“Well, I guess you showed me.”
“What am I to do with another mouth to feed? And the other men who I might have married her to, well, they paint themselves white now.”
Tyrus’s hand drifted to his knife.
“Do you not enjoy my generosity?”
“I don’t like games.”
“Then why do you insult me with titles and lands?”
Tyrus clenched his teeth as he fought down painful memories. The shock of Ishma’s face unnerved him, and he found himself tempted by the look-alike. He had spent years searching the Kingdom of Narbor for a woman with Ishma’s green eyes, but he had abandoned the foolish quest years before. Breonna was mocking him, and his confusion turned murderous.
If he cut her down, that would start a war with her sons. He despised being manipulated. She was provoking a murderous rage on purpose, and he sought the trap in the villa—a room full of sorcerers or thanes was surely waiting to pounce on him. Breonna’s grin grew bigger, and Tyrus wanted to knock every tooth out of her skull.
“I have a counteroffer,” Breonna said. “I’m told, among your people, that royals must come of age to wear the crown. I will be queen—regent, I believe is the word—until Marah comes of age.”
“You listen to the Islanders now?”
“Do you think the little girl will like my idea?”
“We need her. You must see it.”
“I see a child stealing my warriors.”
“We can’t afford to fight each other,” Tyrus said. “We have too many enemies.”
“The walls will protect us.”
“Azmon broke those walls with beasts. Marah broke them with runes. I’ve broken into Shinar three times now. Trust me—we need the girl to keep the Gadarans and the elves away.”
“And while we wait to fight, she steals my clans?”
“They come to her willingly.”
“I emptied my coffers on boats and grain and sorcerers. The city is my payment. She won’t take the one thing I have left.” Breonna paused and dismissed the girl. “Tell me—are you still the warlord, or are you just a guard now?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“My sixth husband, the dumbest of the lot.”
Tyrus missed the girl with the green eyes. The look-alike managed to distract him when he should have focused his attention on Breonna’s threats, but he found himself wondering what her name was and where she was from. He had been lonely for ages, and Breonna was using that against him with remarkable skill.
He asked, “Where are the hostages?”
“They are here.”
“I want to see them.”
“Well, this is one of those days when neither of us is going to get what we want. Take my proposal to Marah. And if you do not know your station, perhaps my next talk should be with her.”
Tyrus turned to leave but paused. “I’ve had demons torment me. They killed the people I loved. There’s little you can do that hasn’t been done before. But if you hurt Marah, I’m going to hurt you.”
“Am I supposed to be afraid?”
“You can’t kill me, and I won’t stop.” Tyrus spoke with a calm voice, but his glare was deadly. “I’ll rip apart your entire clan. Your sons, the women, the children, they’ll all burn. I’ve done it before. I’ve killed more people than the plague.”
Breonna’s eye twitched a little, and Tyrus turned his back on her. He walked with a slow pace to illustrate his scorn, and as he left the villa, he hoped her men would spring their ambush. If she wanted to play games with the Butcher of Rosh, she deserved to die. He was disappointed when he made it to the street unmolested.
V
Breonna stood on the walls of her villa, watching Tyrus travel back to King’s Rest. The streets were filled with groups of Norsil exploring empty homes and looting. The Roshan had left behind a fortune in discarded cloth and steel as though all the people had vanished without any of their possessions. Little disputes erupted over the loot, which was why the thanes traveled in groups. Tyrus walked alone. People gave the Dark Walker a wide berth.
She had come close to ordering him seized. Then she remembered how he had killed Nisroch, and fear held her back. The Sea Kings had proposed taking him hostage and ransoming him back to Marah. The exchange would draw her out of the fortress so she would be easier to kill. Her sons were nervous. The stories about Barros’s death painted a grim picture of the little freak’s spells.
Breonna returned to her war council, discarding the plans she had made for Tyrus. His usefulness had ended, and he lacked the decency to be afraid of her. When they had married, she thought Shinar would take months to conquer, and a warlord with experience breaking castles would be an asset. With the Sea Kings, they would break Ironwall themselves.
They just had to kill the two freaks first.
Her sons and the sorcerers gathered around a table in a dining room.
Her eldest son, Tullir, asked, “You let him go?”
“The time wasn’t right. We play nice until we can kill them.”
“They are dangerous together,” Tullir said. “Better to take them separately. Between her fire and his sword, the girl didn’t get a scratch.”
“But Tyrus almost died.”
“Barros lanced him, but he is impossible to kill.”
“Take his head,” Breonna said. “He’ll die.”
“If only it were that easy.”
Another son, Brugo, reported that hundreds of thanes had joined the Ghost Clan, and Marah had begun marking women and children. She was accepting whole families. Also, more of the thanes were painting themselves white. To make matters worse, red robes were seen patrolling the battlements of King’s Rest.
Her youngest son, Peldor, said, “And there is word from home. A new warlord has announced himself. The other clans are uniting against us. There is no name yet, but he is promising a death to all who abandoned Nisroch.”
Breonna asked, “Where did you learn this?”
“New arrivals from the boats.”
“Ships,” Orfeo said. “Our vessels are called ships.”
