by Jon Sprunk
She nodded and allowed him to lead her down the hallway. They climbed three flights of steps to the manor’s top floor. Here the decorations became lavish with marble sculptures and gilded oil paintings. Lord Hunzuu talked incessantly as they walked, plying her with compliments and boasting of his family’s status, but Alyra only listened well enough to respond with the occasional nod or murmur of agreement. She peered through each open doorway as they passed, creating a map of the house in her head.
Suddenly she realized the guards had stopped well behind them. She and Hunzuu were walking alone toward a grand doorway at the end of the hall. She had the awful feeling it would be his boudoir. Where is his wife? Probably outside drinking herself into oblivion.
Alyra searched for a distraction. She spotted another doorway off to their left. The room beyond it had a warm feel, with chestnut-brown walls and a rich burgundy carpet covering the floor. “What’s in there?” she asked, pulling in that direction.
“That’s just my study. But I think you’ll like what’s in here.”
Lord Hunzuu tugged her arm back toward the grand doors. Or tried to. Alyra kept pulling him toward the study, until he had to either manhandle her or follow. With a doting smile, he gave up and allowed her to take the lead.
The study had a slightly musty smell of paper and leather. A large writing desk dominated the right-hand end of the room. Two deep chairs sat before it, facing each other. The wall opposite the door was filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves and scroll racks. An oil lamp burned in the window behind the desk, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.
“My lord, you have so many b—”
Alyra’s statement was cut off as the nobleman grasped her tightly by both arms and spun her around. He pressed his body against her.
“My lord!” She shoved him back a step. “I . . . I . . .”
Despite her training, his aggression took her by surprise. In that moment he advanced again, clearly aroused. Alyra stepped back, or tried to. A hard surface had appeared behind her. It felt like a sheet of cool iron against her back, and she realized it was a plane of solid air. Oh lords of light. He’s zoanii!
She raised her hands, but there was little else she could do while staying in character. He pressed against her again, more roughly this time. Her skin crawled as he kissed down the side of her face, nuzzling her neck. His breath smelled of wine and raw fish. Alyra closed her eyes and tried to focus on something else. If she let him wear himself out, perhaps she could put him to bed and have a little time to look around. But she shuddered with revulsion as his hands roamed over her body, triggering painful memories from her years in the palace at Erugash and all the humiliations she had suffered there. Her hand stole down to the side of her leg as he lifted the hem of her dress.
“So lovely,” he murmured as he rubbed his hardness against her.
Alyra didn’t think. She just reacted. Her fingers closed around the smooth hilt of the stiletto tied to the inside of her right thigh. She drew it and brought her arm up in a swift stab through his left eyeball. At the same time, she pulled his face against her neck to muffle his sudden cry. She felt the blade scrape against the bone socket as it plunged in all the way to the hilt. Lord Hunzuu stiffened against her, his body jerking for several seconds. Then he went limp and collapsed to the floor. Her knife stuck in his eye. She put a foot on Hunzuu’s chest and yanked the blade free with a grunt.
For a moment, she stood still, listening. There was no sound of activity outside the room, no shouts of alarm. Quietly, Alyra went over and closed the door until the latch clicked shut.
Her hands shook as she went to the desk. Her breathing was erratic. Stay calm. It’s over. Just focus on the job.
She hit the motherlode on her first try. A sheaf of scrolls sat in the center of the desk, held down by a pair of long silver paperweights shaped like daggers. Lord Hunzuu must have been reading them recently. Paging through them, Alyra found several letters between the nobleman and Lord Pumash. She wondered who this Manalish was. Which of the city’s zoanii had seized control after the queen’s demise? Alyra searched the letters but couldn’t find an identity. Pumash spoke only of his master in the most reverent and frustratingly vague terms. But what she did uncover was chilling.
