The Drowning City

by Amanda Downum

  “As many as could be found.”

  “Bring her in.”

  An expectant hush settled over the crowd. The door opened and Kwan Lhun entered, an armed escort at her back. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the gathering.

  “Damn you, Jabbor. Must we make a circus of this?”

  “Tell them.”

  Whispers rippled through the room and Zhirin leaned forward. Kwan had been close in Jabbor’s confidences for as long as she’d known them, high-ranked amongst the Tigers. To see her under guard was unsettling; her hip was bare where her kris should hang.

  Kwan snarled, then shook back her long hair and drew herself straight. “For years now, my cousin Temel and I have been doubling for the Dai Tranh.”

  Voices rose and Jabbor shouted them down.

  “We believed the Tigers too soft,” she continued, staring at the wall behind Jabbor. “Too willing to compromise and dance with the Khas, too unwilling to take the measures necessary for Sivahra’s freedom.” Her gaze shifted to Jabbor, and Zhirin beside him. “I still believe that.”

  Jabbor smiled, though tension tightened his jaw. “I know all about my shortcomings, Kwan. Get to the point.”

  Zhirin swallowed, trying not to fidget on the hard bench. She’d always thought that Kwan’s dislike for her was half born of jealousy; her cheeks stung as she realized her own childishness.

  “The point,” Kwan said, biting off the words, “is that I no longer stand with the Dai Tranh. The Tigers may be soft, but the Dai Tranh goes too far, and means to go further still.”

  She turned to face the room, one hand reaching for her absent sword hilt; she tucked her fingers into her belt instead. “The Dai Tranh found a diamond mine in the forest on the far side of the mountain. The Khas has been harvesting soul-stones for years, using Sivahri prisoners.”

  Voices rose again, louder and angrier. Jabbor couldn’t quiet them, but finally Kwan shouted them down.

  “That’s right. And that’s the fury you should feel—but Selei Xian has let her rage madden her. She means to sabotage the mountain itself and let its fire destroy the mine and the Kurun Tam. The others won’t gainsay her.”

  “What?” Zhirin’s voice carried in the stunned silence, and her cheeks burned. Kwan turned to face her and she rallied her wits, pushing herself to her feet. “Never mind the madness of it—they’d burn their own lands as well—but the mountain is warded.”

  Kwan smiled. “Oh, yes. But we—they—have someone inside the Kurun Tam. Did you think you were the only one, little mage? They know about the wards and how to destroy them. The plan is insanity, but I believe they could do it. That’s why I’m here. Lhun lands will burn, and that I cannot allow.”

  Zhirin sat, catching Jabbor’s arm to steady herself. The one thing taught above all other lessons at the Kurun Tam was respect for the mountain. Vasilios had shown her text after text from the Assari histories, painstaking illuminations of the volcanoes found in the southern empire and the devastation they caused when they erupted.

  The council became an ocean of angry voices, and she used the confusion to explain the conversation to Isyllt. By the time she’d finished, Zhirin couldn’t tell who was yelling what.

  “Enough!” Jabbor finally shouted, his voice carrying from floor to rafters. “Whatever the arguments, do we at least agree that burning Sivahra is…ill-considered?” The Tigers nodded, a few snorting at his dry tone. “Kwan, how much time do we have?”

  “They’ll move tonight. I imagine they’ll stage a distraction for the Khas first. And there’s more. You’ve heard the rumors of the White Hand? Well, they’re true. The Dai Tranh witches have recruited the unsung dead to fight for them.”

  Another silence filled the room and Jabbor spoke before it could erupt. “Then it’s lucky we have a necromancer with us, isn’t it?”

  After breakfast, Selei divided the warriors into groups. The Ki Dai, living and dead, would go to the mountain—it would take all their witchcraft to break the wards. The rest would provide distractions to keep the Khas and the Kurun Tam busy.

  Riuh frowned as they were separated, but Xinai was glad of the reprieve. Between her cramps and the task ahead of her, the last thing she needed was him lingering at her side, or her mother’s smug and knowing glances.

  As the witchless groups began to slip away, a warrior pulled Selei aside for a whispered conversation. A Lhun, Xinai guessed from his nose and broad cheeks. Not many other clans had joined the Dai Tranh—Lhuns and Khans, a scattering of clanless. And her.

