The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1)

by P. J. Keyworth

  “You never know, Commander,” he said, forcing himself to use the title. “Zeb, Djeck, Zephenesh and the twins may yet be successful.”

  Ikara made no response. Fidel knew from experience that her silences indicated scepticism.

  “Have faith, Ik…Commander,” he corrected himself, seeing tension flicker across her profile. They were still continuing along the city’s perimeter, their journey turning downward towards the abandoned docks of the western shore.

  “The Great Spirit can work in incredible ways.”

  “Can he?” The blasphemous question came before she could stop herself. Fidel could tell she didn’t mean it. Her faith had been wading through rocky shallows every day since the massacre.

  He turned his horse to follow Ikara’s down the slope, into the face of the two setting suns that were soaking the landscape in blood-red rays.

  He inhaled deeply. In one moment Ikara was intent upon reinforcing the rigid gap of formality between them. In the next she was uttering things that she would not say to anyone else. She was voicing the doubts that haunted her decisions. Her words, her question, would be condemned by the Elders of the Laowyn, yet were they not fair to say and ask?

  As if tracing his thoughts, she spoke again, a small fracture in her emotional armour letting the truth seep through.

  “I cannot understand this faith. When our race was consigned to defeat twenty years ago, where was the Great Spirit? Now we face annihilation, and where is He? Were we ever His race at all? The scrolls say He is jealous of his people, and yet he lets others murder them? It makes no sense Fidel, it never has.”

  He didn’t reply at once. The use of his name did not go unheeded either, though Ikara seemed oblivious of it. That was when he received the true woman, when she did not realise she was giving of herself.

  “You don’t know his plans, Commander. Faith is trusting in the scrolls regardless of outward appearances.” Fidel’s right hand, free from the reins, drifted over to Ikara who was now riding beside him, and rested a moment on her own.

  The touch sent a shockwave through her body. No one was allowed that close to her, not without her consent. She had to maintain control, but that desire was becoming all consuming.

  “The outward appearance is death, Captain,” she snapped back at him, withdrawing into herself once again and pulling her horse away. “And if the Great Spirit cannot share His plans then I will make them. I already have.”

  “Oh?”

  “We will face this enemy and we will kill or be killed. I wait upon no spirit for deliverance whilst my people die.”

  “They believed.”

  “And for what?! More fool them!” The bitter words caused the Commander to flinch, sending her horse into Fidel’s path.

  “Damn it, Captain!”

  They had found their way back into the city walls and reached the end of the dock path, before them lay calm waters between wooden jetties naked of boats. They would have to turn back if they wished to continue on the perimeter path.

  “Ikara.” Fidel took advantage of a moment in which they were totally alone, “This attitude – this need for blood – is wrong.”

  Her eyes flashed at him, her mouth tight and angry.

  “I am your Commander, Fidel, remember that! And as your superior I expect absolute obedience.”

  Fidel’s face broke at the words. He dismounted and, leaving his horse, started towards the water’s edge.

  “Captain! Fidel!” Ikara’s voice was raised, the usual control she had over it broken. She leapt down and strode after him, her long legs catching up to him quickly enough.

  “Fidel!” There was an urgency in the voice, a fear lying under the angered tones. She reached out trying to pull him back.

  “Captain,” corrected Fidel. “Isn’t that my name to you?”

  He had no choice, he needed to speak, and there was only way he could do so before his superior officer. He drew the sword from his belt, looking between the blade in his hands and Ikara’s ice-coloured eyes. “I cannot follow you on a path of destruction. Take my sword.”

  But she would not.

  He dug the weapon blade-first into the ground between them. “I will speak to you as one Laowyn to another. Ikara you are lost, and I would find you again, but you will not be found. I cannot watch you… I cannot stand by and see you take this path, not when…” Fidel’s hand reached out and then dropped to his side again. He turned to look over the waters, the breeze pushing back the hair from his face, showing the lines of his compassionate brow. He had waited so long to tell her, and now that it seemed that this might be the end, perhaps the time was right.

