Seeing fear dance across other people’s faces made Tyrus feel better about himself. The last few days had been strange beyond measure, and to see that strangeness infect others felt good. He was no longer alone.
Wide eyed, Breonna grabbed Tyrus’s shoulder. “Who is she?”
“She is the one who conquered Shinar.”
“But she is so small.”
“I know. I’m still not used to it.”
“How…?”
“I told you. She is not a little girl.”
The elder Sea King hurried to the first man Marah had touched. He held the man’s face and wiped at the smeared blood. He kept peering at the mark until the crowd surged around the man. The crowd churned around Marah to get a better look. Tyrus almost unslung his sword, but Marah directed her guards to push them back, and Lahar stood at her shoulder.
With a hand on his dagger, Tyrus watched Breonna. If she tried to incite the mob or ordered the Sea Kings to lash out, he would have to kill her first. And the new sorcerers would die soon after. Tyrus weighed his targets again. Breonna’s thanes could be dealt with by Marah’s Ghost Clan—but the queen and the sorcerers needed to die first. And like that, he prepared to kill his wife.
Marah performed like a puppet dancing on strings. The ghosts had warned her that the meeting with Breonna was a dangerous time—that she was more violent and powerful than her son Barros. Marah didn’t want to kill anyone, and she tried to listen to the right voices, to pick the few among the teeming dead who wished to preserve the peace.
They were hard to find. Many of the voices craved violence. The Gadaran dead and Shinari dead despised the Norsil, and even among the Norsil dead, many hated Breonna’s clan. A few ghosts were concerned about the rest of the Norsil. They wanted a duel instead of a battle, and Marah sifted through a storm of angry, bitter voices.
She was marking men to demonstrate her powers. Marah rubbed her abused hand and wondered why the cutting was part of the ritual. She hated cutting herself. A voice had told her to win the crowd, which would give Breonna pause. The gambit seemed to work. Breonna looked shaken—she looked like Marah felt, confused and alone and uncertain of what to do next.
A Norsil ghost whispered Breonna’s pedigree to Marah.
She recited the words to the crowd. “Greetings, Breonna, daughter of Kolzak. You honor the Great Kordel, bringing his sons to the shores of Shinar as he once hoped to do.”
All eyes turned to Breonna, who was standing like a statue. The crowd’s eyes shifted between the two of them. Marah waited for a response, and she couldn’t understand why Breonna did nothing.
Marah said, “I am Marah of Narbor.”
Breonna turned to Orfeo. “Are those marks real?”
“There’s sorcery in them,” Orfeo said. “Weak runes but real.”
Breonna’s shoulders slumped slightly. Her disappointment didn’t last long though because she raised her chin and fixed Marah with a furious glare. Marah answered with a passive face, but her mind raced with questions.
Marah asked the ghosts, What do I do?
One voice whispered, Careful now, she is desperate and unpredictable.
Just kill her, another whispered. She won’t surrender without a fight.
Spill blood, and the violence will never stop, the first voice said. A delicate touch will keep the feuds in check. Win the hearts of the thanes first, and kill her later.
Marah nodded, and the voices seemed to sense her acknowledgement. She licked her lips. Her mouth had dried, and sweat trickled down her lower back. She held the source close, runes at her fingertips, which left gooseflesh on her arms and a chill in the air, but anxiety made her heart pound. The sweat and chill left her clammy and confused.
She whispered, I need Dura’s help.
No, a voice said, you need to focus on the problem at hand.
But I don’t know what I’m doing.
Another voice chuckled. Neither does Breonna. She’s just better at hiding it.
Marah wasn’t sure if that was true. Voices warned her that Breonna was talented with a knife and bow and cunning when it came to politics. Others said etching the thanes was an attack on Breonna’s clan. Marah told them she hadn’t meant to attack Breonna’s clan. The voices seemed amused by that, saying she could not steal thanes from Breonna without attacking her.
You declared war on her.
Marah was upset. But I did what you told me to do.
Kill her and her sons. The age of Kordel is over.
Dozens of voices agreed, and Marah struggled to push them aside. She needed a clear head to think and realized she had been led into a trap. Many of the dead wanted revenge on Breonna and her sons.
Tyrus waited in the crowd, as though everyone had forgotten about him. Marah wanted to call him to her side. She wanted him to pick her up in his massive arms so she could hug his neck and whisper questions in his ear. He might know what to do.
A voice whispered, The Ghost Warrior does not hug thanes.
Marah considered using a spell to throw everyone away from her. She wanted to push the Norsil away and run back to the Paltiel Woods.
Wait before you strike, a voice whispered. She will make her move in the dark, not in front of all these people. That is when you finish this.
The voices began to argue about whether that was a dangerous gamble or if it would prevent unnecessary bloodshed. Marah found the debate troubling because, as she listened to them, she realized even the ghosts didn’t know what to do.
Then she noticed one of the Sea Kings looking through her. He had vacant eyes that seemed to take in everything, and she recognized the look. Dura had sometimes peered at her like that, as though she knew all of Marah’s secrets. Instinctively, Marah focused on the older man in the green robes. She felt he was more dangerous than Breonna, and many of the ghosts agreed.
