She scanned the travelers. “There.” Aidah pointed. “Follow them.” Soldiers led several coaches and wagons toward the town. She recognized a few of the banners flown by the retainers riding with those coaches: minor nobles from Kasandar who had supported the late king.
Lomin nodded across to Aran, who drove the other wagon. With a flap of his reins Lomin set the byagas in motion. The beasts lumbered forward and before long they were on their way at a steady gait. The two men had kept to themselves during the trip. They avoided Clara completely, and Aran had developed a habit of drawing the Star of the Dominion too often for Aidah’s liking.
They skirted the thick of the crowd as best they could, Aidah trying to pick up on any news from Kasandar among the din. She heard more pleas and prayers than she did much else.
“Hail, friend,” Lomin called out to a disheveled, balding man in mismatched boots, “how fares Kasandar?” The man grimaced. “There’s coin in it for you.” Lomin rolled a silver bit between his fingers. Greed lit the commoner’s eyes. Lomin tossed him the coin.
The bald man caught the coin and then bit it. He gave an appreciative nod. “Thanks, friend.”
“And my news?”
“Still fighting in the streets between the dregs and the King’s Blades and those strange Farlanders brought in by Ainslen.” The man spat to the side at the mention of the invaders from across the eastern seas. “Heard Ainslen slaughtered Jemare right in the Golden Spires’ throne room. Damned nobles and their Game of Souls.” He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “The Consortium’s men have been sneaking into the city ever since Succession Day, stirring things up.”
“These Farlanders, what are they like?” Lomin asked.
The man glanced around and licked his lips before stepping in closer. “Some are calling them Dracodar, said they been seen with scales and the like. And their melds, they’re stronger than any Blade’s. The worst of them have these weapons, these sticks that shoot fire.”
“Have you actually seen any with scales?”
The commoner shook his head. “No, but they’re strange all the same. Not normal. One group of them don’t grow past a man’s stomach. The other lot’s the opposite, giants, bigger than any Thelusian, skin like bronze and just as hard. Then there’s the ones who wear robes all the time. Reminds me of the Order.” He hugged himself and rubbed at his arms. “Gives me the bleeding chills, they do.”
“You said the guilds have risen against them. Any in particular?”
“Mostly the Red Beggars and the Shipmen, but there’s been sightings of the others. All but the Shaded Snakes. They wear the king’s colors now.”
“The Hills,” Lomin asked, “any of them changed hands?”
“None yet, but they will.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“Cause Counts Melinden, Cardinton, and Adelfried have fled. Porinil, Rostlin, and Doran are dead.”
Aidah’s gut clenched. She gripped the edge of the bench until her hands shook. It took everything she had not to cry out.
“Thanks, friend.” Lomin flapped the reins. “Sorry, m’lady, but I wanted you to hear for yourself.” He eyed her as if he wanted to say more before he gave a slight shake of his head.
Chest heaving, Aidah took long, slow breaths. The news-carrier was a commoner. What would he know of the nobility’s affairs? She dismissed the man from her mind and looked up in time to see a blue-uniformed officer approach.
She offered a nod and a smile, keeping her head up and back straight as was to be expected of a noble. Lomin did the talking. The officer had a disinterested look until Lomin produced a few silver rounds. A smile appeared then, and a bow. The officer escorted them into Garangal proper.
After a few hours spent on overcrowded and garbage-strewn streets with a reek to match, they finally located an inn with room to spare as the dying sun painted the sky and clouds in burnt orange. Of course she had to pay almost twenty times the normal rates, but all she cared for was her children’s safety.
Clara remained asleep, and days and nights on the road appeared to have worn on Nerisse, who flopped down on the mattress and was snoring before long. Aidah had to admit that although the bed was not quite as thick or soft as those to which she’d grown accustomed, it felt sublime. She wanted to lie on it and sleep for an entire day, but she had things to do. Sleep could wait.