  He turned to her, taking her hand from her side before she could flinch away. He drew it up, pressing his mouth against the smooth skin and held it there. When he rose he saw the mist of tears in her eyes.

  “I will always be yours, but to watch what you are doing is to watch a part of myself destroyed. I will not do it.”

  He released her hand. “I will make my way to Emril City and see what use I can be to Zephenesh.” He took in a breath. “Goodbye Ikara.”

  Chapter 18

  “He hasn’t called for me,” hissed Nisa, defending herself against Garesh’s rage.

  He had been in a foul mood ever since his disagreement with the Prince over his pet prisoner – Garesh had come away seething and the Favourite had stayed. But Nisa would be damned before she allowed herself to become his verbal punching bag, she had done her job, she had enticed the Prince with her wiles and befriended the fair-haired woman.

  Nisa knew her job well and had been playing the courtesan ever since she’d become a woman, she had learned that people worked off the basic motivations of sex, power, and fear. But these two weren’t responding to the best of her tricks. Simply put, there was something different about them and she didn’t trust that.

  “Judging from your performance last night I’m not surprised.”

  Nisa would have spat venom if her mouth had opened. She remained silent trying to block out images of Garesh’s old sinewy frame laid on its back throughout last night’s session.

  “Why is it a problem? You have his signed name on the massacre Edict, do you not?”

  “Much good it will do me if I cannot rule after its enacting, whore.”

  Nisa’s eyes narrowed like one of the stray cats of the city. Now was not the time to unveil her claws however.

  “We have discussed this, my lord, either you will continue ruling over the Prince, or if there is a rebellion you will have the Prince to blame.”

  “He’s causing problems now, I may not be able to wait until the Laowyn are destroyed.”

  Nisa skirted around a table and traced a hand over Garesh’s shoulder before moving away teasingly. “There are ways to have people silenced, my lord.” Her eyes flashed back at him momentarily. “I am surprised you have not used them before now.”

  “Our race revere their rulers.”

  “Yes, and they will revere you, when the Prince is sadly assassinated. It would not be surprising in the current political climate, my lord. Just think about it, you’d be using the climate to your advantage rather than having your actions dictated by it.”

  Garesh, whose mind had been sceptical, suddenly felt sparks of excitement ignite in his imagination. The whore was right, it would be easy to blame the Laowyn, and the Prince would be gone, leaving Garesh as ruler of Emrilion.

  “I have served for many years upon the High Council, and I have exceeded every expectation of my office.”

  “Yes, my lord,” murmured Nisa, allowing him his arrogant ramblings. What did it matter to her that she despised the man when he could be her way to security? Without ever being called by the Prince she was as good as a prisoner, just as his Favourite had implied. That was not how Nisa Kardeeshi would end her days.

  “The rule of this Kingdom is something I have undertaken since the minority. Do I not deserve recognition?” His tone was agitated and harsh, his mouth pulled i
nto a distorted smile and his tongue darting in and out between his lips. “Ruler of Emrilion. Who knew a whore could have such wise ideas?”

  “The dark spirits tell me things,” she replied, enticing the power-hungry man. “And my security will be assured?”

  “Of course,” said Garesh, coming to her and ravaging her mouth for several minutes. Once he was finished he pushed her away. “You shall be my premier concubine.” He registered the fleeting look on her face. “What? You thought I would make a concubine my Queen? I think not, woman.”

  Nisa struggled to control her desire to scratch out his dark, sadistic eyes.

  “Now, now.” He patted her backside. “Premier concubine will see your power increased throughout the court.”

  That was true, and even if Garesh tired of her and failed to call her as the Prince did, the premier concubine did not lose her position, she maintained control over the majority of the harem under only the Harem Master Coscian. He would have to be replaced of course. After all, he had favoured the Prince’s prisoner.

