;

  * * *

  Know also, that I too was attacked during the autumn by men who answer to Chancellor Parsatayn. He sent 14,000 under the pennant of Trace and eight Hessier to murder me. The Hessier are no more, and General Leger Mertone destroyed Trace’s army and forced the Pormes to surrender. The borders of Trace and Enhedu have been redrawn, and there is nothing left of Trace between us. I have sent my army to the Oreol with orders to bring it under my rightful rule. Expect your flank to be relieved. The bearers of this letter, a son and daughter of Heneur, are held in the highest esteem in Enhedu and are empowered to deal with you in my name. It is my fondest wish that we may forge a strong and lasting friendship between our provinces.

  * * *

  Your neighbor,

  Prince Barok Yentif, Arilas of Enhedu

  Urnedi in Enhedu

  As soon as the cheers subsided, Lukan set a full third of the crowd to the gathering of nails. I hoped my husband would interrupt him. There was no reason to rush off after nails while so many people were in need of a mouthful of bread and a slice of salted pork.

  “Ehn’prom, ehh, brother,” Lukan asked and clasped Sevat’s shoulders.

  “No problem at all,” I greeted the arilas warmly for my slang-deaf husband. “Wey und paypyt pya un am myant of urs, ehh?”

  Lukan’s wife and retainers laughed and replied with happy, “wey und,” and “ur myant.” Her accent was as heavy as mine—a woman from the western ranges like myself. For the benefit of my husband, she hid it quite well. “It has been a long time since I’ve heard someone swear so poetically. Your family is from the plateau?”

  “Gorasus, beneath Mount Lazez.”

  She gave me a hug. “I was born Earinne O’Nstron.”

  “Soma Verdisashnenya,” I replied and hugged her right back.

  “Agh, sister,” Lukan said, his smile somehow even brighter. “I’m a Wilgmuth mutt myself. My apologies, the western tongue escapes me most of the time.”

  His wife translated for him. “We don’t pay for shit under our mountain, do we?”

  “No, Lady Soma,” he said with a startlingly somber voice that moved through me like the words of my father. “No, we do not.”

  Then he said, “Not time enough to enjoy a ride up to Wilgmuth this day, my friends. Please, join me for a meal here in Lindrig, and we will ride up tomorrow.”

  “Oh, please!” Pix said, and before we could stop any of them, she was chasing after Lukan’s daughters who insisted on leading the way.

  Madam Vlek looked simply mortified as we approached the charming inn they led us to. Their staff could not be prepared to host us on such short notice.

  “Perhaps a tour of the town before we eat?” I suggested.

  Lukan, who had just noticed his wife’s alarm, thanked me for the suggestion. The girls had no interest whatsoever in joining us, so we left them in the care of Madam Vlek and took a stroll along the streets that framed the harbor plaza. It took on the quality of a dream—fresh ocean air, picturesque town, voices from my childhood, and the majesty of the Rind Valley.

  Madam Vlek came to find us after a time, but I could not understand her unsettled expression. She ignored her husband’s gentle inquiry and took me by the hands.

  “Dear Lady Soma,” she said with teary eyes. “My heart breaks for your loss.”

  “What is it, my dear?” Lukan asked.

  “My husband, the day your captain arrived in Enhedu, an accident on the road killed eight of their nine children.” She could hardly say the rest. “Soma, Pix needs you, dear. Being with our girls has upset her terribly.”

  The four of us trotted back to the inn where we found all three girls gathered into a hug before a fire. Each had hold of a kerchief, and they were trying to dry each other’s tears. It had been a tremendous cry.

  “Sorry, mother,” the three said in unison, with soft, tired voices. We settled around them. I was mute and found that I was trembling.

  “What were their names,” Lukan asked Sevat.

  “Amelia and Necia,” one of his girls said, sobbing anew.

  “… and Lilfa and Ullia,” the other started but could not continue on to name my sons. She belted out new tears. “They were both my age, father!”

  I started crying, too. The three girls reached for me at once, and I was overcome.

  My children! You are gone! I have lost you.