  As she stared at the broken walls and empty houses of Cay Lin, it was hard to share Selei’s optimism. The thought of babies was foreign, and for all of Riuh’s affection, she had no desire to marry. Not even Adam had made her think of family, and there had been a time when she’d imagined spending the rest of her life with him. Not that a mercenary’s life was often long.

  Not that a revolutionary’s was any longer.

  Worry about it later, she told herself. If they survived the night.

  Selei finished talking to the man and shooed the last stragglers out of camp. When they were gone, she turned to the Ki Dai.

  “We’ve been betrayed.” She raised a hand to forestall questions. “Not to the Khas, I think, but the Tigers will know what’s coming.”

  Mutters rippled and died and witches exchanged glances. “Do we change the plan?” asked Phailin.

  “No. If the Kurun Tam gets wind of it, we won’t get another chance so easily.”

  “Do you think they’ll try to stop us?” someone else asked, a boy barely old enough to wear a kris. “The Tigers, I mean.”

  “If they do, be merciless. They’ve had opportunity enough to join us, to hear the truth. We can’t let their weakness stop us now.”

  The boy’s throat bobbed as he nodded.

  Chapter 19

  Zhirin marked the wards on the Tigers’ maps, but after that she was useless as they prepared for battle. She wasn’t as helpless in a fight as she’d once thought, but she had no gift for strategy. Isyllt stayed with the council, leaving Zhirin to retreat to their room, where she rubbed her mother’s ring till her fingers ached and watched the light change as it slipped down the wall.

  Jabbor came later in the afternoon, and now his face held all the pity and concern she’d feared. He eased the door shut and sat beside her, not quite touching. His warmth and familiar wood-sweet scent would have been comforting, had he not obviously had something to say, something that left him awkward and nervous.

  “What is it?” she asked, after a few moments of listening to him draw breath but not speak.

  “I—” He swallowed. She’d never seen him so nervous. “I know how hard a time this is for you. I’m sorry.”

  She swallowed an unkind reply—his parents had died when he was young. Maybe he did know.

  “Thank you,” she said instead. “And thank you for taking us in.”

  He shrugged it aside and took her hand, his broad palm engulfing hers. “Zhir, I know this isn’t the best time, but…”

  “You want help from Cay Laii? I’ll do whatever I can, but I need to talk to Mau—”

  “No, no.” He cut her off as her chest began to tighten at the thought. “I mean, yes, we’d welcome any help Laii can offer, but that’s not what I want to ask.” His hand tightened on hers, and the heron ring dug into both their flesh. “Zhir, would you marry me?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it again, and turned to stare at him. A lattice of light fell over his face, caught splinters of gold in his eyes. “Are you—You’re serious.”

  “Yes. When this is over. If I don’t get killed by the Dai Tranh or the Khas.” His lips twisted. “Not the best marriage offer, I know, but will you consider it?”

  Would she? Dizzying, to realize that the choice was hers alone. She’d always assumed her mother would make a match for her when she finished her apprenticeship, had considered it as inevitable as the tide. But now she had no mother, no master. And now that the Khas knew h
er loyalties, she had no one to hide from anymore.

  Jabbor watched her, brow creasing as her silence stretched. A month ago his proposal would have left her giddy.

  “I will,” she said at last. “I mean, yes, I’ll marry you. But I need time, Jabbor. First Vasilios, and now my mother, and I don’t know what Clan Laii will say—”

  “Of course, of course. I don’t want to rush you. I just wanted you to know how I feel, before—”

  She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her and she sank into his warmth. But the cold, hollow feeling in her chest wouldn’t go away.

  The Ki Dai left Cay Lin before dusk, changing their route in case the Tigers were waiting. The gibbous moon had already risen, a milky ghost through the clouds. Xinai and Phailin had spent the day making charms, weaving owl and night-heron feathers with night-vision spells. They’d turned to nightjars when they ran out of larger birds, but every witch and warrior with them could see in the dark now. Safer than smuggler’s lanterns, though they carried those as well.

  They could never reach all the wards in one night, but hopefully they wouldn’t need to. If they could destroy enough of them, the circuit would be sufficiently weakened for Selei’s invocation at the cauldron to work. Or so they prayed.

