The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya)

by Bradley Beaulieu

  Bahett came to Selim’s side, placed his good hand around Selim’s shoulder. “A Khalakovo in the halls of Irabahce, a man plucked from the wastes of the Gaji.” As Bahett spoke, the Kiliç Şaik moved into place behind Nikandr. They stood a goodly distance away, but Nikandr didn’t like them so near when he couldn’t see them. “It’s said,” Bahett went on, “that you were betrothed to Atiana.”

  “I was.”

  “And that she was then promised to another. Grigory. A man you slew on the Spar.”

  “I didn’t slay him. He died on a ship that crashed into the bridge.”

  Bahett went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And then she was betrothed to a third”—Bahett’s smile widened for a moment—“yet she wasn’t found in the mountain pass with you. Why is this, Nikandr Iaroslov? Where is Atiana?”

  Nikandr was unsure where this was headed, but he didn’t feel the need to grant Bahett any information related to Atiana, so he remained silent.

  “She was with you when you entered the Gaji. She was with you when you left Andakhara, and when you reached the valley of Kohor. Is she there still? Has she remained with the crones of the desert?”

  “You might better ask where your own wives are.”

  Bahett’s wives had been held when the forces of the Grand Duchy had taken Galahesh, and as they’d moved on to Oramka and the mainland, requests to return them to Bahett—requests surely made by Bahett himself—had been met with denials by Leonid.

  “My own wives? Those I left in Galahesh?” Bahett smiled a perfect smile. “I’ll have more wives, Nikandr Iaroslov, but a princess of the islands? That is a rare jewel indeed.” He stepped to the other side of Selim and looked Nikandr up and down. “So I can’t have Atiana. Fair enough. But I have the six of you. That should be worth something.”

  He stomped one heel loudly, twice.

  A moment later, two more Kiliç Şaik came. With them were Ashan and Soroush. Instead of the clothes they’d had when they arrived here in Irabahce, they’d been given simple white kaftans. Still hanging around their necks and wrists and ankles were their iron manacles they’d had since the desert. Nikandr they thought safe enough, apparently, but Soroush, a man they most likely knew to be burned of his abilities, they still kept in chains. Soroush’s turban was gone as well. His long dark hair flowed over his shoulders and down his back, a stark contrast to Ashan’s short, lightly curled hair. Together, the two of them looked like dawn and dusk—two things not wholly different from one another but opposed in many ways.

  Bahett waved to a place on the floor. There Ashan and Soroush were brought to their knees by sharp swipes of sheathed swords against the backs of their knees.

  “I have only three questions,” Bahett said as if none of this were happening. He paused, tilting his head as if thinking of what to ask first, but Nikandr could tell he was acting. He’d been thinking about this meeting for a long while now, a long while indeed. “First, did you find what you wanted in the desert?”

  He walked in a large circle around Nikandr. As he did, Nikandr saw the barely concealed look of terror on Selim’s face. What hold the regent might have on the Kamarisi, Nikandr had no idea. Even with the threat of Sariya, Nikandr would have thought the Kamarisi would still hold sway over a man like Bahett.

  Nikandr heard the snap of Bahett’s fingers. A moment later, a whip sound filled the air, moments before something slapped against the flat of his back.

  He groaned and arched as pain spread across his skin, just below his shoulder blades. One of the Kiliç had used his sheathed blade to strike him, and was poised to do so again. Nearby, Ashan stared at him with a compassionate expression. Soroush, however, looked on with hardly a hint of emotion. The only thing that betrayed him was a pinching of his brow.

  “Did you find what you wanted in the desert?” Bahett repeated.

  “I found some of what I was looking for.”

  “You found Nasim.”

  “Evet,” Nikandr said.

  Bahett had come full circle. He stood next to Selim once more. “Second. What did you learn of the Atalayina.”

  “Of the stone we saw no sign.”

  Bahett stared into Nikandr’s eyes for a long time, weighing the truth in his words. He looked over Nikandr’s right shoulder and gave a small nod.

  Again came the whipping sound. And again the flat of a sword fell across his back.