Lord Hunzuu had been brokering a treaty between Thuum and this Manalish. The late lord had promised to steer King Ugurnazir into accepting a treaty whereby the armies of the west could move freely through his land. Alyra understood the benefit to Hunzuu and Thuum; they were hoping this would save them from a brutal takeover as other Akeshian cities had suffered. Yet she couldn’t see how this agreement benefitted the new king. Up to this point, he had taken cities with frightening ease, so why stop now? Not to mention that allowing Thuum to remain independent only placed a potential enemy at his flank. It didn’t make strategic sense.
However, one thing came through loud and clear as she read the letters. The Manalish was even more of a threat than any of them had realized. Alyra thought back to all the planning sessions with Jirom and Emanon, with them so focused on how to defeat the Akeshians. Now those plans seemed naive. The true threat had been hidden right in front of them. She needed to get this information to the rebels.
Alyra rolled the letters up and thrust them down her dress. She went to the window. It looked down over the eastern side of the estate grounds. No magical lights shone on this side of the manor. She didn’t see any sentries either, although she expected there to be some kind of regular patrol. Moving quickly, she ripped down the window curtains. They were soft linen, but she thought they would do. She tied them together at the ends and wound them into tight ropes. She tied one end around Lord Hunzuu’s neck. A pool of blood had formed under his head. She searched her feelings for any regret but couldn’t summon any. This was war.
Alyra took the free end of the makeshift rope and wound it around her left forearm before opening the window. She kicked off her shoes, climbed up on the sill, and swung her legs out into open space. Then, after making sure the stolen documents were secure, she jumped off. The line went taut as it caught against Hunzuu’s corpse, and then smoothly lowered her to the ground. There was a faint thump from the window above as the body hit the wall, but Alyra was already disentangling herself from the makeshift rope. Then she was sprinting across the lawn. Her nerves were calm now, her thoughts clear.
She scaled the wall and dropped down on the other side, the loose dress allowing more freedom of movement than its appearance implied. She was making new plans even as she hit the street, padding down the hard clay on bare feet. First, she had to retrieve Gurita and Jin without drawing attention, and then find a way to get this information to the rebellion. She only hoped Jirom and Emanon would understand.
This changed everything.
Six days.
Six days ago, they were fighting for their lives against a horde of undead in the valley of black stone. Six days of tracking through the brutal high desert. Not everyone survived. The road south was littered with makeshift graves. The convoy that limped into Akeshian territory was much reduced from the one that had fled the hidden camp.
Jirom touched the leafy branch hanging over his head. It was green and healthy. No deeper contrast could be made. It felt weird to wear clean clothes. He still wore his sword, of course. Not the fake assurana. After the abuse it had suffered at the valley of black stone, that blade would never be usable again. Such a shame.
Emanon returned down the white gravel footpath. “No sign of her yet. Are you sure of the time?”
Jirom glanced back toward the cemetery gate. “Meet at the center of the Stone Gardens every night at midnight. That was the agreement.”
Emanon stood beside him, gazing through the forest of trees and granite monuments. The Stone Gardens were a unique feature of Thuum. While the other cities of the empire buried their dead in caves outside their walls, the people of Thuum had created this vast wooded graveyard to honor the lord of death. Jirom couldn’t decid
e if it was beautiful or macabre. Right now, he was just glad to be inside the city walls.
“I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” Emanon said. “Glad I didn’t lay odds against it.”
“When did you become such a cynic?”
Emanon shrugged and resumed his watch.
Despite the showing of confidence, Jirom was just as amazed. Not just that they had survived the journey but that he had managed to get half a thousand people into the city without being arrested. Fortunately, Thuum was still far enough from the western problems that it allowed free passage through its gates during the sunlit hours. The rebels and civilians had entered in small groups, posing as what they were: refugees seeking safety. They were still struggling with finding them all places to stay. Some of the civilians had been taken in by people in the lower-caste sections of the city, but they needed to find permanent arrangements.