  Xinai tried not to stare at the sullen glow of the mountain as they worked.

  She ended up teamed with Phailin and the young boy who’d been reluctant to fight the Tigers. The wards closest to the Kurun Tam were their task.

  The boy, Ngai, might have been too young to shave, but he knew his witchcraft. The three of them picked at the web of magic until it weakened, then dragged the post from the earth. The spell made a sound like a snapping silk cord as it broke.

  They grinned when the first ward fell, but by the third they were sweating from the effort as well as the humidity, and worked with silent frowns. Closer and closer to the walls of the Kurun Tam they moved, scanning the jungle as they crept from post to post. Through gaps in the trees, Xinai saw a plume of smoke smudging the sky over the city, nearly lost in the low clouds. The first distraction was under way.

  They were close enough to the Kurun Tam to watch the second begin.

  She heard the warning shout first and looked away in time. A heartbeat later flame blossomed inside the walls. Glass buoys filled with oil made lovely firebombs. The flames had spread by the time they ripped down the last ward. Shouts and cries and the screams of horses carried from the courtyard.

  “Give the signal,” Xinai said, “then let’s get out of here.” Bowstrings twanged from the walls and pistols cracked.

  Trembling and sweaty, Ngai unhooked the lantern from his belt and scrambled up a tree, flashing the light when he cleared the canopy. Though it would be a wonder if Selei would see it against the larger blaze growing nearby.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” Phailin asked as Xinai waved them away.

  “I have to meet Selei. Get to safety or join the others.”

  The girl nodded and dragged Ngai into the cover of the forest.

  Xinai looked up at the moon—nearly midnight. It would all be over by dawn, one way or another. She shook off her fatigue and began to run.

  Even with Kwan’s warning, they arrived too late to save the closest ward-posts. Those along the mountain road had been uprooted, their spells unraveled. Scraps of magic still flickered around the carven posts; Zhirin thought she could have repaired them if they’d had the luxury of time.

  “There aren’t enough of us for this,” Jabbor muttered.

  The Jade Tigers had gathered perhaps a hundred warriors tonight—they guessed the Dai Tranh to have twice that, though how many were in this White Hand, no one was certain. The Tigers split up to cover more ground and could only hope the Dai Tranh didn’t travel in larger packs.

  Sweat dripped down Zhirin’s back as they climbed, pasted her borrowed shirt to her skin. She took a certain grim comfort in Isyllt’s ragged breathing and sweat-drenched face; at least she wasn’t the only one not used to so much exercise.

  As they drew closer to the Kurun Tam, Zhirin felt movement in the trees around them. Humans, which might be other Tigers or cautious Dai Tranh, and the quicksilver flicker of spirits. And colder flashes that she thought must be ghosts. Isyllt’s ring glimmered softly, and the necromancer scanned the woods as they climbed.

  They heard the shouts before they crested the last hill and saw the flames. As they scrambled up the slope, Zhirin gasped. The fire burned inside the Kurun Tam’s walls.

  “Are they mad? Attacking the hall—”

  “It’s another distraction,” Isyllt said. “Damn me for not seeing it sooner. Breaking the wards isn’t enough—they mean to wake the mountain. They’ll have someone at Haroun’s summit, waiting for the others to finish.”

  Jabbor swore. “What can we do?”

  “You and the others stay here, try to salvage as many wards as you can. I’m going up.”

  “Why?” Jabbor asked coldly. “Why do you care? Why not just run?”

  Isyllt shrugged, her pale face impassive. “Because I’m trapped on this side of the river too, and I don’t want to die for the Dai Tranh’s zealotry. Zhirin?”

  She only hesitated a heartbeat. “I’m with you.”

  She thought Jabbor would argue, steeled herself against it. He let out a breath and shook his head. “Go on. Be careful.”

  From the southern road came the sound of horses. “The Khas is here,” Jabbor said. “Maybe they and the Dai Tranh can kill each other off neatly and leave us to clean up.” He leaned in and kissed Zhirin, soft and quick. “Hurry.”

  She’d ridden to the mountain dozens of times, but never walked there, let alone run. Her sandals chafed her feet raw, and she didn’t know how her legs kept moving. She thought she glimpsed someone in front of them, but it was hard to be sure through the darkness and flicker of the wards. The posts glowed fiercely, not their usual soft light; Zhirin doubted that was a good sign.