She called for a serving girl and soon was wolfing down a meal of steamed yellowtail eel, pumpkin pie, and drinking a sweet Darshanese vintage. She might have preferred something stronger, perhaps the burning sensation of mesqa, but she would soon require the full use of her faculties. Again the price was exorbitant, but she paid without complaint. To feel even a semblance of comfort was worth the cost. As she ate, she decided on the best approach to use for the wisemen. When she finished she asked Lomin to take her to the chantry.
People still crowded the streets, taking refuge where they could in corners and alleys and setting up bonfires against the cold. An abundance of torch-bearing nightwatchmen patrolled, but even they could only do so much. On more than one occasion she saw a person or family accosted by thieves or cutthroats. Lomin had already hired two more men, and with them at her side the miscreants offered their group no more than a threatening look before moving on to easier targets.
The Order of the Dominion’s chantry was a four-story brick building in Garangal’s main plaza. Soldiers in the king’s red and gold surcoats, emblazoned with a hand surrounded by a blue-white glow, guarded the roads leading to the square. Lomin announced her as Lady Guerin.
A man in a captain’s uniform stepped forward, lantern held high, and took a look at them. His gaze roved over Aidah before it settled on Lomin. “Don’t I know you?” Recognition lit his features a moment later, and he added, “You’re Lomin the Suicidal Blade. Sorry to keep you, sir.” He snapped to attention and ushered them on.
“Well, at least my damned name is good for something,” Lomin said as they walked to the chantry.
Upon arrival, Lomin pulled on a rope outside the big double oak doors. A bell gonged. Above the entrance hung the ten-pointed Star of Dominion, done in chased bronze, a line connecting each point to the other to give ten sides. At its center was a circle. A slat in the door slid aside, a golden stream of light piercing the alcove’s shadows. A face appeared. The slat closed a moment later, and the door creaked open to illuminate the entire entrance.
A wiseman in the Order’s red and blue robes stood in the doorway, his bald head identifying him as an Initiate. Aidah frowned. The man’s features were quite soft and round, thin eyebrows perched high on his forehead to go with raised cheekbones. “How may the Order be of service at this late hour.”
Aidah suppressed a gasp at the musical voice. The Initiate was a woman. She knew of only four wisewomen: two High Priestesses and two Elders. “I’m Lady Guerin,” she managed amid her surprise. “As a Kasinian noble I seek refuge and counsel as offered by the Order.”
The wisewoman stepped aside and beckoned her in. “Enter. Sanctuary can only be granted by this chantry’s Curate, as is set by the Order’s Precepts, recognized as law across the Empire. Such is the will and the Word of the Dominion.” She bowed her head for a moment before she added, “Your men must wait outside.”
“We’ll be right here, m’lady,” Lomin said.
Aidah nodded and followed the wisewoman inside. Upon entering the building Aidah felt the tightness in her shoulders dissipate. She’d been worried for so long, terrified in fact, ever since they fled Kasandar, and now she had a sense of safety. A sigh escaped her lips as she inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of incense. The low susurrus of prayers filled her with hope as they passed down a series of lamplit halls.
The Initiate led her to a stone arch engraved with likenesses of the Dominion’s ten deities. Beyond was a large Prayer Hall filled wit
h pews. Not many occupied the seats, and those who did had their heads bowed.
“Curate Montere will be with you shortly.” The woman dipped her head and left.
Confident for the first time in months, Aidah entered the hall and took a place at a bench. The people within were all nobles. At the room’s head stood a dais with the statues that represented each of the Gods and Goddesses. She bowed to them in turn, stopping at Hazline to thank the God of Fate and his Thirty-two Winds for bringing her to safety. To him she offered the most praise. Off to one side a wiseman chanted a prayer, reading from the Word of the Dominion.
“Lady Guerin?” said a deep, solemn voice behind her.
She finished her prayer, made the Star on her forehead, and turned to face the speaker. The man had a Curate’s black sash draped across his robes from right shoulder to left waist. His skin was the color of mahogany, eyes a bright brown, and a singular ivory piercing adorned his nose. She couldn’t quite place his race and guessed he might be a Farish Islander.