  He grunted through gritted teeth, nearly falling to his knees. But he pulled himself upright, refusing to grant Bahett the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

  “And where do you think it is now?”

  “As far as I know, Sariya still has it.”

  Bahett smiled. He was a handsome man, but his smile made him seem small and petty. “And now we come to it. Where, good Nikandr, is Sariya?”

  Of course. Bahett was in league with Sariya. Or he was beguiled. Either way, he would be desperate to know what had become of her.

  Nikandr took too long considering, apparently. Bahett nodded once more to the Kiliç Şaik, and this blow came against his thighs. Despite himself, Nikandr fell to his knees, and this time the grimace on his face was slow in leaving. He found himself sucking in breath from the pain that radiated from his lower back and his legs.

  “Will it hurt to answer such a simple question?”

  “I shot her,” he said, hoping to provoke Bahett into coming closer. If he was going to die, he’d like the chance of taking Bahett with him.

  Bahett, however, seemed little concerned. “Did you?” He came to a stop in front of Nikandr. The two of them were close enough that Nikandr could smell the unguent that had surely been applied to his wound.

  “I did. Just here.” He pointed to his chest, near his left shoulder.

  “Does she yet live?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A man like you? A man of war? Do you not know when a shot will prove fatal?” Bahett’s bloodshot eyes had become crazed. Had Nikandr not been standing right next to him, he would have said he was drunk or enraged from the drug-laced tabbaq that was common among the noble houses of Alekeşir. But his breath smelled not of alcohol, and his eyes held not the haze of drugs. This was a man that had been pushed to the edge. It might even have been the loss of Sariya that had caused it. Nikandr knew well the strength of Sariya’s lure.

  “She was some distance away, and the air was thick with dust from the desert. I couldn’t say.”

  Slowly, the madness left Bahett’s eyes. He breathed more easily and his shoulders unwound. “Well enough,” he said simply. Then, at a thrust of his chin, the two Kiliç Şaik behind Soroush and Ashan stepped back. They pulled their swords from the sheaths at their belts and held them at the ready. “Choose.”

  The word struck Nikandr like the boom of a mainsail. “What do you mean?”

  “Choose the one who will live.”

  Nikandr stared at Soroush, then Ashan. “I cannot choose.”

  “If you do not, you will see them both die.”

  “I cannot choose. I will not.”

  Bahett stepped forward, raising the arm that ended in a bandaged stump. “I lost this because of your man, son of Khalakovo. You sent him to the west, to the Haelish.”

  “Styophan?”

  Nasim had told Nikandr of the man he’d seen in Alekeşir as they were being taken in the wagon toward Irabahce. It was Styophan, Nasim had insisted, though Nikandr had told him how far-fetched such a story that would be. And here was Styophan’s name again. Could it be? Could he be in Alekeşir?

  “Evet,” Bahett said. “Styophan.” He spat out the name. “Would you not pay your man’s debts?”

  Despite himself, a well of pride sprung up inside Nikandr. “Things happen in war, Bahett.”

  “They do.” He glanced toward Ashan and Soroush, who knelt on the cold white floor. “They do.” He stepped backward until he was once more standing by Selim’s side. “You have taken much from me, and all I desire is but a word from you. Choose, Nikandr Iaroslov, and you may le
ave.” Bahett waited for the words to sink in. “I’ll give you a horse and what protection you’ll need to reach the war front in Izlo, and you may go. From there you’ll find your way to your Grand Duke. And all you need do is choose between these two men.”

  Nikandr stared at Ashan and Soroush. They stared back at him placidly, as if both were ready to die, except Soroush had a clear look of pleading, as if he dearly wished Nikandr would choose him. Ashan, on the other hand, merely smiled as if he understood what was to come and was ready for it. He did not relish it, as Soroush did, but he was just as prepared to die.

  Nikandr shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “This is difficult for you?” Bahett stepped to his right, his boot heels clicking against the floor, until he was standing behind Soroush. “This man murdered your countrymen. Had he come to the shores of Galahesh and slew my kin, I would surely have taken up the sword and cut his head from his shoulders myself.”

