The Edict

by P. J. Keyworth

  “I am Kiara.”

  “I know,” the girl’s voice was barely audible, still shaking with tears. “Mama says you buy from her.”

  “So I do, the best salted fish…”

  “Silence!” One of the official’s voices rang out across the courtyard and every whisper was immediately hushed.

  Kiara looked up, jumping slightly when she locked eyes with the official. Both he and the official to his right stared at her. She wanted to look away, but she cursed herself for jumping in the first place and instead levelled her chin, meeting them stare for stare.

  “I am here,” he carried on, his eyes finally leaving Kiara’s and roving over the crowd, “In order that the Edict of Maidens be carried out. Maidens from every part of the Kingdom shall be inspected, the fairest selected and taken to Emril, where one of them shall be chosen by the Prince himself to become his future Queen.” The official turned and handed whatever he had been reading from to his colleague. He turned his dispassionate eyes upon the female crowd once more. “The inspection shall begin.”

  No one moved. Even Kiara failed to breathe for the next minute. Her dress had a high neckline, there was no chance the Reluwyn could see her markings or the Ensper they surrounded, but she felt that they shone out, showing who she really was for all to see. Her grip tightened on the girl’s hand.

  Every young woman stood still, the guards and officials coming to stand before each one in turn. They stared at faces, poked at teeth, pulled at hair and raised arms to examine the width of waists. The mildest head shake from the officials meant not good enough, too ugly, too fat. Kiara felt the indignation swelling in her chest as maiden after maiden was passed by.

  Finally, one was chosen, a woman Kiara recognised as a neighbour’s daughter. She was indeed beautiful, and was commanded to return the following morning to the market place where the caravan to Emril city would await.

  More inspections passed, and only two more women were chosen before they came to stand before Kiara. Her bright blue eyes stared stonily ahead, while her fingers itched to slap away the first hand that came to tug at her hair.

  “Yes, it is attached to my head,” she muttered. She felt a thump in the back, probably Zephenesh. Too late.

  “What’s that you say woman?”

  Finally her eyes focused. She saw the sharp, small features of the official, and the height and muscle of the guard who stood by him, his eyes boring into her. Suddenly she realised they had no colour - they were bright white, two tiny black dots at their centres. Her resolve shook a little.

  “Nothing, my lord,” she answered, her head bowing and courage failing her yet again. Was this who she was? Able to talk confidently in private but cower at the first sign of danger elsewhere?

  “You have very striking eyes.” The official grasped at her chin and pulled it harshly upwards to look into them again. He stared for several minutes until Kiara could not help heat rising up her neck. “A blush, how very… maiden-like.” The official was smiling as a cat would at a mouse.

  Before she could pull away, he had relinquished his grip.

  “She is chosen.”

  And then he moved on, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t decided her fate, as if her life had not been irrevocably changed.

  Chapter 3

  A clay oil lamp flickered as the air around its long flame moved. Kiara tugged at the strings of her trousers, tying them about her waist and doing up the buckles down the length of her legs. She’d stolen them from Djeck’s wardrobe, along with a large linen shirt. Both garments were dark, suiting her purposes. With the trousers on, she took up the length of material she had torn from her bed sheet. It had been jaggedly cut with the short blue sword that had once been her father’s, the very weapon she had freed the children with only a few days before.

  She placed the first section of the white cotton over her chest and drew it around herself, keeping it flat and pulling it tightly back on itself. She continued to wind it around her body, watching it change her shape from woman to boy. Deftly ripping the last part in half, she twisted the material and tied it behind.

  Reaching up to a shelf hewn into the wood of the house, she picked up the scissors she had taken from the kitchen. Her blue eyes were apprehensive as she surveyed the two blades. It was necessary, that’s what she told herself, all of this was necessary. The lies she’d told about going to bed early in order to rest, the stealing of the clothes, and her planned escape. That’s what she was doing after all, escaping the cruel choices that others had made to destroy her last hope.