“You know,” Emanon said, “it won’t be long before the locals start asking questions about all these new faces. And when the government finds out there are escaped slaves living under its roof . . .”
“Stop reading my mind.”
“Sorry. Sometimes I forget what it was like to be leading these missions. You know, I like things better now.”
“I bet you do. You don’t have to do anything except—”
A shadow dropped down from the tree, landing on bent legs with hardly a sound. Seng, their scout master, stood up. “Someone comes.”
Jirom forced his fists to unclench. I’m wound up like a coil, ready to strike at anyone. Will that feeling ever go away?
“Stay out of sight.”
As Seng disappeared into the trees, Jirom peered down the pathway. Someone was approaching from the east end. A woman, and she appeared to be alone. Jirom and Emanon watched until she got closer before they stepped out to meet her.
Alyra stopped with one hand reaching inside her long cloak. Then she spotted them and came forward. “I didn’t expect to see you here for another few weeks. I’m guessing you had trouble.”
“We never made it to the second camp,” Jirom explained.
“The dead found us no matter where we went,” Emanon said. “We had to come here to get beyond their grasp.”
“So you brought the people here?” she asked. “What were you thinking?”
“We were thinking we wanted to keep on breathing,” Emanon said.
Jirom shushed his second-in-command. “Can you help us find places to put them?”
“I’ll try,” Alyra replied. “But Thuum might not be a long-term solution.”
“Why not?”
She opened her cloak and pulled out a bundle of papers. “The Dark King’s emissary is in the city. Read these. They talk about a deal being forged between his master and Thuum’s ruling class.”
“Shit fuck.” Emanon spat on the grassy ground, and then stamped the spittle into the soil with his heel. “Does the local king support it? What’s his name?”
“King Ugurnazir,” Alyra replied. “And, no. Not yet. But I’m not sure how long he can defy this peace offering. We’ve seen what those undead legions can do. Who could stand before such a force?”
Jirom rubbed the stubble on his chin. “That’s a good question. Will any place be safe?” He looked to Emanon, not wanting to bring up the obvious but feeling he had to anyway. “What about leaving the empire altogether? Perhaps Nemedia would take us in.”
Alyra looked between the two men. “They would, but that’s a long trip north back across the desert.”
Emanon swatted a low-hanging branch. “Hell no. We almost killed ourselves getting here, and now we’re going back out into the wastes crawling with those things?”
“But if Thuum makes an alliance with this conqueror, it’s only a matter of time before we’re found out,” Jirom said. “They’ll hunt us down and put us to death as an example. The rebellion will die here.”
“Then we make sure that never happens.”
“And how’s that?” Jirom asked. “Do you have access to the king’s ear? Some secret form of persuasion you never told me about?”
“Nothing secret about it. We take over this city, just like we talked about.”
Jirom couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. “Take over? Are you insane? We have less than two hundred fighters left.”
“So we fight smart. We hit the right places in a coordinated effort.”
“Thuum is the smallest of the empire’s cities,” Alyra offered, although the doubt was clear in her voice. “And has never been considered a great military power.”
“Even so,” Jirom said, “we’d be facing at least a thousand soldiers, highly trained and defending their homeland. This won’t be like fighting garrison troops on the border.”
Emanon grinned his wolfish grin. “They’ll be too busy to worry about us, with all those slaves running around.”
“Gods in heaven,” Jirom muttered. “Don’t you remember what happened in Erugash?”
Alyra was nodding. “This time we won’t have an army besieging the walls while a power struggle between zoanii is going on behind the scenes.”
“Exactly,” Emanon said. “It’s completely different this time.”
“What about the emissary?” Alyra asked. “He will report whatever happens here.”
Emanon looked to Jirom. “We could have Seng’s squad take him out before the attack.”
Alyra shook her head. “I’ll handle it.”
“Do you want us to send a couple of swords with you?” Emanon asked. “In case things get messy.”
“I’ll handle it,” she repeated.