“Ships, boats, whatever,” Peldor said. “Someone is uniting the rest of the clans in the west. And they say Nisroch is not really dead. They say he will return for blood.”
Breonna rolled her eyes. She had seen the fight, and while there was no corpse, Nisroch had fought to his last. A new warlord would be easily ignored once they controlled Shinar. Breonna intended for Kordel’s children to rule as kings for hundreds of years.
She also believed Tyrus had tricked her into sending her strongest warriors to slaughter. Half of the greatest thanes in her clans had died to free a creature more frightening than Nisroch. Tyrus was playing dumb, as though he hadn’t planned the whole mess. Breonna heard the familiarity in their voices—they talked like uncle and niece. Tyrus had handed his niece the greatest city in the world.
She asked herself, “He thinks he can give Shinar to a little girl?”
Brugo said, “The girl gave the city to the Kassiri.”
“She did what?”
“Their king, the blond one… She gave him the city last week. Many of the men heard it after the battle. His family has ruled Shinar for centuries.”
“We shall see about that.”
Orfeo asked, “Are you saying the Baladan Dynasty survived?”
Tullir shrugged. “Their king did.”
Breonna waited for the sorcerer to explain.
He said, “Lael Baladan was never a friend of the Burning Isles. They were a fearsome family. They could take many more runes than normal men.”
“The Kassiri are little children compared to us.”
“Let us hope so.”
More men arrived, thanes who held key positions in the clans her sons controlled. Breonna recognized them at once and waited for her sons to attend them. Peldor whispered with
one of his men then turned to her with a worried tightness to his face.
“Just tell me the bad news,” Breonna said.
“None of our men have been able to join the Ghost Clan. She rejected all of them.”
For days, they had been trying to get spies closer to the girl. None had made it past the streets outside King’s Rest. Breonna’s anger had nothing to do with her sons’ failed attempts to trick the girl. The markings had spread faster than she expected. A dozen guards had become a hundred with frightening speed, and she knew they had to stop the Ghost Clan before they lost the city.
Breonna asked, “How does she find them? Every time, she rejects our men.”
Orfeo said, “She speaks with the dead.”
“You said that was a trick.”
“I did, but it is a good one.” He scratched his chin. “We’ve never heard of anyone using it like this. Most accounts of the rite claim it takes a human sacrifice, and the connection is weak. In ages past, sorcerers used the runes to speak with those recently killed, murder victims, things like that. She appears to speak to the dead at will. That is most unusual.”
“So?” Breonna hated lectures. “How do we get past her tricks?”
“We don’t know. We can’t counter this until we understand it. And until we have a counter, anything we do she will see coming.”
Breonna pinched her nose to ward off a headache. The sorcerers didn’t know how to kill the girl, or they were afraid of her. She asked for results and received excuses. Orfeo was about to ask for more time to study, and she hated it when they buried themselves in their scrolls.
Breonna asked, “So she is stronger than you?”
“Azmon Pathros was the greatest sorcerer of the age until Marah defeated him. And she did that at an age when most students are still practicing their calligraphy.”
Breonna said, “Only a sorcerer could talk all day and say nothing.”
Orfeo apologized with a bow and open hands.
“She is stealing from me. Stop her, or I will find someone who can.”
“We will continue working on the problem.”
“How do we keep her from stealing thanes?”
“They think she is the Ghost Warrior,” Peldor said. “She gives them red marks, like Nisroch.”
“She is not Nisroch.” Breonna turned to Orfeo. “Can you mark men with red inks?”
Orfeo paled. “Your thanes have too many runes.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the Burning Isles, it is rare for a man to have more than seven or eight. Trying to get as many as ten kills the intended more often than not.”
“Seven or eight?” Breonna asked. “Is that a joke? I have five. Peldor has over fifty.”
“Our skills are nothing compared to Nisroch’s. We would be lucky if we didn’t kill your thanes.”
“But Marah marks men with dozens of runes.”
“As I said, we do not understand her powers.”
“Bah!”
One of the younger sorcerers said, “Only the prophets were able to etch without inks.”
Orfeo glared at him, and he quieted.
Breonna grew concerned that they were hiding things from her. “What is he talking about?”
Orfeo said, “We debate the nature of Marah’s gifts. Demon spawn are also stronger than sorcerers. And the stories of the battle between Marah and Azmon would suggest that Azmon, at the very least, is demon spawn. He fought as hard as Marah did.”
The younger sorcerer said, “But he doesn’t etch without inks.”
Orfeo said, “We don’t know that.”
“It is unheard of,” the young man insisted. “Even among the prophets, such talent was rare. According to the histories, only two, Alivar and Jethlah, managed such a thing. Jace and Kennet never etched anyone, and there is no record of demon spawn etching anyone.”
Breonna interrupted their quibbles by clearing her throat. She knew little of runes but found their argument troubling. The people she had hired to protect her from sorcery didn’t understand Marah’s powers.
“If she’s a prophet,” Breonna asked, “what do we do?”
“The histories are clear,” Orfeo said. “They seldom live to twenty. Alivar was the greatest of them all, and he died in his thirties. Prophets create powerful enemies among the shedim.”