  Her eyes narrowed, her teeth clenched together, and her breath came harder. She would not be anyone’s victim, certainly not of the Reluwyn. Stilling the quaking of her hand, she took a lock of fair hair and wedged it between the shears. She squeezed her fingers together, gently at first, then more ruthlessly as her breath came faster. One heavy lock fell, and then another, and another. They piled silently upon each other at her feet, along with the tears she couldn’t stop from falling. Damn them! Damn all of them!

  When the locks had become lengths, and the lengths had become spikes of hair upon the crown of her head, she sat back exhausted. The longer hair left at the front was all the better to hide her face from others. She couldn’t look in the mirror anymore, not as she dragged on the man’s shirt, nor when she put on the cloak that obscured her frame from scrutiny, nor when she slung the sword belt around her waist. It wasn’t until she was tying the mask she’d cut from old leather that she finally stared at herself, or rather, stared at the crystal blue eyes, scornful mouth, and uneven short hair – of a boy.

  She would have stayed there a long time, perhaps until morning, if she had not heard movement beyond her door, in the living room and kitchen of her home. The home she was leaving. Surely Zephenesh would have handed her over to the greedy Prince, destroying her virtue. Kiara’s hands gripped the pack she’d filled with food even harder. She picked up the last part of her attire - the only thing she felt bad for stealing.

  It was a curved blade, shining silver-blue in the lamp-light. Down its sharp length were beautiful engravings, markings she remembered being mesmerised by as a child. Her father had carried this blade when he stood in the Laowyn army, and he had left it to his brother Zephenesh. Now Kiara was taking it, the hate Zephenesh had stirred in her by his betrayal made it right in her mind. Her knuckles whitened about the handle; she had no more time, the sounds in the next room were not abating and at any moment Zephenesh might come in to her room, wishing to speak to her about tomorrow.

  She would not be spoken to. Throwing the pack over her shoulder, she sheathed the blade beneath her cloak, and made for the window.

  Once she was outside the cold night air bit at her through her clothing. She would need to keep moving if she wanted to keep warm. She progressed through the passageways and alleys she’d played in as a girl, and wondered if she would ever see them again. Probably not.

  But tonight, tonight she was on her own, and she was angry. There was work to be done, girls to be saved from the clutches of a corrupt Prince, edicts to be burned!

  Burning stars gazed down from the heavens, ready to observe the villainy that was to be enacted below. A thundering of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves on the track sounded out. A thief, blade held high, headed hell-for-leather at the Reluwyn carriage.

  He’d waited on the hillside near the forest for some time and this was the first vehicle that had come his way. He hoped for more than the worthless proclamation he’d picked up almost a month ago.

  His manoeuvres were well-practiced, and soon the carriage had shuddered unsteadily to a halt. The coachman jolted forwards, falling between his horses, caught by the leather of the harness like a fly in a spider’s web.

  He would be some time in extricating himself, so the thief needed only to disarm him, leaving him to his struggles, tossing the knife aside. There was nothing more irksome than thinking a man disarmed, only to find yourself skewered a moment later. Th
e thief wrapped his fingers around the gilt handle and, drawing breath, flung open the crested door of the carriage.

  What happened next was something the thief could never have expected. Moonlight fell into the carriage’s interior, just as the opposite door was wrenched open. Both doors smacked back on their hinges and the thief’s dark eyes took in the shadow of a small man on the other side of the carriage.

  “What in the name of?!” He was already half way in, the blade tickling the chin of two passengers. But the sight of another highwayman made him wrench back, his leather hat hitting the door frame and falling off into the carriage.

  “Damn!” Without thinking he reached forward to snatch it up just as he heard a gurgle of laughter from the opposite doorway. He snapped upright, coming to himself and resuming the customary snarl. He turned from the other thief, whom he’d misjudged as a professional. He’d deal with him later.

  “Hand over what cargo you bear!” he barked, eyes hard and blade ready.

