“What, besides the money and ‘the ladies’?” Vansainté asked, looking thoughtful.
“Even I can’t answer that well,” Anoni said more seriously. It was a question she consistently avoided asking herself. “Hey Giovicci, how about some music to pass the time?”
From the back of group, Giovicci, slender and olive-skinned, opened a waterproof case hanging from his saddle and brought out a guitar. His long, quick fingers tuned the strings. Giovicci was the most scholarly man she knew. Given a choice he would rather be reading than fighting, but that didn’t affect his talent with the sword. Though he did have a tendency to go off on history lessons to anyone who would hold still.
“Any requests boss?”
“How about Tyerni’s Song?” She turned to Corin. “You know it? It might help you understand.” Corin shook his head. A few other Dragons seconded the request.
“Okay, boss.” Giovicci coughed a few times and struck the opening chord. Wix’s cousin, Tevix, hummed a deep harmony. Yupendra, a golden-skinned, bald easterner, and Arjent, began a dueling percussion tapping their hands on saddle leather for the rhythm. Giovicci’s clear tenor began the verse:
“I was born with shining scales, a fire in my belly,
a saber-talon in my fist, and sulfur breath so smelly.
So I labored twenty years, a-fighting for the army
and I am a Dragon now, I got to meet him finally.
For these years, I was trained, to help patrol the borders,
all this way so I can smile, and die upon his orders.”
Most of the Dragons joined in on the refrain:
“I am a dragon's eye,
to fly, to fight, and finally die,
to die for him.”
Giovicci was joined by Arjent’s higher voice for the second verse:
“I stand so long, behind the throne, to do all that I must,
but waiting here, I’m getting stiff, my sword collecting dust.
I’ve got a badge, a dragon eye, and a gal in every town,
but stationed here in Aquillion, my wife could only frown.
But when I’m gone, do not be sad, it was my own decision,
just send my widow my back-pay, and send her my commission.”
Anoni didn’t join in, as it was too hard to hide her higher voice. Corin looked slightly green. The third verse was Giovicci, Arjent, and Yupendra’s bass:
“In the lunar fields above, the Lady always smiles
she’ll kiss me sweet, and dance with me, and show me all her wiles.
But when she asks me why I’m there, I’ll have to answer truly,
her son-on-earth fell from his horse, lay broken, torn, and cooling.
But I’m a dragon, through and through, the court was saving face—
the horse was stung but I was there, so they hanged me just in case.”
Tevix and Arjent let loose a chorus of “Dragon wings and Dragon fire!” before settling down. Giovicci dropped back in the column and started a meandering love ballad. Corin looked even greener. “What’s the problem?” asked Anoni.
“...Nothing. I never thought about the men willing to die for m—Miliarnes rulers...” Corin added almost to himself, “Not in any real sense.”
“Lighten up man, it’s just an old drinking song. I thought everyone in Aquillion knew that one,” Anoni said.
“I’m from Ystun, a long way away...and I was never allowed...” Corin stumbled over his words.
“Yah, I bet. I’m Oruno bred myself,” Vansainté offered, to smooth the awkwardness.
Anoni ignored the conversational out, and turned back to Corin. “Now that you’re here, there are a few basic rules.” She was trying to figure out what Corin’s game was. Maybe if she pushed him, she could draw him out...
“Oh no,” Vansainté groaned, “not ‘the Speech.’ Anything but that. Can’t you go back to mocking me? At least then I can keep a straight face.” Anoni gave him a hard look and he stifled his laughter, giving her a look over his smoked glasses, gray eyes shining.
“I’m the leader of this bunch of sun-mad cretins. That means I give the orders. Rank is not an issue out here; you take care of your own horse and tack. You won’t have a lot of work because we can’t trust you not to sleep through your shift on lookout or poison us with bad cooking...and we better keep you from the crossbows, shooting yourself in the foot won’t help,” explained Anoni.
Vansainté guffawed at her words. “But what I tell you to do, what any of the Dragons tells you to do, you don’t question. You do it.”