“So, you suggest we wait?” Breonna barely contained her sarcasm. “I pay you a fortune in gold, and you tell me to wait for someone else to kill her?”
Orfeo’s cheeks flushed.
Breonna stood and paced. Despite the confusion and unanswered questions, one thing was clear: the clans were bleeding, and if they didn’t stop the losses, she would be forced to abandon Shinar.
“We need them out in the open,” Breonna said. “When they are vulnerable, we will strike.”
Tullir said, “We tried that.”
“Without sorcerers,” Breonna said. “This time, the Sea Kings will be with you. Put together a war band and watch them. When they are out in the open or vulnerable, we strike.”
Orfeo said, “She will see that coming.”
Breonna said, “Everyone sees it coming. The clans must marry or fight.”
Her sons looked reluctant.
“Either we take the city, or we leave.” Breonna saw unconvinced faces. “The longer we stay, the stronger she grows. Do you want to abandon Shinar?”
They all shook their heads.
“Then we must kill her.”
They agreed. She dismissed the council. That her sons had forced her to explain herself became as troubling as Marah and Tyrus. She was losing their trust. The night Marah had defeated Barros was growing into a legend—the Ghost Warrior and the Dark Walker had defeated her clan all by themselves. Her sons claimed they had fought a couple dozen thanes—famous men, but a couple dozen at best. If Breonna didn’t put a stop to the story, idiots would soon say that they had defeated thousands of her men.
She retired to her room. She vowed to show them that the Ghost Warrior was just a girl who knew sorcery. Marah’s severed head would be mounted on a spear outside King’s Rest. The Ghost Warrior would die as quickly as she had appeared, and the clans would kneel before their queen.
VI
Tyrus returned to King’s Rest and found Marah locked in her rooms after a long day of holding audiences in the courtyard. Olroth and the Ghost Clan stood guard throughout the keep. Tyrus was disappointed to find Olroth painted white. He wondered how soon they would all start painting themselves white, and he didn’t like the idea of smearing the paste on his face and arms. Standing in a large hallway, watching the Ghost Clan, he didn’t know if Marah had ordered them to paint themselves or if they had done it on their own.
Olroth asked him, “How did the meet go?”
“I didn’t buy us as much time as I had hoped.”
“That bad?”
“I offered her the lands and titles. She threatened me.”
“I told you she can’t be bought. Breonna has always taken what she wants.”
“So what do we do? Shall I call her out to a duel?”
“The Ghost Warrior must call her out.”
“Marah doesn’t want to do that.”
“One of them must call out the other,” Olroth said. “If Breonna wants to be queen, she must answer a challenge or lose face.”
“She can’t win. She’ll send assassins.”
“Which is why I said she can’t be bought.”
“I know, Olroth. I heard you. The longer we wait, the more thanes we have.”
“We don’t need thanes. We have the Ghost Warrior.”
Tyrus wished the dispute was that simple. If Breonna’s clan marched on King’s Rest, many of the thanes would be burned. The more warriors Marah could save, the easier defending Shinar would be.
The doors to Marah’s room opened. She entered the hallwa
y dressed in a white cloak and holding a short spear as a walking stick. Tyrus wondered where she had found such things, but he was sure one word to her guards would have sent them scouring Shinar for gifts. Marah’s size still surprised him. She was too tiny to be at the center of all the feuding and infighting.
“I’ve waited long enough,” Marah said. “I’m going to Paltiel.”
Tyrus said, “We can’t leave Breonna alone in Shinar.”
“I’m going. You can stay if you want.”
“Marah, please wait.”
“We have food,” Marah said. “We have the keep and more guards. We have waited long enough. I’m going.”
“Marah—”
“I don’t like this place. I’m going.”
Tyrus struggled to explain why they needed to stay. Breonna would pounce on the opportunity to take more of the city, and out on the plains, they were more vulnerable. Marah looked at him with big eyes, waiting for his answer. The Ghost Clan didn’t acknowledge him at all—if Marah said, “March,” they would march, and he could do nothing to force her to stay.
He groaned a little. “Let me come with you.”
Marah smiled. “I don’t care what the dead say. I like you.”
Tyrus winced at the weird insult. It confused him for a moment, and then he understood that the dead were conspiring against him too. He had enough problems without ghosts for enemies.
He turned to Olroth. “You know what Breonna will do while we’re gone?”
Olroth said, “She’ll claim the city.”
“We need to leave behind enough men to stop her. At the very least, we need to hold King’s Rest and one gate so we can get back inside the walls.”
Olroth turned to Marah. “Do you agree, Ghost Warrior?”
“Do as he says,” Marah said. “Use the red sorcerers and the knights to help hold the keep. I’ll take… twenty thanes to the woods.”
“As you wish.”
Tyrus stood watching an old friend accept commands from a child. He became unmoored and uncertain of his position. He was no longer a warlord. No one listened to him directly. At best, he might be a trusted advisor, and at worst he was little more than a bodyguard.
Dance of Battle: A Dark Fantasy (Shedim Rebellion Book 4) Page 15