  I felt a large hand upon my shoulder and turned to tell Sevat that I was sorry his sons were dead. But it was Lukan, his wife at his side.

  Sevat sat upon the sedan on the other side of the room, staring angrily into the corner.

  “Let’s put them to bed,” Lukan said, and we rose.

  We left them sleeping upon a wide bed in the room the arilas had taken at the inn. His girls attached themselves to Pix like little guardians. I would have wept again if there was anything left in me.

  It was still just early evening but felt like seasons had passed. We started back toward the common room, but none of us looked much interested in joining the happy crowd we heard on the other side of the wide cedar doors. The celebration I’d been looking forward to had become a chore.

  “Some wine, perhaps?” Lukan suggested. We all nodded and took a moment as husbands and wives to straighten our clothes and hair before summoning smiles.

  The room applauded when we entered. Mercanfur and Etchpay were center stage, both pouring wine from casks upon their shoulders. Over-filled goblets were passed our way, and we were drawn into a retelling of how they’d saved Etchpay’s ship and very nearly all of her cargo. We were saved from hearing the exhaustive detail of how they’d setup a trio of orphaned masts and the nuance of block and tackle by the arrival of two roasted pigs. The room’s sudden silence at their appearance was sobering.

  Lukan led us in a short, heartfelt prayer we all knew, thanking Bayen for the food and the warmth of the fire. Saying the words felt like lying, and I worried someone would catch me.

  Afterward we sat and ate. Yellow beans, bread, honey, and apples rounded out the feast. I was not surprised to see more than a few wet eyes as we ate the best that Enhedu had to offer.

  “To the Phalia,” someone said, and we turned to see Arilas Vlek standing with his cup raised high over a plate wiped clean.

  “Oye!” said many, and we stood. The room saluted Etchpay, drank, and sat back down to soak up the food.

  The Shadow’s hiss bit my ear.

  I flinched and stood, searching. There was nothing to see but the happy room. I scratched at my ear and reached for my wine.

  “A toast, Lady Soma?” Etchpay asked, alerting me to the roomful of eyes that looked on expectantly. The crowd was larger than I’d first observed, a hundred or more. They looked no different than the men and women who filled Urnedi Manor. Lukan’s retainers were a loyal band.

  “To those we will avenge.”

  The room growled. Every man stood, made pledges and benedictions, and raised their cups high. Together we gulped the wine down savagely and slammed the cups upon the tables.

  The room settled slowly after such a thing. Some found a bit more wine, others an apple. Conversations started in the lengthening silence. Etchpay began telling half the room the story of the race out of Urnedi Harbor. Sevat laid his hand upon my forearm tenderly for a time but became distracted by an argument over how to judge the correct size for a wagon wheel.

  I was unsettled. The touch of the Shadow had the quality of a lingering smell—a dead rat beneath the floorboards. The Shadow was in the room, and my anger grew.

  I moved to the broad fireplace and tried to enjoy the warmth.

  Madam Vlek joined me, and we chatted uselessly for a time until the sting of the Shadow pulled the warmth from me again. I searched the room. No one else seemed affected.

  I asked her, “Is there a Church of Bayen in Lindrig?”

  “There is. On the far side of the river.”

  “And its priest? Is he here?”

  “He is in indeed. Sitting right
there,” she replied and discreetly indicated the man. “He is Heneur’s chief prelate.”

  The aging man sat at the head table with Lukan. I’d taken no notice of him or the woman sitting next to him. Farmers, they seemed, almost fresh from the field. The gray circle of the woman’s plain gray shawl became obvious. She was a sermod, and—

  The Shadow was upon them like a weave within linen. If the Chaukai could be called saved, these two were bound.

  “You’re staring,” Madam Vlek whispered and took my hand. She smiled at me to hide the topic and gave a little laugh. “Don’t be fooled by their appearance,” she whispered. “They make quite a show of growing cocoa in the hills behind the church, but whenever they want something, his red hat is close by. He finds cause at least once a season to burn someone for sedition in the plaza. He never has far to look, as you may know.”

  That I did. Heneur had chafed at the idea of bowing to a distant Sten longer than it had the dictates of the Exaltier.

