by K. M. Tolan
She slowly eased her head around the stained alabaster. The Kiorannan dismounted from a yhas with lustrous golden brown fur. The rider had a light brown complexion and appeared to be middle-aged. She was short of stature; Mikial guessed seven hands; however, the Kiorannan carried herself with the assertiveness of a Tasuria. She wore a heavy riding cloak of green-and-black panels. It was secured by large wooden buttons and a wide tan belt with an equally exaggerated buckle. Mikial glimpsed a teal-colored dress beneath her half open cloak. There was something else there too. A pistol holster.
Mikial glided along the wall until she found cover within clumps of brush at the entrance. The female stood inside the courtyard between the two sheld trees, a frown set below her rounded cheeks. A green sleeve, edged with silver brocade, rested at her hip. Mikial noted how the visitor's arm would be concealed to anyone standing in front of her. All they would see was the folds of her cloak. Very clever. Ringed fingers grasped the handle of a cocked pistol. Very clever indeed.
The female's voice rang out in a high contralto with a tone that expected obedience. “Mikial! I have come to talk!"
You're most certainly going to, Mikial agreed, putting her rifle aside. So much for Dahin's secretiveness. Mikial hurled herself across the short distance between them.
The female had but a moment of warning as her startled yhas pulled sharply on its reins. She began to turn, making it even easier for Mikial to rip the pistol from her grip. Pressing the weapon against the other's throat, Mikial searched through her cloak. Finding a jeweled dagger in an inner pocket, Mikial flung it away. Satisfied that there were no other surprises, Mikial tossed the pistol aside as well. “Now we can talk. Who are you? Who told you I was here?"
Her prisoner stumbled back, thin eyebrows raised in disbelief. Coal-black eyes gathered ragged bits of resolve into smoldering indignation. Nostrils flared beneath a wide nose. “You dare lay hands on me!” She jerked back as Mikial bared her teeth in an invitation to make matters worse.
“I'm about to hang you up by your ear hairs if you don't answer me,” Mikial answered, taking a threatening step forward. “You do realize who and what you're facing, don't you?"
The Servant stiffened, planting her feet with thin-lipped determination. “More than you, apparently.” She folded her arms as if chilled. “I am Maltenna Kior, Governess of the city of Ruth. Almost eighteen years ago I thought myself rid of you."
“You what?"
“Rid of you,” she sneered up at her. “How did Chadrak get you out of your precious Holding? Are your people as anxious as he to see me discredited because of one tainted birth?"
“I happened to save his son during a Minneran ambush at a baby exchange.” Mikial stared at her in growing shock. “Are you telling me that you're supposed to be my mother?"
Maltenna brushed the twigs from her cloak. “I should never have told them your first name. Bad enough that you look like a Kior, half animal or not."
“You came up here to kill me?” Mikial said numbly. Maltenna. The one at the lead of that army. The one claiming now to be her mother. Dahin wasn't so vicious as to play this kind of joke, was he?
“I came up here to defend myself against a monstrosity,” Maltenna retorted, her fists clenched. “Where do you think you are going?"
“To give you that chance!” Mikial's boot kicked the pistol out from under a bush, sending the weapon clattering across the broken flagstones. Enough of this outrageous lie. Mikial's eyes closed to slits as the pistol spun lazily at the Servant's foot.
Maltenna bent down and curled her fingers around the pistol grip, her dark eyes gauging the distance between them. “A test of trust?"
“An opportunity to get your neck snapped before you fire the first shot,” Mikial hissed. “If you really are my mother, then be welcome to the consequences."
Maltenna straightened, leaving the gun where it lay. She gave a frosty smile. “Now that we have established the proper relationship, I am going to give you some advice. Ride east as fast as you can and do not stop.” Her voice tightened. “When you get to your hills, make sure you never leave them again."
“After I tell your Steward about the Minnerans,” Mikial answered with a scowl. This aberration couldn't possibly be my mother. Dahin said the army's leader was spoiling for a fight. What better way for Maltenna to ensure it than to chase her off?