Stiffly, Corin replied, “I have had the best tutors in weapons since I was five.”
Anoni cut him off with a stern glower. “This isn’t sheep thieves or whatever you may have fought before.” Corin frowned, studying his hands. “The prince might think this is a pleasure trip or a farce like that ceremony, but it isn’t. If you wander off, we’ll leave you. If you endanger my men by action or accident, I’ll kill you myself and tell the prince you were taken down by bandits. We’ll leave your body in Lyceo for the beggars to pick clean.”
“It is proper for you to refer to me as ‘your lordship.’ I am not a child,” Corin said stiffly.
“Look at me. At Warcollege I trained all day, every day for five years. I’ve crossed the Daro Wastes twice. All of us have passed the top imperial tests. We are elite, but this quest, Corin Deviida, is how they test us. Frankly, I doubt your hour of sword practice with an army reject between dinner and the tailor’s fitting can really compare. We can get you through this, but only if you follow orders.” She waited for his reaction. He said nothing. “Are we going to have a problem, Corin?” asked Anoni. She watched his hand tighten on the reins. Why hadn’t he gone for his sword? It said much about a man whether he held a grudge, raged, or saw reason even through an insult. She had pushed him farther than most reasonable men could stand. But when he looked up, his eyes were clear of emotion.
“No. I will not be a problem. If you’ll excuse me.” He spun his horse expertly in a tight half circle, and trotted to the back of the column.
Anoni frowned. She had wanted to get the dominance issues over with, and be assured he would follow orders before they passed into the Safiro Wilds. But he hadn’t risen to the bait and nothing felt settled.
“Nice speech,” Vansainté said dryly.
“Shut up, lieutenant.”
“No, really, you should give up this life of violence and become a politician,” Vansainté said, fighting a grin.
“I don’t understand him...Tell Arjent to watch him and search his packs, but carefully,” she said. To Arjent, though he was just seventeen, tossing Corin’s packs without him noticing was as easy as picking his teeth. He had grown up a thief on the streets of Oruno. “And try and get Corin to talk to you,” she said, frowning at the road.
“That’s not my job,” he rebuffed, his expression one of polite immovability. “The last time I covered for you nearly cost me my arm.”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“Oh I know,” he snorted, “but it doesn’t mean I’ll do this. It’s not my job.”
“I don’t have time to worry about a trivial noble’s son,” she snapped.
Vansainté smirked. “Then don’t.”
Anoni frowned, muttering, “Lazy two-headed goat,” under her breath, and gave the signal for the column to move into a faster pace.
***
Empire of Terastai, City of Erolia, Imperial Treasury
Brother Ammon
“I don’t go to temple,” said the guard, one eyelid twitching.
Brother Ammon sighed, took a deep smell of the tea in his cup, glasses fogging in the process, and picked up the charcoal stick again. “Our Lady of Mystery listens even to those who do not hear her. Please, just tell me in your own words what happened on the night of the attack,” Brother Ammon said. His casters, the metal frameworks that covered his hands, had a tendency to crumble the charcoal into dust when he gripped too hard, and the
resulting black smudge had meandered to both his hands and the sleeves of his robe. Brother Ammon didn’t care, as long as his sleeves covered his wrists. The small azure sunburst tattoos on the insides of his wrists were no business of these superstitious country men.
The guard sat across the table, sweating from nerves or pain from his shoulder wound and the concussion. The healers had had to cut back on the man’s itainai root to keep him lucid during the interview. The man’s gaze kept going from the door to the window and back. The grimy window faced the lake and beyond it, the lower slopes of the Yukiya mountains. The man was thirty summers, with a bushy red beard and long brown hair. His arms had fine old scars from knife fighting and Ammon didn’t imagine this man had ever been mistaken for a gentleman or as particularly trustworthy either. Sheaths for both sword and dagger were empty at his belt. His time in the jail cell had not done his personality any good.
“We were attacked around three hours after midnight by twenty men...I told you that already.”