The man acknowledged her attention with a slight smirk.
Marah whispered to the dead, Who is that man?
A Sea King from the Burning Isles.
Marah asked again, But who is he? What is his name?
For the first time, the ghosts grew silent. Marah frowned, and that made the man’s smirk grow. Some of the ghosts—Shinari ghosts—told her the Baladan Dynasty had banished the Sea Kings centuries before. They did not tolerate the slavers, so there were no dead Sea Kings in Shinar.
Marah was surprised. None?
Our people have not traded in centuries. He is a stranger in this land. Any of his relatives died far away from Shinar.
Marah whispered, But you know everyone else.
We fought beside everyone else.
Marah licked her lips again. The voices were a crutch, and they had never let her down before. She didn’t know what to do, and the crowd sensed her confusion. They were expecting something, and she froze.
“We have much to celebrate,” Breonna called out to everyone. Her voice broke the awe from Marah’s etching. “The journey across the sea was long, and we have huts to build and a feast to prepare. I would hear the story of the Battle for Shinar, from the thanes who defeated the Kassiri.”
One of her sons cheered, and his thanes took up the shout. Soon, many of the Norsil whooped and pumped their fists to celebrate the victory. Others looked at Marah, confused. She shared their confusion.
Breonna gestured for silence. “Tonight, we dance by the fire and feast. Unload the ships. Prepare the meal. Settle your families while I attend to our guest. All of your questions will be answered in time.”
The crowd seemed reluctant to leave Marah, but Breonna’s sons and their many thanes shouted at the people to disperse, and the crowd thinned. Rowboats deposited more goods on the shore, and the people hurried to find their places in the swelling chaos.
Marah soon found herself in a smaller group. Thanes she had marked as part of the Ghost Clan stayed near her. Breonna’s sons and their thanes stayed a
s well. Tyrus, Lahar, and the Sea Kings stood close, so that the leaders of the group were arranged in a small circle, leaving Breonna and Marah to face each other.
Marah’s unease grew. The smaller group seemed worse than the mob.
Breonna turned and left. Her people seemed surprised and hurried after her. The elder Sea King was the last to go. He lingered behind, studying Marah, before he headed back to the port.
Marah asked Tyrus, “Why did she leave?”
Tyrus shrugged. “She needs time to think.”
“What do we do now?”
“Breonna likes to use hostages as leverage,” Tyrus said, “so we find the wives and children belonging to your new thanes, and we make sure they are safe. Then we eat and rest if we can.”
II
Tyrus and a few thanes from Olroth’s clan searched for their families among all the women and children disembarking from the ships. They found no one. The only families coming ashore were the ones related to Breonna and her sons. Tyrus asked around and learned that many families had stayed on the larger ships.
As the day ended, homes were torn down in the port city for lumber, and several bonfires and scores of cook fires were lit. Breonna’s clansmen unloaded supplies, and the women prepared a feast. Tyrus sent a dozen thanes back to Shinar with packs of pilfered supplies for Olroth and the rest. He sent back a message to Olroth to stay in the city, saying the clans would come to him.
Cook fires kept him in the port. The aromas of oats and spices led him by the nose to the center of the camp, along with the sound of goats being slaughtered. After the sun set, a chilly wind blew in off the sea. It dried Tyrus’s eyes and made him appreciate the warmth of the fires. All around him, thanes stood, glowing red in the firelight, waiting to eat. Tyrus knew he should be looking for Breonna’s sons and worrying about the clans, but the food pulled at him. His mouth filled with drool, and his nostrils kept flaring at the amazing smells.
When the feast began, he ate like an animal until he made himself sick, but the warm meal went a long way toward making him feel normal again. When all the people sat and adjusted their weight around their swollen stomachs, the young girls brought out the chains and oil wraps to begin fire dancing. They sang of the great warlords of the past and their many victories.
The dancers reminded Tyrus of little Brynn, the best dancer in Olroth’s clan and a hostage on Breonna’s ships. Guilt set in. He was enjoying a feast while people needed his help. He stood, stretched, and meant to leave the fires, but Breonna waited beside him.
Her eyes watched the fire. Although she did not acknowledge him, she made an obvious effort to avoid looking him in the eye. Tyrus studied her calm face, but she glared at the flames instead.
Breonna said, “You like the dancers?”
“Did you arrange this to punish me?”
“Of course not—the dance is an old tradition. A feast without dancers is no feast at all.”
“Where is my family?”
“I am your family, your wife and queen, or did you forget?”
“You know what I mean.”
“The girl and her mother are safe. Unharmed. Well fed.”
“I want to see them for myself.”
Breonna didn’t acknowledge his request. “You knew what she was when you raced home to her.”
“I had no idea.”
“You’re not as dumb as you look. My sorcerers tell me she has a power like Nisroch’s. You knew her as a babe. You knew then what she was.”
Tyrus bit back a sigh. He saw no way to convince her of the truth. Marah surprised everyone, including himself. Breonna’s voice was cold and flat. She had already decided his guilt. He worried the hostages would suffer in his place.
He said, “I’m still struggling to believe it.”