  “Still no healers in Heneur?” I asked her.

  “Not until we are willing to pay for them,” she replied and batted with irritation at a non-existent wrinkle in her dress.

  Madam Vlek was no devotee, nor was her husband. This was welcome, indeed.

  The chill washed across me a third time, and I struggled not to looked back at the pair—I struggled to keep myself from dragging them out by the hair to tell me who they served.

  “Enhedu is … interested in these two. Do you think you could introduce me to them?” I asked.

  She was hesitant but relented. We started back across, arm-in-arm, but did not make it halfway there when the sermod said loudly, “It concerns me, Arilas Vlek, at your willingness to lie down with those who pillage your coast.”

  The room fell silent and looked to the arilas. The arilas said to her, “Madam O’Nberneil, your—”

  “I am no simple madam, sir,” she said. “I am a holy woman wed to Bayen above, and you will address me as such.”

  “Apologies, Lady Jayme. As I was saying, your implication escapes me.”

  “Where do you think Enhedu has gotten all its sudden and terrific wealth? The stipend of a banished prince? I worry at the shallowness of your thinking. One does not need to look far to see the source of Heneur’s ill.”

  And then she looked at me for the first time with a wash of indifference. Others were left to look at me, too. I’d been accused of piracy.

  Could she sense me as I could the pair of them?

  The arilas looked a mouse trapped beneath the nose of a fox. His sailors and his wife could not hide their desperation. The room willed him to stand against the pair. He brushed crumbs from table instead, like a condemned man who’d just finished his last meal.

  “How perfectly desperate,” Sevat said with a voice clear and loud enough to make the room start and turn. He was pointing at the disinterested prelate as if he aimed an arrow at him. “Prelate O’Nberneil, is your condition at the Tanayon so poor that you cannot speak for yourself? Who is this sermod to keep your tongue and your cock in her purse?”

  “How dare you,” Lady Jayme shrilled.

  “Be silent, woman,” my husband said, his Heneuran accent washed away by a blast of pure Bessradi indignation. I’d not imagined him capable of such courage but saw then that he wasn’t defending Enhedu or the Vlek at all. His faith had been offended by this outspoken sermod.

  Lady Jayme began a hostile response that Sevat stomped upon so hard his voice nearly shook the table. “Shut up, you great mewing cow! You have so outstripped your authority here, I am tempted to build a pyre for you this very night. And you, sir, I would hear from you on this matter. Where, in your estimation, do the corsairs hail from?”

  “Who are you at all to speak to me?” the priest asked.

  Sevat looked ready to thrash Prelate O’Nberneil where he sat. My husband was red-faced and spit blasted from his mouth. “I am envoy and master to a Son of the Sword of our Lord Bayen who has dominion over the coast of the Oreol and her waters. And with his eyes I look at you now, and with his ears I wait for you to atone!”

  The room froze. I’d never seen or imagined such furor from him. I closed my eyes with pride and sadness. His passion was born from his love for Bayen’s Creed.

  The priest squirmed in his chair. “Oh, so small a matter,” he replied, and before his sermod could stop him, he continued, “The Raydau, dear boy. By land and by sea. I’d wager they would attack Heneur by air as well if they had wings.”

  This poor humor fell well flat.

  Sevat turned to Lady Jayme. She was unperturbed and turned back to the arilas. I studied her poise.

  “Dear arilas, we will be sailing to Osburth in two days time. The prelate will require an escort of two ships. You can only provide the one, I believe. Perhaps our neighbors from Enhedu would be so generous as to donate theirs to serve as the second?”

  It was like being stabbed. We could not refuse her. Providing an escort to a chief prelate was a duty of the province—a duty to Bayen.

  Sevat and Mercanfur nodded. We had no choice.

  “Of course,” Lukan said. He was quite pale. “The prelate will have his escort.”

  “And my dear Madam Vlek,” Lady Jayme said with the same even tone, “you and your daughters will, of course, be joining us. It is such a pleasant voyage, and you must certainly be eager to get away for a time.”

  The room was slow to understand this. I screamed it in my head at them.