  Nikandr’s breath was coming faster and faster, and no amount of desire for it to slow had any effect.

  “I’ve asked you twice,” Bahett said, a gleam in his eye. He stepped back and snapped his fingers, and at this, the Kiliç Şaik drew their swords high. “I’ll ask thrice, but no more.” When he spoke again, it was with slow and deliberate care. “Which, Nikandr Iaroslov, shall you choose?”

  Nikandr stared between the two of them, knowing full well he could not order either of their deaths. But when he was unwilling to reply, Bahett snapped his fingers and pointed to Ashan. “Kill him first.”

  “Hayir!” Nikandr called. “This is madness. Let them go, Bahett. I’ll tell you what you wish to know.”

  “Which is little enough, indeed.” He nodded to the swordsman, who raised his sword, but before he could bring it down, a voice called out.

  “Stop!”

  All eyes turned toward Selim, whose voice cut like a switch through tall, green grass. “You will stop.” The words echoed in the massive room, making him seem small, and yet his voice was confident and clear. The voice of the Kamarisi.

  Bahett’s eyes narrowed at this. He stared down at young Selim with an expression that spoke not of amusement, but wonder, as if he’d thought Selim incapable of such protest.

  “Kamarisi,” Bahett said in silky tones. “By what right do you call on these men to stop?”

  “They are my men.”

  “You are mistaken. These men protect the Kamarisi, and as you are too young to sit the throne, I have taken your place.”

  “You will not kill these men.”

  “I will do as I see fit. Even your brothers, as young as they are, recognize my right to do so.”

  Selim opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he heard the word brothers. This was it, then, a threat on Selim’s family, that kept Selim at heel. But it wasn’t his brothers who were in danger, Nikandr suddenly realized. His brothers were in line for the throne. Since Bahett sat the throne, the Kiliç Şaik would take orders from him, but they would do nothing to harm the heirs of Hakan ül Ayeşe. But the life of his mother was an entirely different story. Selim had been born of Hakan’s first wife, his ilkadin. She would be foremost on Selim’s mind, and surely Bahett knew this well. He would have her in a special place, guarded always, so that should Selim step out of line, he could punish her for his crimes. He might do the same with Selim’s sisters, perhaps the mothers of his brothers as well. Enough, and it would give Bahett more than enough leverage to control Selim.

  Which was why this act of defiance on Selim’s part was so very brave. It was a dangerous thing for him to do. Bahett might not kill his mother for this small infraction, but she would surely suffer, more than likely with Selim bearing witness.

  Perhaps sensing how foolish he’d been, Selim searched the expanse of the room for some way out of this. “I would ask that you spare the lives of these men.”

  Bahett stepped away and regarded Selim anew. “Spare them… Your father, Hakan, would never have done so.”

  Selim stood up straighter. “My father would want them questioned more fully.”

  Bahett stared into Selim’s eyes. He seemed to measure Selim. Seemed to weigh him. And then he nodded and smiled. “Perhaps you’re right. Question them all you like”—Bahett spun on his heel and strode from the room, the Kiliç Şaik followed behind—“for in two days time, they’ll be hung, every single one of them, from the gates of Irabahce as enemies of the Empire.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Nikandr was returned to his cell, and he spent the rest of that day alone. He hoped that someone would come to him, but no one did. In fact, other than the changing of the guards near midday, he heard no one at all.

  Two days time, Bahett had said. He’d been angry, even petulant, when he’d given that declaration. Surely it had something to do with his missing hand. What had happened in the west, Nikandr wondered. Styophan had reached Haelish lands, clearly, but why had Bahett gone anywhere near there? Perhaps to survey the Empire’s readiness. Perhaps the Haelish had already attacked—that was, after all, Styophan’s entire purpose in treating with the Haelish kings.

  But then a more insidious thought came to him. What if Bahett had learned of Styophan’s mission? What if he’d gone to treat with the Haelish himself?

  Could the Haelish be allies of the Empire?

  It seemed impossible, but what other reason could there be for the regent of the Empire itself to have traveled there?