Maltenna gave a harsh laugh. “What Minnerans?” She jabbed out a jeweled finger. “You are here to serve another purpose. Set Commander Chadrak intends using you to discredit me."
“Set Commander Chadrak?"
Maltenna gave a look of mock concern. “Oh dear, he did not tell you that either? Such a shame.” The amused expression faded. “This is the second time I have saved your life. All I expect in turn is to never see you again.” Maltenna pointed an arm down the road. “Now get out of here!"
Drawing in a slow breath, Mikial searched her own instincts for some plan of action. Keeping her eye on Maltenna, she walked over and fetched her rifle. To accept this Servant's word was out of the question. Ignoring it was equally dangerous if Maltenna was in charge of those soldiers down there. The only tactic open to her was to withdraw and regroup. If half the Kiorannan army came after her, that would be proof enough.
Mikial turned and jumped on Maltenna's yhas, the animal squealing as she jerked its reins from Maltenna's hands. Ignoring the other's enraged cry, Mikial goaded the yhas into a fast gallop from the courtyard. If Dahin had any sense, he would return to the grotto where they had stopped during the storm. If he did not come by himself, even Strike Leader Teck's orders would not save him.
Mikial got halfway down the hill before drawing the yhas to an abrupt halt. The rifle was in her hands an instant later as she watched riders approach up the old road. One figure separated from the cluster of soldiers and sped toward her. “Dahin,” Mikial muttered.
His shout carried across the light wind. “So you almost let the Governess run you off, eh?"
“I'm just watching my back,” Mikial said as Dahin drew up next to her. “She says you're a commanding officer in the Kiorannan army. That right?"
Dahin gave an unconcerned nod. “You would have thought twice about coming had I told you."
“Once would've been enough.” She lowered her rifle, glancing down the road where the soldiers waited. “Care to explain them?"
“My personal guards for the ride to Kior. They'll keep their distance if you insist, but they'll have a harder time protecting you—which happens to be their job now.” His face shadowed. “What else did the Governess tell you?"
Mikial favored him with a cool expression. “We got along fine, as long as she didn't call me daughter, and I didn't believe her lies about being my mother.” Her amber eyes fixed on him like hurled blades. “Was this amusement your idea?"
Dahin gave her a level look, a frown pulling at the corners of his blond beard. “No. I suspected whom you were when I first saw you, Mikial. More so when you told me your name. Still, I never expected Maltenna to leap to conclusions and ride out here herself. I told her only that I had a Qurl female with me."
Mikial held up a hand. “Are you actually telling me what I think you are?” Mikial twisted in her saddle to consider the figure waiting beneath the crumbled gate. “You can't seriously expect me to believe this!"
“I swear on my family name that I never intended for this to happen."
The serious tones lent far too much credence to the lie. Mikial let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “She intended to kill me. How could I come from something like her?"
“Kill you, eh?” Dahin glanced up the hill with a sigh. “I shouldn't be too surprised. Maltenna grew up in the ironworks of Ruth. That's a hard place for anyone, much less a young girl. She's fought for everything. I don't think she knows any other way.” He gave Mikial a measured look, then nodded. “It takes little imagination to see the likes of you coming from her."
“You're both out of your minds!” Mikial's ears flatten
ed.
“That female is not my mother!"
“I'm sorry, Mikial. That was a secret I intended to keep. Maltenna apparently couldn't."
Mikial spat at the ground. “I've come to believe some insane things as of late, but not this! I don't know who my natural mother was, and I certainly don't want to know. Ever!” She shook her head in disgust. “There'll be no more of this nonsense, understand? I'll meet your Steward, then I go home. My personal life is not yours to play with, Kiorannan! Not if you want my help."
Dahin leaned back in his saddle as if warding off flames. “Fine, but first I'll give the Governess back her yhas.