“I’m Curate Montere.” His eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments as he regarded her. “Unisse informed me that you have requested sanctuary.”
“Yes, I have.”
“As is custom,” Montere said, tone becoming formal, “by the Precepts passed down to us from the beginning, sanctuary is hereby granted. Let it be known, however, that true safety lies in Melanil. There is only so much the king’s soldiers and the watch can do with the crowds here, but in Melanil, the Order has many more resources at its disposal.” Again his brow furrowed.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing … it’s just that you seem … familiar. Anyway, how else can we be of service? Do you require food? Coin? A means of travel?”
“No, my concern is more for my daughter.”
“Oh?” He glanced around. “Where is she?”
“Resting.”
“Is she ill?”
She took a deep breath. “She’s only seven and melded recently. I was informed by one of my armsmen that the skill she used should’ve been beyond her capability unless—”
“She was induced,” Montere finished.
“Yes.”
“Exactly what did she do?” Montere’s shaped brows drew together.
“Men who were once in my service wished to rob and murder us. She made them kill each other.”
The Curate hissed. He glanced around before leaning in close. “You’re saying she’s used a mindbend? That she’s a Mesmer?” His voice was a hair above a whisper. “This is more than troubling. You must allow me to look at her, the sooner the better.” Behind the man the door opened.
Four people entered. The one in the lead was a broad-nosed man with a mustache curled at the ends and a beard tapered to a point. He wore thick woolen britches with a damask jacket lined with fur. Behind him was a slimmer man with a long gait and legs to match, dressed in thick, shiny velvet. The last man was tall, broad of shoulder, silver highlighting his auburn hair. He flaunted a rich wool jacket that featured metallic scrollwork and embroidery running down the sleeves and breast. The woman with them walked with stately grace in a long dress beneath a satin damask mantle trimmed with fur.
“Hells’ Angels,” Aidah swore under her breath before she could stop herself.
The newcomers, in order, were Counts Melinden, Adelfried, and Cardinton, her husband’s sworn enemies. The woman was Queen Terestere, wife to the late king.
Aidah pulled up the hood of her cloak and turned away as Cardinton glanced in her direction. She barely heard any words the Curate was saying to her. Fighting against the urge to run, she strode between the row of benches, away from the queen and the counts. At any moment she expected to hear one of them yell after her. When no such alarm sounded, she praised the Dominion. Once outside the chantry she said an additional prayer and had Lomin rush her to the tavern.
A Different Sort of Meal
“We must leave tonight. The only choice left to us now is Melanil.” In the dim light of one lamp, Aidah paced from the window to the bed and back again. She peeked through a slit in the curtains. Night was a thick cloak that stifled the pools of radiance cast by lanterns along the streets. Every shadow made her jump as she imagined someone hidden within them, watching the inn, waiting to take her and the children. Even the occasional cheer and thump from the patrons downstairs, deep into their revelry, added to her unease.
“That’s not a good idea.” Lomin stood at the other window, the folds of his clothing blending with the dark.
“Why not? By morning we would be far away.” She was confident that no one had recognized her, but what it she was wrong? Perhaps Queen Terestere might be sympathetic. After all, the woman had tutored Clara and Nerisse for a few years, and would readily invite them and other noble children to the palace for guiser’s plays, games, and other forms of entertainment. So much so that many children referred to the queen as Auntie Terestere. But knowing her own state, and the way she felt over the possible deaths of Kesta and Gaston, Aidah could see the woman looking the other way as the counts exacted revenge for the part her husband played in their downfall.
“Or we could fall prey to bandits,” Lomin said. “Worse yet, our departure might alert the very people you wish to avoid. No one in their right mind would leave this late.”
“What if we warn the soldiers? Or perhaps we could see if any King’s Blades are here, let them know.” She was growing desperate, but her mind screamed for her to be away from the town.