“Guard Iloka, I’ve been sent here by imperial order and temple decree to determine whether the raiders who broke in here at the Imperial Treasury were in fact men or Ozuk. You have already been cleared of any blame. Please, be at ease.” Ammon shifted his portly frame on the hard chair. “I come merely to learn.”
“There’s nothing else to say.” Iloka rubbed his nose and stared at him. The little priest stared back, purposely exuding the countenance of a stone. He could easily outwait a mountain, his face said. He would even enjoy it. Iloka broke first, eyes shifting back to the window, back to something outside.
Ammon stood, polishing his glasses with a clean fold of his robes. “Iloka, can you walk?”
Iloka looked up, startled. “Yeah...Yes, sir.”
The little priest replaced his glasses, the sun glinting off the panes. “Then come on, we’ll walk through your actions that night. Perhaps the motions will spark your memory.” He grabbed his notebook and opened the door. Outside, four guards were crowding the door. “Excuse me.” Ammon pushed by, trusting Iloka to follow. “No escort needed, thank you.”
One of the guards looked like he wanted to protest but looks from his cohorts stopped him. Ammon led Iloka slowly down a corridor and outside to the courtyard of the treasury storehouse. Now that they were outside, Iloka was calmer. Ammon indicated the littered courtyard. “Where were you when the attack started?”
There was a moment of silence as Iloka made up his mind. “I was posted on the first level of the tower.” They walked across to the thick, metal-banded door to the tower. “It wasn’t that vital a position because everyone knew the treasury had lower levels, down to the bedrock where they kept all the gold and treasures...But we had some problems with flooding from the lake, and most of the gold work was brought up to the top two floors of the tower. Nobody was supposed to know anything was up there.”
Ammon jotted down notes: locations and times for comparison to the other fifteen or so previous accounts. Most of the garrison had simply been locked into their barracks as they slept. Only a few had seen combat. “Were there a lot of guard reinforcements coming through here?”
Iloka looked at him sharply. “No, but there were a lot of miners going up the mountain. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Perhaps nothing. Please continue.” Ammon switched to his coded shorthand for this tidbit of information.
“They were quiet, but I heard small sounds in the yard. I called out. I thought maybe it was Tesko from the next shift comin’ in early to play cards. There was a flash and then they were on us. Glowing and flashing so you couldn’t get a fix on how they were moving. They had swords...No one ever said anything about Ozuk with swords.” Iloka’s fingers twitched at his side. “It was like when you squint at the sun and you see streaky wings around the light. Like that. Couldn’t see their faces...if they had faces. The light flickered off their blades and I had one of them through the shoulder. I dropped my sword and went after one with my hands, but it kicked out, twisted me around, and...I woke up with the healers. No one said anything about spirits who kick you.” Iloka spat on the cobble stones.
Ammon nodded and continued writing. “It’s not unheard of. We call them spirit beasts but they call themselves the Ozukan. It means ‘The Masters’ in their language. Ozuk is just our bastardization of it. There are few Ozuk left in the Empire. Our Lady of Light drove most of them out centuries ago. But there are records of things like this happening every once in a while. It definitely sounds like one tribe of Ozuk from near the Upper Yukiya. Mountain beasts.” He studied his notes, and then added in a deadpan voice, “They have been known to return to take survivors for meat, you know. A pure dedication and sacrifice to Our Lady may be the only thing that can save you...”
Iloka blanched. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Shave your beard and cut your hair,” Ammon said, standing. “Offer these cuttings to Our Lady and attend the weekly prayer at temple. It could be your only hope.” The little priest shrugged eloquently. “You’re dismissed. Don’t forget to keep on the post healer about those wounds. You were very lucky, son. Many a man who’s faced this tribe has frozen with fear.”
Ammon watched the guard limp across to the barracks. He returned to the storeroom they had cleared out for his interviews and arranged his notes.
“What are your findings?” The nasal voice of the annoying steward from the Minister of the Treasury came from the doorway. The man had been hovering all day.
“Interesting. Very interesting. I need time to pray before the next interview,” Ammon said abruptly and closed the door in the fellow’s face.