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* * *
Eight
Mikial sat along the shore of the White river, watching as a fishing boat drifted lazily in the slow current. The morning breeze was light, barely disturbing the red triangular sail. Small wooden kegs, painted yellow, marked a line of nets that trailed off the stern. Mikial did not dwell too long on being able to witness such a sight so deep into enemy territory. It only reminded her how far away from home she was. She gazed at the scattered clouds, wishing for the familiar sight of a Qurl airship. She missed her parents, her dancing, and Paleen's laughter. Dalen, too, even if he had contributed to her predicament.
Twenty Servant soldiers rested around her, dust stealing the brightness from their green-and-turquoise coats. A week of travel had worn the polish from their brass buttons and frost from their demeanors. Most of her escorts were the sons of ranchers along the frontier; hardly the vicious child killers she had been taught to expect. Mikial doubted her escorts could even deal with a Line of pre-graduate Datha. Just the same, she kept her helmet on in case any of the soldiers wanted to see just how overmatched they were.
Nearby, Dahin chewed speculatively at a reed, glancing down-river as if to guess what mischief Maltenna was up to. He believed she had gotten to Kior ahead of them, using one of her steamboats. The Kiorannan stood up, tossing the reed into the water. Mikial was grateful to see that Dahin remained in his riding leathers instead of a uniform like those he commanded. It helped her retain the trust she needed in him right now.
Dahin walked up to where the yhas lounged beside the gravel highway. “Troop Mount! We'll make Kior by sunset, and no doubt they'll be expecting us."
* * * *
Plains grass gave way to wooded meadows as their ride continued, Mikial imagining what the Holding could do with even a fraction of the land that went unused here. The river widened beside her until the far bank was only a thin green line across the water. What she first took to be an island in the distance broadened into a major fork that sent the river both south and west.
As they neared the confluence, Mikial saw orange-tiled roofs poking through surrounding trees on the dividing wedge of land. A city took shape, one large enough to spread across three canyons back home. Mikial's attention was grabbed by the bright alabaster edifice rising over a haze of chimney smoke like a three-tiered white cake. Silver domes threw back sunlight. Flying buttresses surrounded a building that looked almost three times the size of the High Keep. Each wall of the inner palace glinted with huge oval windows that could be seen even at this distance. Mikial looked in disbelief at Dahin, not dreaming that this would be her actual destination. “That's your capital?"
He nodded. “You're looking at the Kior Palace. I doubt that even your Holding contains such magnificence."
“We have pictures of this palace,” she replied, regarding the excessive grandeur with awe. “This was once a Taqurl Throne City, one of the few that still stood after Min Saja. Chekena. Palace of the Crystal Seat, and home to the Chek Dynasty."
“And how would you know that?” Dahin quietly asked, his voice cooling.
“Where do you think my Holding fled from?” She shrugged, hoping to dismiss the subject. “It's just history now."
Dahin's blue eyes smoldered. “Almost four generations have passed since we forbid the use of Kior Palace's original name ... and for good reason. That city was built on the blood and muscle of our ancestors. It's ours!” He took a drink from his canteen. “Please keep its old name to yourself."
“This is impossible!” she hissed, slapping at her saddle. “How do you expect me to blunder my way through any discussion with your Steward? Half the things I say might be forbidden.” Mikial groaned. “It's almost as bad as what I'll face back home.” She glared back at her surrounding escorts. “This is getting to be a joke—who'll kill me first."
“Why would your own people do that you?"
“Blind obedience hasn't been one of my noted strengths, which is half the reason I agreed to come with you.” She tried to shake the despair clawing up from its inadequate cage. “You picked the wrong messenger. Nobody is going to listen to me on either side of this mess."
“Your people control you that much?"
“You ever been to Min Saja? The dry lands? Care to guess whose sect made them that way?"
“Still paying for ancient mistakes with the rest of us, I guess.” Dahin pointed ahead toward a thin line stretched across the water. “We'll be crossing the river shortly. You'll get to see some good come out of history.” He gestured to her saddlebags. “Best get your cloak on, and cover those claws of yours too."
They arrived at the bridge within a chime. Mikial counted twenty granite piers along its length, each pillar supporting a set of wooden arches fifty spans across. Wood decking creaked beneath the hooves of their yhas as the cavalry crossed, eliciting a hollow rumble that sent yhas carts and other traffic hurrying out of their way.