  “Very well, my lord, and the girl?”

  “She will have to be silenced too – your dark arts can take care of it?”

  “Only if you want the blame laid at a Reluwyn’s door – none of the Laowyn practice Spirit Conjuring – no, poisoned food would be better.”

  “Yes,” Garesh began to laugh, the sound high-pitched and maniacal. “Yes, it would be better!” After he had laughed his fill he spoke again, “You know men who could get this job done?”

  “I do.”

  “Discreet men?”

  “But of course, my lord.”

  Nisa watched the High Councillor considering for barely a moment before he nodded abruptly.

  “Get it done.”

  It had taken five days for Fidel to catch up with Zephenesh and the others, and a further two to reach the city. When they had entered the outskirts both Zeb and Djeck had recommended disguises for all of them. The best option was to hire a pack donkey whilst they were in the city to appear as traders. The elves could have worn some kind of turban to hide their ears, and the Laowyn could have bought Reluwyn clothes. All suggestions however, were rejected by Zephenesh.

  “I will not hide my heritage, I do not fear these people.” It was all the answer that the Elder would give to the entreaties of the Elves, and after the seventh time they realised that the stubborn man had no notion of relenting.

  Thus, they entered the city as themselves. They drew much attention once they made it past the suburbs and into the centre of the city’s thriving streets. Vendors and street-sellers all watched them pass by, conversations dropping and whispers picking up.

  “We shall be lucky if we reach Tower Gate square alive,” muttered Djeck irritably. He, Zeb and Zephenesh had been here before. They knew the best place to try and make contact with the palace’s inhabitants. The Tower Gate was the entrance for traders into the palace precincts and, although Zephenesh had refused to disguise his heritage, he had acquiesced to the use of donkeys and products as a pretence for entry, and the elves being the leaders of their party due to the Laowyn trade embargo.

  The twins were each pulling a donkey and neither had visited the bustling metropolis before. They walked side-by-side and made the same awe-filled noises as they took in the height of the sandstone buildings, the grand architecture, the myriad of products sold on the streets and the thousands of people that heaved along the belly of the city.

  “Stop trying to beat me with that mule of yours,” Calev light-heartedly tugged on the opposing donkey’s bridle so that he slowed. “It’s not a race.”

  “Oh yes? Well, then why are you practically dragging that donkey of yours to make it faster than mine?”

  “Pack it in, the pair of you,” Fidel warned in undertones. They didn’t need any more attention than they were already getting. Fidel was aware of all the eyes that followed them, especially him, he was taller than the others and his hair the fairest. His broad shoulders and muscular frame would be seen as a threat to these people. They had travelled through at least ten settlements with Edicts for the destruction of the Laowyn hammered to the central buildings. Fidel wondered if the looks were appraising, wondering how difficult it would be to slay him? How many moves it would take to get him into a position where his throat could be slit?

  He ignored the looks and focused on the road ahead. If it was possible the crowds had increased, the heat was becoming almost unbearable and the dust being kicked up was sticking to their skin. Right at the point that Fidel thought they would be crushed, the narrow street let out into a vast courtyard.

  People surged with them into the open area, pushing the small party forwards. Zephenesh tripped on a ridge in the tiled floor, Fidel catching his elbow and steadying him before he could fall and be trampled. Once they were in the courtyard, Zeb, who had been heedless of the others progress for the entirety of their journey, turned east towards the main gateway that led off the courtyard. The great entryway was the first of many leading to the various inner circles of the palace. Looking up Fidel saw the reason for the entrance’s name Tower Gate.

  The entryway was an elaborate arch, covered in gold and engraved around the edges. Above the apex, the sandstone blocks carried on, forming a tower which housed several large oval balconies before it was topped by one of the highest domes Fidel had ever seen. The entrance was aptly named and this was only the first of many. He wondered what the Laowyn woman Kiara had thought when she had first seen this place. He had never witnessed a Reluwyn settlement, let alone their capital city.