  The guard inclined his head slightly, and at this signal, the official drew a silver box from beneath the folds of his cloak, handing it over. The thief dropped his hat and took the treasure, missing a barely perceptible movement on the other side of the carriage.

  Making use of the moonlight, the thief examined his prize, and cursed loudly. Staring back at him was a box almost identical to that which he’d finally managed to sell a week ago from the last robbery. When would High Councillor Garesh tire of sending his proclamations and edicts?

  He didn’t have long to think. His guard was down. Glancing back up through the carriage to check on his unwelcome nocturnal kin, he was confronted only by the moon and stars visible through an empty doorway.

  “What the…?” He didn’t need to finish, the cold steel of a sword tickling at his ear was all the answer he needed. He obeyed its beckon and stepped away from the carriage.

  His opponent kept him at arm’s length, forcing him to face the carriage. The boy-thief commanded the carriage occupants to lock the doors.

  He was careful, thought the thief, but still young. And youth may still betray him. The thief’s swordsmanship was a match for the best in the Empire, and he knew it. But he would use it only to get away unseen. He had no desire to draw attention to himself.

  Now he could get a better idea of his opponent, standing at least a foot smaller than the thief, and wearing baggy clothes. He knew smallness did not mean inability, experience proved many a small warrior made up with agility and speed what they might lack in stature or strength.

  Any thoughts of fighting were dashed when his captor commanded him to drop his sword. The thief did so, but did not throw it far, deciding he would bide his time.

  The thief’s dark eyes took in the length of the elegant blade pointed at his jugular. The light set off a silver-blue blaze between the two cloaked figures. The smaller highwayman turned to the driver, who had finally extricated himself from the leather harness-straps, and manage to sit again on his high perch.

  “Get on with you,” came a gruff command from the small figure, whose face remained obscured by the shadows of his hood.

  The taller thief watched in disbelief as the carriage moved off. He pushed forward. “Wait!” He hadn’t checked the rest of the vehicle. There may be valuables still wrapped in the folds of that official’s cloak. Worse than that, he’d lost the shadows cast by his hat, and they might have seen his face. The cutting of the sword-point through his coat persuaded the thief to halt.

  He turned eyes filled with fury upon his rival. “What did you do that for? You idiot!” He kicked the dust with his boot, suddenly uncaring of the blade pointed directly at him.

  When he looked back, he was pleased to see the small man shift uncomfortably. The taller thief smiled. Yes, the amateur couldn’t handle his opponent stepping slightly out of his control.

  “You want this?” He held up the silver box tauntingly, chin rising and smile twisting into a sneer. He levelled the young man with a gaze. “Come and get it.”

  “Give me the contents and you may have the silver,” came the reply.

  The taller thief’s brow rose a little. What did this man want with the contents? Did he know of something the thief did not?

  “Gemstones is it? Why would I settle for a box if there is a greater treasure?”

  The stranger shifted his feet again. “I only want the Edict it contains.”

  The thief casually lounged back, as though considering his options. Then, with a swiftness that caught his opponent off guard, he flung the box, dropped to the floor and rolled to reach his weapon. He sprang up with sword in hand, ready to attack.

  Although surprised, the stranger immediately jolted into action, taking on a crouching stance. The two circled each other, like carrion birds around a carcass. The smaller man leapt forwards, slashing downwards with sheer ferocity; the thief quick-stepped back, using the seconds gained to lunge forwards again. This sly move was parried, but the thief immediately lunged again, his blade stopping an inch from the man’s abdomen.

  The hood fell, and the thief saw he had been fighting a mere boy. He hefted a shoulder into his young opponent, using his considerable height and weight against him.

  The small blond boy flew backwards, stumbling, as his heel caught on a tree root. He landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, crying out and clutching with both hands at his leg.

  The thief took a step back. He knew he hadn’t caused the wound. Snatching up the blade, the boy pulled himself to his feet and resumed his battle-ready stance.