“Listen to yourself. The King’s Blades would recognize you. As for any soldiers, who’s to say they don’t already know? Smart men would choose not to confront three counts and a queen who owns Blades as well as other melders almost as powerful. And even if the king’s men were to manage to drive them from Garangal, where would Terestere and the counts go? North, either to Melanil, like every other noble seeking sanctuary, or beyond to Helegan. That means traveling on the same road as us.”
She did not like his condescending tone one bit, but he was right. Sighing, she tried to get a grip on her fear. “At first light, then.”
“You could simply try talking to the queen,” Aran said. Aidah scowled at the man. He shrugged. “The queen’s always been the most reasonable of all the nobles, or at least so I’ve heard. She fed the dregs, provided those large bonfires during the winter to keep them warm … I heard she even set up schools for some of them. Word in the Smear was that it was her doing that got King Jemare to agree to the treaty that formed the Consortium. They might have been dregs, but the Consortium’s guild members and their smuggling endeavors lined the pockets of many a noble and brought coin to the Smear, made it more useful than just for the Day of Accolades. She can’t be all bad.”
“Even if all that were true,” Aidah said, “you’re forgetting one thing: my husband helped overthrow hers, sided with the man who killed Jemare. My husband is the reason Terestere now flees.”
“True, but maybe one of us could do the talking then.”
“Have you ever had a child or wife murdered?” Aidah asked, scowling.
“Never had a reason to get married, and as far as I know, I don’t have any children.”
“So you wouldn’t know what it feels like to lose people that made life worth living. To wake up one day to discover that the person who made your heart beat, made you feel beautiful, was gone, butchered like so much meat.”
“Can’t say that I would.”
“Then allow me to enlighten you. It makes you want to do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of those you have left, but more than that, you crave to hurt the person that inflicted such pain upon you; you want them to lose someone precious. Such desires fill you, and it is all you can do to think of other things, to think of those who need your care so that the lust for blood doesn’t overwhelm you.” Aidah’s hands sh
ook, and she could do nothing to stop them. She’d avoided those thoughts for the most part, but they were there, deep down, waiting for a chance to spill forth.
“Put like that I guess the best course is to avoid her,” Aran said.
“Now that we’re all agreed,” Lomin said before Aidah could reply, “it’s best for you to get some rest, m’lady. You’ll need it.”
Aidah gave a reluctant nod. With the mention of rest, weariness bore down on her. She’d stolen a moment when she could, but since leaving the estate any prolonged sleep had eluded her. The slightest noise woke her, and the beat of hooves often brought a sliver of hope. As much as her mind said Gaston and Kesta were dead, her heart held out for that chance, for a blessing. Thinking of her family, she curled up next to Nerisse and Clara, staring at the ceiling, once more offering prayers for their safety. Before long, she nodded off.
Dreams came. In them, they fled, Clara’s mind growing worse. One day they stopped at a village for supplies. Aidah went to speak to the innkeeper while Clara ran off to play with some other children. Screams from one of the sitting rooms sent Aidah running, fearful that Ainslen’s hunters had caught them. When she entered the room, she saw the other children huddled in a corner. A bronze-scaled beast whose head almost touched the ceiling advanced on them. The thing had black claws and walked upright like a man before dropping down on all fours. It growled, a low deep rumble. Aidah saw Clara then. The little girl’s eyes were wild, mad, unfocused. She had one hand held out, and a white glow suffused her body, extending to the creature. Aidah knew then that the Dracodar was Clara’s creation. The beast leaped, maw full of fangs open wide.
Aidah sat bolt upright, eyes wide, sweat pouring down her face. A dark form hovered in front of her. She made to scream.
“Shhh.” A hand clamped over her mouth. “It’s me, Lomin.” The form resolved into the Blade.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Aidah nodded. Lomin removed his hand. “What is the meaning of this? Is it time to leave yet?” she demanded. The room was almost in complete darkness save for the spear of Antelen’s light carving its way between the curtains.
Soulsworn Page 4