  The ground sloped steeper and steeper as they neared the stair, and they scrambled and slid with every step. She heard hoofbeats again, close behind, but the riders would have to abandon their horses to follow any higher.

  They hit the stairs and ran faster, despite stubbed toes and burning thighs. Someone was definitely climbing ahead of them, and they were gaining now.

  “Wait!” Zhirin’s breath failed and she had to shout again.

  The person paused, a slender silhouette against the witchlights.

  “Xinai!” Isyllt called.

  Another few steps and Zhirin recognized the mercenary. White as bone in the cold light, eyes lost in shadow. Isyllt’s ring blazed and Zhirin glanced around as if she might see the ghost.

  Steel gleamed in Xinai’s hand. “Stay back.” Her voice was rough, cold as her blade.

  Isyllt hesitated, one foot on the next step. “Don’t be a fool, Xinai. The mountain isn’t some little spirit you can tame. It’s not like the nakh.”

  “Go, necromancer. This is none of your concern. Consider your life a gift for bringing me home.”

  Isyllt’s breath hissed through her teeth. “You’re possessed.”

  “No, just reunited. Leave, before I decide to take that ring away from you.”

  Zhirin looked from Xinai to Isyllt. She had to stop this, but her mouth was too dry for words.

  Footsteps scraped on stone below, and the tension broke and reformed. Isyllt cursed. Then golden witchlights blossomed all around them as Imran and Asheris climbed onto the landing.

  The five of them stared at one another for a long moment, then Xinai bolted. Not up the stairs but down, dodging lithely around the startled mages.

  “Kill the necromancer,” Imran said to Asheris. “I’ll take care of the Dai Tranh.”

  Zhirin looked at Isyllt, whose face was a mask in the eerie light.

  “Go on,” she said, calm and brittle.

  Zhirin hesitated for a heartbeat, but her courage broke and she fled down the path after Im
ran and Xinai.

  She caught up with them at the next landing. Xinai’s daggers gleamed, and Imran’s magic hung around him thick enough to make Zhirin’s skin tingle. He didn’t spare her a glance, but a tendril of power licked at her.

  “Go home, girl,” he said. “And for Vasilios’s sake, I’ll spare you.”

  Zhirin barely saw Xinai move before a dagger flickered toward Imran. Only to clatter to the stones a yard shy of its target. He gestured in turn and Xinai stiffened and stumbled, one hand rising to her throat.

  Zhirin stared as the woman’s face darkened, her own hand lifting in unwitting accompaniment. She could help Isyllt while Imran was distracted, or climb to the crater and try to stop the Ki Dai. The mercenary had chosen this.

  But she couldn’t walk away. People had already died tonight, ancestors only knew how many, Dai Tranh and Tigers and whoever else was unlucky enough to be in the way. More would doubtless die before dawn. But she couldn’t walk away from this.

  “Leave her alone.” Her voice nearly broke.

  Imran frowned and glared over his shoulder. “I told you to go.” He’d probably never had an apprentice talk back to him before; it nearly made her laugh.

  “And I told you to let her be. Killing her won’t stop the others. Worry about the mountain.”

  “Don’t dictate priorities to me, girl. The rebels are the danger here—and after tonight, we won’t have to waste our time with them any longer.”

  She didn’t argue, only drew her magic to her. The incredulous look on his face was almost worth what was sure to be her quick demise. The river was too far away to answer her here; instead the mountain churned hot and angry at her back.

  Imran fought like a classical duelist, his body straight and still behind layers of wards while his magic spun sharp as daggers around him—Zhirin was surprised he didn’t call a halt till they could find seconds and draw circles. She wasn’t strong enough to face his spellcraft head-on. Instead she dodged and wove, threw illusions and ribbons of fog to distract him while she twisted away from his assaults.

  Magic dizzied her—for an instant she was quicksilver speed, elusive and untouchable. Then a gust of wind sharp as a blade sliced her cheek, and another tore her sleeve and the flesh beneath. The air thickened in her lungs and her throat tightened when she tried to draw breath. Her magic broke against his and rolled away as the pressure in her chest grew. Drowning on dry land. Her knees shook, but the vise around her throat wouldn’t let her fall. The night splintered into shards of black and red.