  For the twentieth time that day he held his soulstone and called to Ishkyna, but as usual he felt nothing. He called to Mileva, who watched the eastern coast of the Empire from the island of Oramka. But it had been so long since they’d touched stones he knew she wouldn’t hear him even if she had taken the dark.

  At nightfall he took out his stone of alabaster once again. He held it softly between his fingers, doing much the same as he’d done that morning, but nothing happened. He felt Adhiya not at all. He relaxed his mind as much as he was able. He offered himself, as he should. But nothing happened. When the moon rose, he finally gave up.

  His hands were numb. He was chilled to the bone and hungry. And still no one came. At some point he fell asleep but woke to the sounds of a key slipping into the lock. A moment later the door creaked open—

  —and in padded the Kamarisi with a small candle.

  Nikandr sat up in his narrow bed. “Does Bahett know you’re here?”

  Selim shrugged. “He may.”

  “And what do you think he’ll do if he finds out?”

  He shrugged again, the gesture of a boy, not a man. “He doesn’t care that we talk.”

  There was nothing but the bed to sit upon, so Nikandr sat up and backed into the corner. Selim smiled and nodded and sat down.

  “Why is it allowed?” Nikandr asked. “Why can he treat the Kamarisi this way?”

  Selim leaned down and set the candle on the floor. The light shone upon his face in a ghastly way, making him seem aged and decrepit. “You know little of life in the capital.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “My father was not well loved. He pressed the war to the west from the moment he took the throne to the day he died. His attention may have been diverted when the Spar was built, but he never let his interests in the west wane. And the Kaymakam hated him for it. They hate me for the same reason. None of them will lift a hand against me, and they will not openly allow Bahett to do me harm, but if something were to happen to me, none would cry, for it would leave open the possibility that they could take up the wreath of the Kamarisi and place it upon their head, for they are all of royal blood, even Bahett himself.”

  “Do they not wish to keep the throne from Bahett?”

  Selim shrugged. “They do, but they all know Bahett doesn’t want the throne. He doesn’t love his life here in the center of the Empire, so far from his islands.”

  “Bahett would not content himself with Galahesh, not after wielding such power.”

  “Hayir. Not merely Galahesh. He wants your islands a
s well, Nikandr of Anuskaya. He wants his own empire to the east, and everything he’s done so far has been leading to that. He drew heavily on our resources from the west, something my father would never have done. He focused on the east to slow the brunt of Leonid’s fury, and since then he’s allowed a slow withdrawal as the army of Anuskaya expends its energy trying to take more and more land before the worst of our forces can be brought to bear.”

  Nikandr chewed on these words. “Sariya hardly needs to control him, does she?”

  “Perhaps, and perhaps not. She’s been far afield, and she is not what she once was. I believe she thought Bahett could not remain under her control so long without incentive of his own. Bahett wanted the islands, so she offered them to him.”

  More and more pieces were falling into place. “Bahett is withdrawing the forces of Yrstanla on purpose?”

  “Just so, and she’s moving some key pieces to Ghayavand.”

  Nikandr had already been chill, but now he was cold, cold to the bone. “Why would she do that?”

  Selim stared deeply into Nikandr’s eyes. “Why, to give Bahett his islands.”

  Nikandr shook his head. “That cannot be the only reason.”

  “Beyond Bahett’s goals, I don’t know why she would do this. But I do know that some of the Kohori have been sent there.”

  “To what? Build a fleet?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “One couldn’t be built in so little time.”

  “I am telling you what I know, Nikandr Iaroslov.”

  Nikandr gave it more serious thought. Sariya had had months to build defenses. Build ships. Was she truly planning on attacking the islands for Bahett? Or was she preparing defenses for the eventual onslaught from the forces of Anuskaya? If that were the case, though, why build anything there at all? That would only bring attention to plans that she should want kept secret. Sariya was careful, though. Perhaps she didn’t wish to leave anything to chance. Perhaps she was building a fleet there in case the Dukes of Anuskaya discovered her plans for Ghayavand and sent ships.