  She wants Earinne and the children as hostages!

  But no one said anything and sat like rabbits unaware of the hunter’s bow.

  “The ship of a prelate …” I said to the priest, crafting my desperate sentence as I said it. “The ship of a prelate is certainly no place for a mother and children. Perhaps it would be best if they stayed with me aboard the Thorne? Its wardroom is quite comfortable.”

  “Most certainly true,” the prelate replied, imagining perhaps what it would be like to suffer their presence aboard his ship.

  I readied myself for Lady Jayme’s next attack, but she said nothing—as though we’d just planned an afternoon meal of no consequence. She stood, and the priest followed her out.

  The moment they were gone and the doors closed behind them, Lukan’s captains and advisors rushed around his table, all yelling about the Raydau ship that would swoop out of Osburth. A few looked at me as if it was my fault, but Madam Vlek held fast to my arm and stared them down. All attention turned to Lukan.

  “Why are they doing this?” someone asked.

  Sevat was quick to answer. “The prelate and that overachieving sermod must have arrangements with the priests in the Oreol. When Lord Barok took possession of those lands, the Oreol priests fell under the control of Enhedu’s chief prelate. All the deals Heneur’s prelate has in place with those men are in jeopardy. The whole affair is an affront to Bayen and needs to be ended. Arilas Vlek, what can be done?”

  The room looked to him, but he could offer them nothing. He could not publicly defy the church. He began to apologize to us.

  I said over him, “They don’t know we are coming.”

  “I don’t catch your meaning.”

  “Lady Jayme hatched her plan this very evening. The Raydau could not know that we are coming. I say that we give them worse than they mean for us. Go with every ship and man you can muster. Sail right up behind this bitch and her fop and take Osburth by surprise.”

  Lukan looked to Etchpay. The room fell to a hush.

  “Difficult. We would have to keep the ships out of sight the entire voyage—keep them out of sight of the Raydau, and then rush the town all at once behind her. Assuming we can take its ships and garrison by surprise, we’ll need to turn tail almost at once before the Raydau get after us. And we could be caught along the coast there by a bad wind—might not be able to make it out of Osburth at all.”

  Lukan turned to me. “What say you? The risk of trapping every man in my command upon a leeshore does not sit well
in my stomach.”

  I bit my tongue. The sea was too new to me, and I was a fool for having voiced a plan beyond my expertise. Leeward was the direction the wind blew, and a leeshore under a gale was one that few ships could claw their way off of. The prevailing easterly winds could blow us in and leave us unable to get away.

  “Well …” I said, then seized upon a conclusion that needed no great knowledge of the sea. “If we can’t get off the coast, then neither can the Raydau ships that would pursue us. We could lie at anchor in the harbor and wait for whatever combination of wind, morning air, and receding tide that could carry us off. The stroke succeeds if we cripple their fleet, and it fails if we do not.”

  “She is right enough there,” Mercanfur said, “and it would be no trouble getting in unseen if this easterly holds. We can stay well to seaward of them and then dive in with the wind at our back and all oars pulling hard.”

  The arilas questioned his officers about their ships and men. They had more men than ships, but enough, perhaps, to hold the harbor while they burn the Raydau ships at anchor.

  Lukan’s general was the only one left with a frown. “This will leave Wilgmuth bare. Aderan still pushes up the pass. We could lose the capital in this gamble, regardless of its success.”

  “Not if you keep the way closed,” Etchpay said. “Call the hillmen down from the western range. Tell them you have a use for their ore and need their sons to stand with you.”

  “They’ll never throw in, my lord,” the general said. “You cannot trust them.”

  “Spey u spey!” I swore at him, and he looked at me with shock. “My people are from those hills, General. And you can bite your tongue, too, Lukan. You will not buy them with promises to buy ore from mines owned by men in Wilgmuth. Tell them you will honor the pledge made to them when the Pqrista surrendered to the Yentif. Tell them the western ranges are theirs—were always theirs. Chisel declarations of it upon black stone and drink to it. Then see how hard they throw in.”

  “Eyy, eyy, eyy,” Etchpay and others replied rousingly.