Emanon flashed a smile at her. “Just making sure.”
“Anything else?” Jirom asked Alyra.
“Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone.”
Jirom gave Emanon a look, and his lover made an exaggerated courtly bow before leaving.
“Have you heard anything from Horace?” Alyra asked. He heard the worry in her voice.
“Nothing.” When Jirom saw the hope leaving her eyes, he added, “But he can take care of himself. He’ll show up when we need him.”
Like he showed up when our convoy was being torn to shreds?
Fighting his own angst, Jirom put on a brave smile. Alyra nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. “I know,” she said. “But I have a terrible feeling.”
“Are you sure you can handle this emissary on your own? He could be more powerful than he appears.”
“I’m taking precautions.”
“All right. Should we plan to meet back here tomorrow night? Emanon is going to want to get started on this insanity right away.”
She shook her head. “Better make it two nights from now.”
“Be safe.”
Jirom waited as Alyra slipped away. The path wound between palatial tombs that glowed in the moonlight. She knew what she was doing. He had faith she would execute her mission, whatever it took. He just wished he felt as confident about his side of the plan. How in the hell was his ragtag band going to take over an entire city?
Seng reappeared beside him. “The Gardens are quiet. Nothing unusual out there tonight, Commander.”
Not for long. Soon enough the streets of this city will run with blood. And I’ll be the one responsible. Is there a better alternative?
“Sir.” Seng looked up. “I can make a toxin that will incapacitate the soldiers, if you wish.”
“Fuck, yes.” Emanon returned, ducking under an errant branch. “That’s the kind of advantage we need. How much can you make?”
“I will need to find the ingredients, but it is a simple recipe. Provided with the time and materials, I could theoretically brew enough to douse the entire garrison.” Seng looked back to Jirom. “If you wish it.”
Jirom ground his teeth together. “Fine. Get started.”
Seng trotted down the path ahead of them. As they followed, Emanon gave Jirom an appraising glance. “I didn’t think you would go for it.”
�
�Is that why you had Seng pitch it to me?”
Emanon shrugged. “He came to me with the idea. I thought he should be the one to make the case.”
The moon was setting. A bird called out from the branches overhead. The shrill cry cut through the stillness of the night. “We can’t afford to play nice anymore. We’re at the ragged end of our rope here. We either win, or we die.”
Emanon grasped his shoulder and squeezed. “It’s never easy.”
You’re damned right. And I think it’s going to get worse.
Horace brushed flakes of millet from his clothes, but they were everywhere so he eventually gave up.
The grain barge had turned the final bend. Thuum loomed before them, resting on the banks of the Akesh River branch. Far to the northwest, following this tributary, were the hills where the Akeshii tribes had originated. He wondered who lived in those distant crags now, and if they would someday descend to conquer the Akeshians and continue the chain of history. All empires fall eventually.
For once, his transportation sorcery had worked exactly as he planned, depositing him and Mezim on the shore of the river, where they hitched a ride on this barge in exchange for some menial labor. It had been some time since Horace had worked on a ship, even an ancient flat bottom like this. The past few days had passed in a predictable rhythm, giving him time alone with his thoughts. The memories of what he had seen in the ruins played in his head. The woman told him he had been summoned to stop the spread of chaos across this land, but his thoughts were dominated by the visions of the city drowned by the flood and his brief, horrifying journey into the Outside. Every night he awoke from a nightmare in which he was floating once again in that black nothingness as something vast and terrible approached.
Seven are the Lords of the Abyss. Seven the evil fiends who tear at the souls of men. . . .
The barge had to wait to dock until a skiff of Thuumian inspectors came out. Horace stayed out of their way as they climbed over the cargo. Finally, the barge was given permission to land. The piers were crowded with scores of river vessels. Most of them were barges like the one they had arrived on, but there were some small river galleys, too. Pleasure craft, judging by their size and pristine condition.