  As they passed beneath the arch, Fidel saw that its width stretched several cart-lengths and off to the sides ran alleyways threading the lengths of the walls. The shade was a welcome relief from the heat. Several booths were erected on either side of the entryway, Imperial Guards stood in clusters around them to vet each visitor to the palace.

  When it was their turn, the twins remained remarkably silent. Fidel glanced at Zeb, but the elf was already moving forward.

  “Good morning, sir,” he inclined his head respectfully but received no such reply. The young guard looked down his nose at the elf, taking in his old-clothing and the tell-tale Laowyn symbols on his companion’s brooches. Lines appeared on either side of the man’s nose in distaste.

  “State your business at the palace.”

  Fidel was quick to realise that any misspoken words would be used as a means to bar them entry. He felt his stomach tense as he watched the interchange.

  “We have spices and perfumes to sell in the harem quarter if you will allow us.”

  Fidel exhaled, realising the reason for spending extra on the donkey’s cargo. It had been Zeb’s idea, even though the twins had protested. They had wanted edible cargo if they needed to bring something into the city. Still, he wouldn’t have minded being told the plan before they had been faced by armed guards. The elf was as recalcitrant as ever.

  Fidel eyed the scimitars of the armoured men. The blades looked deadly, complementing the red paint which aggressively marked each man’s cheekbones.

  A commotion on the other side of the street drew his attention. He heard a scuffle and then shouting, catching sight of a man being hauled away from his cart. He was clubbed with the handle of a guard’s scimitar, his form falling limp between the two men who dragged him down an alley.

  “Weapon smuggling,” the young guard filled in pointedly, drawing Fidel’s attention back to their present situation.

  The guard was looking directly at him, or rather up at him to be more accurate. His inconspicuous height was proving problematic.

  “The unrest is growing and we take no chances, it’ll be a year in the Watchtower for that offence. I don’t suppose you have any weapons to declare?” He seemed hopeful, but Zeb had made them leave their weapons hidden in a grove on the outskirts of the city. Clearly, he had known that this would happen.

  “We carry no weapons, sir, we are happy to be searched.”

  “Good
.” The guard jerked his chin at two subordinates who immediately began to ransack the goods on the donkey’s backs causing the beasts to paw at the ground irritably. In the time it took for the search, three Reluwyn parties had made it through the checkpoint on the other side of the street. Zephenesh, Fidel, Djeck and the twins waited silently whilst Zeb answered the questions.

  “You have until dusk to complete your transactions.” They were scrabbling about on the floor picking up each of the spice and perfume parcels which had been thrown out by the guards. When they had re-packed their animals, they went to move away from the booth.

  Before they could leave the young guard leaned towards them, evidently displeased with having to give them passage. “Anyone found within the palace boundaries when the gates are closed will be thrown into the Watchtower until first light,” he spat on the floor by Zephenesh’s feet. “Or longer if I feel like it.”

  The disrespect to Zephenesh’s status beggared belief, but none of the party even batted an eyelid. They moved off into the less densely populated courtyard on the other side of the gate. Fidel saw that this was one of the four circles which surrounded the palace; he could see the wide arc of the street stretch out on either side of them.

  “The entrance to the harem courtyard is two more circles in,” Zeb said, not looking any of them in the eye. “This way.” He led them to the right.

  “How does he know where he’s going?” asked Jaik, one comical eye brow raised his mouth curving mischievously.

  “What a question to ask,” replied his twin, looking over his shoulder to Fidel, “Let’s ask Fidel.”

  “I have no answers for you.” Fidel felt their humorous attitudes chafing at him. This was their last hope as a race; there was no part of him that could relax. Since he had left Ikara, he had been plagued by doubts every day. Had he made the right decision in leaving her? “That elf is a mystery to everyone but himself.”

  “Maybe even to himself,” Jaik said, his brother instantly chuckling.

  “I was about to say that.”