Inside the store room, Ammon seated himself on the floor and assumed the traditional pose for prayer, cross-legged with palms open and up on his knees. Then he concentrated on the communion stone around his neck.
Scion? he asked.
He felt the moment of disorientation as the primary link opened to Anoni. Problems in Erolia? You’re better off reporting to Alcyenne. I’m out of town, she replied.
Ammon snorted. I know that. But I wanted to let you know what I’d found. I know Alcyenne doesn’t care about a few dead soldiers. They’re below her notice. But you should know the damage a blade can do. When you and the Dragons raided the Imperial Treasury you should have been more careful! I have thirteen wounded here. It’s a miracle there are only four dead.
Miracles are your department, thought Anoni.
Four families who have no father! he snarled back.
Damned horse! she exclaimed. Hold still...Don’t question me, priest. You know where that gold goes. Wait, four?
Yes four!
We checked. There was only one that was close to death. Someone’s adding things to our butcher’s bill...
There should be NO deaths, Ammon snapped.
Grimly, Anoni replied, Alcyenne gave you full instructions on the fiction you’re going to report to the imperium. Delay your report as long as possible. The longer Highlord Shaiso is uncertain, the longer it will take him to spread rumors of the Goddess having turned away from Corinado. Our contact said the old mines were Ilbanos, Aibanos, and Ankathanos. Have you found any of them yet?
Not yet. A lot of movement of men up the mountain. If they have reopened the mines, Ilbanos is just above us. Acidly he asked, Why didn’t you search it when you dropped by?
She answered, No time. But, Ammon, as much as I’d like to just shoot the Shaisos, to take them down so we can live, we need incontrovertible evidence he is breaking the imperial orders about old tech power sources and weaponry. I want to know what the hell he’s mining up there. I suggest you tell them you found a clue for the raiders that leads you to the main shaft of the mine. If the miners question you, invoke Imperial Sanction. What of the other mines?
Aibanos is a half-day’s ride east, Ammon said, his thoughts growing tired. And Ankathanos is a day farther. If I can’t find anything in Ilbanos I’ll try the others; they might be less well guarded. Whatever the Hi
ghlords are doing it cannot be good.
I know I have to go, she said.
May Our Lady light your path.
Right, Anoni said and broke contact.
CHAPTER 3
Sea Road
Anoni
Anoni pitched her tent with practiced skill, wanting to be done in time for sunset. She’d pitched so many camps since her exile she could do it quickly and while half asleep. They had stopped for the night in a forest clearing between the coastal bluffs and the road. The surf pounded the shoreline tantalizingly close, but out of sight through the tall pines. It reminded her of Oruno, the city on the sea—and a line of tension she had not known she had loosened across her shoulders. The men pitched their tents around her. Generally, they were two to a tent, but she had reserved one for herself, and one for the prince’s man on the pretense of rank. Though it contradicted the lecture she had given the prince’s man she could think of no other excuse to give herself privacy.
Arjent and Wix pitched their tent near the ground Corin had staked out. They were ready to rifle through Corin’s tent when they had time. Tevix was on cook’s duty, and had already made a fire in the center of the clearing. The savory smell of stew filled the air. A great kettle of beef stew from the wagon hung over the fire pit on a collapsible, iron three-legged tripod they had brought with them. Tevix uncorked a bottle of red wine with his teeth and poured a generous amount into the pot. Nothing Tevix made was ever bland. He lived for good food and strong spirits. Only Anoni’s threat of court-martial had made him leave his personal still behind. She tied the last rope tight and dumped her saddlebags inside her tent. She went to check on the horses picketed on the south side of the clearing. They were grazing, and even Corin Deviida’s mare was already groomed. With that done, she picked her way through the young trees toward the bluffs. Among the banded shadows of the angling sun, Anoni noticed movement—a short flash of a blade and a black-haired figure. It was Nekobashi, the current sentry on duty. He practiced a kata, moving from one stance to the next, twirling his glaive and jabbing with the blade at imaginary foes.
A Glimmer on the Blade Page 5