  “Not giving up?” asked the thief provokingly. He had no desire to kill the youth. He didn’t need to draw that kind of attention to himself and he held no taste for blood. Now would be the time for him to run.

  There was no response. The box still lay between them. Both looked at the box and then to each other again, but before either could make a move voices were heard, and lights appeared on the road. The thief felt the vibrations of many hooves on the path, and before he could even think of running, the riders were upon them.

  Horses slid to a halt, stamping and snorting at the two in the centre of the path. Armour grated as the soldiers yanked reins, and blood-flecked foam dappled the horses chests.

  Kiara flailed around herself with her blade causing horses to shy away. The soldiers forced their beasts back towards her, dropping their lethal spears inches from her face. Her heart raced. Her breathing was rapid. What had she done? The wound on her leg was throbbing and she could feel blood trickling from Djeck’s stitches.

  “Circle!”

  The harsh command made Kiara jump. It came from the leader of the Imperial Cavalrymen. She saw him between spear points, his piercing white eyes glaring at the two on the ground.

  With a lurch, Kiara recognised the guard from the choosing. What if he recognised her too? What if he took her back, or worse? Flanks banged against each other as horses and spears hemmed them into a barbed prison.

  “Drop your weapons!” ordered the Captain, his gaze bright and terrible as he looked down at them. Kiara obeyed without a moment’s hesitation; the thief took more time, carefully placing his sword on the ground before straightening.

  “We crossed paths with an Imperial carriage not too far from here who had a most interesting story about being attacked,” he carried on, as if an interrogation on a deserted road in the middle of the night was perfectly normal. Kiara looked down, hoping in vain that doing so would make her invisible. “The culprits match your descriptions. Tell me, are you total fools to still be standing here?”

  “Apparently,” muttered the thief, too quietly for the Captain to hear but loud enough for Kiara.

  Was the man insane? He had taunted her into fighting him and now he joked while they were surrounded by Imperial Guards. What was wrong with him? If it had been any other situation Kiara might have laughed at his levity. But it wasn’t, and her life was hanging in the balance. She stepped away without thinking.

  “You, remove the mask
!”

  Kiara froze.

  “Shouldn’t have moved,” hissed the thief with some satisfaction.

  She nodded dumbly but didn’t touch the mask.

  “Now!” shouted the Captain.

  She pretended to recoil again, stumbling a little and falling purposefully. She grabbed handfuls of dust, rubbing dirt across her face as she removed the mask.

  When she rose, she was just a scruffy looking youth.

  “No more than a boy, a shame that tonight you shall not be suckling on your mother’s breast but lying cold in Grûl’s jail.”

  “Captain Aktabad!” came a cry.

  Taking full advantage of this new distraction, the thief leaned in closer, his voice still menacing. “You may be a boy, but you are not too young to die by my sword for getting me caught like this.”

  Kiara’s skin prickled, hairs rising on the back of her neck. She stared straight in front of her, imagining a thousand appropriate curses, while good sense prevented her uttering a single one. She was caught, just as he was. Pushing the threat from her mind, she watched the soldier retrieve the silver box lying in the road and hand it over.

  The Captain’s white eyes took in the royal seal of the Reluwyn royal family. He smiled at his captives. “Your reservations at the jail are confirmed.” He turned his huge horse and shouted back his orders. “Tie them up and move out!”

  Rope was taken from the saddlebags of the horses and dropped over Kiara’s wrists. The material was tightened abrasively against her skin. Her arms were tugged upwards and her shoulders burned as the rope was secured to a saddle.

  She looked to her left, and saw that the same was happening to the man she had been fighting. She could see his face properly now that the lanterns hung above it. His hair was dark, his features too. Reluwyn. She wished for a brief moment that she had killed him. Such fury licked like flames over her. How dare he say he would kill her. She would happily have taken a knife to his throat if it would rid the world of one more Reluwyn. Then, as quickly as it had come over her, her anger was snuffed out. The horses moved out and she was dragged forward into a stumbling run.