Mikial began to see shops and busy streets among the trees as they neared the far bank. Faded signs advertised fisheries and boat makers beside wooden ramps that extended into the river like algae-tipped fingers. It reminded her of an unkempt version of the Holding's marketplace.
Mikial was relieved when Dahin chose a cobblestone street along the right-hand shore rather than take the troop through the center of town. Kior contained far more Servants than those outlying villages had. The fewer who saw her, the better. Dahin's alternate route took them beneath hanging boughs of sweet-hair, the long, slender leaves adding their pleasant odor to the smells of fish and water-soaked wood. The street was lightly traveled, most Servants busying themselves along the many wharves that extended into the river. The shops to Mikial's left were fashioned from sun-bleached wood and red brick, featuring the bright roofing tiles she had seen from across the bridge.
Businesses gave way to rounded hedges leading up to stained alabaster walls three stories high. Suspecting they were entering the palace grounds through a discreet side entrance, Mikial kept herself hidden beneath the deep hood of her cloak. The troop stopped before the bars of an iron gate. Mikial shuddered inwardly with both apprehension and excitement. Chekena! Nobody back home is going to believe this.
Guards in smartly tailored turquoise-and-green uniforms let them pass at Dahin's nod; the road turning turned from dirty gravel to whitewashed pebbles. Peering out from under her hood, Mikial caught her breath. Inside the gate, it was like a garden—one that easily could swallow the entire neighborhood of Shadow Canyon, and still have room for the High Keep. Mikial guessed it would take her at least one chime to walk the circumference of hedge-lined lawns and manicured sidewalks.
The palace toward which they rode from a side avenue was more than history come alive. It was stunning. Chekena Palace boasted three tiers of windowed hallways surrounding domes that ringed the main rotunda like bright silver bubbles. Eight alabaster buttresses rose to support the domes, each bulwark a series of arches within arches. From a distance, it gave the appearance of fine lace. It took a quarter chime to ride across to the wide avenue leading to the palace entrance. Marble steps cascaded down between two buttresses, the supports casting late-afternoon shadows across the granite flagstones. Mikial's eyes traveled along wide verandas that encircled all three stories with brightly polished brass balustrades. Guards paced the floors. More soldie
rs lined the series of glass-and-silver doors at the top of the stairs.
Mikial dismounted with her twenty escorts before the stairs, waiting as Dahin walked up the steps to confer with three soldiers who came out to meet him. They talked briefly before the trio returned to the palace. Dahin rejoined her with the brisk expression of a commander whose battle plan had abruptly been changed.
“Maltenna arrived almost two chimes ago,” he explained, pulling Mikial's rifle from her pack and handing it to one of her escorts. Dahin shook his head. “She now is claiming you're the Steward's child."
“I'll take anyone over her,” Mikial snorted.
Her derisiveness was cut short as Dahin gripped her arm, his blue eyes intense. “An accusation like that could put your mother on the Seat! Neither you, nor your people, would want that.” Releasing his hold, Dahin looked back up the steps with a frustrated hiss. “That's why I don't understand the Steward's orders.” He pulled back her hood. “Take the cloak off. Helmet too. I want everyone to have a good look at the family resemblance."
“What orders?” she asked, happy to get rid of the confining wrap. Mikial unstrapped her helmet, the evening breeze a welcome coolness through her matted braids.
“The Steward intends to go along with Maltenna's ruse. He will claim you as his, so we'll just have to trust his reasoning.” Dahin plucked at one of her braids. “You'll see the family resemblance soon enough. You've the mark of a Kior all over you."
“The only thing I've got all over me is dust,” Mikial muttered, slapping at her armor.
Dahin turned to the waiting escorts. “Form up around Mikial, ten to a side.” He pulled a large sack from one of the other yhas and gave Mikial a quick wink. “Let's go. Don't get too dramatic in there, Mikial. I didn't bring you all the way here so you could get yourself shot."