“Of course you are.”
“In my homeland, etching someone takes decades of training. There are rites and inks, and even the best etchers kill people during the etching. It requires speed and skill to keep the intended alive.” Tyrus grew quiet as he thought back on the hundreds of times he had been tortured by the needles and burning inks. “Watching Marah mark a thane is like a knife in the gut every time.”
“She’s more than a sorcerer.” Breonna sniffed. “But that doesn’t make her the Ghost Warrior.”
“Isn’t that your name for a prophet?”
“The Ghost Warrior is the warlord of all warlords—the chieftain of all chieftains. He is not a little girl.”
“Women can be warriors. You have the scars to prove it.”
“She is hardly a woman.”
“She will be,” Tyrus said. “All the prophets were once little boys.”
Breonna refused to look at him. “You took one of our fire stories, and you perverted it. This farce won’t last long.”
“I didn’t tell Marah about the fire dancers.”
“Of course you did.”
“I didn’t teach her Jakan either, but she speaks it better than I do.”
“Hardly an accomplishment. Your Jakan is terrible.”
Tyrus grew silent. The crackle of fires and the lilting sound of the girls’ singing filled the night. He understood Breonna’s anger. The ground was shifting beneath her feet—he had felt the same when a little waif commanded his army. In time, Breonna would realize the beliefs of the thanes mattered more than the truth. If they claimed her as the Ghost Warrior, then she was.
He reminded himself that Breonna knew that, and he saw the feast as a delay while she regrouped. After she changed their minds, she would kill Marah.
Breonna asked, “What am I going to do with a husband who breaks oaths?”
“I broke no oaths.”
“You serve two masters. You did this before, did you not? It ended in bloodshed. Isn’t that the reason you were wandering the Proving Grounds alone, cast out because of your great love?”
“It was a little more complicated than that.”
Tyrus searched the bonfires for a distraction. The memories of Ishma and Azmon surprised him sometimes. Just when he had the old pain under control, it would creep up on him and infect him with sadness. Marah’s mother had died because of him. One day, a bad memory might distract him during a fight, and all his regrets would get good people killed.
“The elves left rather than fight her,” Tyrus said. “So did the Gadarans. Marah is strong enough to keep our family alive.”
Breonna laughed. “Our family?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You want to be a Norsil husband, but you kneel before a Kassiri girl?”
“Our marriage is about protecting all of our children.”
“Our marriage is a lie,” Breonna said. “We never consummated our union.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Stupid shigatz.” Breonna spat at his feet. “Sleeping alone is the only part of this marriage I enjoy.”
“Are you lonely?”
“Don’t insult me. This marriage began as a lie, and it will end in blood.”
“There is no reason to kill each other.”
“You killed my sons. Lost hundreds of our greatest thanes, fighting for Shinar. And now she steals the clans from me? There are hundreds of reasons to kill that little freak.”
“We all need each other. We have too many enemies.”
“Shinar is mine. I won’t let her have it.”
Tyrus worked to stay calm though adrenaline swirled in his stomach. Instinctively, he wanted to kill her rather than listen to her threaten his ward. Anyone dumb enough to threaten Marah within earshot of Tyrus deserved to die, but they did need one another.
Tyrus said, “Marah will need help ruling the city. She will need stewards.”
“Stewards? Explain this word.”
“On Sornum, a steward is like a chieftain who doesn’t fight.”
“A steward is not a queen.”
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“No, but they make the laws and they enforce them.”
“Laws for people like you and me.” Breonna turned to him with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “But Marah remains above the law. Marah gets to be like Nisroch, the one who breaks the law whenever she feels like it.”
Tyrus nodded.
Breonna said, “A queen who must kneel is not really a queen.”
“There are things in this world more powerful than royalty.”
“I won’t be controlled by a little girl.”
“Then we will all die.”
“Everyone dies. Very few wear crowns.”
“The elves, the Gadarans, the other clans—they’ll take your head when they take your crown.”
“They will try.”
Breonna wandered away into the night. She wrapped her cloak close about her shoulders, and dozens of large men filed after her.
A cold gale rolled in off the sea and whipped through the camp. Sparks kicked up from the fires, and the flames bent with the wind. Tyrus watched the flames and lost himself in old memories of other fires when cities burned and men screamed and steel clashed.
As the logs burned down, he sought out Marah’s camp. He found her wrapped in cloaks, sleeping on the ground. Lahar and a dozen thanes stood watch, and all the thanes bore the mark of the Ghost Clan. Tyrus stood with them as the night grew colder, trying to anticipate what the morning would bring, but he was as confused as everyone else.
Lahar stood watch through the night. The Norsil loved their fires, and he watched the great blazing piles slowly burn down. They reminded him of funeral pyres. Another army had invaded his homeland. A great mob of foreigners arrived by boat to swarm one of Shinar’s ports, and they destroyed buildings for cook fires. He was surrounded by thousands of invaders, and they all spoke a tongue he didn’t understand. He couldn’t tell if they were conspiring against him or discussing the feast.
Dance of Battle: A Dark Fantasy (Shedim Rebellion Book 4) Page 12
